Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[sexypreeti]

Appreciate you taking time to read and comment—even if it’s harsh. That means the story made you feel something. Let me explain what I’m trying to show—

She was a good woman. And she still is. But no one cared about her body. Her needs. Her hunger. Not even her husband. Years passed in silence—no climax, no intimacy, just duty under the bedsheet. You think she’s alone? Go see the stats—more than one-third of Indian wives have never even felt orgasm. They just lie back, close eyes, and pretend. That’s not fiction. That’s truth.

One day her friend told her what it really means to feel. What she’s missing. That fire in the blood. That shake in the bones. After that, something broke. Quietly. Not because she became bad. But because she realised she was already buried alive.

And the men—yes, wrong ones. A neighbour. A watchman. Someone who calls her Anni. Someone she calls Anna. She didn’t plan it. But they made her feel seen. Desired. Alive. Not like a wife or a cook. Like a woman.

She still loves her family. Her husband. Her child. That’s why she hides it. She doesn’t want to break anything. But inside, she’s already breaking. This is her war—between lust and loyalty, guilt and hunger.

And you should know—this story is only from Pavitra’s point of view. I’m not showing what the others feel, or whether they’re good or cruel. Because that’s not the story. This is her truth. Her voice. Some will judge her. Some will understand. That’s real life. Nobody is perfect. I just want to show it real, raw, without filters.

Like Breaking Bad, it’s not about crime or sex. It’s about how a silence becomes a scream. Maybe she’ll stop. Maybe she’ll burn her whole world. But don’t call her names just because she stopped dying quietly

Very well explained