Lusty Feminist Wife: Mishti ki masti (Scene 9)

[ashuezy2]

Scene 11: The Bitter Medicine

I was in shock from seeing both of them being used like that. The sounds of their absolute humiliation were still echoing in my ears. My brain was not used to such indecency, and that too happening right in my own house, right in front of me.

As the white bedsheet dropped to the floor, exposing Shweta Bhabhi's massive, milk-swollen breasts and thick waist, she took a step toward me.

I scrambled backward on the bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Don't come near me," I stammered, raising my hands defensively. "I don't know you."

I was in fear. No matter how much analytical brain I could muster as an educated corporate guy, the physical reality of these impulsive, shameless people was completely beyond me. They were operating on a level of filth I couldn't comprehend.

Shweta stopped, resting her hands on her wide hips. She looked at me with a mix of amusement and pity.

I couldn't hold it back anymore. I looked at her naked, sweaty body and just asked her the same question again.

"Why? Why Bhabhi?" my voice cracked. "You have such a loving husband. Amit does everything for you. You also have a family, a beautiful baby boy. Why go to such lengths to do this? Why let that old, disgusting politician treat you like garbage?"

Shweta Bhabhi let out a dark, throaty smile. She didn't try to cover herself. Instead, she spread her legs slightly. I looked down and saw she was dripping. Her inner thighs were slick with sweat and the fluids from her brutal session with Charan Singh. But looking closely, I realized her body was still twitching with unsatisfied arousal. She was leaking, wet and heavy, but her breathing told me a different story.

She didn't finish. The politician had used her violently for his own pleasure, pumped his lust into her, and left her hanging.

"You think this is about love, Shubhankar?" Shweta sneered, her big eyes flashing. "Amit is a good man, yes. But I want power, to decide my own fate, my future, my body whichever way I like it. So I say no to your male patriarchy, your traditions, your way of living. Women have spent years playing the perfect Sati Savitri, the quiet wife, making food and smiling for society. And for what? Out there, men like Charan Singh, men who run this city, beg on their knees just to touch me. They pay in lakhs for an hour of my time. They worship my body. Why should I lock my youth in a kitchen when I can rule over powerful men? This isn't just sex, Shubhankar. This is absolute control. I own them the moment I drop my clothes."

She cupped her heavy, lactating breasts, squeezing them until a drop of milk appeared on her dark nipples and she licked it herself looking at me.

Before I could say anything else, the bedroom door swung open wider.

A moment later, Mishti came in.

She had cleaned herself up quickly with a wet towel, but her face told the whole story of her afternoon. Her makeup was all over the place. Her dark eyeliner was smudged down her cheeks, and her expensive red lipstick was wiped completely outside her lip line from the rough pounding she had taken.

Yet, despite looking completely ruined, Mishti was all smiling. She was bubbly, practically bouncing on her toes, high on the adrenaline and the dirty money.

She was still completely naked. She walked right past me, her curvy hips swaying, and came up behind Shweta Bhabhi. Mishti wrapped her arms around Shweta’s thick waist and hugged her tightly from behind, resting her chin on Shweta's shoulder. Her breasts pressed against Shweta's broad, sweaty back.

"Oh, Shubhankar," Mishti giggled, looking at me sitting frozen on the bed. "She wants you badly. Can't you see she is desperate for you?"

Mishti kissed Shweta's cheek affectionately. "Shweta bhabhi, why don't you get close to him? He is just acting shy."

Shweta Bhabhi sighed, leaning back into Mishti's embrace. "He is still adjusting to our ways, Mishti," she said softly, her eyes locked onto mine like a predator watching a trapped rabbit.

Mishti let go of Shweta and walked over to my side of the bed. She leaned over me. I could smell the heavy scent of sex and sweat radiating from her skin. She reached out and started caressing my head, running her fingers through my hair like I was a pet dog.

"The only way is to adjust to our lifestyle, Shona," Mishti whispered, looking deep into my eyes. "The sooner the better. Fighting it will only hurt you."

Then, to assert her complete dominance, she reached down. Her hand slipped over my trousers, and she grabbed my cock firmly through the fabric. I stiffened, my breath catching in my throat. Mishti just laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. She squeezed once, let go, and walked away towards the door.

"Bhabhi, please use our attached bathroom," Mishti said casually, picking up her clothes from the floor. "You can clean inside. I need to change."

"Thanks, sweetie," Shweta replied.

Mishti walked out, leaving the bedroom door shut. Shweta Bhabhi turned and walked inside our attached bathroom, turning on the light but leaving the bathroom door half open.

I heard the sound of the shower turning on.

I was sitting on the bed, looking at the half-open bathroom door, observing the steam starting to rise. My entire analytical brain was screaming at me. The facts were laid out bare.

Both of them are now complete sluts. There was no fixing this. There was no recovery for my marriage. There was no going back to the days of holding hands and watching movies. The Mishti I married was dead and buried under the weight of Yash and his VIP clients. And traditional revenge—shouting, crying, or fighting—was useless.

But as I listened to the water hitting Shweta Bhabhi's voluptuous body, something snapped in me. Perhaps it was my absolute, no-way-out situation. If I ran, they would ruin me with fake domestic violence cases. If I stayed and did nothing, I would die of a heart attack from the stress.

I started thinking like an engineer. Cold, calculated, logical.

Plan 1: I secretly record them and leak it to the media or the security officer. I immediately discarded it. They were sleeping with MLAs like Charan Singh. They had money and muscle. If a video leaked, they would instantly know it was me. The security officer would probably hand me over to Sangram, and I would not be alive to see the next sunrise. So this was not the plan I would take up.

Plan 2: What if something happened to Yash and Sangram? The VIPs wouldn't come to the safe house.

But to take them out, I needed to know their routines. Where they hide their money. Who else is above them. I needed to get inside the syndicate. I needed more information about them.

And the only two people who had that information were the two sluts currently running my house.

I looked at the bathroom door. Shweta Bhabhi was humming a song under the shower. She liked me because I was quiet. She liked me because I was a simple, sober guy, good at keeping secrets. If I gave her what she wanted, she would open her mouth about Yash.

I had to swallow my pride. I had to swallow my disgust. I had to become the very thing I hated to destroy them from the inside.

I stood up from the bed.

My legs were shaking slightly, but I forced my spine straight. I pushed my fears and my morality deep down into a dark box in my mind and locked it.

I walked slowly towards the attached bathroom and pushed the half-open door wide open.

Shweta Bhabhi was standing under the warm water. Her massive, heavy breasts were slick with soap, her dark nipples pointing straight out. She was running her hands over her thick waist, washing away the filth of the politician.

She stopped when she saw me standing in the doorway. Her big, expressive eyes widened in surprise.

I didn't say a word. I reached up and unbuttoned my shirt, slipping it off my shoulders and dropping it onto the wet floor. Then, I unbuckled my belt and let my trousers fall.

I started stripping right in front of her.

A slow, incredibly wicked smile spread across Shweta Bhabhi's face to her absolute delight. Her eyes raked over my body as I stepped out of my clothes, completely exposing myself to my best friend's wife.

"I knew you were a smart boy, Shubhankar," she purred over the sound of the falling water, reaching out a wet, soapy hand towards me. "Come here. Let Bhabhi wash you."

I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water hit my skin, ready to play the dirtiest game of my life.