Adultery Wife helps me become a cuckold

[AnithaPurushan]

Amazing style of writing... Awaiting the next chapter.... Keep up the wonderful work.

[Johnnythedevil]

Going super

[xossissippi]

Pretty sure Uncle Banerjee is not the kind of person who would obey like Harpeet here. He would definitely not comply on using condoms and would rather go bare-back, seeding here fertile womb.

[incest_cuck]

As I watched the aftermath unfold on my phone screen, the wave of arousal that had consumed me began to ebb. My wife's face, previously flushed with pleasure, now contorted with anger. Her lips moved rapidly, clearly berating the brutish plumber as his smug grin faded, replaced by a look of surprise and then concern. Aradhya's hands gestured wildly, while her body language radiated fury. She pointed at the tattered condom, then at her thigh where his seed still glistened. Harpreet's massive shoulders slumped as he seems to realize the gravity of the situation. He reached out, presumably trying to calm her, but Aradhya jerked away from his touch.

I leaned closer to the screen, my heart pounding. This wasn't how I imagined things would go. The thrill of watching my wife with another man was rapidly being replaced by a growing sense of unease.  Harpreet's lips moved, likely forming apologies, but my wife wasn't having it. She shook her head vehemently, tears starting to form in her eyes. The sight of her distress sent a pang through my chest. What had I done?

As I watched, transfixed, Aradhya's anger seemed to crumble, giving way to despair. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, her face buried in her hands. The low-class plumber, looking lost, tried to comfort her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off violently. The plumber's face hardened instantly, his earlier contrition replaced by frustration. He gestured sharply, his muscular frame tensing. Was he trying to defend himself? Blame my wife? The silent video left me guessing, my imagination filling in the blanks with increasingly distressing scenarios.

Aradhya's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face a mask of disbelief and hurt. She scrambled off the bed, putting distance between herself and the big brute. Her arms wrapped around her naked body, as if trying to shield herself from his words or gaze. Harpreet stood too, his imposing figure looming over my petite wife. For a moment, fear gripped me. But he didn't move towards her. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and regret.

As I watched this silent drama unfold, I became aware of the mess I'd made in the bathroom stall. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from the screen to clean myself up. My hands shook as I wiped away the evidence of my arousal, shame and guilt replacing the earlier excitement. When I looked back at my phone, Aradhya was gesturing towards the door, her meaning clear even without sound. Harpreet nodded, with his shoulders sagging in defeat. He began to dress, his movements slow and deliberate.

My wife remained huddled in the corner, her eyes never leaving the tall blue-collar ruffian as he put on his clothes. The tears had stopped, but her face is a mask of misery. What was I thinking, encouraging this? The weight of my role in this disaster settled heavily on my shoulders.

Once dressed, Harpreet made one last attempt to approach my wife. But she flinched away, her hand coming up in a clear 'stop' gesture. He paused, then nodded, turning towards the door. As he left the bedroom, Aradhya collapsed onto the floor, her body wracked with fresh sobs.

I switched to the living room camera, watching as Harpreet gathered his tools. His movements were unhurried, almost casual, as if he hadn't just potentially altered the course of our lives. He glanced toward the bedroom once, his expression unreadable, before heading out the front door. As the door closed behind him, the reality of the situation hit me full force. My wife was alone, devastated, dealing with the aftermath of a fantasy gone wrong. And I was away, watching helplessly through a screen. The wave of arousal that had consumed me earlier was completely gone, replaced by a nauseating mix of guilt and concern. I needed to get home. ASAP!

With trembling hands, I unlocked the stall door and stumbled out. My reflection in the bathroom mirror showed a pale, sweaty face, eyes wide with panic. I splashed some water on my face, trying to compose myself. Back at my desk, I hastily packed up my things, ignoring the curious glances from my coworkers. I mumbled something about feeling sick to my boss, barely waiting for his nod before I headed out the door. The taxi ride home was interminable. Every red light, every slow driver in front of us sent a spike of frustration through me. I kept checking my phone, but Aradhya hadn't moved from her spot on the bedroom floor. Her sobs seemed to have subsided, but she looked utterly broken.

As we finally pulled up to our house, I threw some cash at the driver and rushed out. My hands shook so badly I could barely get the key in the lock. When I finally stumbled inside, the house was eerily quiet. I made my way to the bedroom, my heart pounding. My wife was exactly where I last saw her on the camera feed, curled up on the floor. She didn't look up as I entered, didn't acknowledge my presence at all.

"Aradhya?", I called out to her softly, kneeling beside her. "Honey, I'm here."

She flinched at the sound of my voice, curling in on herself even more. The rejection stung, but I know I deserved it. This was my fault. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice cracking. "This is all my fault. I should never have suggested this. I should never have pushed for it."

Aradhya finally looked up at me, her eyes red and puffy from crying. The pain and betrayal I saw there broke my heart.

"Why?", she croaked, her voice hoarse. "Why did you want this? Why did I agree to it?"

I reached out to touch her, but stopped myself, unsure if my touch would be welcome. "I thought... I thought it would be exciting. I never meant for it to go this far. I never wanted you to get hurt."

Aradhya sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around her knees. "But I did get hurt, Ari. We both did. This... this wasn't just some fun game. This was our marriage, our trust, our... our future."

Her words hit me like a physical blow. She was right, of course. In my pursuit of a selfish fantasy, I'd risked everything we'd built together. "I know…", I said, hanging my head. "I know, and I'm so, so sorry. I love you, Aradhya. More than anything. If I could take it all back, I would."

Aradhya was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on some point in the distance. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "I wanted it too, you know. I thought it would bring us closer, make our sex life more exciting. But now... now I just feel dirty. Used."

I felt tears pricking at my eyes. "You're not dirty, Aradhya. You're beautiful, and strong, and I love you more than ever. What happened... it was a mistake. But it doesn't change how I feel about you."

She looked at me then, really looked at me. "How can you say that? After watching another man... after he..."

"Because it's true.", I said firmly. "Yes, I watched. And yes, for a while, I was turned on. But when I saw how upset you were, when I realized what had happened... Aradhya, all I wanted was to be here with you, to hold you and tell you it's going to be okay."

Aradhya's lower lip trembled, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "But what if it's not okay? What if... what if I'm pregnant? What if he gave me something? What if this ruins us?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Then we'll deal with it. Together. Whatever happens, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, my wife just stared at me. Then, slowly, she uncurled herself and leaned toward me. I opened my arms, and she collapsed against my chest, her body shaking with renewed sobs. I held her close, stroking her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense. My own tears fell silently, mingling with hers. We stayed like that for what felt like hours, clinging to each other as if we were the only solid things in a world gone mad.

Eventually, Aradhya's sobs subsided. She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "What do we do now?", she asked, her voice small and uncertain.

I cupped her face gently, wiping away a stray tear with my thumb. "First, we get you cleaned up and into some comfortable clothes."

Aradhya nodded, a flicker of relief passing over her face. "Okay.", she whispered. "And... and then?"

"Then we talk.", I said firmly. "Really talk. About what happened, about why we thought we wanted this, about where we go from here. No more secrets, no more unspoken fantasies. Just us, being honest with each other."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "That sounds... good."

I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "We're going to be okay, Aradhya. I promise. It might take time, and it might be hard, but we'll get through this. Together."

As I helped my wife to her feet, guiding her gently towards the bathroom, I was acutely aware of how close we came to losing everything. The excitement of the fantasy seemed hollow now, a pale imitation of the deep, abiding love I felt for my wife.

---

The days following the incident with Harpreet blurred together in a haze of anxiety and regret. Each morning, I woke up next to Aradhya, my heart heavy with the weight of what we had been through. We spent the first few days in a flurry of doctor's appointments and tests. The wait for results was excruciating, each passing hour filled with worst-case scenarios played out in my mind. When the STD tests finally come back clean, I feel a momentary rush of relief. It was short-lived, though, as we still had to wait for the pregnancy test.

When the pregnancy test came back negative, we both let out breaths we didn't realize we were holding. "I'm glad.", she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't think I could have... if it had been..." She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. I knew what she meant. The thought of her carrying that low-class plumber's child, a constant reminder of our mistake, would’ve been too much to bear.

"Me too.", I replied, reaching out to take her hand. She let me, but her fingers remain limp in mine. "Aradhya, I-"

"Not now, Ari.", she cut me off, pulling her hand away. "I just... I need some time."

I nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. "Of course. Whatever you need."

As the days turned into weeks, we settled into a new routine. Aradhya insisted that I work from home, her fear of our landlord showing up uninvited palpable. I didn't argue. How could I, when I was the one who encouraged her to entertain his advances in the first place?

Speaking of Mr. Banerjee, he didn’t give up easily. His calls came daily at first, then every other day. Each time the phone rang, Aradhya flinched, her body tensing as if preparing for a blow. I watched as she let each call go to voicemail, her finger hovering over the delete button before she even listened to the message. One day, as I was making us lunch, I overheard her listening to one of his messages. His voice, tinny through the phone's speaker, filled the room.

"Aradhya, my dear.", he said, his tone a mix of concern and something darker, more predatory. "I haven't heard from you in weeks. Is everything alright? I miss our... chats. Perhaps I could stop by for a cup of tea? For old times' sake?"

I watched as my wife's face contorted, a mix of emotions flashing across her dusky features. Disgust, longing, shame - they all warred for dominance before settling into a mask of resignation. She deleted the message without responding, but I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking. As for me, I found myself increasingly drawn to my computer in my free time. While Aradhya busied herself with household tasks, remote work or lost herself in mindless television shows, I scoured the internet for cuckolding stories. Each tale of wives straying, of husbands watching, sent a thrill through me that I immediately hate myself for feeling.

I would tell myself it's just fantasy, that I wasn’t actually going to act on these desires again. But deep down, I knew I was lying to myself. The truth was, I missed it. I missed the thrill of hearing about my wife’s encounters, the excitement of watching her with other men. The shame of this realization was almost overwhelming. One night, as I was reading a particularly vivid story about a wife's affair with her personal trainer, I heard Aradhya approaching. I quickly closed the browser, my heart pounding. She entered the room, her eyes questioning.

"What are you doing?", she asked, her tone neutral but her body language wary.

"Just... checking emails.", I lie, hating myself for the deception. "Work stuff."

She nodded, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. The distance between us, already vast, seemed to grow even wider.

In bed, things were no better. Our love life, once passionate and frequent, had dwindled to almost nothing. On the rare occasions when we did make love, it was a shadow of what it once was. My excitement at being with Aradhya again after everything that'd happened invariably led to my old problem - premature ejaculation. The first time it happened after the incident with Harpreet, she tried to be understanding. "It's okay.", she whispered, stroking my hair as I laid beside her, burning with shame. "We're both under a lot of stress."

But as it continued to happen, I saw the disappointment in her eyes, the way she turned away from me afterward. I couldn't help but compare myself to Harpreet, to Mr. Banerjee. Did they satisfy her in ways I never could? The thought was both arousing and devastating. One night, after another disappointing encounter, I caught my wife staring at her phone. She quickly put it down when she noticed me watching, but not before I caught a glimpse of a familiar name on the screen. The low-class plumber – Harpreet!

"Has he been texting you?", I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Aradhya sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He's been trying to apologize.", she admitted. "Says he feels terrible about what happened."

I felt a surge of emotions - jealousy, anger, and to my shame, a flicker of excitement. "What are you going to do?"

She looked at me then, really looked at me, for what felt like the first time in days. "I don't know, Ari. What do you want me to do?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. What do I want? The answer was complicated, twisted up in desires I was ashamed to admit even to myself.

"I... I don't know.", I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aradhya nodded, her expression unreadable. "Neither do I."

As the days turned into weeks, we settled into an uneasy routine. On the surface, we’d go through the motions of our life together. We ate meals, watched TV, slept in the same bed. But underneath, there was a current of unresolved tension, of words left unsaid. I caught her sometimes, staring off into space with a faraway look in her eyes. Was she thinking about Harpreet? About Mr. Banerjee? About the excitement and danger of those encounters? Or was she, like me, wondering how we got there and how we could find our way back?

However, on a typical Tuesday afternoon, my world shifted on its axis once again. I was working from home, as had become our new normal, when I heard the jangle of keys at the front door. My wife was back from her grocery run, I think. I pushed away from my laptop to greet her. As I rounded the corner into our small entryway, I froze. Aradhya wasn't alone. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed with a warmth I hadn't seen in weeks, and beside her stood a man I'd never seen before. He was tall – towering over both Aradhya and me – with a neatly trimmed beard and the kind of easy confidence that radiated from every pore.

[Speedy21]

I read some where one she open her legs some one other than husband she open everyone then that the concept of cuck right

[incest_cuck]

Due to low levels of engagement, I will be discontinuing this story. It's hard to feel motivated to continue writing stories when people aren't even interested enough to comment on it. Thank you for all the support so far - but this story will end with the last update.

[Somnaath]

super update 

[Suraj76626]

Dear author the decision to end the story is yours and I am not commenting to change your mind. But to get a proper response from your writing, you yourself needed to put some more effort.
1. Your story so far was quite good andthe buildup was great no doubt but the theme of the story was quite worn out. It needed more than just sex. It needed a plot.
2. To get response you need to engage. Posting one update and getting lost will not interest the readers. Maybe try it next time.
3. You're giving up pretty early. If you have a story to tell why don't put it out irrespective of the response. It's not like you're totally neglected by the readers.
4. Finally I think your story had potential and it's a crime you ending it so soon. Who knows if you kept at it, the story might have got more traction.

Alas, all the best dude. May you find what you are looking for.

[incest_cuck]

Dear author the decision to end the story is yours and I am not commenting to change your mind. But to get a proper response from your writing, you yourself needed to put some more effort.
1. Your story so far was quite good andthe  buildup was great no doubt but the theme of the story was quite worn out. It needed more than just sex. It needed a plot.
2. To get response you need to engage. Posting one update and getting lost will not interest the readers. Maybe try it next time.
3. You're giving up pretty early. If you have a story to tell why don't put it out irrespective of the response. It's not like you're totally neglected by the readers.
4. Finally I think your story had potential and it's a crime you ending it so soon. Who knows if you kept at it, the story might have got more traction.

Alas, all the best dude. May you find what you are looking for.

I appreciate the honest feedback. But I have a few counter-arguments to make:

1. Your story so far was quite good andthe  buildup was great no doubt but the theme of the story was quite worn out. It needed more than just sex. It needed a plot.

Sex hadn't come up in the story until the last 2-3 updates. Until that point, I was very slowly and meticulously building up to it. And I don't disagree that the theme is overdone. But this is a theme that is quite close to me and my real-world experiences. Which is why I chose to write it.

2. To get response you need to engage. Posting one update and getting lost will not interest the readers. Maybe try it next time.

I've been posting 2-3 updates every week since September of last year. I was only away for the month of December in order to attend to some personal matters. Writing a story is not exactly easy. You don't just have to imagine the plot, you also have to make sure to express it in a way that not only makes sense to the readers but also excites them. Writing one single update takes 3-4 hours! That's a lot of time to contribute to something that you're giving away for free, while also juggling a full-time job, side-hustles and a family. 

You're giving up pretty early. If you have a story to tell why don't put it out irrespective of the response. It's not like you're totally neglected by the readers.

I'm not a professional writer. My motivation for writing these types of stories is for engagement. I've been writing and posting erotic stories since the early 2010s. The first erotic story I ever wrote was one of the most popular ones on the old xossip site with literally millions of views and hundreds of replies. And that's another thing. I'm not sure what happened, but the level of engagement and the quality of the comments back in the xossip days were far better than it is now. Now, it's basically just: 'update plz', 'waiting for next update', 'plz update, it's been so long'.... and that's assuming people comment at all! It's like the comments are all being written by the same exact person. 

Again, I do appreciate your feedback. But it's not motivating enough for me anymore. Hence why I'm leaving this story where it's at. I apologize if this doesn't sit well with some of the readers. Thanks and have a great day!

[Santhosh Stanley]

Thank you for the story. If there is no support, it is better to delete it off.

[bhola647]

Due to low levels of engagement, I will be discontinuing this story. It's hard to feel motivated to continue writing stories when people aren't even interested enough to comment on it. Thank you for all the support so far - but this story will end with the last update.

I just wanted to share my thoughts with you, as a reader, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way, even though many of us tend to be silent observers, only popping in to check for updates on your story, like I do every day. I think it's easy to get discouraged when we don't see a ton of comments rolling in, but the truth is, a lot of us are showing our appreciation in other ways, like adding to your reputation on the site or leaving a like on your story, even if we don't always take the time to write out a comment. I can only imagine how it must feel to pour your heart and soul into your writing, only to feel like it's not getting the traction you were hoping for, and for that, I'm truly sorry. 

However, I want to personally reach out and ask you to please, please keep going with the story - I'm absolutely loving the overall plot and the way you've woven it all together, with just the right amount of twists and turns to keep me on the edge of my seat. Your writing style is really something special, it's engaging, thoughtful, and carefully crafted, which is a breath of fresh air compared to some of the more crass and gonzo-style stories out there that seem to be written without much consideration for the reader. So, I hope you'll take my request to heart and continue sharing your gift with us, because I, for one, am eagerly awaiting the next update and I know I'm not alone.

[Navipal007]

I also want to request the writer to continue the story. We may be silent observers but we do love your work. It will be a huge loss to our community if you stopped this.

[Krishna@123]

Yes. Please continue and complete the story. Give some logical end instead of concluding abruptly. You writing is excellent.

[vishuhrny97]

nice story. please continue.

[Bansalboy]

Due to low levels of engagement, I will be discontinuing this story. It's hard to feel motivated to continue writing stories when people aren't even interested enough to comment on it. Thank you for all the support so far - but this story will end with the last update.

I used To Comment On The Updates But You Never Responded To Any Comment ...
Soo I Just Stopped Commenting ..
I Msged You Also But The Reply Never Came ..

I Have Read Many Stories And The Comments Comes When You Reply to the Comments And Thank The People For Commenting ..
You Never Did This Thats Why i guess People Stopped Commenting ...
Btw I Love Your Story , I dont comment bcoz u never Respond

[StoryReader1]

To read

[incest_cuck]

Due to popular demand, I will continue to write this story from where I left off. Thank you for your continued support and I will try to reply to some of the comments from now on to keep the readers engaged.

[incest_cuck]

"Ari!", my wife cried, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual. "Look who I ran into at the store. This is Tashan, an old friend from college."

Tashan extended a hand, his grip firm as he shook mine. "Nice to meet you, Arijit. Aradhya's told me so much about you."

I forced a smile, acutely aware of how I must look in comparison to this man. Where he was tall and lean, I was short with skinny-fat all over. His beard was artfully groomed, while I hadn't shaved in days. "All good things, I hope.", I joked weakly.

"Of course.", Tashan said with a wink that made something twist in my gut.

As Aradhya busied herself putting away the groceries, I found myself watching her and this mystery man interact. There was an easy familiarity between them, the kind that spoke of shared history. Tashan leaned against our kitchen counter, his height emphasized as he towered over it, telling some story that had my beautiful wife in stitches.

"Remember that time in the campus canteen?", he said, his deep voice filled with laughter. "When Priya spilled her entire plate of chole bhature on Professor Sharma?"

Aradhya gasped with laughter, nearly dropping the carton of eggs she was holding. "Oh gosh, yes! His face was priceless. And poor Priya, she was mortified!"

I stood there, feeling like an outsider in my own home. These stories, this laughter – it was a part of Aradhya's life I'd never been privy to before. And underlying it all was a current of... something. A tension I couldn't quite put my finger on, but it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. As the afternoon wore on, I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the easy rapport between my wife and this tall handsome mystery man, or the way she seemed to light up in his presence – something I hadn’t witnessed in weeks. It's the little things – the way her hand lingered on his arm when she laughed, the charged looks they exchange when they thought I wasn’t watching.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tashan announces he should be going. As my wife walked him to the door, I heard their voices drop to whispers. I strained to hear, catching only snippets.

"...good to see you again, Aradhya.", Tashan murmured.

"You too.", she replied, her voice soft. "It's been too long."

There was a pause, and then Tashan said something I couldn't quite catch. Whatever it was, it made my wife laugh – a low, throaty chuckle that sent a shiver down my spine.

When she returned to the kitchen, her cheeks were flushed and there was a sparkle in her eye I hadn't seen in weeks. She busied herself with dinner preparations, humming softly under her breath.

I wanted to ask about Tashan, about their history, but something held me back. The memory of our recent conversations about trust and honesty weighed heavily on my mind. So instead, I said, "He seemed nice. How do you know him again?"

Aradhya paused in her chopping of vegetables, her knife hovering midair for a moment before she resumed. "Oh, just an old friend from college.", she said casually. Too casually. "We had some classes together."

I nodded, not pushing further. But as the evening progressed, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story. My wife seemed distracted, her mind clearly elsewhere. Several times I caught her checking her phone, a small smile playing on her lips. It's not until we were getting ready for bed that I finally worked up the courage to probe further. As she slips under the covers beside me, I turned to face her.

"So, Tashan.", I began, trying to keep my tone light. "You two seemed pretty close."

She stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Did we?", she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

"Yeah.", I press on. "Lots of inside jokes, shared memories. Must have been more than just a classmate, huh?"

There was a long pause, during which I could almost hear the gears turning in my wife’s head. Finally, she sighed. "Alright, Arijit. If you must know, Tashan and I... we had a thing. Back in college."

The admission sent a jolt through me – part jealousy, part... excitement? Something I personally hadn’t felt in weeks myself. I tried to keep my voice steady as I asked, "Oh? You never mentioned him before."

Aradhya shrugged, not meeting my eye. "Not by name perhaps. It happened a long time ago. We were young, it wasn't serious. Just a fling, really."

But something in her tone informed me that it was more significant than she was letting on. I thought back to the hints Aradhya had dropped over the years about her "wild" college days in Delhi, the stories she'd always been reluctant to share. Now, with Tashan's sudden appearance, those hints took on new meaning.

"Tell me about it.", I found myself saying, my voice low. "About you and Tashan."

Aradhya looked at me sharply, surprise evident in her eyes. "Ari, are you sure? After everything we've been through..."

I nodded, my heart racing. "I'm sure. I want to know."

She took a deep breath, then began narrating. As she talked, painting a picture of her fling with this tall handsome man, I feel a familiar stirring of excitement. The way she described their passionate encounters, the risks they took – it was like our recent experiences with that low-class plumber Harpreet and our landlord Mr. Banerjee. But without the baggage of guilt and fear.

"We met at a college party.", she admitted, her voice soft with remembrance. "He was this tall, handsome senior every girl wanted to talk to, but for some reason, he only had eyes for me."

I listened, enraptured, as my wife described their whirlwind fling. She was vague on the details, but I could read between the lines. Stolen moments between classes, heated encounters at parties, the thrill of secrecy and newfound passion, etc.

"It was intense!", Aradhya exclaimed, her cheeks flushed. "Tashan was... experienced. He taught me a lot about my own body, about pleasure."

As she talked, I couldn't help but compare myself to him. Where he was tall and imposing, I was short and unassuming. Where he was experienced and confident, I'd always been hesitant and unsure. The familiar mix of jealousy and arousal swirled in my gut.

"What happened?", I asked, my voice hoarse. "Why did it end?"

Aradhya's expression turned wistful. "It was never meant to last. We knew that from the start. When the semester ended, so did we. He moved out of Delhi and went back to him home in Haryana, and that was that."

I nodded, processing this information. Part of me wanted to ask more, to delve deeper into the details of their fling. But another part held back, aware of the dangerous territory we're treading.

"Thank you for telling me.", I said finally, reaching out to take my wife's hand. She squeezed it, offering me a small smile.

"Thank you for listening.", she replies. "And for not... judging."

We fell asleep that night with a new understanding between us. But as I drifted off, I couldn't shake the nagging suspicion that there was more to Aradhya and Tashan's story than she was letting on. The way she avoided my gaze when talking about their fling, the slight tremor in her voice – it all pointed to something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to share.

And then there was the matter of her virginity. My wife had always been vague about her first time, deflecting my questions with jokes or changing the subject. Now, I wondered – was Tashan the one? Did he introduce her not just to pleasure, but to sex itself? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a confusing mix of jealousy and arousal. I imagined her back in her college freshman days, young and inexperienced, in Tashan's arms. His large hands exploring her body, guiding her, teaching her. The sounds she might have made, the look on her face as she experienced that first rush of pleasure...

I shook my head, trying to clear those thoughts. It was dangerous territory, especially given our recent experiences. But as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't help but wonder what other secrets Aradhya might have been keeping about her past with this tall Adonis.

---

The next few days passed in a haze of normalcy tinged with an undercurrent of tension. My wife went about her usual routine, but there was a new spring in her step, a lightness to her demeanor that I hadn't seen in weeks. I caught her smiling at her phone more often, typing out quick messages when she felt I wasn’t looking.

I wanted to ask if she was texting Tashan, if they were staying in touch, but something held me back. The memory of our recent conversations about trust and boundaries echoed in my mind. So instead, I watched and waited, my imagination running wild with possibilities.

One afternoon, about a week after Tashan's visit, I was working at my desk when I heard Aradhya's phone chime with a message. She was in the shower, so I ignored it at first. But then it chimed again. And again.

Before I could stop myself, I was crossing the room to where her phone was sitting on the coffee table. I knew I shouldn't look, that it's a violation of her privacy. But the temptation was too strong. I picked up the phone, my heart racing as I saw Tashan's name on the screen. The messages were hidden, but I could see the preview:

Tashan: Hey beautiful, thinking about you...

The message cut off, leaving me burning with curiosity and a confusing mix of jealousy and arousal. I quickly put the phone down as I heard the shower turn off, guilt warring with excitement in my chest.

When my wife emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, I tried to act normal. But I couldn’t help but notice the way she immediately checked her phone, a small smile playing on her lips as she read the messages.

"Everything okay?", I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

She looked up, startled. "Oh, yes.", she said quickly. "Just... work stuff."

I nodded, not calling her out on the obvious lie. Instead, I watched as she disappeared into our bedroom, no doubt to respond to Tashan's messages in private with the veneer of changing.

As the days passed, I found myself increasingly preoccupied with thoughts of Aradhya and Tashan. What were they talking about in those messages? were they reminiscing about old times, or making plans for new encounters? The not knowing is driving me crazy, but I couldn't bring myself to confront my wife about it. Instead, I threw myself into work, trying to distract from the swirling thoughts and emotions. But even as I immersed myself in spreadsheets and reports, a part of my mind was always aware of my wife – where she was, what she was doing, who she might have been talking to.

It's during one of those distracted work sessions that I remembered something I'd been putting off for weeks. With everything that had happened – Harpreet, Mr. Banerjee, and now Tashan – I'd almost forgotten about the fertility test I'd secretly scheduled.

[Speedy21]

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[incest_cuck]

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