Adultery The Making of a Slut from a Wife - Shazia

[HotLove339]

By Thursday afternoon, the suffocating silence inside the apartment had become almost too heavy to bear. The lonely days were killing her. She felt her excitement and happiness suddenly snatched from her life. She needed some relief and comfort again. Even if she told herself she didn't want it, her voluptuous body had taken a completely different course, and her newly awakened hormones were throwing wild tantrums inside her body, demanding the intense physical tension she had tasted over the weekend.
 
The thick silence in the apartment was suffocating her. Iqbal had left for the office early, barely touching his breakfast and deliberately avoiding eye contact with her. The heavy, unspoken tension of the night at the resort hung over their home like a dark cloud. Shazia sat alone on the edge of her bed, her mind a chaotic whirlpool of intense guilt, fear, and a dark, lingering arousal that simply refused to fade. Being relaxed at home alone while her younger son napped, she wore only a thin, sleeveless cotton maxi nightie. She hadn't bothered to wear a bra in the humid afternoon heat, and the soft, faded fabric rested directly against her bare skin, explicitly highlighting the heavy, unsupported bounce of her breasts every time she moved. The thin cotton did absolutely nothing to hide the dark, protruding outlines of her stiff nipples.
 
Shazia was resting lazily on the living room sofa, her mind helplessly drifting back to the time she spent in the resort, when her sleek new smartphone buzzed on the table.
 
It was a text from an unknown number. Curiously, she swiped it open.
"Uss din restaurant mein teri brown saree thodi sarak gayi thi. Teri nangi, gori kamar aur wo gehri naabhi dekh kar mera paani nikalne wala tha." (That day in the restaurant your brown saree slipped a little. Seeing your naked, fair waist and that deep navel, I was about to cum.)
 
Shazia’s breath hitched violently in her throat. She sat up straight, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Her face flushed a deep, burning red. It was incredibly crude and vulgar.
 
"Kaun ho tum? Aur mera number kahan se mila? Badmaash mard, dobara aisa ganda message mat bhejna," (Who are you? And where did you get my number? You wicked man, don't send such a dirty message again,) she typed back, her fingers trembling visibly. She thought about hitting the block button immediately, but the intense loneliness of the past three days and a deep, secret hunger for male attention kept her fingers frozen on the screen.
 
Seconds later, the phone buzzed again.
"Blouse ka gala itna deep tha ki tere bade-bade mamme poore bahar nikal rahe the. Jab main tumhare table par baitha, toh Tom Ford perfume ki khushboo se teri saans phoolne lagi thi. Abhi bhi bholi banne ka natak karogi, Shazia?" (The neck of the blouse was so deep that your big tits were spilling completely out. When I sat at your table, your breath started panting from the smell of the Tom Ford perfume. Will you still pretend to be innocent, Shazia?)
 
A soft whimper escaped her lips. It was him. Rohan. The sheer boldness of his words sent a massive wave of wet heat completely soaking into her panties. The thrill of being so directly, aggressively desired by a wealthy, handsome stranger was completely intoxicating.
 
“Rohan?” She texted back.
 
“Haan. Call karun?” He asked.
 
Already her marriage was in trouble because of this man, and continuing to talk to him, would only mean disaster. Thinking of the worst, she replied. "Nahi! Mujhe pareshan mat karo. Main married hoon. Agar ab ek bhi ganda message aaya, toh main tumhara number block kar dungi," (No! Don't bother me. I am married. If even one more dirty message comes now, I will block your number,) she sent back, trying to sound firm, though her body was completely betraying her.
 
Instantly, the phone didn't text—it rang. It was from the same number. It was Rohan calling. Her hands trembled. Shazia hesitated for only a fraction of a second before swiping it on and pressing the glass to her ear.
 
"Rohan... tum..." she whispered, her voice carrying a breathless, highly feminine pitch. She nervously adjusted her nightie, her thumbs casually tracing the stiff peaks of her bare nipples pressing through the thin fabric.
 
"Maine kaha tha na, Shazia... agar tum mana karogi toh mera dil toot jayega," (I told you, Shazia... if you refuse, my heart will break,) Rohan’s deep, velvety voice arrived through the speaker, carrying an effortless, mocking confidence. "Aur tum block karne ki dhamki de rahi ho. Tum kabhi mujhe block nahi karogi. Kyunki tumhe meri zaroorat hai." (And you are threatening to block me. You will never block me. Because you need me.)
 
"Aise mat bolo, Rohan," (Don't talk like that, Rohan,) Shazia hissed, instinctively looking toward the closed bedroom door even though she was completely alone in the house, her heart pounding. "Uss din jo hua galath hua. Tumne mujhe car dikhane ke liye le gaye the. Mujhe nahi aana tha tumhare saath. Iqbal bahut gusse mein hain." (What happened that day was wrong. You took me to show me your car. I should not have gone with you. Iqbal is very protective. He is angry.)
 
Ignoring her statements entirely, Rohan chuckled—a low, dark sound that vibrated right through the speaker. "Relax, Shazia. Main bas tumhe yaad karke call kiya. Miss kar raha tha meri jaan ko jis ne uss rath mujhe Jannath dikhaya… Kaise ho tum?" (Relax, Shazia. I just called remembering you. I was missing the my dear who showed me heaven that night. How are you?”
 
"Main theek nahi hoon, Rohan!" she fired back in a panicked whisper, the guilt finally bubbling over his flattering statements. " Humne jo us kamre mein kiya... mujhe aisa nahi karna chahiye tha. Unhone uss raat se aaj tak mujhse theek se baat tak nahi ki hai. Wo mujhe ajeeb nazron se dekh rahe hain... jaise wo sab jaante hain." (I am not okay, Rohan! What we did in that room... I shouldn't have done that. Iqbal hasn't spoken to me properly since that night till today. He is looking at me with weird eyes... like he knows everything.)
 
"Shhh... calm down, Shazia" Rohan interrupted smoothly, his voice acting like a heavy, warm blanket over her panic. "Breathe. Galat kya tha usme? Ek khoobsurat aurat aur ek mard ka ek doosre ko chahna galat hai?”
 
“Par main shaadi shudha hun, Rohan… Main kisi aur mard ke saath…”
 
Rohan immediately interrupted her, “Shazia, aise purani khayalath rakhi hui aurathein jaise bath math karo. Mujhe nahi lagtha tum who gabra gabra ke jeene wali aurathon mein se nahi ho. Kam se kam, us din resort mein tho tum waise nahi thi jahan tak mujhe maalum hai. Tum ek dum modern khayalath ki aurath ho. Ithna khoobsoorath ho, par aaj ek gabriyi hui naukrani jaise bath kar rahi ho…"
 
"Tumhe kya patha… Iqbal ne—"
 
"Iqbal ko ek minute ke liye bhool jao” (Forget Iqbal for a minute,) Rohan commanded, his tone shifting into something deeply intimate and authoritative. "Just you and me. Tell me honestly, Shazia... kya tumhe mazaa nahi aaya?" (Didn't you enjoy it?)
 
Shazia swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry. "Rohan, please..."
 
"Bolo," (Answer me), he insisted softly, dropping his voice to a dark, seductive whisper. "Jab mein tumhe room mein le gaya aur hum donon ne ek dusre ka jism ka poora maza liya… tumhe pasand nahi aaya..? Wo chand minute... hotel ke us bed par... woh Jannath tha… “ (When I took you to room. We fully enjoyed our bodies together. Didn’t you like it? Those few minutes.. on the hotel bed… that was heaven…”
 
The question completely short-circuited her defenses. didn't you love it?
 
As his deep voice painted the explicit picture, her traitorous body violently reacted. She closed her eyes, remembering the sheer size of him, the brutal, desperate pace of his thrusts, and the wild, animalistic release that had shattered her senses. The wetness she felt between her thighs right now was the only undeniable truth. It had been heaven. A dirty, stolen, perfect heaven.
A soft, shaky sigh escaped her lips. The fight completely drained out of her.
 
"Haan..." (Yes…”) she whimpered softly into the receiver, her voice thick with renewed desire and shameful honesty. “Par tumne mujhe gaadi dikhane ke bahane le ke gaye aur mujhe buri thareeke se fasadiya… main rok nahi paayi… main….”
 
Rohan immediately replied, “Agar mein tumhe boltha ki tumhe room le jaana chahtha hun… kya tum aathi?”
 
Shazia replied firmly, “Nahi… bilkul nahi…” (No… absolutely no).
 
Rohan replied, “Wahi na… Phir kaise main tumhare iss nasheele jism ka poora maza loot paata?” (That’s exactly it... Then how would I have been able to plunder the full pleasure of this intoxicating body of yours?)
 
Shazia smiled in the dark, the memory of his touch still burning against her skin. She realized that what Rohan had done—the lies, the manipulation, the forced privacy of that room—wasn’t a violation, but a testament to his raw, uncontrollable hunger for her.
 
He hadn't been able to help himself. A man of his stature, accustomed to having any woman he desired, had been so utterly captivated by her voluptuous beauty that he had been driven to use any means necessary to possess her.
 
Her heart swelled with dark, intoxicating pride. She wasn't just some ordinary woman who had been tricked; she was the supreme temptation that had forced a powerful, wealthy alpha to discard his composure and act out of pure, desperate lust. She loved the thought that a man like him had hunted her down, cornered her, and ravaged her body because he simply could not survive the night without having her. That wasn't a fault; it was the ultimate, filthy compliment to her power.