Adultery Wife helps me become a cuckold

[incest_cuck]

"He bit me, you know?", my wife said, her voice low and sultry. "Right here." She pulled down the collar of her tshirt and pointed to the swell of her breast. "Not hard enough to break the skin, but fuck, I felt it. It hurt so good, Ari. Made me cry out. I think I begged him to do it again.", she paused, watching my reaction. "Do you want to know what happened next, Ari? Do you want to hear how he started sliding his hand down my stomach, towards my soaking wet panties?" I nodded frantically, my breath coming in short gasps. But just as Aradhya opened her mouth to continue, she stopped, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"That's when I asked him to stop.", Aradhya said, her tone shifting. "It was all happening so fast, and I... I just couldn't go through with it."

My eyes widened in surprise. "You stopped him? How did he react?"

Aradhya sighed, running a hand through her hair. "He wasn't happy, Ari. Not at all. His face... gosh, he looked so frustrated, so angry. He tried to convince me to keep going."

Harpreet:  Arrey yaar, don't leave Harpreet hanging pleej. We come this far only, why stop now? Chalo na, baby...

I felt a mix of relief and lingering arousal. "But you didn't give in?"

She shook her head firmly. "No, I didn't. I told him I couldn't do it. I didn't tell him it was because things were moving too fast - I didn't want to give him hope for next time. I just... I stood my ground."

"How did he take that?" I asked, leaning forward.

Aradhya's eyes clouded with regret. "Not well. He... he cursed under his breath. Called me a tease in Punjabi, I think. Then he just... deflated. Like all the fight went out of him at once.", she paused. "I started buttoning up my housecoat. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely manage it. Harpreet just stood there, watching me. The look in his eyes.... I've never seen someone look so dejected."

I swallowed hard, picturing the scene. "What happened then?"

"He didn't say another word.", Aradhya continued, her voice soft. "He just... picked up his toolbox and stormed out. Slammed the door so hard the pictures rattled on the walls."

I shook my head. "You were clear about your boundaries. That's what matters. He'll come back."

Aradhya nodded, but I could see the conflict in her eyes. "I know. But I can't help wondering... what if I hadn't stopped him? What if I'd let things go further? Would I have regretted it? Or would it have been amazing?" As she trailed off, lost in thought, I found myself grappling with my own conflicting emotions. Relief that nothing more had happened, guilt over my arousal at the story, and a strange, unexpected feeling of disappointment. The tension in the room was palpable, thick with unspoken desires and what-ifs.

The days after Aradhya's encounter with Harpreet seemed to stretch endlessly. At first, I felt relieved - the tension that had been building in our home dissipated, replaced by a mundane normalcy. But as the week wore on, I began to notice a change in Aradhya. It started subtly. She'd pause a little too long when passing the kitchen counter, her fingers trailing over the spot where Harpreet had lifted her. Her eyes would linger on the toolbox we kept under the sink, a small frown creasing her brow. At night, she'd toss and turn, muttering in her sleep.

On the third day, Aradhya came home from the market, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. "I saw him.", she said, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Harpreet. He was at that tea stall, you know the one."

I nodded, remembering the grimy little shop we'd passed on our way back from the cinema. "Did he see you?"

Aradhya bit her lip, looking away. "Yes. He... he looked right at me, Ari. His eyes were so... intense. Like he was trying to burn a hole right through me."

I swallowed hard, picturing the scene. "Did he say anything?"

She shook her head. "No. He just... stared. Then he turned away and went back to his tea. But I could feel his eyes on me as I walked away."

The next day, it happened again. And the next. Each time, Aradhya would come home with that same flush on her cheeks, that same brightness in her eyes. She'd describe how Harpreet looked - his beard a little more unkempt, his clothes a little more rumpled. How he'd watch her, his dark eyes following her every move.

"I think he's still angry.", Aradhya confessed on the fifth day, her voice low. "But there's something else there too. Something... hungry."

I found myself hanging on her every word, picturing Harpreet's massive frame hunched over a tiny teacup, his eyes smoldering as he watched my wife walk by. The image should have made me jealous, should have filled me with rage. Instead, I felt a perverse thrill. As the week drew to a close, I could sense Aradhya's growing frustration. She'd snap at small things, then apologize profusely. She'd spend long minutes staring out the window, lost in thought. At night, her hands would wander, touching herself in ways she hadn't before.

"I feel terrible.", she admitted one night, her voice muffled against my chest. "I rejected him, Ari. I had every right to. But I can't stop thinking about him. About what might have happened if I hadn't stopped things."

I stroked her hair, my own thoughts a tangle of conflicting emotions. "It's okay.", I murmured, not sure if I was reassuring her or myself.

The air in our home felt charged, electric with possibility. Every creak of the pipes, every drip of the faucet, seemed to whisper Harpreet's name. And through it all, I watched my wife, saw the way her eyes darkened with desire, the way she'd unconsciously lick her lips when lost in thought. This was more than just a fleeting fantasy now. It was becoming an obsession, a shared secret that bound the three of us together in ways I never could have imagined.

The following Monday, I walked through the door, exhausted from another long day at work, only to be greeted by an unusually chipper Aradhya. Her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint that immediately piqued my curiosity.

"You're in a good mood," I observed, setting down my briefcase. "Something happen today?"

Aradhya's smile widened, a flush creeping up her neck. "Oh, nothing much. Just... Harpreet was here today."

I froze, my jacket halfway off. "How? Why was he here?"

She shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant but failing miserably. "We had a small leak in the kitchen sink. I had to call someone, and well... I took his number from your phone."

I remained silent, stunned by Aradhya's boldness. My mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. I didn't want to alarm her or make her defensive, so I simply sighed, rubbing my temples. "Alright. So, what happened?"

As Aradhya launched into her story, I couldn't help but notice how animated she became, her hands gesticulating wildly as she spoke.

"Well, after you left for work, I decided to wear that new saree I bought last month. You know, the red one with the gold border?"

I nodded, picturing the garment. It was a stunning piece, the rich crimson silk adorned with intricate golden embroidery. But what caught my attention was the way Aradhya described her attire. "I wore it a bit... loose.", she admitted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The pallu kept slipping off my shoulder, revealing the blouse underneath." My breath caught as I imagined the scene. The saree, dbangd loosely around her curves, the fabric whispering against her skin with every movement. The pallu, that long piece of fabric that normally covered her chest, repeatedly sliding down to expose her shoulder and the top of her arm.

"And the blouse?", I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

Aradhya's eyes glittered. "Oh, Ari. It was that sleeveless one, remember? The low-cut one that shows off my... assets." I swallowed hard, picturing the blouse in question. It was a daring piece, cut low enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage, the lack of sleeves exposing her toned arms and the smooth curve of her shoulders.

"So there I was…", she continued, "all dressed up with nowhere to go. And then the doorbell rang." She paused for a second, building the suspense. "When I opened the door, Harpreet's eyes nearly popped out of his head," she giggled. "He just stood there, staring. I thought I'd have to wave my hand in front of his face to get his attention." I could picture it vividly - Harpreet, towering in the doorway, his dark eyes roving over my wife petite form - the contrast of his rough, work-worn appearance against her silken elegance.

"But then…", Aradhya said, her voice dropping, "he seemed to remember what happened last time. His face just... shut down. He asked what the problem was, all businesslike."

I raised an eyebrow. "And how did you respond to that?"

A sly smile curved Aradhya's lips. "Oh, I played along. I led him to the kitchen, making sure to sway my hips a little extra as I walked." She demonstrated, taking a few steps across our living room. The saree clung to her curves, the fabric rustling softly with each movement. I felt my mouth go dry as I watched her.

"I could feel his eyes on me.", she continued, turning back to face me. "Burning into my back, following the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips. When we got to the kitchen, I bent over to show him the leak under the sink." I swallowed softly, imagining the scene. My wife, bent at the waist, the saree pulling tight across her ass. “I could see the way his hands shook as he opened his toolbox.”, she said, “The way his breath quickened when I leaned close to point out the leak.”

She went on to describe how Harpreet worked, his massive hands deftly manipulating the tools, muscles flexing beneath his shirt. How she'd find excuses to brush against him, to lean over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was doing.

"When he finished…", Aradhya said, "I asked him if he'd like to stay for some chai. I half expected him to refuse, given how our last encounter ended. But to my surprise, he agreed. And well...that's where things got interesting." Aradhya said, her eyes sparkling. "Instead of waiting in the kitchen like he usually does, Harpreet just... walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Like he owned the place."

I blinked in surprise. That didn't sound like the usually deferential Harpreet at all. "How did you react to that?"