Adultery My Fiancee's Happiness

[sakurasan]

Chapter 11 The Bell

Kunal’s fingers slid into the cleft of her ass and pressed. Her moan went into his mouth. Then he saw the umbrellas. He dragged his hands out of her saree. She broke the kiss, breath ragged, lips swollen.

Rohan walked in.

“Isha. Kunal. You still there,” he shouted over the rain, loud and late, as if the storm had kept him from seeing a thing.

She shifted. Space opened between their chests. Kunal took an umbrella from Rohan first, then lifted her with his other arm and lowered her until Rohan caught her against him.

They walked back under the cloth. Inside, Rohan shook water from his hair. Rain still hammered the roof. He checked his phone, then sniffed hard. His nose was already running. A cough sat in his chest.

“I checked the weather. It is not going to stop.”

“But you both should still do that shot.”

“It is remotely possible. Let us start for home now.”

He coughed into his fist. Isha touched his arm.

“It is okay, Kunal. Better we head home.”

Kunal let it go. They packed and left the estate under the same grey sky.

In Amboli town they stopped for lunch. While they waited for the food, Isha took the camera and scrolled. The cliff still stopped her cold. Her thumb froze on the dial. Her nipples went hard under the blouse before she could stop them. She wanted to zoom until his mouth on hers filled the whole screen.

“Rohan,” she said, eyes still on the frame. “Kunal is suggesting a bridal special shoot. Just me.”

Rohan had been carrying a quiet worry all morning. The pre-wedding work was ending. Kunal still had not fucked her. Time was running out. Her words lit him up.

“Great,” he said. “We should use every hour he can spare for us.”

“Yeah.” She set the camera down. “How many brides get this kind of photographer in the family.”

Kunal had meant to raise it with Rohan himself. Hearing her take the lead pleased him more. She was eager. He heard it under the polite words.

“Pleasure is mine,” he said. He tipped the camera toward her once. “You make that thing hungry.”

His eyes held hers a second too long. Something low in her belly answered before her mouth could.

After lunch she fed Rohan cough syrup. Kunal drove. Rohan had her on his lap.

They left Amboli behind. Kunal and Isha traded songs and talked film, shot by shot, whose frames stayed with them. Rohan’s head grew heavy on her shoulder. His breathing slowed. Sleep took him.

She pushed his head lower until his cheek found her breast. She drew the pallu off her chest, covered him with it, cloth warm over his back and shoulders, and settled the end back on her own. His mouth rested on the soft blouse over her nipple through the cloth.

Kunal looked over at them. Envy stung.

“Hmm. He gets the baby treatment. You never cared for me like this.”

“He feels cold.”

“I was cold that night too.”

“Okay. Next time I will cover you like this too. Now let my baby sleep peacefully.”

“Okay, okay. Keep your baby safe. Feed it inside if you want. I will not complain if you feed me later.”

“Bad boy. That is all you think about.”

She pinched Kunal’s chest hard enough to make him hiss, then hugged Rohan tighter. His face stayed pressed into her breast through the cloth. She kept him there.

By night she reached her flat with her bag in one hand and a bunch of carrots she had picked up at lunch. Riya and Sneha were in the hall with their laptops open.

“Late again,” Riya said, and looked at the carrots. Her eyebrows climbed. “What are those.”

“From the hills there. Fresh.”

Sneha took one out of the bunch and held it up, long and thick and straight. She turned it slowly like she was checking a specimen.

“Do not cook these,” Sneha said.

“Why not.”

Riya already had another in her hand. “We will eat them fresh. In our rooms.”

Isha frowned. “They taste better that way. Sweet.”

Sneha clicked her tongue. “The mouth that is going to eat this still does not know taste.”

“What is that supposed to mean.”

Riya leaned back on the sofa, grinning. “Your man keeps you busy every evening. We are not so blessed.”

An old instinct made her open her mouth. She wanted to scream that she and Rohan were not doing anything. The words stopped in her throat. They had always seen her as naive. Why not let them see her like this too.

Her face stayed blank. She said nothing.

“Take what you need,” she said, and set the bunch on the table.

Sneha nodded toward the carrots. “So we manage on our own.”

Isha went still. The mouth that still did not know taste. Her pussy. Her face burned. She understood.

Riya picked one. Sneha took the thickest. Each walked off to her room with a carrot held at her side like a prize, still grinning.

Isha looked at what was left. She chose one, thick as her wrist. The shape hit her at once, the same thick line she had seen in Kunal’s shorts. She went to her room and shut the door.

Monday evening Rohan drove her to the duplex. He used his key card and got them in. At the far left, Kunal was adjusting lights in the main bay, green screen already bright behind him.

“Finally,” he said. “I thought you two got lost.”

Rohan walked her through. At the left corner an L-shaped mirror filled the wall. He slid a screen shut across it and made a changing room.

“Isn’t this setup nice.”

She thought of getting naked with only a screen between her and the floor. At least in the caravan they had stood outside. Here she could not send Kunal out of the studio. Anyway, her mouth only said, “Yes.”

He took her toward the right. A big billiards table sat there.

“So studios have these,” she said.

Rohan chuckled. “We did not have space upstairs.”

Kunal called from the ladder. “Models love to pose with it. Makes them look elegant. And of course we mainly use it to play.”

The far right end held gear and props, storage for his outdoor shoots. She saw the familiar reflectors and stands that had taken her seat in the car only yesterday. At the centre sat the workstation: one big monitor facing the door, a soft massage chair. Too comfortable for one, a tight squeeze when she and Rohan sat in. He took a remote and pressed it. A loud bell rang upstairs.

“See,” he said. “Anytime you press this, I will be down in a minute.”

She wanted him gone for the secret shoot. She kept her eyes soft so he would not feel pushed out.

“Meaning you will not be here,” she said.

“I have to prepare for tomorrow,” Rohan said. “I have no work here anyway.”

Kunal came down and wiped his hands. “You are an independent woman. You can manage a few hours without your fiancé.”

“Of course I can.”

Kunal tossed her a bag. “Then go get dressed.”

He turned to Rohan. “Thanks for the delivery. Go prep your lectures.”

As she shut the sliding screen, she heard Rohan’s footsteps leave for the stairs. Inside the bag: a shiny nylon T-shirt and jeans. She knew Kunal did not like the bra. She stripped to her panties and pulled the clothes on. They were tight.

“Kunal, this is not my size,” she said through the screen. “I am not lean like your models.”

“Bought for you. Push that ass in and come out.”

She forced them on and looked in the mirror. She looked more like a student on campus than a teacher.

When she came out, Kunal made nothing of it, as if she had always dressed like this. He did her makeup. The shoot ran like any other day.

When they were done, she changed back into her college saree and came out. Kunal stood by the workstation with the bell remote behind his back. She reached for it. He stepped aside and kept it out of her hands.

“What childishness. I need to go home.”

“Let’s trade for the remote.”

“Okay. What do you want.”

“Remember the cliff. I need that kiss again.”

“That was a one-time thing. Ask something else.”

He made a sad puppy face. “Oh. It was two times. Did I taste bad? You did not like it?”

“I did not mean that. It was nice.”

“If you did not mean that, then why not give me one.”

“Okay. Just one thank-you kiss.”

They leaned in. She lifted her head. He looked down. Their mouths met. Then he gripped both her ass cheeks over the saree and lifted her until their lips were level. Tongues found each other and stayed. She reached behind him and pressed the remote. The bell broke them apart. She fixed her saree and lipstick as Rohan came down.

On the drive they made small talk. Kunal was still in her mouth. She could feel him there, taste him. She took her kerchief and wiped her lips again and again.

At her building she leaned toward Rohan.

“You better not catch my cold,” he said.

Relief went through her. Her usual goodbye had already been taken, from another mouth.

“Okay. But this is back when you fix that throat. Rest well till then.”

“Of course. You too. Get some rest. I believe Kunal is a taskmaster.”

“You have no idea.”

Tuesday the bag held crop tops and leggings. Kunal kept the lens on her open belly, the navel, the soft line above the waistband. The shoot ran. When they were done she went for the remote before she changed.

He reached for it. She put both hands behind her back and held it there. He came in. She pushed him off with her breasts. Their chests pressed and fought, cloth to cloth, her nipples hard under the crop top.

He closed the last inch. She took his mouth first this time. He held her face in both hands and tipped her head to the wall. The kiss went wild. His hands left her face, ran her back, then cupped her breasts over the thin cloth and squeezed. She pressed the remote behind her. The bell rang. She laughed and ran for the changing screen.

Wednesday, before the last change, her pussy was shouting at her. You are having all the fun. What about me. After the Friday drive I am getting only those stupid carrots. I need the feel. She calmed it. Today I will take care of you.

She held a thin apple shorts in her hand. She took the panty off too before she pulled them on.

Kunal called wrap. She walked to the workstation and stood quiet. He understood. She was waiting for the kiss. He came close. She pulled his shirt, sat him in the chair, and climbed onto his lap.

The kiss was slow. For her the lips were a formality. Her pussy wanted the feel. Under the thin shorts she felt his cock pulse against her, the same thick line from the car. Ten minutes later he broke for air.

“Happy?” she said.

“Very happy. I do not need dinner now.”

She pressed the remote. The bell rang. She slid off him slowly and pulled the screen shut.

Thursday she wore a single thick cocktail dress, a slit running up her thighs. Cool air moved between her legs and kept her nipples hard. Between clicks Kunal came in close and pinched them through the cloth.

“They are not showing well,” he said.

After wrap she climbed onto his lap. They kissed, broke for air, kissed again.

“You know Rohan is the luckiest person in the world,” he said.

“Are you not getting the same luck right now.”

“These are just teasers. He gets the main picture.”

She could sense where he was heading. She kissed him to shut him up.

“These teasers are killing me,” he said anyway.

She tried to close his mouth again. He held her face and kept her there a full minute.

“Just once,” he said. “Why don’t you give me a special screening.”

She could not find words. If Rohan had not been upstairs, she would never have kissed Kunal at all. His being in the same building made this feel like a game, not cheating. When Kunal asked for sex, that same nearness flipped. Rohan was too close. How could she fuck Kunal with him one floor above.

Her answer was a wetter kiss, tongue pushed into his mouth. When she came up for air she said, “This feels nice. But you know I cannot do anything more. I love Rohan and he is my world.”

Kunal left it there. He rang the bell. She stood up and went to change.

That night her pussy and her brain went to war.

Her pussy shouted first. We are desperate. We need it now. Carrots are a joke. Give us him.

Her brain answered hard. To hell with lust. Love is the life. Rohan is the life.

Then a worse thought rose. For one second today, when Kunal asked for the screening, she had pictured the upstairs empty. Pictured herself saying yes. She cursed herself for that second. What kind of fiancée even runs that picture.

Her brain found the only door that still let her sleep. Rohan saw the kiss with Kunal. He even clicked it. He is fine with that much. We are not doing more. Kisses stay. The rest stays shut.

Her body took that line and drifted under.

Friday at wrap she was on his lap again. Soft cotton jeggings, a matching denim T-shirt that sat like a second skin, nothing under either. Kunal was in shorts. The thick line of his cock showed clean.

She sat as she had all week. Then her pussy begged for better contact. She lifted her right leg, straddled his hips, and faced him. His nose found her neck. She hugged him tight. Her pussy lips kissed the impression in his shorts through the thin cotton.

For one second Kunal went still. Who was chasing whom. Then he took her lower lip into his mouth and chewed. She rolled her hips slow. The chew sharpened. She let out an ah. He left her lip and kissed her neck.

“Show some mercy. Just once.”

“I already told you.”

“I love him too. That stays. This is only bodies talking.”

“Someone else’s body is a sin.”

“Sin starts after marriage. You are still free. Soon I will not even get to ask for a kiss.”

“We kiss only because Rohan has not tied the knot yet. My heart and my body are his.”

“Is that so. You gave him milk that day. My turn now.”

He bit her nipple through the T-shirt.

"Idiot. That hurts. Rohan was sleeping."

“Maybe not that day. After marriage you will feed him every day. Poor me can only dream.”

“You talk too much.”

She put the other nipple in his mouth. He went from one to the other, biting, then buried his face between her breasts and shook it there. Her fingers slid into his hair and held him. She let him play. Her pussy started to leak.

She pulled his head back.

“So what is your plan for the weekend.”

He came up for air. “Rohan is dropping me at the airport very early. Guwahati.”

“So far.”

“Don’t start missing me. Back Monday afternoon.”

“Why would I. You know we have college every other Saturday. Rohan and I will be busy.”

“I have a model too. She will be waiting at the airport.”

“Oh. A couple, or just a girl.”

“Aspiring heroine. Just a girl. And there is a good chance you might know her.”

He opened his phone and turned it to her. A young size-zero beauty looked back from the screen.

“She passed out last year from our department,” Isha said. “She does the lead in a lot of the cultural events.”

“Yeah. She is a free spirit.”

“I heard. Where do you both stay.”

A different feeling grew in her, ugly, and she had no word for it.

“A hotel near the location.”

He said it easy. He did not read her face.

“Same room?”

Her arms locked around his neck.

He looked at her then and laughed. “Listen to you.”

“I am only asking.”

“Sure.” He laughed and buried his face between her breasts again.

Her hips started to move. Their crotches rubbed slow. She held him there. It hurt, deep. That girl was stealing something that belonged only to her.

The wall clock hit eight. Her brain said enough. She pressed the bell. They broke apart. She went behind the sliding screen to change.

Outside, Rohan was talking to Kunal.

“What time do I wake you.”

“Four. Flight is early.”

Rohan’s voice gave her clarity. What was wrong with her. Why should she feel sad. Kunal hung out with girls all the time. That was his work. How silly of her.

She came out, hugged Rohan, and walked out.

Early next morning Kunal came out of his room ready. Rohan was already in the hall, the screens on, his hand inside his shorts. Isha filled the frames in western wear.

“How do you like the pics.”

“A different girl in every dress.”

“Different good?”

“Sex bombs. You turned my goddess into a bomb.”

“That I do. Enjoy your multiple wives. Don’t rat me this time. Surprise gift.”

“I promise.”

“I don’t kiss and tell. I will not hide anything from you either.”

“I understand.”

Late that evening Isha stood at her window. Below, a shoulder-high turnstile opened on the back gate. A narrow lane ran past it, wide enough for two-wheelers only, and beyond that an empty plot where the apartment kids played. The open ground usually calmed her when her head was a mess. Tonight it did not. Kunal had asked for just once, again and again. Her body was defying her every day.

Then the date landed. One year ago, this hour, this window.

She had looked down. Meera was in the lane with a man, their bodies locked, close to sex on the empty stretch. Her blood had boiled.

Meera was in IT, a distant relative of Sneha’s. She had lived with them a few months before Riya moved in. Same age as Isha. They had become friends at once. Meera video-called her fiancé in New York almost every night. Isha had even been on the call once, a small hello as a roommate. The wedding date was fixed. Isha had believed it was all clean until that sight. It changed everything. She felt she did not know Meera at all. She started avoiding her. Meera became the example she took to Rohan, the girl a woman should never be. Nothing he said went in. From this same window she watched Meera come home late with that man, night after night.

Meera caught her at the window one evening, understood the silence, and came up.

“I know you think I am a bad person. It is not that simple.”

“Your fiancé is on a screen. You are with someone else. What is not simple. I hate people like you.”

“My fiancé is a distant cousin. Arranged. The man you saw is my ex. He wanted closure. Don’t moral-security officer me. I have only been good to you.”

It did not land. Isha stopped speaking to her. Meera asked more than once. Isha still skipped the wedding.

Now the shame sat in her. Rohan’s words from that week came back, clear.

“That is her personal life.”

“They are not married yet. It is not cheating.”

“People live a little before they marry. That does not make them bad.”

Had he meant it, or had he only said it to calm her down. The question stayed. She smiled anyway. Fate had put her in Meera’s shoes, and at least she did not have a girl like her old self standing at a window to judge her.

Three evenings the rain hammered the studio door. Water shone on the driveway. Inside, her skin went hot the moment he touched her. Kunal put her in Wonder Woman, Supergirl, the rest of that lot, and said Rohan was a sucker for it. The shoot was a cover. He called wrap earlier each night than the last. His hands found her under the dress. She let him roam, and when he went lower she closed her legs or locked them around him. He begged like a fool. She laughed, and waited for the next line.

“You two are still innocent virgins. What will you even do on the first night. Sit on the bed and play dumb charades.”

“Your kids will grow up in the city. If they find out their mother was a virgin on her wedding night, they will call you uncool.”

“Rohan drives you around in the day. With my training, you can drive him at night.”

“What we will have is nothing more than a gym workout. A bit more satisfying. Rohan will never mind you hitting the gym.”

“Just one night, I will confer on you a PhD in night art. Then you both can live as doctors.”

She laughed and kissed his mouth shut. He thought he was getting somewhere. The moment he tried to undress her, the zipper moving an inch, a couple of buttons coming undone, she reached for the remote. For her the clothes were the last defense. If they came off, she would not be able to stop herself.

At night she stood naked at the mirror in her room. Her breasts and ass were red, still holding the crush of his hands. She turned a little, watched the marks move, and stayed. She liked how she looked after him. The kiss rule was long forgotten. Only the clothes still mattered.

Thursday the bag held Catwoman. Behind the sliding screen she worked the thin black latex up her legs. It caught, then sucked on, a wet shine, stretch so tight the cloth became her skin. One zipper ran the whole back, nape to the cleft of her ass. She got her arms in and pulled the neck. The latex sealed over her breasts and sat them high and apart, each swell packed, nipples showing as two hard points. It cinched her waist until the hourglass was a drawn line, then poured over her hips and locked her ass into two round halves that moved only as much as the rubber allowed. Between her thighs the seam ate in and held her pussy in a single black split.

She looked in the L-shaped mirror and went cold. If not for the colour, she was naked. Worse than naked. Bare skin would have given her a little bounce, a little lie. This dress held every muscle in place and showed the truth of her: the heavy chest, the narrow middle, the wide shelf of hip, the fat of her ass sitting round and high. She could see the shape of her cunt through the latex. Her mouth went dry. Her pussy went wet inside the rubber.

The mask was the last piece. She put it on.

The woman in the glass was gone. A sexy animal looked back, ears up, mouth cut out, eyes shining in the holes, body all black muscle and sex. Isha was somewhere under that. The cat was what the lights would get.

She did not walk to the marks. The naughtiness sat too high. Kunal was at the camera with his back to her. She climbed onto his back, legs around his waist, and bit his ear, then his neck, a mock cat attack, small sharp bites through the mask’s open mouth.

He caught her hips, swung her around to the front, and put her on the floor. He lay down next to her. She climbed on top of him to attack again. They rolled, latex squeaking on the studio floor, his hands on her packed ass, her thighs locking, both of them laughing into the next bite.

The kisses took over the way they always did, only the chair was gone and the floor was under them. In the roll his velcro shirt came open. Her hand went to his chest.

“Your boobs look almost like mine,” she teased.

“Yours are God’s gift. Mine is hard work.”

She cupped his chest. “Whatever. But they are the same.”

He pressed hers over the latex. “See. This is dough. Now try mine.”

She pressed and got nowhere.

“Okay. Yours is stone. But cats bite, you know.”

She bent and took his nipple in her mouth and chewed.

Kunal saw the camera standing idle. She had come straight to the action. No posing left to hide behind. He thought this was the night. His hand found the zipper at her back and slid it halfway down.

The top went loose. She felt it at once. She stood, picked up the remote, and sat in the chair, holding it up.

He lost it. He came close and closed his hand over the one that held the remote.

His voice went serious.

“You are so worried about not cheating on Rohan. You are cheating on yourself. Be true to yourself first. Then think about others.”

She went still. The laugh died. He felt he had landed wrong. He squeezed in next to her and took the mask off. Her face was all tears. He hugged her. The tears ran onto his chest.

He had hit it. Every night she had felt she was not being true. It was killing her. She had no words for it. He had named it, and she had no answer.

He thought he had offended her. He kept saying sorry. He drew the zipper back up, slow. Her tears made him sad. If Rohan saw her like this, he would be devastated. Kunal waited.

After a long time she came up for air. She had composed herself.

“This never happened. Okay?”

He zipped his own lip shut.

“Now go change. We will shoot tomorrow.”

He pressed the bell.

Rohan came down surprised. The bell had never been this early. He took her home. The ride was silent. She gave him nothing. He came back. Kunal was on him before he sat down.

“This is because of you. She is suffering. She needs a release. She cannot cheat.”

“You promised you would try.”

“I tried my best. She is different from the other girls. She needs only you. You fuck her. I cannot watch her suffer anymore.”

Rohan sat with both things at once. He felt pride that she had held, for him, and he felt the fear that his dream of her taking a bigger cock would die.

“Okay. Promise me you will try once more tomorrow. If she still holds, I will take care of her.”

“Okay. But if she holds back tomorrow, I will kidnap you both and lock you in a room until she is pregnant.”

She was home this early for the first time in two weeks. Clothes and plates had piled. She put her bag down and worked through them, then fell into bed. His words kept playing. She was cheating on herself. She shut her eyes and asked the universe to take her through the next day.

That night Rohan understood her better than people thought. She was holding at the studio only because he sat so close, one floor up, waiting on that bell. He was praying the Mumbai trip would give her the space she needed.

Kunal had not had sex with anyone since he first met her in the café. At the start it was coincidence. After Rohan asked, he was fully in Isha. Assam should have been a release. He could not even flirt. He had no interest in that girl. That was when he understood how much hold Isha had on him. He was sure he would fail tomorrow. A part of him wished for that, so he could try to move on. This was getting dangerous for everyone he loved.