Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

The door clicked shut behind me.
I stood there.
Leaning lightly.
The metal latch cool against my back.
The fan above spun lazily, stirring the heavy night air.

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I didn't rush.
Didn't move fast.
Just stood.
Breathing.
Sinking.
Floating.

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My body was hot.
Inside my panty — a slow, thick wetness still sticking my thighs together.
My nipples brushed lightly against the air — hard, aching, alive.

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The madness of what had happened minutes ago still hung thick around me.

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The taste of him still coating my tongue —
salty, heavy, raw.
The memory of his cock pulsing inside my mouth —
alive, breaking, surrendering.
The soft first kiss —
dry lips, heavy breath, trembling heart.

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I stood there, drinking it all in.
Slow.
Calm.
Heavy.

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But no shame hit me.
No panic.
No regret.

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Just a lazy, dirty, satisfied hum in my chest.
In my thighs.
In my leaking pussy.

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It was just a game.
Right?
Just a playful dare that got out of hand.
Nothing serious.
Nothing wrong.

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I smiled softly to myself.
Small.
Private.
Wicked.

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At least… I didn’t let him fuck me.
I didn’t open my legs.
I didn’t cross the final line.
Only mouth. Only taste.

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I shifted my weight slightly against the door.
The soaked black panty sticking tighter between my lips with every tiny move.
The wet cotton rubbing deliciously.

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My mind floated.
Memories dancing.
Thoughts mixing.

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Poor Arjun…
He came so fast.
In just three sucks.
Didn't even last to enjoy properly.

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I sighed once, soft.

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Is he like Kartik also?
Breaking too fast?
Not able to hold a woman properly?

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The old ache inside my chest stirred.
The ache that Kartik never really touched.
Never really filled.

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All these years...
Every time with Kartik...
Over before I could even get fully wet.
Over before my body even bloomed properly.

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Less than two minutes.
Always.

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Leaving me open.
Thirsty.
Unsatisfied.

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I pushed my head back against the door.
Eyes closed.
Breathing deep.

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But then…
a softer thought floated up.

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No.
It's not fair.
Arjun said he was a virgin during the game.
No real touch before.
No experience.
Maybe that's why he exploded so fast.

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I smiled lazily again.

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Maybe if there's a next time...
Maybe if I allow him...
Maybe he can learn.
Maybe he can grow.
Maybe he can become better than his brother.

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A naughty thrill passed through my body.
Making my nipples tighten again.
Making my soaked pussy leak a little more into the ruined panty.

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I chuckled softly under my breath.
Dirty.
Dangerous.
Private.

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Kartik must have landed by now.
Somewhere far away.
Calling a taxi maybe.
Trusting me completely.
Trusting his sweet wife waiting alone at home.

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He would never imagine —
his sweet wife standing naked behind a locked bedroom door,
sticky between her legs,
burning inside,
after swallowing his younger brother's first wild orgasm.

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I licked my lips once.
Still tasting the salty ghost of Arjun’s seed.
Still feeling the soft broken kiss.

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I pushed off from the door finally.
Slow.
Lazy.
Heavy.

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Walked slowly to the bed.
My breasts swaying freely under the night air.
My panty squelching softly with every small step.

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Dropped onto the bed.
Face down.
Breasts flattened under me.
Legs spread loose.
Panty stretched tight across my swollen pussy lips.

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The sheets cool against my burning skin.
The fan brushing my damp thighs.
The clock ticking somewhere.

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And like that...
Wet.
Burning.
Full of dirty secret smiles...
I drifted into sleep.

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Morning.
Around 7 AM.

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The fan still spun above lazily.
The light through the window soft.
Golden.

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I opened my eyes slowly.
Breath slow.
Body warm.
Pussy still sticky inside the ruined panty.

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I moved one hand down.
Felt the soaked cotton.
Smiled lazily.

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Memories rushed back instantly:
The sucking.

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The kissing.

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The swallowing.

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The madness.

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But no shame hit me.
Only a soft wicked hum deep inside.

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I rolled out of bed.
Feet brushing the cool marble.
Pulled off the ruined panty.
Dropped it in the laundry basket without ceremony.
Sat on the toilet.
Let the cold water wash my dirty sins away —
but only from my skin.
Not from my heart.

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I wiped.
Washed.
Toweled dry.

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Pulled a fresh soft cotton nighty over my naked body.
No panty.
No bra.
Just soft cloth brushing my nipples.
My thighs.
My hips.

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I unlocked the door.
Opened it slowly.

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The hall was silent.
Sunlight drifting inside.
Air cool.

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I padded softly barefoot to the sofa.
Saw it immediately.

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Neatly folded:
My saree.

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My petticoat.

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My blouse.

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Stacked carefully.
Respectfully.

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My heart squeezed.
Soft.
Private.
Silent.

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Even after everything...
Still treating me like anni.
Still worshipping me without touching.

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I turned.
Moved to the kids' room.
Pushed the door slightly open.
Peeked inside.

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Arjun was sleeping.
Flat on his stomach.
Blanket half kicked off.
His smooth young back exposed.
One hip peeking from under the sheet.

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My eyes slid over him.
Slow.
Natural.
Greedy.

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My body hummed.
But I closed the door softly.
Let him sleep.
Let the young lion dream.

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I turned.
Walked toward the kitchen.

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Nighty fluttering around my bare thighs.
Breasts moving free under the cotton.

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Started making breakfast.
Simple.
Casual.
Normal.

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But every breath still carried the ghost of salt.
Every step still rubbed sticky memory between my thighs.

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And somewhere deep inside?
The dirty queen smiled again.

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Opened the fridge door.
The cool air kissed my bare legs.
I reached in.
Took out the steel dabba — dosa batter.
Placed it carefully on the counter to warm up.

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The milk sat quietly on the side.
The chutney mixer sat waiting.

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I tied my hair into a loose bun.
Wiped my palms.
Started cutting a few green chilies.
A few fresh coriander leaves.
Tossed them into the small mixer jar.
Added grated coconut.
Roasted dal.
A pinch of salt.
A little ginger.

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I moved slow.
Relaxed.
No rush.
No tension on the surface.

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But inside?
Still leaking slowly from last night.
Still humming dirty secret songs between my thighs.

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The small noise of the knife tapping the board filled the kitchen.
The sunlight crawling softly across the tiled counter.

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As I was adding a little water to the chutney mix,
I heard soft footsteps behind.

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Turned slightly.

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Arjun.

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Stepping out of the kids' room.
Sleepy.
Messy hair.
Same old grey sports pant and blue t-shirt from last night clinging loose on him.

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He stopped halfway.
Eyes catching my body standing at the counter —
nighty sticking softly to my back,
my fresh damp hair loose,
my bare legs peeking below.

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He blinked once.
Then smiled awkwardly.

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"Good morning, anni," he said softly.
Voice still boyish.
Still carrying last night's secrets without saying a word.

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I smiled lazily over my shoulder.
"Good morning, da," I said.
Voice casual.
Simple.

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I wiped my hands on the kitchen towel.
Turned back to the mixer.
Pressed the button.
The chutney spun alive —
thick creamy green circling under the blades.

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I could feel his eyes stuck on me.
Not daring to come closer.
Not daring to run away.

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When the mixer stopped,
I leaned against the counter, facing him fully.
Cupboard edge pressing softly against my hip.

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I sipped water from a steel tumbler.
Then smiled sideways at him.

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"You've grown up, da..." I said softly.
Voice slow, playful.

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He blinked.
Face reddening slightly.

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"Started with a small card game..." I continued.
"Ended up playing a bigger game altogether, ah?"

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He stammered lightly.
"It was... just fun, anni..." he said.
Trying to smile.
Trying to hide.

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I sipped again.
Let my eyes drift lazily down his body once —
from messy hair, to awkward chest, to slim waist, to loose pant.
Then back to his eyes.

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Soft.
Teasing.
Knowing.

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I said nothing more.
Just smiled lazily.
Turned back to the kitchen work.

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Let him burn quietly.
Let him drown slowly in his own shy heat.

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He stood awkwardly for a few seconds.
Then escaped with a mumbled:
"I'll take bath, anni."

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"Okay, da," I said without turning.
Pretending to adjust the chutney.

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He disappeared into the bathroom.
The door clicked.
Water started running.

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I leaned against the kitchen sink.
The cool marble against my palms.

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Let my head fall back slightly.
Eyes closing for one second.

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Breathing in:
The smell of coconut chutney.

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The smell of clean morning soap.

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The leftover smell of sin floating under my skin.

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I shook myself back to work.
Poured chutney into a small bowl.
Set the plates neatly on the counter.
Boiled milk on low flame.
Tea leaves waiting.

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Around 10–12 minutes later,
he came out.

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Hair wet.
Chest damp.
Towel wrapped loosely around his waist.
Drops sliding down his back as he rushed into the small bedroom.

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I smiled slightly.
Began heating the dosa tawa now.

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Took a ladle of dosa batter.
Poured slowly onto the hot tawa.
Spread it round —
soft crispy smell filling the kitchen instantly.

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He came out dressed in simple jeans and t-shirt.
Fresh.
Young.
Still carrying the guilt and sweetness of last night under his skin.

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I placed dosa on his plate.
Hot.
Crisp.
With a soft dollop of chutney on the side.

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He sat down at the table.
Ate quietly.
Fingers breaking dosa.
Dipping.
Chewing.
Swallowing.

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No heavy talk.
No teasing now.
Just tiny side glances.
Tiny electric currents running between table and kitchen.

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He finished eating.
Washed his plate.
Picked up his bag.
Shoes slipped on.
Ready for office.

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Paused at the door.
Turned slightly.

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"Bye, anni," he said.
Voice soft.
Eyes softer.

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I smiled.
Casual.
Normal.
"Bye, da," I said.

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The door clicked shut softly behind him.

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And I stood there.
Holding the ladle over the tawa.
Nighty fluttering against my bare thighs.
Breasts moving softly with each breath.
Pantyless.
Bra-less.
Heart dripping.
Body burning.

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And in the quiet Monday morning —
I smiled.
Soft.
Wicked.
Waiting for the next madness to find me.

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