16-03-2026, 06:50 AM
(This post was last modified: 16-03-2026, 06:53 AM by AK0047. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
After a night of intense sex, I woke up late the next morning. Puja was still asleep, so I left for the office without breakfast.
When I was returning home after finishing work, I saw Puja standing near the gate with some shopping bags. And standing right beside her was Aslam Chacha. The two of them were talking, and every now and then Puja was smiling at something he said.
Something about it felt strange. In the evenings, when we went jogging, they barely exchanged a word. And now here they were, laughing and chatting so comfortably.
My body reacted instantly; desire surged through me again. Curiosity gnawed at me—I wanted to know what they were talking about. I couldn’t control myself and walked straight up to them.
Me: “Oh, so the two of you together today? I hope my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. In the evening, both of you seemed hesitant even to talk to each other.”
Puja: “No, it’s nothing like that. I had gone to the market, and Chacha was just asking where I had been.”
Aslam: “Yes, that’s all I was asking.”
Inside my head, I kept wondering—then what was that smile about?
Me: “Alright then. You two carry on talking.”
Puja: “He asked, I answered. What else is there to talk about? I’ll get going too.”
Then we all walked back together. I didn’t believe Puja’s explanation at all. If that was all, then why had she been smiling like that? So I came up with a plan—to find out what really went on between them.
I had bought a tiny voice recorder, small enough to hide anywhere. It could clearly record nearby conversations without being noticed. The next day, before leaving for the office, I slipped it inside Puja’s vanity. I knew she had a parlour appointment that day, which meant she’d be going out—and there was a chance she might run into Aslam.
At the office, I couldn’t focus at all. My body was there, but my mind was consumed by one thought—what would the recorder capture? Did they talk? What did they talk about? What kind of conversation made Puja smile like that? The more I thought about it, the more restless and aroused I became.
The moment work ended, I rushed home. Puja was cooking. Usually, by the time I arrived, dinner was already prepared—but that day she was late. She had just returned from the parlour. She looked stunning—almost unreal—beautiful and irresistibly hot.
Me: “Wooow, jaan… you look absolutely beautiful. Makes me want to pull you into my arms right now and cover your whole body with kisses.”
Puja: “Just leave it. Otherwise you’ll have to stay hungry tonight.”
Me: “But why so late today? Dinner is usually ready by now.”
Puja: “Yes, I got a bit late coming back from the parlour.”
All I could think about was whether she had spoken to Aslam that day or not. My eyes kept darting around, searching for the vanity. I was desperate to retrieve the recorder and listen to it—but I couldn’t do it yet. Night was the only safe time.
We had dinner. Then Puja herself said we wouldn’t go jogging that night. Instead, we went for a walk. That day, Aslam Chacha wasn’t at the gate. As we crossed it, I noticed Puja looking around repeatedly.
Me: “What happened? Are you looking for someone?”
Puja: “Why would I be looking for anyone? It’s just that there’s no watchman at the gate today.”
In my mind, I thought—no watchman, or Aslam Chacha?
Me: “Yeah, even your Aslam Chacha isn’t around today.”
Puja: “What do you mean my Chacha? I was just saying there’s no one there. What if there’s been some kind of theft in the society?”
I couldn’t tell whether she was worried about a thief—or about Aslam not being there.
I had no patience left. All I wanted was to hear that recording. We didn’t have sex that night. I told her I was tired and suggested we sleep. Puja fell asleep quickly.
I quietly got up, took the recorder out of the vanity, and sat in the drawing room. I fast-forwarded through the recording—parlour talk, random chatter—none of it interested me. I kept skipping ahead.
Then suddenly… I heard a male voice.
I recognized it instantly. It was Aslam Chacha.
Aslam: “Salam, Memsaab. You went out again today… Mash….”
![[Image: AyAqxiuC_o.png]](https://images2.imgbox.com/3e/01/AyAqxiuC_o.png)
This is how Puja was looking that day
Puja: “What happened, Chacha?!”
Aslam: “God must have taken his time while creating you, Memsaab.”
Puja: “Oh, it’s not like that… you too.”
Aslam: “I’m telling the truth, Memsaab. You look like an angel from heaven.”
Puja:.“Ha ha… you were saying the same thing this morning too.”
(So this was the reason Puja had been smiling today.)
“But I’m no angel or anything. My husband never says things like that to me.”
Aslam: “A husband who doesn’t praise such beautiful maal like you is a fool.”
(He deliberately stressed the word maal.)
“If I were in his place, I wouldn’t just praise you with words—I’d show my appreciation in other ways.”
Puja: “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
Aslam: “Nothing, Memsaab.”
Puja: “Oh Chacha, why are you talking in circles? I’m not understanding anything.”
Aslam: “Memsaab, if I were in your husband’s place, I wouldn’t even step out of the house. I wouldn’t feel like it. Forget leaving the house—I wouldn’t even get down from the bed.”
At that moment, Puja understood exactly where the conversation was heading.
Puja: “Alright Chacha, it’s getting late. I should go. I have to cook dinner.”
Aslam: “Oh Memsaab, you got offended. You yourself said not to speak in riddles, so I just said what felt right, straight to the point.”
After that, there were no further conversations. Which meant Puja had left immediately.
Hearing this, it felt as though molten lava was about to burst out of me. I went straight to the bathroom and masturbated. The release was so intense it surpassed anything real sex had ever given me. I understood then—on both sides, a spark had already been ignited. Now it was only a matter of time before it turned into a fire. How fiercely each of them would burn—that would reveal itself in due course.
This confirmed one thing clearly: Puja was not uninterested in such conversations. Had she been, she would have snapped at Aslam instantly. But she didn’t. She neither reacted angrily nor protested. She was a married woman, so she didn’t move forward—but she also didn’t shut it down.
There’s a saying: silence often means consent.
Somewhere, in some corner of her mind, she was enjoying it. She was restraining herself only because of her marital boundary.
But I had no intention of stopping.
All I needed was to fan the flames just a little. I knew this could mean losing my wife—but at that moment, I was enjoying every second of it. Imagining another man’s desire directed at my wife made me lose all control over myself.
I decided I would light the spark—but before that, I would make arrangements to witness everything: the beginning of the fire, its rise, its rage, and the moment it reduced everything to ashes. I decided to install CCTV cameras throughout the house so I could see everything.
But how would that be possible while Puja was at home?
So I planned to send her away for a few days.
The next morning, before leaving for office—
Me: “Jaan, next weekend I have to go out of town for two days because of office work. How will you stay here alone? Why don’t you go home for a couple of days?”
Puja: “But how will I go alone? I don’t have anyone close by there. You go—it’s only a matter of two days. I’ll manage here.”
(I was cornered. No matter what, I had to get Puja out of the house.)
Me: “Jaan, you were telling me you have a friend in Kolkata, right? Go visit her. You’ll get to meet your friend, and you won’t have to stay alone either.”
Puja: "Alright… I’ll see.”
Me: “Okay jaan, I’m heading out. You talk to your friend. On Friday, I’ll drop you there.”
I kissed Puja and left for the office.
When I was returning home after finishing work, I saw Puja standing near the gate with some shopping bags. And standing right beside her was Aslam Chacha. The two of them were talking, and every now and then Puja was smiling at something he said.
Something about it felt strange. In the evenings, when we went jogging, they barely exchanged a word. And now here they were, laughing and chatting so comfortably.
My body reacted instantly; desire surged through me again. Curiosity gnawed at me—I wanted to know what they were talking about. I couldn’t control myself and walked straight up to them.
Me: “Oh, so the two of you together today? I hope my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. In the evening, both of you seemed hesitant even to talk to each other.”
Puja: “No, it’s nothing like that. I had gone to the market, and Chacha was just asking where I had been.”
Aslam: “Yes, that’s all I was asking.”
Inside my head, I kept wondering—then what was that smile about?
Me: “Alright then. You two carry on talking.”
Puja: “He asked, I answered. What else is there to talk about? I’ll get going too.”
Then we all walked back together. I didn’t believe Puja’s explanation at all. If that was all, then why had she been smiling like that? So I came up with a plan—to find out what really went on between them.
I had bought a tiny voice recorder, small enough to hide anywhere. It could clearly record nearby conversations without being noticed. The next day, before leaving for the office, I slipped it inside Puja’s vanity. I knew she had a parlour appointment that day, which meant she’d be going out—and there was a chance she might run into Aslam.
At the office, I couldn’t focus at all. My body was there, but my mind was consumed by one thought—what would the recorder capture? Did they talk? What did they talk about? What kind of conversation made Puja smile like that? The more I thought about it, the more restless and aroused I became.
The moment work ended, I rushed home. Puja was cooking. Usually, by the time I arrived, dinner was already prepared—but that day she was late. She had just returned from the parlour. She looked stunning—almost unreal—beautiful and irresistibly hot.
Me: “Wooow, jaan… you look absolutely beautiful. Makes me want to pull you into my arms right now and cover your whole body with kisses.”
Puja: “Just leave it. Otherwise you’ll have to stay hungry tonight.”
Me: “But why so late today? Dinner is usually ready by now.”
Puja: “Yes, I got a bit late coming back from the parlour.”
All I could think about was whether she had spoken to Aslam that day or not. My eyes kept darting around, searching for the vanity. I was desperate to retrieve the recorder and listen to it—but I couldn’t do it yet. Night was the only safe time.
We had dinner. Then Puja herself said we wouldn’t go jogging that night. Instead, we went for a walk. That day, Aslam Chacha wasn’t at the gate. As we crossed it, I noticed Puja looking around repeatedly.
Me: “What happened? Are you looking for someone?”
Puja: “Why would I be looking for anyone? It’s just that there’s no watchman at the gate today.”
In my mind, I thought—no watchman, or Aslam Chacha?
Me: “Yeah, even your Aslam Chacha isn’t around today.”
Puja: “What do you mean my Chacha? I was just saying there’s no one there. What if there’s been some kind of theft in the society?”
I couldn’t tell whether she was worried about a thief—or about Aslam not being there.
I had no patience left. All I wanted was to hear that recording. We didn’t have sex that night. I told her I was tired and suggested we sleep. Puja fell asleep quickly.
I quietly got up, took the recorder out of the vanity, and sat in the drawing room. I fast-forwarded through the recording—parlour talk, random chatter—none of it interested me. I kept skipping ahead.
Then suddenly… I heard a male voice.
I recognized it instantly. It was Aslam Chacha.
Aslam: “Salam, Memsaab. You went out again today… Mash….”
This is how Puja was looking that day
Puja: “What happened, Chacha?!”
Aslam: “God must have taken his time while creating you, Memsaab.”
Puja: “Oh, it’s not like that… you too.”
Aslam: “I’m telling the truth, Memsaab. You look like an angel from heaven.”
Puja:.“Ha ha… you were saying the same thing this morning too.”
(So this was the reason Puja had been smiling today.)
“But I’m no angel or anything. My husband never says things like that to me.”
Aslam: “A husband who doesn’t praise such beautiful maal like you is a fool.”
(He deliberately stressed the word maal.)
“If I were in his place, I wouldn’t just praise you with words—I’d show my appreciation in other ways.”
Puja: “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”
Aslam: “Nothing, Memsaab.”
Puja: “Oh Chacha, why are you talking in circles? I’m not understanding anything.”
Aslam: “Memsaab, if I were in your husband’s place, I wouldn’t even step out of the house. I wouldn’t feel like it. Forget leaving the house—I wouldn’t even get down from the bed.”
At that moment, Puja understood exactly where the conversation was heading.
Puja: “Alright Chacha, it’s getting late. I should go. I have to cook dinner.”
Aslam: “Oh Memsaab, you got offended. You yourself said not to speak in riddles, so I just said what felt right, straight to the point.”
After that, there were no further conversations. Which meant Puja had left immediately.
Hearing this, it felt as though molten lava was about to burst out of me. I went straight to the bathroom and masturbated. The release was so intense it surpassed anything real sex had ever given me. I understood then—on both sides, a spark had already been ignited. Now it was only a matter of time before it turned into a fire. How fiercely each of them would burn—that would reveal itself in due course.
This confirmed one thing clearly: Puja was not uninterested in such conversations. Had she been, she would have snapped at Aslam instantly. But she didn’t. She neither reacted angrily nor protested. She was a married woman, so she didn’t move forward—but she also didn’t shut it down.
There’s a saying: silence often means consent.
Somewhere, in some corner of her mind, she was enjoying it. She was restraining herself only because of her marital boundary.
But I had no intention of stopping.
All I needed was to fan the flames just a little. I knew this could mean losing my wife—but at that moment, I was enjoying every second of it. Imagining another man’s desire directed at my wife made me lose all control over myself.
I decided I would light the spark—but before that, I would make arrangements to witness everything: the beginning of the fire, its rise, its rage, and the moment it reduced everything to ashes. I decided to install CCTV cameras throughout the house so I could see everything.
But how would that be possible while Puja was at home?
So I planned to send her away for a few days.
The next morning, before leaving for office—
Me: “Jaan, next weekend I have to go out of town for two days because of office work. How will you stay here alone? Why don’t you go home for a couple of days?”
Puja: “But how will I go alone? I don’t have anyone close by there. You go—it’s only a matter of two days. I’ll manage here.”
(I was cornered. No matter what, I had to get Puja out of the house.)
Me: “Jaan, you were telling me you have a friend in Kolkata, right? Go visit her. You’ll get to meet your friend, and you won’t have to stay alone either.”
Puja: "Alright… I’ll see.”
Me: “Okay jaan, I’m heading out. You talk to your friend. On Friday, I’ll drop you there.”
I kissed Puja and left for the office.
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