Lusty Feminist Wife: Mishti ki masti (Scene 9)

[ashuezy2]

Scene 8: The Silent Spectator

The water for the tea was boiling over the gas stove, bubbling aggressively. I stared at the pot, but my mind was spinning in dark, violent circles. The anger inside me was a volcano that I was desperately trying to control. They thought I was a coward, a broken man. I looked around the kitchen, my eyes darting from the knives to the cabinets.

I opened the cabinet below the sink. My hands were searching frantically in the dark... rat poison. We had a packet of rat poison. I will mix the whole packet in their tea. I will watch them choke on my living room floor.

I was about to grab the green packet when a heavy shadow fell over me.

I stopped midway. One of the four men the second gym trainer type, the enforcer stepped right into the kitchen. He leaned against the door frame, his huge biceps bulging under his tight t-shirt. He smirked, seeing my hand hovering near the cabinet.

"Don't do anything foolish, corporate boy," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Just make the tea like a good husband."

I slowly closed the cabinet and stood up. I looked past him, through the open kitchen door, straight into my living room. The sight made my blood turn to ice. My stomach churned with pure disgust.

My wife, Mishti, was completely naked on our expensive sofa. The two older men had taken off their linen shirts and trousers. They were pounding her relentlessly. One was behind her, the other in front, taking turns and sharing her like she was a cheap toy. And the third guy the other gym trainer, Yash was standing over them, holding his phone, recording the whole thing with the flash on. I couldn't hold it back anymore. The pain was tearing my chest apart. The humiliation was suffocating me. I looked at the 4th person standing in the kitchen and asked, my voice cracking, "Why are you doing this? What wrong have we done to you people? Take whatever money you want, take the cars, but please..."

He didn't answer. His eyes turned cold and dead.

He lunged forward suddenly. He grabbed me by my shirt collar, twisting the fabric tight around my neck. He yanked me hard, dragging me out of the kitchen. My feet stumbled over the tiles as he pulled me right into the living room, into the middle of the circus.

"You talk too much," he growled.

He forced me onto my knees on the Kashmiri carpet. Before I could shout or fight back, he pulled out a dirty handkerchief from his pocket. He shoved it roughly into my mouth, pulling it back and tying it tightly behind my head. The knot bit into my skin, tasting of sweat and dirt.

I was gagged in my own home.

I watched in horror as the two older men grunted, their sweaty bodies slapping against my wife's fair skin. Slap. Slap. Slap. The sound echoed off the walls, mixing with the heavy breathing.

"Mmmph! Mmmmmm!" I kept screaming through the gag. My face turned red with rage and helplessness. I tried to jerk forward, to throw myself at them, to save whatever dignity was left of my life.

The 4th guy immediately kicked me hard in the ribs from behind. I fell sideways, gasping for breath through my nose, a sharp pain shooting through my side.

"Keep quiet and watch," he hissed, pressing his heavy shoe against my back, pinning me to the floor. "This is what happens when you try to be smart. Watch your wife."

I turned my head, fighting the stinging pain in my ribs, and looked at the face of my so-called wife. I expected her to look at me with pity. I expected her to close her eyes in shame, to cry, or to ask them to stop because her husband was being beaten on the floor.

But she wasn't bothered at all.

Her eyes were wide open, looking straight at me while she was getting fucked. Her makeup was running, her hair was a wild mess, but her face... she was glowing. She threw her head back and let out a loud moan of pure pleasure.

She was enjoying the ride.

"Yes... just like that," Mishti panted, her voice filled with that same naughty, shameless tone she had at the café. She reached out and grabbed the thick gold chain of the older man above her, pulling him deeper into her.

She didn't care that her husband was tied up and pinned to the floor like a stray dog. She was in her element. She looked at the camera Yash was holding, gave a dirty smile, and then looked back down at me on the carpet. There was no regret in her eyes, only a sick thrill.

Lying there with a dirty cloth in my mouth, feeling the heavy boot on my back, I finally realized the absolute truth. I wasn't just dealing with a cheating wife. I was dealing with a monster who got off on my destruction, surrounded by a syndicate that owned her.

And if I wanted to survive this and take my revenge, I had to stop screaming. I had to become colder and deadlier than all of them.