Adultery NISHA:: A Hot Spy -Female Investigator Officer - Secret mission

[girrich9486]

Nisha’s face burned. The candles made the room feel smaller. Rajesh’s mouth was still close to her stomach, then higher, brushing the soft skin of her cleavage while he waited.
She tried to start and failed.
How was she supposed to tell her husband that she had stood on a stage in a sleeveless, high-cut costume — midriff bare, deep navel open to the lights, arms raised so that even her underarms were on display? That men from Tony’s circle had put hands on her hips, that during the dance a mouth had found her stomach and the hollow of her arm? That later, to stay inside the den long enough to reach Vidya, she had agreed to soft cuffs on a reclining chair and that a woman named Tina had touched her, teased her, and put the needle through her navel while she lay there marked and shaking?
The words stuck in her throat. Every time she opened her mouth, shame closed it again.
Rajesh kissed the piercing once more, then the line of her cleavage, and asked again, gently.
“Nisha. What happened there?”
She only shook her head, eyes wet with embarrassment rather than tears of pain.
He noticed. He stopped the trail of kisses, brought both hands up, and held her face so she had to look at him.
“Look at me.”
She did. His eyes were steady — worried, heated, but steady.
“No problem. Please tell me what happened. How you got trapped. How it went. I am here. Just say it.”
She drew a breath. Before she could form the first full sentence he leaned in and kissed her soft lips. The kiss was slow and sure. A small sound escaped her into his mouth.
“Hmmmm… haaa…”
For a few seconds there was only the quiet of the room and the sound of them kissing. When he eased back, her face was still hot, but the worst of the lock on her voice had loosened. She nodded once, barely, and began to search for the simplest, truest version she could give him — the dancer cover, the selection, the condition of the piercing, the choice she had made so she could stay close enough to pull Vidya out.
In the other part of the house, Raghu was not asleep.
Earlier, following the instructions that had come with the visiting card and the quiet plan, he had placed a small hidden camera among the decorative flowers in Nisha and Rajesh’s bedroom. Neither of them knew it was there. The feed ran to his phone.
On the screen, in the dark of his own room, the live image of the candlelit bed was clear enough. He watched without expression at first, then with the cold focus of a man who had already decided that the woman on that bed was the reason for his wife’s suffering and his own accident. The reunion, the soft light, the private talk he could not fully hear — all of it fed the anger that the PA’s story had lit and the voice on the phone had told him to hold until the right time.
A threat was already inside Nisha’s home, sitting in plain sight on a shelf of flowers, while she tried to explain the island to the one person she trusted most and still did not know that the next blow against her would not come from Tony’s den, but from under her own roof.
















She shyly open mouth to tell him

Nisha’s voice stayed small. She kept her eyes on the sheet more than on Rajesh’s face.
“Yes… I went there with the bar dancers. They told me I had to wear a… sexy dress.”
Rajesh’s thumb brushed her waist.
“Sexy dress means what?”
“Nisha, please, I can’t say—”
He kissed her lips once, soft, and waited. She swallowed and forced the rest out.
“It only covered my… breasts. And it showed deep… deep cleavage. And a short skirt. It only came to the knee. We were ten. We danced on the stage.”
In the other room, Raghu’s phone screen showed the candlelit bed clearly enough. He could not catch every word, but he caught enough — dancer, stage, dress, cleavage. For months he had only seen her as the strict officer who came and went with cases and orders. Now he was hearing the same woman describe herself under stage lights in almost nothing. His body reacted hard. A thought he did not bother to dress up settled in him: he wanted to fuck her. He wanted her expressions, her hot body, the side of her he had never been allowed to see. He kept the phone steady and said nothing out loud.
On the bed Nisha continued, still shy.
“They touched the dancers on stage. However they wanted. When we did the belly dance I had to raise my arms fully. They looked at… my underarms. The smooth part. And they… kissed there.”
Rajesh went still.
“What? They kissed and licked your armpits?”
She lowered her head.
“Yes. And one drunken goon came close and licked my deep navel also.”
Rajesh’s breath changed. She felt it. Her eyes dropped, almost by accident, to his crotch and saw the clear strain there. A weird, complicated feeling moved through her — surprise, embarrassment, and a heat she had not expected in this conversation. She opened her mouth to ask what was happening to him.
He put a finger gently on her lips.
“Shhh.”
Then, quieter:
“Show me. How you raised your arms. Like on the island.”
Nisha’s face burned.
“Please, Rajesh. Please don’t ask that.”
“No. Please. Raise them. Show me. As you did there.”














“Show me. How you raised your arms. Like on the island.”
Nisha’s face burned.
“Please, Rajesh. Please don’t ask that.”
“No. Please. Raise them. Show me. As you did there.”
She held still for a long second. Then, slowly, she lifted both arms above her head, the same open pose she had held under the stage lights, underarms bare, body offered by the position even though they were alone in their own room.
Rajesh looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. Hunger and something darker mixed in his eyes. He took one of her raised arms, brought the soft hollow of her underarm to his face, and breathed in the warm scent of her skin. Then he kissed it. Then he licked, slow and deliberate, the way she had said the men on the island had done.
A broken sound left Nisha’s throat. Whatever control she carried as an IPS officer loosened under the exact, intimate attention. Heat rushed through her. Her arms stayed up because he had asked and because her body was no longer fully listening to shame. He kept kissing and licking the sensitive skin while she trembled, highly aroused despite every reason she had to stay closed and careful.
In the other room Raghu watched the live image of her arms raised and her husband’s mouth on her skin, and the plan the voice on the phone had told him to wait for settled a little deeper in his mind — colder, more personal, and aimed at the woman who still did not know that her own house had already been turned into a stage for someone else’s revenge....








Nisha’s arms stayed high. The candlelight caught the soft undersides of her arms and the silver ring in her navel. Rajesh did not rush. He held one wrist lightly so the pose would not collapse, and turned his attention fully to the hollow she had been so ashamed to name.
He breathed her in again — warm skin, faint salt from the long day, the clean scent of her after the shower. Then his mouth returned. He kissed the smooth centre of her underarm, then the edges, then opened his lips and licked a slow stripe from the deeper hollow outward. Nisha’s whole body jerked.
“Ahhh… Rajesh…”
“This is what they did?” he asked against her skin, voice rough. “Like this?”
She could only nod. He switched to the other arm, still keeping both of hers raised, and repeated the same careful attention — kiss, breath, lick — until her breathing turned open and uneven. Soft sounds kept leaving her throat. The tough officer who had dropped Tony on a basement floor was shaking in her own bed because her husband was mapping the exact places strangers had touched on an island stage.
His free hand slid down her side, over the curve of her breast, across the soft plane of her stomach, and settled beside the piercing. He kissed her navel next, circling the silver catch with his tongue the way she had described the drunken goon’s mouth. Nisha’s hips shifted on the sheet. Her arms trembled with the effort of holding them up.
“Don’t lower them,” he murmured. “Keep them like the dance.”
She obeyed. The position left her completely open to him — underarms, breasts, midriff, the marked navel. He moved between those points without hurry: a long lick into one underarm, a suck at the side of her breast, a wet kiss on the piercing, then back again. Each return made her sounds higher and less controlled.
“Hmmm… haaa… please…”







“Don’t lower them,” he murmured. “Keep them like the dance.”
She obeyed. The position left her completely open to him — underarms, breasts, midriff, the marked navel. He moved between those points without hurry: a long lick into one underarm, a suck at the side of her breast, a wet kiss on the piercing, then back again. Each return made her sounds higher and less controlled.
“Hmmm… haaa… please…”
Whether she was asking him to stop or to continue was no longer clear even to her. Heat had pooled low in her belly. Her thighs pressed together. The embarrassment was still there, burning in her face, but it had fused with arousal until she could not separate them. He noticed. His mouth curved against her skin.
“My IPS wife,” he said quietly. “Raising her arms for me. Wet because I’m kissing the places they kissed.”
“Don’t— don’t say it like that—”
He licked deeper into her underarm in answer. Her words broke into a moan. He finally eased her arms down only so he could push her gently onto her back, then lifted them again above her head on the pillow and held both wrists there with one hand while the other and his mouth kept working her body. She did not fight the hold. She arched into it.
He spent a long time on her stomach and the piercing, then returned to her underarms until she was writhing, soft continuous sounds filling the candlelit room. When he finally kissed her mouth again she kissed back hard, all the shyness temporarily burned off by need.
“Tell me the rest later,” he said against her lips. “Right now I want you like this.”
She nodded, eyes dark, arms still where he had put them, body marked by the island and openly, helplessly responsive to her husband’s mouth on every place the den had claimed first.
In the other room the phone screen stayed bright. Raghu watched the raised arms, the way she trembled, the intimacy she had never shown under this roof in front of anyone else. His own body was tight with anger and want mixed together. He did not look away. The hidden camera among the flowers kept running, and the woman who had survived Tony’s island still had no idea that the next danger was already inside the house, watching her come apart in her husband’s hands....