Thriller Is money, sex and revenge such things that makes humans animals ?

[Naruto411]

Zainab had noticed the growing tension in her life—the juggling act between her duties as a mother, wife, and Imran’s demands pulling at her constantly. Ayaan’s curiosity and enthusiasm for the stock market and the vast potential of the internet lit up his eyes, but it also sparked a conflict within her. She had grown uneasy with the way he was immersing himself in these modern, unpredictable ventures. It wasn’t something she fully understood, and the future it promised felt unstable, unlike the secure world she had built around Rashid and Farhan.

That night, after hearing from Imran about his plans, Zainab knew she had to convince Rashid to stay home. She had asked Rashid over dinner, bringing up the idea casually at first, suggesting they could spend the evening together while sending the boys to the mall with the maid. It was an innocent enough request, but Rashid’s disinterest was clear. He mentioned other plans, maybe Monday, he said, thinking it was just another passing suggestion from his wife. But Zainab, aware of Imran’s insistence, needed this to happen tonight.

Determined, she leaned closer to Rashid, lowering her voice, making the offer that she knew would sway him. "It won’t be like last time," she said softly, her eyes locking with his. "I’ll send Farhan and Ayaan out, we’ll have the house to ourselves… and you can do whatever you like. Every room, Rashid. I won’t say no."

Rashid looked at her, mildly intrigued but still half-distracted. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for more. She knew this was the moment where she had to offer something that couldn’t be ignored.

“I’m serious,” she continued, her tone deepening. “I’ll even let you use... everything. You can take your time, no limits. And if you want, you can take the blue pill, no complaints from me.” She let the weight of her words settle in the air. Rashid’s gaze sharpened as the offer sunk in, realizing just how much she was offering. It wasn’t just an intimate moment; it was an invitation to indulge in a way that few women would ever allow.

Her face remained composed, masking the tension and complexity behind her words. She wasn’t naïve to what she was offering—it was transactional, a desperate move to get Rashid to agree, to fulfill Imran’s request. There was a deep discomfort in knowing she had to offer this part of herself, but she also understood the power it held in controlling the outcome of the night. Zainab had long since learned that her body, her submission in these matters, was a currency of influence.

Rashid, sensing the rare opportunity she laid before him, nodded slowly. He didn’t need much more convincing. He leaned back in his chair, already imagining the night ahead, knowing full well that this was an offer he couldn’t pass up. His eyes darkened, filled with the anticipation of the promises Zainab had made.

Inwardly, Zainab braced herself, already preparing for what was to come. It wasn’t about desire for her—it was about control, about maintaining the balance of power in a world that left little room for her autonomy. She had learned to navigate this path, using the tools she had to secure what she needed.

The day ahead would be spent fulfilling a role she had grown used to, but it wouldn’t break her. It was simply the price she had to pay to ensure things remained as they were, and to keep the precarious balance between her and Imran intact.


Zainab, feeling the weight of the night ahead, dialed Imran after Rashid had accepted her offer. She spoke with a calmness that masked the inner turmoil she had carried for so long. "I’ve made the agreement with Rashid," she said bluntly, her voice controlled, though her mind raced. She was preparing herself for the next day’s ordeal, knowing this would push her to a place she had long tried to leave behind.

Imran, with his usual mocking tone, chuckled on the other end of the line. "You’ve still got it, don’t you?" he teased. "The filthy little slut, hidden behind all those layers you cover yourself with—like an onion, peeling away one by one until the core shows itself."

Zainab remained silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air, feeling the sting but choosing not to react. She had become skilled at enduring Imran’s jabs, understanding that they were part of the control he tried to exert over her. "This will be the last time I do this," she finally said, more to herself than to him. She needed the reminder—this was the end, or at least she hoped it could be.

Meanwhile, Rashid, excited and unable to contain himself, called Layla. He had planned something extravagant for Sunday—public voyeurism, one of the twisted games he had been pushing her into for some time now. "We’ll have to postpone," he said. "I’ve got serious business to handle." Layla, however, knew the truth. She could read through his words, understanding what ‘serious business’ really meant. It wasn’t about deals or contracts, but about Zainab. She didn’t say anything, though. It wasn’t her place to challenge Rashid, and she had long since learned how to navigate his world.

As Rashid ended the call with Layla, Zainab was close by, sitting on the edge of their bed, still considering the lengths she had gone to secure her position. She turned to him before heading to bed. "Make this count," she said, her voice steady but with an edge of finality. "This will be the last time I let you do these things to me. At least voluntarily."

The words hit Rashid with excitement. Tomorrow promised to be a day unlike any other. He felt a rush of anticipation as he lay back in bed, a wide grin spreading across his face. For him, this was a game—a hunt. The thrill of Zainab offering herself in the way she did, knowing she was making this "last time" significant, stirred something deep in him.

But what Rashid didn’t fully realize was the power Zainab had always wielded over him. She knew exactly how to use her body, her submission, to take control. In the early days of their affair, she had played the role of the submissive, giving him the fantasies he craved. The roleplays, the elaborate scenes, each one tailored to cater to his desires, weren’t just for his pleasure. They were calculated, each step drawing him deeper into her influence, binding him to her in ways he didn’t even notice.

Zainab had learned early that the key to controlling Rashid wasn’t through force or confrontation but through seduction. She allowed him to believe he was the one in power, while quietly pulling the strings. Each time they engaged in these roleplays, it only strengthened her position in his life. By giving him what he wanted, she ensured that he stayed close, that his obsession with her grew. It wasn’t love that fueled their relationship, but a complex dance of power and control, one that she had mastered over the years.

Their history was filled with moments where Zainab had taken Rashid deeper into her web. When they first began their affair, she had introduced him to fantasies and desires he had never experienced before. She allowed him to believe it was his idea, that he was pushing her boundaries, but in truth, she had been the one guiding him all along. It was through this control that she eventually convinced him to marry her, securing her place as his wife, but also ensuring that he remained tethered to her whims.

As Zainab lay in bed, she reflected on the coming day. It wasn’t about pleasure or excitement for her—it hadn’t been for a long time. This was survival, a method to maintain the delicate balance in her life, to keep Rashid under her control while still managing her obligations to Imran. The games, the roleplays, the submission—it was all part of the act she had perfected to keep her life intact.

Tomorrow, when Farhan and Ayaan stepped out of the house, the hunt would begin. Rashid would feel like he was in control, that he was taking what he wanted from her, but Zainab knew better. She had orchestrated every step of this, just as she had done so many times before. She was giving Rashid what he desired, but it was she who would walk away with what she needed—the upper hand.

As the night settled and Rashid drifted into an excited sleep, Zainab lay awake, her mind spinning with the weight of it all. She had used her body as a tool for so long, molding herself to fit the desires of men like Rashid and Imran, but it had never truly broken her. She was in control, and she would remain so, even if it meant playing the part one more time.


The day unfolded in Rashid’s lavish palace, a sprawling mansion with five grand rooms, each adorned with a different theme, and a massive hall that echoed with luxury. The sprawling estate was as much a symbol of power as it was of Rashid's dominance over those closest to him, including Zainab. Today, Zainab had steeled herself for what was about to come—a series of carefully orchestrated roleplays that she both detested and excelled in. Though each encounter was voluntary, she had perfected the art of acting as if it were against her will, a twisted game that satisfied Rashid’s darkest desires.

Zainab stood before Rashid, her mind prepared but her heart heavy. Each room had a different theme, carefully curated over the years to match Rashid’s shifting fantasies. First, they entered **Farhan's room**, a space decorated with youthful simplicity, which Zainab hated to tarnish. This room belonged to her son, a space she wished could remain untouched by Rashid's sinister games. But as the night began, she acted the part, though more reserved, hoping to shield the room from the weight of their deeds. Rashid, sensing the discomfort, took it lightly, as if this was simply a prelude.

As they moved to the next room, **the exotic suite**, the atmosphere darkened. This room was inspired by Arabian nights, filled with silk dbangs and intricate patterns that adorned every wall. Rashid’s fantasies grew wilder as Zainab performed her role to perfection, her heart burning with quiet resentment. She hated how she had to act vulnerable, submissive, and unwilling when, in truth, this performance was a farce—an elaborate charade to keep Rashid under control, even as he believed he was the one in power.

By the time they reached the **hunter’s den**, with its primal, rugged decor, Rashid had taken his third blue pill. His stamina outlasted even his sanity, and Zainab, though in pain, knew she had to endure. In the den, Rashid wanted something more raw, more brutal, and Zainab, ever the actress, played along. She had long mastered the delicate art of keeping her real emotions hidden, though with each passing moment, her hatred for what her life had become grew deeper. Every touch, every word from Rashid was a reminder of her captivity, masked as control.

**The royal suite** was next, a grand room with gold accents and heavy velvet curtains. Rashid had always adored the air of regality in this room, where Zainab would become a queen in his twisted narrative, only to be "dethroned" in ways she abhorred. This was where Zainab’s acting skills truly shined, where she could convince Rashid that his fantasies were real, that he was taking what he wanted by force, while she managed to keep the upper hand.

The hours passed, and Zainab’s body ached from the grueling demands Rashid had placed on her. Seven hours of relentless roleplay, each one darker than the last, had brought him to a state of complete satisfaction—yet there was still one room left.

It was **Ayaan’s room**—a place Zainab dreaded, but Rashid, now exhausted and content, hesitated. He had no more need for another conquest. Zainab, however, felt a burning injustice. Why stop here? Why stop at Ayaan's room, when Farhan’s room had already been used? Why did Rashid spoiled Farhan’s space but stop short of Ayaan’s?

Zainab, sensing this as a threat to her carefully laid plans, seduced Rashid once more. She reminded him of the one thing she had only allowed him to do once before, something forbidden. "Do you remember," she whispered, "the night I stopped you from going to Ayaan after Aisha died? I let you do something I swore I never would again, but I’ll let you now. Let me be everything you want." Her voice was smooth, controlled, masking her disgust with her words.

Rashid, still under the spell of the night’s twisted pleasures, agreed. Zainab endured the final moments of the night, knowing full well she had manipulated Rashid into not stopping his cruel game at Ayaan’s door. This was her victory, but it was bitter. Her body ached, her soul felt heavier, but she had harmed Ayaan in the only way she could—for now.