Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

I lie still.

Completely.

Body heavy.

Like something inside me finally gave up.

And gave in.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My saree clings.

Every thread wet.

Every fold sucked into my skin.

As if even the fabric wants to hold on to this moment.

This mess.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My petticoat’s twisted.

No panty beneath.

Nothing left to catch the wetness still leaking from me.

Thick. Warm.

Quiet proof of what I allowed.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He’s under me.

Naked.

Still.

Breathing soft.

Like he knows not to break the silence.


– – – – – – – – – – –


And I?

I’m fully dressed.

Bra digging into my shoulders.

Blouse soaked from inside out.

Nipples still throbbing under cotton.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The water laps gently around our thighs.

Warm now.

Touched by both our heat.

Still moving slightly.

Like it remembers the rhythm of our sin.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t touch him.

Not now.

But I feel his chest under my cheek.

Rising. Falling.

Quiet. Present.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My thigh rests across his leg.

Skin to skin.

Warm. Slippery.

But not rushed.

Just… there.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I feel the soreness between my legs.

A thick ache.

Low and wide.

My cunt is swollen.

Not in pain—just open.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Still pulsing softly.

From how I took him.

Every inch.

At my speed.

In my way.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He never asked.

Never moved.

Just let me use.

Let me climb.

Let me break.


– – – – – – – – – – –


And now…

now we lie here.

Not strangers.

Not lovers.

Something else.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I blink slowly.

My lashes are wet.

Moist air, or tears—I don’t know.

My breath brushes his collarbone.

Warm. Soft.


– – – – – – – – – – –


There’s no romance here.

But there is… quiet.

A strange peace.

One that doesn’t belong to wives like me.

But I stole it anyway.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My cunt flutters again.

Small.

Like it’s remembering.

His size.

The way I opened to take it.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I shift slightly.

Not to get up.

Just to feel the blouse pull tighter over my breasts.

The cold cotton clings to nipples still alive.

Still claiming attention.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I move my cheek on his chest.

His skin is damp.

Salted with dried sweat.

The scent hits my nose.

Raw. Male. Real.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Not sweet.

Not perfumed like my husband.

Just body.

Hard work.

And now, my work.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He lies like stone.

Still under me.

Not touching.

Not claiming.

Just… allowing me to rest.


– – – – – – – – – – –


And I am resting.

My fingers ache.

My hips feel loose.

My jaw sore from moaning too hard.

Too loud.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My breath shudders once.

Remembering the moment he filled me.

The stretch.

The sudden stillness before I came.

The release that broke me open.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I close my eyes.

It’s too much.

My body’s clean.

But my mind is wet.

Still soaked in what I let happen.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He never asked me.

Never begged.

Only stared.

And I walked in.

Step by step. Fold by fold.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I climbed.

I held.

I spat.

I rode.

And he stayed beneath me.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He didn’t lead.

I didn’t follow.

I created this.

And now I’m lying on it.

Skin pressed to proof.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I inhale again.

Deep.

Fill my lungs with his scent.

It’s strange.

Not hated anymore.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I still feel his cock.

Not inside.

But the memory of it.

That pressure.

That thick push.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My hole flinches softly.

Still open.

Still leaking.

Each drop escaping feels like a sigh.

My body releasing what I took in.


– – – – – – – – – – –


His seed.

My cum.

My weakness.

My truth.

Sliding down my thigh.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I should feel filthy.

Maybe I do.

But there’s something else now.

Something quieter.

Deeper.


– – – – – – – – – – –


A strange calm.

As if my hunger got what it wanted.

And it finally…

shut up.

For now.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t want to see his face.

Not yet.

If he’s smiling, I’ll hit him.

If he’s sad, I’ll hate him.

If he’s grateful, I’ll break.


– – – – – – – – – – –


So I just breathe.

In.

Out.

Let the blouse stick harder.

Let the bra dig deeper.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I deserve the discomfort.

I let myself fall.

But I did it with full eyes.

And open legs.

No lies.


– – – – – – – – – – –


His thigh moves slightly.

Not to touch.

Maybe a twitch.

Maybe a nerve.

But it wakes something low in me again.


– – – – – – – – – – –


No.

I don’t want more.

Not now.

But my body remembers too clearly.

What it means to take.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I shift my wrist.

Feel water under my elbow.

Tank water.

No longer cold.

No longer clean.


– – – – – – – – – – –


It smells of us.

Of sex.

Of sweat.

Of soaked silence.

Of secrets we’ll never name aloud.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I open my eyes.

The cement edge above looks far now.

Like another world.

Where wives wear bindi and serve coffee.

Where I used to belong.


– – – – – – – – – – –


And then—

The slap.

Not on my skin.

Not from his hand.

But from above.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Ring. Ring. Ring.

Shrill.

Sharp.

Ugly.

His phone.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My eyes snap wide.

Neck stiffens.

My hips freeze over his body.

Breath caught.

My cunt twitches.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Not from desire.

From panic.

From the reminder.

That time is real.

And I’m still here.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The world is calling.

Through the tank top.

A real world.

That doesn’t know I’m soaked in filth.

And calm.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t move.

But my heartbeat does.

Fast.

High in my chest.

Louder than the ring.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The phone stops ringing.

Like it was never real.

But the silence it leaves behind?

Thick.

Heavier than before.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t move for three more breaths.

Let my body remember the pulse inside it.

Let the wetness shift between my thighs again.

And then—

I rise.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My palms press into his chest.

I feel the hair there.

The warmth.

The stillness.

Like a stone I just bled over.


– – – – – – – – – – –


As I lift, my blouse peels from his skin.

A soft wet sound.

Sticky, shameful, delicious.

My breasts shift inside the soaked fabric.

Heavy. Aching.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My saree clings tighter.

Pulls across my ass.

I feel the weight of it—drenched in fuck.

My petticoat string digs into my waist.

No panty.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I feel air between my thighs.

Cool where it should be hidden.

My cunt still leaks down my leg.

And the water below knows my name now.

Whispers it with every ripple.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I look down.

He’s still lying there.

Chest bare. Cock softening.

Breath fast.

Eyes trying not to meet mine.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t move.

Still in that post-fuck trance.

Like a man who knows something irreversible happened.

Because it did.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I glance around the tank.

Then spot it.

My panty.

Half-floating at the edge.

Soaked. Twisted. Mine.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I walk over slowly.

Each step through water.

Each shift of thigh sends another ache through my pussy.

But I enjoy it.

Like sore pride.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I bend down.

My saree lifts slightly.

I don’t care if he sees.

He already lived inside me.

What’s left to hide?


– – – – – – – – – – –


I pick up the panty.

It’s wet.

Sticky center.

Still smells of me.

Still holds the heat of my folds.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I hold it in both hands.

Stare at it once.

Then glance at him.

He’s watching now.

Eyes wide. Breath caught.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I lift my saree.

Right in front of him.

Not slowly. Not dramatically.

Just with purpose.

Just enough to say: I’m not yours.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He sees my bare cunt.

Still glistening.

Still open.

His breath stutters.

His cock twitches.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t rush.

I step into the panty.

One leg.

Then the other.

Careful. Controlled.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I pull it up slowly.

The fabric drags against my thighs.

Catches slightly between lips.

Makes me shiver once.

Then settles.


– – – – – – – – – – –


It sticks.

Sticky crotch right over sore cunt.

My juice and his—both soaking it.

I feel it all.

And I let him see.


– – – – – – – – – – –


His mouth is parted.

Not to speak.

Just watching.

Frozen.

Embarrassed. Erecting.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I let the saree fall back into place.

Adjust the pleats.

My chest shifts.

Blouse still wet.

Bra cutting in.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Then I speak.

Calm.

Flat.

“Give me the terrace key.”

He looks confused.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Not confused about what I asked.

But why I said it like that.

Like an order.

Like I own his job too.

And I do.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He blinks.

Doesn’t move.

Still not reaching for it.

As if unsure I mean it.

As if he wants to ask why.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I turn slowly.

Face him full.

Eyebrows raised.

Eyes sharp.

“Did you not hear me?”


– – – – – – – – – – –


He jolts.

Head dips.

“Sorry, Madam…”

Fumbles toward his pant.

Soaked, half-floated on the other side.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He grabs it.

Shakes it.

Reaches into side pocket.

Fingers trembling.

Pulls out the key.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He extends it.

Both hands.

Lowered head.

No words now.

Just offering.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I take it.

Fingers brush his knuckles.

He flinches.

Not in fear.

In memory.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I smirk.

Then pause.

Hold the key in one hand.

Tilt my head.

“You forgot something again.”


– – – – – – – – – – –


His eyes lift.

“What, madam?”

I stare.

Unblinking.

He understands.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He swallows.

Soft voice.

“Here’s your key, madam…”

Proper.

Late.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I nod once.

Then look down.

To his lap.

To the thing twitching under his embarrassment.

Still not soft.


– – – – – – – – – – –


“You’re really hopeless,” I say.

Naughty tone now.

“What are you thinking about again?”

I watch his cock.

It moves. Again.


– – – – – – – – – – –


He covers it with both palms.

Quick.

“Sorry Madam…”

Breath shaky.

Shame dripping.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I step closer.

One hand on my hip.

“Sorry won’t help you.”

“If you ever open your mouth…”

Pause.


– – – – – – – – – – –


“…about this…”

I lean forward.

My voice lowers.

“…I’ll burn your name till even your mother forgets it.”

He stares up. Scared.


– – – – – – – – – – –


“I swear, Madam.”

His voice breaks.

“I’ll never… Madam…”

Hands folded.

Back straight. Like collegeboy.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I take a step back.

Nod once.

Point to the tank wall.

“Stay here five more minutes.”

“Come out quiet. No one sees.”


– – – – – – – – – – –


He nods.

Doesn’t speak.

Just nods.

Eyes lowered.

Still naked.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I pause.

One last look.

At the cock he’s still covering.

Then—

I reach.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Fingers move his hand aside.

One soft slap.

Not hard.

Not cruel.

Just a reminder.


– – – – – – – – – – –


It jumps under my palm.

His mouth opens.

Eyes stunned.

I smirk.

Turn.


– – – – – – – – – – –


No goodbye.

No more talk.

I grip the edge of the tank.

Lift my sore legs up.

Body stretches.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Sun hits my face.

Hot. Harsh.

I squint.

Wind slaps my saree.

Water drips from every thread.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My blouse is cold now.

Panty sticky against my slit.

Thighs ache.

But I stand straight.

And walk.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t look back.

I don’t need to.

Because I know what I left behind.

And I know what he’ll never forget.

And my lips?


– – – – – – – – – – –


They smile.

Not soft.

Not wide.

Just enough.

Because I’m the one who came. And left.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The sun hits me hard.

Like punishment.

Straight into my skin.

Blinding.

Hot enough to sting.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I squint.

Walk carefully.

Blouse clinging like second skin.

Panty wet, tight between my lips.

The saree dragging behind me—dripping sin.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My heartbeat is louder now.

Stronger than the sound of water in my steps.

It thumps in my ears.

Fast. Nervous.

Too aware of where I am.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I reach the terrace door.

It looks ordinary.

But my hand trembles on the handle.

Because once I open it—

The world begins again.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I twist the handle.

Soft click.

Push it open slowly.

My eyes peek down the stairwell.

Empty.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Twelve floors below—

And silence.

No one there.

A breath escapes my lips.

Relief, cold and fast.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I leave the lock hanging loose.

Like I was never there.

But my heart knows.

My body knows.

It's still trembling.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I take the first step.

Careful.

My foot presses into stone.

My saree leaks again.

A slow trickle down my calf.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Every step brings a wet sound.

Quiet. Shameful.

Like water confessing for me.

The petticoat clings tighter.

The panty cold, sticky.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I feel it.

The juice dried into threads.

My pussy squirming softly.

Uncomfortable.

But awake.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My nipples rub inside the blouse.

Painful now.

The cotton itches.

Sticks under arms.

Scratches under bra.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I try to move fast.

But each step needs care.

My body’s not mine yet.

Still sore.

Still wet.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I reach the 12th-floor landing.

No sounds.

No doors open.

Just silence.

Thank god.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I press the lift button.

Hard.

Once.

Then again.

Fingers shaking.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I can’t breathe right.

It’s stuck in my chest.

Like a stone.

Heavy.

Hot.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Please let it be empty.

Please don’t let anyone come out.

My mind begs.

Repeats the same lines.

Over and over.


– – – – – – – – – – –


What if someone sees?

What if a neighbor opens their door?

What if a kid steps out?

I’d die.

Right here.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The blouse scratches again.

My nipples scream.

I wince.

Don’t touch.

Don’t adjust. Just wait.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The lift is slow.

Too slow.

My thighs press.

Panty tight between the lips.

Juice shifting again.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Not fresh.

But there.

Sticky.

Itchy.

Too real.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Finally—

The lift opens.

Empty.

No voices.

No shadows.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I exhale.

Almost a sob.

Relief floods through me.

My knees soften slightly.

But I don’t stop.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I step in.

Turn fast.

Press button 7.

Hard.

Once. Twice.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The doors close.

A slow hiss.

My breath shakes again.

Fingers clench.

The key in my hand wet with sweat.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I close my eyes.

Just a second.

Let the walls hold me.

Like the tank did.

But cleaner.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I feel the panty again.

Now more soaked from inside.

Rubbed raw.

My thighs ache.

That small ache of being full too long.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My back presses to the lift wall.

Blouse sticks.

My braid touches the small of my back.

Wet hair.

Wet skin.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The numbers change slowly.

10… 9…

I hold my breath again.

Don’t let anyone be there.

Not now.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Lift slows.

I grip the key harder.

Feel it bite my palm.

My lips part.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The doors slide open.

I stare first.

Empty.

Corridor clear.

Nothing but silence.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I move fast.

Saree trailing.

Feet soft but rushed.

My door looks too far.

Too slow to reach.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My fingers tremble.

Key slips.

I fumble.

Try again.

Heartbeat pounding.


– – – – – – – – – – –


The key fits.

Twists.

I push the door.

Rush inside.

Pull it closed behind me.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Lock.

Turn.

Seal it.

Three clicks.

My breath stops.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I stand there.

Back to the door.

Eyes closed.

Chest rising fast.

Wet clothes sticking all over.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I don’t move.

Just stay there.

Press my back against the cool wood.

Let it hold me.

Let the outside stay outside.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My legs shake slightly.

The floor under me feels soft.

Like I’m floating.

Like I’m finally—

Out.


– – – – – – – – – – –


But inside?

Still fire.

Still heat.

Still that dirty pulse between my thighs.

Soft… and alive.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I breathe out.

Let my body slump a little.

My blouse clings.

My saree drips.

My cunt sighs.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I open my eyes.

Look at the silence.

Empty living room.

Closed windows.

Curtains still.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Finally.

Finally no eyes.

No stairs.

No echo.

No twitching cock.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Just me.

Just my soaked panty.

My sticky bra.

My sore thighs.

My breath.


– – – – – – – – – – –


I press my palms to the door behind me.

Cool wood.

Cool wall.

Hot shame.

Hot smile.


– – – – – – – – – – –


Because no one knows.

Not yet.

And maybe never.

But I know.

And I’m still burning inside it.


– – – – – – – – – – –


My breath slows.

My body settles.

And I whisper, without sound—

To the wood, to the room, to myself:

“Finally alone. Safe.”

– – – – – – – – – – –