Adultery Wife helps me become a cuckold

[incest_cuck]

The next couple of days passed in a haze of anticipation and nervous energy. I decided to work from home, ostensibly to act as a barrier between Mr. Banerjee and Aradhya. But deep down, I knew the truth - I wanted to stoke the flames, to build the tension before I finally gave in to my desires and watched them together.

Each morning, I woke up beside Aradhya, my body thrumming with a mix of guilt and excitement. I watched her as she got ready for her day of remote work, my eyes tracing the curves of her body, imagining Mr. Banerjee's pudgy hands on her smooth skin. The thought both repulsed and aroused me, a confusing cocktail of emotions that left me half-hard and ashamed.

During our lunch breaks, I casually brought up Harpreet, testing the waters. "Hey, have you heard from Harpreet lately?", I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral. "The shower's been acting up again."

Aradhya looked up from her salad, a flicker of something - Disappointment? Excitement? - crossing her face. "No, actually. I tried calling him a couple times, but he's not picking up. Probably still in Punjab with his dad."

I nodded, pretending to be disappointed. "Ah, that's too bad. Hope his dad's okay."

My sweet, beautiful wife smirked, a teasing glint in her eye. "Miss him already, do you? I thought I was enough to keep you satisfied."

Her words sent a jolt through me. If only she knew how unsatisfied - and simultaneously aroused - I'd been lately. "You know that's not it.", I mumbled, feeling my face flush.

She laughed, reaching across the table to pat my hand. "I'm just teasing, honey. But you have to admit, Harpreet does have a way of... fixing things."

The innuendo wasn't lost on me. I remembered all too well how Harpreet used to "fix things" in our living room sofa and bedroom. The memory of his muscular body intertwined with Aradhya's slim-thick figure sent another wave of confused arousal through me.

"Yeah, he certainly does.", I agreed, my voice hoarse.

At night, our lovemaking was intense, fuelled by my pent-up frustration and confused desires. I tried to last longer, to satisfy Aradhya in the best way possible. But my body betrayed me, as always. I finished too quickly, leaving Aradhya wanting. In those moments, as I used my fingers and tongue to bring her to climax, I wondered if she was thinking of them - of that low class plumber’s skilled touch or our portly landlord's forbidden allure. After a couple of days, I couldn't take it anymore. The anticipation was killing me. I once again needed to know what happened when I wasn't around. So I made a decision - I'd go back to the office, citing an important in-person meeting.

The morning of my planned departure, I woke up early, my stomach churning with nervous excitement. As Aradhya slept peacefully beside me, I carefully extracted myself from the bed and made my way to the living room. With shaking hands, I checked the hidden camera I'd placed there. It was still in position, perfectly concealed behind a decorative vase. I pulled out my smartphone, opening the app that connected to the camera. The feed came through crystal clear - I could see our entire living room, the perfect vantage point for whatever might transpire.

Next, I moved to the bedroom. Aradhya stirred slightly as I entered, and I froze, my heart pounding. But she merely rolled over, still deep in sleep. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and moved to check the camera hidden in our closet. Fuck! My heart sank as I realized the bedroom camera wasn't working. The app showed nothing but static. I fiddled with my phone, trying to reconnect, but it was no use. A wave of frustration washed over me. I needed to fix this - I couldn't miss anything that might happen in here.

But as I glanced at the clock, I realized with growing dismay that I didn't have time. I had to leave for work soon, and I couldn't risk Aradhya waking up and catching me messing with a hidden camera in our bedroom.

"Shit!", I muttered under my breath, running a hand through my hair.

For a second, I considered calling off my plan, staying home another day to fix the camera. But no - I'd already told Aradhya about my important meeting. If I suddenly changed my mind, she might get suspicious. Reluctantly, I left the bedroom, the broken camera weighing heavy on my mind. I'd have to make do with just the living room feed. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing. As I heard my wife beginning to stir in the bedroom, I quickly composed myself. I couldn't let her suspect anything. I went to the kitchen, starting the coffee maker and trying to act as normal as possible. Aradhya emerged from the bedroom, yawning and stretching. The sight of her in her thin nightgown, her curves clearly visible beneath the fabric, sent a familiar jolt of desire through me. But now, it was tinged with something else - anticipation, maybe even hope, that someone else would soon be appreciating those curves.

"Morning, honey.", she mumbled, making her way to the coffee pot. "Big day today, right? Your important meeting?"

I nodded, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, it's a pretty big deal. Might run late, so don't wait up for me for dinner, okay?"

Aradhya nodded, sipping her coffee. "Alright. Good luck with the meeting. I'll be here, same as always, just me and my laptop."

If only she knew how much I hoped that wasn't true. As I got ready for work, I could feel Aradhya's eyes on me. Was she eager for me to leave? Was she already planning her rendezvous with Mr. Banerjee? Or was I just projecting my own twisted desires onto her? Finally, it was time for me to go. I kissed Aradhya goodbye, lingering perhaps a bit longer than usual. As I pulled away, I searched her face for any sign of guilt, any hint of what she might be planning. But all I saw was my wife, smiling at me with love and a touch of confusion at my intensity.

"Have a good day.", she said, patting my cheek. "Try not to work too hard."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. As I walked out the door, I felt a mix of excitement and frustration. In the elevator, I pulled out my phone one last time, checking the living room camera feed. At least this one was working perfectly. Whatever happened in that room today, I'd see it all. But the thought of what I might miss in the bedroom nagged at me, a persistent itch I couldn't scratch. As I stepped out onto the street, the morning sun warm on my face, I was filled with a dizzying mix of emotions - fear, excitement, shame, arousal, and now, a hefty dose of frustration.

When I reached my office, I sat at my desk, ostensibly focused on work, but my mind was elsewhere. Every few minutes, I found myself compulsively checking the video feed on my phone, heart racing each time I opened the app. But hours passed, and nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Aradhya moved about the apartment, working on her laptop, making coffee, completely normal.

As the afternoon wore on, my anticipation mixed with frustration. Maybe nothing would happen after all. Maybe I'd built this all up in my head, projecting my own twisted desires onto an innocent situation.

Then, around 4 PM, everything changed.

My wife’s phone rang. I watched as she glanced at the screen, her body language shifting instantly. She hesitated, biting her lip, a look of nervous excitement flashing across her face. My pulse quickened as she answered the call, her lips moving silently on the screen. She paced for a moment, then disappeared into the bedroom. Fuck. I silently cursed the malfunctioning bedroom camera. What was happening in there? Who called? My mind raced with possibilities as I stared at the empty living room on my screen.

Several agonizing minutes passed before Aradhya reemerged. My jaw dropped. She was wearing her silk robe, the one she usually saved for special occasions. Her hair, previously in a messy bun, now fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Even through the grainy video feed, I could see a flush on her cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes.

I leaned closer to my phone, barely breathing, as she nervously straightened cushions and tidied the coffee table. She kept glancing at the door, smoothing her robe, tucking her hair behind her ear. Then, I saw her head turn sharply towards the door. She took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself, and moved to answer it. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely focus on the screen.

It was him. Mr. Banerjee. Our landlord. He waddled in, his portly frame barely squeezing through the doorframe. His greasy, severely balding head gleamed under the apartment lights, a few sparse hairs combed over in a futile attempt to hide his baldness. Despite his unattractive appearance, his eyes roamed over Aradhya's robe-clad form with undisguised lust, a lecherous grin spreading across his pudgy face.

I could see their lips moving, exchanging words I couldn't hear. Aradhya blushed, looking down. She gestured towards the couch, and Mr. Banerjee didn't need to be told twice. He plopped down heavily, the couch perhaps groaning under his weight. He spread his arms across the back, legs wide, his pot belly straining against the buttons of his ill-fitting shirt. He said something, his grin widening, revealing yellowed teeth. To my shock - and secret thrill – my wife nodded.

With trembling hands, she untied her robe, then hesitated for a moment, finally let it fall to the floor. I gasped audibly, thankful no one in the office was paying attention to me. The fat, ugly landlord’s reaction mirrored my own - his beady eyes widened, his mouth hanging open in shocked excitement.

My wife stood before him in the lingerie I'd bought her during our honeymoon in Thailand - a sheer, black lace bodysuit that clung to her curves. The intricate patterns strategically placed while leaving little to imagination. The high-cut legs accentuated her figure, making her legs look miles long. Her breasts strained against the delicate fabric, visibly responding to the cool air. Over the bodysuit, she wore a garter belt, black straps stark against her dusky skin. Sheer stockings covered her legs, ending mid-thigh, leaving a tantalizing strip of bare flesh between the stockings and the bodysuit.

I hadn't seen Aradhya wear this since our honeymoon. The sight of her in it now, standing before our greasy, overweight landlord, sent a confusing mix of emotions through me.

Mr. Banerjee's lips moved, clearly appreciative. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple as his eyes devoured her majestic form. My wife blushed deeper, her hands fidgeting at her sides as if she was resisting the urge to cover herself. She said something, her expression uncertain. Our landlord laughed, his triple chin jiggling with the movement. He gestured for her to come closer with a pudgy, ring-laden finger. Aradhya hesitated for a moment, then took a step forward. Mr. Banerjee's eyes roamed over her body, lingering appreciatively.

He made a twirling motion with his finger. Aradhya complied, moving slowly. The back of the bodysuit was even more revealing than the front, the lace dipping low to expose most of her back. The fabric hugged her perfectly, and I could see Mr. Banerjee's hands twitch with anticipation.

He said something else, and at his words, my wife stiffened slightly. She responded, her expression a mix of guilt and excitement. Mr. Banerjee chuckled, patting the couch beside him with a meaty hand. My wife hesitated, but eventually moved to sit beside him. Mr. Banerjee immediately put his arm around her, his flabby hand resting on her bare shoulder, a stark contrast to her smooth skin.

They continued to talk, Mr. Banerjee leaning in close, his thin lips nearly brushing her ear. His hand moved from her shoulder to her thigh, sausage-like fingers tracing the top of her stocking. My wife shivered visibly, her eyes fluttering closed. The lecherous landlord’s other hand came up to cup her face, his gold rings glinting in the light. For a moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Then, slowly, he leaned in.