Hello all, welcome to the third part of my fantasy world, inspired by real life. This is a continuation of a series. Please read the earlier parts if you haven’t read them yet. Without wasting time, let’s get started with this part.
Days after that Diwali party, everything changed at the factory. The whole place felt different. Heavy. Tense. Like everyone knew something I desperately didn’t want them to know.
Monday morning itself, walking through the floor, I felt eyes on me. Workers whispering. They’d stop mid-conversation when I passed. Then resume with smirks after I’d gone.
But worse was what was happening on the factory floor. My authority was crumbling.
Sahil was the real problem. Ever since that day he’d fucked Isha in the factory, something changed in him. Before, there was some respect. Now? Pure Hatred. Every time our eyes met, his look said everything. You stole her from me. Married her when she was mine.
Tuesday, I gave him a direct order. “Sahil, move these boxes to the warehouse. Right now.”
He stopped working. Looked at me. Long, deliberate stare. Then, “I’ll do it later. Busy right now.”
“This isn’t a request. It’s an order.”
He stepped closer. Towering over me. Dark, muscular, powerful. “Order?” He smiled. Not friendly. “You know it’s funny, you giving orders. When you can’t even control your wife. So don’t try acting like a boss. Not with me.” He said it loud enough for others to hear.
He just walked away. I stood there. Humiliated. Powerless. Other workers exchanged looks. Smirks. No one said anything, but the message was clear. My authority was a joke now.
Thursday morning, the peon came. “Shinde Sir has called you.”
I walked to his cabin. He sat there, that smile already on his face. But what made my blood run cold was something pink on his desk. Lace. Delicate. Isha’s panties from that night.
“Sit, Shailesh.” I sat. My legs were shaking. He picked up the panties. “What a night that was. Your wife… absolutely amazing. That body, those curves, the way she moved under me, moaned my name.” He brought them to his nose. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply. “Mmm. Still smells like her sweet pussy.”
My face burned with shame.
“You should thank her properly from my side, Shailesh. Best night I’ve had since my wife passed away. Tell her I’m grateful.”
He tossed the panties across the desk. “Give these to Isha. She’ll understand what they mean.”
My hands shook as I picked them up.
“Also, tomorrow evening. 7 PM sharp.” His tone changed. No room for argument. “I’m taking your wife to Taj for dinner.”
“Sir, I…”, I fumbled.
“And your promotion? Assistant Manager. 40% raise. Starting Monday. Also, Dubai trip in future,” He leaned back in his chair. “You’ve earned it, Shailesh. For being so… understanding. So cooperative.”
He was paying me for access to my wife’s body. I left his cabin shattered. Those pink panties are in my pocket. The promotion feels like pimping out Isha.
Evening came. I reached home. Isha was in the kitchen, humming softly. She turned when she heard me enter. Smiled warmly. “You’re home. Should I make tea?”
Perfect wife act. But I pulled out those pink panties. Put them on the kitchen counter.
She froze. She turned slowly. Saw them. Her breathing quickened. Fair skin on her neck flushed pink. “These are…”
“From that night. Samar sir gave them to me. Said thanks to you.”
She picked them up. Fingers trembling. Examined them closely. Memories flooding back. Eyes getting glassy. Full lips parting slightly. For just one moment, that small secret smile. Then she controlled herself. “I’ll… put these away.”
“Isha… tomorrow Samar Sir wants to take you for dinner. At the Taj Hotel. 7 PM. He’ll pick you up.”
Her cup clinked against the saucer. “Dinner?” Her voice was careful.
“Yes. At Taj. He said dinner.”
Long silence. The clock is ticking. Her eyes went distant. The gap between us felt like an ocean. Then her voice came. Small and scared. “Shailesh… are we really doing this? Really going through with it?”
“What choice do we have? The video…”
“But this is my dignity!” Her voice broke. “My self-respect! And you’re just letting him…”
Her eyes were red. Angry and scared mixed together. “You’re not even TRYING! Not trying to find a way out! Not trying to protect me! Just accepting everything like you have no spine at all! What kind of man does this?!”
“Isha, what can I do?! He has the video! He has power, position, and money! What am I supposed to…”
“BE A MAN!” She screamed. Tears are streaming now. “Stand up to him! Fight for me! Do SOMETHING! But you’re too WEAK! Too scared! You can’t protect me! Can’t save our dignity! Just sitting there helpless like…” She couldn’t finish. Sobbing hard.
I reached for her. She pushed me away. Hard. “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Each word is separate. Ice cold. “You’re weak, Shailesh. Compared to him. Compared to other men. You’re nothing.”
The truth. Cruel. Devastating. But truth.
“I hate him,” she continued through tears. “Hate him for blackmailing us. Hate YOU for being too weak to stop it. Hate myself for that Sahil thing that led to all this. Hate everything about this whole situation.”
We both cried then. Separately but together. Our marriage is breaking right there.
Finally, exhausted, she spoke softly. “Fine. I’ll go. It’s just dinner anyway, right? I’ll… I’ll tell him to stop all this. Tell him he got what he wanted already. One night was the deal. This should end now.”
Friday arrived. Isha started getting ready at 3 PM. I heard the shower running. Then her moving around in the bedroom. Trying different outfits. Rejecting them. Trying again.
At 6:30, she emerged from the bedroom. Black silk saree wrapped around her hourglass body like a second skin. It clung to that narrow waist, then flared dramatically over her wide hips and round, jiggly ass that moved with each step. Gold backless blouse on thin, delicate strings.
Deep neckline showing the ample cleavage between her 36D breasts. Her mangalsutra rested there against her fair, smooth skin. Heavy gold jewellery. Earrings dangling. Multiple thin bangles on both wrists making musical sound with each movement.
Hair swept up in an elegant bun with a few loose strands framing her beautiful face. Makeup was flawless. Smoky eyes with thick kajal make them look seductive. Crimson lipstick on her full lips. Subtle blush on high cheekbones, highlighting her fair complexion.
Small red bindi on her forehead. Sindoor in her hair parting. Her nails were painted deep red. Matching her lips. Golden heels, five inches tall, made her legs look endless and made her hips sway even more when she walked.
Every movement was hypnotic. The way her hips swayed deliberately. The way her fair skin caught the light. The way her body moved. Her breathing was slightly elevated, making her breasts rise and fall. She was stunning. A goddess. I stood there watching her, waiting for Samar.
At 6:55, the Mercedes horn sounded. Samar stepped out. Expensive suit. Confident, powerful presence.
Isha looked at me one last time. Her eyes were a complex mix. Fear, anger, guilt. “It’s just dinner, Shailesh. I’ll be back soon. I’ll handle this. Tell him it needs to end.”
I watched her walk to the car. That walk. Hips swaying deliberately, exaggerated even. Her round ass is moving side to side. Heels clicking on pavement. Bangles are making their musical sound. Her pallu flows behind her. Samar helped her into the car.
His hand immediately went to her bare back. Fingers spreading possessively on her smooth, fair skin. She tensed for a second. The car pulled away. I stood there watching until it disappeared.
Neighbours were watching from their windows. From their balconies. Whispering. Pointing. Everyone knowing. My beautiful wife is leaving with another man. Everyone seeing.
I went inside. The flat felt empty. Dead. I sat on the sofa. Just sat there.
At 11:15 PM, my phone buzzed. A message from Isha.
“Won’t be home tonight. Staying with Samar. Will return morning. Sorry.”
I stared at those words. Read them again. And again. She was staying. With him. All night. In Taj. In his bed.
I couldn’t do anything. Just sit here. Alone. Helpless. Small.
I didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Just waited. Imagining. Torturing myself with images of what they might be doing. How he was touching her. How was she responding? Her moans. Her pleasure. The night was endless.
Saturday morning. 10:30 AM. The Mercedes pulled up outside.
Isha stepped out. She looked completely different from last night. Same black saree, but wrinkled now. Crumpled. Hair messy. Makeup smudged and faded. But around her neck diamond necklace was shining.
She walked slowly. Carefully. Thighs slightly apart. The body language of a woman is thoroughly and repeatedly used. Her fair face glowed. She came inside. Stood there. Not meeting my eyes.
“How… how was it?” I asked angrily.
She looked at me. Burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Shailesh. I’m so, so sorry.” Sat down heavily. Crying. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want… but it happened and I… I’m sorry.”
She wiped tears, but they kept coming. Took a deep breath. Started talking. Her voice was heavy with guilt, but she couldn’t hide something else. Excitement. Satisfaction.
“In the car…” She paused. “I sat as far from him as I could. I was so angry. At him for blackmailing. At you for not stopping it. At myself. I didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t even want to look at him.”
“But then he said, ‘Isha, please look at me.’”
“His voice was so different, Shailesh. Not the commanding boss. Soft. Almost… vulnerable. So I looked at him. And his eyes were actually sad. Really sad.”
“He started talking. Said he knows I’m scared. Angry. That I have every right to be. But asked me to just give him a chance to show me he’s not a monster. That he needs a companion. Someone special. Like he had with his late wife Priya.”
“And then… then he started crying. Actual tears. This powerful VP, sitting there in his Mercedes, is crying. Telling me about Priya. How alone he’s been.”
“I felt my anger melting. I couldn’t help it. This wasn’t the blackmailer. This was just… a lonely broken man. And when he said, ‘You remind me so much of her. Not just looks. The way you smile. Laugh. Move.’ I felt… I don’t know. Something.”
“He took my hand. Gently. Not forcing. Just held it. Said ‘Just tonight. Let me treat you like my wife. Show you the world I can give. Tomorrow, you decide. If you want to end it, we end it. Delete the video. But tonight, let me make you feel like a queen.’”
“And the way he said it… so sincere.”
She was looking down now. Blushing. “He kept holding my hand. He was telling me I’m beautiful. That my skin is smooth. My curves are perfect. The way I move is breathtaking. The most beautiful woman he’s seen after Priya. The only woman who’s made him feel alive again. And Shailesh… I felt butterflies. Real butterflies.”
She wiped more tears. “I know. I know how it sounds. But in that moment, I wanted it. I never felt that way with you”
“Then we stopped at a jewellery store. High-end. Expensive. We walked in holding hands. The salesman recognised him. Called us, sir and madam. His arm around my shoulders.”
“He said, ‘Diamond necklaces. The best. For my wife.’ MY WIFE. And the salesman didn’t question it. We looked right together. The salesman kept saying ‘Your wife has excellent taste’ and ‘Beautiful couple’ and I… I just smiled. Played along.”
“He picked out a fifteen-lakh necklace. FIFTEEN. Then made me remove your mangalsutra. I hesitated, but under his eyes, under the salesman watching, I took it off. And he put the diamonds on me instead. Said ‘Much better. Beautiful woman deserves beautiful jewellery.’”
“The salesman said I look like a film star. We left hand in hand. I’m wearing his diamonds. And I felt… I felt special. I never wore such an expensive necklace”
“And you know what? I enjoyed it. Being treated that way. The respect. The attention. Being seen as belonging with a successful, powerful man. It felt really good.”
She looked at me. Eyes wet but also… excited. “Then Taj. Oh god, Shailesh. The lobby was unbelievable. Marble gleaming. Chandeliers huge. Staff bowing. Samar’s hand on my waist, guiding me. The receptionist smiled at both of us. ‘Welcome, Mr and Mrs Shinde, enjoy your stay!’ Like we were a couple.”
“Then the Presidential suite… bigger than our entire building. Living room. Dining. Bedroom with a California king bed. City view. Bathroom with a jacuzzi. Everything screams wealth. He said, ‘This is just the beginning. This is how you deserve to live.’ And he meant it.”
“Dinner came. He fed me with his own hand. And we talked. Really talked. He told me about Priya. His loneliness. How empty his big house feels. And he cried again. Tears in his eyes. This powerful man is crying to me.”
“Then he told me. Yesterday was his wedding anniversary. 24 years ago, he married Priya. He chose that day for me because he misses having a wife. The loneliness hits hardest on their anniversary. And I cried too. Actually, cried for him.”
“We talked for hours. He asked about my dreams. My fears. Things you never ask. And I opened up. Told him everything. He listened. Really listened. Made me feel heard. Valued. Important.”
“Around 10, he looked at me. Really looked. Said ‘You’re so beautiful, Isha. Inside and out. I haven’t felt this alive in years. Thank you.’ And I felt those butterflies again. Real ones.”
“Then he kissed me. Gentle. I could have stopped. Should have. But I kissed back.”
“He stood. Held out his hand. ‘Come with me.’ I took it. Followed him to the bedroom.”
“At 11, I messaged you. Saw your call. Didn’t pick up. Because if I heard your voice, I might feel guilty enough to leave.”
Her breathing is heavier now. “In the bedroom, he undressed me slowly. Kissing every inch. Telling me I’m beautiful. Made me feel desired. His hands knew exactly where to touch. Made me cum from just his fingers. Then his mouth.”
“Then he made love to me. Slow. Looking in my eyes. Kissing me. Said, ‘You’re mine tonight. My wife for the anniversary.’ And I played along. Called him husband.”
“But then he got intense. Dominant. Started really fucking me. Hard. Deep. Fast. Made me scream. Beg. Say things. That he fucks me better than you. That I’m his wife. That my pussy belongs to him. And I said it all. Meant it all in that moment.”
“He came inside me. Filled me so full. And we didn’t stop. Round two. Three. From 11 PM to 5 AM. Seven hours. Cum still warm when we dozed.”
“And I loved it. Every second. He made me feel safe. He made my body do things I didn’t know. Feel things I never felt.”
“Morning, we had another round together like husband and wife. Then dropped me home. Kissed me at the car. Said ‘This was special. You’re special. I want more. Not just sex. More.’ And I said yes.”
She looked at me. Tears flowing, but eyes shining. “I know I should hate it. Should feel only guilt. But I can’t lie. I enjoyed it. Felt alive. Felt like a real woman. And I’ve started caring for him. He needs someone. And I think I want to be that someone.”
Her phone buzzed. She checked it. Something changed in her expression. “He… he sent a video. From last night. He said… he said you should see what I experienced.”
She turned the phone toward me. Pressed play. My world shattered.
The screen showed the Taj bedroom. Soft golden lights. Expensive sheets. And there, my wife. Completely naked except for those diamonds around her neck. Her fair skin glowed. Her 36D breasts are full. Smooth waxed pussy. Round jiggly ass. The body I thought was mine. Being used by him.
Samar was naked. Fit despite being 52. And his cock. Thick. Very thick. Maybe six and a half inches, but the girth was intimidating. Much thicker than mine. Veiny. Powerful.
Isha was on her knees before him. Those crimson lips wrapped around his thick cock. The diamond necklace swung as she bobbed her head. Enthusiastic. Hungry. Taking him deep.
“Mmmm… mmm… glkkk… glkkk… gllkkk…” Gagging sounds as he hit her throat. She didn’t pull away. She pushed deeper. Tears forming but she didn’t stop. Worshipping him.
“That’s it, beautiful. Deeper. Such a good girl. My little wife. Show me how a wife sucks her husband’s cock.”
“Mmmm… yes… glkkk… my husband… mmm… gllkkk…” She was playing along. Role-playing. Anniversary fantasy. Calling him husband while gagging on his thick cock.
The video cut. Different angle. Now she was in bed. On all fours. Her fair back arched beautifully. Round ass high in the air. Pussy glistening wet, ready. He positioned himself behind her. His thick cock at her entrance. One brutal thrust forward. Buried completely.
“Ah! OH GOD! OH FUCK! SO BIG! SO THICK! STRETCHING ME!” Her scream filled my living room through the phone speakers.
He started pounding her. Hard. Fast. Merciless. SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP. The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoed. Her whole body jerked forward with each powerful thrust. Breasts swinging wild. That diamond necklace is flying. Her face showed pure ecstasy.
“YES! YES! FUCK YOUR WIFE! AHHHHH! FUCK ME LIKE A HUSBAND SHOULD! UNNHHH! SO DEEP! SO THICK! FILLING ME COMPLETELY! MMMM! OH GOD YES SIR! YES HUSBAND! FUCK ME!”
She was calling him her husband. Over and over. The anniversary fantasy was fully embraced.
His hand grabbed her hair. Pulled her head back. Arching her more. His other hand spanked her jiggly ass hard. SMACK! “Whose pussy is this now?!”
“YOURS! AHHH! MY HUSBAND’S! ONLY YOURS! UNNHHH! TAKE YOUR WIFE! FUCK YOUR WIFE! MMMM! I’M YOUR WIFE TONIGHT! YOUR WOMAN!”
“And your other husband? The real one?”
“HE CAN’T! UNNHHH! CAN’T SATISFY ME LIKE THIS! YOU DO! OH GOD YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A REAL WOMAN! LIKE A REAL WIFE SHOULD FEEL! AHHHHH! FUCK ME! CLAIM ME! MAKE ME YOURS!”
The camera angle changed. Phone on a tripod, maybe. Showing everything. Her fair body glistening with sweat. Her pussy stretched around his thick cock. Her face twisted in pleasure. Mouth open. Drooling slightly. Eyes rolled back. Sindoor smudged. Lipstick everywhere.
Completely lost in ecstasy. Wild. Wanton. Nothing like my shy wife.
Then the missionary. Her legs up on his shoulders. He pounded down into her. The camera showed his thick cock disappearing into her pussy. Stretching her. Her fair skin contrasts with his darker tone. Her wetness coated him. Everything graphic. Everything visible.
“I’M CUMMING! AHHHHH! CUMMING ON MY HUSBAND’S COCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! YESSSSS!” Her whole body convulsed. Back arched off the bed. Toes curled. Fingers gripped the sheets. Her orgasm is visible. Real. Intense.
“CUM FOR ME! SHOW ME HOW A GOOD WIFE CUMS FOR HER HUSBAND!” He roared. Thrusting harder.
“AHHHHHH! CUMMING! CUMMING SO HARD! I’M YOUR WIFE! YOUR WOMAN! UNNHHH! YESSS!”
Then his turn. “TAKING MY CUM!! AHHH!” He buried himself completely. His body tensed. Pumping her full. She wrapped her legs around him. “YES! FILL ME! GIVE YOUR WIFE YOUR CUM! BREED ME! AHHH!”
The video ended.
I sat there destroyed. But my cock. My pathetic, small four-inch cock was rock hard. It had been the hardest in months. Straining against my pants desperately.
Isha noticed. Her eyes went to my crotch. Saw the tent. Small but there. Understanding flooded her face. Not disgust. Something else. Almost… satisfaction. Knowing.
“You’re hard,” she said softly. Not a question. A statement. “Imagining me fucking another man made you hard. Made your cock hard.”
“Isha, I can’t help it…”
“Shhh.” She came closer. Stood before me. Her hand reached out. Felt my erection through my pants. Squeezed gently. “So small. But so hard right now. You liked watching that. Your body doesn’t lie.”
“This isn’t…”
“Samar told me this would happen. He explained something to me last night. About relationships. About marriages. About something called hotwife and cuckold lifestyle.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s when a wife has other men. Superior men. Bulls. And the husband accepts it. Supports it. Knows his place in the arrangement. Gets aroused by it. Samar said you’re a cuckold by nature. Watching me with him would make you hard. And he was right. Look at you. Rock hard.”
She went to her bag. Pulled out a pink box. “He sent a gift. For you. A surprise.”
She opened it. A pink plastic chastity cage. With a lock. With a key.
“This is for your cock. It locks it. Prevents erection. I control when it comes off. When you get pleasure. You’re hard now, but that won’t matter in the cage. It’ll hurt. It’ll remind you. Remind you of your place in this arrangement.”
“No, Isha, I can’t…”
“Stand. Drop your pants. Now.” Her voice was firm. Commanding.
I stood on shaking legs. Unbuttoned my pants. Let them fall. My underwear too. My erection standing at attention. Four inches. Small. Pathetic. Especially after seeing his thick six and a half.
She knelt before me. Looked at my cock. Then she remembered the video. The comparison was clear in her eyes. “This is why, Shailesh. This is why you’re a cuckold, and he’s a real man. Nature decided. Size. Stamina. Command. Everything. And he will make us Rich”
She fitted the cage. Ring behind my balls. Pink plastic tube over my cock. She squeezed my erection into it. Click. Locked. It immediately started going soft. Trapped. Uncomfortable.
From the bag, she pulled out those pink panties. “And these. He said these are for you now. To complete the transformation.”
“Those are women’s…”
“You’re not really a man anymore, are you? Look at yourself. Caged. Small. Weak. Getting hard watching your wife fuck another man. Pink panties suit you better than being a man ever did.”
Tears streamed down my face as she helped me step into them. The lace was tight. Humiliating. She adjusted them carefully. Almost lovingly. “There. This is your true self, finally visible.”
Then she lay back on the sofa. Lifted her saree. Spread her legs wide. No panties underneath. Her pussy was swollen. Red. Used. And leaking. Thick white cum oozes out slowly. So much of it. The smell hit me. Raw sex. Sweat. Him.
“Now your real role. Clean what a real man left inside your wife.”
I knelt between her spread thighs. Up close, her fair pussy was destroyed. Stretched. Gaped slightly. Red. Used hard. Cum everywhere. I extended my tongue. Tasted it. Bitter. Salty. Thick. His cum mixed with her wetness.
“Good boy,” she moaned. Her hand pressed my head deeper into her crotch. “That’s right. Taste everything. Taste what a real man leaves…ahhh…he filled me…he fucked me real good… mmmm… so different from you… yes, keep licking…”
The arrangement became routine fast. Tuesday and Friday evenings, the Mercedes arrived. Isha left. Dressed expensive. Dripping in jewellery. Smelling of French perfume. She returned mornings with gifts. Pussy full of cum for me to clean.
This was my life now. Cuckold. Third wheel. Cleanup boy. Nothing else. And somewhere in that darkness, I accepted it. Finally. Truly. Completely.
Hope you like the story. The more exciting adventures in this series will be in the next parts. Please write to me at [email protected] with your comments and feedback.
If you have any creative suggestions, I will try to include them in the next parts. Please let me know if you would like me to proceed further with this. Take care. Signing off.