Adultery Betrayal

[Sherlocked]

In the hospital, Subimol lay awake. A deep, grinding pain in his abdomen kept sleep at bay. The nurses said it wasn't time for more medication. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of Moli, of her softness and her smile. A faint smile touched his own lips. He hoped she was sleeping peacefully in their bed, safe and unaware of his suffering. He had no idea that her sinthi was at this very moment bright red with sindur applied by his nephew. He had no idea that his nephew’s tongue was deep in his wife’s mouth, licking and sucking every possible place, or that his dick was buried deep inside her vagina, and that she was cooperating eagerly, her body gripping the young cock like a vice. Their hands were roaming, clutching, claiming.

Sumu started to fuck her hard again, the slapping sound of their sweat-slicked skin echoing in the room.

“See, Subimol?” Moli screamed, her voice raw with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. “See how your nephew is taking care of my needs? It’s your fault! If only you’d taken care of me, of this, and not just given me food and a roof, we wouldn’t be here! But what happens is for good only! Now I get to enjoy this young cock! You take your sweet time in the hospital! Let Sumu take care of me for a few more days!”

Her words, her complete and utter surrender to the taboo, broke the last of Sumu’s control. With a guttural roar, he drove into her one last time, unleashing himself deep inside his aunt. Moli screamed, her back arching violently off the bed as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as her own climax ripped through her.

They collapsed, spent, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and the stark, sweet smell of sex. For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing. Then Sumu found her mouth again in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, exchanging their mixed saliva.
“That was so hot,” Moli panted between kisses.

Exhaustion claimed them. They fell into a heavy, sated sleep there in Subimol’s spot, the red powder smeared across her skin like a war paint.
In the silent, sterile hospital room, sleep still eluded Subimol. He shifted, wincing against the pain, and thought of his loving wife, a man completely at peace with the loyalty of the two people he trusted most.


The ten days that followed were a fever dream of sweat-slicked skin and muffled moans. With the master bedroom officially theirs, they desecrated it with a systematic hunger. The first time Sumu fucked her from behind against the same door Subimol had carried her over a decade ago, Moli came so hard she saw stars, her forehead pressed against the cool wood. They did it on the floor, her sari pooled beneath her like a fallen flag of surrender. They did it in the shower, the water sluicing over their entangled bodies as he lifted her against the tiles, her legs wrapped around his waist, his thrusts echoing in the small, steam-filled space.

He took her on the kitchen counter at dawn, a bowl of fruit rattling precariously as he drove into her, his hand clamped over her mouth to silence her cries. He bent her over the sofa in the drawing-room one afternoon, the sheer curtains doing little to hide their frantic movements from the empty street outside. Each room of the house became a new chapter in their secret history, each surface a testament to their betrayal. The scent of their sex seemed to permeate the very walls, a secret perfume only they could smell.


The day Subimol was discharged, the house was filled with the chaotic, warm energy of family. Aunts, uncles, cousins—they all flowed through the rooms, their voices a cheerful cacophony. The center of it all was Subimol, propped up in his bed, looking frail but smiling. Moli sat at the head of the bed, gently adjusting his pillows, the picture of a devoted wife. Sumu sat near his feet, the attentive nephew.

“I tell you,” Subimol said, his voice still weak but filled with emotion, his face glowing with a pure, unadulterated pride. He looked from Moli to Sumu. “I had no worries. None. Knowing my Sumu was here, looking after my Moli, taking care of the house… it let me focus on healing. He is such a good boy. A pillar.”
Moli’s hand, which had been stroking Subimol’s shoulder, stilled for a fraction of a second. Her eyes met Sumu’s over her husband’s prone body. It was a fleeting glance, a crack in the perfect facade. In that look, the entire ten days flashed between them. The memory of Sumu’s mouth between her legs on this very bed, the taste of him on her lips in the kitchen, the sound of his grunts as he took her from behind in the garage, her palms flat against the cold windshield of Subimol’s car.

The family buzzed around them, chatting, laughing, oblivious. But in the silent space between Moli and Sumu, the air was thick with the ghosts of their debauchery. They looked at each other, and they saw the future laid out before them like a feast. Subimol was bedridden, helpless. He wouldn't be walking without assistance for weeks, maybe months.

They could see it all, clear as day. A quick, frantic coupling in the kitchen while Subimol napped just rooms away. His hands up her skirt in the study, his breath hot on her neck as they listened for any sound from the bedroom. The risk of taking her on the drawing-room sofa in the dead of night, the television mumbling upstairs to mask their sounds. The sheer, terrifying convenience of it.

A slow, knowing smile curved Moli’s lips. Across the bed, Sumu’s mouth mirrored the expression exactly. For the future.

-- The end --