Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

I closed my fingers over the ring.

It was warm from his hand.

Still a little wet.

His smile was too proud.

Too happy.

I took a small breath and said softly, without much emotion, “Okay. You can go now.”

He nodded immediately.

Didn’t speak.

Just turned around.

Walked back slowly.

I stood there for a second, holding the ring tightly in my palm.

Then closed the door.

Locked it.

Turned around.

And leaned my back against the door.

The cool wood touched the blouse behind me.

I closed my eyes.

Exhaled.

The red saree was hugging my stomach tight.

The petticoat was snug on my waist.

But inside me?

There was a lazy heat.

A slow comfort.

The house felt peaceful again.

For now.

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The phone rang.

I walked across the hall slowly, the silk saree brushing softly along my legs.

It was Anusha.

I picked it.

“Hello?”

Her voice came bright.

“Pavi… what are you doing?”

“Just relaxing,” I smiled, “why?”

“I want to go shopping, yaar… just nearby mall… I want to buy one dress.”

I laughed softly, “Now ah?”

“Haan… now only. You come no?”

I paused for a second.

Then nodded, “Okay. I’ll come. No work anyway”

She giggled, “I’ll come in 5 minutes.”

Before I could say anything, she cut the call.

I stared at the phone for a second.

Then smiled.

Softly.

I felt light.

Ready.

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I stood in front of the mirror.

Checked myself.

The red saree pallu had slipped a little.

I adjusted it.

Pulled it over my breast fully.

It sat tight.

The blouse was hugging my upper body snugly — the curve of my bust was full, round.

I reached for the kajal pencil.

Touched the lower lid gently.

Drew a small line.

My eyes looked darker now.

Mischievous.

I took the lipstick — not too dark — a small rosy colour.

Swiped once.

Rubbed my lips softly.

Pressed them together.

Then let them part.

A soft pinkish smile looked back at me.

I was ready.

Almost.

I bent slightly, pulled out my slippers from under the bed.

Slipped my feet in.

The soft padding hugged my sole.

The toe ring sparkled on my second toe.

I stood tall again.

One last look.

“Hmm,” I whispered.

“Let her come.”

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The bell rang.

One sharp sound.

I walked to the door.

Opened it.

And there she was.

Anusha.

Wearing a pale yellow chudi with white dupatta.

Hair open.

She looked fresh — face shiny from bath, lips pink.

Her eyes brightened when she saw me.

“Red saree… looks nice on you,” she smiled.

I smiled back, “Thanks.”

She laughed and stepped in.

Her dupatta slipped from her shoulder, softly falling halfway down her arm.

She pulled it up.

“Wait… this thing always runs away,” she giggled.

I watched her fingers adjust it.

Thin fingers.

Soft wrists.

“Looks nice on you,” I said casually.

She looked up.

“Really?”

“Hmm,” I nodded, walking toward the sofa, “white suits your skin.”

She smiled shyly.

“You’re looking…”

She paused.

Then said softly, “Too good, Pavi.”

I raised one eyebrow.

“Means?”

“Like… like someone who should never stay home.”

We both laughed.

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We stepped out together.

Her dupatta brushed my arm lightly.

I could smell her soap.

Something flowery.

As we walked to the lift, our hips came close once.

The silk of my saree touched the cotton of her chudi.

We didn’t speak.

Just smiled.

Inside the lift, we stood side by side.

Silent.

But I could feel her eyes on me once.

Just once.

When I adjusted my pallu again.

My hand brushed my chest lightly.

She turned away with a small smile.

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The lift door opened.

We stepped into the ground floor corridor.

Walked slowly toward the main gate.

Our footsteps matched.

And then…

I saw him.

Prakash.

Standing near his post.

In that same dirty uniform.

His face had changed.

Expressionless.

But his eyes were sharp.

Burning.

Watching.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t blink.

But his stare followed every inch of me.

From my pallu.

To my hip curve.

To my toe ring.

I didn’t look at him.

Didn’t greet.

Didn’t pause.

But my body… it felt his eyes.

On my blouse.

On my waist.

On my hips moving.

I kept walking.

But inside, I said:

“Let him watch.”

Let him burn.

Let him ache.

Let him imagine.

But I won’t give him anything. Yet.

Not today.

Only silence.

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We stepped outside the gate.

An auto was waiting.

We sat inside.

She went first.

I followed.

The seat was hot.

Our saree and chudi cloths touched again.

Her arm brushed mine softly.

My thigh pressed to hers lightly.

She smiled once at me.

City air was moving fast.

Blowing our hair back.

Some strands stuck to my lip.

I licked it away.

The road moved behind us.

But inside me…

Something else was moving.

Soft.

Deep.

And curious.

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The auto was moving slowly through the street.

Me and Anusha sat close.

The seat was narrow. And hot.

Our hips were already touching.

Her dupatta had slipped again, and was softly tangled with the edge of my saree pallu.

The summer wind was wild.

It was coming through the side — fast and sharp.

My hair was blowing around my face.

Her soft strands were touching my cheek now and then.

The driver was silent.

Just looking straight and driving.

I didn’t speak.

I liked the quietness.

Only the sound of the engine.

Only our bodies sitting close.

And the secret heat between our thighs.

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Anusha turned her face slowly.

Her voice came like a feather.

“Pavi…”

I looked at her.

“Hmm?”

She smiled slightly.

Then asked, in the softest voice —

“Can I feel your waist now?”

My heart jumped once.

But I didn’t show anything on my face.

I just smiled.

A slow, queen-like smile.

Then I held her hand.

Gently.

Her fingers were warm.

And thin.

I pulled her hand slowly.

Lifted the edge of my pallu just a little.

And placed her fingers flat…

Right on my navel.

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Her hand rested there.

Light.

But warm.

The moment her skin touched my stomach…

My muscles tightened.

Just softly.

Not scared.

But alert.

I could feel her fingertips — soft, cool — resting just below my navel now.

The petticoat string was right under her hand.

Tied tight.

And now her palm was pressing on it.

My belly rose slightly with each breath.

And every breath made her hand move with it.

Up and down.

Up and down.

The auto went over a small bump.

Our shoulders bumped gently.

Her chest touched my arm softly.

My breast shifted inside the blouse.

I looked once toward the driver mirror.

His eyes were straight.

Looking at road.

I smiled inside.

Secret.

Private.

I was letting another girl touch me…

In a moving auto…

Right in the middle of the city.

But no one knew.

No one could guess.

Only me.

Only her.

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My stomach was burning slowly now.

Her fingers were pressing a little more now.

Moving slightly in small circles.

She wasn’t saying anything.

Just feeling me.

Like I was made of silk.

And I let her.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t stop.

Just let her explore my stomach like that.

My panty band was touching her wrist now.

Even that made me feel something deep.

Some small electrical feeling in my thighs.

A little soft clench inside.

I closed my eyes for one second.

Let the wind hit my cheek.

Let her fingers burn into my skin.

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The auto slowed down.

Mall entrance came.

She quickly pulled her hand back.

I adjusted my saree.

Covered properly.

She looked at me and smiled like a little thief.

I laughed softly.

Paid the auto man.

“Sixty-five, madam,” he said.

She gave seventy.

“Keep the change.” she said.

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We walked toward the mall.

The pavement was warm.

Her chudi was brushing against my saree again.

The building glass was shining.

Inside the mall, it was cold.

AC wind came soft on our faces.

The smell hit me first — strong perfume, new clothes, clean tiles.

Crowd was there.

People walking in all directions.

Shiny boards.

Sale signs.

Mirrors everywhere.

Reflections of our bodies moving together.

She walked confidently.

Then turned once and said, “Come. This way.”

I followed her.

She stopped near a brand store.

Big name.

Clean lights.

I raised an eyebrow.

“You’re new here only, no? How you know this place?”

She giggled, “I googled, da! Same brand I wore during college also.”

I laughed.

“College girl with taste, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, “hahaha, Just come.”

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Inside the shop was quiet.

Just soft music.

And light smell of fabric.

She started looking at dresses.

Touching them one by one.

Feeling the sleeves.

Checking the neck shapes.

I stood next to her.

Pulled one from the rack — soft peach colour, sleeveless, deep neck.

Held it up.

“This one?”

She looked at it.

Then looked at me.

“You’re trying to make me look sexy, ah?”

I smiled, “I’m not trying. You already are.”

Her face turned red.

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She picked three dresses.

Went near the trial room.

Then turned back.

“Pavi… come with me.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Go and try, da.”

She came closer.

Held my hand.

“Come na… what’s there between us?”

I blinked once.

My chest felt warm again.

Then I followed.

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We checked once.

Nobody watching.

She pushed the door open.

We both went inside.

Closed the latch.

The room was small.

Mirror on one wall.

Bench on the side.

Soft yellow light above.

The space was tight.

Too tight.

Her arm touched mine.

Her dupatta touched my saree pallu again.

Our shoulders were touching.

I looked at her face in the mirror.

She looked calm.

But her cheek was pink.

The air inside was full of smell.

Cloth. Perfume.

And something else.

Some feeling I didn’t want to name yet.

We didn’t speak.

We just stood there.

Breathing.

Very close.

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The latch clicked softly.

Trial room locked.

Silence inside.

Just one soft tube light above.

Warm.

Not white.

And mirrors all around us.

Left wall. Right wall. Behind.

Reflections everywhere.

Even the floor tiles were shiny.

Like they were watching.

Anusha looked at me once.

Then turned around.

Her fingers went to her dupatta first.

She pulled it off gently.

Folded it in half.

Kept it on the small stool in the corner.

Then, her hands touched her top hooks.

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I didn’t blink.

I just stood still.

Watching.

She opened the first hook.

Then second.

Then pulled the chudi top over her head.

Her arms raised.

The cloth lifted.

Her waist showed first — brown, flat.

Then her bra line.

Then it came fully off.

Her stomach was smooth.

Soft.

Not too flat.

But shaped.

And her navel was small and deep.

She turned toward me slightly.

Her arms were bare now.

Only one thin black bra strap sitting on the shoulder.

The rest of her top was off.

She looked at me once — eyes flicking up and down — like checking if I was watching.

I didn’t hide.

I was watching.

Fully.

She smiled softly.

Then bent down.

Her hip curved out.

She pulled off her leggings.

Slowly.

One side.

Then the other.

The cloth peeled off her thighs, her knees, her calves.

She stepped out.

Now she was standing in her bra and panty only.

My throat was dry.

I didn’t speak.

Just breathed through my nose.

-------------------------------------------------

She picked the first dress.

Peach colour.

Soft.

Sleeveless.

Tight near bust, loose below.

She slipped it on.

Adjusted the sides.

Looked at herself.

Then looked at me.

“How is it?” she asked.

I tilted my head slightly.

“This one suits your hips, da.”

She smiled.

Then pulled it off.

Second dress.

Sky blue.

Deep neck.

Small floral design.

She wore it.

It hugged her chest nicely.

But made her face look softer.

Too soft.

I said, “This one makes you look very innocent.”

She laughed, “Means bad?”

“No. Means sweet,” I smiled.

She bit her lower lip once.

-------------------------------------------------

Then came the third dress.

Black.

Thin straps.

Body-hugging.

But as soon as she pulled it on…

I could see the tightness.

The cloth stopped near her hips.

Got stuck slightly.

She tried adjusting.

Pulled down softly.

But it was riding up again.

I watched quietly.

Her belly had a soft curve.

Her waist was neat.

But the dress was too small.

She looked at me.

“I think… too tight.”

I nodded.

Then said slowly, “Remove your inners and try once… might fit then.”

My voice was calm.

Playful.

But inside?

My chest was warm again.

She looked at me for one second.

Then blinked.

Then slowly nodded.

-------------------------------------------------

She turned toward the mirror.

Pulled the dress off again.

Carefully.

Slowly.

Her back was straight.

Her bra hooks showed.

One, two, three.

She opened them.

Let the bra drop.

Her hands caught it.

She didn’t throw it.

Just folded and kept near the stool.

Then she turned.

I saw her breasts clearly now.

Bare.

Brown.

Full.

Bigger than mine.

Round from top.

Still high.

Barely moving.

Nipples soft. Dark pink.

I didn’t realise I had held my breath.

I took a small inhale.

Quiet.

Deep.

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Then she looked down.

Slipped her thumbs into her panty band.

Pushed it down slowly.

The cloth slid over her hips.

Then her thighs.

Then knees.

Then down.

She stepped out.

Stood straight.

Fully nude.

Her legs were long.

Smooth.

And between them…

She was clean-shaved.

Not a single hair.

Just soft pink skin.

I couldn’t help it.

I smiled.

And whispered softly:

“Dangerous to stand near you like this, pavi.”

She blushed fully.

Face turned red.

Then quickly turned away and hid behind the hanging dresses.

“Don’t see,” she giggled.

“Why?” I asked, smiling.

“hahaha?” I laughed,

“Shut up,” she laughed.

Her face peeked from the side.

Like a college girl.

But her body?

Fully woman.

-------------------------------------------------

She tried pulling the dress again.

Now it was easier.

It slid over her stomach.

Came down fully.

But still tight.

Especially near her thighs.

She looked at herself.

Checked side in mirror.

Turned toward me.

I could see the dress gripping her nipples.

Almost showing the outline.

And down?

Her hips looked like they were wrapped in plastic.

She adjusted it.

Then sighed.

“Still small, right?”

I nodded.

“Little bit.”

She looked down at her body.

Then turned to me.

Smiled slowly.

Then said softly:

“You try once na… we’ll see if it fits you.”

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My breath caught.

I looked at her.

Then at the dress.

Then back at her eyes.

They were soft.

Bold.

Little shy.

But not scared.

I shook my head.

“No, no… I didn’t come for shopping. Only you.”

But my voice was weak.

My chest was moving fast.

I could feel my breasts shifting inside the bra now.

My saree had stuck to my waist with sweat.

She stepped closer.

Held the dress in front of me.

“You just try once, no? Please?”

Her fingers touched mine.

Our knuckles brushed.

Her body was inches from mine.

I could smell her perfume.

And her skin.

And something else.

Some heat.

The air in the room was hot now.

Small space.

Full of cloth smell.

And breathing.

I looked in the mirror.

Her nude back was showing behind the dress.

My red saree in front.

Our bodies reflected side by side.

So close.

So charged.

I still hadn’t answered.

But my fingers?

They were already reaching for the dress.

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The trial room was warm now.

Not from the AC.

From our bodies.

And the silence.

Only the soft hum of lights above.

The floor was shiny.

Mirrors around us — showing every side of our skin. Our backs. Our thighs. Our blush.

Anusha was already fully nude.

Her skin glowing slightly from the heat.

Breasts standing calmly.

Her nipples had become a little tight — not hard, not soft — just awake.

She was smiling.

Holding the dress near her chest.

And me?

I was still standing there.

Just in my bra and panty.

Red.

Tight.

Breasts full inside the bra, pressing heavy on the lace.

Panty band hugging my hips firmly.

My saree, blouse, petticoat — all folded and kept on the stool beside.

I had removed everything already.

Except these two.

Anusha tilted her head.

“Why simply standing like this, pavi?” she said playfully.

“Try like me. Without anything.”

Her eyes were teasing.

But soft.

Still waiting.

I looked at her for one second.

Then looked at the mirror.

My chest was rising.

I thought inside —

“Anyway I’m already standing like this… just trying, not buying.”

I nodded once.

Then said softly, “Fine… just trying. I’m not buying.”

She laughed.

“I never told you to buy also!”

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My hands moved up.

Touched the bra hooks.

Back side.

I slipped one hand inside.

Opened the first.

Then second.

My breath held.

Opened the third.

The front of the bra loosened.

My breasts shifted slightly.

Then I let the straps slide down.

My shoulders felt air.

The cloth dropped forward.

My breasts fell out.

Heavy.

Brown.

The nipples were already hard now — sharp and tight.

The skin around them was shiny.

Alive.

I breathed slowly.

They moved with my breath — up and down.

Round and full.

I kept the bra aside.

Anusha’s eyes moved over them.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared.

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Then my hands went down.

Held the panty waist.

I pulled it down.

Softly.

The cotton rolled over my hips.

Then my mound.

The cloth brushed the top hair.

I felt the friction.

It slid down my thighs.

Knees.

Calves.

Then I stepped out.

Now I was fully bare.

I didn’t look away.

I stood straight.

Let the mirror show everything.

Let her see everything.

My pussy lips were full.

Hair thick and black — not trimmed for the last 2 months,

A little curl resting on my thigh crease.

The mirror was showing it all — my ass from behind, the puff between my legs in front, the curve of my breasts from side.

I didn’t hide.

I was older.

I was bolder.

Queen doesn’t need to cover.

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Anusha’s eyes widened slightly.

She came closer.

Her hand reached forward.

Touched my waist first.

Fingers soft.

Skin to skin.

Then her hand slid downward…

Slowly…

Over my hipbone…

Touching the upper edge of my mound.

I inhaled sharply.

My breath stopped for one second.

My nipples tightened more.

That place between my legs?

It clenched.

One soft squeeze.

Like my own body reacting without asking me.

Anusha’s hand stayed there.

Just above the hair.

I could feel her warmth.

Her curiosity.

Her worship.

I looked at her.

Her cheek was pink.

I leaned close.

Whispered in her ear.

“No, not now.. Anusha…”

My voice was soft.

Firm.

Queen-like.

She froze.

Then nodded once.

Removed her hand immediately.

No drama.

No guilt.

Only respect.

That’s why I liked her.

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I took the dress from her hand.

Held it.

The fabric was cold.

Silky.

I stepped into it.

My legs were bare.

The dress touched my thighs first.

Then came up.

Brushed my pussy hair.

I shivered softly.

The cloth dragged across the mound — the tiny curls made the texture feel sharper.

Then it slid over my hips.

Then my waist.

Then my stomach.

Finally pulled over my breasts.

They were too full.

The dress squeezed them.

Tight.

But they sat perfectly — full and round and alive.

My nipples were pushing against the fabric now.

Visible.

Pointed.

The mirror showed everything.

My nude legs.

The hairy line under the dress.

The round breast shape.

Even my back curve.

“Looks very good on you…” Anusha said softly.

I didn’t answer.

I just looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Then looked at mine.

Then smiled.

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We started dressing again.

Quietly.

First, I pulled up my panty.

It slid slowly over the thighs.

Caught a bit on the curls.

I adjusted it.

The band hugged my waist again.

Then came my petticoat.

I stepped in.

Tied it tight.

Felt that old grip again — comforting and strong.

Then the bra — I placed each breast in gently.

Lifted them, adjusted, hooked the back.

The pressure felt good.

Snug.

Firm.

Then the blouse — slid my arms in, pulled forward, hooked it carefully.

My chest looked neat again.

Proper.

But full.

Alive under cloth.

Finally, I took the saree.

Unfolded.

Pleated it.

Tucked it into the petticoat.

Covered it around my hip.

Over the breasts.

The fabric cooled my skin.

The scent of the shop cloth stayed in the saree now.

A little perfume.

A little sweat.

A little story.

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Anusha wore her chudi again.

Dupatta fell.

She adjusted it, blushing.

We both looked once in the mirror.

Then smiled at each other.

Then opened the latch.

And walked out.

Side by side.

Ready to bill.