Lusty Feminist Wife: Mishti ki masti (Scene 6)

[ashuezy2]

Scene 6: The Trap


I didn't go to Amit’s place. I couldn't face him, not after seeing his wife exposing herself to me.
I sat on a broken cement bench near a small park. Dust on my trousers. I didn’t bother brushing it off. For the first time since yesterday, I stopped reacting. The noise in my head stopped.

For the first time, I didn’t look at Mishti’s messages.
That night, alone in a small hotel room, I looked at the ceiling fan rotating slowly. Tick, tick, tick.
In the evening, I went to meet someone Amit had mentioned quietly a long time ago. Not a famous lawyer. Not a loud one. A woman in her late forties. Calm eyes. No nonsense. She sat in a small office filled with files.

She didn’t interrupt me once. She listened. She took notes. She asked only three questions.
“Did you hit her?” “No.”
“Did you threaten her?” “No.”
“Do you have witnesses for yesterday?” “Yes.”
She closed her notebook. “Then don’t panic,” she said. “And don’t try to be nice. Just be precise.”
That word stayed with me. Precise.

Next Day

I didn’t wake up angry that day. That scared me. Anger at least tells you you’re alive. This was different. My head felt clear. Empty. Sharp. It was like the emotional part of my brain had been surgically removed.

I ordered tea at a roadside stall and watched people pass by. Nobody knew what was happening in my life. That invisibility felt… useful.
I took out my phone. I opened Mishti’s chat. Not to reply. To read. Slowly. Every message she had sent over the last year. Dates. Times. Gaps.
I noticed something I hadn’t before. She never texted me in the afternoons. Never between 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. Not once. Funny thing—that’s when I was always in meetings. That’s when she knew I wouldn't call.

I smiled for the first time. It wasn't a happy smile. It was a cold realization. This was her meeting time as well.

I messaged her. One line. “I am not well. I am confused. We should talk.”
That’s it. No accusations. No anger. No strength. Weakness is bait.
Her reply came in thirty seconds. “I told you, calm discussion is better. Let’s meet somewhere neutral.”

I replied: “Okay. Wherever you feel safe.”
She liked that message. Actually liked it.

We met at a café near a metro station. Crowded. Cameras everywhere. Noise. She arrived ten minutes late. On purpose. She looked relaxed. Confident. Almost bored. She was wearing sunglasses which she placed on the table.
She didn’t ask how I was. She said, “So. Have you thought?”
“Yes,” I said. “About everything.”

Good.

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “I don’t want drama, Shubhankar. I want to live my life. Come back home and Adjust. If you can handle my needs, we can be fine. If not... you know the options.”

I looked at my hands, pretending to be defeated. "Okay," I whispered. "I... I will Adjust."
She blinked. She didn't expect me to fold this fast. "Really?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, looking up with fake desperation. "I don't want to lose you, Mishti. I don't want a divorce. I don't want parents to cry. If... if you want an open marriage, if you want to see other men... I will cooperate. I will not stop you."
Her face changed. The tension left her shoulders. A smile appeared—not the shameless one, but a triumphant one.
"That is very mature of you, Shubhankar," she said, reaching out to touch my hand. "See? I knew you loved me."
"But please," I added softly. "Before I do this... you be honest with me. Tell me everything. If we are going to be open, I need to know what you have been doing behind my back. Just so I can prepare myself."

She resisted at first. "Why dig up the past?"
"Because I need to trust you again," I lied smoothly. "I need to know it wasn't emotional. Was it just sex?"
"It was just sex, baba," she laughed, finally relaxing completely. She started spilling out the details. "I need excitement. You are sweet, but I need rough. I met him at the gym. It's been going on for two months. And not just him... there was one guy before him too. A colleague from my old office."

She didn't tell me the names, but she described acts. She described how they treated her like a piece of meat, how they used her in ways I never did, and how much she craved that humiliation. She spoke about it casually, like she was discussing a movie plot.
"Like this one time," she said, leaning in, her eyes shining with the dirty memory. "It was lunch break. Everyone was in the cafeteria. He called me to the archives room. It was dark. He didn't even kiss me, Shubhankar. He just bent me over a stack of old files. I was wearing a skirt. He lifted it up and ripped my panties. I tried to say no, but he slapped my ass so hard it left a handprint for two days. He took me right there, standing up, holding my neck. I was biting the files to stop from screaming. He finished inside me and just zipped up and left. I had to walk back to my desk with his cum dripping down my legs. It was... exhilarating."

I nodded, swallowing the bile in my throat. I kept my face blank, but my hand under the table was gripping my thigh so hard I was probably bruising myself.
Then, I played my final card.
"And... does Shweta Bhabhi know?" I asked innocently. "Does she know you are like this?"
Mishti paused. She looked at me, then looked away. "Shweta is my best friend. She understands me."
"Is she... is she a part of this too?" I asked, pushing gently. "I mean, you guys spend so much time together. Is she also meeting people outside marriage?"
"Shh, keep your voice down," Mishti hissed, looking around.
"I won't tell Amit," I said. "We are in this together now, right? Open marriage. No secrets."
Mishti smirked. She leaned in closer across the table.
"Shweta is worse than me," she whispered, her eyes gleaming with gossip. "You think I am bad? Shweta is in high demand."
My heart stopped. "What do you mean?"
"She has a thing for... older men. Rich men," Mishti revealed, enjoying the shock on my face. "She tells Amit she is going to her Mom's house to stay for a few days with Munna. But she drops Munna at her mom's place and goes to farmhouses. She does what she wants."
"Farmhouses?" I repeated.

"Yes. Parties. Private parties," Mishti said. "She gets bored sitting at home with the baby. She says she needs to feel desirable again. She is wild, Shubhankar. You have no idea."
"What do you mean by high demand?" I asked, looking confused.
Mishti giggled. "She has big assets, na? You have seen her. At these parties, the old rich uncles... they go crazy for her milk. Shweta lets them... drink. She says it's natural. Last month, at a party in Chhatarpur, she had three men lined up just to suck on her while she drank champagne.

I thought of Shweta Bhabhi opening her blouse yesterday. The way she taunted me. 'Maybe I wanted you to see.' The way she smiled when I looked at her nipple. It all made sense now. She wasn't just flirting; she was practicing.

"And Amit?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Does Amit know about this?"
Mishti laughed. A cruel, dismissive laugh.

"No," she replied, taking a sip of her cold coffee. "He has no idea. He thinks she is the perfect 'Sati Savitri' wife. Poor guy."
I looked at Mishti. I looked at the woman who destroyed my life, now laughing about destroying my best friend's life.
"Poor guy," I repeated.

I had heard enough. I had the confirmation. I had the recording app running on my phone in my shirt pocket since the moment I sat down.
"Okay," I said, standing up. "Let's go back home."
Mishti smiled, thinking she had tamed me, thinking she had won the jackpot, a husband who would pay the bills while she slept around. She picked up her sunglasses.

"Let's go, Shona," she said sweetly.

I followed her out, looking at her back. She didn't know it yet, but she had just handed me the keys to my freedom, and the bomb that would blow up Amit’s life.