Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

“Stand in the center,” I said.

My voice was plain. Like I was telling someone to pick up a dropped spoon.

He looked confused for a second. Then slowly stepped forward.

His feet touched the small muddy spots around the tank floor. His toes curled a little, nervous. But he obeyed.

He stood exactly where I wanted him—right in the middle of the tank.

Fully nude.

His arms stayed down, but I noticed it immediately—his fingers were itching to touch.

He looked down once.

And just as his hand moved—slowly, carefully—toward his cock…

I snapped.

“No.”

He stopped like someone had hit him on the head.

I didn’t shout.

I didn’t raise my hand.

Just one word. Firm. Flat.

“You cannot touch it.”

His hand dropped to his side like a collegeboy hiding stolen chalk.

I walked slowly toward him.

Not close. Just enough to make him freeze.

His cock was still standing strong—thick, fully erect, the head pointing up like a small snake ready to strike. I could see the slight swell of the veins around the cock. The skin was darker now, more reddish-brown. Alive.

And under that, hanging heavily, were his balls—hairy, thick, slightly swinging with every breath he took.

I didn’t stare for long.

Because I had more important things to do.

I started circling him.

One step.

Then another.

My feet made soft wet sounds against the tank’s cement floor.

I walked slowly.

Like a woman walking around a tree before tying a thread.

Only this tree was shaking.

I moved behind him.

His back was strong. Not gym body. Not six pack. But that tough, worker back. Burnt by sun. Skin rough like used wood.

I saw his shoulders—broad but slightly uneven. And a small mole near the left side of his neck.

His spine dipped in the center, and I followed the line down with my eyes—until I reached it.

His butt.

Round. Flat. Naked.

I looked without shame.

Then I narrowed my eyes.

Lifted my face slightly.

And then…

I spat.

The spit landed just slightly to the right of his left butt cheek.

A sharp wet sound. Then a slow sliding line of saliva going down toward the curve.

He flinched.

Not loudly.

Just a small reaction. Like someone being pinched in sleep.

He didn’t turn.

Didn’t complain.

I walked again. Came back to the front.

His face was red now. His eyes trying not to meet mine.

I didn’t ask anything.

I just looked down.

His cock was still hard.

No, harder.

Like it liked what I did.

“Hmm,” I said softly.

“What do you want to do now?”

He didn’t speak.

His lips opened slightly.

But I didn’t let him talk.

“You think you’re going to touch me?” I said. “Kiss me? Put this cock inside me?”

His face looked shocked.

Ashamed.

But that cock?

It stood like it was proud of my words.

I laughed. Once.

“Don’t think too much,” I said. “This is the max you’ll get.”

I paused.

Then added, “My saliva. That’s all.”

Still, his cock didn’t go down.

If anything, it pulsed again.

I looked down at it.

It was thick. Fully swollen. Long. The head almost angry red now.

Below, his balls looked tight. Ready.

And that hair…

So much.

Thick black curls around his cock base. Wet in some places. Stuck to his thigh. Raw. Animal.

And I?

I started breathing differently.

I could feel my chest going up and down slowly.

I could feel my nipples—fully out now—standing hard.

I could feel my panty sticking to me.

I didn’t even know how wet I had become.

It wasn’t sweat.

It wasn’t tank water.

It was me.

Inside.

Wanting.

And this bastard—this filthy, low-class man—his cock was the reason.

I cursed myself inside.

But I didn’t stop.

I walked around him again.

Once more.

Just to feel that control.

And with every step, my eyes scanned him again.

Neck.

Shoulders.

Spine.

Butt.

Legs.

Cock.

Balls.

Hair.

Back to the chest.

And his eyes—those small, brown, worker eyes—still staring at the ground.

Ashamed.

But his cock had no shame.

It stood tall.

For me.

And I hadn’t even touched.

Not once.

But inside?

Inside I was already touching. Licking. Biting. Swallowing.

Everything I had never done.

Everything my husband never deserved.

Everything this watchman had never earned.

And still—I wanted.

I wanted it like a thirst that wouldn’t go.

But I held myself.

I clenched my fingers.

I gritted my teeth slightly.

I said nothing.

I just stood there—topless, breathing slowly, watching his cock bounce with every scared breath he took.

My legs were trembling a bit.

Not from weakness.

From the heat inside my thighs.

From the stickiness in my panty.

I knew one thing—

If I touched now, I wouldn’t stop.

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He was standing like I told him to.

Straight.

Still.

Naked.

Cock fully erect.

Breathing carefully like every breath might disturb me.

And then—suddenly—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

That ugly, soft ringtone of an old phone echoed from above.

He looked up. Confused.

Then at me.

I saw it—the instinct in his leg. He wanted to step out. Go grab it.

He thought I would let him.

But I didn’t.

“Stand straight.” I snapped.

His leg stopped mid-shift.

I raised my chin toward the tank edge. The sound was coming from just above.

“Don’t move,” I said again. “I’ll check.”

He stood like a statue.

I walked to the side. Grabbed the ladder bar. Climbed just halfway.

Pushed my head out.

The breeze hit me.

Strong sun hit my forehead, but I squinted and looked around.

There it was.

His phone.

Old. Grey. Plastic buttons rubbed white. Some cheap local model.

I picked it up.

The screen said: “Wife Calling”.

I laughed inside.

But didn’t show it.

I turned back, bent a little, and handed it to him from above.

“Talk.” I said.

No expression.

Just order.

He looked up. Shocked again.

Held the phone with both hands.

“Hello…” he said, voice low.

I stood just above him now—still topless, still in panty.

Listening.

“Tell me, I’m in a meeting with association” he said.

“Lot of work with association”

“…its very important…”

“…can’t come now,… wait, or I’ll come evening…”

He cut the call.

Still looking down.

Still holding the phone like it was gold.

I burst into a soft laugh.

“Meeting?” I said, stepping down slowly.

He looked like a collegeboy caught forging his father’s signature.

“What kind of association meeting is this?”

I spread my arms for a second, like presenting a stage.

His eyes fell to my bare chest again. But quickly looked away.

He tried to explain. “what… madam… what should i teli—”

“I didn’t ask,” I cut him.

“Give me the phone.”

He gave it like a servant giving a broom.

I walked to the corner. Placed it carefully on the thick metal water pipe attached to the tank wall.

Then I turned around.

Walked back slowly.

And stopped just a few inches from him.

His cock was now trembling.

Standing proud. Full.

The head was red. Shining.

The cock heavy.

Balls round and hairy.

And I had enough.

I bent forward slightly—still topless—and picked up my bra from where it lay on the tank edge.

Then, looking into his eyes—

I threw it.

Straight at his face.

It hit his nose and dropped onto his chest.

He held it, confused.

I said calmly:

“Touch it. This is the maximum you’ll ever touch.”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t say anything.

I stepped forward.

Now standing right in front of his cock.

Just one breath away.

I looked at it—up and down.

Then raised my face.

Met his eyes.

And then—

I spat.

Direct.

Sharp.

Wet.

Right on the shaft.

On his cock.

It hit the side and slowly dripped down to the base.

He froze.

His eyes flinched.

His cock jerked slightly in shock.

But I didn’t react.

I stood calmly.

Topless.

In panty.

Sweat forming under my breasts.

Hair tied loose and wet behind me.

Legs bare. Thighs trembling slightly from the heat below.

And my saliva?

Now resting on his cock.

Mixing with his own body.

Making him mine—without touch. Without permission. Without asking.

And inside me?

I was no longer just wet.

I was aching.

Holding myself with more strength than ever.

Because one more step—

And I would drop to my knees.

And take that filthy, thick, low-class cock into my mouth.

And that was not my plan.

Not yet.


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I was still standing.

Topless.

Only one thing left on my body—my panty.

Everything else—my saree, petticoat, blouse, bra—gone. Tossed. Left on the cement edge or drowned in mud.

And he?

Prakash.

Still standing in the center of the tank like a naked dog waiting for a command.

His cock was no longer just hard—it was angry. Full, stiff, twitching. And leaking.

I was waiting for water to come.

I wanted to bathe.

Right here.

In front of him.

Let him see everything.

Let him know what it feels like to be in the presence of something he can never truly have.

And then I asked.

I moved my fingers to my waistband.

Just placed them there.

Not pulling yet.

And looked straight at him.

“You want me to remove this?”

He didn’t nod softly.

He shook his head quickly—yes. Yes. Yes.

Like a hungry dog.

His eyes were wild now.

Mouth slightly open.

His fingers tightened into fists.

But he didn’t move from his position.

Still standing straight.

Still obeying.

I laughed.

It came out naturally.

From deep inside my chest.

Then I tilted my head and mocked—

“What are you going to do if I remove it?”

He blinked.

Didn’t answer.

I stepped a little closer.

His cock jumped.

“Are you going to masturbate? Right in front of me?”

He swallowed.

“Or you want to touch me?”

He looked at my thighs for a second.

Then back to the floor.

“Or what…” I said slowly, “you want to bend down and kiss me there?”

His knees wobbled slightly.

But he didn’t move.

“And maybe… maybe even insert this cock inside me?” I asked softly.

His cock jerked.

Big jump.

The head was shining now. Precum forming. Thick and slow.

I stepped even closer.

We were now just inches apart.

The tip of his cock was only a breath away from my lower stomach.

I stared at it.

Then looked at his face.

“You were just in an association meeting, no?” I said with a half smile. “Now planning to fuck a married woman?”

He didn’t reply.

His mouth opened and closed once. No sound.

I brought one hand back to my panty line.

My fingertips touched the elastic.

I rubbed slowly.

Just pressing down and gliding across the top.

Teasing.

His eyes dropped down.

I saw it.

That hunger.

That filth.

That need.

“Should I?” I asked.

My voice was low now.

Almost a whisper.

He didn’t answer.

But his body did.

He nodded again.

His cock leaked more.

The drop of precum was now thick—ready to fall.

I placed my fingers right under the band.

And slowly pulled—

Just a little.

The panty lowered by one inch.

Enough to show the start of my pubic hair.

Thick, black curls just above the lips.

He saw it.

His mouth opened again.

Cock jerked once more.

That drop fell.

Straight onto the cement.

Between his feet.

I didn’t look away.

I didn’t stop.

I kept my hand there.

Holding the waistband.

Hovering at the edge of full reveal.

And inside me?

My body was burning.

The fabric of the panty had turned into a wet, warm rag. It was clinging to my skin. Rubbing every time I shifted.

My thighs were slippery.

And I knew…

One more second—

And I would do it.

Pull it down.

Let him see everything.

Let him know what power really looks like.

But not yet.

I let the air grow heavier.

Let him wait.

Let myself burn.

Because I still wanted to bathe.

Right here.

Right in front of him.

And now?

Now I wanted the water to come more than anything.

He was standing exactly where I told him. In the center of the tank. Bare. Stiff. Not just in posture—but everything about him was stiff. Controlled. Pretending.

But I knew better.

I could see it in his eyes.

And I could see it in his cock.

He was enjoying every second.

Every breath I took. Every pause. Every slow move of my hand.

He tried to act innocent. Like he was standing there just because I said so. But that cock didn’t lie. It pulsed. It dripped. It pointed at me like it had no shame.

So I mocked him.

“What? You're already leaking? Are you a teenager or what?”

It was around 10:30 AM. The whole building silent. Not a single soul anywhere nearby.

Just me.

And him.

My voice echoed slightly off the tank walls.

I laughed. A full laugh. From my belly. The kind of laugh you let out when you own someone completely.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t reply.

But he didn’t need to.

His cock twitched.

A single drop formed at the tip.

So I leaned forward.

Bent a little. Let my breast hang slightly from my chest. Let him see it shake.

And I spit.

One more time.

Right on his cock.

It landed right at the head. Slid down the right side. Paused at the base.

He flinched.

Not much. But I saw it.

His knee jerked slightly.

His toe curled.

But his eyes stayed stuck on the floor.

And his hands? Still tight fists.

I smiled.

Turned around.

Slowly.

Let him see my back.

My spine. My hair sticking slightly to the middle from tank heat. My blouse was already gone. My bra too.

Only the panty was left.

It was tight. Clung to my ass. And I knew he’d been staring at it since the moment I turned.

So I gave him what he wanted.

My hands reached behind me.

I slid both palms down my back. Slowly. Until they touched the waistband.

And I pulled.

Not fast. Not suddenly.

Just a gentle pull.

The elastic stretched.

And then the top of my butt crack came into view.

Just a small curve.

Soft. Brown. Glistening from sweat.

I heard it then—his breath.

He was holding it.

I turned my head.

Just slightly.

Glanced over my shoulder.

He was still standing.

Same place.

Same posture.

But now? His cock was dripping more.

He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even blinked.

But that tip was wet.

Shining.

Another drop forming.

He couldn’t hide it.

I turned forward again.

And pulled more.

Now the panty slid halfway down my butt.

And finally—fully.

My entire ass was visible to him.

Round. Wide. Firm.

The lower back curved into it perfectly. The upper thighs separated just enough to deepen the center line.

The fabric of the panty was now sitting just above the backs of my thighs.

And I stood like that.

Let the air touch my bare skin.

Let his eyes burn.

I turned slightly again.

Not my full body. Just my face.

Saw him.

Still holding.

But shaking now.

His knees locked. Chest moving faster.

And that cock?

Still leaking.

That one fat drop finally fell to the floor of the tank.

I smiled.

And asked—

“You want to touch this?”