Adultery Knowing My Wife, Knowing Me as Well

Desai went back to Mumbai next morning. But I couldn't shake off the devastating thoughts that his short stay at my home had planted in my head.

Would they continue this secret affair? And where would that leave me? The possibility of their continued rendezvous loomed larger in my thoughts, wrestling with the reality I was unwillingly tangled in.
I wondered if I should confess to Meera about having placed the voice recorder and spied on then. So that I could force her to drop any plan to meet him. I thought if I could warn her about what she was going to do, and how it's going to derail our life, then possibly she would reject all the attempts from Desai.
But at the same time, I didn't have the guts to tell her the truth that I had spied on them. I felt it would embarrass Meera so much that she would turn hostile to me. It would be easy for Desai to strike gold after that.

Even though I was worried about these thoughts, there was still hope. Perhaps Meera didn't tell me about Desai's proposal because she would have feared it would create doubts in my head. She could hope to resist Desai's invitations when they happen.
All these thoughts made me eventually decide that I should wait for further evidence before doing anything.
Confronting her or him without solid proof could backfire. For now, I chose to believe in the hope that Desai wasn’t trying to steal Meera from me. She was my wife, after all. Even if she had once found physical pleasure with him, she had chosen to live her life with me. All Desai could ever get was some short-lived intimacy, while I held the bond that truly mattered – or so I told myself.

That evening, when Meera came home from the office, I found myself itching to check her phone. To my dismay, Desai’s name was on her call list. He had called her at noon, and the call had lasted just under three minutes.
I struggled to breathe normally after that. Desai meant business – he had said he was going to meet her, and now he had called her during her lunch break. My mind churned, replaying the countless times I had heard him profess his feelings for her.
“I love you.” How many times had he said that to her?

Even during our evening walk, I found it hard to make conversation with Meera. She wasn’t talking much either, which only deepened my unease.
At dinner, Meera broke the silence. “Desai called me during my lunch break.”
I froze, unsure of how to react.
“He asked me if I’d decided to confess to you about it,” she continued.
I stared at her in disbelief. “What did you say?”
“He said he’s not feeling right about hiding the truth from you,” Meera said. “But I told him I’m not going to do it.”
“Is he coming back?”
“What?” Meera asked. “Why would you think that?”
I felt she smelled fault in my question. I struggled to look straight into her eyes. “I mean, to convince you to confess.” I said.
“No, he’s not coming back,” she said. “He just told me he doesn’t feel good about keeping it from you. He thinks we should tell you.”

I couldn't help but notice her use of the word ‘we’, grouping herself and Desai into a team, while I was reduced to an outsider – a mere ‘you’. Was I overthinking? Probably. But the words she spoke stayed in my mind.
“He’s just trying to find a way back into this house,” I said. “Tell him he’s not getting another invitation. And if he calls you again, tell him not to.”
Meera nodded. “I’ve already told him that. He’s not welcome in this house anymore.”
I felt she stressed lightly on the word ‘this house’. Could she meet him somewhere else? Was she deliberately leaving that door open?
The possibility was there.

That night, when we went to bed, I felt Meera's arms wrap around me. I was struggling to stay composed; the stress was taking its toll. As Meera started kissing around my neck, I wished I could forget everything else and simply welcome her. But I couldn’t bring myself to put my arms around her.
Meera soon pulled my shirt off, her tongue traveling down my chest and belly before moving further down, pulling my shorts along with her.
When she grabbed my dick, I sensed her eagerness, and I couldn’t help but feel seduced against my will as her head dipped down, taking my half-erect dick into her mouth.

My body betrayed me. My dick, no longer listening to my conflicted heart, responded to her touch and grew to its full length in a matter of few seconds. Meera, sensing my arousal, whispered, “I want to ride you, baby.”

Her words triggered an unsettling memory – Desai's demand to her from the night before: “Ride me.” The thought was devastating. Perhaps my wife wasn’t satisfied riding Desai’s dick for a few minutes, and that’s why she wanted to do it with me now, I thought bitterly.
Meera didn’t wait for my response. She rose and straddled my waist. That’s when I noticed she had already removed her skirt. Her top remained on as she positioned herself and slowly guided my dick into her wetness. It slid in effortlessly.
It was a sign I couldn't ignore. There was zero amount of attention from me, but still she was wet like butter. She was surely aroused from feelings that were already in her. If it wasn't me, it was surely Desai.

She began riding me, her breasts bouncing inside her top with every movement. My mind flashed to what Desai had told her the previous night as she rode him: “This sight... Krish must have dreamt of this when you rubbed your boobs on him.”
This view – astonishingly beautiful – had already been enjoyed by him the day before. She had ridden him yesterday, and perhaps the pleasure it gave her then was making her try it with me now. But I knew I wasn't giving her as much as pleasure.
Still, I grabbed her thighs and began thrusting upward. Meera moaned, “Yes... mmm... yes... like that, baby...”
But I couldn’t entertain her for long as I quickly reached the point of no return. Meera read my expression perfectly and pulled herself off just in time. My dick slipped out of her pussy, leaning toward my stomach as I spurted my cum onto my own navel.
“Oh, you’ve come,” Meera gasped, her tone more surprised than disappointed.
I couldn’t help but recall her excitement the previous day when Desai had ejaculated on her belly. I felt my energy fading fast. I panted as Meera gently wiped the drops of cum from my navel, then lay down beside me.
I hugged her tightly, and she leaned in to give me a tender kiss.
“I love you, Krish,” she whispered.
Her words felt like a sudden pour during dry summer, washing away the tension, if only for a moment. All my apprehensions seemed to dissolve in that instant. I kissed her back, sucking her lips softly, and held her even tighter.
“I love you too, baby,” I whispered, clinging to this fragile sense of peace.

I soon fell asleep, but the peace was short-lived. When I woke up in the morning, Meera lay on the other side of the bed, her back turned to me. My eyes were drawn to the curve of her hip, the roundness of her ass – a sight that, on any other day, would have filled me with desire. But last night’s events came rushing back, and with them, the weight of my inadequacy.
There she was- my unsatisfied wife. The woman who, just hours ago, had climbed onto me with excitement, only to end up sleeping unfulfilled. The thought was devastating. What could possibly stop her from going back to Desai, the man who had given her earth-shattering orgasms, the kind I clearly couldn’t? The more I dwelled on it, the more inevitable it seemed. It wasn’t a question of if she’d meet him again; it was a question of when. And I feared it would happen far sooner than I was prepared for.

I couldn’t stay in bed any longer. The thought of her slipping away from me, of her finding comfort in his arms again, troubled my soul. Restless and uneasy, I got up, my mind spiralling into dark possibilities.
My nightmares were returning, finding their way back into my reality. And this time, I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to face them.

In the days that followed, I became a man possessed. Every evening, as soon as Meera returned from work, I found myself drawn to her phone. The moment she’d step into the shower or head to the kitchen to prepare dinner, I’d swipe her phone off the table and quickly check for any sign of Desai. At first, I convinced myself I was being cautious, that it was just a way to clear my head. But the more I checked, the more suspicious I became.
I scanned the call logs daily, searching for any mention of his name. But Desai's name wasn’t there. No missed calls, no outgoing calls, nothing. Still, that didn’t bring any comfort. I knew how easy it was to delete a number from the call history. The absence of evidence could be an evidence itself – proof that she was hiding something from me.

It wasn’t just the call logs. I started digging deeper, scrolling through her WhatsApp chats. I told myself I was doing it for us, for our marriage, to prevent her from slipping away. But with every chat I opened, every conversation I scanned, there was no trace of him. No messages, no chats archived or deleted. Yet, the clean slate on her phone only made my doubts grow stronger. It seemed impossible that a man like Desai – so assertive, so persistent – wouldn’t have contacted her since that day. The absence of his messages felt unnatural, like a calculated silence meant to throw me off guard.
I began questioning even the smallest things. If Meera took longer than usual in the bathroom, my mind would wander. Is she talking to him? Did she hide her phone somewhere? If she laughed at something on her phone while scrolling through Instagram or something, I’d feel a tightening in my chest. Was it something he sent her? A message I wouldn’t be able to see?

Soon, even the little things started to worry me. When she got home from work, I’d note how quickly she put her phone away. Had she been texting him during the drive? Was she deleting the evidence before coming inside? The way her eyes remained glued to her screen when she thought I wasn’t looking, the occasional smile that didn’t seem to belong to the conversation we were having – everything was feeding my growing paranoia.
I became obsessed with timing. If she stepped out of the bedroom at night for any reason for too long, I wondered if she had quickly sent him a message. If her phone buzzed at odd hours, my heart raced. I kept telling myself there had to be some hidden app, some secret place where they were communicating, and I just hadn’t found it yet.
No matter how many times I checked her phone, it was never enough. My mind kept looping back to the same fear: She’s still talking to him, and I just don’t know how.

One day when I was returning from work, I stopped by a small grocery shop on the way. To my surprise, I ran into Desai's old driver. I remembered the man well from our earlier days together. He used to keep Desai's car to drive him around whenever he was in Pune. When Desai finally ended his business connections in Pune, he had sold the car, seemingly cutting ties with the old man.
It was after a long gap I was meeting him, at the grocery shop.
We exchanged greetings and I asked him how he was doing. That’s when he told me, after Desai sold his car he had helped him start a new life. Desai had bought the man a house and set him up with this small grocery store next door. I was amazed. Desai hadn’t just given him a lump-sum amount to settle the retirement – he’d provided him with independence, a way to earn his own living. The driver’s eyes gleamed with respect as he spoke about Desai.
“If someone asked me to choose between Desai sir and God, I’d place Desai sir above God himself,” the man said in his voice thick with gratitude.
I left the shop in silence, thoughts filling my head.
How do you hate a man who not only helps you but changes lives wherever he goes?

Desai wasn’t just some opportunist or selfish man; he was someone people admired. And it was this larger-than-life persona that made it all the harder for me to cope with the betrayal he was preparing to commit to me.
I couldn’t imagine him as a villain twisting his moustache in the dark, waiting to destroy my life. He was charismatic, generous, and, infuriatingly enough, someone who made you feel important just by being around him. I couldn’t shake the image of him as the guy who could solve problems, who people naturally drawn to – like how Sharma Ji had ended up requesting him to extend his stay – and that made it all the harder for me to cope with what had happened between him and Meera.

I felt drained, even powerless, in my attempts to hate him. No matter how much I wanted to paint him as the antagonist in my story, Desai refused to fit that role. I couldn’t even remember the ugly-looking man with smoke-stained teeth that he used to be when he had seduced my wife for the first time. That memory of him was so gone, erased from my brain, and replaced by what he was now. He wasn’t just the other guy in Meera’s life – he was the kind of person everyone respected, including me. And that realization left me conflicted.
How could I hate the man who seemed to have everything going for him? More than that, how could I hate the man who seemed to give Meera something I couldn’t?
He was too good to hate, yet he was someone I didn’t want to confront. I simply didn’t have the power to hate him and that was the cruellest twist in this conflict.

A few weeks passed when Desai told me he was taking a break from work. He said he was feeling alone and needed some time to rejuvenate. He went to Arunachal Pradesh, specifically to the Ziro Valley. When he returned, he told me about the calming mountain air and the fun he had trekking along the Dolo Mando trail. He mentioned how much peace he found during the enchanting Ziro Music Festival there. I couldn't help but feel that his trip was more than just a getaway – it was his way of finding peace, of trying to cope with the fact that he was not able to decide how to have what he wanted to have in his life – Meera. A part of me felt bad for him. He deserved better.

The more I thought about him, the harder it became to resent him. Every time I made love to Meera, I couldn’t help but think of him, lying in his bed, dreaming of these moments, longing for the same affection Meera was showing me. It weighed on me. I felt like I was failing both of them. Especially after nights where I couldn’t fully satisfy Meera in bed, I’d lie awake, plagued by thoughts that Desai would’ve been better for her. That maybe, just maybe, they deserved each other more than I deserved either of them.

Despite my constant surveillance – checking Meera’s phone and looking for signs – I found nothing. No calls, no texts. And instead of relief, I felt disappointment. Desai wasn’t trying anymore. Was he giving up? Had he really walked away from Meera? At first, the idea of him contacting her filled me with dread, but as time passed, I started thinking differently. Maybe I could endure it. Maybe this was what they both truly deserved.
In the end, I found myself wishing for something I never thought I would – that somehow, in some way, they would find their way back to each other.

Maithrei contacted me one day, her voice ringing with the excitement of news.
“All the flats at Alpine Heights have been sold, Krish. The place has become a success. People enjoy living there. If you're not interested in moving in, then I suggest you at least lease it out. It would help you earn quite a sum.”

I remembered Maithrei calling me to ask me if I was willing to sell the apartment. That day when we met after the quick chat we no more talked about the apartment. Instead we ended up making love in my car. When Maithrei phoned me and talked about the apartment again, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were ever going to repeat the outcome of the day ever again. Maithrei, lying in a more spacious place, like a cosy bed, and I ready to push my dick into her wet pussy. The thought made me warm. But I quickly overcome the thoughts. It was out of frustration. I said myself and then quickly wondered if I too was making up an excuse for fucking someone other than your wife. Like Desai who spoke the same way after screwing Nidhi multiple times.

“I’ll discuss it with Meera,” I told Maithrei, keeping my voice normal despite the thoughts going in my mind.

When I told Meera about Maithrei’s suggestion, her eyes lit up. “I’ve heard about it too! One of my colleagues was astonished when I told her I owned a flat in Alpine Heights. Her family had tried to get one, but it was sold out before that.”
She then posed a question. “Krish, have you thought about us moving into that house? It’s more spacious and closer to my office.”
The idea sounded appealing but I hesitated. “but it’s farther from my office.”
Meera laughed, “You own your own business unlike me, who’s just an employee in someone else’s business. You can even shift your business closer to the house you want to live in.”
I just laughed with her.

Two days later, while discussing some official matters with Desai over the phone, he casually asked, “So, are you moving into Alpine Heights?” The question caught me off guard.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I said, masking the unease that began to churn in my stomach.
Desai continued, “I had recommended the spot to Maithrei to start her real estate business, but I never envisioned it would be this successful.”

As the conversation ended, a chilling realization hit me: Meera must have discussed the apartment news with Desai. That evening, I found myself checking her phone again, heart racing with anticipation. But again, there was no call record, no chat, and no evidence of their talk. It felt like a knife twisting deeper into my chest.
The lack of evidence was the evidence.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that Meera was successfully hiding their conversations from me. I replayed the days in my mind, counting thirty-eight since Ritu’s wedding. Had they been in contact all this time? The thought of them meeting at a place far from my house, during the day, devastated me.
As I lay in bed that night, I stared at the ceiling, the weight of my thoughts suffocating. The sound of Meera’s soft breathing beside me felt like a cruel reminder of the distance growing between us. I couldn’t help but feel like a ghost in my own life, haunting the shadows of what once was, and fearing the reality of what might be.

This incident convinced me that I had to uncover the truth at any cost. The doubts had been eating away at me, and I needed answers. Initially, I considered hiring a private detective. But I quickly dismissed the idea. Meera worked in the finance sector – spying on her through an agency was risky. Her company might have stringent firewalls tracking their employees, and if someone tried to hack her devices, it could be interpreted as hacking the company’s system, turning it into a legal issue far beyond a domestic problem. With my background in security services, I understood the magnitude of such a risk. A scandal like that, with my wife being hacked by her husband, would not only jeopardize our personal lives but could also tarnish the reputation of my company. I couldn’t afford to let that happen.

I was left feeling cornered, searching for a way to uncover the truth without risking everything.
Then, one day, I was handed a golden opportunity. Meera had left for work, and as I prepared to head to the office, I noticed that she had forgotten to take her laptop. I stopped, with my mind filled with hope. I knew Meera’s laptop had the WhatsApp desktop app installed, and she often used it while working.
Quickly, I opened the laptop and connected it to the home Wi-Fi. My heart raced as the screen loaded, and to my great excitement, the WhatsApp app was still linked to her account. I could see all her messages until they were deleted, giving me a window into her communications. I just needed stay glued to the screen, watching it every second.
This was my chance.

I first thought of taking the laptop to my office so that I can keep an eye. But disconnecting it from my home Wi-Fi might log-off from the account and I would lose the opportunity.
I immediately called Nidhi, telling her I’d be late for work, citing a fake meeting outside the office. I stayed at home, and for the rest of the day, my eyes were glued to the laptop screen, waiting for any sign of the truth.
There were many chats, but nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. My patience was wearing thin, and doubt began to creep in again. But then, just past noon, it happened. A message appeared at the top of the chat list with a notification symbol. It started with a simple "Hi." It was the first message and I could read it without opening the chat.
My pulse quickened as I saw that the message was from Desai. Finally, I had found what I was looking for. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for.
Today, I would learn what had been brewing behind my back.

As soon as the notification symbol disappeared, I knew Meera had opened Desai's message on her phone, and I opened the chat to read.
"Hi," Meera had replied.
The conversation escalated quickly from there:
Desai: "Decided when you're going?"
Meera: "Maybe this weekend."
Desai: "Sunday?"
Meera: "Why so curious?"
Desai: "Have you told him?"
Meera: "He'll be ready as soon as I tell."
Desai: "Are you going to tell him?"
Meera: "Yup. Why not?"
Desai: "Come on."
Meera: "What?"
Desai: "Don't."
Meera: “Then?”
Desai: “We can meet.” “There.”
Meera: "Susheel. No."
Desai: "Make it Friday."
Meera: "I'm scared."
Desai: "It's more than a month, baby."
Meera: "Shit scared."
Desai: "Think of us, Meera."
Meera: "That's even more scary."
Meera: “Scarier*”
Desai: "You can take an extended lunch break. I'll make lunch arrangements."
Meera: "I know it's not about lunch."
Desai: "I'm not objecting."
Meera: "Objecting? Haha."
Desai: "You haven't told him about going there yet, right?"
Meera: "I told you. I haven't seen the apartment in a while. Need to see it to decide."
Desai: "Don't tell him. I'm booking a flight."
Meera: "What?"
Meera: “There’s no flight from Mumbai to Pune btw.”
Meera: “In morning.”
Desai's reply came after a few seconds.
Desai: "Finishing the booking."
Meera: "Wait."
Desai: “I’ve waited so long.”
Desai: "I’m coming."
And the next thing I saw on the screen was a screenshot of Desai’s laptop – the confirmation of a flight ticket. My heart stopped as I read the details: Friday, departing from Bangalore at 9:25 AM, arriving in Pune at 10:50 AM.
Meera: "Are you crazy?"
Desai: "We're having lunch. I can’t wait to see you."
Meera: "You’re in Bangalore?"
Desai: "Tomorrow I’m going there. I’ll return to Mumbai from Pune."
Meera: "When will I be free?"
Desai: "I will bring you a gift. I hope you’ll love it."
Meera: "What gift?"
Desai: "Surprise."
Meera: "I know what it is."
Desai: "How?"
Meera: "I’d be staring at the ceiling while being gifted."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Meera knew exactly what she was committing to, and Desai's reply was just a confirmation of it.
Desai: "Are you thinking of it, baby?"
Meera: "Hell. You."
Desai: "Heaven. You."
Meera: "Haha."
Desai: "Should I come soon?"
Meera: "Don’t come soon. I like it that way."
Desai: "I hope your place has a bed."
Meera: "It has a bed and a couch in every room."
Meera: "The last time when I saw."
Desai: "Woooooooo…“
Desai: “That’s my girl!"
Meera: "Gotta go. Bye."
Desai: "Bye."

As soon as the chat ended, I watched in disbelief as the entire conversation vanished from the screen. Meera had deleted it. I exited the chat, my hands trembling. Moments later, Desai's name disappeared from the chat list too.
I was stunned by the level of caution Meera had been taking to avoid getting caught. And now, she was about to meet Desai at our apartment in Alpine Heights. Even though the chat had started with a small sign of resistance from Meera, it ended with her confirming that the flat had enough furniture for their rendezvous. Not only that – she even admitted her desires with the words "don’t come soon. I like it that way."
She meant ‘don’t cum soon, I like it that way’, didn’t she?
My mind spiralled as I quickly compared the average lovemaking sessions I had with her to the intense, orgasmic pleasure I had witnessed her sharing with Desai, especially the screaming I’d heard on Ritu’s wedding night. She had been waiting for this without even realizing it, and now, it was finally happening.

It was Wednesday. In just two days, Meera would be meeting Desai at our spare apartment with the sole intention of having sex with him. The thought of them having sex wasn’t new to me, but this time, it felt like a brutal betrayal. She was going to cheat on me. I had no part to play in this. Neither I nor my half-hearted encouragement was needed. It was all happening on her own terms, and Desai – who had always claimed to be my brother and had promised not to see her outside my house – was seducing her into breaking my trust.
What I had feared from day one – if there even was a day one – was finally happening.
I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t even know if I should do anything.
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