Misc. Erotica Kaisi Ye Aaag...Ajeeb Sa Daag (English Version)

[AK0047]

Gradually, I began to notice a shift. Chacha’s jokes became more frequent, more deliberate. And whenever Puja smiled, his gaze lingered on her—as if the humor was meant solely for her attention. At first, it unsettled me. Then I reasoned with myself. He was a man, after all. No matter how decent someone appears, a man often tries to appear a little more impressive in front of a woman. Initially, I found nothing overtly wrong in it.


One evening, as we were preparing to go for our walk, we were running late. I asked Puja to hurry. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual gym outfit. Instead, she had on a beautiful nightdress. She looked breathtaking.





I told her it was already night—who would even notice? We were just stepping out briefly and coming straight back. But she refused.

Puja: Ismein kaise bahar jaa sakti hoon? Yeh ghar ke liye hai. Bahar log dekh lenge.

Main: Arre kaun dekhega? Yahan aas-paas koi nahi hota. Bas walk karke wapas aa jayenge.

The apartment was located in an isolated area. The nearest residential houses were nearly five hundred meters away. The surroundings were usually deserted at night.

Puja: Par gate par Aslam chacha honge. Aise kaise jaaun?

I don’t know why, but hearing Aslam’s name from Puja’s lips—combined with the thought of her stepping out like that in front of him—sent a strange shiver through me. For the first time, my body reacted in a way that surprised even me.

Main: Toh kya hua? Woh toh buzurg aadmi hain. Tumhare papa ki umar ke honge.

Puja: (slightly hesitant, her discomfort visible on her face) Theek hai… par aaj Aslam chacha se koi baat nahi karni. Bas walk karke wapas aa jayenge.

Whether it was hormones or something darker, I don’t know—but something primitive stirred within me that day. The more Puja resisted, the more a dangerous curiosity grew inside me. Questions kept swirling in my mind. What would happen? How would he react? Would Puja feel embarrassed—or something else entirely?

That moment, I believe, was the first step toward my own undoing. I thought I would remain in control. But could I really? And what lay ahead—would my wife restrain herself, or would she take another step toward desire?

When we reached the gate, Aslam chacha was standing there. He was wearing extremely shabby clothes, as if they hadn’t been washed in weeks. Puja stayed slightly behind me. Her discomfort was obvious. I stopped deliberately.

Main: Namaste, Aslam chacha.

Aslam: Salaam saab… salaam memsaab.

His eyes widened. Though he spoke to me, his gaze never left Puja.

A woman can sense such attention instantly. Puja understood exactly what his stare meant. She lowered her head completely, unable to meet his eyes.

Main: Chacha, aap toh mujhse hi baat karte ho. Memsaab se toh kabhi baat hi nahi ki.

Aslam: Memsaab shayad mujhe pasand nahi karti. Hamesha door hi rehti hain. Main kaise baat karta?

Puja: Aisi koi baat nahi hai, chacha.

I was startled. It was the first time Puja had spoken to him directly. A faint blush spread across her face as she spoke, her eyes still lowered.

Aslam: Waise memsaab, aaj aap bahut sundar lag rahi ho. Yeh dress aap par bahut suit kar rahi hai.

The moment he said that, my body reacted violently. I became painfully hard, as if about to burst. Puja turned completely red; her cheeks flushed deep crimson. Every hair on my body stood on end. I silently observed the two of them. Aslam’s gaze remained fixed on her without shame, even in my presence. Puja kept adjusting her hair repeatedly, visibly confused, unsure how to react. She stayed silent, unable to respond.

Main: Chacha, aap kahan rehte ho? Family hai?

Aslam: Nahi saab, akela hi rehta hoon. Block E ke top floor par ek room hai. Hum teen watchman rehte hain. Sab aapki tarah khushnaseeb nahi hote.

Block E was connected to ours. And just like us, the watchmen’s rooms were on the top floor. Anything that happened up there could only be seen by people living on that floor.

Main: Chacha, aapke paas mobile hai? Apna number de do. Zarurat padi toh call kar lunga.

Aslam: Jee saab, likh lijiye… 99*****67.

I had intentionally not brought my phone that day. I asked Puja to save it instead. She looked at me in surprise, then silently saved the number. I did this deliberately, just to create an excuse for them to talk.

Puja: Chacha, ek baar phir number boliye.

Aslam: Haan memsaab… 99*****67. Aur ek missed call de dijiye, taaki main bhi save kar loon.

Puja: Nahi chacha, Dev hi call karenge.

Aslam: Mujhe pata hai memsaab, aap mujhe pasand nahi karti.

Puja: Aisi koi baat nahi hai… lo, kar diya.

She didn’t look at me even once for approval. She simply gave the missed call.

At that moment, I was completely out of control. My body betrayed me so intensely that it was impossible to hide.

Thankfully, the area was dimly lit. I felt an unsettling cuckold-like sensation—as if my wife was slipping away from me. Yet instead of panic, excitement flooded me. Desire overpowered insecurity. Slowly, disturbingly, I began to enjoy it.

We took a short walk and returned home. That night, we had wild sex. I don’t know why, but Puja was unusually intense. She moved like a thirsty tigress. It felt as though she wasn’t Puja at all—she surrendered herself with reckless abandon. During sex, she rubbed her body hard against mine, sucked on my lips aggressively. It felt less like I was having sex with her, and more like she was using me.



She bounced on top of me, taking me fully inside herself again and again—something that had never happened before. Usually, she was too tight; I had to go slowly. That night, there was no hesitation.





All I could think was—was this Aslam Chacha’s effect? Was she imagining him instead of me? Countless questions raced through my mind. But I couldn’t ask her directly. Whatever I wanted to uncover, I would have to do it indirectly.
And in trying to uncover the truth… would I end up pushing Puja one step further? Would this step draw her deeper into desire—or would it finally force her to stop?