Adultery Priya Didi

[shailu4ever]

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Her gaze was soft, attentive but without expectation. She didn’t press him for the details; instead, she let her presence be a quiet invitation, giving him space to find his voice when he was ready. “Start anywhere, Ravi,” she said, her tone gentle. “Take your time. You don’t have to rush.”
 
Ravi’s eyes dropped to his hands in his lap, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He inhaled deeply, the air sharp in his lungs. His chest heaved once, twice, as though bracing against a storm.
 
“It’s… Sirisha,” he began, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “At my flat. As we discussed, I was preparing Sirisha for our Threesome Rasmalai Party. And in that process, we obviously got close. Really close.”
 
His voice faltered, a flush creeping up his neck, but he couldn’t stop now. The confession had been waiting too long. “I mean, we kissed, hugged… I could manage to remove her clothes, one at a time. Slowly, she lost all her clothes and I gave her an oral and made her get relieved… comfortable, too comfortable maybe, and that is pretty much it. But I didn’t do anything further. I stopped. I swear.”
 
The words hung between them, heavy and raw, as if the air itself had thickened with his confession. Ravi’s chest rose and fell unevenly, his hands trembling now that the truth had escaped. He dared not look at her, terrified of what her eyes might hold.
 
Neetu got very excited to hear that, but she was not sure why he was sad and upset. Was it because Amit’s father’s death? 

She was unsure. “Wow, Ravi, you really did manage to remove her cloths?  That thought itself is making me excited. I would to see her like that? And you convenience her let you do all that? You’re very skilled, Ravi. I should give you credit for that.”
 
Neetu reached out slowly, her hand resting over his fidgeting fingers, stilling them. Her touch was warm, steady.
 
“Ravi…” she whispered, her voice carrying neither judgment nor shock, only an aching compassion. The simple way she said his name loosened something inside him, and he exhaled shakily, his body sagging as though a weight had slipped from his shoulders.
 
“This is better, you shared this with me,” she continued softly. “That is as per our conversation, right? Why are you like this? What really matters is that whatever happened, you stopped yourself. That is great. Don’t lose sight of that.”
 
Her closeness, the quiet assurance in her tone, wrapped around him more firmly than the embrace she had given minutes ago. Ravi finally looked up, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. He wasn’t sure if he had earned her comfort, but in that moment, he needed it more than anything else.
 
And yet, in that closeness, her hand still covering his, her breath warm against his cheek, her body angled toward him, he felt something stir beyond comfort. The line between confession and intimacy blurred for a heartbeat, delicate and dangerous.
 
Ravi’s heart pounded, not with desire alone, but with the unbearable relief of not being alone. He swallowed, torn between guilt and gratitude, between the woman who haunted his heart and the woman who now held him steady.
 
For a fleeting second, it felt as if the room itself leaned in, suspending them in a silence that was not empty but charged. Comfort was here. Temptation was here too. And Ravi could not tell, in that fragile moment, which one he wanted more.

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