Adultery Ananya - My beautiful wife

[kirak9484]

Thankyou all






Ananya had taken three days’ leave from college.
She told the principal it was for family reasons, and for once the request was accepted without question. Rajesh left for the office at the usual time, kissing her forehead and telling her to enjoy the time with his sister. The moment the door closed, the apartment felt softer, freer.
Komali sat cross-legged on the living-room sofa in a loose cotton nighty, her three-year-old finally occupied with a pile of toys in the corner. Ananya brought two cups of tea and settled beside her. For a while they spoke about ordinary things — the flight, the child’s sleep schedule, how strange the city felt compared to their quieter town. Then Komali’s eyes sparkled with the same naughty mischief Ananya remembered from years ago.
“Bhabhi, this boy is becoming too much,” she said, lowering her voice even though the child was busy. “Sometimes when I feed him he suddenly clutches my nipple with those small teeth and bites. Not hard, but enough to make me jump. I have to scold him every time.”
Ananya laughed, covering her mouth.
“Really? So naughty!”
Komali grinned and leaned closer.
“Yes. And the worst part is… he does it exactly like his father used to when we were newly married. Same sudden little attack.” She laughed openly. “I told Raju, ‘Your son is copying your old habits.’ He only laughed and said the boy has good taste.”
Ananya’s cheeks warmed. She gave Komali a playful push on the arm.
“You are so naughty, Komali. Talking like this in the morning.”
“What? It’s true.” Komali sipped her tea, still smiling. “Raju is good, Bhabhi. Very good. Even after the baby he didn’t become careless. Sometimes I have to tell him to be quiet so the child doesn’t wake up.” She tilted her head, studying Ananya with gentle curiosity. “What about you and Bhaiya? Any plans for a small one of your own?”
Ananya’s face turned a deeper shade of pink. She looked down at her own teacup, fingers tightening around it.
“Komali… please.”
“What? I’m only asking.” Komali’s voice stayed light, but her eyes were sharp and teasing. “Bhaiya is healthy, you are healthy… everything is okay, no? Or is Bhaiya too busy with office and not giving proper time at night?”
Ananya’s blush spread to her neck. She shook her head quickly, a small embarrassed smile on her lips.
“Stop… please. Everything is fine. We are… happy.”
Komali laughed softly, clearly enjoying her bhabhi’s flustered reaction.
“You are still so shy, Bhabhi. Even after so many years of marriage. I remember when you first came to our house after the wedding — you couldn’t even look at Raju properly when he teased you. Still the same.” She reached over and squeezed Ananya’s hand. “It’s sweet. But you should think about a baby. A house becomes warmer with small feet running around.”
Ananya kept her eyes on the tea, the smile still on her face but softer now, almost fragile. Inside, the playful conversation brushed against the raw memories she had been trying to keep buried — the thick stretch of other men, the loud cries she had not known she could make, the glass wall and her husband’s unknowing presence. The contrast between this light, sisterly teasing and the dark reality of the villa made her chest feel tight for a moment.
She forced the smile wider and changed the subject to the child’s favourite toys, gently steering the talk back to safer ground. Komali allowed it, still watching her with fond, slightly knowing eyes, as if she could sense there were private things her bhabhi was not saying.
Outside, the morning sun filled the apartment with clean light. Inside, two women sat close, laughing and blushing over the small, intimate details of married life, while the heavier secrets Ananya carried remained carefully hidden behind her soft, traditional smile.......










Rajesh came home earlier than usual, a big paper bag of toys in his hand. The child was delighted. Komali laughed and scolded him affectionately for buying too many. After a short rest they decided on a late movie. They left the boy with the trusted neighbour and drove to the multiplex.
The film was a glossy romance. Halfway through, a long rain-soaked song sequence filled the screen — the hero’s hands sliding over the heroine’s wet blouse, mouths almost touching, hips pressed together. In the dark theatre Ananya felt heat crawl up her neck. The images brushed too close to memories she still carried in her body: thick fingers, forced pleasure, the glass wall. She pressed her thighs together. Komali glanced at her and gave a small, embarrassed smile. Rajesh shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. The three of them sat in shared, uncomfortable silence until the song finally ended.
By the time the movie finished it was past one-thirty. Ten minutes into the drive home the engine coughed, shuddered, and died. Rajesh managed to coast to the edge of a poorly lit stretch of road. When he opened the bonnet, the smell of burnt oil rose into the humid night. No cabs responded on the apps. Two friends’ phones rang without answer. It was almost 2 a.m.
An old auto-rickshaw came down the empty road and slowed when Rajesh raised his hand. The driver was thick-set, bearded, with small sharp eyes. Beside him sat a leaner man who said nothing, only looked. Both pairs of eyes moved slowly over the two women standing behind Rajesh — Ananya’s soft figure under her simple kurti, the way the fabric rested on her breasts and hips; Komali’s graceful shape, the faint outline of her bra strap, the nervous way she held her handbag.
“Sir, where do you need to go?” the driver asked. His voice was polite. His gaze was not.
Rajesh felt the first real prickle of fear. The men looked like the kind who measured women the way butchers measured meat. Yet the road was deserted and the car was useless.
“We need to get home,” he said.
The driver smiled, showing stained teeth.
“We will take you safely. No other vehicle will come now. Your choice.”
The second man’s eyes lingered on Ananya’s chest, then slid down to her hips and legs with open, unhurried interest. Komali moved half a step closer to her bhabhi. Ananya’s mouth had gone dry. The memory of another night — another pair of men who had looked at her the same way before they touched her — rose like bile.
They had no better option. The women climbed into the narrow back seat of the auto. The moment they sat, the driver’s eyes found them again in the rear-view mirror, lingering on the place where Ananya’s kurti had ridden up slightly over her knee, on the soft press of Komali’s thigh against her sister-in-law’s.
“Sir, you stay with the car,” the driver said. “Otherwise it will be gone by morning. These roads are not safe.”
Rajesh’s stomach clenched. He tried both friends once more. Nothing. Ananya leaned forward, voice tight.
“You also come. Please. Lock the car.”
Komali’s hand gripped her brother’s wrist.
“Bhaiya, don’t stay here alone. Come with us.”
Rajesh looked at the dead car, at the two women, at the waiting men. Helplessness settled over him like a weight. He locked the vehicle and climbed in beside them. The auto pulled away.
For the first two kilometres the route remained familiar. Then the driver’s phone lit up. He read the message, typed a short reply with one thumb, and smiled into the mirror. The words he had sent were simple and ugly:
Be ready. Two married women and one man. Coming.
A few minutes later the auto turned sharply onto a narrower, darker side road. Trees closed in. Half-finished buildings stood like broken teeth against the sky. The air grew thicker, quieter.
Rajesh sat forward at once.
“Why this way? Stop. This is not the route.”
The driver answered in the same polite tone, almost soothing.
“Shortest way, sir. You don’t know this area. Don’t worry. We will reach faster.”
The second man turned his head and looked directly at the women. His eyes moved with deliberate slowness over Ananya’s face, the rise of her breasts as she breathed too fast, the way her fingers had locked around Komali’s hand. Then he looked at Komali the same way — measuring, patient, already certain.
Ananya’s pulse hammered in her throat. The confined space of the auto suddenly felt too small. She could smell cheap tobacco and male sweat. Beside her, Komali’s thigh was pressed tight against hers; both women were trembling now. Rajesh’s jaw was locked, his hands useless fists on his knees. He had no weapon, no signal, and two women who were being undressed by strangers’ eyes in the dark.
The auto continued deeper into the side road, the last lights of the main highway disappearing behind them. The driver’s smile stayed fixed in the rear-view mirror. The second man’s silence felt heavier than any threat spoken aloud.
In the back seat Ananya felt the old, familiar terror rise — the same terror she had felt when Rohan first closed the bedroom door — only now it was multiplied by the presence of her sister-in-law and the complete helplessness of her husband. The night had turned, and the road ahead no longer led toward home...



After another three kilometres the auto suddenly slowed and stopped in front of a dilapidated old bungalow set back from the road. The compound was overgrown; only a single yellow bulb burned above the entrance. Two more men were already waiting outside. Both held small, open knives that caught the weak light.
Rajesh’s voice exploded.
“Where have you brought us?! What place is this?! I’m calling the security officer right now—”
He fumbled for his phone. Before he could unlock it, the lean companion from the front seat swung from behind and struck him hard across the side of the head. Rajesh cried out and staggered. The phone flew from his hand and clattered onto the dirt.
Ananya and Komali screamed at the same time.
“No! Don’t beat him! Please— nooo!”
The bearded driver stepped in front of them and raised his own knife, the blade pointed first at Komali’s face, then at Ananya’s.
“Shut up. Don’t cry loud.” His voice was low and flat. “Shhh.”
Komali’s arms tightened instinctively around the empty space where her child should have been — the boy was still with the neighbour — and both women fell into terrified silence, tears already streaming. Rajesh, still dizzy from the blow, forced himself upright and began to plead, hands open.
“Take the gold… take the money… everything we have. Please. Just leave us. Please, for the children’s sake… please…”
The driver gave a short, cold smile.
“OK, OK. We will not do any harm. But you should cooperate with us. Just come inside.”
There was no choice. The four men closed around them. Ananya’s legs felt like water; Komali’s fingers were locked so tightly around her bhabhi’s wrist that the nails dug in. Rajesh walked between them, still unsteady, blood trickling from a small cut near his temple. They were pushed through the open front door into a large, dimly lit living room.
Mattresses had been laid out across most of the floor. Two closed doors led to what looked like bedrooms. The air smelled of cheap incense, sweat, and stale alcohol. In the centre of the room a dark-skinned man in a white lungi sat on a low wooden chair, smoking. He looked up as they entered, and a slow, appreciative grin spread across his face.
“Wow… what two beautiful women you brought.” His eyes moved openly, hungrily, over Ananya and then Komali — their frightened faces, the rapid rise and fall of their breasts under the thin night clothes, the soft curves of their hips and thighs. “Sharath, good. You keep it up.”
Ananya felt the gaze like a physical touch. Shame and terror mixed until her stomach turned. Komali’s whole body was shaking against her side. Rajesh stood helplessly in front of them, one hand still pressed to his bleeding head, the other half-raised as if he could still shield the two women with nothing but his body.
The man in the lungi exhaled a long stream of smoke and kept looking, clearly deciding which of the two married women he would touch first.
The door to the bungalow closed behind them with a heavy, final sound....



The heavy door shut with a dull thud. The yellow bulb inside flickered once.
The man in the lungi leaned forward in his chair, cigarette glowing between his fingers. His eyes moved slowly from Ananya to Komali and back again.
“Name?” he asked, voice almost casual.
Neither woman answered. Their silence only made him smile wider.
“Doesn’t matter.” He gestured with the cigarette. “One is the wife, one is the sister. Both look soft. Both look expensive.” He turned his head slightly toward the bearded driver. “Sharath, you chose well tonight.”
Sharath grinned, still holding the small knife loosely at his side.
“I told you, anna. Two married pieces. Fresh.”
Rajesh stepped forward, voice shaking but loud.
“Listen to me. We will give you everything. Cash, jewellery, the car, whatever you want. Just let us go. My sister has a small child waiting. Please.”
The man in the lungi laughed softly, the sound dry and humourless.
“Your sister has a child. Your wife looks like she should have one too. Maybe after tonight she will.” He stood up, the lungi shifting around his hips. “You talk too much for a man who already got hit once.”
Ananya’s voice broke out, high and desperate.
“Please… don’t hurt him. Take the money. We won’t go to the security officer. I swear. Just leave us.”
Komali’s words tumbled after hers, tears thick in her throat.
“Bhaiya didn’t do anything. We only wanted to go home. Please… I’m begging you.”
One of the men who had been waiting outside with a knife moved closer to Komali and caught a strand of her hair between his fingers, lifting it as if testing the texture.
“Soft hair. Soft everything, looks like.”
Rajesh lunged half a step; the second knife immediately pressed against his side.
“Don’t,” the lean companion warned. “Next time I won’t hit the head. I’ll cut.”
The man in the lungi walked a slow circle around the two women. He stopped behind Ananya first, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. He did not touch her yet. He only spoke near her ear.
“You are the quieter one. The one who looks like she cries softly. Am I right?”
Ananya’s whole body trembled. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor.
He moved to Komali next.
“And you… you look like you will scream. I like both kinds.”
Sharath laughed.
“Anna, which one first?”
The leader returned to his chair and sat down again, legs spread, lungi parting slightly.
“We have time. First they take everything off. Slowly. So we can see what we brought home.” He pointed the cigarette at Rajesh. “You. Sit in that corner and watch. If you close your eyes, I will cut her blouse open myself. Understand?”
Rajesh’s face was grey. Blood still ran in a thin line from his temple. He opened his mouth, closed it, then spoke in a broken voice.
“Please… I’m begging you as a husband and a brother. Don’t do this.”
The man in the lungi only smiled.
“Begging is good. Keep doing it. It makes the night longer.” He looked at the two women again. “Now. Clothes. Start with the dupattas and the pins. We want to see skin.”
Ananya and Komali stood frozen, tears running freely, the men’s eyes and the open knives leaving them no path except the one being ordered. The mattresses on the floor waited. The night inside the old bungalow had only just begun.


To be continued