Adultery SPOILING MY WIFE FOR A PERVERT OLD WATCHMAN

[AK0047]

The fire of the flesh is a dangerously unforgiving thing. Once it ignites, it does not extinguish itself until it has reduced the entire being to ashes.

You may begin something casually, in the name of harmless fun, believing you will remain in control. You tell yourself you can handle it. But once things spiral out of hand, control slips away completely. That is exactly what happened to me.


My name is Dev—Dev Sharma. I am twenty-five years old. I work in Kolkata, employed at the State Bank of India as a manager. I had been married only recently—barely six months into the marriage—when everything began to unravel.




My wife’s name is Puja—Puja Sharma. She was twenty-one years old, about five feet six inches tall, and strikingly fair-skinned. Her complexion was so delicate that even a light touch would leave her blushing red. She was beautifully proportioned, possessing a natural grace that made her seem almost ethereal—like a living embodiment of sensual charm.



Soon after our marriage, we moved to Kolkata and rented a two-bedroom apartment. The flat was a little far from my office, mainly because the rent there was more affordable. Since I owned a car, the distance didn’t seem like an issue. The daily commute took around forty-five minutes.

Our apartment was in Block F, on the top floor. All the blocks in the society were connected at the top level, and each floor had three flats. On our floor, two were occupied by elderly couples—one uncle was around seventy, the aunt perhaps sixty-five. They rarely stepped out and kept mostly to themselves. The third flat belonged to someone who worked outside the city and visited only once or twice a year.

Block F was the last block in the line. Behind it stretched an open, deserted field—completely silent and isolated, with hardly anyone ever passing through. There were six blocks arranged in a straight line, connected sequentially—F to E, E to D, and so on. Because Block E stood in front of us, our block was hidden from the rest of the society. Only the residents of Block E could see Block F.

The top floor was the only option available at the time, but we liked the society overall, so we decided to make it our home. We were excited—new house, a new beginning. We shopped extensively for the place. Puja had studied home décor, and she had a genuine passion for interior design. She took complete charge, decorating the house according to her taste. Although our honeymoon hadn’t happened yet, we were genuinely happy. I was secretly planning it—Maldives, filled with carefree moments—and wanted to surprise her, so I hadn’t mentioned it.

After about a month of effort, the house was fully furnished. Puja had done a remarkable job—an elegant blend of modern and classic aesthetics.

Puja came from a very decent, traditional family. She was raised in a small town in Himachal Pradesh, where she lived until the tenth grade. Later, she moved to Delhi for college. 

There, she adapted slightly to urban fashion—she dressed tastefully and modernly, but never crossed into anything overly revealing. She always upheld the values she was raised with. She was careful not to do anything that might hurt her family’s sentiments. Academics were always her priority. She kept minimal interaction with men—only casual friendships in college, nothing beyond that.

In simple terms, Puja appeared extremely innocent.
There’s a saying—that those who appear most innocent on the outside often carry intense desires within, though they rarely let them surface easily. You could take the character of Gajgamini from Mirzapur as a rough reference. But my wife was different. Or perhaps not. The truth of who she really was would only unfold through the intriguing events that were yet to come in our lives.

Our daily routine followed a simple, almost comforting rhythm. We would wake up around seven in the morning. Puja would bathe first, and after that, she would sit down for her prayers. Once she was done, she would prepare breakfast for me. I would then get ready, have my meal, and leave for the office by nine.

My working hours were from nine to six. Since the house was quite far from the office, I usually had lunch there. In the evenings, I would return home and have dinner before seven. Dinner, in fact, held special importance in our household—it was the one meal we always shared together without compromise.

Every morning before leaving, I would kiss Puja goodbye, and she would stand on the balcony, waving to me. She stayed there until I disappeared from her sight.

After that, she would take care of the house. Puja was extremely particular about cleanliness. Even the smallest speck of dirt would prompt her to start cleaning immediately. It was a good habit, though at times she took it so far that even I would feel irritated. Later, she would cook something light for herself, eat, and rest from one to three in the afternoon. After waking up, she would watch television for a while. By five in the evening, she would begin preparing dinner.

Once I returned home, we would eat together and then watch a romantic movie on Netflix. By ten at night, we would usually be asleep. Life flowed smoothly—quiet, ordinary, and content.