07-12-2025, 02:57 AM
(This post was last modified: 10-12-2025, 10:49 PM by Batni123. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Part Four: The Eternal Ownership
Chapter One: Day 45 – Sunday, 12 July 2020
**The Proud Husband**
11:10 a.m.
Lakshmi had already left for her friend’s place (“Birthday lunch, didi, I’ll be back by evening”).
The flat was theirs alone.
Nikhil walked into the bedroom where Radha was folding laundry.
He came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, lips brushing her ear.
“Radha… one of my friends is coming in twenty minutes.
Be ready.
Wear the red saree I like.
And no bra.”
Radha froze, heart suddenly racing.
She turned in his arms, eyes wide with alarm.
“Nikhil… you’re going to… share me today?”
Her voice was small, trembling.
Nikhil smiled, kissed her forehead.
“You’ll see.
Just trust me.”
11:45 a.m.
The doorbell rang.
Radha stood in the living room in the deep-red saree, blouse low-cut, pallu perfectly dbangd, two mangalsutras shining.
No bra — her nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric when she moved.
She was terrified it was the day he would finally show her off.
Nikhil opened the door.
It was **Aryan Kapoor** — the quiet, studious boy from his coaching class, the one who always sat in the front row and blushed whenever Radha Ma’am praised his answers.
Aryan stepped in, smiling shyly.
“Hi Nikhil… you said you wanted to show me something impor—”
His words died.
Radha stood there, hands folded, the perfect picture of a newlywed wife.
Nikhil closed the door, slipped his arm proudly around Radha’s waist, and announced with the biggest grin of his life:
“Aryan… meet my wife.
Radha Ma’am… I mean… Radha Nikhil Sharma.”
Aryan’s jaw actually dropped.
He stared from Nikhil to Radha and back again, eyes like saucers.
“W-wife? Ma’am… you… Nikhil’s… wife?”
Radha forced a shy, radiant smile, cheeks pink, and folded her hands in greeting.
“Hello Aryan beta… sit, I’ll bring tea.”
She served them masala chai and biscuits, moving gracefully, then sat down right beside Nikhil on the sofa — close, like any loving wife.
Nikhil’s hand immediately went to her shoulder, thumb stroking the bare skin above her blouse, proud and possessive.
Aryan kept blinking, unable to process.
“Ma’am… this… how… when…?”
Nikhil laughed, squeezing Radha closer.
“Lockdown magic, bro.
She said yes.
Now she’s mine.
Completely.”
Radha leaned her head lightly against Nikhil’s shoulder, smiling softly, playing the role perfectly while her heart pounded with relief and joy.
Aryan finally found his voice.
“This is… insane. Congratulations, bhai… Ma’am… I mean… bhabhi?”
Radha giggled, blushing.
“Bhabhi is fine, Aryan.”
They talked for twenty minutes — college, exams, future plans — all perfectly normal, while Nikhil’s hand never left her shoulder, occasionally slipping down to trace the edge of her blouse.
When Aryan stood to leave, still dazed, Nikhil walked him to the door and said quietly:
“One thing, yaar.
This stays between us.
Not a word to anyone.
She’s my wife now.
No rumours. Promise?”
Aryan nodded vigorously.
“Promise, bhai.
Your secret is safe.”
The door closed.
The moment it clicked shut, Radha turned to Nikhil, eyes shining with tears of pure happiness.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him — long, deep, hungry — tongue sliding against his, hands pulling him as close as possible.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, she cupped his face.
“You didn’t share me…
You introduced me as your wife…
In front of the world…
Nikhil… I’ve never been so happy.”
Nikhil grinned, eyes dark with love and triumph.
Radha pressed her forehead to his, voice a sultry whisper.
“Tonight… special treat from your wife.
Be ready, husband.
I’m going to thank you properly.”
11:58 p.m.
They lay side by side, breathing slowing, bodies still joined, oil and sweat cooling on their skin.
The blindfold was off. The ruler lay forgotten on the floor.
Only the red ribbon around Radha’s neck remained.
Radha traced lazy circles on his chest, voice soft, almost shy again.
“Nikhil… one thing I still want to know.”
He turned his head, kissed her forehead.
“Ask anything, wife.”
She hesitated, then looked straight into his eyes.
“Today… when Aryan came… I thought you were finally going to share me.
I was ready.
I had decided — if that’s what my husband wants, I’ll do it.
But you didn’t.
Why?”
Nikhil’s face changed.
The playful, dominant boy vanished.
In his place was the nineteen-year-old who still remembered standing outside the classroom, terrified of her voice.
He cupped her face with both hands, eyes suddenly wet.
“Because you’re not a trophy, Radha.
You’re my wife.
My everything.
I wanted to show him I won… yes.
But the moment I saw you standing there in that red saree, smiling at him like a normal wife…
I realised I don’t need to prove anything to anyone anymore.
You already gave me the whole world when you called me your husband in front of him.
Sharing you would mean giving away a piece of the only thing that is truly mine.
And I’m too selfish for that.
I can’t.
I won’t.
Ever.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I was a scared, worthless boy once.
You made me a man.
You gave me your body, your name, your future child.
I don’t need to show you off to feel like I won.
I just need you beside me.
That’s enough.”
Radha’s own eyes filled.
She pulled him into the longest, deepest kiss of the night — slow, tender, full of everything words couldn’t carry.
When they broke apart, she pressed her forehead to his.
“Thank you… for keeping me only yours.
Tonight was perfect.”
She smiled through happy tears.
“And the treat isn’t over yet.”
She reached for the warm oil again, poured it over both of them, and spent the next hour worshipping every inch of her husband — slowly, reverently — until he fell asleep with his face buried in her armpit, breathing her in like home.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, the teacher and her student — now husband and wife, forever — held each other like the world could never take them apart.
6:17 a.m.
Sunlight crept through the curtains.
Nikhil woke slowly, the scent of jasmine and sex still on the sheets, Radha’s warmth curled against his side.
slipped out of bed naked, and padded toward the attached bathroom to brush his teeth.
He stopped in the doorway.
Radha was already there, kneeling on the wet tiles in just her thin white nightie, sleeves rolled up, hair in a messy bun.
She was hand-washing his underwear from last night (the pair soaked with oil, sweat, and their mixed release), scrubbing gently with a small brush and Surf soap, humming softly.
Nikhil leaned against the doorframe, voice still husky with sleep.
“Radha… we have a washing machine.
Why are you doing it by hand?”
Radha looked up, cheeks pink, a shy, radiant smile spreading across her face.
She held up the brief delicately between soapy fingers.
“Because it’s my husband’s underwear.
And a good wife washes her husband’s clothes with her own hands…
especially when they carry the proof of how much she pleased him last night.”
She blushed deeper, eyes dropping back to the fabric, scrubbing a little harder at a stubborn stain.
Nikhil’s heart did something complicated (pride, love, disbelief, possession all at once).
He walked over, crouched behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“You’re crazy, wife.”
Radha leaned back into him, still smiling, voice soft and happy.
“No.
I’m just finally the wife I always wanted to be…
yours.”
She lifted the soapy brief, rinsed it under the tap, and held it up like a trophy.
“See? All clean.
Ready for you to make it dirty again tonight.”
Nikhil laughed, kissed the side of her neck, and whispered against her skin:
“Every morning I wake up thinking it can’t get better…
and every morning you prove me wrong.”
Radha turned her head, kissed him softly, soap suds still on her fingers.
“Then keep waking up, husband.
I have a lifetime of mornings left to prove you wrong.”
Chapter One: Day 45 – Sunday, 12 July 2020
**The Proud Husband**
11:10 a.m.
Lakshmi had already left for her friend’s place (“Birthday lunch, didi, I’ll be back by evening”).
The flat was theirs alone.
Nikhil walked into the bedroom where Radha was folding laundry.
He came up behind her, arms sliding around her waist, lips brushing her ear.
“Radha… one of my friends is coming in twenty minutes.
Be ready.
Wear the red saree I like.
And no bra.”
Radha froze, heart suddenly racing.
She turned in his arms, eyes wide with alarm.
“Nikhil… you’re going to… share me today?”
Her voice was small, trembling.
Nikhil smiled, kissed her forehead.
“You’ll see.
Just trust me.”
11:45 a.m.
The doorbell rang.
Radha stood in the living room in the deep-red saree, blouse low-cut, pallu perfectly dbangd, two mangalsutras shining.
No bra — her nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric when she moved.
She was terrified it was the day he would finally show her off.
Nikhil opened the door.
It was **Aryan Kapoor** — the quiet, studious boy from his coaching class, the one who always sat in the front row and blushed whenever Radha Ma’am praised his answers.
Aryan stepped in, smiling shyly.
“Hi Nikhil… you said you wanted to show me something impor—”
His words died.
Radha stood there, hands folded, the perfect picture of a newlywed wife.
Nikhil closed the door, slipped his arm proudly around Radha’s waist, and announced with the biggest grin of his life:
“Aryan… meet my wife.
Radha Ma’am… I mean… Radha Nikhil Sharma.”
Aryan’s jaw actually dropped.
He stared from Nikhil to Radha and back again, eyes like saucers.
“W-wife? Ma’am… you… Nikhil’s… wife?”
Radha forced a shy, radiant smile, cheeks pink, and folded her hands in greeting.
“Hello Aryan beta… sit, I’ll bring tea.”
She served them masala chai and biscuits, moving gracefully, then sat down right beside Nikhil on the sofa — close, like any loving wife.
Nikhil’s hand immediately went to her shoulder, thumb stroking the bare skin above her blouse, proud and possessive.
Aryan kept blinking, unable to process.
“Ma’am… this… how… when…?”
Nikhil laughed, squeezing Radha closer.
“Lockdown magic, bro.
She said yes.
Now she’s mine.
Completely.”
Radha leaned her head lightly against Nikhil’s shoulder, smiling softly, playing the role perfectly while her heart pounded with relief and joy.
Aryan finally found his voice.
“This is… insane. Congratulations, bhai… Ma’am… I mean… bhabhi?”
Radha giggled, blushing.
“Bhabhi is fine, Aryan.”
They talked for twenty minutes — college, exams, future plans — all perfectly normal, while Nikhil’s hand never left her shoulder, occasionally slipping down to trace the edge of her blouse.
When Aryan stood to leave, still dazed, Nikhil walked him to the door and said quietly:
“One thing, yaar.
This stays between us.
Not a word to anyone.
She’s my wife now.
No rumours. Promise?”
Aryan nodded vigorously.
“Promise, bhai.
Your secret is safe.”
The door closed.
The moment it clicked shut, Radha turned to Nikhil, eyes shining with tears of pure happiness.
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him — long, deep, hungry — tongue sliding against his, hands pulling him as close as possible.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, she cupped his face.
“You didn’t share me…
You introduced me as your wife…
In front of the world…
Nikhil… I’ve never been so happy.”
Nikhil grinned, eyes dark with love and triumph.
Radha pressed her forehead to his, voice a sultry whisper.
“Tonight… special treat from your wife.
Be ready, husband.
I’m going to thank you properly.”
11:58 p.m.
They lay side by side, breathing slowing, bodies still joined, oil and sweat cooling on their skin.
The blindfold was off. The ruler lay forgotten on the floor.
Only the red ribbon around Radha’s neck remained.
Radha traced lazy circles on his chest, voice soft, almost shy again.
“Nikhil… one thing I still want to know.”
He turned his head, kissed her forehead.
“Ask anything, wife.”
She hesitated, then looked straight into his eyes.
“Today… when Aryan came… I thought you were finally going to share me.
I was ready.
I had decided — if that’s what my husband wants, I’ll do it.
But you didn’t.
Why?”
Nikhil’s face changed.
The playful, dominant boy vanished.
In his place was the nineteen-year-old who still remembered standing outside the classroom, terrified of her voice.
He cupped her face with both hands, eyes suddenly wet.
“Because you’re not a trophy, Radha.
You’re my wife.
My everything.
I wanted to show him I won… yes.
But the moment I saw you standing there in that red saree, smiling at him like a normal wife…
I realised I don’t need to prove anything to anyone anymore.
You already gave me the whole world when you called me your husband in front of him.
Sharing you would mean giving away a piece of the only thing that is truly mine.
And I’m too selfish for that.
I can’t.
I won’t.
Ever.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“I was a scared, worthless boy once.
You made me a man.
You gave me your body, your name, your future child.
I don’t need to show you off to feel like I won.
I just need you beside me.
That’s enough.”
Radha’s own eyes filled.
She pulled him into the longest, deepest kiss of the night — slow, tender, full of everything words couldn’t carry.
When they broke apart, she pressed her forehead to his.
“Thank you… for keeping me only yours.
Tonight was perfect.”
She smiled through happy tears.
“And the treat isn’t over yet.”
She reached for the warm oil again, poured it over both of them, and spent the next hour worshipping every inch of her husband — slowly, reverently — until he fell asleep with his face buried in her armpit, breathing her in like home.
Outside, the city slept.
Inside, the teacher and her student — now husband and wife, forever — held each other like the world could never take them apart.
6:17 a.m.
Sunlight crept through the curtains.
Nikhil woke slowly, the scent of jasmine and sex still on the sheets, Radha’s warmth curled against his side.
slipped out of bed naked, and padded toward the attached bathroom to brush his teeth.
He stopped in the doorway.
Radha was already there, kneeling on the wet tiles in just her thin white nightie, sleeves rolled up, hair in a messy bun.
She was hand-washing his underwear from last night (the pair soaked with oil, sweat, and their mixed release), scrubbing gently with a small brush and Surf soap, humming softly.
Nikhil leaned against the doorframe, voice still husky with sleep.
“Radha… we have a washing machine.
Why are you doing it by hand?”
Radha looked up, cheeks pink, a shy, radiant smile spreading across her face.
She held up the brief delicately between soapy fingers.
“Because it’s my husband’s underwear.
And a good wife washes her husband’s clothes with her own hands…
especially when they carry the proof of how much she pleased him last night.”
She blushed deeper, eyes dropping back to the fabric, scrubbing a little harder at a stubborn stain.
Nikhil’s heart did something complicated (pride, love, disbelief, possession all at once).
He walked over, crouched behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“You’re crazy, wife.”
Radha leaned back into him, still smiling, voice soft and happy.
“No.
I’m just finally the wife I always wanted to be…
yours.”
She lifted the soapy brief, rinsed it under the tap, and held it up like a trophy.
“See? All clean.
Ready for you to make it dirty again tonight.”
Nikhil laughed, kissed the side of her neck, and whispered against her skin:
“Every morning I wake up thinking it can’t get better…
and every morning you prove me wrong.”
Radha turned her head, kissed him softly, soap suds still on her fingers.
“Then keep waking up, husband.
I have a lifetime of mornings left to prove you wrong.”
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