Adultery Broken trust and suppressed lust

[Zoz34]

Hi ,zoz here ,I tried to include a different narrative style to the Story.
Hope you will enjoy it ,it is the follow up envent after Vishal and Afrah's last kissing encounter.


3 days later


Sohail pov:

Sohail’s eyes fluttered open, disoriented. His head throbbed, a dull, pulsing ache that blurred his vision. Where…where was he? Shadows danced across the ceiling, faint shapes, and muffled sounds. His mind struggled to make sense of it, and then…there was a sound—soft, breathless, unmistakable. A woman’s moan pierced the fog, floating through the air with every subtle movement, each sigh growing louder, more urgent.

“Ahhh...God...yes…”

The sound echoed, mingling with a soft, rhythmic thumping. He blinked, fighting to focus his gaze, each breath feeling heavier than the last. In the dim light, he could make out two bodies, tightly pressed together, moving with an unrestrained, carnal rhythm. His stomach twisted as he tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt weak, betraying him. The room tilted, his vision blurring, but he could see enough—a figure moving above, muscles flexing with each deep thrust. The silhouette leaned in close, shadowed against the dim light, blocking his view of the woman beneath. Her body writhed beneath him, fingers digging into his shoulders, her face just out of reach, hidden in darkness but alive with gasps and moans that filled the air, leaving no doubt as to what was happening.


Vishal's face flashed in his mind, and an icy dread spread through his veins. No…no, it couldn’t be. He blinked, forcing his eyes to adjust, but his sight remained frustratingly blurred, the details just out of reach. All he could see was the outline of two bodies, a fevered tangle of limbs and shadows.

Pain tore through his chest, sharper than any physical ache, a raw, twisting agony. His heart clenched as the woman beneath whimpered, her voice desperate, pleading. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, but his voice felt trapped in his throat. He tried to rise, to pull himself out of this nightmare, but his legs buckled, and he crumpled back down, helpless.

As darkness swallowed him again, the last thing he heard was that steady rhythm, haunting him, echoing in his mind as his eyes drifted shut.



Sohail’s eyes fluttered open, his head pounding like a drumbeat as he came to in the dim, unfamiliar room. Every inch of him ached, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. He groaned, running a shaky hand over his face, trying to piece together what had happened. The last thing he clearly remembered was the party, a heavy haze of drinks and laughter blurring together, his boss introducing Vishal, describing him as a “close friend and business associate.”

Fragments flashed before him—faces, clinking glasses, voices merging into a dull hum. Then…a muffled sound, a woman's moan. His heart clenched as he fought to focus, the memory slipping just out of reach. He forced himself to sit up, blinking against the disorienting fog clouding his mind. His stomach twisted as his gaze fell on the empty bed across from him, its sheets tangled and disheveled as though someone had been there, leaving behind only a hint of warmth.

He tried to recall more, but all he could grasp were fragments—flashes of bodies moving, soft murmurs, the brush of skin. Had he imagined it?



His head throbbed as he leaned forward, gripping it tightly, trying to piece together fragments that felt as slippery as oil. Everything blurred, jagged images twisting, teasing him with half-formed shapes and sounds. Two bodies, locked together, moving in that unbearable rhythm. A familiar moan slipping through the haze, low and soft, like something lodged deep in his memory.

The man… was it Vishal? He thought he knew, but the thought twisted, muddied. He wanted to be certain, but in this foggy state, could he trust anything he remembered? And the woman’s voice—so familiar it felt like a knife pressing in. Did he hear her say something? The words floated up, half-formed, slipping back into shadows.

“What if he wakes up?” Was it really her voice? And then another—Vishal’s, or was that just his fear speaking? “He’s a pussy. He won’t do a thing.”

A wave of nausea rolled over him as doubt crawled through his mind, gripping, twisting, whispering. Was it real? Or was his own mind laughing at him, feeding on his deepest fears? He closed his eyes, but the sounds, the images—they wouldn’t let him rest, wouldn’t let him breathe.


Sohail’s heart raced, the memories swirling chaotically in his mind as he fought to piece together the night. His head spun, the pain a constant reminder of the fog clouding his thoughts. But then, as if surfacing from the depths of a nightmare, an image forced its way through the chaos: Afrah. Her body, soft and yielding, wrapped beneath Vishal’s weight, the way her skin glistened under the dim light. He could almost see the curve of her waist, the arch of her back as she surrendered to the rhythm of desire. 

The sheer thought of it sent a shiver through him, a chill that crept down his spine, tightening like a noose. No, it can’t be. She wasn’t at the party—he was sure of that. But doubt seeped in like poison, gnawing at his resolve. Had it been real, or just a cruel figment of his imagination? 

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the vision to dissipate, but it clung on, vivid and tormenting. The sound of her breathy moans intertwined with the memory of her laughter, haunting him. What if it was true? 


Sohail stumbled back from the bed, his heart racing as he glanced at the stained sheets. The unmistakable evidence of sex lay before him, and the reality hit him like a slap across the face. His thoughts raced in frantic circles. It couldn't be Afrah, could it? She wasn’t at the party; he was sure. Yet the disarray of the room and the stains left behind painted a sordid picture that gnawed at him.

Desperation clawed at him. He fumbled for his phone, hands shaking as he dialed her number. The ringing felt like an eternity. Finally, she picked up.

“Where are you?”he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady, the urgency creeping in.

“At home,” Afrah replied. In the background, he could hear her mother’s voice.

Without waiting for a response, he hung up, a storm of emotions swirling inside him. Home. The word echoed in his mind, but it provided no comfort. He felt lost, teetering on the brink of insanity. 

He tried to recall every detail, every conversation, every moment from the party, but it slipped through his fingers like grains of sand and he cursed himself for drinking so much. 


Sohail spent the day haunted by fragments of the previous night. Images from his boss’s estate—the maze of polished floors, dim rooms, and the tangle of bodies he’d glimpsed—flashed through his mind, refusing to settle. Waking disoriented in a guest room, he’d left in the harsh light of morning, hoping distance would bring clarity. 



Sohail's mind raced, tangled with thoughts that seemed to have no clear answer. He wanted to call Afrah, to hear her voice, to somehow confirm that his suspicions were just the product of a fractured memory and too many drinks. But what could he even ask her? "Were you at my boss's party… with Vishal?" The question sounded absurd even in his own head. He’d remember if she’d been there—he was sure of it, wasn’t he? Yet every time he tried to piece together the night, it blurred at the edges.

He recalled his boss introducing Vishal, talking about their new project together. He could still hear the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of laughter around them. But nothing about Afrah. He was sure she hadn’t been there. And yet…

Maybe John could help. John was one of the few faces he remembered seeing more than once during the evening, always appearing with a fresh drink in hand. Perhaps he’d know how Sohail ended up in that guest room. His boss had assured him that he’d only had a bit too much to drink, but Sohail couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.


As Sohail sat across from John during their lunch break, he tried to keep his tone casual, but the question had been eating away at him. “Hey, can I ask you something?” he began, leaning in slightly. “Do you know how I ended up in the guest room at the boss's place?”

John shrugged, his face blank. “No idea, man. One minute you were there, enjoying yourself like the rest of us—eating, drinking. Next, you must’ve wandered off. Happens.”

“Anything out of place?” Sohail pressed, hoping for some clue to clear the fog in his mind.

“Nothing that I recall,”John replied, looking thoughtful for a moment. “It was a party, you know? Everyone was pretty much just there to have a good time.”

Sohail hesitated, trying to piece together fragments of the night. “Do you remember the boss introducing us to that guy, Vishal Khattar, from Zin Company?”

“Oh, yeah. Vishal,”John nodded, a smirk crossing his face. “That guy’s a total stud. I actually saw him later that night. He was over in the corner with some woman, real bombshell. She had this killer figure, and they were all over each other—kissing, groping, like they were in their own world.”

Sohail's heart sank, a chill running through him as he tried to picture it. He fought the urge to ask more, his mind already jumping to unwelcome conclusions. Was that the woman he'd thought he'd heard? And was he just imagining, or had there really been something familiar about her voice

Sohail tried to keep his expression neutral, forcing a casual tone. “What exactly were they doing? And… you couldn’t tell who she was?"

John grinned, leaning in with a knowing look. “Nah, couldn’t see her face. But she was in this red saree—absolutely stunning, man. Perfect figure, toned in all the right places.” He chuckled. “Not too small, not too big, just… perfect. And Vishal, that lucky bastard, was all over her. His hands weren’t leaving her, I’ll tell you that much. I’d put my money on him getting lucky that night.”

Before Sohail could ask more, their conversation was interrupted by a colleague stopping by their table, breaking the tension. As the chatter resumed around him, Sohail excused himself, his thoughts darkening as he walked away.

The sinking feeling in his chest only deepened. The details played over and over in his mind: the red saree, Vishal’s hands on her, his own foggy memories of waking up alone in the guest room. Was it real? Or had he dreamt it all in some drunken haze? He couldn’t shake the nagging dread that clawed at him, or the question that kept echoing in his mind: who was the woman? And why did he feel so certain that he’d heard her voice before? Afrah? No, it couldn’t have been her—she hadn’t been at the party, he was almost certain of that.


It was maddening, trying to sift truth from dream, reality from illusion. 

Next day Afrah home:


Sohail sat on the couch, nodding and responding politely as Afrah’s family engaged him in small talk. But his mind was elsewhere, churning with images he wished he could erase. Every now and then, he glanced over at Afrah, taking in the sway of her hips as she moved about the room. 

When she got up to go to the kitchen, his gaze drifted, drawn helplessly to the soft curve of her figure in the fitted salwar suit. The fabric clung gently to her as she walked, accentuating the roundness of her backside. It was almost instinctual, the way his mind wandered back to John’s words, the description of that mystery woman in the red saree. Vishal’s hands, shamelessly groping, pressing into the fabric, pulling her close as if he owned her.

A rush of heat and jealousy hit him. "What would Afrah look like in that saree, the rich red dbangd over her curves, the fabric tracing every line of her figure, hugging her waist, that perfect curve of her hips…" His chest tightened as he imagined it, an image that was almost painful in its allure.
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But then she was back, her footsteps light as she approached with a tray in hand. Her gentle voice and smile jolted him back to reality, grounding him. He forced himself to meet her gaze, taking the food she’d brought, as he struggled to bury the thoughts that had been threatening to consume him.


All these scattered pieces weighed heavily on Sohail’s mind—her sudden Goa trip, the hazy dream at his boss's party, Vishal, and that red saree-clad woman who lingered at the edge of his memory like a haunting. It was as if every little thing was pointing toward something hidden just out of his reach, each memory twisting his gut tighter.

He wanted answers, but how could he even begin? The idea of spying on her was tempting, gnawing at the back of his mind. Maybe if he watched her closely, he could catch a hint of truth in her actions, something to confirm—or deny—his suspicions. But would she ever give anything away so easily? 

Did Afrah even own a saree? He’d only ever seen her in salwar suits, casual and elegant, always modest. Yet the thought of her in a saree—one like that vivid red number from his dreams—stirred something conflicting within him. How would she look wrapped in silk, with the fabric clinging to her figure in all the right places? Would she wear one like that for him? Or for
 someone else?


Sohail’s phone buzzed, snapping him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and felt his breath hitch—it was a picture, close-up and risque framed, of a woman’s waist adorned with a delicate silver chain. The soft curve of her waist dipped into the low waistband of tight denim shorts, her thighs thick and toned, just visible at the edge of the shot. It was mesmerizing, undeniably sensual, and his pulse quickened as he stared. 
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For a moment, he simply absorbed the image, a familiar heat building within him. But then, another message flashed beneath the photo: “Bet you haven’t seen her like this.”

Confusion clouded his mind. What was this? Who sent it? He scanned the number, unregistered in his contacts. And then it hit him like a storm—a hazy memory flooding back. The short denim, the silver glint of that chain... hadn’t he seen something like it before?

His heart hammered as realization dawned. A reflection. The photo Vishal had posted that night, a faint reflection in the glass of the yatch. Was this her? Was this… Afrah? 

No. He pushed the thought away, but the doubt lingered, gnawing at his mind.


The possibility clawed at him, making it hard to breathe. His hand trembled slightly as he stared at the photo, his mind cycling through memories, reaching for any reassurance that might calm the storm within him. 'Had she worn something like that before? No, Afrah was usually modest, careful. But this? This felt like an invitation to doubt everything he thought he knew.

Another message lit up on the screen, just a single line: “Don’t you wish you’d seen her like this first?”

The words burned, fueling his turmoil, and his mind reeled with fragments of that night. Vishal’s smirk, the laughter echoing in his head, John’s words about a woman in red… every detail seemed to taunt him now, weaving into an unsettling picture he didn’t want to believe. "Had it all been in front of him the whole time?" He wanted to shake the thought away, to believe in her, to trust her. But this seed of suspicion, once planted, was taking root fast.

The image wouldn’t leave his mind—Afrah, wrapped in that chain, walking sexly maybe caught in a moment he was never meant to see. His heart ached, and the jealousy tasted bitter, laced with his deepest fears. He didn’t know what to think anymore, only that he couldn’t shake the doubt creeping in.



He shook his head, trying to dismiss it as a mistake. 'Someone probably sent it to the wrong number. Or maybe it was just a prank,' he told himself, but the sinking feeling wouldn’t leave him. He glanced up from his phone, and there she was—Afrah, sitting across the room in her modest salwar kameez, laughing softly with his mother. Her hair was neatly pinned, her manner sweet and respectful, not a hint of anything out of place. "How could that image—so raw, so revealing—belong to her?"

Yet, despite himself, his mind betrayed him, flashing back to that photo. The curve of the waist, the glint of the chain—it all felt too familiar. He glanced back at her, noticing the soft lines of her figure under her clothing. No, she wouldn’t wear something like that, he reminded himself. She was never one for racy clothes, let alone anything that provocative. And yet, the thought festered, clawing at his certainty. 

A flicker of doubt crept into his mind. Could she really be so different around others , with Vishal ? He scolded himself for even thinking it, feeling a pang of guilt, but it was as if the image had planted a seed—a haunting curiosity he couldn’t quite shake.

He glanced down at the photo again, his mind running wild despite his better judgment. Even as he tried to brush it off, the image had taken root, twisting his thoughts in directions he hadn’t dared consider before. He could almost see Afrah in his mind—Afrah, with that same silver waist chain glinting against her skin, denim shorts hugging her curves, thighs firm and inviting, a crop top just barely brushing the curve of her waist. The thought stirred something in him, a mix of anger and longing he didn’t want to acknowledge.
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"Should he ask her? But what would he even say?"He’d sound insane asking her if it was her in that picture, or pressing her about some cryptic message. And yet, with each passing moment, the quiet, nagging thought grew louder, daring him to confront her, to pry into things he’d tried to ignore.


In the balcony after :

Sohail leaned on the balcony railing, feigning interest in the view but keeping his eyes on Afrah. “The party at my boss’s place was grand, you know?” he said casually, his tone light. “Big-shot businessmen, politicians, everyone was there. Even Vishal—your boss—came with some lady. Must be his girlfriend or wife.”

Afrah blinked, the slightest flicker in her expression before she masked it with a calm face. “Oh?” she replied nonchalantly, barely glancing his way. “He isn’t married.”

“Yeah,” Sohail said, watching her carefully. “Then she must’ve been his girlfriend.” He paused, weighing his next words. “It was… quite a night. If I’d known, maybe I would’ve taken you along too.”

Afrah looked up, her tone steady. “I don’t really like going to parties, especially ones for your bosses.”

He nodded, feeling a small tension as he pressed, “I know, still, it’s good to go out sometimes.” He hesitated, trying to sound casual. “So, what were you up to that night?”

She met his gaze with an easy smile. “I was out with Hina. She wanted to go shopping, and then we grabbed coffee.”

“With Hina, huh?” he repeated, forcing a chuckle to cover the pang of unease creeping up.

She gave him another calm smile, like everything was perfectly normal. But in Sohail’s mind, questions churned. 'Was she really with Hina?' His mind wavered, telling himself she was telling the truth—he hadn’t seen her at the party, after all. And John had said it was just some lady with Vishal, maybe someone else entirely.

But even as he clung to these reassurances, fragments of that hazy evening kept flashing in his mind—the foggy image of two figures entwined, the woman’s voice, Vishal’s face. He clenched the railing, holding back the questions spiraling inside him. Yet the doubt lingered, gnawing persistently, leaving a bitterness he couldn’t shake.

As he watch Afrah went in ,Sohail tried to force clarity from the jumble of memories, flashes of that night slipping through his mind like half-formed shadows. He remembered standing with Vishal, leaning against the bar as the crowd buzzed around them. The dim lights had flickered overhead, casting an erratic glow, making everything feel disorienting.

“Afrah’s a good homely girl,” Sohail had asserted, trying to defend her against the unspoken implications lingering in the air.

Vishal hadn’t answered immediately. Instead, he had merely smirked, his eyes glinting with something darker. “Good girls have a way of surprising you,” he had said casually, leaning closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Especially when they’ve got someone that would bring their bad side .” 

Sohail’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Vishal had taken a slow sip of his drink, his gaze lingering on the crowd, before turning back to Sohail with a teasing glint. 

The memory unraveled, slipping into a new scene—back in that dim room, the bed rumpled beside him. The haze of alcohol clouded his mind as he tried to recall the sound of a woman’s low moan that had filled the dark. Then, a name—Vishal's name, gasped out in a breathy whisper: “Ahhh, Vishal! Oh god, you’re so big…”

"Was it Afrah’s voice?"

He didn’t know, couldn’t be sure. His mind twisted the moments together, placing her in a scenario where she hadn’t been. She’d said she was out with Hina, hadn’t she? Shopping, grabbing coffee…

Clutching the edge of the balcony, he fought against the rising tide of suspicion. Inside, Afrah talked softly with his mother, her alibi as solid as the walls around them. He knew she’d been out; he "knew" she wasn’t there—right?

But the memory refused to fade. The moan, the whisper of Vishal’s name, that twisted grin of his friend—everything felt like a disorienting nightmare blurring the lines between reality and fantasy.

"Was it really her? If not her… then who?"

His heart raced, caught in the grip of uncertainty. He felt torn between confronting her with what little he thought he knew and the fear of unearthing truths he wasn’t ready to face—or worse, realizing he had been chasing shadows of his own making.

Just as he turned to walk back inside, his phone buzzed again, a jarring sound that shattered his thoughts. He glanced down, dread pooling in his stomach as the screen lit up with another message from that unknown number. 

"Wait until you see the real her. 
More surprises to come"




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