[AK0047]

The Orginal story is written in Hindi by ROMYRAJ147

Till Now it's incomplete with no updates from past 3 years 

I loved it very much and thought I can continue it further in English 

So with all due respect to the original writer I'm starting a rewritten English version 

Hope you all like it 

[AK0047]

The fire of the flesh is a dangerously unforgiving thing. Once it ignites, it does not extinguish itself until it has reduced the entire being to ashes.

You may begin something casually, in the name of harmless fun, believing you will remain in control. You tell yourself you can handle it. But once things spiral out of hand, control slips away completely. That is exactly what happened to me.


My name is Dev—Dev Sharma. I am twenty-five years old. I work in Kolkata, employed at the State Bank of India as a manager. I had been married only recently—barely six months into the marriage—when everything began to unravel.




My wife’s name is Puja—Puja Sharma. She was twenty-one years old, about five feet six inches tall, and strikingly fair-skinned. Her complexion was so delicate that even a light touch would leave her blushing red. She was beautifully proportioned, possessing a natural grace that made her seem almost ethereal—like a living embodiment of sensual charm.



Soon after our marriage, we moved to Kolkata and rented a two-bedroom apartment. The flat was a little far from my office, mainly because the rent there was more affordable. Since I owned a car, the distance didn’t seem like an issue. The daily commute took around forty-five minutes.

Our apartment was in Block F, on the top floor. All the blocks in the society were connected at the top level, and each floor had three flats. On our floor, two were occupied by elderly couples—one uncle was around seventy, the aunt perhaps sixty-five. They rarely stepped out and kept mostly to themselves. The third flat belonged to someone who worked outside the city and visited only once or twice a year.

Block F was the last block in the line. Behind it stretched an open, deserted field—completely silent and isolated, with hardly anyone ever passing through. There were six blocks arranged in a straight line, connected sequentially—F to E, E to D, and so on. Because Block E stood in front of us, our block was hidden from the rest of the society. Only the residents of Block E could see Block F.

The top floor was the only option available at the time, but we liked the society overall, so we decided to make it our home. We were excited—new house, a new beginning. We shopped extensively for the place. Puja had studied home décor, and she had a genuine passion for interior design. She took complete charge, decorating the house according to her taste. Although our honeymoon hadn’t happened yet, we were genuinely happy. I was secretly planning it—Maldives, filled with carefree moments—and wanted to surprise her, so I hadn’t mentioned it.

After about a month of effort, the house was fully furnished. Puja had done a remarkable job—an elegant blend of modern and classic aesthetics.

Puja came from a very decent, traditional family. She was raised in a small town in Himachal Pradesh, where she lived until the tenth grade. Later, she moved to Delhi for college. 

There, she adapted slightly to urban fashion—she dressed tastefully and modernly, but never crossed into anything overly revealing. She always upheld the values she was raised with. She was careful not to do anything that might hurt her family’s sentiments. Academics were always her priority. She kept minimal interaction with men—only casual friendships in college, nothing beyond that.

In simple terms, Puja appeared extremely innocent.
There’s a saying—that those who appear most innocent on the outside often carry intense desires within, though they rarely let them surface easily. You could take the character of Gajgamini from Mirzapur as a rough reference. But my wife was different. Or perhaps not. The truth of who she really was would only unfold through the intriguing events that were yet to come in our lives.

Our daily routine followed a simple, almost comforting rhythm. We would wake up around seven in the morning. Puja would bathe first, and after that, she would sit down for her prayers. Once she was done, she would prepare breakfast for me. I would then get ready, have my meal, and leave for the office by nine.

My working hours were from nine to six. Since the house was quite far from the office, I usually had lunch there. In the evenings, I would return home and have dinner before seven. Dinner, in fact, held special importance in our household—it was the one meal we always shared together without compromise.

Every morning before leaving, I would kiss Puja goodbye, and she would stand on the balcony, waving to me. She stayed there until I disappeared from her sight.

After that, she would take care of the house. Puja was extremely particular about cleanliness. Even the smallest speck of dirt would prompt her to start cleaning immediately. It was a good habit, though at times she took it so far that even I would feel irritated. Later, she would cook something light for herself, eat, and rest from one to three in the afternoon. After waking up, she would watch television for a while. By five in the evening, she would begin preparing dinner.

Once I returned home, we would eat together and then watch a romantic movie on Netflix. By ten at night, we would usually be asleep. Life flowed smoothly—quiet, ordinary, and content.

[AK0047]

Then one day, everything changed.

Our peaceful routine was disrupted the moment a third presence entered our lives.

Puja rarely stepped out of the house. She did some light yoga to stay fit. One evening, I suggested that we start going for short walks after dinner every night. Puja agreed. That day, after dinner around eight, we stepped out for a walk.
She wore jogging pants and a T-shirt, and I was dressed in a track suit.

 
As we reached the gate of our apartment complex, a man greeted us. I returned the greeting politely. He appeared to be around fifty years old, with a coal-dark complexion. He wasn’t very tall—perhaps around five feet five inches.


He had a well-built body—clearly someone who must have practiced bodybuilding in his younger days.






He was the society’s watchman. I had never seen him before, though his uniform made his role obvious. Still, a sense of curiosity made me want to know whether he was new or had been around for a while.


Me: I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Are you new?

Aslam: No, sir. I’ve been working here for the past three years. My shift is from 7:30 at night until morning, so that’s probably why you haven’t seen me.

Me: Oh… so what’s your name?

Aslam: My name is Aslam. I guess you’re new here — I haven’t seen you before either. My shift used to be in the mornings about six months ago, but I still don’t recall seeing you then.

Me: Yes, we moved here about two months ago. Just stepped out for a bit of a walk today.

During this exchange, Puja showed no particular interest. She was looking around casually, clearly just waiting for the conversation to end so we could continue our walk.


Me: Alright then, uncle, we’ll get going.

Aslam: Sure, sir. If you ever have any trouble or need to know anything about this place, just let me know. I’ll be happy to help.

Me: Definitely.


We then headed out for our walk. That day, Aslam chacha came across as a decent man. His manner suggested he was helpful, and since he was the society’s watchman, there was a natural sense of trust. After the walk, we returned home, watched a movie on Netflix as usual, and went to sleep.


This routine continued for a few days. Every evening, we went for our walk, and I would exchange a few words with Aslam chacha. Gradually, I noticed something about him—he had a way with words. He was naturally funny and could hold a conversation effortlessly.

Slowly, I began to notice that Puja, too, was starting to find his conversations interesting. As many would agree, humor has a strange charm—people who can make others laugh are often easily liked. Puja seemed to feel the same. Still, she was very shy, so she never actively spoke. Whenever Aslam chacha cracked a joke, she would simply smile—quietly, almost unconsciously.

[AK0047]

Gradually, I began to notice a shift. Chacha’s jokes became more frequent, more deliberate. And whenever Puja smiled, his gaze lingered on her—as if the humor was meant solely for her attention. At first, it unsettled me. Then I reasoned with myself. He was a man, after all. No matter how decent someone appears, a man often tries to appear a little more impressive in front of a woman. Initially, I found nothing overtly wrong in it.

One evening, as we were preparing to go for our walk, we were running late. I asked Puja to hurry. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t wearing her usual gym outfit. Instead, she had on a beautiful nightdress. She looked breathtaking.





I told her it was already night—who would even notice? We were just stepping out briefly and coming straight back. But she refused.

Puja: How can I go outside wearing this? It’s meant for the house. People outside will see.

Me: Oh come on, who’s even going to see? There’s hardly anyone around here. We’ll just take a quick walk and come right bac..

The apartment was located in an isolated area. The nearest residential houses were nearly five hundred meters away. The surroundings were usually deserted at night.

Puja: But Aslam chacha will be at the gate. How can I go like this?


I don’t know why, but hearing Aslam’s name from Puja’s lips—combined with the thought of her stepping out like that in front of him—sent a strange shiver through me. For the first time, my body reacted in a way that surprised even me.

Main: So what if he is? He’s an old man — probably around your father’s age.

Puja: (slightly hesitant, the discomfort visible on her face) Alright… but today we’re not talking to Aslam chacha. We’ll just go for the walk and come straight back.



Whether it was hormones or something darker, I don’t know—but something primitive stirred within me that day. The more Puja resisted, the more a dangerous curiosity grew inside me. Questions kept swirling in my mind. What would happen? How would he react? Would Puja feel embarrassed—or something else entirely?

That moment, I believe, was the first step toward my own undoing. I thought I would remain in control. But could I really? And what lay ahead—would my wife restrain herself, or would she take another step toward desire?

When we reached the gate, Aslam chacha was standing there. He was wearing extremely shabby clothes, as if they hadn’t been washed in weeks. Puja stayed slightly behind me. Her discomfort was obvious. I stopped deliberately.

Main: Namaste, Aslam chacha.

Aslam: Salaam saab… salaam memsaab.

His eyes widened. Though he spoke to me, his gaze never left Puja.

A woman can sense such attention instantly. Puja understood exactly what his stare meant. She lowered her head completely, unable to meet his eyes.

Me: Chacha, you always talk to me. You’ve never really spoken to Memsaab.

Aslam: Maybe Memsaab doesn’t like me. She always keeps her distance. How could I start a conversation then?

Puja: It’s nothing like that, chacha.


I was startled. It was the first time Puja had spoken to him directly. A faint blush spread across her face as she spoke, her eyes still lowered.

Aslam: By the way, Memsaab, you’re looking very beautiful today. This dress really suits you

The moment he said that, my body reacted violently. I became painfully hard, as if about to burst. Puja turned completely red; her cheeks flushed deep crimson. Every hair on my body stood on end. I silently observed the two of them. Aslam’s gaze remained fixed on her without shame, even in my presence. Puja kept adjusting her hair repeatedly, visibly confused, unsure how to react. She stayed silent, unable to respond.


Me: Chacha, where do you live? Do you have a family?

Aslam: No, saab, I live alone. There’s a room on the top floor of Block E. Three of us watchmen stay there. Not everyone is as fortunate as you.


Block E was connected to ours. And just like us, the watchmen’s rooms were on the top floor. Anything that happened up there could only be seen by people living on that floor.

Me: Chacha, do you have a mobile? Give me your number. I’ll call if I ever need to.

Aslam: Yes, saab, note it down… 99*****67.

I had intentionally not brought my phone that day. I asked Puja to save it instead. She looked at me in surprise, then silently saved the number. I did this deliberately, just to create an excuse for them to talk.

Puja: Chacha, please repeat the number once again.

Aslam: Yes, Memsaab… 99*****67. And give me a missed call so I can save it too.

Puja: No, chacha, Dev will call.

Aslam: I know, Memsaab… you don’t really like me.

Puja: It’s nothing like that… here, I’ve done it.


She didn’t look at me even once for approval. She simply gave the missed call.

At that moment, I was completely out of control. My body betrayed me so intensely that it was impossible to hide.

Thankfully, the area was dimly lit. I felt an unsettling cuckold-like sensation—as if my wife was slipping away from me. Yet instead of panic, excitement flooded me. Desire overpowered insecurity. Slowly, disturbingly, I began to enjoy it.

We took a short walk and returned home. That night, we had wild sex. I don’t know why, but Puja was unusually intense. She moved like a thirsty tigress. It felt as though she wasn’t Puja at all—she surrendered herself with reckless abandon. During sex, she rubbed her body hard against mine, sucked on my lips aggressively. It felt less like I was having sex with her, and more like she was using me.







She bounced on top of me, taking me fully inside herself again and again—something that had never happened before. Usually, she was too tight; I had to go slowly. That night, there was no hesitation.


All I could think was—was this Aslam Chacha’s effect? Was she imagining him instead of me? Countless questions raced through my mind. But I couldn’t ask her directly. Whatever I wanted to uncover, I would have to do it indirectly.
And in trying to uncover the truth… would I end up pushing Puja one step further? Would this step draw her deeper into desire—or would it finally force her to stop?

[AK0047]

After a night of intense sex, I woke up late the next morning. Puja was still asleep, so I left for the office without breakfast.
 

When I was returning home after finishing work, I saw Puja standing near the gate with some shopping bags. And standing right beside her was Aslam Chacha. The two of them were talking, and every now and then Puja was smiling at something he said.



Something about it felt strange. In the evenings, when we went jogging, they barely exchanged a word. And now here they were, laughing and chatting so comfortably. 

My body reacted instantly; desire surged through me again. Curiosity gnawed at me—I wanted to know what they were talking about. I couldn’t control myself and walked straight up to them.

Me: “Oh, so the two of you together today? I hope my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. In the evening, both of you seemed hesitant even to talk to each other.”

Puja: “No, it’s nothing like that. I had gone to the market, and Chacha was just asking where I had been.”

Aslam: “Yes, that’s all I was asking.”

Inside my head, I kept wondering—then what was that smile about?

Me: “Alright then. You two carry on talking.”

Puja: “He asked, I answered. What else is there to talk about? I’ll get going too.”

Then we all walked back together. I didn’t believe Puja’s explanation at all. If that was all, then why had she been smiling like that? So I came up with a plan—to find out what really went on between them.

I had bought a tiny voice recorder, small enough to hide anywhere. It could clearly record nearby conversations without being noticed. The next day, before leaving for the office, I slipped it inside Puja’s vanity. I knew she had a parlour appointment that day, which meant she’d be going out—and there was a chance she might run into Aslam.


At the office, I couldn’t focus at all. My body was there, but my mind was consumed by one thought—what would the recorder capture? Did they talk? What did they talk about? What kind of conversation made Puja smile like that? The more I thought about it, the more restless and aroused I became.


The moment work ended, I rushed home. Puja was cooking. Usually, by the time I arrived, dinner was already prepared—but that day she was late. She had just returned from the parlour. She looked stunning—almost unreal—beautiful and irresistibly hot.

Me: “Wooow, jaan… you look absolutely beautiful. Makes me want to pull you into my arms right now and cover your whole body with kisses.”

Puja: “Just leave it. Otherwise you’ll have to stay hungry tonight.”

Me: “But why so late today? Dinner is usually ready by now.”

Puja: “Yes, I got a bit late coming back from the parlour.”

All I could think about was whether she had spoken to Aslam that day or not. My eyes kept darting around, searching for the vanity. I was desperate to retrieve the recorder and listen to it—but I couldn’t do it yet. Night was the only safe time.

We had dinner. Then Puja herself said we wouldn’t go jogging that night. Instead, we went for a walk. That day, Aslam Chacha wasn’t at the gate. As we crossed it, I noticed Puja looking around repeatedly.

Me: “What happened? Are you looking for someone?”

Puja: “Why would I be looking for anyone? It’s just that there’s no watchman at the gate today.”

In my mind, I thought—no watchman, or Aslam Chacha?

Me: “Yeah, even your Aslam Chacha isn’t around today.”

Puja: “What do you mean my Chacha? I was just saying there’s no one there. What if there’s been some kind of theft in the society?”

I couldn’t tell whether she was worried about a thief—or about Aslam not being there.

I had no patience left. All I wanted was to hear that recording. We didn’t have sex that night. I told her I was tired and suggested we sleep. Puja fell asleep quickly.

I quietly got up, took the recorder out of the vanity, and sat in the drawing room. I fast-forwarded through the recording—parlour talk, random chatter—none of it interested me. I kept skipping ahead.

Then suddenly… I heard a male voice.
I recognized it instantly. It was Aslam Chacha.

Aslam: “Salam, Memsaab. You went out again today… Mash….”




This is how Puja was looking that day 


Puja: “What happened, Chacha?!”

Aslam: “God must have taken his time while creating you, Memsaab.”

Puja: “Oh, it’s not like that… you too.”

Aslam: “I’m telling the truth, Memsaab. You look like an angel from heaven.”

Puja:.“Ha ha… you were saying the same thing this morning too.”
(So this was the reason Puja had been smiling today.)
“But I’m no angel or anything. My husband never says things like that to me.”

Aslam: “A husband who doesn’t praise such beautiful maal like you is a fool.”
(He deliberately stressed the word maal.)
“If I were in his place, I wouldn’t just praise you with words—I’d show my appreciation in other ways.”

Puja: “What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

Aslam: “Nothing, Memsaab.”

Puja: “Oh Chacha, why are you talking in circles? I’m not understanding anything.”

Aslam: “Memsaab, if I were in your husband’s place, I wouldn’t even step out of the house. I wouldn’t feel like it. Forget leaving the house—I wouldn’t even get down from the bed.”


At that moment, Puja understood exactly where the conversation was heading.

Puja: “Alright Chacha, it’s getting late. I should go. I have to cook dinner.”

Aslam: “Oh Memsaab, you got offended. You yourself said not to speak in riddles, so I just said what felt right, straight to the point.”

After that, there were no further conversations. Which meant Puja had left immediately.

Hearing this, it felt as though molten lava was about to burst out of me. I went straight to the bathroom and masturbated. The release was so intense it surpassed anything real sex had ever given me. I understood then—on both sides, a spark had already been ignited. Now it was only a matter of time before it turned into a fire. How fiercely each of them would burn—that would reveal itself in due course.


This confirmed one thing clearly: Puja was not uninterested in such conversations. Had she been, she would have snapped at Aslam instantly. But she didn’t. She neither reacted angrily nor protested. She was a married woman, so she didn’t move forward—but she also didn’t shut it down. 

There’s a saying: silence often means consent. 

Somewhere, in some corner of her mind, she was enjoying it. She was restraining herself only because of her marital boundary.

But I had no intention of stopping.

All I needed was to fan the flames just a little. I knew this could mean losing my wife—but at that moment, I was enjoying every second of it. Imagining another man’s desire directed at my wife made me lose all control over myself.

I decided I would light the spark—but before that, I would make arrangements to witness everything: the beginning of the fire, its rise, its rage, and the moment it reduced everything to ashes. I decided to install CCTV cameras throughout the house so I could see everything. 

But how would that be possible while Puja was at home?

So I planned to send her away for a few days.

The next morning, before leaving for office—

Me: “Jaan, next weekend I have to go out of town for two days because of office work. How will you stay here alone? Why don’t you go home for a couple of days?”

Puja: “But how will I go alone? I don’t have anyone close by there. You go—it’s only a matter of two days. I’ll manage here.”

(I was cornered. No matter what, I had to get Puja out of the house.)

Me: “Jaan, you were telling me you have a friend in Kolkata, right? Go visit her. You’ll get to meet your friend, and you won’t have to stay alone either.”

Puja: "Alright… I’ll see.”

Me: “Okay jaan, I’m heading out. You talk to your friend. On Friday, I’ll drop you there.”

I kissed Puja and left for the office. 

[AK0047]

On my way back from the office that evening, I stopped by the market and finalized things with the CCTV shop. We agreed that the installation would be done on Saturday. When I reached home, Puja was sitting in the drawing room.


Me: “So… did you talk to your friend?”

Puja: “Yes. We spoke after quite a long time. She was saying we should meet, so I told her I’d come over to her place. I’ll go on Friday then.”


Me: (Barely able to hide my excitement)
“Ohhh, niceee. Then I’ll drop you there on Friday.”


It felt as if destiny itself was conspiring to bring the two of them together. Every step connected to this—everything I was planning—was falling into place effortlessly. The CCTV would be installed on Saturday. Puja would leave on Friday. It was almost poetic, as if two lovers—Aslam’s desire and my wife’s body—were destined to move closer, and I was merely the instrument reducing the distance between them.


After dinner, we went out for a walk. Aslam Chacha was standing at the gate.

Me:
“Namaste, Aslam Chacha. You weren’t around yesterday evening.”

Aslam:
“Yes, saab, I had stepped out for some work.”

Neither of them looked at each other. Puja was keeping her distance as well. I knew exactly why—the aftertaste of yesterday’s conversation still lingered. Breaking the silence, I said—

Me:
“Aslam Chacha, Memsaab feels completely alone here when I leave for office. She doesn’t have any friends here either. Don’t they organize any get-togethers in this society?”

Aslam:
“They used to, saab, but after Corona it stopped. But if Memsaab stays this shy, how will she make any friends?”
(He said this while looking straight at Puja.)
“Memsaab will have to open up a little.”

My body reacted instantly. Right in front of me, he was throwing double-meaning lines at my wife. If he could say this much in front of me, what would he do when I wasn’t around? But I wasn’t going to back down.

Me:
“Then Chacha, you should help her open up. There’s no one else here anyway. At least she can talk to you.”

Aslam:
“That depends on Memsaab letting herself open up. When did I ever refuse?”

I looked at Puja. Her face had turned completely red with embarrassment. After yesterday’s exchange, she knew exactly what Aslam Chacha meant. I knew it too—but I deliberately pretended otherwise.

Me:
“Yes, Puja, listen to Aslam Chacha. Who else is here for you to befriend anyway? This way, you won’t feel so lonely either.”

Puja didn’t say a word. She stood there with her face lowered. Aslam, on the other hand, watched her with a shameless grin. Then we walked back home.


That night, we had intense sex. Just that conversation alone had heated me up completely. Maybe she was just as aroused. Along with me, she was moving aggressively too, matching my rhythm.

That night, we were so wild that we fell asleep naked.

On Friday, I dropped Puja off at her friend’s place. It wasn’t like I had anything else to do. 

For Saturday, I called the CCTV installer. I had already instructed him not to discuss anything at the entrance—no explanations, no small talk. I didn’t want Puja or Aslam—or anyone else—to have even the slightest hint that cameras were being installed.


He came and installed the cameras: one outside the house entrance, one inside the entrance, one in the bedroom, one in the drawing room, one in the kitchen, and one in the bathroom. 

Each camera had an attached microphone—I didn’t want to miss a single conversation. Everything was connected to my desktop. I password-protected it so Puja wouldn’t be able to access it.


The only limitation was that I couldn’t watch anything live. I could only review the footage at night after coming home. But at least I would be able to see everything.


Just thinking about it sent electricity coursing through me. As each camera was installed, my mind filled in the blanks—imagining what would happen there, in that space, in that position. Imagining Puja and Aslam… imagining her body reacting to his presence…

Puja Sucking Aslam's Big Dick 




Aslam Fucking her inside the bathroom 


 
Inside Kitchen:

Puja enjoying Aslam's Cock while cooking food for me 





All these thoughts were swirling through my mind, and I was getting intensely excited. In that moment, all I could hear in my head was Puja’s moaning—the imagined rhythm, the thap-thap-thap sound of Aslam’s body colliding with Puja’s.



Almost unconsciously, my hand moved to my body, and I began stroking myself hard. Within seconds, I released an overwhelming amount.


You may have noticed that once a man finishes, his desire momentarily subsides. The same happened with me. As the heat faded, doubt crept in. What if I was doing something terribly wrong? What if letting my wife be with another man ended up becoming a permanent habit for her? What if she grew accustomed to him? What if she stopped wanting me altogether? These two opposing fears kept circling my mind.

But more than anything, I needed to understand what was going on inside Puja’s head. Did she truly want to give herself to Aslam? Did she want to tear herself open for another man—or did she still want to remain loyal as a married woman? I knew she was enjoying the teasing, the attention. But would she actually go that far? Could she betray her husband? Could she truly give herself to another man? There were still many veils left to be lifted.


Everything was ready. Every part of my plan had been executed. Only one step remained. And that step could only be taken if Puja herself chose to move forward. She could do that only once her shyness dissolved completely. To remove that shyness, I would have to open her up—open her so much that moving forward would no longer feel wrong or uncomfortable to her.


The next day, I brought Puja back from her friend’s place. It was Sunday, so there was no office. I spent the entire day thinking about what I could do to make Puja more open. I searched extensively online for ways to help a wife open up sexually. Many suggestions pointed toward roleplay as the best method—gradually easing a woman into imagining intimacy with another man.


The idea appealed to me. I thought, why not try it? But I was also afraid. What if I told Puja to imagine sex with someone else during intimacy, and she flatly refused? What if she realized that her husband was thinking about her being with another man? Everything could collapse instantly.


So I had to move carefully—slowly—so that nothing felt strange or forced to her. She had to agree naturally. But how?


All day, I kept wondering how to even begin the conversation. What if I was wrong? What if I had misunderstood everything? What if she didn’t enjoy any of this at all? If that were true, her respect for me would shatter. So I knew one thing for certain: I had to proceed gently. No pushing. No pressure. Just slow, careful steps forward.

[AK0047]

We had dinner late that night since it was Sunday. After eating, we were sitting together casually.

Me:
“Jaan, are you happy with this life?”

Puja:
“What do you mean?”

Me:
“I mean, I brought you so far away from your family. I go to the office, meet colleagues. But you stay alone in the house the whole day. You don’t even have any friends here. You are happy, right?”

Puja:
“My happiness is in you. Spending time with you is the best time for me. So why wouldn’t I be happy? You’re worrying for no reason.”

Me:
“And… our sex life?”

Puja:
“Our sex life?”

Me:
“Is our sex life interesting?”

Puja:
“I enjoy it a lot. When I’ve got such a loving husband, what more could I ask for?”

Inside my head, I kept thinking—she respected me so much. Should I even bring this up? What if she got angry hearing all this? Still, at that moment, desire overpowered everything. No matter what happened, I had to move the conversation forward.

Me:
“But the same kind of sex every day… don’t you ever get bored?”

Puja:
“Bored?! What do you mean bored? Do you get bored?”

Me:
“That’s not what I meant. I enjoy it a lot too. But we could try something interesting—something different, something new that could make it even more fun.”

Puja:
“Like what?”

Me:
“Anything that’s a little different from normal sex.”

Puja:
“So what, should we do abnormal sex?” hehe

Me:
“No. These days people try different kinds of things to make their sex life more interesting.”

Puja:
“Like what?”

Me:
“Roleplay. A lot of couples like that these days.”

Puja:
“Roleplay? What’s that?”

I couldn’t believe she didn’t even know this. My wife was so innocent—or maybe she was just pretending. Only God knew.

Me:
“In that, couples play different roles—different characters like a doctor, driver, watchman, etc.”

Puja:
“Okay… so what would I become?”

Me:
“No, that’s not how it works. Only one person plays the character, and the other stays as themselves.”

Puja:
“What do you mean?”

Me:
“I mean if I play a character—like I become a doctor or a watchman—and you remain Puja.”

Puja:
“N-no! I can’t do that. How can I have sex with someone else like that? That’s wrong. If we do it, both of us should change characters.”

Me:
“You’re not actually having sex with someone else. It would still be me. I’d just be playing a character.”

Puja:
“No… I can’t do it. No matter what, I’d still have to imagine someone else. I’m not doing it.”

I panicked. If this failed, my entire plan would collapse.

Me:
“Yes, but it would just be like a story. Like in movies—the heroine might be married in real life, but in the movie she romances someone else. What’s wrong in that? She isn’t actually cheating on her husband in real life.”

Puja:
(She stayed silent for a moment, probably thinking)
“Alright… fine. If you’re saying it, we can try. So which character will you play?”

My happiness knew no bounds. The moment she agreed, my body reacted instantly. This was it. She was ready. I just had to keep moving forward slowly. One day, this roleplay would turn into real play.

Me:
“Jaan, you tell me. Which character do you like? We’ll do that one.”

(Inside, I desperately wanted her to say ‘watchman’.)

Puja:
“How would I know? You’re the one becoming the character. Be whatever you want.”

Me:
“Alright, I’ll give options—doctor, driver, or watchman.”

Puja:
“I’m not choosing. Be whatever you want.”

(I decided not to force it. I wanted the watchman role badly. If she picked something else, my entire planning would fail.)
Me:
“Okay… should we do the watchman one?”

Puja:
“Yes, alright. But I don’t know what to do or how this works. I’ll just do whatever you tell me.”

Me:
“Okay jaan. But what will the watchman’s name be?”

Puja:
“What do you mean what name? A watchman is just a watchman. Why does he need a name?”

Me:
“Still, if he has a name it’ll be easier during the conversation.”

Puja:
“Then keep it Dev. It’ll be easier for you.”

Me:
“No… then it won’t feel like a watchman.”

Puja:
“Then what?”

Me:
“Let’s give him a proper watchman-type name.”

Puja:
“What kind of name is a watchman name?”

Me:
“We could pick one from the 2–3 watchmen we have here.”

Puja:
“How would we know their names!”

Me:
“We know one.”

She suddenly fell silent. A deep blush spread across her face from sheer embarrassment. Lowering her gaze, without looking up—

Puja:
“No…”

Me:
“What happened?”

Puja:
“I… I can’t do that. There are so many names in the world—why that one?”

Me:
“So what’s the problem? It’s not like we’re actually doing it.”

Puja:
“I can’t.”

(There was a clear edge of irritation in her voice.)

Me:
“But baby, what’s the problem? It’s just a name.”

Puja:
“I can’t do it. We see him every day, we talk to him. It will become very awkward. I won’t be able to face him when the thought comes to my mind that with this character I…”

(Then she became quite.)

Puja’s facial expression changed completely. She looked deeply embarrassed. But I didn’t want to ruin everything by forcing the situation. There was no urgency to push it all in one day—trying to do everything at once would only end in disaster. So I decided to move forward slowly and carefully.


Still, I knew one thing for sure: I didn’t want to do the watchman roleplay without Aslam Chacha being the reference. If I did a generic watchman roleplay now, then later—when Puja became more open—and I suggested the Aslam version, she would grow suspicious. She would wonder why I kept insisting on the watchman role again and again.

Me:
“Alright, fine jaan. We won’t do it. Happy now?”

Puja:
“Hubby… I don’t have a problem with roleplay, not even with the watchman one. I just don’t want to use that name.”

Me:
“Okay, my love. We won’t do it. Not even the watchman one. Let’s do the doctor one today.”

Slowly, a smile returned to Puja’s face. She began to relax and return to normal. Only then did I feel my own breath come back. Thank God—I had managed to handle it without breaking everything.

We started the doctor roleplay. But when, during foreplay, I slipped my hand under Puja’s dress and touched her underwear, I was shocked.

She was already wet.

She had become aroused even before the roleplay had truly begun.


What had triggered this so strongly? Was it the earlier discussion about the watchman roleplay? Had the mention of Aslam excited her? Was her body reacting differently from what her words expressed? Was she, deep down, excited about the Aslam version but held back by her self-respect and moral boundary?


So many questions flooded my mind.
And at that moment, I made up my mind—no matter what, I had to open Puja up completely.


That night, we had intense sex. She enjoyed the roleplay deeply. She climaxed far more times than usual. Inside my head, I kept thinking—if the doctor roleplay alone could affect her this much, then how powerful would the Aslam roleplay be? And if she ever actually slept with Aslam in reality… how far would she go then?

[AK0047]

After such an intense night, it was natural for Puja to wake up late. I woke up first and freshened up. 

When Puja finally got up, there was an extraordinary glow on her face, and her shy smile made it even more radiant. 

After last night’s intimacy, she had slept nude. My eyes drifted to her delicate body—she was still wet. Because of the moisture, her softness looked almost shiny.

Puja was still wet. That meant she must have had a wet dream during the night. Who had come into her dreams and taken her so deeply that she was still leaking? 

My body reacted instantly. I lay down beside her and pulled her into my arms, kissing her passionately. She was warm, and she responded eagerly, sucking my lips with intensity.

I moved my hand down and touched her wet pussy, then brought my fingers up and inhaled the scent left on them. The fragrance was intoxicating. 

Just thinking about whose name that moisture carried sent a rush through me. She became visibly shy again, her face turning red with embarrassment. 

I got up and started getting ready. Without even bathing, Puja prepared breakfast for me. I finished eating.

As I was about to leave, Puja handed me a list.

Puja:

“Hubby, we’ve run out of groceries. Bring these things while coming back.”

Me:

“Why later? I’ll go get them right now. We might need them during the day.”

Puja:

“No, not now. I’m about to go take a bath.”

Me:

“You go ahead and bathe. I’ll bring the stuff and drop it off.”

Puja:

“But if I’m bathing, how will I open the door? I’ll have to get dressed first.”

Me:

“Why get dressed? Just come in a towel. You can come in front of me in a towel, right?”

Puja:

“I can… but what if someone else shows up?”

A mischievous thought crossed my mind. I had been looking for a way to make Puja open up, and unknowingly, she had given me the perfect opportunity. There couldn’t have been a better moment to bring Aslam in front of her.

Me:

“Who’s going to come here? I’ll just go and be back in no time.”

Puja:

“If you go now, then I’ll wait. I’ll bathe after you bring the groceries.”

Me:

“No, you go ahead. You’re already late for your bath. I might get delayed too. By then, you’ll probably be done.”

Puja:

“Okay, hubby.”

I left, smiling to myself. But then it struck me—this wasn’t Aslam’s duty timing. So what now? When I reached the gate, someone else was there.

Me:

“Is your duty in the morning?”

Watchman:

“Yes, saab.”

Me:

“Is Aslam chacha not around?”

Watchman:

“He is, saab. He’s upstairs. Did you need something?”

Me:

“Yes, it would be good if you could call him. By the way, what’s your name?”

Watchman:

“Saab, my name is Sakib. I’ll go call him right away.”

It would take at least ten minutes for him to go and bring Aslam. I quickly bought the groceries. By the time I returned to the gate, Aslam was already there.

Aslam:

“Salam, saab. You called me. What did you need?”

Me:

“Oh Aslam, I’m new here, so I don’t know much. Which is a good designer dress shop around here?”

Aslam:

“Yes, saab. There’s Qadir bhai’s shop in the market. You’ll get great dresses there. His shop is very famous for lehengas.”

Me:

“Thanks, Aslam. That really helps.”

Aslam:

“But saab, why the dress? Is it for Memsaab?”

Me:

“Yes, her birthday is coming up. Oh right, I almost forgot while talking—these groceries need to be delivered home. I’m getting late for the office too. Can you drop them off?”

Calling someone down from the top floor just to ask about a dress would normally annoy anyone. But instead of irritation, his expression changed into something else—happiness. There was a strange excitement on his face, as if he had just been handed something precious.

Aslam:

“Yes, saab, of course. Why should you take the trouble? I’ll deliver them.”

He took the groceries from my hands himself, as if making sure I wouldn’t change my mind. Then he walked straight toward my flat. I headed to the office.

My body was fully aroused. The thought that Aslam would see Puja wrapped only in a towel made me hard to the extreme. At the office, I walked to my cabin holding my bag in front of me so no one would notice. The tension wouldn’t subside.

All day, my mind kept replaying one thought—what must Aslam’s reaction have been when he saw Puja in a towel? Puja had already gotten wet just from the previous roleplay discussion; today, it must have been a flood. And Aslam—his body must have reacted instantly too. How much pleasure must he have taken later, thinking of Puja?

The curiosity became unbearable. I couldn’t focus on work. Around 1:30, I called Puja. The phone rang, but she didn’t pick up. My heartbeat accelerated.

Had Aslam already taken control of her?

Were they on the bed right now—Aslam thrusting into her relentlessly?

" />

[AK0047]

These thoughts made me so painfully aroused that it actually started to hurt. I rushed to the bathroom and relieved myself, imagining Aslam inside Puja, his body merging with hers. When I returned to my cabin, a strange unease crept into my mind. 

What if, at that very moment, my wife was actually being taken by another man? What if she was wrapping her lips around his dark length—the same lips I kissed every day? What if that body, marked with my name’s sindoor, was now responding to someone else, giving itself over completely?

Driven by this anxiety, I called her again. Still no response. Restless and distracted, I kept pacing around the office. My mind was nowhere near my work. Finally, around three o’clock, Puja called back. I answered immediately.

Me:
“Where were you? Why weren’t you picking up my calls?”

Puja:
“Oh come on, what happened! You know my nap time is from 1 to 3. I was sleeping.”

I had become so consumed by the imagined encounter between them that I hadn’t even considered she might simply be asleep.

Me:
“Oh… when you didn’t pick up, I started getting worried.”

Puja:
“Alright, tell me this—why did you call?”

Me:
“Why, can’t I call my own wife?”

Puja:
“You can, but at such an odd time?”

Me:
“Yeah… I had sent the groceries. Everything you asked for is there, right?”

Puja (slightly annoyed):
“Yes, but when you were going to come yourself, why did you send it through someone else?”

My body reacted instantly.

Me:
“Why, what happened? You hadn’t finished bathing yet?”

I held my breath, waiting desperately for her reply. After a brief pause, she answered—

Puja:
“Thank God I had already finished bathing and changed. If I had listened to you, who knows what would have happened.”

All the tension drained out of me at once. Everything I had planned—every fantasy—collapsed. My mood sank. I had done so much to bring them closer, and yet nothing had happened. We spoke briefly after that, and I hung up. The rest of the day passed in a dull haze.


When I finally returned home, Puja was sitting in the drawing room. She was wearing a saree, with light makeup. She looked beautiful—soft, elegant, and undeniably sexy.



I leaned in and kissed her. But unlike usual, she didn’t smile. It felt as if something was weighing on her mind.
I didn’t dwell on it much. We had dinner together. After dinner, as usual, I got ready for our evening walk—but Puja didn’t.


Me:
“Aren’t you getting ready? We have to go for a walk… or are you planning to go just like this in your night suit today?”

Puja:
“Hubby, you go today. I’m not feeling very well. I won’t come.”

Me:
“Jaan, what happened? Let’s go to the doctor.”

Puja:
“No, it’s nothing serious. I’ll feel better after some rest.”

Not wanting to force her, I agreed and left alone.
When I reached the gate, Aslam chacha was there.

Me:
“Good evening, chacha.”

Aslam:
“Salam, saab.”

He seemed nervous—almost as if he was trying to avoid me.

Me:
“Chacha, can you give me Qadir bhai’s number? I wanted to speak before going to the shop.”

Aslam:
“Yes, saab. Here you go.”

Today, he wasn’t smiling or chatting the way he usually did.

Me:
“And chacha, if you hadn’t been there today, I would’ve been fined at the office for being late. Good thing you were around—you delivered the groceries.”

He looked momentarily confused, as if something didn’t add up.

Aslam:
“Saab… Memsaab didn’t come.”

Me:
“Yes, she’s not feeling well. She’s resting. I’m alone today.”

Slowly, I noticed his expression change. He began to relax—as if some fear had just been lifted.

Aslam:
“Saab, tell Memsaab to take care of herself. She’s very delicate.”
(He added a faint, almost sly smile.)

Something felt off. He had been tense there, tense here—and then suddenly relaxed. What was going on? Had something happened after all? But Puja had said she was already done bathing. Was she lying? No… why would my wife lie to me?
Yet everything pointed toward something being wrong.


Had she started hiding things from me?


The thought alone was enough to make my body react again. I finished my walk and headed back home, my mind tangled in doubt and desire.

[AK0047]

He is taking very very careful, but effective steps to bring WILD-FIRE inside his wife's pussy. That camera fitment idea was great. The brain he spent to open her up with the wonderful role-play idea was enormous

Dialogues are super hot as well and as expected she was leaking like anything even before role-play open in full swing. It would have been better if we knew whatever he talked during the first role-play. I am sure the next role-play will be with Watchman character (may or may NOT be with name of Chacha - most probably without that name) and it will do lots and lots of wonders to her lovely pussy for sure. Bro, please give the FULL dialogues during the next Watchman role-play, pretty please

Story is going super great. Please continue bro

Thank You 

[AK0047]

Very good story ....can you tell me how to add gifs ?

Thanks for the appreciation 

You can find here about how to add GIFs
https://xossipy.com/thread-791.html

[AK0047]

Hey Guys 

I've posted two consecutive updates 
Now I'm going to have a break for few days 

Will be back on Monday/Tuesday 

[AK0047]

Can you please teach me how to generate these type of AI images

[AK0047]

Actually I'm in my hometown for the weekend so please wait till Monday

[AK0047]

When I got home, I saw Puja absorbed in watching television. I could barely contain myself anymore. All I wanted, needed—was to check the CCTV footage and see what had truly happened. With Puja distracted by the TV, there couldn’t have been a better moment. I hurried to the desktop and first opened the bathroom recording.


Puja was standing under the shower—completely naked.
I see my wife’s nude body every day, and yet, watching her drenched beneath the falling water made my body react instantly. My arousal stirred on its own. She was carefully washing every part of herself, her wet skin gleaming under the light.

 


After a while, the doorbell rang.


My heartbeat spiked. Immediately, she wrapped a towel tightly around her body.



I was so hard it felt as if my trousers might tear apart. Then she walked toward the door. The wife who had told me she’d changed into clothes had, in reality, gone out wrapped in nothing but a towel—straight to Aslam chacha.


Whatever was about to happen would happen. Even now, pre-cum had begun to leak. As soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, I switched to the front-door camera.


Puja approached the gate wearing only a towel that barely reached her knees. It covered her chest just enough to hide her nipples—but the upper curve of her breasts was completely exposed.





The moment she opened the door, she froze.

Aslam chacha stood there, holding the groceries.


His jaw dropped.


His eyes locked onto Puja’s exposed breasts. Puja instantly flushed, overwhelmed by embarrassment. One hand that had been gripping the towel flew up to her hair, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. Aslam was equally speechless. He simply extended the grocery bag toward her.

Confused and flustered, Puja stretched out her other hand to take the bag. The moment both her hands left the towel, it loosened. Slowly, it began slipping downward, brushing against her nipples as it fell.




I focused on Aslam’s reaction through the outdoor camera.

He was in shock—mouth open, saliva almost escaping. And then, unmistakably, a bulge formed in his trousers.




As he handed over the bag, his fingers brushed against Puja’s hand.




That brief contact was enough. The towel slid completely off her body and collapsed onto the floor.

By the time Puja realized what had happened, Aslam had already devoured her entire naked form with his eyes—every detail etched into his mind.

She slammed the door shut violently and leaned back against it, breathing heavily. Outside, the sudden closure jolted Aslam back to his senses. Unable to believe what he had just seen, he pushed against the door to check whether it was locked. Then, stunned and shaken, he walked away.



Inside, Puja ran straight to the bathroom. She turned on the tap and held herself directly beneath the flow, closing her eyes. Her body—especially between her legs—was burning hot. She kept herself under the cold water for two to three minutes until the heat finally subsided.




Watching all this, I couldn’t take it anymore.

I shut the system down and rushed to the bathroom, masturbating furiously. I climaxed so intensely that it shattered every previous record.

When I came back out, Puja was still watching TV. I sat down beside her, staring at her, thinking—today, my wife’s body became so inflamed for an older, dark-skinned man that she had to cool herself under running water for minutes. That was why she hadn’t gone for the walk. That was why she had made excuses about feeling unwell.

Me:
“So, how are you feeling now?”

Puja:
“Yeah… I took the medicine. I’m better.”

Me:
“And how was your day?”

Puja:
“It was… o-okay.”

Her voice had softened unnaturally. The smile had vanished from her face.

Me:
“And when will this phase pass? You don’t feel like coming to bed even now?”

Puja:
“No… let’s leave it today. Let’s sleep early.”

Earlier, when we spoke on the phone, she’d sounded irritated—but not this tense. Now she seemed deeply unsettled. Aslam too had appeared nervous earlier. But why? He hadn’t done anything wrong—he’d only delivered groceries. So why was he tense as well?

Had something else happened after that moment?

I had turned off the computer after watching the doorway scene—but the day hadn’t ended there. I needed to know what happened next.

Puja went to bed after a while. I told her I’d sit outside for some time and come in later. The moment she went inside, I switched the computer back on.

This time, I watched the later footage.

Puja emerged from the bathroom after thoroughly cleaning herself and changed into a saree. She cooked, ate, and rested. After waking up, she checked her phone. She made a call—it was with me. After that, she read something on her phone and replied.

Two or three minutes later, another message arrived.
She picked up the phone again.

For nearly fifteen to twenty minutes, she chatted with someone continuously. Then, about ten minutes later, her hand instinctively moved—over her clothes—toward her intimate area. She continued chatting while slowly rubbing herself through the fabric.




After five minutes, she placed the phone on the bed and rushed to the bathroom. She hurriedly removed her underwear and threw it aside.



 

Then she began rubbing herself intensely.
Soon after, she turned on the tap and positioned herself under the running water again.





At that very moment, I had barely touched myself when I climaxed uncontrollably. My trousers were completely soaked. I ran to the bathroom and stripped them off.


My eyes fell on the bathtub—where Puja had thrown her underwear. I picked it up. It was completely saturated with dried discharge—stiff and heavy.

That alone revealed how intensely aroused she had been.
Then a thought struck me—who was she talking to?
Was it Aslam chacha?

He had given her his number too.

What kind of conversation had taken place that left my deeply loving wife touching herself uncontrollably? What words had he said that made her body betray itself so completely?

There was only one way to find out.

I would have to unlock Puja’s phone and read those messages.

What had Aslam said that made my wife’s hand drift to herself on its own? That made her soak her underwear beyond capacity?

Lost in these thoughts, I don’t even remember when I fell asleep.

[AK0047]

Hey can someone help me generating a AI character for Aslam's Image

I tried but didn't get the results I wanted
You can share your images here or in my DM

Thanks

[AK0047]

These are some of the results I got from GPT 

Help me to pick 1/4 or help me with generating more accurate images

[AK0047]

When I woke up in the morning, I saw that Puja was still asleep. Her phone lay beside the bed. I picked it up immediately. I knew her phone’s password, so I entered it—but it didn’t unlock. That meant she had changed it.

I gently took her hand in mine and kissed her fingers, watching carefully to make sure she didn’t wake up. Then I unlocked the phone using her fingerprint. 

When I checked the messages, I saw they were from Aslam, saved under the name Aslam Ji. I didn’t read them right away—I took screenshots of everything. 

After that, I linked her phone’s Google account to my own mobile and enabled call recording, so that any conversation she had would be recorded and automatically uploaded to Google Drive, allowing me to listen later.

From there, I went to the computer and began reviewing the CCTV footage. I matched the timestamps of the messages with the camera recordings so I could determine exactly what Puja was doing at the moments those chats were happening. Once I aligned the two, I began reading their conversation.

Aslam: Salaam, madam. (around 1:45)

Puja: (around 3:15) Chacha, namaste. Why did you call earlier?

Aslam: (after 2–3 minutes) I was just asking whether all the supplies had been delivered. When I tried to tell you something, you locked the door.

Puja: That… I… Chacha… I—

Aslam: It’s alright, Puja madam. I know you were bathing.

Puja: Chacha, I genuinely had no idea it was you.

Aslam: Thank God you didn’t.

Puja: What do you mean?

Aslam: Otherwise, where would one ever get to witness something so beautiful?

Puja: Chacha, I’m telling you, I didn’t know. Otherwise I would have changed clothes before coming out. I thought it was Dev.

Aslam: So you dress up like that only for the one who sees you every day? What about a poor admirer who longs even for a fleeting glimpse of you—can’t he be blessed once?

This was the moment when Puja’s hand slowly began moving between her thighs.

Puja: Aslam Ji, what are you saying? I am nothing like what you’re imagining. You’ve misunderstood me completely.

Aslam: If such a “misunderstanding” allows me to behold a soft, supple body like yours—a beautiful, hot wife—then I am ready to live in that misunderstanding every single day, Puja ji.

Puja: (By now, she had begun gently stroking herself) Look, you’re talking nonsense. It was just an accident—my towel slipped. And I was— (she suddenly went silent)

Aslam: And you were naked, Puja ji. It was my good fortune to witness such a scorching body. Perfect breasts, rosy nipples, soft pink flesh adorned with dark curls—ufff. 

I became rock hard instantly.

There was a stark contrast between Puja’s words and her body. Her mouth protested, but her body responded eagerly. She never stopped touching herself.

Puja: What filth are you talking? I thought you were a decent man—that’s why I gave you my number. I’ll tell my husband about this disgusting behavior and have you fired.

At that point, Puja could no longer control herself. She threw the phone aside and rushed to the bathroom, where she continued pleasuring herself for a while.

Then, perhaps reclaiming her sense of virtue and restraint, she washed herself with cold water to calm her arousal.

Aslam was probably terrified now. He had assumed she had intentionally exposed herself to him and that he would quickly get what he wanted. But it wasn’t that simple. His job was at risk—and worse, he feared being sent away from here entirely.

Aslam: Madam, I made a mistake. Seeing you without clothes drove me insane. I didn’t know what I was saying. Please don’t tell anyone. I won’t message you again.

Puja read the message but didn’t reply.

That explained why Aslam spoke to me so nervously that day—he was afraid Puja might tell me everything.

Aslam: (12:07 a.m.) Thank you, madam, for not telling anyone.

Aslam: (12:09 a.m.) Good night. Sweet dreams.

It was obvious that Puja had been deeply aroused by Aslam’s words. She had even started fingering herself. The only thing holding her back was hesitation—she was married, she had a husband. Yet she never told me about this. Which meant she wasn’t truly angry—she was only pretending to be. She had boundaries, yes. And all I needed to do was erase that hesitation and break those boundaries.

I was absolutely certain that once that happened, she would eagerly submit herself to Aslam.

After shutting down the computer, I returned to the bedroom and saw that Puja was awake. When I stepped outside, she was in the kitchen, freshly bathed, preparing breakfast. She wore a green saree and looked incredibly beautiful. Her mood also seemed much better than the previous day.

Seeing her like that instantly aroused me—and at the same time, I felt proud. Despite everything, she hadn’t given herself to anyone else. She had restrained herself—for me.

I went up behind her while she was cooking, wrapped my arms around her, and began passionately sucking her shoulders and the back of her ears.

Puja: Ufff, hubby, what are you doing? I’m cooking.

Me: Mmmuahhh… Today I want you for breakfast, my love. What could possibly be more delicious than you?

Puja: Stop it—the food will burn.

Me: You didn’t give me anything last night, so I’m starving now.

Puja: Alright, fine. You’ll definitely get it tonight.

Me: No, I want it now. Who can wait till night?

Puja: Hubby, tonight you’ll get whatever you want, however you want it. Happy now?

That’s when my devilish mind woke up again. Whatever I want, however I want.

That meant today was the perfect opportunity to plan an Aslam-style roleplay. I couldn’t afford to miss such a golden chance.

Me: Fine—but you’ll have to do exactly what I say. Deal?

Puja: Yes, deal.

Me: Then do one thing—don’t bathe during the day today.

Puja: Why?!

Me: Just don’t. I’ll explain the rest later.

Puja: What does not bathing have to do with what we’ll do at night?

Me: You said you’d do whatever I asked. No questions. Just follow instructions.

Puja: Okay.

Inside, I was thrilled.

After breakfast, I left for the office and soon got busy with work.

[AK0047]

Office hours were almost over—barely thirty minutes remained—so I called Puja. She picked up.

Me: “What are you doing, my love?”

Puja: “Nothing much. I’m making lunch.”

Me: “Is it done?”

Puja: “Almost.”

Me: “Then you need to take a bath now.”

Puja: “Why now? Are we going somewhere?”

Me: “No. Today’s a special program.”

Puja: “Meaning?”

Me: “Meaning—we’re doing roleplay today.”

Puja: “So what, are you becoming a plumber that I need to bathe?”

Me: “No. The watchman.”

There was silence from her end.

Me: “What happened?”

Puja: “Nothing. And what will the watchman’s name be?”

At that moment, blood rushed hard through me; I could feel myself growing tense.

Me: “Aslam.”

Puja: “Hubby… I told you we wouldn’t do that.”

Me: “But you promised—you said you’d do whatever I asked.”

Puja: “But not this, hubby.”

Me: “You’re not doing anything for real. It’s just acting.”

Puja: “But then… why bathe now?”

I was surprised—she wasn’t angry today, and I hadn’t even had to push. I was fully rigid by then.

Me: “We’ll recreate that grocery day. That day you had bathed and dressed—but today, you won’t complete the bath. You’ll open the door wrapped only in a towel.”

I could hear her breathing quicken over the phone.

Puja: “Okay. But after this, no discussion about the roleplay.”

Me: “Deal.”

My excitement soared. Today I’d finally know how intensely she reacted while imagining Aslam—and how much more her body responded compared to usual.

Me: “Start bathing after fifteen minutes. I’ll reach in thirty.”

We ended the call. I was in terrible shape—barely holding myself together—and hurried out of the office.

Just as I stepped out, Puja called again. We had just hung up—why call now? I answered

Me: “Yes, jaan?”

Puja: “Hubby… I was thinking… bring condoms while coming.”

Me: “Why?”

Puja: “I can’t do it with Aslam chacha without protection.”

The thought was intensely erotic—my wife taking this roleplay so seriously, as if it were real, worrying that Aslam might finish inside her.

Me: “It’s just roleplay. You won’t get pregnant.”

Puja: “Still—I can’t do all this with Aslam Ji without a condom. It’ll feel unrealistic otherwise.”

She was clearly excited now. The hesitation in her voice was fading. For the first time, she said Aslam Ji to me directly—and that nearly undid me.

Me: “Alright, my love. I’ll bring them. And—don’t remove your pubic hair.”

Puja: “No.”

Me: “Why not? What if Aslam Ji prefers it removed?”

Puja: “No. I look better with hair there. Without it, it feels empty. And who knows—what if he likes it natural?”

That line instantly reminded me of his words: ‘that rosy slit with dark hair.’

Was that why she hadn’t shaved—because Aslam liked it that way?

I barely managed to restrain myself.

I couldn’t understand how she’d been so tense last night that we hadn’t even had sex—yet this morning, her mood had completely transformed. And Aslam’s “good night” message had come at 12:30. Had that changed everything?

I stopped at a shop to buy condoms.

Shopkeeper: “What do you need, sir?”

Me: “Condoms.”

Shopkeeper: “Which type?
Me: “Any.”

Shopkeeper: “There’s a liquid condom—you apply it inside; it seals the opening temporarily. Full pleasure, no pregnancy.”

The idea appealed to me instantly.

Me: “Alright, give me that.”

I bought it and went home. I rang the doorbell. After a minute, the door opened—and the moment I saw my wife, I was instantly hard.

Water was dripping down her body. She wore the same towel she’d worn that day. She looked devastatingly seductive.

Puja: “Aslam chacha… you?”

I slipped into character.

Me (as Aslam): “Memsaab… greetings. Wooow.”

She reenacted everything exactly as before—one hand playing with her hair, the other reaching forward. The towel slid lower, clinging to her wet body. Her nipples were already hard.

As I handed her the groceries, I deliberately brushed her hand. Her body jolted as if electrified.

She took the items, shut the gate, picked up the towel, and walked toward the bedroom—without locking the door.
I followed her. She stood near the bedroom entrance. As she pretended to lock the door, I grabbed it and stepped inside.

Puja: “Aslam Ji, why did you come in? My husband isn’t home.”

Me (as Aslam): “That’s exactly why I came in.”

Puja: “Please leave. I’m not dressed—just a towel.”

Me (as Aslam): “Now that I’m inside, that towel won’t stay long.”

I pulled the towel off her. She tried—vainly—to cover her breasts with one hand and herself with the other.

Puja: “Please, Aslam Ji… let me go. I can’t betray my husband.”

I stripped instantly, pushed her onto the bed, and kissed her fiercely. By then, I was no longer acting—I was Aslam in my mind, ravenous and unrestrained.

She was burning too. She rubbed herself against me, grinding her body against mine, pressing herself insistently against me.

I kissed and licked her everywhere. She kissed me back wildly, rubbing her nipples against my chest.

Puja: “Aslam jiiii… put it in… I can’t take it anymore.”

I hadn’t expected those words. She was scorching hot, soaking wet—the bed already drenched.

Me (as Aslam): “With condom or without, memsaab?”

Puja: (softly) “Condom."

I brought out the liquid condom.

Puja: “What’s that?”

Me (as Aslam): “Liquid protection—it seals you and keeps you safe.”

Puja: “Hurry… I can’t wait, Aslam Ji.”

The liquid wouldn’t stay—it kept washing away.

Puja: (irritated) “To hell with the condom—just do it. This is yours now. Please.”

I was dazed. My innocent wife was desperate to be taken—begging like this.

I pressed myself between her lips. With barely any push, her body drew me in on its own.

I took her hard.

She met every thrust, again and again. She climaxed so many times I lost count—far more than she ever had with me. She showed no regret, no restraint—only raw abandon.

When it was over, she collapsed, utterly spent, and fell asleep within minutes.

I went to the bathroom, my mind replaying everything—her urgency, her pleas, the way she offered herself.

Then my eyes fell on her panties—discarded, soaked.
That meant she’d already released herself earlier.

But when? And for whom?

I hadn’t told her about the Aslam roleplay until later. This felt like morning desire.

Had she spoken to Aslam again after waking up?

Had she aroused herself thinking of him?

Those questions lingered—unanswered.

[AK0047]

Working on a update will post it by tomorrow evening