Wicked Whispers

[rinxox]

That night ,after returning from office.as we were having dinner 

I asked her:“Has he moved in yet?”

Sheeza: Who?

Ali“Ashish.”

Sheeza“Yeah, I think so...” nonchalantly she said 

Ali :You didn’t mention it 

Sheeza:“What are you talking about?”

Ali: “So, you haven’t really... talked to him?”

Sheeza:“No.” Her response was quick.

Ali: “So you’re telling me he hasn’t come to our house?” 

Sheeza: “What are you talking about?” 

Ali: “You both were in the kitchen, weren’t you?”

Sheeza: “What kitchen?” She feigned confusion

Ali: “What happened in the kitchen?”

Sheeza: “What are you talking about?” She snapped, her calm facade breaking, and her arms folded defensively across her chest. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, Ali.”

Ali: “You both went in there for ten minutes. What happened?” i

Sheeza:“How do you know we were in the kitchen? Are you spying on me?” Her anger surged, and she stepped back, her voice sharp, accusing. “What the hell is going on with you, Ali?”

Ali: “I saw the footage... You both went in there. For ten minutes. What was it, Sheeza? What were you doing?”

Sheeza: “Did you really put a spy cam in the house?” The shock in her voice was palpable, but there was more than just surprise — there was a cold fury, the realization that he’d crossed a line. “Are you serious right now? Are you really accusing me like this?"

I was about say something but....


Sheeza“What do you think happened in that kitchen, Ali?” Her tone was sharp, filled with mock curiosity, her eyes narrowing as if daring me to come up with some wild accusation.

see her irritation my mind could not form what to say“I... I don’t know. I just—”

Sheeza: “Exactly. You don’t know anything. You’ve got all these ideas running through your head and no proof to back it up.”Her voice turned cutting, like a slap to his face. “You’re insecure, Ali. And that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you Ashish was coming over. I knew you’d make a big deal out of it, like you always do.”

She stepped closer, her tone lowering but gaining an icy sharpness. “Every time I talk to someone, you make it a threat. You turn everything into something it’s not. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I knew you’d spin it into something else.”

My chest tightened, her words striking deep. I didn’t know how to respond at first, unsure if my own insecurities were clouding my judgment.But the video 

Sheeza: “And now, you’re going to accuse me of something just because of a damn spy cam?”She raised her voice slightly, fury building. "You’re really going to spy on me like that, Ali? Is that how little you trust me?” She took a step back, crossing her arms as she glared at me.

Ali: “I saw you both in the kitchen... You were there for ten minutes........ She again cut me 

Sheeza: “You saw the footage, huh? Watching me, spying on me. Now you want to turn this around and make it my fault?” Her voice dripped with condescension as she stepped back, her arms now folded tightly against her body, the walls closing in on Ali.

“Fine. Since you won’t stop, let me tell you. Ashish came over for some cream for his coffee. I checked the kitchen, but it wasn’t available, so he left. That’s all. Nothing more.”

She stared, cold and unreadable. “You gonna accuse me of more?”

I swallowed. I didn’t know what to believe. But the video, the timing…

She turned without another word.

At the bedroom door, she stopped.

“You won’t be sleeping in our bed tonight.”

She entered and locked the door behind her.

I was left in the hallway.

Alone.


I lay alone on the couch, staring into the darkness, my mind a fucking storm.

Was she telling the truth?

Ten minutes... not enough time for full-on sex, maybe. But a kiss? Groping? A quick blowjob?

God.

Why didn’t I just ask her straight? Did you suck his cock in the kitchen, Sheeza?
I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Not then. Not even now.

But the thought lingered.

Did she?

I got up again. Opened the footage. Rewatched it.

She smiled at him when she opened the door.

Was that just polite? Or something more?

The way he followed her into the kitchen like he owned the place... The way she didn't look back. Just... walked in. Comfortable. Too comfortable.

Ten minutes.

No sound. No angle. Nothing to prove anything.

So why was my gut twisting like this?

I found myself wondering—am I hoping she did do something?
Just to validate my paranoia? To justify this sickness crawling under my skin?

Or was it something deeper?

Some fucked-up part of me... craving the humiliation?

I opened my phone again.  
The old MMS.The scandal of manali.

I stared at it. My heart was pounding.  
I hated myself for even thinking it—

Is that how Sheeza looks when she..

No.

I locked the screen. Tossed the phone aside.

I didn’t jerk off.

Barely.

I turned my face to the cushion and buried the shame.

Eventually, sleep took me like a curse.

Morning.

She didn’t look at me when I entered the kitchen.

She was making tea, her movements cold, robotic.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I said, voice low.

She didn’t turn around.

“Okay.”
Just that.

Nothing else.

No warmth. No hug. No “it’s okay.”

I stood there, watching her back, her hair tied up in a neat bun. The same neck I used to kiss every morning.

Now I couldn’t even touch her.

And still—my mind whispered—what happened in that fucking kitchen?


Office was no better.
I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t stop replaying our conversation, her cold distance, the way she shut me out. Even though I’d apologized. Even though I’d swallowed every last shred of my pride.

That night, again—nothing. Sheeza barely looked at me.

Next day... same thing.

The silence was unbearable. Like I didn’t exist in my own house.

On the third night, I broke.

"I’m sorry... please... I’ll do anything to make it right," I begged.

Finally, her eyes softened, just a little.  
“Then promise me something,”she said. “You will never accuse me of cheating again.”

I nodded. What else could I do?  
Even if my heart screamed.



It was Sunday.

Doorbell rang. I opened it.

Ashish.
Tall, confident, the same smug expression.

What he is doing here?

Before I could say anything, Sheeza called from the kitchen.

"Invite him in"

Asish made himself comfortable on couch.


“Come in and sit! I invited him, Ali. To clear all your doubts.”
Her voice was calm, even sweet. “He’s a good man. It’ll be better if you two get along.”

I opened my mouth to protest—  
“No 'but', Ali.” Her tone cut like a knife. “You’ll behave properly in front of him.”

I swallowed it down.

We sat. I didn’t want to talk. But I did.

Work. Apartment. Small talk.

Nice decor,”he said, glancing at the shelf, then back to me. “Though I saw it when I dropped by a few days ago.”

I blinked.

“When?”

“About five days ago. I ran out of cream.”He smiled casually, eyes glinting. “Remembered Sheeza lived here. Came by. She still makes the best cream…”He leaned back lazily. “Missed Sheeza’s cream all these years.”

I raised an eyebrow. “When did you last see it?”

Ashish smiled, casually. “Oh... about five days ago. I ran out of cream, remembered Sheeza lived here. Dropped by. She still makes the best cream.”

That sly smile.  
“Missed Sheeza’s cream all these years.”

Before I could process that, Sheeza walked out of the kitchen, tray in her hands. Snacks. Tea.

That’s when I noticed it.

Her salwar was... tighter. Hinted just enough of her cleavage.  
Duppata carelessly on one shoulder.

A light touch of lipstick , subtle kohl on her eyes.

Did she get ready for him?

Ashish’s eyes locked onto her chest. I watched them move—her soft breasts gently bouncing with every step, pressing against the fabric. He stared, drinking her in. Then he glanced at me again… with a flicker of a smirk.

“What are you boys talking about?” she asked with a casual smile.

“Just telling him how much I loved your cream,”he said.

She chuckled, “Oh... hope you enjoyed it.”

My heart skipped.  
Didn't she say there was no cream that day?

I looked at her again. Her posture. Her smile.


And then it hit me.  
In that old footage—after coming out of the kitchen—she adjusted her dupatta .

Why?

My gaze shifted again to her chest. The gentle bounce. The outline .

His words echoed: “I missed Sheeza’s cream all these years.”


 There was something in it—an evilness, a quiet mockery, like he knew something I didn’t. Or worse, like he knew exactly what I feared.

I sat awkwardly, sipping tea I didn’t want, feeling like a third wheel in my own home.

They laughed over old college memories—names I didn’t recognize, incidents I hadn’t lived, emotions I wasn’t a part of. Sheeza's eyes sparkled when she spoke to him, her smile lingering a little longer, her voice softer.

Then Ashish turned to both of us.

"You two should join me for dinner this Friday. There's this new place in town—I want to try it. It'll be fun."

Before I could respond, Sheeza was already nodding.  
"Sure. Sounds great!"

He stood up to leave, giving me a casual nod.

And then—he hugged her.

His arms wrapped around her, easy, familiar.  
And she let him.

Just a second too long.  
Just a little too comfortable.

I clenched my jaw.

I wasn’t comfortable with it. Not at all.

As the door closed behind him, Sheeza turned to me, oblivious or pretending to be.

"See? He's just being friendly, Ali. Try not to overthink everything."

I didn't say anything.


But something was bothering me cream.The way he emphasized on cream as was ogling my wife's boob.

Then it struck me like thunderbolt.

Has he sucked her boob on that day?
Had she let him taste her that day?

My head was spinning forming all sorts of crazy thoughts.

We had dinner , but my thoughts was getting darker.

After dinner as she left for bed,I tell her I will join after sometime.

I turned my phone and saw tha cam clip again ,which I must have seen atleast 30 times to confirm my wife's infidelity.

They’d gone to the kitchen.

Ten minutes.  
No sound. No camera there. Just ten minutes of maddening silence.

When she walked back into frame—she was adjusting her dupatta.

Why did she fix it?  
What had he done to her chest?  
To her soft, creamy, mounds?


She walks out from the kitchen, eyes calm, but her dupatta was clearly out of place.  
She pulls it back over her chest... just a little too carefully.


Had she lifted her kurti just enough for him to bury his face in her breasts?  
Were her nipples in his mouth as she whispered "Just for a minute, Ashish..."?

My cock stirred.

I hated myself. But the images flooded in.

In my head, I saw it clearly .


I began to imagine.

Sheeza checking the cabinet, telling Ashish softly, “No cream, I think I ran out.”

But he didn’t leave.

Instead, he stepped behind her, his tall frame closing in. She turned, startled, but he kissed her—soft lips parting as he claimed her mouth. His strong hand gripped her ass firmly.

The other hand moves up—boldly, shamelessly—grabbing her heavy breast like it belongs to him.

She gasps, “Ashish…”

But he doesn’t stop.


She half-moans, half-protests, but it’s too late. He’s already slipping her dupatta off her shoulder—slow, practiced—letting it fall down her arm, baring the upper swell of her breast under that thin kameez.

The cream I wanted… it’s right here,” he growls, squeezing her again, both hands now mauling her soft curves. “I’ve missed it so much



And then he buries his face there.

Not gently—no.

Like a starving man.

His lips sealed around her soft mound, sucking hard through the fabric, leaving wet spots behind. His tongue swirling over her nipple beneath the cloth, the suction deep, lewd, desperate. His stubble grazing her skin as he worships her breasts like they’re his.

And Sheeza? Her head tilts back slightly, her hand trembling on his shoulder. A moan escapes her lips—soft, shameful, needy.

My wife.


[img]<a href=[/img]" />
Those creamy, jiggly, perfect boobs… his mouth all over them.

Her dupatta missing. Her modesty undone. Her nipples probably stiff under his tongue. Was he biting her gently? Teasing her with his teeth?

Was she panting?

Did she grab his head and pull him closer?

I open my eyes, breath ragged, heart pounding.

This was madness. I didn’t know if it happened—but now the image was etched in my brain like a brand. And every time I looked at her… I couldn’t unsee it.

Her smile. Her lips. Her breasts.

My sweet, innocent Sheeza.

And maybe… just maybe… Ashish had already tasted them again


His other hand slipped up, grabbing a handful of her heavy, creamy breasts through the thin fabric of her kameez. She gasped, maybe tried to push him away. But he whispered, “The cream I wanted is right here. I’ve missed it so much.”

She whimpered at that.

And then... he removed her dupatta. Slid it off her shoulder casually, like he’d done it before. Like it belonged to him.

He buried his face into her chest. Into her—my—fair, soft, luscious boobs. He nuzzled, sucked, licked. The outline I’d seen so many times... I could almost feel the wet sounds in that silent, hidden moment.

Did she moan? Did she hold his head there?

I shut my eyes.

Her dupatta fixing gesture on the f
ootage suddenly made too much sense. Her kameez had looked stretched—was it from him mauling her tits, teeth and tongue all over them?

And all I had was that single camera angle, and an imagination that was tearing me apart.


I blinked.

Back in the living room.

My heart was racing.

I looked down.  
I was hard.

I had no proof. Just... images. Sick, filthy images.



To be continued -