Lusty Feminist Wife: Mishti ki masti (Scene 9)

[ashuezy2]

Scene 7: The Syndicate

The cab ride back to our flat was completely silent. Mishti was busy on her phone, typing rapidly with a small, satisfied smile on her face. I looked out the window, my mind replaying everything she had told me about Shweta Bhabhi and her own escapades. I had agreed to "adjust". I thought the worst was over. I thought I just had to share my wife for a while I create my strategy to straighten things out.

I was wrong. The nightmare had just begun.

I unlocked the main door of our flat and pushed it open. I stepped in first, expecting the usual quiet of our living room. Instead, the smell of cheap cigarette smoke hit my nose.

There were four men sitting in my living room.

My heart jumped into my throat. Two of them were heavily built, wearing tight t-shirts that showed off their gym bodies. The other two were older, dressed in expensive linen shirts, wearing thick gold chains and branded watches. One of the older men was casually smoking a cigarette, dropping the ash into my wife’s favourite decorative glass bowl.

I froze. Was I being watched all this time? Did they follow us from the café?

Mishti walked in right behind me. She didn't gasp. She didn't look shocked. She just closed the door softly and walked past me, swaying her hips.

"Mishti?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Who are these guys? How did they get inside?"

Mishti didn't say anything to me. She walked straight to the sofa and sat down next to the man smoking the cigarette, crossing her legs comfortably.

I looked at each of their faces. They seemed to care less about my presence. They looked at me the way a landlord looks at a pest.

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to find some courage. "What are you doing in my house?"

The man with the cigarette took a long drag and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. He looked at me with dead, cold eyes.

"Sit down, Shubhankar," he said. His voice was rough, like gravel. He knew my name.

"I asked you a question!" I raised my voice slightly, but my legs were shaking.

One of the gym guys stood up immediately, taking a threatening step towards me. His chest was huge. Mishti put a hand on the older man's knee and whispered something. The older man raised his hand, and the gym guy stopped, crossing his arms.

"Don't shout in your own house, boy," the older man said calmly. "We have come here to give you a simple warning. You had a meeting with your wife today. You agreed to some terms. We are here to make sure you actually understand those terms."

I looked at Mishti. She was playing with the gold chain on the man's neck.

"I should not interfere ?," I whispered, repeating what I had promised her.

"Exactly," the man said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You should not interfere in any of our business. Let the things be as they are. You go to your office, you earn your salary, pay the bills. That is your job. What Mishti does, where she goes, and who she meets... is our department now."

He paused, crushing the cigarette into the glass bowl.

"Too much noise from your side... going to the security officer, talking to lawyers, or trying to be a hero... would make us do things we don't want to do," he warned. He pointed a finger at me. "Accidents happen on the highway every day, Shubhankar. And sometimes, angry wives file dowry harassment cases that ruin entire families. Do you understand?"

"What is going on?" I asked, my voice cracking, playing the role of the confused, broken husband perfectly. "What have I done wrong? Why are you doing this?"

My head started rolling. I looked at the four men, then at Mishti, who was now sitting comfortably on the older man's lap, letting his hand rest heavily on her waist. I remembered what she had told me at the café. Shweta is in high demand. Farmhouses. Private parties. Old rich men.

Then, it hit me like a train. I started connecting the dots.

This wasn't just a simple affair with a gym trainer. These men weren't just random lovers. This was an organized ring. Were they pimping out my wife and Shweta Bhabhi?

It all made sense. The sudden expensive clothes in her almirah that she never wore in front of me. The secret afternoon meetings. Shweta's frequent trips to her mother's house. They were using our homes, our respectability, as a cover. Mishti and Shweta were part of a high-class escort circle, catering to these rich, powerful men. And Mishti was either trapped in it, or, looking at her shameless smile right now, she was a very willing participant.

This looked like the most genuine conclusion. If I fought them now, they would crush me. They had the muscle, the money, and my wife had the legal weapon ready.

I need to gain more trust from Mishti, I thought to myself. I need them to think I am a complete coward, a cuckold who has accepted his fate. That is the only way I can gather evidence and destroy this whole syndicate.

I forced tears into my eyes. I slumped my shoulders and looked down at the floor.

"I... I understand," I stammered, making my voice sound pathetic. "I won't make any noise. I swear. I just want to live peacefully. Please, don't hurt me or my parents."

The men laughed. A dark, ugly sound that echoed in my living room.

"Good boy," the older man sneered. He patted Mishti's thigh. "Your husband is very understanding, Mishti. You trained him well."

"I told you, Sir," Mishti giggled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "He is boring, but he is harmless."

"To prove you understand," the other older man spoke up for the first time. He was sitting on the armchair, loosening his belt. "We have some business to discuss with Mishti. Private business. Why don't you go to the kitchen, Shubhankar, and make some tea for us? Make it strong. And then... stay in the guest room. Close the door."

I looked at him. Then I looked at Mishti. She had that same dirty, shameful smile on her face. Her eyes were telling me to obey.

"Yes," I said softly, keeping my head bowed. "I will make the tea."

I turned around and walked towards the kitchen. Behind me, I heard the sound of a zipper going down, followed by Mishti's soft, eager moan.

"Oh, right there..." Mishti whispered to the men.

I walked into the kitchen and turned on the gas stove. My hands were shaking, not from fear, but from a cold, calculated rage. They thought they had buried me. They thought I was broken. But as I watched the water start to boil, I made a silent promise to myself.

I was going to burn all of them to the ground. Every single one.