Wicked Whispers

[rinxox]

I entered the home with a strange hollowness in my chest. Sheeza greeted me with a smile as if nothing had changed.

But something had.  
I just didn’t know what.

She didn’t say a word about Ashish moving in. Not a mention of seeing him. As if it hadn’t happened.  
As if she wanted it kept secret.

We had dinner. She talked about groceries. A new recipe. I nodded in the right places, smiled when needed.

All the while, my mind was screaming.

After she went to bed, I sat on the couch pretending to scroll through my phone. I waited.  
Waited for the sound of her breathing to soften.  
For the silence of sleep.

When it came, I moved.

I crept into the bedroom, my chest tight, eyes darting to her still form on the bed. Her face was turned away. Her breath steady. Peaceful.
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My innocent wife.  
My angel.  
My… God, my head hurt.

Those soft lips—had they wrapped around cock? 

I forced the thoughts back and reached for the shell above the dresser. Inside it, the hidden cam.

I turned and tiptoed toward the door—

“Not sleepy?”

I froze.

Sheeza was sitting up.

“Not really,” I lied, heart thudding. “Had a little too much cofy."

She smiled softly and laid back down. “dont wake for late"

She turned, back to me again.

I clenched the device in my hand and walked out slowly, every nerve on edge.

I couldn’t check it now.  
Not tonight.I will check it tomorrow.







Next morning, I sat in the car with trembling fingers. I had copied the footage from the drawing room cam to my phone the night before.

I pressed play.
Day one—nothing
She moved around normally. No Ashish.

Day two—same.


Then came Day three.
And my stomach dropped.

Ashish walked in. Tall, dark, muscular. Confident. Like he belonged.

I leaned forward, squinting at the tiny screen.
They spoke for a few minutes. I couldn’t hear anything—no audio—but I watched their faces. Her expression was soft. Comfortable. A small laugh escaped her.




Then Sheeza walked into the kitchen.

Ashish waited for a moment… then followed.

I froze the video.

Ten minutes.
They were out of the cam’s view for ten fucking minutes.

I stared at the screen, my mind spinning.

They couldn’t have had sex. Not a full session. Could they?

But… a blowjob?

Yes. Easily.

The image slammed into my skull. I could see it—vividly.

Ashish entering the kitchen, stepping behind her while she sliced fruit or poured water.

His hand grazing her back, brushing against her hip—testing boundaries.

Her soft gasp.

He presses against her, his hard cock straining against her ass. One hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him.

Sheeza whispering, “Ashish… not now…”

But he kisses her neck, whispering filth into her ears.

“You missed this, didn’t you?”  
“You love how I used to grab this ass…”

His hand slides under her kurti. She squirms, whimpers.

Does she resist? Or does she lean back into him?

He spins her around.  
Kisses her. Deep. Rough. One hand groping her boobs, the other already undoing his pants.

She sinks to her knees.  
Obedient. Eager.

My wife. On her knees. In our kitchen.

She pulls his cock out. Looks up at him with those big, innocent eyes—the same eyes that i look at me.

Now filled with lust.

She strokes him once, twice, then takes him into her mouth. Slow. Worshipful.

Ashish groans.

Grabs her head.

Fucks her face.

Her head bobbing as he mutters curses. As he tells her she’s still the best he ever had.

Did she swallow? Did she wipe her mouth with the same dupatta she wears around me?

I shut my eyes.

My cock was hard. Sickeningly hard.

The arousal was disgusting. But I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the images.

At work, I was useless. Mind poisoned.

I watched the footage again during lunch, trying to find something—anything—in her posture when they returned from the kitchen.

A wrinkle in her salwar?  

Flushed cheeks?  
Did she avoid the camera?

Nothing.  
But everything.

I was drowning in doubts.

I had to know.  
But what if I already did?