Adultery My wife through the lens of CCTV

[tharkibudda]

Chapter 10 - April 13th , The Aftermath

I watched, my heart in my throat, as he straightened and headed towards the door, the digital feed flickering to black as the living room camera switched off automatically due to no activity as if he was never here .


But my eyes remained glued to the bedroom camera, the image of Dhristi's shattered expression burned into my retinas. She lay there, naked and exposed, staring at the ceiling with a look of utter desolation. Her body was a testament to the ravenous hunger Lakhan had unleashed upon her, her limbs sprawled in an unnatural pose that spoke of the brutal passion that had claimed her.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, each breath a silent scream of betrayal and pain. The sweat that coated her skin glistened in the dim light of the room, a stark contrast to the dark stain that grew between her legs. The semen that leaked from her ravaged opening painted a vile picture of Lakhan's victory, a stark reminder of the power he had wielded over her.

But what truly unsettled me were her eyes. They were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling as if searching for answers that would never come. There was no anger, no pain, no betrayal in them—only a hollow emptiness that spoke of a soul unmoored from its body. It was a gaze that haunted me, a reflection of the void that Lakhan had left within her as he had taken what was rightfully mine.

The room was eerily silent, the only sound the soft whir of the computer fan and the distant hum of the city outside. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the image of my wife, her body limp and her spirit shattered. I felt an overwhelming mix of anger, pity, and an unwelcome arousal that disgusted me to my core.

I watched as Dhristi's chest slowly rose and fell, her eyes glazed over with shock and pain. Her breaths grew more even The digital feed continued to record, capturing every moment of her silent suffering.

Her expression was one of utter disbelief, a mirror of the numbness I felt as I sat in front of the computer, my own breaths coming in short, sharp bursts. It reminded me eerily of my aunt whose eyes had held the same vacant stare after the sudden loss of her husband. For a week, she had lain in bed, unmoving and unspeaking, staring at the ceiling as if searching for a reason behind the cruel twist of fate that had robbed her of her partner. Her lack of tears had unsettled us all, turning the house into a mausoleum where whispers of sympathy were the only sounds that dared to break the silence.

Now, watching Dhristi, I felt a similar dread grip my heart. But unlike my aunt, whose sorrow was a silent river that eventually found its voice in gut-wrenching sobs, Dhristi's pain was a damned lake, trapped and festering, with no outlet for its torrent of despair.

For some reason, the camera which would normally switch off due to inactivity, remained on, a silent sentinel to her shattered world. The digital feed didn't blink, didn't falter, as it continued to transmit the stark reality of what had just transpired. The room's stifling silence was a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of emotions that played out across her features—the trembling of her lower lip, the slight quiver of her chin, and the occasional twitch of an eyelid, all hinting at the storm raging within her.

I fast-forwarded the recording, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy, a moment where she would get up, shower, anything that would signal she was okay. But as the digital clock on the bottom right corner of the screen ticked away the moments, she remained unchanged—still lying there, her legs sprawled and her eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was a tableau of despair, a frozen scream of anguish that seemed to echo through the empty digital corridor of time.

And then, it happened. A crimson trickle snaked its way down her thigh, a stark contrast to the white bedsheets. Her period had come, but she was too lost in her own world to even notice. The blood pooled and grew, staining the fabric a dark, angry red. It was a silent testament to her violation, a physical manifestation of the horror she had endured.

. The room grew dimmer as the sun set outside, casting long shadows across the walls. Yet, Dhristi remained unmoving, a statue of despair carved from the very essence of her being.

As the digital clock ticked away the moments, the camera's night mode kicked in, the infrared lights bathing the room in a cold, lifeless glow. The shadows grew long and menacing, stretching out like the fingers of the dark god that had claimed her. The once warm and inviting space had transformed into a prison of pain, a stage for the grim dance of her soul.

Suddenly, at around 8 pm, the shrill ring of a cellphone pierced the silence like a knife through butter. Dhristi's body jolted, as if brought back from the brink of oblivion. Her hand, which had been lying limp by her side, moved with a jerky urgency to the nightstand where her phone lay, the screen lighting up .

Her eyes focused on the device with a dawning realization, the fog of shock beginning to lift. I realised it was me who called her that night. The man she had vowed to love and cherish, who was currently oblivious to the monstrous act that had been perpetrated against her. The man who was supposed to protect her, to be her rock, her shelter in a storm.

The digital Dhristi sat up with a start, the phone pressed to her ear. Her voice, when it came, was a hoarse whisper. "Manav?" she croaked, the name a desperate plea for salvation.

On the screen, she swiped at her cheek, smearing a mix of tears and Lakhan's seed across her skin. The call was a lifeline, pulling her from the abyss of despair she had been trapped in since that fateful afternoon.

"Dhristi," I heard myself say, my voice a distant echo of concern and love. "I'm stuck at the office. It'll be a while before I can come home."

For a brief, hopeful moment, I thought she might respond, that she might find the strength to tell me what had happened. But instead, she said nothing, the line going quiet except for the sound of her shallow breaths. And then, without a word, she ended the call.

My heart hammered in my chest as I watched her. The digital Dhristi pulled the bedsheet over her body, the fabric clinging to her sticky skin. Her eyes remained unfocused, staring at a spot on the wall as if she could see right through it to a place where she'd rather be.

Her silence was a scream louder than any she had made earlier. It was a declaration of the unspoken truth—that she had been irrevocably changed by Lakhan's monstrous act. The blood and semen between her legs had dried, leaving a sticky residue that would serve as a constant reminder of her defilement.

As the digital clock on the screen ticked away the hours, I saw myself arrive home, the weary slump of my shoulders a stark contrast to the digital Lakhan's earlier vile energy. I didn't bother to switch on the lights, not wanting to disturb Dhristi as I thought she slept peacefully in our marital bed. I removed my work clothes, the fabric sticking to my clammy skin, and slid into bed beside her, oblivious to the horrors that had unfolded just hours before.

The digital feed went silent as the house embraced the cloak of night, the only light coming from the moon that filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across her bruised and violated body. My mind was a tumult of emotions—fury, despair, and a twisted fascination that I couldn't quite shake off.