1 hour ago
Ajay had been running for twenty minutes when the stitch in his side forced him to slow down. He cut through the small park near their building and dropped onto an empty bench to retie his laces.
That was when he saw it.
The hoarding stood on the far side of the road, large enough to dominate the view. This version was different from the one Meera had stared at the previous evening. A woman in a short yellow frock stood with her weight on one leg. The frock had lifted slightly in the breeze of the photograph, revealing pink panties underneath—high-cut, delicate, unmistakably intimate. The angle was careful, artistic even, but there was no mistaking the body.
It was Meera.
Ajay’s breath left him. Heat rushed low and fast. He felt himself harden almost instantly, the sudden pressure against his running shorts impossible to ignore. He stayed seated, elbows on his knees, staring at the image while the morning traffic moved past without noticing him.
She had crossed lines. He knew that much.
Some of it had been for the mission. Some of it had been for him. The things that happened with Shankar… he still believed a part of that had been anger—anger at him for placing her in danger in the first place. He accepted the blame for that. He had put her there.
But had he also enjoyed it?
The question sat heavily in his chest. He did not have a clean answer. There had been nights when the thought of other men seeing her, wanting her, had tightened something dark and hungry inside him. He had never said it out loud. He was not sure he ever would.
He wanted to know the rest. How far it had gone. What else she had allowed. What else she had been asked to do.
His mind moved to Raghav.
Meera still believed he did not know about the dress she had worn that evening—the one that showed the soft upper curve of her breasts and a long stretch of thigh. Ajay had known. He had known and said nothing. The image of his mentor looking at his wife in that dress rose now with uncomfortable clarity. Would Raghav’s eyes have dropped to the open neckline? Would he have looked longer than necessary?
Raghav was a decent man. A disciplined man. A man who had lived alone for years.
But he was still a man.
And Meera, even in the simplest clothes, was difficult to look at without reacting.
Ajay shook his head once, hard, as if he could dislodge the thought.
*He would never do that. Not to me. He is my mentor.*
The words felt thin against the pressure in his shorts. He remained on the bench until the worst of the arousal subsided enough that he could stand without drawing attention. Running was impossible now. He stood, adjusted his shirt, and began the slow walk back toward the flat.
Ajay had completely forgotten the fact that Raghav had seen her fully nude on the final day of the mission as Shyam arrested and brought her. Ajay was under super stress that time he was rejoiced with the fact that he got his lovey wife safe. He remembers he getting her safe and sound but does not remember in what dress she found.
That was when he saw it.
The hoarding stood on the far side of the road, large enough to dominate the view. This version was different from the one Meera had stared at the previous evening. A woman in a short yellow frock stood with her weight on one leg. The frock had lifted slightly in the breeze of the photograph, revealing pink panties underneath—high-cut, delicate, unmistakably intimate. The angle was careful, artistic even, but there was no mistaking the body.
It was Meera.
Ajay’s breath left him. Heat rushed low and fast. He felt himself harden almost instantly, the sudden pressure against his running shorts impossible to ignore. He stayed seated, elbows on his knees, staring at the image while the morning traffic moved past without noticing him.
She had crossed lines. He knew that much.
Some of it had been for the mission. Some of it had been for him. The things that happened with Shankar… he still believed a part of that had been anger—anger at him for placing her in danger in the first place. He accepted the blame for that. He had put her there.
But had he also enjoyed it?
The question sat heavily in his chest. He did not have a clean answer. There had been nights when the thought of other men seeing her, wanting her, had tightened something dark and hungry inside him. He had never said it out loud. He was not sure he ever would.
He wanted to know the rest. How far it had gone. What else she had allowed. What else she had been asked to do.
His mind moved to Raghav.
Meera still believed he did not know about the dress she had worn that evening—the one that showed the soft upper curve of her breasts and a long stretch of thigh. Ajay had known. He had known and said nothing. The image of his mentor looking at his wife in that dress rose now with uncomfortable clarity. Would Raghav’s eyes have dropped to the open neckline? Would he have looked longer than necessary?
Raghav was a decent man. A disciplined man. A man who had lived alone for years.
But he was still a man.
And Meera, even in the simplest clothes, was difficult to look at without reacting.
Ajay shook his head once, hard, as if he could dislodge the thought.
*He would never do that. Not to me. He is my mentor.*
The words felt thin against the pressure in his shorts. He remained on the bench until the worst of the arousal subsided enough that he could stand without drawing attention. Running was impossible now. He stood, adjusted his shirt, and began the slow walk back toward the flat.
Ajay had completely forgotten the fact that Raghav had seen her fully nude on the final day of the mission as Shyam arrested and brought her. Ajay was under super stress that time he was rejoiced with the fact that he got his lovey wife safe. He remembers he getting her safe and sound but does not remember in what dress she found.
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