Adultery Encouraged to become Hot wife

[cuck_wife]

Part 4

Ramesh’s Private Thoughts

It’s past midnight here in Assam. The guest-house room is quiet except for the hum of the AC and the occasional sound of trucks on the highway outside. I should be sleeping—tomorrow’s training session starts early—but my mind won’t shut off. All I can think about is Sunanda. My beautiful, sensual Sunanda… alone back home.

I open my phone and scroll to the security app. The feed is live, but the house is dark. She’s probably asleep. I switch to the recorded clips from earlier today. Nothing happened—no visit from Pradeep—but I watch yesterday’s footage anyway. There she is, in that light blue nightgown, sitting on the couch reading. The way the fabric clings to her heavy breasts, the curve of her hip as she shifts… even innocent moments like this make my throat tight.

I never told her about the camera. I know I should feel guilty, but I don’t. Not really. It started as a simple safety thing when we travelled, but now… now it’s my secret window into the fantasy I’ve carried for years.

I’ve always had this desire—watching her with another man. Not losing her, never that. Just seeing her desired, pleasured, lost in passion while I watch from the shadows. And somehow, in my twisted mind, Pradeep became the face of that fantasy. Young, eager, family—close enough to make it feel forbidden, safe enough that it wouldn’t destroy everything.

When Sunanda first started telling me about his visits, I thought my heart would explode. “He dropped by,” she said casually one night, her fingers tracing circles on my chest. “We talked… and he kissed me.” Just that sentence, spoken in her soft, teasing voice, made me instantly hard. I pulled her on top of me and begged for every detail—how his lips felt, where his hands went, what he whispered. And she gave them to me, slowly, deliberately, watching my reaction with those knowing eyes.

She thinks I only know what she chooses to tell me. She has no idea I’ve watched it all happen in real time—his fingers sliding up her arm, the way she sighs when he kisses her neck, how she presses her body against his when he grabs her waist. I’ve seen the hunger in his eyes, the way he grinds against her thigh, whispering how much he wants her. And I’ve seen her respond—her nipples hardening under the fabric, her hips moving just slightly, seeking more pressure.

I stroke myself slowly as I replay the moments in my head. The red saree day—God, that was intense. The pallu falling lower with every breath, his hand boldly cupping her ass through the silk, her soft moan when he squeezed. They haven’t gone further than that yet, but I can feel it building. The tension is unbearable—for them and for me.

Part of me wants to tell her everything. To confess the camera, the fantasy, how I want to watch her finally give in to him. To see Pradeep peel that saree off her, kiss every inch of those full breasts I love so much, spread her thighs and taste her until she’s trembling. To watch her take him inside her, hear her cry out in pleasure that isn’t from me. The thought alone makes me ache.

But I’m scared. What if she’s shocked? What if she thinks I don’t love her enough? What if she stops telling me things because she feels watched? So I stay silent, letting her believe she’s in control of how much I know. Every confession from her lips feels like a gift she’s choosing to give me.

This month in Assam feels like torture and heaven at once. Every night she calls, her voice soft and sleepy. “Pradeep came over again today,” she’ll say, and I can hear the smile in her words. “He brought me tea… and stayed longer than he should have.” Then the details—how he held her longer this time, how he whispered he can’t stop thinking about her body, how close they came to crossing the line.

I encourage her gently. “Did you like it?” I ask, my voice thick. “Did it feel good?” And when she says yes, when she describes how wet she got, how she almost let him touch her there… I lose control.

I want it to happen. I want him to finally take her—on our couch, in our bed, anywhere. I want to watch the footage later, frame by frame, seeing my wife surrender to pleasure while I’m hundreds of miles away. I want her to call me afterward, breathless, telling me every detail while I come harder than I ever have.

But more than that… I want her to enjoy it. To feel desired, powerful, sexy. Because she is. She’s everything.

I love her so much it hurts.

And this fantasy—this dark, throbbing need inside me—doesn’t change that. If anything, it makes me love her more.

Soon. I can feel it.

The line is going to be crossed soon.

And when it is… I’ll be watching.

Every second.

Every moan.

Every beautiful, forbidden moment.