Adultery Betrayal

[Sherlocked]

The deep, rhythmic vibration wasn't Subimol’s snore this time. It was the frantic pounding inside Moli’s chest as consciousness seeped back. Moonlight, silver and cold, sliced through the gap in the curtains, painting stark stripes across the wreckage of the master bedroom. Discarded silk pooled like discarded skin on the plush carpet. The air hung thick, saturated with the cloying sweetness of night-blooming jasmine from the garden below and the unmistakable, musky tang of sex.
She lay on her side, naked skin glued to Sumu’s by a thin sheen of dried sweat and other fluids. Her heavy breasts were crushed against his chest, the soft weight rising and falling with his slow, deep breaths. Every point of contact felt electric, even in sleep. Beneath her hip, the bedsheet was damp, chillingly cool where their combined release had soaked through – a sticky testament to the violence of their coupling.
And then, cutting through the silence like a rusty saw: Hrrrronnnk... Phhhhwww... Subimol’s snores. Deep, oblivious, echoing up from the study directly below. The sound didn’t jar her; it coiled inside her gut, a live wire. Security. Generosity. Kindness. All embodied in that sleeping, unsuspecting man. And she was naked in his bed, pressed against his nephew, her body still humming from the way Sumu had fucked her hours before.
The hollowness Subimol’s distance created roared back, but now it was filled with a different kind of fire. Illicit. Dangerous. Addictive. Guilt was a dull echo, drowned out by the raw memory of Sumu’s mouth, his hands, his cock slamming into her with a possessive fury her husband never possessed. The damp sheet beneath her, the rhythmic snoring below – they weren’t deterrents. They were fuel.
Her hand, resting limply on Sumu’s hip, stirred. Fingers trailed downwards, feather-light at first, tracing the hard line of his pelvic bone. Then, bolder, sliding through the sparse hair, finding the soft, vulnerable skin of his inner thigh. Higher. Her knuckles brushed the heavy, flaccid weight nestled there. It twitched.
A low sigh escaped Sumu, more vibration than sound. Moli watched his face in the moonlight – the relaxed jaw, the smooth brow of undisturbed sleep. Her fingers closed gently around his cock. It was warm, soft velvet over hardening steel. She squeezed lightly, feeling the pulse leap against her palm. Another twitch. A deeper sigh. She began to stroke, a slow, deliberate slide from root to tip, her thumb swirling over the sensitive head, already gathering a bead of moisture.
Sumu stirred. A grunt rumbled in his chest. His eyelids fluttered open, dark pools of confusion in the gloom that quickly sharpened into startled awareness. He looked down, seeing her hand wrapped around him, seeing her face inches from his, her eyes wide and dark, reflecting the moonlight and a hunger he recognized instantly.
"Jethima?" he rasped, his voice thick with sleep and sudden arousal. "Jethima... what...?"
"Shhh," she murmured, her own voice husky, a secret shared in the moonlit silence. Her strokes intensified, becoming firmer, faster. His cock thickened rapidly in her grasp, lengthening, becoming a rigid column of heat. She saw the moment understanding, and raw lust, fully ignited in his eyes. "Couldn't sleep," she whispered, leaning closer, her breath hot on his ear. "Remembered how you tasted." Her tongue flicked out, tracing the shell of his ear, feeling him shudder. "Remembered how you filled me."
"Oh, fuck," Sumu groaned, his hips lifting slightly, pushing his cock deeper into her stroking fist. "Jethima..."
She didn't stop. She watched his face, the play of moonlight and shadow on his features as pleasure sparked. Then, slowly, deliberately, she slid downwards. Her breasts dragged across his stomach, leaving trails of heat. Her lips found the hollow of his throat, tasting salt. She kissed lower, her tongue tracing the ridge of his collarbone, then swirling around a flat nipple. He gasped, his hands tangling in her hair, not guiding, just holding on.
Down she went, a slow, sensual descent. Her tongue painted a wet path down the center of his chest, over the hard plane of his abdomen, dipping into his navel. She nuzzled the coarse hair leading downwards, inhaling his scent – sleep, sweat, and the potent, masculine musk that made her own core clench. Her hand kept working his shaft, a steady counterpoint to her exploring mouth.
She bypassed his straining cock for a moment, her lips brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. He jumped. "Fuck, Jethima," he breathed, hips bucking. She did the same to the other thigh, her teeth grazing lightly, making him hiss. Only then did she turn her attention to the source of his tension.
Her free hand cupped his balls, kneading the heavy weight gently. She lowered her head. Her tongue, hot and slick, licked a long, slow stripe from the base of his shaft all the way up to the swollen, leaking head. Sumu cried out, a choked sound muffled by the pillows. She swirled her tongue around the sensitive crown, savoring the salty bead of pre-come, then took him fully into her mouth.
The heat was instantaneous, engulfing. She sank down, taking him deep, her lips stretching tight around his girth. A guttural groan tore from Sumu's throat. Her head began to move, a slow, deep rhythm at first, pulling back until just the tip rested between her lips, then plunging down again, taking him as deeply as she could. Her hand worked the base she couldn't reach, pumping in time with her mouth. Wet, sucking sounds filled the moonlit room, obscene counterpoint to the distant snoring.
She looked up, meeting his burning gaze. Her eyes held his as she sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, creating intense pressure. Her tongue massaged the underside of his shaft on the upstroke. Saliva slicked him, pooled at the corners of her mouth, dripped down her chin onto his stomach. She moaned around his cock, the vibration sending shockwaves through him. Her free hand slid lower, fingertips brushing his perineum, then pressing lightly against the tight ring of muscle behind his balls.
"Shit! Fuck! Jethima, I'm gonna...!" Sumu gasped, his hips bucking uncontrollably, his fingers tightening painfully in her hair, trying to pull her off. But she didn't stop. She sucked harder, faster, desperate to taste him, to claim this release too. She took him deep, her throat opening, accepting him as he erupted.
The first hot spurt hit the back of her throat, thick and salty. She swallowed convulsively. The second pulse was stronger, flooding her mouth. She pulled back slightly, wanting to taste it fully, letting the next powerful jet splash across her tongue, over her lips. Some of it, glistening white in the moonlight, spattered onto the smeared crimson sindur marking the parting of her hair, a stark, profane desecration of her marital symbol. She licked her lips, swallowing more, milking him with her mouth and hand until the last shuddering pulse subsided, his cock softening against her tongue.
Sumu collapsed back onto the pillow, chest heaving, utterly spent. For a few heartbeats, he lay there, dazed. Then, the reality crashed down. He pushed himself up on shaking elbows. His eyes darted to the door, then down at Moli, kneeling naked beside him, her lips glistening, the sindur streaked with his come. Horror warred with the fading glow of satiation in his eyes.
He scrambled off the bed, stumbling slightly. "Fuck. Fuck!" he hissed, not looking at her. He snatched his briefs from the floor, yanking them on, then his jeans. He grabbed his crumpled t-shirt. His movements were frantic, jerky. He didn't look back as he unlocked the heavy bedroom door and slipped silently into the hallway.
He stood for a moment in the dark corridor, the discarded clothes clutched to his chest. The rhythmic Hrrrronnnk... Phhhhwww... was louder out here, coming from the slightly ajar door of Subimol’s study. Sumu crept closer, drawn by a morbid compulsion. He peered through the crack.
Subimol was sprawled in his leather recliner, head back, mouth slack. A half-finished glass of whiskey sat on the table beside him. He looked peaceful. Trusting. Utterly unaware that his nephew had just filled his wife’s mouth and defiled her sindur in the bed above. The betrayal hit Sumu like a physical blow. The heat of lust evaporated, replaced by a cold, sickening wave of shame. His stomach churned.
He turned away abruptly, bile rising in his throat. He practically ran down the hall towards the guest room, the sanctuary of impersonal sheets. He shut the door quietly behind him, leaning against it for a moment, breathing hard. The silence in the guest room was oppressive. He could still taste Moli on his lips, smell her on his skin. He could still hear his uncle’s snores. He stripped off his clothes again, climbed into the cold, clean bed, and pulled the sheets over his head, trying to block out the images, the sensations, the crushing weight of what he’d done. Sleep, when it finally came, was thin and haunted.
Sunlight, harsh and accusing, stabbed through the guest room window. Sumu woke with a jolt, the ghost of his uncle’s trusting face imprinted on the back of his eyelids. His mouth was dry, cottony with the lingering taste of shame. Every detail from the night before replayed in a sickening loop: the feel of Moli’s throat around him, the sight of his come streaking her sindur, the sound of Subimol’s peaceful snores echoing from below. He dressed quickly, his movements stiff, wanting only to escape the house and the memory of his own betrayal.
Downstairs, the air was thick with the smell of coffee and frying parathas. Moli moved around the kitchen with a new, unsettling energy. Her hips swayed as she set the table, a small, secret smile playing on her lips. When her eyes met Sumu’s, they held a knowing, possessive glow that made his stomach clench. “Sleep well, Sumu?” she asked, her voice a low, intimate purr that was meant only for him.
“Fine,” he muttered, looking away, focusing intently on pouring his coffee. He could feel her gaze like a physical touch, tracing the lines of his body. He took his plate and retreated to the far end of the dining table, putting as much distance between them as possible. Every casual brush of her arm as she passed, every time she leaned over to refill his glass, sent a jolt of unwanted heat through him. His body remembered what his mind was screaming to forget.
Later, as Subimol read the newspaper in his study, Sumu tried to slip out the front door. Moli materialized in the hallway, blocking his path. “Going so soon?” she murmured, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. Her fingers burned through his shirt. “We barely got to talk.” He flinched away from her touch as if scalded. “We can’t, Jethima. This has to stop. It’s wrong.”
“Wrong?” she whispered, stepping closer, her body crowding him against the wall. Her scent, jasmine and warm skin, filled his senses. “It didn’t feel wrong when your cock was buried inside me. It felt like the only right thing I’ve felt in years.” Her hand slid down, her palm pressing flat against the growing tightness in his jeans. He was hard instantly, a traitorous response that filled him with self-loathing. “See?” she breathed. “Your body knows it’s not wrong.”
He pushed her hand away, his own trembling. “He’s my blood, Moli. My uncle.” His voice was strained, desperate. “I can’t do this to him.” He tried to sidestep her, but she moved with him, a predator cornering her prey. “Where was this guilt last night?” she challenged, her eyes flashing. “When you were pounding your uncle’s wife into his own mattress? When you came in my mouth?” The crude words, spoken in a hushed, furious whisper, undid him. He had no defense.
“Moli! Sumu!” Subimol’s voice boomed from the study, making them both jump apart. Sumu’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage of guilt. “I’m heading to the market for those parts. Won’t be long!”
“Drive safely, jaanu!” Moli called back, her voice perfectly even, a loving wife’s send-off. Her eyes, however, never left Sumu’s, holding him in a vise of promise and threat. The front door clicked shut. The sound of the car engine turning over rumbled from the driveway. They stood frozen, listening. The car didn't move. He was still there.
The engine revved. Tires crunched on gravel. The sound faded into the distance. The house was utterly, profoundly silent. The last thread of Sumu’s resistance snapped.
Moli launched herself at him. There was no more pretense, no more conversation. Her mouth crashed against his, a furious, hungry assault. His hands came up to push her away, but instead, they gripped her hips, pulling her flush against him. A low groan ripped from his throat as he felt the solid ridge of his erection press into her soft stomach. He kissed her back with a frantic, starving need, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth, tasting coffee and a darker, more addictive flavor – sin.
In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifted her and placed her on the cold granite of the kitchen counter. Her legs immediately wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back, pulling him into the aching heat between her thighs. His hands tore at the aanchal of her saree, yanking the delicate fabric away before cupping her breasts through her blouse, squeezing the heavy weight, his thumbs rubbing her hardened nipples into tight points. She moaned into his mouth, her own hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
“Jethima,” he breathed against her lips, the honorific now a filthy endearment.
“Sumu,” she gasped back, her voice thick with want.
His mouth left hers, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her neck. He sucked at the sensitive skin over her pulse point, surely leaving a mark. He moved lower, nuzzling into the deep cleavage revealed by her low-cut blouse, his tongue dipping into the shadowed valley between her breasts. With a violent sweep of his arm, he sent a fruit bowl and a stack of mail clattering to the floor. He pushed her back, laying her down on the cold, hard surface.
He loomed over her, his mouth descending to her navel, his tongue circling the shallow dip before dipping inside. She cried out, her back arching off the counter, thrusting her breasts towards his face. He took the invitation, his mouth closing over one lace-covered nipple, sucking hard through the fabric while his hand kneaded the other. Her saree was bunched at her waist, a tangled pool of silk. His free hand slid down, palming her mound through her damp panties, rubbing firm, circular motions against her clit.
He pulled her up to a sitting position. Her fingers finished with his buttons, yanking his shirt off and throwing it across the room. His hands found the pinned end of her saree, and with a series of practiced, frantic tugs, he unwound the six yards of silk. It joined his shirt on the floor. He pulled her from the counter, her body sliding against his. Their mouths found each other again, a desperate, sloppy connection as they stumbled out of the kitchen.
They left a trail of clothing from the kitchen to the bathroom – his jeans, her blouse, her bra, her petticoat. By the time Sumu shoved the bathroom door shut and turned the lock, they were both completely naked. He pushed her against the tiled wall, his body pinning hers as he reached into the shower stall and turned the knob. A blast of warm water quickly warmed, filling the room with thick, billowing steam.
The water plastered her hair to her skull, streamed in rivulets down her body. Sumu’s mouth was everywhere. He licked the water from her shoulders, sucked on her collarbone, worshipped her breasts, taking first one nipple and then the other into his hot mouth, sucking and biting until she was whimpering. He dropped to his knees, his hands gripping her hips. His face buried itself in the wet, dark triangle of hair between her legs.
His tongue, hot and rough, licked a broad, flat stripe from her entrance to her clit. Moli jolted, a sharp cry echoing off the tiles. Her hands flew to his head, her fingers tangling in his wet hair. “Yes, right there,” she moaned, pushing her pelvis forward, grinding herself against his face. He ate her with a ravenous intensity, his tongue plunging inside her, then returning to flick and suck her swollen clit. He lapped at her essence, drinking her in, his groans of pleasure vibrating through her core.
“Sumu… I’m close…” she gasped, her thighs trembling. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue a relentless, perfect pressure. Her orgasm crashed over her, a raw, shuddering wave that made her legs buckle. He held her up, his mouth still working her through the convulsions, milking every last spasm.
Before she could recover, he surged to his feet. He grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back and crushing his mouth to hers. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, a musky, intimate flavor that sent a fresh surge of lust through her. “I need you inside me,” she panted against his mouth. “Now.”
He turned her roughly to face the large mirror opposite the shower. The glass was fogged, but their forms were clear – his lean, muscular body pressed against her softer, curvier one, water sluicing over them both. He positioned himself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding the thick, ruddy head of his cock to her slick entrance.
“Watch,” he commanded, his voice a guttural rasp in her ear.
He drove into her in one deep, brutal thrust. She screamed, her hands slapping against the wet tiles for support. Her eyes, wide and dark with pleasure, locked with his in the misty reflection. He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust slamming her forward, the wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting mixing with the drumming of the water. He gripped her hips, his fingers leaving pale marks on her skin.
“Look at us,” he grunted, his hips pistoning. “Look at me fucking you, Jethima. Look how deep I am.”
Moli’s gaze was glued to the mirror, to the sight of his body joining with hers. “Oh god, Sumu… yes! Fuck me! You feel so much better than him,” she cried out, the comparison torn from her in her ecstasy. “So much bigger… harder… fuck! Right there! Don’t stop!”
Her words, her complete surrender, pushed him over the edge. With a final, deep plunge that pressed her against the wall, he roared, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside her in hot, pulsing jets. The feeling of his release triggered her own, a second, violent climax that ripped through her, her inner muscles clenching around him, milking him dry.
They slumped against the wall, under the stream of water, panting, spent. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breath and the spray hitting the tiles. Then, without a word, Sumu pulled out of her. He turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and began to dress in his damp, discarded clothes from the hallway. He didn’t look at her.
“Sumu…” Moli began, her voice soft.
“I have to go,” he said, his tone flat, final. He walked out of the bathroom, out of the house, leaving the front door slightly ajar.
Moli moved quickly. She gathered the scattered clothes – the torn blouse with its broken hooks, the saree, his t-shirt. She stuffed them deep into the laundry basket, burying the evidence beneath other linens. She took another shower, scrubbing the smell of him from her skin, but nothing could wash away the feeling of his cum already starting to leak from her. She dressed in a fresh, modest saree, carefully reapplied her sindur, making the red line in her sinthi neat and bright.
When Subimol returned an hour later, bags in hand, he found his wife waiting for him in the spotless living room, a picture of domestic serenity. “Welcome home, jaanu,” she said, smiling, taking the bags from him. “Did you get everything you needed?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, patting her cheek affectionately. “The house is so quiet. Where’s Sumu?”
“Oh, he left a while ago,” Moli said smoothly, turning to put the groceries away. “Said he had studies.”
Subimol nodded, completely believing, completely unaware. He didn’t see the torn blouse in the laundry, or the panties stained with another man’s dried release. He didn’t know that the loving wife who kissed his cheek was still filled with his nephew’s seed. He saw only what he expected to see, and the truth, for now, remained hidden in plain sight.