Misc. Erotica Shazia

[shdas]

Author’s Note
Starting a new story — “Shazia”
Credit: Yeh story English story “The Making of a Slut from a Wife – Shazia” by HotLove339 se inspired hai.

Yeh na toh translated hai aur na hi copied. Yeh ek short, approximately 60-page story hogi, jo heroine Shazia ke ek encounter par based hai. Is story mein jo events aur storyline hain, woh original story mein nahi hue hain.
Original idea aur inspiration HotLove339 ki hai, aur main unhe iska proper credit deta hoon.

Agar HotLove339 ko is story ko lekar kisi bhi tarah ka objection hoga, kyunki original idea unka hai, toh yeh story immediately delete kar di jayegi.

[Pritysharma]

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[nsmb420]

Congratulations..

[shdas]

Pehli baar ghar ki old-fashioned ding-dong itni badi nahi lagi thi.


**Doorbell**

Iqbal corridor mein ruka, shirt ke last button ko doosri dafa check kiya, phir se mirror mein dekha — baal theek the, muskurahat theek nahi thi. Woh muskurahat office ki thi: tight, jaldi ready ho jaane wali, jis ke peeche darr chhupa rehta hai. Aaj woh darr ghar ke andar tak aa gaya tha.

Kitchen se Shazia ki aawaz aayi, dheemi, gharwali wali.

“Iqbal, kaun hai? Main andaaz laga rahi hoon ke Sir on time aa gaye.”

“Haan,” usne kaha, aur apni hi aawaz se ghabra gaya. “Shazia, tum bahar aana. Dupatta theek rakhna. Sir ko pehle main salaam kar loon.”

Doosri ring.

Usne darwaza khola.

Singhania corridor ke yellow light mein khade the jaise yeh koi flat na ho, koi waiting room ho jahan log unka time maangte hain. Dark navy suit, tie thodi dheeli, haath mein car key aur ek thin paper bag. Chehra shaam ki thakaan se bhi saaf, cool, aisa jaise unhe yahan aane ki zaroorat nahi thi — unhone faisla kiya tha.

“Iqbal.”

Naam itne halka bola gaya ke woh kisi tarah ki narmi nahi thi. Sirf pehchaan thi.

“Sir, aaiye, aaiye. Bahut der se intezaar kar rahe the. Traffic to… matlab, aapne takleef uthayi.”

Singhania andar aaye, joote dehleez pe ek second ke liye rukey, phir andar rakh diye jaise ghar ka hisaab unke dimaag mein pehle se ho. Unki nazar drawing room se hoti hui kitchen ke darwaze tak chali, phir wapas Iqbal ke chehre par aa gayi.

“Takleef nahi uthayi, Iqbal. Main wahan baith ke sochta rehta, is se behtar tha ke aaj ghar aa kar dekh loon tum log kaise rehte ho.”

Iqbal ki hanssi jaldi nikal gayi, zyada unchi.

“Bilkul Sir. Yeh ghar aapka hi hai. Baithiye, main AC laga doon? Fan se garmi utregi nahi.”

“Pehle biwi ko bulao. Khaali aadmi ke chehre dekh ke thakaan nahi utarti.”
Shazia kitchen ke darwaze par aayi to pehle dupatta ne aankh ko roka.
Maroon kameez, seedhi silai, gale par chhota sa embroidery ka kaam. Cream salwar. Dupatta cream hi tha, lekin usne use chest ke upar se itna sambhal ke rakha tha ke koi mehmaan yeh na kahe ke ghar mein dhilaapan hai.
Baal bun mein bandhe the, kaan ke paas do-teen halki si locks nikal aayi thin, jaise kitchen ki bhaap ne unhe nikaal diya ho. Gulaab ki halki khushboo, pyaaz-adrak nahi — usne haath dho kar itar lagaaya tha, itna ke pata chale ghar saaf hai, itna nahi ke koi yeh soch le ke aaj raat ke liye saja hai.
Woh ruk kar jhuki.
“Adaab, Sir. Aap aaye, ghar roshan ho gaya. Iqbal kitni der se clock dekh rahe the.”
Singhania ne jawab mein sirf itna kiya ke unki nazar uske jhukne ke saath-saath chali.
Salwar-kameez izzat ka kapda tha. Uske baad bhi kapda jhoot nahi bolta. Kameez kamar se satti hui thi, pet ke upar halka sa cloth khinchta tha jab usne adaab ke liye kandhe sikore. Dupatta ke neeche chest ki golai chhupi thi, lekin chhupi hui cheez bhi andaza deti hai. Cream salwar patlon ki tarah nahi tha; kapda jaanghon par tikta tha, phir neeche girta tha.
Ghar ki biwi. Traditional. Reserved. Aur us reserved jism ke peeche Singhania ko wahi aurat dikhai di jise unhone ek baar file ki tarah move karwa diya tha.
Verma ka naam kisi ne nahi liya. Phir bhi woh naam air mein tha, jaise pichhli file close ho chuki ho aur nayi file ab is drawing room mein khul rahi ho.
“Shazia,” Singhania ne naam aise liya jaise practice ki ho. “Uth jao. Itna jhukne ki zaroorat nahi. Main office ka mehmaan hoon, masjid ka nahi.”
Shazia uthii, aankhein neeche.
“Sir, aadat hai. Aap Iqbal ke boss hain, is ghar mein aap bade hain. Main aapko adaab kiye bagair kaise milti.”
Iqbal beech mein aa gaya, haath se sofa dikhate hue, jaise beech-bachaav koi skill ho.
“Sir, yahan baithiye. Yeh wala sofa tight nahi hai. Shazia, Sir ko cushion do, aur jo cold drink rakhi hai… nahi nahi, pehle paani. Sir, aap khaana pehle lenge ya thoda baith ke?”
Singhania ne suit ka button khola, coat sofa ke arm par daala, aur beech wali seat le li — wahi seat jahan se TV, kitchen door aur bedroom ka andhera teeno dikhte the.
“Pehle baithunga. Khaana jaldi mat nikaalna. Aaj main dekhna chahta hoon ghar ka mahaul kaisa hai jab koi boss aa jaye.”
Drawing room ka hisaab Shazia unke kandhe ke paas se nikal kar table par glass rakhti, to dupatta ka pallu kameez ke button par atak gaya. Usne jaldi sambhala. Singhania ne woh jaldi dekhi.
“Shazia, itni tight dupatta se kaam nahi chalta ghar mein. Garm hai. Iqbal, tumhari biwi kitchen se nikalti hai to aise lagta hai jaise koi inspection hone wala ho.”
Iqbal ne turant sir hilaya.
“Sir, aap sahi kehte hain. Shazia hamesha zyada sochti hai. Main kehta rehta hoon, ghar hai, mehmaan hain, itna sakht mat bano. Woh sunti nahi.”
Shazia ne unki taraf peeth kiye bagair kaha, aawaz seedhi, control mein.
“Sir, sakhti nahi hai. Main chahti hoon aapko ghar mein koi kami na lage. Iqbal ke office ka izzat is ghar ki izzat hai. Isliye main theek se rakhti hoon.”
Singhania lean kiye, sofa ke back par haath daal kar.
“Izzat theek rehti hai, Shazia, jab ghar wali ghabraati nahi. Tum abhi se kaampi ja rahi ho. Glass rakhte waqt tumhare haath mein paani hil raha tha.”
Uske kaan garam hue. Usne glass ko table ke beech mein pakka kar diya.
“Sir, aap achanak aa jaate hain to kisi ko bhi… matlab, main taiyaar thi, lekin aapko dekh ke thoda sa… aadat nahi padi itne bade logon ke saamne.”
“Bade log,” Singhania ne herf dohraaya, muskuraahat thin. “Iqbal, yeh tumne sikhaya hai ya yeh khud bolti hai?”
Iqbal sofa ke kone par baitha, pair unke pair se do foot door, jaisi line koi khinch de.
“Sir, Shazia simple hai. Bahar nikalti nahi. Ghar, ,,.,, kitchen. Aapke jaise logon ke saamne yeh pehli baar itni der baithi hai.”
Shazia ne unki baat kaatne ki himmat nahi ki. Sirf itna kaha:
“Sir, aap bataiye aapko chai chahiye, paani chahiye, ya jo aap office ke baad lete hain woh. Main abhi le aati hoon. Khaana garam hai, lekin main aapki pasand ke bagair serve nahi karungi.”
Singhania ki nazar uske chehre se hat kar gale ke kaam par gayi, phir wahan se kameez ke un buttons par jo dupatta ke neeche dabe the.
“Pehle paani. Phir whisky. Tumhare ghar mein whisky hai, Iqbal? Ya main jo laaya hoon wahi nikaalun?”
Iqbal khada ho gaya.
“Hai Sir, hai. Main rakhata hoon, kabhi-kabhi. Aapke liye special… main nikaalta hoon.”
“Tum mat nikaalna.” Singhania ne coat ke bag se bottle nahi nikaali. Unhone Shazia ko dekha. “Jo cheez ghar mein rakhi hai, woh ghar wali nikaalti hai. Iqbal, tum baitho. Aaj tum host kam, listener zyada rehna.”
Iqbal baith gaya. Uske pair ke neeche tile thandi thi, lekin uski gardan garm.
Shazia ne honth suche.
“Theek hai, Sir. Main paani laati hoon, phir jo aapne kaha… woh bhi. Aap bata dijiye kitna peg, kitna paani.”
“Woh baad mein bataunga, jab tum mere saamne khadi hogi.” Singhania ne magazine nahi uthayi, remote nahi chhooa. “Abhi jao, Shazia. Maroon rang tum par theek hai. Ghar mein itna tight bun mat rakha karo next time. Aadmi jab mehnat karke aaye to ghar mein kuch narm bhi dikhna chahiye.”

[shdas]

Shazia ke kadam kitchen ki taraf badhe. Dupatta usne phir se chest par kheench liya, itna ke Singhania ki nazar ko kapda jawab de, jism nahi. Phir bhi jab usne kitchen ke darwaze se peeth dikhai, salwar ka kapda uski hidon par tik kar hilaa, kameez ki silai kamar ke last inch tak chali gayi.

Iqbal ne woh nazar pakdi, aur nahi pakdi. Usne table ke kinare ko ungli se ragda.

“Sir, Shazia thodi poorani soch ki hai. Aap burra na maaniyega. Aap jo kehte hain, woh sun leti hai. Main dekh loonga.”

Singhania ne unki taraf dekhe bagair kaha.

“Tumne last baar bhi yahi kaha tha, Iqbal. ‘Main dekh loonga.’ Is liye main aaj khud dekhne aaya hoon. Ghar, biwi, mahaul. File mein naam hota hai, kamre mein saans hoti hai.”

Iqbal ne kuch nahi joda. Usne sirf itna manage kiya:

“Sir, aap ghar ko apna samjhiye. Jo hukm dege, woh hoga.”

Paani uske haath se—

Kitchen se tray aayi. Do glass. Ek jug. Bottle alag, jo Iqbal ne kabhi almirah ke upar chhupa ke rakhi thi, aaj neeche thi.

Shazia tray ko dono haathon se pakde hue thi, dupatta koyi ke peeche se aage laati hui, taaki jhukne par kameez ka gale zyada na khule. Woh Singhania ke saamne ruki, table ke wood tak jhuki, glass unke haath ke paas rakha. Paani hilaa.

Singhania ne glass nahi uthaya. Unhone uska haath dekha, phir tray, phir uske chehre ke neeche wahi dupatta.

“Glass yahan mat rakh, Shazia. Mere haath mein do. Itni door se mehmaan nahi peeta.”

Shazia ki ungliyan tray par chipak gayin.

“Sir, table par rakh doon to aapke liye aasaan rahega. Main gira na doon.”

“Tum nahi giraogi.” Unki aawaz low thi, lekin room mein kaafi thi. “Iqbal se mat dilwana. Jo main maangun, woh tum dogi. Yeh ghar ka pehla kaaida aaj se yaad rakhna.”

Iqbal sofa par saans bhari.

Shazia ne tray thodi jhukai, paani ka glass uthaya, aur woh glass Singhania ki taraf badhaya. Unki ungliyon ne glass ke saath uski ungli ka kinara bhi chhoo liya — do second, na itna ke koi chillaye, na itna kam ke woh chhoo na lage.

Glass unke haath mein chala gaya. Uske haath mein thand, uske kaan mein garmi.

“Shukriya, Sir. Main… main whisky bhi nikaal doon?”

Singhania ne paani ka ek sip liya, aankhein us par.

“Nikaalo. Peg mere saamne banana. Iqbal ko bottle mat dena. Aaj jo bhi is ghar mein serve hoga, Shazia, tumhare haath se hoga. Samjhi?”

Shazia ne dupatta ek baar aur sambhala, aankhein neeche, aawaz poori.

“Ji Sir. Main abhi laati hoon. Aap jo measure bolenge, utna hi daalungi. Is ghar mein aapke liye kami nahi honi chahiye.”

Woh tray le kar kitchen ki taraf mudi. Maroon kameez ke neeche uski kamar ki line last light mein dikhi, phir dupatta ne use dhaanp diya.

Singhania ne glass table par rakha, Iqbal ki taraf ab bhi poora nahi dekha.

“Ab whisky usi ke haath se aani chahiye, Iqbal. Tum baith ke dekho. Aaj raat tumhari biwi host hai. Tum sirf is ghar ke aadmi ho.”