Adultery The Language of Her Heart

[yazhiniram]

He didn’t listen.

Not even little.

Not even after I held his wrists tight.

Not after I warned him.

Not after I whispered, “Don’t.”


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He ripped it.

Just like that.

No waiting.

No asking.

Only doing.


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One sharp tug.

One harsh pull.

Sudden.

Strong.

Direct.


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And the blouse—

It tore.

Right from the middle.

Right where the hooks were hiding.


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CHHHK!

That was the sound.

Rough.

Quick.

Metal tearing out from cotton.


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Then—

CLINK!

Two hooks.

They flew.


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One hit my arm.

Cold.

Sharp.

One tiny sting.


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The other?

It dropped somewhere on the floor.

Tiny sound against the tile.

Gone.


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I gasped.

Loud breath.

Quick inhale.

“Prakash!”

I shouted.


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My bra—

It was there.

Fully exposed now.

Nothing hiding.

Nothing covering.


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The blouse fabric?

It was hanging.

Loose.

From one armhole.

Like dead leaf.

Like one torn ribbon.


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The rest of it?

It peeled open.

Like wet gift wrapper.

Soggy.

Loose.

Falling away.


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And I just stood.

Breath stuck.

Eyes wide.

Mouth open.


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Shocked.

Completely.

My body didn’t move.

My arms didn’t rise.

My knees didn’t bend.


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“I was the one…”

I whispered.

My lips barely moved.

Even my voice was ashamed.


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I had pushed him.

I had taunted.

I had said, “Show guts.”

Like some challenge.

Like game.


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And now?

He was showing.

Really.

Fully.

Not teasing.

Not hinting.


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No questions.

No delays.

Only action.

His own kind.

His own speed.


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And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t wait.

Didn’t look at my face to ask.


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He moved behind slightly.

Twisted my waist.

Not roughly.

But with purpose.


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Then with one strong grip—

He peeled the blouse off me.

Right off my arms.


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His fingers were fast.

Confident.

They pulled the sleeves down.


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Smooth.

Forceful.

Like butter melting.

That easy.

That final.


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My chest was exposed.

My back was bare.

Only my bra holding me.

Thin cloth.

Tight strap pressing across my skin.


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Then—

He threw the blouse.

Across the room.

Like nothing.


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Like rubbish.

Like waste.

Like torn cloth no longer needed.


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It landed near the bedroom door.

Half-crumpled.

Half-hanging on the floor.


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Torn.

Useless.

Silent proof of what he did.


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I stood there.

Breathing heavy.

Breath loud inside chest.

Heart wild.


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My bra was rising with each breath.

Up and down.

Cup to chest.

Tight.

Close.


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Then—

I slapped him.

One full slap.

Right on cheek.


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Hard.

Sharp.

Without delay.


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His head turned slightly.

But his face?

No expression.

No sound.

Nothing.


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Like statue.

Like stone.

Only eyes alive.


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I scolded.

“You think this is joke?”

My voice broke.

Felt thin.


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Still calm.

Still watching me.

Like reading page.

Not person.


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“Wait, madam,” he said softly.

One line.

Only that.


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Wait?

WAIT?

My blouse is on the floor!

My chest is out!

My arms are bare!


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I tried to hide.

One arm came up.

Crossed over my chest.


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Trying to cover the cups.

The soft cotton.

The pale colour.

My skin.


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But his hand—

He took my wrist again.

Calmly.

Confidently.


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He lowered it.

Down.

Gently.

But firmly.


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Exposing me again.

Fully.

In that fan-lit room.


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I shivered.

But didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

Didn’t know.


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Because next—

His other hand moved.

To my waist.


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To the knot.

The tight little bow.

The drawstring of my petticoat.


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I gasped.

“Prakash… no… don’t rip…”

My voice cracked.


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I thought he would.

I braced for it.

Fingers tensed.

Belly tight.


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But—

He didn’t rip.

He untied.


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Fingers moved into the knot.

Soft.

Skilled.

Sure.


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Then—

One clean tug.

The string came loose.

Like curtain opening.


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And the petticoat?

It fell.

Straight down.


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Dropped to my feet.

Like towel sliding off hook.


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I looked down.

My mouth open.

No sound.

Just breath.


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Then looked back up at him.

Eyes meeting.

My lips parted.

My chest rising.


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He was looking.

Fully.

From head.

To toe.


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My bare legs.

My plain bra.

My soft cotton panty.


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Now fully visible.

Nothing hiding.

Nothing left.


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I was standing.

Right in front of him.

Only in innerwear.


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And I felt it.

Straight through chest.

Down to legs.


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Ashamed.

Real.

Raw.

Still.

Breathing.


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He was not going to listen anymore.

That much—

I understood.

Deep in my chest.

Deep in my breath.


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His eyes had changed.

Not like before.

Not soft.

Not scanning.


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Now?

Fixed.

Still.

Heavy with something I couldn’t name.

Like weight.

Like fire.


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His breath had changed too.

Little deeper.

Little stronger.

Like something was rising up from inside him.


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Even the way his hand was resting—

Was not soft now.

It wasn’t floating.

Wasn’t testing.


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It was firm.

Flat.

Decided.

Set.

Like anchor.

Like decision.


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And the worst part?

Somewhere…

Somehow…

Some quiet corner inside me…


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I had wanted this.

Not the chaos.

But the certainty.


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Not gentle words.

Not soft nonsense.

Not useless begging.

Not checking face again and again.


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I had tested him.

Again and again.

Played with limits.

With lines.


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Now?

He had stopped asking.

And I had stopped resisting.


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I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t warn.

Didn’t threaten.

No hand raised.

No slap.


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I just stood.

Still.

Breathing quiet.

Waiting.


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Letting it come.

Letting him come.

Letting the moment stretch.

Melt.


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Let’s see, I thought.

Let’s see how far this goes.

Let’s see what happens if I don’t stop it.


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Then—

He pulled me.

Sudden.

One quick tug.


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Like how you bring suitcase closer before packing.

Not violent.

But solid.


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Strong enough that I stumbled slightly.

My feet came forward.

My body followed.

Like thread being pulled by hand.


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He bent down.

Not waiting.

Not pausing.

No warning.


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And placed both hands—

Right on my backside.

Over the panty.


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Full grip.

Fingers wide.

Palms pressed.

Firm.

Claiming.


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I inhaled.

One sharp breath.

“Prakash…”

I said it calm.

Still calm.

Still steady.


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“Don’t start like this…”

But he didn’t reply.

Nothing.

No sound.

Only the feel of his thumbs—


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They pressed inward.

Gently.

Firmly.

Fingers curved under the cheek line.


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And then—

He made me turn.

One quick twirl.

Like waiter flipping dosa.

No chance to resist.


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Now I was facing away.

Back to him.

Backside facing his chest.

Panty right in front of his eyes.


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I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Trying to understand.


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“Okay, okay… what now?”

I muttered.

Sarcastic.

Flat.

“You made me turn like doll. Happy?”


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Then—

I felt it.

His palm.

On the small of my back.

Pushing.


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“Eh…”

I said.

Not loud.

Just confused.


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He pushed again.

Lower.

Lower.

Till my hips bent.


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My body bent forward.

Not fully.

But enough.

Enough to need balance.


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My hands reached.

Found the bed edge.

Held on.

Supported myself.


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“Oi…”

I said again.

Still not shouting.

Still not sure.

“What are you doing…”


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Then—

THWACK.

One tight sound.

Loud.

Sharp.

Clear.


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I screamed.

“Ayyyyyy—YAAA!”


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One full slap.

Right on my backside.

Over the panty.

Loud.

Real.

Hot.


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I twisted back.

Whipped my neck.

Eyes wild.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!”


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He didn’t answer.

Not even blink.


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“Prakash!” I shouted.

“You lost your bloody mind or what?!”

Still nothing.


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“That SLAP… Don't repeat.... I’m warning you.”

“That’s ENOUGH. I said ENOUGH.”


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No reply.

His hands stayed.

Just stayed there.

Like they had their own rules now.


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“Hello?” I snapped.

“Are you hearing or your ears are closed with your stupid guts?”


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Still no talking.

Only breathing.

Thick.

Heavy.

Quiet.


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Then—

He started pressing.

Both hands.

Flat.

Firm.

Over the panty.


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Squeezing.

Like checking dough texture.

Slow.

Sure.


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I jerked.

Twitched.

“OI! That’s NOT dough!”

“It’s MY—!”


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Still no answer.

Still pressing.

His thumbs tracing under panty line.


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“Prakash,” I warned, “you’re touching like it’s Dough.”

“Stop it, I’m telling.”


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He ignored.

His palm cupped.

Spread slightly.

Then closed again.


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Another slap.

PAKK.


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This time—

I let out a sound.

Half-moan.

Half-yell.


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“Aiii! I SAID STOP!”

Still nothing.

Still hands on me.


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Then—

His hands moved.

Lower.

Not to leg.

Not to thigh.

But inward.


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Between the panty and my skin.

Both sides.

Both hands.


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My breath froze.

“Eh—eh Prakash…”

I stammered.

Voice breaking.


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“Don’t… don’t do that…”

His fingers slid inside.

Not deep.

Just till the curve.


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“Oi. OI!”

I shouted.

“That’s MY panty elastic.”

“Not your secret pocket!”


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Still nothing.

I twisted.

Slightly.

Tried to wriggle.


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“You want to tear it, is it??”

No response.


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His fingers went deeper.

His thumbs tugged.

Pulled once at the band.


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“PRakash!”

I snapped.

Voice high.

“Stop it! You’re behaving like dog who found meat inside wrapper!”


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He didn’t stop.

One finger curved.

Touched skin.


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Warm.

Soft.

Private.

That skin under the panty.

Now in his hand.


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“Prakash,” I said slower.

Lower now.

“Listen to me.”

“I said enough. Just leave.”


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Still nothing.

His fingers didn’t obey.

His hands didn’t leave.


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He was not in the mood to go back.

I felt it.


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That moment.

That shift.

It had happened.


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He had stopped hearing my words.

And I…


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I was still standing there.

Bent over.

Panty hugged to my backside.


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His hands inside it.

Like it was all allowed.


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And I knew.

He’s not in listening mode anymore.


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He was pulling it.

Not lightly.

Not teasing.

Not testing.


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Both hands.

Firm.

Set.

Like he had made full plan.


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His fingers were deep inside the side bands.

Tucked.

Buried.

Hooked into the elastic.


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Gripping it.

Tight.

Strong.

Thumbs pressing into my hipbone.


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“Oi… OI!”

I shouted.

Voice jumping.

Body twisting.


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“Don’t pull like that!”

Still no use.

Still no reply.


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He didn’t stop.

Didn’t loosen.

Didn’t change grip.


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He was pulling outward.

Hard.

Stretching from both sides.


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Side to side.

Elastic went tight.

Tighter.

Till it felt like it might snap.


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Like rubber band about to fight back.

My hip jerked.

I screamed—


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“Ayyyyo—PAINing!”

My skin was stinging.


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“It’s biting my hip!”

I shouted.

Twisting more.

Trying to escape his hands.


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Still he didn’t slow.

His palms were tugging in opposite directions.

Like he was trying to split me.


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Side to side.

Opposite force.

Elastic pulled hard across the soft skin.

My breath hitched.

My ribs tensed.


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“Ayy! Prakash! It’s hurting!”

I cried louder.

Still no voice from him.


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“Hellooooo?!”

“Are you hearing or turned into buffalo?!”

Still no talking.

Only pulling.


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He pulled more.

More tension.

More pain.

Elastic burning into skin.


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“Shit nooo…”

I shouted.

“It’s cutting into my skin!”

It really was.


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The elastic—

It was already old.

Already weak.

Now?

It was twisting.

Digging deep.


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One corner folded.

It bit into my hip like blade edge.


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“STOP IT!”

I almost cried.

“IT’S NOT ROPE! It’s elastic panty!”

No response.

Only his grip.

Harder now.


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His knuckles were going white from the force.

My hips jerked forward from the pull.


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“Ayyyo Prakash, I’ll get red mark!”

Still no mercy.

No slowing.

No softening.


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“It’s not drawstring!”

“What you’re doing—tying tent ah?!”

I shouted louder.

Still nothing.


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Then—

It happened.

SNAP.

One sound.

Clean.

Deadly.


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My breath stopped.

I froze.

Then—

I screamed.


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“AIIIIIIIIIYYYYYYYYY—!”


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The panty tore.

Right at the waistband.


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The seams on both sides—

They gave up.

Like torn paper.


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I felt it.

Sudden.

Immediate.


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Suddenly open.

Suddenly bare.


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My ass—

Fully exposed.

Warm air hit the skin.


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No more cloth.

No more cover.

Gone.

Gone.


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“Oh my god—”

I shouted.

Shaking.

Shocked.


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It fell.

Half-dangling.

Then slipped.

Down my thighs.

Down to knees.

Down to floor.


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My backside—

Now outside.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Warm skin.

Red from earlier slaps.

Soft.

Open.


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Visible.

Vulnerable.

Flesh exposed to light.


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I spun around.

Fast.

Wild.


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My face was burning.

My breath was high.

Heavy.

Fast.


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And I SLAPPED him.

PAK!

Right on the cheek.


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“ARE YOU ANIMAL?!”

I screamed.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Another slap.

PAK!

Other side.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“ARE YOU FULL MAD?!”

My hands were shaking.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


But he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t move.


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Just stood.

Cheek turning pink.

Eyes on me.


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Then he said softly—

“Madam… this is what you want.”


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I froze.

“What?”

My voice dropped.

Confused.


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He looked down once.

Then back at me.

Then said—

“You told me to do this.”


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I stepped closer.

One step.

Pointed finger on his chest.


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“I told you to STOP!”

He nodded once.

Then tilted head.

Calm.

Still.


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“You also told me not to listen.”

“To go on any extreme.”


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My mouth opened.

Then closed.

No words.

Just breath.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“You said… don’t ask, don’t wait.”

“Just do.”

“You remember?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I stared.

He was right.

Fully right.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I had said it.

I had provoked.

Pushed.

Dared.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


This was me.

This madness.

This whole breaking-control thing.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My face flushed.

Not from guilt.

But heat.

Strong.

Burning.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Still I snapped.

“I said many things!”

“That doesn’t mean you tear my underwear!”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“I didn’t plan,” he said.

“It tore by itself.”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“HAH?!”

“You think elastic has mind of its own?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He didn’t smile.

Just looked down once.

Then stepped forward.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Before I could say anything—

He flipped me.

Again.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


One smooth move.

Like turning a bedsheet before folding.

I stumbled.

Bent.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My hands hit the mattress again.

The fabric cold against my palms.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Bare ass.

Facing him now.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Fully bare.

No more panty.

No more covering.

Just skin.

Just me.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Soft.

Red.

Open.

Waiting.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He stood behind.

I couldn’t see his face.

But I could feel his stare.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


That burning.

That weight.

That air.

Full of pressure.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I closed one eye.

Bit my lip.

“Ayyyo,” I muttered.

“Now what…”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then—

THWACK.

Louder than all before.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


His palm.

Flat.

Hard.

Sharp.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


On my bare cheek.

No cloth.

Only skin.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I screamed.

“AIIIII—noooooo!!”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I bit my own wrist.

Teeth pressing hard.

“Too hard! It’s stinging!”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My backside was on fire.

That red skin—

Now pulsing.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And he?

He was still behind.

Still holding me bent.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And I was just breathing.

Heavy.

Waiting.

Knowing.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He’s not finished.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I cried.

Out loud.

Not full sobbing.

But that broken sound.

Between pain and shock and confusion.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“ammm aaah…”

That was the sound from my mouth.

Not word.

Not sentence.

Just… that.

A sound full of burning.

Full of stinging.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My backside was burning.

Truly.

Fully.

Not just sore.

But burning like someone had rubbed fire chili there.

Red chili.

Green chili.

All kinds.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


The skin was already tender from before.

Already punished.

Already warm.

Now it was stinging.

Really stinging.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


It hurt.

Proper hurt.

Real pain.

But also…

I was liking it.

Somehow.

Without permission.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“mmaaa…” I whispered to myself.

Eyes down.

Head low.

“What’s wrong with me…”

The whisper didn’t even feel like mine.

It was shaky.

Trembling.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


It was burning.

Yes.

But also…

Pulsing.

Throbbing.

Something was happening inside.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Not just skin.

Not just outside.

The slap had gone deep.

Very deep.

Into that soft ache under my belly.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


That strange place.

That secret place.

Where heat comes from nothing.

Where it just starts.

Without touch.

Without warning.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Ahhh……”

I moaned slightly.

Very low.

Very unsure.

“This is not normal…”

My mouth said it.

But my body…

Didn’t listen.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My eyes were wet.

Truly wet.

Not drama.

Not fake.

Real tears collecting.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


One tear even fell.

Down the side of my cheek.

Slow.

Salty.

Warm.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I was moaning.

I was crying.

I was breathing like a dog.

All together.

At once.

All messy.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“MAD…” I whispered to myself.

Quietly.

Weakly.

“He’s doing like owning me…”

And then—

THWACK.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Other side.

His palm.

Again.

This time, on the opposite cheek.

Right on the curve.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“AAAAAIYYYYYAAAAA!”

I screamed.

High-pitched.

Raw.

Like some electric shock had gone through me.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My voice cracked like lightning.

Split in two.

My knees jerked forward.

Like my bones had jumped.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My arms twisted.

My elbows shook.

I grabbed the corner of the bedsheet.

With full desperation.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And I bit it.

My teeth sank into the cloth.

To stop the scream.

To hold something real.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Prakash, you bastard…”

I whispered into the cloth.

Mouth still pressed.

“You want to kill me or what…”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My backside now?

Fully red.

No doubt.

Like two overripe tomatoes.

Swollen.

Shining.

Glowing.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My breath?

Gone.

No rhythm.

No order.

All that came out was sound.

Strange, mixed sound.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Small moans.

Soft screams.

Confused cries.

All overlapping.

All crowding.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I was shaking my head.

Left and right.

Again and again.

“No no no…”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Stop it…”

I was saying.

Voice broken.

Face twisted.

“This is mad…”

“This is crazy…”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


But my body?

It didn’t move.

Didn’t stand.

Didn’t run.

It stayed bent.

Still.

Still offered.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Because deep down — I knew.

I knew the truth.

Even if I didn’t want to.

This is what I had asked for.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then I heard it.

Small sound.

Faint movement.

Somewhere behind me.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Like kneeling.

Like cloth rustling near the floor.

Quiet.

Careful.

Steady.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I turned my neck slightly.

Couldn’t see him properly.

Just a shape.

Just a shadow.

But I could tell.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


He had bent down.

Now kneeling behind me.

Right there.

Right in front of my backside.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Eh… what now?” I said.

Still out of breath.

Still lost.

“You’re planning what next? Drum beating?”


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Still silence.

Still no answer.

But I could feel something.

Air.

Warm air.

On skin.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


His breath.

That heat.

That male, thick breathing.

Soft bursts.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


They were hitting the raw skin near my ass.

Lightly.

Then stronger.

Steady rhythm.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Prakash…?” I said slowly.

Each syllable careful.

“What are you doing…”

Still no answer.

Just that breath.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Then his fingers came.

Sudden.

Gentle.

But clear.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


They touched my ass cheeks.

Both sides.

Light at first.

Then firmer.

Spreading.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“AHH!”

I gasped.

Head jerked.

Back arched.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“Hey! What the hell!”

I shouted.

But too late.

He had gripped.

He had spread.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Firm grip.

Pulling cheeks apart.

Opening me.

Fully.

Deeply.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My hands clutched the bed tighter.

Knuckles pale.

Fingers shaking.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“PRakash! Wait!”

I said again.

Breath gone.

But he didn’t reply.

Didn’t even make a sound.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


But I could feel it.

His face…

Closer.

Closer still.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


That breath?

Now deeper.

Now warmer.

Right there.

Right there.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I couldn’t see.

Couldn’t turn.

Could only feel.

Could only guess.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And then—

LICK.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


One long stroke.

His tongue.

Right on my asshole.

Straight.

Direct.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Not my pussy.

Not thigh.

Not hip.

Right on the hole.

That tight, soft place.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“AaaaaaaaaaaaAAHHHHH—!”

I screamed.

My whole spine curved.

My body jerked up.

My chest rose high.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Like I’d been shocked.

Lit on fire.

“Hey! WHAT THE HELL!”

Still no answer.

Only wetness.

Only tongue.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


Again he licked.

Wet.

Flat.

Strong.

Over that small, tight hole.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“OH MY GOD—”

I cried.

“You’re licking my… my…”

I couldn’t say the word.

Couldn’t name it.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


My face was burning.

My fingers dug into the mattress.

My breath shook.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And I moaned.

Loud.

From my stomach.

From my soul.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


“AHHH—ahhhh—WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME?!”

Still he didn’t stop.

His grip spread me wider.

His face — buried.

Right there.


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


And then he finally spoke.

Voice deep.

Right behind me.

“I’m going to show you what you wanted, Pavitra.”

Not “madam.”

Not “sorry.”

Not “can I.”

Just… Pavitra.

Only name.

Only promise.