Adultery Sakshi's Universe

[yodam69420]

The rain came without warning.
A loud crack of thunder rolled over the house, followed by a downpour so heavy it seemed the sky had broken. Sakshi jumped from the floor where she was lying, half-dozing with her son. Her skin prickled as the temperature shifted; her body woke up before her mind did. She rushed to the balcony, heart skipping.
"My clothes!" she muttered, yanking the door open. 
The wind slapped her face with cold mist. Her saree clung to her legs as she stepped onto the balcony barefoot, scanning the clothesline. Empty.
All her sarees, blouses, petticoats, bras, and panties—gone.
Her eyes narrowed. She knew that line was full just two hours ago. The clothespins still hung there, swinging like little guilty witnesses.
She stood there for a moment, the cold cutting through her blouse, the silence broken only by the drumming rain. And then the awareness crept in.
They’re not just gone. They’ve been taken.
She turned toward the far end of the corridor.
Ramu’s door was closed.
But something—some wicked intuition, born in the pit of her belly—pulled her feet toward it. 
Her body moved before her mind could protest. The wet concrete chilled her soles as she walked. She knocked. Once. Then twice. No response.
Her fingers lingered on the doorknob. She glanced around. The rain drowned everything else out. Everyone was inside. No one saw her hand curl around the knob and twist.
The door creaked open.
The room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a muted TV screen. Ramu lay on his cot, half-covered by his lungi, chest bare, rising and falling in slow, deep rhythm. A light snore escaped his nose. His mouth hung slightly open, lips cracked, breathing heavy and still.
But Sakshi didn’t look at his face.
Her eyes were caught by the fabric on the edge of his bed. Her lavender bra. Her pale green panty. Folded... no, not folded. Crumpled. Used. ???
There was something sacred about the stillness. Something indecent in how reverent it felt.
She stepped closer, her breath shallow. His cock peeked from beneath the lungi, fat and heavy, half-hard in his sleep. A dark, slick smear glistened on the inner thigh of the lungi, and her panties bore a faint damp patch that hadn’t come from the rain.
She didn’t need to touch them to know. She could smell it—raw, masculine, unmistakable. Her scent lingered in them too, twisted with his.
He used them.
A jolt shot through her body.
Her first instinct was to be angry. Outraged. How dare he? How could he?
But her second...
...made her thighs clench.
She stared at the bulge of his cock again. Remembered the thick vein running across it. The way his stomach gently rose and fell. His age melted away in that moment—what she saw was a man. A hungry one.

He was thinking about me when he did it. Holding my clothes. Breathing me in. Imagining my pussy wrapped around him. I was in his fist. In his mind.
The thought made her dizzy. Her nipples stiffened beneath her soaked blouse. She could feel the wetness spreading between her legs, a slow burn licking its way up.
She reached out, trembling, and snatched the garments back. Silent, delicate. Like stealing something sacred.
She slipped out of the room like a ghost, door closing with the softest click behind her.
Back inside her home, she locked the door and leaned against it, breath coming hard. Her nipples pressed tight against the nightie. She dropped the damp garments on the bed and just stared at them.
A minute passed.
Two.
Her hand reached for the panty first.
Still warm.
Still wet.
She lifted it to her nose.
The scent was musky. Tangled. Male. Her hand slipped between her thighs before she even realized it. Two fingers slid past the fabric. Her body arched. Her breath hitched.
She sat on the bed, legs spread, the panty still pressed to her face, fingers swirling wet and slow between her folds.

You filthy old bastard... what have you done to me? 
She lay back, the scent of his cum on her fingers and the taste of her own need thick on her tongue. Her hips moved with their own rhythm now, chasing something filthy and bright.
And outside, the rain poured harder. Thunder cracked. Lightning flashed against the closed curtain.
But inside—Sakshi burned.
And in her mind, all she saw was his cock—throbbing, pulsing, waiting.
He’s tasted me now, she thought. And I’ve tasted him.
There was no going back.