Adultery The Rural Posting: Shipra's ordeal.

[Vikramvines]

Aaj post karega ya goli dega author ?

Dont worry.. एक बार सूरज ने कमिटमेंट कर दी तो उसके बाद तो वो खुद की भी ना सुनता

[Umavictor32]

Plz dont drag me in to this controversy Madam. I hv not stated anything bad or negative about this fabulous story.. The story has always been my favorite and will always remain so.. वो तो मै... I just got a little impatient in excitement and nothing else..
So just chill pill Madam...

क्योंकि हम हैं सीधे साधे अक्षय अक्षय..

By the way I 80% look like Akshay..
हे हे हे..

Its ok skip it

[Suraj76626]

Next update in an hour probably. It's a little shorter than usual and non erotic this time.

[xboard1986]

Next update in an hour probably. It's a little shorter than usual and non erotic this time.

?

[Umavictor32]

Next update in an hour probably. It's a little shorter than usual and non erotic this time.

No issues... But only one wish... Shipra character shd nt change this submissiveness... Again if she say whatever happen was nick of the time... I am decent only... U cannot break me patode then it would be really comical and loop typed

[poslednjisamuraj0202]

Please do not impose your opinions on the writer. Let him lead the story as he imagined. Don't let Shipra become submissive.

[Umavictor32]

Please do not impose your opinions on the writer. Let him lead the story as he imagined. Don't let Shipra become submissive.

Please do not impose your opinions on the writer. Let him lead the story as he imagined

[Suraj76626]

Chapter 32: Awakening to a dual life: Part 2

“Why the hell are you empty-handed, Deshmukh? Don’t you understand a simple instruction? Have you gone senile with age or are you just plain incompetent?”

Shrutika’s voice cut through the office like a whip, sharp and unforgiving. She didn’t even look up from the papers sprawled across her desk as she spoke. The air in her cabin turned a shade tenser, the old rusted fan doing little to cool her temper.
 
Deshmukh, visibly flustered and clutching his mobile phone in one hand, paused at the door. He was sweating slightly, though it wasn’t the heat. His excitement danced on his face, but the anger in her tone made his steps falter.
 
“You won’t be needing the files, madam, not after seeing this,” he said with a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, as if he held a secret too big to contain.
 
Shrutika looked up sharply, her glare narrowing on his face. “It better be something worth my time, Deshmukh. Or I swear, I’ll have you suspended right here and now for insubordination.”
 
Unbothered now, or perhaps emboldened by the weight of what he had to share, Deshmukh stepped forward, holding out his phone. “It is worth it, madam,” he said, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, as if sharing a prophecy. “You’re like a goddess of good luck for this station... and for Ambruj.”
 
Shrutika’s eyes didn’t soften. Her irritation lingered like an unanswered question. But she took the phone.
 
Deshmukh tapped play on a video already queued up. As the screen flickered to life, he leaned in closer and muttered, “That motherfucker Saad Hasan... he’s been shot dead. Someone finally got him. You won’t be needing those files anymore.”
 
The words hung in the air like gunpowder.
 
Shrutika’s eyes widened—not in relief or surprise, but in something colder. The video showed a chaotic scene—grainy and shaky footage, probably shot on someone’s phone. A massive body lay sprawled across the grimy floor of what looked like a roadside dhaba or a cheap hotel corridor, blood pooling beneath him like ink from a cracked pen. People screamed in the background. Some tried to help. Others took photos. A frenzy of confusion and morbid curiosity.
 
She didn’t flinch. But her jaw clenched.
 
Unlike Deshmukh, who seemed to treat the moment like a celebration, Shrutika’s posture grew even stiffer. Her fingers curled tightly around the phone, the whites of her knuckles showing.
 
“Are you sure this is Saad Hasan?” she asked, her voice low and tight with unease.
 
Deshmukh nodded, almost too eagerly. “Yes, madam. Positive. I’ve seen him enough to know. That’s him. Finally dead.” He exhaled, as if a long-standing burden had been lifted.
 
But Shrutika didn’t exhale. Her mind was racing.
 
Without a word, she stood up abruptly, sliding the phone back toward him.
 
“Forward that video to me. Now.” Her tone was all business again, cold and efficient. “Get the car ready. We’re going to the scene. Also, call every patrol unit in the area—have them secure the perimeter. No one leaves until I get there. Not a soul. Got it?”
 
Deshmukh straightened as if electricity had shot through him. “Yes, madam. Right away!” He rushed out, energized by the gravity of the situation.
 
The moment he was gone, Shrutika let out a guttural, frustrated growl. She picked up a file from the edge of the desk and hurled it at the wall. It hit with a loud slap, scattering papers in its wake. She collapsed back into her chair, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her expression haunted.
 
“Fuck...” she whispered under her breath.
 
***********************************************
 
"What took you so long? I’ve been ringing the doorbell for—" Namrata snapped the moment the door creaked open and Shipra's face appeared in the gap, her voice edged with irritation.
 
But the rest of her sentence remained caught in her throat as Shipra, looking visibly relieved, opened the door fully.
 
Her gaze had barely landed on Shipra’s face before it drifted downward—taking in the rest of her appearance. The frustration vanished from Namrata’s tone, replaced by confusion… and something else. Surprise. Curiosity. And amusement.
 
Shipra’s face paled as she caught that look.
 
"Don’t just stand there—come inside. Quickly!" she hissed in a half-whisper, her voice laced with urgency. Before Namrata could respond, Shipra grabbed her by the arm and yanked her inside, shutting the door with a thud and twisting the lock with trembling fingers.
 
Only then did Shipra exhale, leaning back against the door as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. "Thank God it’s you..." she murmured, the relief in her voice unmistakable.
 
Namrata, still stunned, didn’t move. Her eyes scanned Shipra slowly—starting from her bare feet and trailing upward in a deliberate, almost theatrical fashion. The silence stretched between them, heavy with tension and unspoken questions.
 
And then, the corner of Namrata’s mouth curled into a slow, wicked smile.
 
“Well, well, well…” Namrata broke the silence, her voice laced with amusement as she let her bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She tilted her head slightly, eyes glinting with mischief as they lingered on Shipra’s disheveled form. “What do we have here?”
 
Her tone was playful, but razor-sharp—cutting through the thick tension that still clung to the room like smoke after a fire.
 
She took a step forward, her gaze shamelessly raking over Shipra from head to toe. “It looks like I walked in right in the middle of what seemed to be a very heated, and raunchy session between the loving couple,” she drawled, a slow, teasing smile tugging at her lips. “My apologies, Shipra. Should I give you two a moment? Maybe come back later—after you’ve finished cleaning up and catching your breath?”
 
She paused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “On second thought…” she added with a sly arch of her brow, “judging by the way you're standing there—flushed, trembling, and already glowing—perhaps you’re done already.”
 
Shipra was visibly flustered, her chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths. A thin sheen of sweat glistened across her skin, dampening the strands of hair clinging to her forehead and temples. Her entire body seemed to radiate a charged energy—an afterglow that didn’t need words to explain its origin.
 
She had thrown on a simple, homely cotton gown in haste, but the flimsy garment did little to conceal what had just transpired—or what she had been in the middle of. The thin, sweat-dampened fabric clung to her body like a second skin, tracing every curve with shameless clarity—the gentle slope of her waist, the flare of her hips, and the soft, full weight of her breasts. With no bra beneath, the shape of them was unmistakable, the swell exposed in teasing relief. Her nipples stood out boldly, stiff and unmistakably aroused, pushing through the cloth as if begging to be noticed.
 
Namrata’s eyes took it all in with one slow, knowing glance—from the bare feet on the cold floor, to the flushed, disheveled face above. It wasn’t just the physical signs—it was the look in Shipra’s eyes. That raw, unmistakable glimmer of satisfaction. The kind that only follows a moment of intense, intimate pleasure. But laced with that satisfaction was something else: guilt. Embarrassment. A vulnerability that was rare to see in the usually composed Shipra.
 
Namrata didn’t need to be told a thing. The story was written all over her—on the fabric of that sweat-soaked gown, in the flush of her cheeks, and in the tremble still lingering in her fingers.
 
"Knock it off, Namrata," Shipra blurted, her voice tight with irritation, though the edge was dulled by the clear discomfort written all over her face. She shifted awkwardly beneath the weight of Namrata’s unrelenting gaze and biting words, straightening her gown in a futile attempt to compose herself.
 
"It’s not what you think," she added after a beat, her voice quieter now—less firm, more uncertain. Without waiting for a reply, she turned abruptly and walked toward the couch, brushing past Namrata. Her eyes locked on her phone against the cushion, the rear camera facing the entrance of the house.
 
Namrata remained near the door, arms folded over her chest, an eyebrow arched in amused skepticism. Her eyes danced with mischief and curiosity, a smile playing on her lips as she slowly followed Shipra into the room.
 
"Oh, come on, Shipra," she drawled, waving off the weak excuse. "Judging by that flushed face, messy hair, and the fact that you're practically dripping through that gown, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you were up to."
 
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a almost a whisper. "In fact, it’s nice to see you letting loose for once. Why wait till you get back, when you have a spare cock of your hubby to keep your slutty cunt filled," she chuckled, her voice low and rich.
 
Then she glanced around the room casually, as if expecting something—or someone—to appear. Her eyes flicked toward the bedroom door, then back to Shipra’s embarrassed face.
 
“No need to pretend. I’m not here to judge,” she continued smoothly, her tone becoming a little playful. “You can come out now, Alok. Don’t worry, I won’t tease you... much,” she said with a grin. “It’s only natural, right? Seeing your wife after so many days, the hunger gets the better of you—even if it is the middle of the afternoon.”
 
But just as the last word left her lips, a deep, mocking voice filled the room—clear and cutting.
 
"Your judgment about Shipra's current state is spot on, Namrata," came the unmistakable voice of Patode, oozing smug satisfaction through the phone's speaker. "But that wimp isn’t responsible for it. That foolish man is out chasing his hollow little ambitions. Meanwhile, his desperate wife has been putting on quite the show—moaning, fingering herself like a cam whore for her lover."
 
The words landed like a slap.
 
Namrata froze, her smirk instantly wiped from her face. For a second, she didn’t move—her arms still folded, her posture unchanged—but her expression twisted slowly from playful to stunned. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted slightly, struggling to comprehend the situation.
 
Her gaze flicked to Shipra, who sat motionless by the couch, phone in hand, the screen still active and glowing with the lingering connection. Guilt and shame flickered across her face in waves.
 
"What the fuck!," Namrata exclaimed as she lunged forward and snatched the phone from Shipra.
 
***********************************************
 
"What the hell am I hearing on the news about Ambruj, Shrutika? Is it true? Is Saad Hasan really dead?"
 
The gruff, commanding voice of the DGP, Pune Zone, cracked through the speaker of Shrutika’s official phone like a thunderclap, laced with disbelief and urgency.
 
"I’ve just arrived at the crime scene, sir," she reported, her voice steady and composed. "The news is accurate—Saad Hasan is dead. He was shot multiple times, apparently just as he was about to enter a roadside dhaba, likely for an inauguration event. We're still in the process of verifying the full details."
 
There was a pause on the other end, followed by a low, sharp expletive.
"Fuck."
 
The DGP didn’t need a briefing to understand the implications. Saad Hasan—gangster, racketeer, and political manipulator—was a dangerous figure, and his death, while arguably a public relief, was a political and communal powder keg waiting to blow.
 
"You realize what this means, don’t you?" he said, voice now lower, heavier. "The kind of pressure that’s about to come crashing down on your head? The media will be relentless. The politicians will crawl out from under their stones. And every two-bit thug in Ambruj will see this as a power vacuum."
 
"Yes, sir," Shrutika said, her grip tightening around the edge of her seat. "I’m aware. But I’m prepared. I’ll handle it, to the best of my ability. You have my word—I won’t let you down."
 
There was another pause, longer this time. The DGP exhaled, the sound crackling faintly over the line.
 
"Good. I want a preliminary report within an hour. No delays, no screw-ups. And Shrutika…"
 
"Yes, sir?"
 
"I belive in your capability and competence but you still lack ground experience. Things are going to get messy. If you need backup, ask for it. Am I clear?"
 
"Crystal, sir."
 
"Good. Stay sharp. And good luck."
 
The line went dead with a soft click, leaving Shrutika in the chaotic aftermath of the incident and the rising tension in the air.
 
"Deshmukh," Shrutika ordered, "Form a perimeter pushing the crowd back, call the forensic, capture the CCTV footage and round up the owner and all the employees of this dhaba at once."
 
"Yes madam," Deshmukh replied in attention and quickly got into action.
 
***********************************************
 
“Haha...did you see the mess she made in that bedroom?” Patode sneered, lounging carelessly on his couch, completely unabashed even in his nakedness. His tone was thick with mockery, eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. “On the very bed where she once consummated her marriage with that lousy man. The irony’s just too rich.”
 
His laughter was slow, cruel—dripping with derision as he leaned back, utterly at ease in his arrogance. There was no guilt in his voice, only the thrill of dominance and the twisted joy of having reduced something once sacred to something scandalously sordid.
 
In the past 15 minutes, Patode had taken grotesque pleasure in recounting every filthy detail of his and Shipra's encounter to Namrata. With a tone laced in arrogance, he described how he had coaxed Shipra into shedding every layer of inhibition over the video call—how she obeyed his every word, exposed herself, surrendered to his voice, and gave in to acts she would never have imagined herself capable of. She had moaned his name with reckless abandon, lost in the haze of desire, until she climaxed so hard that it made her squirt uncontrollably, leaving her drenched and breathless, her bed a chaotic testament to her surrender.
 
All the while, Shipra sat silently, her posture tense, cheeks flushed—not just from shame, but from a reluctant flicker of arousal stirred by the memory of what she had done.
 
Namrata, who had initially looked stunned by Patode’s crude tale, now wore a wide, wicked grin. She turned to Shipra with a glint in her eyes, mischief and disbelief mingling in her expression. “Oh, I definitely saw it,” she said, voice laced with teasing mockery. “The bed was soaked—looked like someone had pissed all over it. I mean, you— prim, proper Shipra—reduced to a dripping, moaning mess in your own marital bed?” Her chuckle was rich with amusement. “Or maybe that’s what made it so intense? The taboo nature of the act, the thrill of defiling the bed meant for Alok... I bet that was the first time in your life you squirted, wasn't it?”
 
Shipra bit her lip, unable to meet Namrata’s eyes. Her body squirmed subtly, caught between embarrassment and an undeniable twinge of remembered arousal. She said nothing.
 
Namrata leaned in, voice dropping into something more pointed. “And tell me, what if it hadn’t been me who walked in? What if it had been Alok? How would you have explained that soaked mattress? The smell of sex? The look in your eyes?”
 
Before Shipra could form a response, Patode’s voice cut in from the speaker, loud and scornful. “Alok?” he scoffed. “That coward wouldn’t dare interrupt his precious study schedule even if he knew what was happening. He’s spineless—too scared to confront the truth staring him in the face.”
 
His tone darkened, amused. “In fact, I was hoping someone else would walk in. A milkman, a salesman—anyone. That’s why I had her prop the phone up facing the door. Just the thought of some stranger watching this high-society memsaheb in such a state, showing off her filthy side while they stood there in shock...” He paused, savoring the image. “God, that would’ve been so fucking hot. She loves being watched. The idea of strangers seeing her like that? It makes her drip. Isn’t that right, Shipra?”
 
Shipra’s voice trembled as she tried to protest, “It’s nothing like that... It just happened so fast, I didn’t even have time to think.” But even as the words left her mouth, she felt the heat pool between her thighs again, the memory of that heady rush hitting her like a wave. She had loved it—the eyes on her, the shame, the powerlessness... and the undeniable thrill of it all.
 
Patode chuckled, low and knowing. “Come on, Shipra. The cat’s out of the bag. No need for excuses anymore. You loved every moment of it—and you know it.”
 
“Give her a break, Patode,” Namrata interjected, shooting him an exasperated look. She could see Shipra shrinking under the weight of it all. Her expression softened, but her voice still carried that commanding edge as she moved closer, gently placing a hand over Shipra’s. “It's good that you’ve finally embraced it? This... double life. No more conflicts. No more guilt. Honestly, I’m relieved. Now I can leave knowing you’ve made the right choice.”
 
Shipra’s eyes shimmered with conflict. She looked down at their hands, her voice a whisper. “But it still feels... so wrong, Namrata.”
 
Namrata gave her a soft smile, brushing her thumb across Shipra’s knuckles. “Wrong? Maybe. But in all these years, what has always doing the right thing brought you Shipra? Neglect, dissatisfaction, emotional trauma and unfulfilled desires. Doesn’t accepting it feel more liberating than anything ever has? You’re not torn anymore. No more suffocating in the shadows of expectation or playing the obedient wife to a man who barely sees you.”
 
She tilted her head, brushing a strand of hair away from Shipra’s face. “You’ve tasted something real—unfiltered, raw, powerful. And with that clarity comes freedom. No more suffocating under expectations. No more playing the dutiful wife for a man who barely notices when you’re gone.”
 
Namrata’s gaze held steady, her voice smooth and persuasive. “Make the most of these next few months, Shipra. Let go. Embrace this new arrangement fully. By the time your tenure ends, I have no doubt you’ll secure that promotion—and with it, the financial stability you’ve been striving for. And even if Alok’s efforts don’t bear fruit... you and your family will be secure. You’ll rise on your own terms—independent, resilient, and strong. A mother capable of giving her son the life he deserves, without carrying the weight of regret.”
 
Shipra swallowed hard, her breath catching as Namrata’s words wrapped around her, a strange mix of comfort and temptation.
 
“And after you leave Ambruj,” Namrata continued, her voice dipping into a playful whisper, “with your desires and the slut inside you satiated enough... you can slip back into your marriage, content and free. But if you don't”—she gave Shipra a nudge and turned her head slightly toward the phone screen—“I’m sure Patode will be more than happy to... serve. Right, Patode?”
 
Patode’s voice came through instantly, laced with smug amusement. “Absolutely. I’m always available for my sluts—especially for the sluttiest ones.”
 
There was a glint in his eyes, the kind that dared Shipra to deny what she’d become. “And you, Shipra... you're definitely one of the most sluttiest women I've been with. Elegant on the outside, filthy underneath. For you, Patode is always at your service. Just say the word.”
 
Shipra's lips parted, but no words came. Her heart thudded in her chest, the heat in her belly unmistakable, undeniable. The shame hadn't left—but neither had the thrill.
 
"Alright, ladies, I’ve got to bounce," Patode said, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "Trust me, I would’ve loved nothing more than another cam session—especially with Namrata here. Double the trouble, double the fun." He chuckled lightly. "But something urgent just came up. Can’t avoid it."
 
He paused for a beat, then added, "Have a safe flight, Namrata. And I’ll catch up with you both later."
 
Namrata rolled her eyes, her voice dry and laced with mockery. "Ha! As if we were going to put on a show for you anyway." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Go on, you’ve had more than your fair share of entertainment for today. We need some girl time now."
 
She raised her hand and gave him a playful, dismissive wave. “Tada,” she said sweetly, then promptly ended the call without another word.
 
The screen went black, and silence lingered for a moment.
 
Namrata turned to Shipra, her playful demeanor slipping away, replaced by something sharper, more focused. “Alright now," She shifted closer, her eyes narrowing slightly, voice dropping into a more serious tone. “Tell me—what was that about? Patode mentioned some ‘suspicion.’ What exactly was he referring to?”
 
***********************************************

"Excellent work, my boy," Patode praised, his voice smooth and satisfied as he spoke into the phone. "You pulled it off just as we planned. Saad Hasan is dead—erased. I told you I’d give you your vengeance, didn’t I?"
 
"Yes, Bhau," Bhiva replied, his voice crackling with a mixture of rage and grim satisfaction. "I never doubted you for a second. That mother fucker finally paid the price. I can’t tell you how long I waited for this... It’s like a weight’s been lifted."
 
Patode gave a short, approving chuckle. "Good. You did well. Now, stick to the plan. Head to Pune, stay low, stay invisible untill things settle down. No contact with anyone. I’ll manage the things from here."
 
"I’m already en route, Bhau," Bhiva confirmed, the sound of the moving vehicle faintly audible in the background. "I’ll wait for your instruction."
 
"That’s what I like to hear," Patode said, his voice tightening with authority. "Stay sharp. We’re not out of the woods yet. But I'll manage everything."
 
He ended the call and leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smirk slowly curling his lips. The tension in his shoulders eased as he exhaled, enjoying the quiet moment of triumph.
 
Then his attention shifted.
 
"Now... let’s get to know our new SHO," he murmured to himself, eyes gleaming with mischief as he opened the chat on his phone, going through the files sent over by, Kodape. The screen flickered to life with images of a woman in crisp khaki uniform— Shrutika Arora, along with her official records.
 
Patode scrolled through the photos, each one more captivating than the last. Her commanding stance, sharp eyes, and undeniable presence were striking. But it wasn’t just her authority that held his attention—it was the curves beneath the uniform, the subtle strength laced with femininity that made his pulse quicken.
 
"Well, well..." he whispered, zooming in on one of the images. "This married bitch will surely give Shipra a run for her money. Looks like the gods are showering me with blessings this year—especially in the women's department."
 
He let out a slow, indulgent breath as his gaze lingered on the images. His fingers tapped across the screen, examining every angle, every detail.
 
"Let’s see what does it take to get you out of that uniform and onto my bed, Mrs. Arora," he said with a smirk that darkened into something predatory. "Because before long... I’ll be pulling your strings too."
 
He closed the chat with a flick, leaned back, and clasped his hands behind his head, his eyes still gleaming with anticipation. The game, it seemed, was just getting started.
 
***********************************************

The air in Salim’s cramped office was heavy—thick with silence and tension, like the calm before a storm. A ceiling fan spun lazily above, doing little to push away the weight of unease hanging in the room. Shrutika sat on the lone visitor’s chair, her uniform pristine, posture erect, and expression unreadable. Her eyes, sharp and observant, moved slowly across the group of Dhaba employees lined up awkwardly along the wall like collegechildren awaiting reprimand.
 
Her gaze swept past unfamiliar faces until it landed on someone she hadn’t expected in the slightest. Her eyes narrowed for a second, then widened with surprise, softening slightly.
 
"Chetan, is that you?" she said, brows lifting. "What are you doing here?" Her tone was composed, yet carried the faintest thread of disbelief. "Don’t tell me this is the job you mentioned on the bus."
 
Chetan stiffened as if he’d been struck. The blood drained from his face. “Yes, Shruti—I mean Ma’am. Yes Ma'am…” he stumbled, his words colliding with panic as his eyes darted from her uniform to her eyes and back. The realization hit him like a blow to the chest: the woman he’d met during that lovely bus ride, the one he’d felt an odd connection with, was none other than the new Station House Officer of Ambruj.
 
Of all the places, of all the jobs—how had he ended up here? His mind raced, trying to process not just Shrutika’s shocking identity, but also the horror he’d witnessed less than an hour ago—the cold, calculated shooting of Saad Hasan right outside the Dhaba. Blood on the pavement. Chaos.
 
He wondered if the universe was playing a cruel joke: first a cheating girlfriend, now this bloody mess.
 
"Unlucky doesn’t even begin to cover it," Shrutika said with a faint smirk, clearly amused by his miserable fate. "But don’t worry. I’m sure you have nothing to do with this... or do you?"
 
Chetan's heart pounded in his chest. His throat went dry.
 
"No... No, not at all!" he blurted out, voice trembling. "I don’t know anything about it. I swear. I just joined yesterday—I didn’t even want this job! It was my father who—"
 
Shrutika raised her hand with calm finality, silencing him instantly. Her expression was cool, calculating, unreadable.
 
“We’ll see about that,” she said simply, turning her attention away from him as though he no longer existed.
 
Her eyes fell on Salim, who stood behind the desk, wringing his hands slightly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air of the office.
 
“So, Mr. Salim,” she said, voice crisp. “You’re the owner of this dhaba?”
 
"Yes, ma’am. Newest addition to my several restaurants and eateries," Salim replied with forced politeness, though it was clear from his darting eyes and stiff shoulders that her presence unsettled him.
 
“And how exactly do you know the notorious Saad Hasan, Mr. Salim?” Shrutika asked, her tone cool but edged with suspicion. She leaned forward, placing both palms on the desk, her eyes boring into his with quiet intensity. “For a businessman like yourself, I imagine he must’ve been more of a nuisance than an ally. Yet you invited him as the chief guest. That’s… unusual, wouldn’t you say?”
 
Her words were measured, but the implication behind them was razor-sharp.
 
Salim flinched ever so slightly, clearly not expecting such a direct angle. “Are you suggesting I had something to do with his murder?” he asked, his voice rising with a mix of disbelief and annoyance.
 
He straightened his posture, trying to reclaim control of the moment. “You can ask anyone in Ambruj—ask Mr. Kodape, even. I’m a respected name in this district. My reputation speaks for itself. Saad Hasan… he was a muscleman , a henchmen you may say, yes, but was close aid to our MLA. And as a businessman, it’s only practical to maintain ties with such people.”
 
His tone grew firm, attempting to intimidate her with status and connections. But Shrutika didn’t so much as blink.
 
“I’m not suggesting anything, Mr. Salim,” she replied evenly, her expression unreadable. “But I am a security officer officer. And until we have all the facts, I can’t afford to rule out anyone—no matter their reputation. That includes you.”
 
Salim cleared his throat, now visibly deflated. “Of course, Madam SHO,” he said, his voice smoother, more careful now. “I respect the law and I’ll cooperate in whatever way you require.”
 
She straightened up, her gaze still locked with his. “So you won't mind if I take you to the station for some questioning or do you prefer we do it over here?”
 
There was a pause. The power dynamic in the room had clearly shifted.
 
"Whatever pleases you ma'am," Salim agreed happily as he didn't want her to snoop around him too much, his collection of hidden cam videos he had collected over the years was still in the hard disk of his personal computer.
 
Shrutika gave a curt nod and stood from her chair. “Deshmukh, take detailed statements from everyone here,” she ordered without turning. “Mr. Salim and Chetan—you’re coming with me to the station for further questioning.”
 
She was already moving toward the door when Chetan’s anxious voice broke the silence.
 
“Why me?” he asked, eyes wide. “I’ve got nothing to do with this, Shrutika ma’am…”
 
But she didn’t stop or respond. Her silence said everything.
 
Salim sighed and adjusted his collar before glancing back at Chetan. “Come, Chetan. There’s nothing to worry about—it’s just standard security officer procedure,” he said, though even he didn’t sound entirely convinced. He followed Shrutika out the door, gesturing for Chetan to fall in line.
 
Left with little choice, Chetan reluctantly stepped forward, cursing his luck.
 
***********************************************
 
“Hey, Alok! We were just talking about you,” Namrata called out in her usual chirpy tone as Alok stepped into the living room, the exhaustion from his coaching session still visible on his face.
 
Alok’s eyes immediately met hers, and his expression faltered ever so slightly. “Hi, Namrata,” he said curtly, trying to hide his discomfort. “I thought you’d already left for Mumbai. Weren’t you supposed to start your new job this week?”
 
Namrata smirked, clearly enjoying his unease. “I have my flight in a couple of hours,” she replied airily, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ll just have to tolerate me for a few minutes more before I finally leave you and your lovely wife alone.”
 
Her sarcasm wasn’t subtle. She knew Alok didn’t like her—and she wore that knowledge like a badge of honor.
 
“Besides,” she continued, stretching languidly, “Shipra doesn’t need me anymore in this sleepy little town. She’s settled quite well into her...new life. And I must say, I’m very satisfied. My reason for tagging along with her in Ambruj? Mission accomplished.”
 
Her words were loaded—simmering with a suggestive undertone that didn’t escape Alok. The casual banter between them had always bordered on antagonistic, but today her tone carried a triumphant edge. She knew. Knew about his growing suspicions. Knew about his internal struggle, his moral rigidity—and how it was slowly crumbling as he watched Shipra change in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
 
Namrata relished the discomfort in his eyes.
 
“Yeah, now you can go find some other unsuspecting woman and ruin her peaceful life with your twisted ideas of feminism,” Alok shot back, walking past the couch where the two women sat. He plopped into the armchair opposite Namrata, forcing a tight, fake smile.
 
Namrata chuckled, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh please. Don’t try to college me on feminism—especially not when you're busy living off your wife's earnings. That's rich, even for you.”
 
“Namrata, maybe it’s time you leave,” Shipra interjected, clearly growing uneasy with the rising tension. “You’ll miss your flight.”
 
“You’re right,” Namrata said, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
 
As she walked to the door, she paused and turned dramatically. “Shipra,” she said, with deliberate loudness, “when you meet Patode tomorrow, don’t forget to thank him for the amazing time he gave us last weekend. And do remind him not to forget about me—just because he’s found a new... favorite.”
 
The words were a dagger meant for Alok. Her voice, her smirk—it was all part of the performance. And she knew the message had hit its mark. Alok’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
 
Shipra followed Namrata out, not daring to meet Alok’s eyes.
 
Outside, the taxi waited with its trunk open as the driver loaded Namrata’s suitcase. She slipped into the back seat and then suddenly lowered the window. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said playfully, rummaging through her handbag.
 
She pulled out four boxes and handed them to Shipra.
 
“What the hell, Namrata?” Shipra’s eyes widened as she glanced at the items—extra-large condoms, in a variety of flavors and styles: dotted, ribbed, ultra-thin. Her face turned a shade of red.
 
“You couldn’t have given me these earlier? Seriously? Way to go to embarrass me and put me in a difficult position." Shipra scolded in a hushed voice.
 
Namrata grinned like a devil. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. I had to make a statement. Besides,” she leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough, “you’d be in real difficult position if you let Patode keep pounding your married pussy without protection.”
 
“Get out of here before I gag you with your own drama,” Shipra replied in mock irritation, though the corner of her mouth twitched with a reluctant smile.
 
“Take care, darling,” Namrata said, her tone softening just a little. “And remember what we talked about. Have your fun with Patode, but don’t get lost in his fantasies. Keep your head clear.”
 
"Yeah sure, bye". Shipra waved bye to her.

Namrata blew her a kiss and waved as the taxi pulled away, her figure shrinking in the distance.
 
Shipra slipped the condom boxes into the deep pockets of her palazzo and walked back inside, her face a careful mask of neutrality. Without a word, she made her way straight to the bedroom, the weight of Namrata’s parting antics still lingering in the air.

Once inside, she quickly unzipped her travel bag, hands moving with urgency. She shoved the boxes beneath a pile of neatly folded clothes, burying them like evidence she wished didn’t exist. Just as she zipped the bag shut and turned to leave, she stopped cold.

Alok was standing at the door.

Silent. Still. Watching.

The air between them thickened instantly. His gaze locked onto hers—calm on the surface, but beneath it, a storm waited.

“What’s going on, Shipra?” he asked, his voice low, steady, but edged with something sharp. There was no accusation in his tone, but the weight of his words made her chest tighten.

Shipra’s breath hitched. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. The sight of him there, silent and serious, made her pulse race.

“W-What do you mean, Alok?” she finally managed, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted briefly to her bag, then back to him. Her face had gone pale, save for the flush creeping up her cheeks—like someone caught in the middle of something they couldn’t explain.

Alok took a slow step forward, and the silence stretched dangerously between them.
.
End of Chapter 32: Awakening to a dual life: Part 2 

[eslx1212]

Non-erotic but brisk movement of the story with important developments. Finally that murder has taken place. And Patode has his eyes on Shrutika, as expected. Don't delay the next part too long.

[eslx1212]

Can't believe this thread is getting so much negativity. Guys, this is only a work of fiction. If you must criticise, try doing it constructively, if that's possible for you.

Among the authors in this forum, Suraj is one of the best. This story deserves better quality responses than it is generally getting.

[Umavictor32]

Chapter 32: Awakening to a dual life: Part 2

Today update was good... Mainly, nice to see story is moving forward... Anyway waiting for shipra namrata and patode encounter now... A threesome... Want to see how submissive shipra now changed.. Also one request, make shipra say more submissive... Wish to see it

[suryaspk]

This is good one. Since Saad chapter is over Salim is going to ask for his reward. Looks like Shipra will be back in Ambruj soon that to without any guilt on cheating Alok. Shipra also getting excited on someone watching her nude. Seems Patode will soon share her with Salim.

[bunkr]

Great update. Moves the story forward.

[behka]

What a great story. Shrutika story is getting very interesting now. She is such a great character - very arrogant and dominating.

[iCuby]

Suraj bhai, please check your mail