Adultery Ananya - My beautiful wife

[kirak9484]

The moment Rajesh’s car disappeared into the morning traffic, Ananya felt the full weight of isolation crash over her. She stood on the crowded pavement near the metro station, the blurred video still burning behind her eyes. Her fingers trembled as she clutched her purse. Sweat continued to gather along her hairline and the back of her neck despite the early hour. She wiped her forehead with the edge of her pallu, but the dampness returned almost immediately.
She forced her legs to move toward the metro entrance.
Every step felt unsteady. The memory of the video replayed in ruthless detail: her own semi-nude body, the soft curve of her waist, the mangalsutra resting between her breasts, her lips stretched around Vicky’s thick cock, the slow, obedient motion of her head. Even though the clip had been cropped and blurred, there was no mercy in it. She had recognised herself instantly. And the message beneath it — “Your husband will see the clear version soon” — kept pulsing in her mind like a second heartbeat.
Inside the metro station the air was cooler, but it did nothing to calm her. She stood on the platform, surrounded by morning commuters, yet completely alone inside her fear. When the train arrived she boarded mechanically and found a place to stand near the door, one hand gripping the metal pole tightly.
As the train began to move, the vibrations seemed to travel straight into her already unsettled body. Her mind would not stay in the present. It kept dragging her back to the villa — the way Vicky had held her hips, the thick stretch of him inside her, the moment Payal had pushed her head down to clean his cock with her tongue. And then Rohan’s camera. The red light. The shock on her own face.
What if Rajesh has already received the clear video?
What if he is watching it right now while driving?
What if he turns the car around and comes after me?
Her breathing grew shallow. A fresh wave of sweat slid down her spine beneath the blouse. She pressed her thighs together, not from desire this time, but from pure anxiety. The residual tenderness between her legs — the physical reminder of how thoroughly she had been used — only made the panic sharper. Her body still carried the memory of pleasure, and that fact felt like another betrayal.
A middle-aged woman standing beside her glanced at Ananya’s pale, damp face with mild concern. Ananya turned her head away quickly, staring at her own reflection in the dark glass of the metro window. The woman who looked back at her appeared almost ordinary — cream saree, neatly dbangd pallu, bindi in place — yet Ananya felt completely exposed. It was as if everyone in the compartment could somehow see the video that existed on someone else’s phone.
The train slowed at the next station. More passengers entered. The press of bodies made her feel trapped. She closed her eyes for a moment and immediately regretted it. The image of her own mouth around Vicky’s cock returned with brutal clarity. She opened her eyes again, heart racing.
I have to delete everything. I have to speak to Vicky. I have to stop this before Rajesh sees the clear version.
But she already knew it was too late for simple solutions. The video existed. Rohan had it. Vicky had it. And now they had sent her a warning.
By the time the train reached the station near the college, Ananya’s blouse was lightly stuck to her back with sweat. Her palms were damp. Her face felt hot and tight. She stepped onto the platform on unsteady legs and began the short walk toward the college gates.
Each step brought her closer to the place where she was expected to stand in front of students and teach with calm authority. The contrast felt unbearable. How could she walk into a classroom and speak about literature when the clear version of that video might already be on her husband’s phone?
She paused just outside the college gate, trying to steady her breathing. Her fingers adjusted her pallu with nervous, repeated movements. The deep oval of her navel felt strangely exposed even though it was covered. The memory of Vicky’s tongue there, of his breath against that sensitive skin, rose unbidden and made her stomach twist with a confusing mixture of fear and residual heat.
Ananya forced herself to walk through the gate.
Her face was still shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Her eyes remained slightly too wide. Inside her chest the panic continued to throb, a living thing that refused to settle. She had survived the journey from home to college, but the day had only begun — and the clear version of the video was still out there, waiting..










Ananya barely made it through the college gates before the panic overwhelmed her again. Her blouse was still damp against her back. Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone. She could not go to the staff room. She could not face Payal or anyone else yet. She needed to speak to the only person who might control this.
She found a relatively quiet corner near the side corridor, away from the main student traffic, and dialled Vicky’s number with unsteady fingers.
He answered on the second ring, his voice calm and low.
“Ananya.”
The moment she heard him, the fragile control she had been holding shattered. Her voice broke.
“Vicky sir… a video came,” she whispered, already crying. “From an unknown number. It’s… it’s me. On that day. When we were… when I was… cleaning you. It’s cropped and blurred but it’s clear enough. I think it’s your friend Rohan. He had the camera that night. He recorded us.”
There was a short silence on the other end. Then Vicky’s voice turned sharp with controlled anger.
“That bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is, sending you that video? Tell me the number right now. I’ll handle him.”
“No,” Ananya said quickly, tears sliding down her cheeks. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to keep her voice down. “Please don’t. Not yet. I don’t even know for sure if it’s him. The number is unknown. If you confront him directly it might make everything worse. Let me talk to him first. Please.”
Vicky exhaled heavily. “I will kill that bastard if he tries anything more. Give me the number, Ananya.”
“No, sir… please calm down. First let me speak to him. I’ll convey everything to you after. But I’m so scared.” Her voice dropped into a trembling whisper. “What if he sends the clear video to my husband? That’s the only thing I keep thinking. If Rajesh sees it… everything is finished. My marriage, my job, my life. I’m suffering, sir. I can’t breathe properly.”










“No, sir… please calm down. First let me speak to him. I’ll convey everything to you after. But I’m so scared.” Her voice dropped into a trembling whisper. “What if he sends the clear video to my husband? That’s the only thing I keep thinking. If Rajesh sees it… everything is finished. My marriage, my job, my life. I’m suffering, sir. I can’t breathe properly.”
There was another pause. When Vicky spoke again, his voice was lower, darker, but no longer openly furious.
“Fine. Talk to him. But if he threatens you even once more, you tell me immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
The call ended.
Ananya stood frozen for several seconds, phone still pressed to her ear even though the line was dead. Then she lowered it and stared at the unknown number that had sent the video. Her thumb hovered over the call button. Fear and necessity warred inside her. Finally she pressed it.
The phone rang.
And rang.
No one answered.
She ended the call, her breathing shallow. Ten long minutes passed. She walked slowly along the corridor, then back again, unable to stand still. Students passed her, some greeting her politely. She managed only weak nods, her face pale and tight.
After ten minutes she dialled again.
This time the call connected.
A man’s voice, relaxed and slightly amused, came through.
“Hello?”
Ananya’s throat closed for a moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, shy, almost childlike with fear.
“Hello… I am Ananya. Who… who may I know you?”
There was a short laugh on the other end.
“Yes, it’s me. Rohan. Tell me, what do you want?”
Her mouth went dry. “A… a vi… video came to my mobile. What is this?”
Rohan laughed again, the sound low and unhurried.
“Why are you getting so tense, Ananya? Is it your video?”
“No… no, no, it’s not mine,” she said quickly, the lie weak and transparent even to her own ears. “I don’t know what it is.”
He laughed harder this time.
“Then why are you getting tense?”
Ananya’s free hand clenched into a fist at her side. Sweat had begun to gather again along her upper lip. She could feel her pulse in her neck.
“If you send this type of video again,” she said, trying to force strength into her voice, “I will put a case on you.”
There was a brief silence. Then Rohan’s tone shifted into something almost casual, almost polite.
“Sorry. Okay. I’ll delete it. This is not yours, so I can send it to any other person if I want… but okay. Deleted.”
The call cut off.
Ananya remained standing in the corridor with the phone still against her ear. The sudden silence felt louder than the conversation. He had admitted nothing and everything at the same time. He had laughed at her fear. He had pretended the video was not of her, then casually mentioned he could send it to anyone. And then he had simply hung up.
Her tension, instead of easing, multiplied.
She leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to her stomach. The images from the video mixed with the memory of the actual night — the thick weight of Vicky’s cock on her tongue, the taste of her own juices mixed with him, Payal’s hand in her hair, the red light of the camera. All of it crashed over her at once.
What have I done?
The thought repeated like a punishment. She had allowed herself to be recorded. She had cleaned him with her mouth. She had moaned. And now the evidence existed outside her control, in the hands of a man who laughed when she begged.
Her legs felt unsteady. She needed to sit down, but the idea of entering the staff room and facing Payal felt impossible. She stayed in the corridor a little longer, trying to slow her breathing, wiping the sweat from her face with her pallu.
The day had only just started, and already the ground beneath her feet felt like it was crumbling...



Continuation – The Second Call
Ananya stood in the same quiet corridor, phone still in her hand, the previous conversation looping in her head.
He had said the video was not hers.
He had laughed.
He had casually mentioned he could send it to anyone.
That last part kept stabbing at her. Even if she denied it was her, the video still existed. Anyone who saw it could recognise her face, her mangalsutra, the shape of her body. Her reputation would collapse the moment it spread. The lie she had told in panic — “It’s not mine” — now felt like a rope tightening around her own neck.
She pressed the call button again before she could lose courage.
It rang twice.
Rohan answered with clear irritation.
“Why are you disturbing me again?”
Ananya’s voice came out small and hurried.
“No… no, sorry. I’m sorry. Please… please don’t send that video to anyone else.”
There was a short, cold pause. Then Rohan’s voice returned, arrogant and deliberately slow.
“You yourself told me it’s not your video. Then why are you so bothered about whether I send it to others or not? What happens to you?”
The question hit her like a slap. Her mouth opened, but no clear words came. Fear scrambled her thoughts.
“Sorry…” she whispered. “But… but…”
“What ‘but but’?” Rohan cut in, his tone sharper now. “Tell me clearly. Otherwise I’m busy. I have work. I’ll drop the call.”
“No! No, no—” Ananya’s voice rose in panic. She pressed the phone tighter to her ear and turned her face toward the wall so no one passing by would see her expression. “That video… please don’t send it to anyone. Please.”
Rohan laughed. The sound was low and mocking.
“Why, dear? It’s not you. Then why are you so tensed about this video?”
Ananya’s free hand gripped the edge of her saree until her knuckles turned white. Sweat had begun to gather again at the base of her throat. She could feel her heartbeat in her tongue.
She had trapped herself with her own denial. If she now admitted it was her, she would be completely at his mercy. If she continued denying it, he could pretend he had every right to share “someone else’s” video. Either path led to the same terror.
“Please…” she repeated, her voice almost breaking. “I’m requesting you. Don’t send it. Just delete it properly. Don’t keep any copy. Please.”
Rohan remained silent for a few seconds, letting her fear stretch.
Then he spoke again, quieter, more dangerous.
“You’re begging very sweetly for something that has nothing to do with you. Interesting.”
Ananya closed her eyes. She could almost feel the red recording light of that night again. The weight of Vicky’s cock on her tongue. The moment she had looked up and seen the camera. All of it crashed back while Rohan’s voice stayed calm and amused in her ear.
She had called him to reduce the danger.
Instead, every word was making the danger clearer....




Rohan’s voice stayed calm, almost lazy, but every word carried weight.
“You’re begging very sweetly for something that has nothing to do with you. Interesting.”
Ananya pressed her forehead lightly against the cool wall of the corridor. Her eyes were tightly shut. The phone felt slippery in her damp palm.
“Please…” she whispered again. “Just delete it. Don’t send it to anyone. I’m requesting you.”
Rohan let out a short, soft laugh.
“Requesting me? You sound scared, Ananya. But according to you, this video is not yours. So why should a respectable married lecturer be scared of a random video of some other woman?”
The question was deliberate. He was forcing her to walk deeper into the contradiction she had created.
Ananya’s breathing had become uneven. She could hear students talking somewhere down the corridor, the distant sound of a class bell, ordinary college life continuing while she stood trapped in this private nightmare.
“I… I just don’t want any misunderstanding,” she tried. “If someone sees it and thinks it’s me… my reputation…”
“Ah,” Rohan interrupted, his tone sharpening with amusement. “So now you’re worried people might think it’s you. Even though you already told me it’s not. You’re very careful about your reputation, aren’t you?”
She stayed silent. Any answer felt dangerous.
Rohan continued, slower now.
“Listen carefully. I still have the original. Clear. No blur. Face fully visible. Mangalsutra, everything. If I decide to send that version to certain people… your husband, for example… then what will you do? Keep saying it’s not you?”
Ananya’s stomach dropped. A fresh wave of heat and cold swept through her body at the same time. Her free hand moved unconsciously to her chest, as if she could physically hold down the panic.
“No…” The word came out broken. “Please don’t. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Then stop lying,” Rohan said, voice suddenly flatter, more serious. “Stop saying it’s not you. We both know the truth. You were on your knees. You cleaned his cock with your tongue. You looked straight at the camera for a second when you realised I was recording. That is the clear version I have.”
Ananya’s lips parted, but no sound came. The direct description hit her harder than the blurred video had. Hearing the act spoken aloud by the man who had recorded it made it feel real in a new, unbearable way.
Rohan waited a moment, then spoke again, quieter.
“I’ll give you a simple choice. Stop pretending. Admit it’s you. And then we can talk about whether that clear video stays private or not. If you keep wasting my time with this ‘it’s not me’ drama, I might decide your husband deserves to see how his wife looks when she’s busy sucking another man’s cock.”
The corridor suddenly felt too narrow. Ananya’s knees were unsteady. She slid down slightly until her back was fully against the wall, the phone still pressed to her ear.
Her voice, when it finally came, was barely audible.
“Please… don’t send it to him. I’ll do anything. Just don’t.”
On the other end, Rohan smiled.
The real negotiation had begun...




Ananya could not listen anymore.
Rohan’s calm, mocking voice had pushed her past the point she could bear. With shaking fingers she ended the call. The sudden silence in the corridor felt heavier than the conversation itself. Her back was still pressed against the wall. Sweat had gathered at the base of her throat and along her upper lip. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her temples.
She did not wait even ten seconds.
She immediately dialled Vicky.
The moment the call connected, her voice came out broken and high with panic.
“Vicky sir… he only… he only is doing this. Your friend only. Rohan. He is the one. That whole thing… the video… everything is him.”
She was speaking too fast, the words tumbling over each other. Tears had already started again.
“I am sending you the number. Please look.” Her fingers trembled so badly she almost mistyped the digits. She forwarded the unknown number and kept the phone pressed to her ear. “Sir, please… he is threatening. He is saying he has the clear version. He is talking about my husband. I am so scared.”
On the other end, Vicky remained quiet for a few seconds while he presumably checked the number. When he spoke, his voice was controlled and steady.
“Ananya, this number is not Rohan’s. It’s a new number. I don’t recognise it.”
Ananya’s breath caught. “But… but he answered. He said his name is Rohan. He knew everything about that night. He described… he described what I did. It has to be him.”
“I understand,” Vicky said, still calm. “Wait. Don’t get tense. I will call this number myself right now. You stay where you are. Don’t do anything. I will handle it.”
“Please solve this, sir,” Ananya begged, her voice cracking. “Please. I am requesting you. If that clear video reaches Rajesh… everything will finish. Please solve it. You know me… you know my situation. Please.”
“I will solve it,” Vicky replied. “You know about me, Ananya. I don’t let problems remain problems. Stay calm. I will call you back.”
He ended the call.
The moment the line went dead, the expression on Vicky’s face changed completely.
He sat back in his chair, alone in his cabin, and a slow, dark smile spread across his lips. Then he began to laugh — quiet at first, then fuller, richer, full of cold satisfaction.
He looked at the unknown number Ananya had just forwarded and shook his head with amusement. Of course it was a new number. That had been the plan from the beginning. Rohan had used a fresh SIM exactly so that Ananya would run to Vicky in panic, exactly so she would place the entire problem in his hands, exactly so she would beg him to “solve” it.
Vicky leaned back, still smiling, and spoke under his breath in Hindi, the words laced with wicked pleasure.
“Saali… chuthiya. Mere bhai ko tum suspend karwa deti ho… class mein sabke saamne insult karti ho… ab dekhteri kya hota hai.”
(You damn woman… you got my brother suspended… insulted him in front of everyone in class… now look what happens.)
He laughed again, softer this time, eyes narrowed with dark enjoyment.
Ananya was completely inside the net now. She was terrified, isolated, and turning to him as her only protector — the same man who had planned every step of her fall. She had no idea that the “unknown number,” the threats, the blurred video, and the timed pressure had all been designed to drive her exactly to this moment: crying on the phone, begging him to save her.
Vicky unlocked his phone again, stared at the number she had sent, and smiled wider.
The real game could now move to the next level — with Ananya herself asking him to take control....



To be continues......