03-08-2026, 07:17 PM
"You don't get to do this," Meneka said, her voice steady. "You don't get to walk in here and act like you're the injured party."
Dara stared at her. "What?"
"You heard me." She walked toward him, the sheet trailing behind her like a bridal train. "You think I did this behind your back? You think I sneaked around, betrayed you, humiliated you?"
"I don't think—I know—"
"You know nothing." She was inches from him now, close enough that he could see the cum still drying on her face, the marks on her neck, the wildness in her eyes. "You wanted this, Dara. You wanted me to be their slut. You said so yourself. That night after your promotion. 'If that's what you want,' you said. 'Then that's what you'll get.'"
Dara's face contorted. "That's not—I didn't—"
"You did. You told me to follow your rules. You told me to tell you everything. But you didn't want to know, did you? You didn't want to see what I'd wanted. You wanted to pretend I was still your demure little wife, still the woman who folded your clothes and cooked your meals and let you fuck her gently, like a good wife."
Her voice rose, cracking with emotion.
"But I'm not that woman anymore, Dara. And you know why? Because you made me this way. You took me to that roof in Mumbai. You bent me over that water tank. You made me your slut. And then you left me alone in this city with nothing but my hunger and your permission to feed it. So don't you dare—"
She stabbed a finger at his chest.
"—stand there and act like I betrayed you. Because you betrayed me first. You betrayed me the moment you stopped being the man I needed you to be."
Dara stared at his wife, his eyes unreadable. The anger was still there—simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to explode. But there was something else too. Something that looked almost like...
Understanding.
"No," he said, his voice low. "No, you don't get to blame me for this."
"Then who do I blame? Myself? I already blame myself. Every day. Every time I spread my legs for someone who isn't you. Every time I let a stranger use my body because I'm too weak to say no."
"You're not weak."
"Yes, I am. You know I am. You've always known. That's why you chose me. That's why you wanted me. Because I'm weak. Because I need to be controlled. Because I—"
"STOP." Dara grabbed her shoulders, his grip fierce, his eyes boring into hers. "Stop talking like that. You're not weak, Menaka. You're the strongest woman I've ever met."
She laughed—a broken sound, half-sob, half-hysterical. "You don't believe that. You've never believed that."
"I believe it now." He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She was stiff in his embrace, her hands pressed against his chest, holding him at arm's length. But she didn't push him away.
Dara stared at her. "What?"
"You heard me." She walked toward him, the sheet trailing behind her like a bridal train. "You think I did this behind your back? You think I sneaked around, betrayed you, humiliated you?"
"I don't think—I know—"
"You know nothing." She was inches from him now, close enough that he could see the cum still drying on her face, the marks on her neck, the wildness in her eyes. "You wanted this, Dara. You wanted me to be their slut. You said so yourself. That night after your promotion. 'If that's what you want,' you said. 'Then that's what you'll get.'"
Dara's face contorted. "That's not—I didn't—"
"You did. You told me to follow your rules. You told me to tell you everything. But you didn't want to know, did you? You didn't want to see what I'd wanted. You wanted to pretend I was still your demure little wife, still the woman who folded your clothes and cooked your meals and let you fuck her gently, like a good wife."
Her voice rose, cracking with emotion.
"But I'm not that woman anymore, Dara. And you know why? Because you made me this way. You took me to that roof in Mumbai. You bent me over that water tank. You made me your slut. And then you left me alone in this city with nothing but my hunger and your permission to feed it. So don't you dare—"
She stabbed a finger at his chest.
"—stand there and act like I betrayed you. Because you betrayed me first. You betrayed me the moment you stopped being the man I needed you to be."
Dara stared at his wife, his eyes unreadable. The anger was still there—simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to explode. But there was something else too. Something that looked almost like...
Understanding.
"No," he said, his voice low. "No, you don't get to blame me for this."
"Then who do I blame? Myself? I already blame myself. Every day. Every time I spread my legs for someone who isn't you. Every time I let a stranger use my body because I'm too weak to say no."
"You're not weak."
"Yes, I am. You know I am. You've always known. That's why you chose me. That's why you wanted me. Because I'm weak. Because I need to be controlled. Because I—"
"STOP." Dara grabbed her shoulders, his grip fierce, his eyes boring into hers. "Stop talking like that. You're not weak, Menaka. You're the strongest woman I've ever met."
She laughed—a broken sound, half-sob, half-hysterical. "You don't believe that. You've never believed that."
"I believe it now." He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair. She was stiff in his embrace, her hands pressed against his chest, holding him at arm's length. But she didn't push him away.
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