Adultery The Descent of Meera; An Indian House Wife
#17
Chapter 10: The Road to Mahabaleshwar

Morning sun filled the kitchen as Meera wiped the counter, her hand trembling slightly. Rajiv’s arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his chin on her shoulder. His familiar warmth clashed with the storm inside her.

Rajiv: "Good morning, Sleep well?"

Meera: "Hmm," she murmured, leaning back a little, her mind already on misty hills and forbidden thoughts.

Meera: "Aaryan... he’s insisting on going to Mahabaleshwar now... not sure how we can manage!" Her tone was light, practiced.
Rajiv chuckled, nuzzling her neck.

Rajiv: "Oh, he’s insisting? Okay, I’ll see. No problem... it’s our office trip anyway... it’s good, right? Maybe we should reconsider? Only 2 days..."

Meera turned in his arms, forcing a brittle smile. Inside, chaos. Was it Aaryan’s wish, or Arjun’s request? Why did the hills feel dangerously alluring now? Because he will be there. Because he will see me. The thought sent a tremor through her – a mix of guilt and sharp thrill.

Meera: "We’ll see," she said, pulling away gently. The lie felt smooth.
Later that evening, she told Rajiv the decision already made in her mind.

Meera: "Alright, Rajiv. Let’s go. Aaryan is still insisting."
It felt like stepping off a cliff. Rajiv was delighted, unaware of his wife’s inner tempest. She didn’t message Arjun; the knowledge was too intimate, shared only with her racing pulse.

The night before departure, her phone stayed silent.

Morning came early. After her shower, Meera stood naked before the full-length mirror. The suitcase lay open, clothes half-packed. Her focus was on the delicate garment in her hands: a lavender lace lingerie set – not her usual cotton, but a designer piece rarely worn. The bra was a deep plunge style, cups edged with intricate lace, promising support and a revealing shape. The matching panties were a V-cut, hugging her hips and rear.

Why today? The question pounded as she put it on. The cool lace settled against her skin, contrasting her frantic heartbeat. The mirror showed her sensual body and fluttering mind. She saw how the lace panty hinted at the swell of her buttocks, cupping the full, firm curve perfectly. He won’t see this, she insisted, yet warmth bloomed low in her belly as she traced the lace edge at her hip. Guilt hit, but the image held her: confident lines, sensual fabric, a silent offering to the gaze she craved. She left it on. Her bra dipped low, lace tracing the swell of her breasts, her cleavage exposed in the soft room light. Today, the blue secret stays hidden... only for me.

Over it, she pulled a soft grey tunic. Her eyes caught on skin-tight white leggings. She put them on. The leggings hugged her legs and rear tightly, the lace panty subtly visible beneath the thin white fabric – noticeable only to her knowing eye. The top covered her loosely, a shield. She stared at her reflection – comfortable, casual, yet underneath… the lavender lace panty. For him? For me? The inner fight was a tight knot – shame mixed with low, thrumming anticipation.
The tourist bus buzzed with colleagues and families. Meera, Rajiv, and an excited Aaryan found a double seat midway.

Meera: "The side seat wind will be there, Rajiv," her voice slightly high. "It might make me sick. Can you sit there?" Wind? The excuse felt weak. The truth pulsed: the aisle seat meant proximity. It meant Arjun, boarding later, could sit near her, just an aisle away. Rajiv moved to the window.

Meera’s eyes scanned the boarding point anxiously. Will he admire me in this? The thought jumped out. A small, secret smile touched her lips as she remembered her reflection in the lace. Ridiculous, she scolded herself, straightening up. He won’t see. It doesn’t matter. But the flutter in her stomach and the feel of the lace against her skin said otherwise.

The bus pulled up. Arjun climbed the steps, a small duffel bag in hand. His eyes scanned the bus, landing instantly on Meera. Surprise widened his eyes, followed by pure, strong joy lighting up his face. A wide smile broke out.

Arjun: "Morning, Rajiv! Great you all could make it!"
He slid into the seat directly across the narrow aisle from Meera. So close. Mere feet separated them.

Meera’s heart hammered. Why did I agree? Why does his presence make me feel so… exposed? The air thickened instantly. She smelled him – that clean, intoxicating sandalwood and citrus cutting through the bus air freshener. A scent now wired into her, sparking an immediate, deep reaction inside her core. She looked straight ahead, but her side vision was locked on him. She felt the weight of his glances – quick but intense – sweeping over her profile, her neck, how the grey tunic fell over her shoulders down to the tight white leggings.
Why him? The question echoed. Why did his noticing feel different? Why did his gaze – even when talking to Rajiv about work or the route – send shivers down her spine? Why did a treacherous warmth spread through her, a secret pleasure under his attention? Rajiv, lulled by the bus, soon slept against the window. Aaryan was lost in a tablet.

The silence across the aisle charged. Meera felt Arjun’s eyes on her more openly. Her phone, clutched in her lap, vibrated softly. A WhatsApp notification. From Arjun.
Hours passed, city giving way to hills.

Arjun: You came. Thank you.
Meera’s fingers trembled as she typed, eyes forward:

Meera: Aaryan really wanted to.

Arjun: Lucky Aaryan. Glad he insisted. You look… comfortable. Good for the journey.
Meera swallowed. Comfortable. Did he see through the loose tunic? Did he sense the lavender lace? The simple words felt loaded.

Meera: It’s a long drive. Comfort helps.

Arjun: True. The views are already improving.
Meera didn’t reply, but a flush crept up her neck. She understood. She was the improved view. She stole a glance sideways. He was looking out, a faint smile on his lips. Sensual energy flowed silently through the shared space. She admired his strong jaw, how his shirt stretched across his shoulders. Why does he look at me like that? Less confusion now, more breathless knowing.
Brief glances were exchanged. A shared smile over something Aaryan said. The rustle of her clothes as she shifted felt loud. She was hyper-aware of her body in the tight leggings, the loose tunic, the constant feel of the lace against her skin. Arjun’s gaze followed her every small move.

Finally, the bus wound into Mahabaleshwar’s green embrace, air cool with pine. As it parked, people stirred.
Needing space from the thick tension humming across the aisle for hours, Meera stood first. The tight white leggings stretched over her thighs as she rose. She turned slightly in the narrow aisle to nudge Aaryan awake, her body pivoting naturally beside Arjun’s seat where he was still sitting, leaning down for his duffel bag.

Time seemed to stop. As Meera bent forward towards her son, the full, rounded shape of her buttocks, tightly encased in the thin white leggings, came within inches of Arjun’s face as he straightened up. The sudden, shocking closeness of her body presented at his eye level locked her in place. She saw his head snap down, not toward her face, but directly toward her rear. His dark eyes fixed with raw, hungry intensity on the pronounced curve of her hip and the firm, full swell of her buttocks pressed against the fabric. His gaze wasn’t passing; it was deliberate, tracing every contour of her body defined by the tight leggings. She knew the grey tunic covered her upper back, but she felt the heat of his stare like a physical pressure, burning through the layers. She knew he could clearly see the outward flare of her hip bone, the taut, smooth curve of each buttock, the deep cleft separating them. She imagined his thoughts: the urge to press his face against the warmth of her hip, to feel the firmness of her flesh beneath the clinging leggings, to bury his nose into the deep cleft between her buttocks, to run his lips along the hidden lace waistband digging into her skin. The sheer, invasive intimacy of his focused stare sent a hard jolt of pure arousal straight to her core, radiating out in hot waves that made her skin prickle and her breath catch sharply.

Then came the scent. She saw it – the subtle, deliberate flare of his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, drawing in the air right next to her rear. He wasn’t smelling; he was inhaling her. The unique mix of her skin warmed by the journey, the faint lavender from the lace, the subtle hint of her own arousal stirred by hours of his attention – her scent, offered unintentionally this close. The act was deeply erotic, a silent claiming. Meera stood frozen, agonizingly aware: He sees the tight fabric clinging to the full swell of my rear, how it shapes me. He sees my hip curve, my strong thigh this close. He smells me—my skin, my heat. Knowing he was absorbing her like this, admiring her shape and scent with such accidental closeness, made the wetness between her thighs grow, a slick ache against her pounding heart. The world shrank to the charged space between her body and his face, the air crackling with raw heat, a silent moment of intense desire lasting only seconds but feeling endless.

With a sharp jolt of self-consciousness, Meera straightened fast, pulling the loose grey tunic down over her hips like a thin curtain.


Meera: "Aaryan, wake up, beta. We’re here!" Her voice was strained, too loud in her own ears. She didn’t dare look back at Arjun, already guiding her sleepy son into the aisle towards the exit, her cheeks burning. The echo of his intense, close-up gaze and that deep, possessive sniff burned into her skin like a mark long after she stepped into the cool Mahabaleshwar air. The trip had just begun, but the sensual tension had exploded, anchored forever in those few seconds where her body became an offering inches from his wanting eyes.
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RE: The Descent of Meera; An Indian House Wife - by subtle - 05-08-2025, 11:38 PM



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