Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

I pulled my hand away from his cock.

It made a soft wet sound—skin peeling from skin.

My fingers were sticky. I could feel his precum sliding between two of them.

I didn’t wipe. Didn’t clean.

Let it stay.


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He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even breathe loud.

Just stood still, body open, chest rising slow.

His cock stayed full. Not jumping. Just… thick.

Like it was waiting for permission to fall.


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I looked down once more.

The head had shine—juice or spit or both.

It stood out from the rest of his brown skin.

My hand still tingled where I’d held him.

I liked that feeling. Power without noise.


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I didn’t move yet.

Let him feel the silence.

Let him feel his body twitch without knowing what I’d do next.

Then I said it: “Lie down.”

That’s all.


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He blinked once.

His shoulders pulled slightly back.

Then he bent—quietly, not rushed.

His knees folded.

Water around his ankles shifted.


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He stepped back slightly to balance.

One heel slipped a little, but he caught himself.

Then he turned—half sideways—

And lowered himself slow.

I didn’t help. I didn’t blink.


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His ass touched tile first.

Then he reached behind—his right palm touched the floor.

Used it for balance,

Then he lowered his spine down.

Carefully. Silently.


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Elbow rested.

Then back.

Then shoulders.

Each part made that soft wet slap on the tile.

His cock never touched the ground.


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It stayed up.

Even as his body flattened.

It curved slightly now—

Not pointing straight, but still bold.

Still alive.


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Now he was fully down.

Arms at his side.

Feet apart.

Chest moving just a bit faster than before.

Eyes looking at me.


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I didn’t step forward right away.

I let his body settle.

Let him stay open like that.

Let him feel my silence.

Then I moved.


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Right foot first—placed beside his right thigh.

Water touched my skin.

I stepped carefully, controlling my weight.

Then left foot.

Now I was standing over him.


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One leg on each side.

His body between.

My saree clung around my calves.

The petticoat was wet near the bottom.

It stuck to my skin.


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I looked down.

His cock was below me, not touching,

Just lying there, heavy and proud.

Thicker near the base.

The head still wet.


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I bent slightly forward.

Let my chin pull in.

Let spit build in my mouth.

Didn’t rush.

Didn’t spit yet.


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My tongue moved slow.

Pushed the spit out gently.

Let gravity catch it.

It dropped.

Thick. Full.


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It hit his cockhead.

No splash.

It just landed.

Sat there.

Then started sliding down the side.


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I watched it move.

Like syrup on a smooth pole.

The skin under it twitched.

He didn’t move.

But I saw it.


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That twitch.

That little jerk.

That was enough for me.

I stepped forward.

Planted right foot beside his rib.


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Then the other.

Now I was standing closer.

Above his chest.

My saree touched his skin slightly.

He didn’t flinch.


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I bent at the knees.

Fingers reached for the saree hem.

Cloth stuck near my shin.

I peeled it up gently.

Pulled it slowly.


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Red cotton folded softly in my fingers.

The wet edge rubbed my thigh as it came up.

My petticoat stuck tighter from below.

Both lifted together.

I used both hands.


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Folded saree once, then twice.

Let it rest above my knees.

Didn’t go higher.

I wasn’t here to tease.

Just to make space.


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His eyes were still open.

I saw them looking up—

Not at my face.

At my legs.

At my fingers.


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I stared right into him.

“Close your eyes,” I said.

He didn’t react.

Still stared.

“Now,” I added.


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His eyes shut.

Not gentle.

Tight.

As if scared.

I didn’t smile.


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I reached behind.

Right hand under the saree fold.

Found the waistband of my panty.

Elastic was warm.

Wet.


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Fingers slipped under it.

I pulled slow.

It didn’t come freely.

The centre was stuck.

My lips were soaked.


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Juice had dried slightly, glued it there.

I had to bend more.

Right foot planted harder.

My left knee bent more.

Balance shifted.


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I pressed my left hand against my own thigh.

Used it for support.

Then pulled the panty again.

It dragged slowly down.

Tugged my lips on the way.


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I felt it peel.

One layer at a time.

From my clit to the bottom curve.

Then to the thigh crease.

Then it was free.


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Now it sat at my knees.

I bent more.

Felt my blouse shift on my chest.

Saree hung from my arm.

I bent till I reached my feet.


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Lifted right foot slightly.

Pulled the cloth off my ankle.

Then lifted left.

Same.

Now it was in my hand.


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Panty was warm.

Heavy.

Wetness had soaked the centre part fully.

It stuck to itself.

My smell was strong.


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He was still lying.

Eyes closed.

Breathing steady.

His cock twitched once again.

My foot shifted back.


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I raised my arm.

Didn’t aim too carefully.

Just pointed toward his face.

Then threw.

Panty flew out.


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It dropped on him.

Soft. Wet.

Landed across his eyes.

Didn’t bounce.

Didn’t move.


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The middle patch—the wettest part—

Landed right on his nose.

Covered both eyes and part of cheek.

Like a dirty cloth mask.

One made of me.


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He stayed still.

Didn’t twitch.

Didn’t remove.

I didn’t speak.

I just stood over him.


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His cock lying below me.

My scent covering his face.

My saree clinging to my thighs.

My cunt bare.

And ready.


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He didn’t touch the cloth.

Didn’t lift a finger to adjust it.

My panty stayed on his face,

Covering both eyes,

Pressed softly over his nose.


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He didn’t wipe it.

Didn’t even flinch.

Just lay there under me.

Breathing slow.

And maybe — maybe licking.


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That thought made my stomach twist.

Not shame.

Just… heat.

His tongue under my cloth.

On the same spot my cunt soaked.


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I didn’t look at his face.

Didn’t want to know what part he tasted.

I stepped back, one leg at a time.

Careful not to slip.

Water made soft sounds around my ankles.


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Right foot first — behind his thigh.

Left followed — to the other side.

Now I stood over him again,

Back in place,

Legs apart, feet beside his hips.


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I held my saree bunched.

Fingers curled in the thick red folds.

Petticoat pulled high, tight around waist.

My cunt was bare.

My blouse stuck to my ribs.


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I breathed in once.

But it didn’t help.

Breath came out heavier.

It wasn’t nerves.

It was body hunger.


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My thighs were slick.

Inside part, warm from friction.

Juice had started again — fresh.

I could feel it building,

Felt it trace down toward the crease.


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My legs trembled just a little.

Not from weakness.

From how hard I was trying to stay up.

Mind whispered: don’t do this.

But my hips had other plans.


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I stared down.

His cock was still standing.

Still bold.

Still that thick shade of brown that made me dizzy.

Shaft swollen, head proud, skin pulled.


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I clenched my inner thighs.

Tried to stop the ache.

But the pressure only grew sharper.

Like something was pulling from inside.

Low and deep.


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He’s a bastard, my mind said.

Cheap, dirty bastard.

Not worthy.

You’re not this woman.

But my cunt was already wet.


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My knees bent slightly.

Not planned.

My body moved without order.

My weight dropped,

Slow, like secret.


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Blouse rubbed against my ribs as I bent.

Bra tightened over my chest.

I ignored it all.

Only one place mattered.

Only one spot throbbed.


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His cock didn’t twitch.

Didn’t flinch.

It just stayed up.

Silent. Waiting.

As if it knew it had already won.


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I hated that.

Hated how calm it looked.

How still he was.

While I was the one folding.

One inch at a time.


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My thighs burned now.

Held halfway down.

Balance shifted toward balls of my feet.

My knees bent more.

That ache hit my hip bones.


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I let go of the saree for a second.

Let it rest on my petticoat.

Used both hands on my thighs.

Pressed down slightly.

Tried to hold control.


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But my hips had their own rhythm.

They pushed.

Rolled slightly forward.

My pelvis tilted —

Pulling my cunt lower.


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Mind screamed again:

Stop now. Get up. Run. You’re married. He’s filth. You’re filth.

Body didn’t hear a word.

My cunt opened.

Just a little. But enough.


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Sweat rolled down the back of my thigh.

Mixed with tank water around my knee.

My petticoat bunched between my legs.

Felt heavy.

But I didn’t push it down.


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That last inch now.

His cockhead was just below me.

Not touching.

But so close.

I could feel its warmth in the air.


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My pussy was swollen.

Open.

Juice clung to the folds.

One droplet slid down.

I felt it escape.


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I froze.

Didn’t move.

Watched that clear line fall from me.

Fall downward,

And land right on his shaft.


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A tiny splash.

Not loud.

But I felt it.

He didn’t move.

Still covered. Still blind.


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I wanted to stop.

I did.

But my body was already going lower.

Inch.

By inch.


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My cunt lips parted more.

I could feel air rushing between them.

Cool and cruel.

They pulsed.

As if calling him in.


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My breath caught in my throat.

My fingers clutched at my thigh.

I bent slightly forward.

Couldn’t help it.

Needed support.


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And that’s when it happened.

That first real contact.

A soft bump.

Just a kiss.

His cockhead brushed my pussy.


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I feel his tip on my pussy.



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