Adultery The Descent of Meera; An Indian House Wife
#58
Chapter 18: The Pulse of Wanting
 
Meera woke up slowly. Warmth spread through her body before she even opened her eyes. The light coming through the curtains seemed softer than usual. She felt a quiet sense of satisfaction humming inside her. She stretched, feeling the cool sheets against her bare legs. A small, almost mischievous smile touched her lips as she remembered last night. The memories came back sharp and clear: deliberately shifting her saree so Arjun could see her navel and the lavender lace underneath, the intense way he looked at her, the charged messages they exchanged later. And then, alone in the dark, rubbing herself, imagining it was his hands, hearing his voice whisper "Chandrika" in her ear as she came, muffling her cries in the pillow. She hadn't done that in so long. Not since before her son Aaryan was born, maybe never with such raw focus on her own pleasure, all because of thoughts of another man. Heat crept up her neck, not just from embarrassment, but from the echo of that release. Her body felt sensitive, alive. She traced a finger down her stomach towards her navel – his Chandrika. A shiver, both exciting and dangerous, went through her. Her hand reached for her phone. The screen lit up, showing a message notification. Her breath caught slightly. Arjun. Sent just ten minutes ago.
 
Arjun: GM Chandrika.
Two simple words sent another wave of heat through her. He was thinking of her. Already.
 
She typed quickly, her fingers trembling a little.
 
Meera: Kyaa Arjun lag arahaa hee sooya nahe? (What, Arjun, it seems you didn't sleep?)
She pictured him lying in bed.
 
Arjun: Kaise soya, Chandrika? Kal raath tho… you don’t know. (How could I sleep? Last night though… you don’t know.)
 
Meera bit her lip. She felt her pulse quicken low in her belly. She shifted against the pillows, suddenly aware of the sheets rubbing against her skin. What didn't she know? What had he done? What was he feeling? She tried to sound casual as she typed.
 
Meera: Kya huva Arjun? (What happened, Arjun?)
She held the phone, waiting. The room was quiet except for her own breathing, which suddenly seemed loud. The warmth between her legs grew stronger, a demanding ache. She pressed her thighs together for pressure.
 
Arjun: How can I say, Chandrika?
The words… they feel too big.
 
A thrill shot through her. He was struggling, just like she had been. She felt a surge of power mixed with her own strong desire.
 
Meera: Teek he mat boolo. (Alright, don’t say then.)
Her tone was mocking, but breathless.
 
Arjun: But the gift you gave me yesterday… it was so sweet. Its memory… it’s not going anywhere. It’s… stuck.
 
Meera inhaled sharply. The 'gift'. Her deliberate exposure. His intense stare at her navel and the lace. The image was burned into her mind too. She could almost feel the heat of his stare on her skin right now, on her waist, on Chandrika. The tension inside her coiled tighter, making her squirm. Her hand drifted to her stomach, fingertips brushing the skin around her navel.
 
Meera: Cheee… bad boy!
She was trying to deflect, but her body was reacting.
 
Arjun: You made the boy bad, Chandrika. Only you.
 
The directness, the ownership in his words, made her breath catch. A tremor ran through her. He was crediting her. Empowering her. The ache inside her deepened, becoming a strong, rhythmic throb.
 
Meera: Always ganda sooch? (Always dirty thoughts?)
 
Arjun: What is 'ganda' in that, Chandrika? It’s beautiful. So beautiful.
 
Her heart pounded against her ribs. Beautiful? Her? Her exposed skin? Her deliberate act? She felt both exposed and lifted up. Her nipples tightened under her nightdress. She squeezed her thighs tighter; the pressure wasn't enough.
 
Meera: Kya beautiful? (What beautiful?)
 
Arjun: Kal jo mein dekha… my Chandrika. (What I saw yesterday… my Chandrika.)
 
My Chandrika. The possessive word, combined with the name he’d given her navel, sent a jolt straight to her core. It wasn't just a name now; it was a claim, full of forbidden desire. A low moan almost escaped her lips. She felt dampness between her legs, an undeniable physical response. Her body felt heavy, molten. She wanted… she needed…  The thought was scary and thrilling.
 
Meera: Arjun… it’s getting late. I have work…
It was a weak attempt to stop.
 
Arjun: Teek he. Phir baath mein baath kareenge. (Alright. Then we’ll talk later.)
 
Meera dropped the phone onto her chest and closed her eyes. Her body was humming, alive with his words and the memory of her own touch. My Chandrika. She lay there for minutes, breathing deeply, trying to calm the storm he’d stirred up, the storm she welcomed.
The day went by with the usual routine of a housewife, but it felt slow and thick. Every chore was filled with the memory of last night and the charged morning messages. Clearing breakfast dishes, the clatter seemed loud against her buzzing thoughts. She remembered the feel of her own fingers – exploring, circling, pressing. She remembered the slow build, her hitched breath, arching her back, the slickness, the silent cry as she came, all from the image of Arjun’s eyes on her skin. Washing vegetables, the cool water made her imagine his touch tracing her collarbone, sliding down her chest. Folding laundry, the cotton of her husband Rajiv’s shirts felt wrong; she craved the imagined roughness of Arjun’s hands. She was constantly aware of her body – the sway of her hips, her blouse brushing her hard nipples, the low thrum of arousal that hadn't faded since waking. Her phone was magnetic. She checked it constantly – on the kitchen counter while cooking, glancing while Aaryan played, picking it up right after any task. The silent screen felt like he wasn't there.
 
Around midday, the notification finally chimed. Her heart jumped. She grabbed the phone.
 
Arjun: What’s the program today, Chandrika?
 
She stared at the words, fresh heat washing over her. Rajiv was nearby, reading a newspaper. Aaryan played with blocks.
 
Rajiv: “Meera, we need to go to FreshMart later, remember?”
 
Meera: “Haan, haan, I remember.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “Project chart paper, colours, glue… and groceries. Milk, bread, eggs, vegetables… what else?”
 
Rajiv: “Check the list on the fridge. Maybe some fruits too. We should leave around 3? Before the crowd.”
 
Meera: “Teek hai. 3 is fine.” Her eyes flicked back to her phone. Arjun was waiting. The simple question felt heavy. What’s your program? She waited until Rajiv got water and Aaryan was focused on his blocks. Quickly, she typed.
 
Meera: Family ke saath FreshMart. Mostly 3 baje. (Going to FreshMart with family. Mostly at 3.)
She sent it, then wondered why she said ‘family’. Was it a warning? A barrier? Or just facts?
 
Arjun: Achaa… family ke saath? (Oh… with family?)
 
She could almost hear the slight disappointment. Arousal mixed with a sharp spike of guilt, but the guilt felt distant under the stronger pull of anticipation.
 
Meera: Haan ji. Kyoom? (Yes. Why?)
She held her breath. Was he thinking what she hoped?
 
Arjun: Can… I meet you?
 
Meera’s breath caught. There it was. Her heart pounded. She glanced at Rajiv, helping Aaryan, oblivious. She remembered their first meeting at FreshMart – Arjun’s intense gaze tracking her hips. And Aarti. She typed, trying for playful to hide her nerves.
 
Meera: We met for the first time there, right? You and Aarti?
She added a teasing emoji.
Meera: Kyaa Aarti ke saath aane ka kooi plan he? (Any plan to come with Aarti?)
 
Arjun: Aarti?! No! Meera, I swear. I’m not seeing Aarti anymore. Not at all.
His reply was fast, slightly angry.
 
Meera felt a small, illicit thrill at his forcefulness. It confirmed what she sensed.
 
Meera: Achaa? Tho Mr. abhi bilkul bachelor ban gaye? (Oh? So Mr. is a complete bachelor now?)
 
Arjun: I am seeing someone else. And I really wanted to see her again. Today.
 
The words hit her like a touch. Someone else. Her. It was crystal clear. The air felt thick. She stared at the screen. Rajiv and Aaryan’s sounds faded. Her skin prickled. Her mouth went dry. He meant her. Silence stretched as she wrestled with the directness, the danger, the intoxicating pull. Her thumb hovered.
 
Arjun: Meera?
Him using her real name, not Chandrika, felt even more intimate here. It made it real.
 
Meera: Achaa? Abhi mein Meera ban gaya? (Oh? Now I’ve become Meera?)
A weak deflection, her heart hammering.
 
Arjun: And I really wanted to see her today. At FreshMart.
 
He was pushing. Boldly. The throb between her legs came back strong. She wanted to see him too. Desperately. The conflict was sharp. Rajiv was right there. FreshMart was a family outing. How? The risk was huge. But the want was overwhelming. It felt like a physical need. She took a shaky breath.
 
Meera: Arjun… kya huva thume? Achaa… you do one thing. Come to FreshMart.
 
Arjun: Lekin… (But…)
 
Meera: What?
 
Arjun: Lekin… can we spend some time? Just… some time? Shopping together?
His plea was clear.
 
Meera: Shopping karrenge. Aa jayiye. (We'll shop. Come along.)
She tried to sound casual, safe.
 
Arjun: But I actually wanted to… I wished to select a dress. I didn’t get one yesterday.
It was a flimsy excuse, referencing his birthday, the night she exposed herself.
 
Her inner conflict sharpened. He wasn’t asking just to bump into them; he wanted her time, alone, under a thin cover. The danger was exciting and scary. Her body screamed yes; her mind whispered warnings she ignored.
 
Meera: Oh? Then we all can come along selecting.
Pretending innocence.
 
Arjun: Sab? (All?)
 
Meera: Yaa. Rajiv se poocho, we all can join.
She pushed the group idea, testing him and herself.
 
Arjun: All? Naaa… Meera… many selections teek nahee hooga. Bus… aap aa sakthi ho kya? Mere liye? Just for the dress? (All? No… Meera… many selections won't be right. Just… can you come? For me? Just for the dress?)
He emphasized 'you'. A direct request.
The plea, the naked desire for her alone, broke her down. It matched her own secret yearning. Her hesitation wasn't about refusing; it was about how to make it happen. She imagined standing close to him in a store, his presence, his scent, his gaze… Her skin burned. She felt damp between her thighs. She typed slowly, fingers unsteady.
 
Meera: Arjun… it can’t be done. (No. Even as she typed the refusal, she wanted him to persuade her.)
Arjun: Please, Meera. Try. Please. Just for a little while. I need… I want to see you. Choose with you. Please. (The messages came fast, insistent, desperate.)
 
Each "please" broke her resistance more. Her mind raced. How? Guilt fought fiercely with the pulsing need. He wanted to see her. Her thumb hovered. No was ready, but her body screamed yes.
 
Arjun: Please, Chandrika. Think. Is there no way? (He used the secret name like a weapon.)
 
She closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath. The memory of his gaze on her waist, her navel, the lace flooded back. The memory of her release. The ache was deep. She wanted that connection again. She needed to feel desired like that. She opened her eyes.
 
Meera: But how? (Stalling, hoping he had a plan.)
 
Arjun: What if… what if you tell Rajiv that… that Aarti needs help? Selecting a dress? In Westside? It’s right next to FreshMart. You could say you’ll meet her there quickly after our shopping? (The lie was bold. Using Aarti’s name again.)
 
Meera stared. Westside. Next door. A short time away from Rajiv and Aaryan. Possible. Risky. Very risky. Her heart hammered. The image formed: slipping away, meeting Arjun under bright lights, pretending to help him choose a dress while tension crackled between them, remembering the lace and the messages. The danger was electric. Her body instantly responded with fresh heat pooling low in her belly. She hesitated, typing, deleting, starting again.
 
Meera: Arjun… yeh… (This…)
 
Arjun: Please, Meera. Please try. Just for a short time. I promise. Please. (He kept pleading.)
 
Meera: I… I don’t know… (Hesitation warred with need.)
 
Arjun: Chandrika. Please. For me. For us. Just a few minutes. Please try.
 
For us. That sealed it. There was an 'us', hidden, full of desire. Her resistance crumbled. The need, the thrill, the physical pull was too strong. Fear prickled her spine, but her decision was made.
 
Meera: Teek hai. Mein… try karoongi. But koi promise nahin. (Alright. I… will try. But no promises.)
 
She sent the message and put the phone down fast, like it was hot. Her hands shook. She had just agreed to meet him alone. With a lie. The reality hit her, terrifying and intoxicating. She looked at Rajiv, chatting with Aaryan, completely unaware. Guilt surged, sharp and cold, but it was drowned out by roaring anticipation – the vivid image of Arjun waiting in Westside, his eyes hungry for her. The wanting had won. Now, she just had to wait until 3 PM. Every minute felt long, filled with nervous energy and the strong, exciting ache of forbidden desire.
 
Meera stood in her quiet bedroom, the afternoon sun warm on her skin through the window. Her earlier agreement to meet Arjun now felt shaky. The reality of the lie she’d have to tell and the danger of getting caught tightened her chest. She was searching through her wardrobe, the familiar scent of sandalwood from her folded sarees drifting around her, when her phone chimed. A jolt of electricity shot through her body. She knew it was him before she even looked at the screen.
 
Arjun: Chandrikkaaaaaa, feeling so eager to see you.
The extra 'a's and the exclamation mark screamed his excitement.  It mirrored her own, a restless energy humming just beneath her skin. But reality crashed in – Rajiv in the living room, Aaryan’s voice drifting down the hall, the sheer risk of it all. Her fingers flew over the screen, a mix of thrill and fear tightening her chest.
 
Meera: Heeiii, no! Kuch patha nahee, mein koi promise nahee dee raha! Please... mujhe thoda sa dar lag raha hee. I can't do it, Arjun.
She paused, then added:
Meera: We all can come and select the dress for you. It’s safer.
 
She hit send. The words felt like she was letting down the thrilling promise she’d made earlier. Silence filled the screen. It stretched on for too long. Meera clutched the phone, staring hard at the blank space where his reply should appear. Was he angry? Was he disappointed? Had she broken this fragile, electric thing between them? A wave of panic washed over her, colder than her earlier fear. The idea of him pulling away, of this secret world vanishing, suddenly felt unbearable. The ache that had been simmering low in her belly since morning flared up, sharp and demanding. She needed his attention, his desire, desperately. Without it, she felt exposed and weak.
 
Meera: Kya huva Arjun? (What happened, Arjun?)
Her question was urgent, filled with worry.
 
Arjun: I was really wishing for it. Just a few minutes, dear.
 
Dear. The word hit her like a physical touch. He’d never called her that before. It wasn't 'Chandrika', the secret name for her navel, but something softer, more intimate, more… possessive. It sent a shiver down her spine, instantly warming the cold fear. He called me dear. The conflict inside her grew stronger. The risk was huge and terrifying. But the way he said ‘dear’… the raw wanting in his ‘just a few minutes’… It tugged at something deep and hungry inside her, something Rajiv hadn’t reached in years. This wasn't just about lust anymore; it felt like a lifeline to a part of herself she’d forgotten – a part that felt desired, craved, truly seen. It made her feel vibrantly alive, even if it was wrong. Her body hummed in response to that single word.
Meera: Teek he… mein dekhti hoon. But don’t be upset if I can’t make it.
She was giving in a little, a crack in her wall.
 
She lowered the phone, pressing it hard against her thigh. Her mind raced. How? How can I slip away? The lie about helping Aarti felt weak and scary. Yet, the image of standing close to Arjun in the bright lights of Westside, pretending to look at clothes while the air buzzed with everything they weren’t saying… The thought alone made her nipples tighten under her cotton bra. She remembered the weight of his stare in the kitchen, the heat of her own hand between her legs last night, how he’d confessed his pleasure. This man had woken up a fire in her she didn’t know she had, and the idea of saying no to him, of denying this feeling, felt like cutting off her air.
 
Arjun: Chandrika, but what are you planning to wear today?

Meera blinked. The sudden change of subject caught her off guard. Wear? He was thinking about what she’d wear? The intimacy of the question, the casual emoji, sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She tried to sound cool.
 
Meera: Kyoom? Aaj ka din tho kuch khaas nahee… (Why? Today’s not special…)
But her pulse was speeding up. She knew exactly what he meant.
 
Arjun: But what about the lavender?
The lavender. The lace. The panty he’d specifically asked to see on his birthday, the edge of which she’d deliberately shown him. A jolt of pure electricity shot straight to her core. Her breath caught. He’s thinking about it. Right now. Asking. She felt a sudden rush of dampness between her legs, the familiar, needy throb starting up again. Her hand pressed instinctively against her lower belly.
 
Meera: Chuuppppp! Besharam! Sab time wahee soch mein he kya? (Shhhh! Shameless! Always thinking about that?)
She added an angry emoji, but the anger was fake, a thin cover.


Meera:  Mein milne nahee aarahoon! (I’m not coming to meet you!)
The threat was empty. They both knew it.
 
Arjun: Who dimaag se jaa nahee raha heee. (It just won’t leave my mind.) Meera… will you wear that?
 
The directness stole her breath. Will you wear the lavender lace panty for me? He wasn't asking about the saree; he was asking about what was underneath. About the secret he’d glimpsed, the secret he wanted. The tension inside her coiled tight like a wire. She remembered clearly yesterday – deliberately shifting her saree pallu, the cool air on her exposed navel, knowing his eyes were tracing the delicate lavender lace peeking out. She remembered the flush spreading over her skin, her quickening breath, the power she’d felt showing him. The memory replayed now, making her press her thighs together. She could almost feel his gaze again, hot and possessive, on that hidden strip of lace. She didn't reply right away, lost in the vivid, sensual memory, her body responding with fresh warmth and wetness. Her thumb brushed unconsciously over her lower lip.
 
Arjun: Chandrikaaaa.... kya huvaa? (Chandrika… what happened?)
 
Meera: Kuch naheee… (Nothing…)
Her reply was slow, breathless.
 
Arjun: Tho boolo… are you going to wear that?
He pushed again.
 
Meera: Grrrrrrr! Kaise baaba? How can I? Who thoo…
She pretended outrage, but the frustration was mixed with a desperate thrill. He was so focused on her, on that intimate detail.
 
Arjun: Kyooom? Yesterday you made me happy… by wearing it.
He reminded her gently, pointedly.
 
Happy. The word echoed. She had made him happy. She’d seen the raw desire flare in his eyes, his lips part slightly, his body shift. She’d felt powerful, desired in a way that was intoxicating. Remembering it now, the tingling between her legs got stronger, becoming a clear, demanding throb. It was like her thoughts were directly connected to her body. She shifted her weight; the friction of her cotton panties against her sensitive skin was almost painful. She remembered the look on his face, the noticeable bulge in the front of his trousers as he’d stared at her waist and the hint of lace. The memory was sharp, erotic, flooding her with heat. Her skin felt hot all over.
 
Meera: Arjun, that was…
She struggled to find words that weren't admitting anything.
 
Arjun: That was not an accident, Meera. You made me happy.
He stated it plainly, stripping away any excuse.
 
The truth of it hung between them. It hadn’t been an accident. She’d chosen that moment, that movement, for him. The admission, even unspoken, sent another shiver through her – half shame, half fierce arousal.
 
Meera: Birthday boy keliye thaa… (It was for the birthday boy…)
She offered weakly, the excuse sounding thin even to her. The memory of his reaction, the thrill of showing him, made her shiver again, a full-body tremor of excitement.
 
Arjun: Meera, you have seen how the boy become bad, right?
The words were low, suggestive, even through text.
 
How the boy becomes bad. Her mind instantly saw it: the clear outline against his trousers in the kitchen, undeniable proof of what she did to him. It was a primal, raw turn-on. The power, the proof, the sheer physical evidence of his desire. Her breath came faster. She felt dizzy. The throb between her legs was strong now, demanding attention. She squeezed her thighs together tightly for pressure, but it only made the ache worse.
 
Meera: Hmmmm.
It was all she could manage. Her body was completely betraying her, lost in the sensual memory.
 
Arjun: Aur raath mein… (And last night…)
He began, pushing further.
 
Meera: Noooo Arjun!
She typed frantically. The memory of her own release last night, fueled by thoughts of him, was too raw, too private to think about now.
Meera:  Mein nahee aayegi! (I won’t come!)
The protest was automatic, from overwhelming feeling and guilt.
 
Arjun: Heei its ok… I am just… in that beautiful memory.
His tone softened, but the meaning was clear. He was remembering her confession, her pleasure, just like she remembered his.
 
Meera: Chal! Neend se ud jaa! Aur shopping ke liyee chal! (Go! Fly away from sleep! And come for shopping!)
She tried to steer them back to safer ground, her body still buzzing.
 
Arjun: Teek he Chandrika… but boolo… kyon nahee pahanegi? (Alright Chandrika… but tell me… why won’t you wear it?)
He circled back, stubborn, fixated.
 
Meera: Areee baab re baab! Who chooda nahee…! (Oh my god! You just won’t drop it…!)
She was flustered, turned on, and strangely amused by how persistent he was.
 
Arjun: He sent a pleading emoji. Boolna. (Tell me.)
 
Meera: Who thoo…! I told you yesterday (That…!)
She trailed off, unable to say how intimate the request felt.
 
Arjun: No you havent, nahee bathyaa Meera.....
 
Meera: Arjun its dirty now.... How can I wear it daily...... Paagal hoo gaya kya? (Are you gone mad)
She accused, but it had no real bite. Her panty have really became dirty, with her own arousal and dripping her panty with the slick what she secreted for him.
 
Arjun: Chandrikaa… I knew that…

Meera: Grrrr…. Abhi mein ready hoo jaoon kya? Yaa baathen banaathe rahoon? (Grrr… Should I go get ready now? Or should I just keep sitting here?)
She changed the subject, needing a moment to breathe, to calm the fire he’d lit.
 
Arjun: Teek he ji, but are you planning to wear a saree? It suits you. Any plain saree… you look gorgeous. You know that I admire you…

The compliment, plus the return to the saree – the garment he’d first admired her in, the one that swayed with her hips – was powerful. He was cleverly changing focus while still feeding her need for his admiration.
 
Meera: Chal jhootee! I know how you ogle! (Go on, liar! I know how you stare!)
She called him out, but it was playful, thrilled.

Meera: Chal mujhe thayaar hone deena. (Go, let me get ready.)
 
Arjun: Waiting to see you dear….

Dear. Again. The word sank deep inside her, warm and dangerous. It promised an intimacy beyond just the physical, a connection that felt frighteningly close to affection. She placed the phone face down on the dresser, her hand resting on the cool surface for a moment. The decision was solid now. She was going to try. For him. For dear. For the thrill, the need, the pull she couldn’t resist.
 
Taking a deep breath that did nothing to slow her racing heart, Meera turned to face the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. The reflection showed a woman flushed, her eyes bright with nerves and illicit excitement. Without pausing, her fingers went to the buttons of her comfortable house dress. She undid them quickly and let the dress fall to the floor in a heap around her feet. Next, she unhooked her bra and slid the straps off her shoulders, letting it drop. Finally, she pushed her simple cotton panties, baring the dried stain of her yesterday's excitements, down her legs and stepped out of them. She stood completely naked before the mirror.
 
The afternoon light fell on her skin. She didn’t look away. Instead, she looked, really looked, imagining Arjun’s eyes on her. Her hands rose. Her fingertips traced the slope of her shoulders, then moved down over the curves of her breasts. Her nipples were already hard points, sensitive to the light touch of her own fingers, reacting to the thoughts in her head. She cupped her breasts, feeling their weight, her thumbs brushing over the tight nipples, sending sparks through her. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
 
She turned slowly, first a little to one side, then a little more, her eyes fixed on her reflection, specifically on the shape of her rear. She turned more, presenting her back fully to the mirror, looking over her shoulder. Her buttocks filled her vision. Two full, rounded cheeks, smooth and unblemished. The skin there was slightly paler than her arms, flawless and soft-looking. She admired the curve, the swell as it flowed out from her waist and back, the way it rounded generously before tapering down into her thighs. It was a feminine shape, womanly. Her eyes traced the deep, shadowed cleft running vertically between the two cheeks. The line was smooth, a natural division emphasizing the fullness on either side. She thought of Arjun, how he watched her walk, how his gaze always seemed drawn to her hips, the sway he found so mesmerizing. She ran her hands down her back, over her hips, and then cupped her own buttocks, feeling the warm, soft flesh under her palms. This… this is what he watches when I walk. The thought was bold and erotic. She remembered the first time in FreshMart, feeling his eyes follow the sway of her hips in the blue chiffon. She gave a small, deliberate shift of her hips now, watching the muscles move under the skin, imagining his eyes fixed on that movement, hungry. She imagined his eyes on her now, seeing her like this, completely bare. Would he admire this curve? Would he want to touch the smooth skin? Trace the line of her cleft? The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her, making her nipples tighten into hard points. She felt the pulse between her legs quicken again, a direct response to her own thoughts and the image in the mirror. She stood there for a long moment, appreciating her own body through the imagined lens of his desire, feeling powerful and exposed.
 
Reluctantly, she broke away from the mirror. She had to get ready. Moving with a new awareness of her body, she opened a drawer. Her fingers skipped past the plain cotton panties. They hovered, then reached further back, finding the delicate lace panty, a cream color. She pulled them out. The fabric felt whisper-soft against her skin. She stepped into them, pulling the lace up her legs, settling the waistband low on her hips. The pale cream stood out subtly against her skin tone. She fastened a matching lace bra, the delicate cups holding her breasts. The lace felt different now – more deliberate, more… for him.
Next, she picked a saree. A plain chiffon, like he’d suggested – a soft, pale peach color this time. The blouse she chose had a deep back – a wide U-shape that dipped low, stopping just above the curve of her lower back. She slipped it on, the cool silk lining touching her skin. Turning her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder. The open back showed a smooth stretch of skin from her shoulders. She carefully dbangd the peach chiffon saree, making sure the pallu fell neatly over one shoulder but leaving the open back visible. She adjusted the pleats at the front so they sat smoothly over her hips.
 
Finally dressed, she stood before the mirror again. The peach chiffon flowed softly over her figure. The open back was the main point – a deliberate frame for the smooth skin. She ran her hands down her sides, over her hips, feeling the silky fabric. She pictured walking into Westside, knowing Arjun would be waiting, knowing his eyes would instantly find her back. The pulse of anticipation was a steady beat now, low and deep, mixed with the lingering wetness and the constant, sweet ache. She was ready. Ready to lie. Ready to take the risk. Ready to step back into the powerful pull of his wanting. The word echoed in her mind, warm and treacherous: Dear. She picked up her purse, her fingers brushing against her phone. The clock ticked closer to 3 PM. Every nerve in her body felt awake and tingling.
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The Descent of Meera; An Indian House Wife - by subtle - 13-08-2025, 01:46 AM



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