Marriage Apocalypse – Part 2

Hello all, welcome to the second part of my fantasy world, inspired by real life. This is a story of my experience as a married man in a modern world where men often hold power. Please read the first part if you haven’t read it yet. Without wasting time, let’s get to the unravelling in this part.

The next morning was hell. Pure hell. The sun came through the curtains, but there was no warmth, you know? Just this heavy, crushing silence between us. Isha and I are lying there on opposite sides of the bed like strangers. I didn’t sleep for even one minute.

How could I? Every time I closed my eyes—bam—that video would play in my head. My wife. My Isha. Bent over in that cold room with Sahil’s huge black cock inside her. His cock. God. Seven inches, she told me later. Thick like anything.

And mine? Four inches only. Stuart Little, she calls it. Used to think it was a cute nickname. Now I know the real reason. Worst part? The taste was still in my mouth. Yesterday, after Shinde Sir showed me that video, I came home totally devastated.

But when Isha asked me to eat her pussy—same as every night—I did it. Even though I knew. KNEW what I would taste. I knew whose cum was inside her. And my stupid dick? Got hard the whole time. Leaked so much. What kind of man does that make me?

Finally, Isha spoke. Voice all shaky. “Shailesh… we need to talk. About yesterday.” I sat up. My belly folded over itself—getting fatter day by day, while she stays perfect. Always perfect. “What to talk? You and Sahil. In my factory itself. While I was sitting in a meeting.”

She touched my shoulder. I moved away. “It wasn’t planned, Shailesh. When I saw him suddenly after so many years… something just happened. I’m sorry.”
My throat was tight. “Is it bigger? His… his thing?”
She looked away. Tears coming. “Yes.”

Just yes. Simple like that. My heart sank. “How much?”
“Shailesh, please—”
“HOW MUCH BIGGER, ISHA?”
She was crying properly now. “More than seven inches.”

Seven inches. My cock felt like it shrank even more hearing that. Seven thick inches splitting my wife open while my pathetic four-incher can’t even fill her properly. Then suddenly Isha’s face changed. Became hard. “But I also want to ask you something, Shailesh.”
I looked at her. She continued, “Why did you eat my pussy last night? If you already knew about Sahil. You knew whose… whose cum was inside me. So why did you do it?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. “You didn’t say anything,” she pressed on. “Just came home, and when I asked, you did it. Like you… like you wanted to. What does that mean? What does that say about you, Shailesh?”

We both just stared at each other then. Neither of us has any answers. She cheated. I… I don’t even know what I did. Submitted? Accepted? I don’t know.

Monday at the factory was torture. Absolute torture. I reached early, trying to avoid everyone. But workers noticed immediately. Whispering. Smirking. Did they know? Someone must have seen something, no?

Then I saw him. Sahil. On the factory floor, shirtless, moving equipment. His body—god, his body. Six foot two inches, all muscle, dark skin shining with sweat. Complete opposite of me. Other workers respected him. Actually, listened when he gave orders.

When he told them something, they jumped to do it. Me? They argue with me. Delay work. Make excuses. When I walked past, Sahil stopped working. Our eyes met. Pure hate in his eyes. Mixed with this… this triumph. Like he won something. He fucked my wife, and he knows I know, and he doesn’t even care.

His co-worker said something, and they all laughed. I heard “manager saab” and more laughter. My heart was pounding. Were they talking about Isha? About me? Paranoia was eating me alive.

I tried to show some authority. “Sahil, this equipment should have been moved by now. We’re behind schedule.”

He looked at me. Slowly smiled. That smile—like he was mocking me. “Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir. Anything for you… Sir.”

The way he said ‘Sir’. More workers started snickering. I just walked away, face burning, feeling his eyes on my back. Watching me. Judging me. He hates me. Hates me for marrying Isha. Hates me for being weak for having what he lost. And you know what? He’s right to hate me.

11 AM. Peon came. “Shinde Sir is calling you.” My stomach dropped. I went to his cabin. He was smiling. That cunning, dangerous smile. “Close the door, Shailesh.” I closed it. He turned his computer screen to me. The video. Paused on Isha’s face.

Sahil’s cock in her mouth. “Have you thought about my proposal?”
My voice came out weak. “Sir, please—”

“Diwali party this Saturday. Everyone is invited—management, workers, everyone. Your wife will come with you. This is not request, Shailesh. This is an order. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

He leaned back in his chair. Looking satisfied. “Good. Make sure she wears something special. I want her to look beautiful.”

Then he paused. “You know, Shailesh, I’ve been thinking. I need someone to help with operations in Dubai, while I take care of clients. I think you and your lovely wife should accompany me for work trip. Five-star hotels, all expenses paid. What do you say?”

Dubai. Days alone with Isha and him. I felt sick. “We’ll discuss after the party. Now go back to work. And Shailesh?” His smile disappeared. “That worker, Sahil, doesn’t seem to respect you much. Everyone can see it. That’s very bad for factory discipline. You need to control your people better.”

I left. Completely destroyed. He knew. Everyone knew. I couldn’t even control workers on my own floor.

The rest of the week was torture. Isha and I barely talked. At night, she stopped asking me to eat her pussy. We slept far apart. But sometimes I’d catch her looking at me with this expression I couldn’t understand. Guilt? Pity? Something else?

Saturday came too fast. 4 PM. Isha went to the bathroom. I could hear the shower running. Then silence. Then all her beauty rituals. She took two hours. When she came out, I forgot how to breathe. Red saree. Deep, deep red like sindoor.

But the blouse—my god. Backless. Held together with thin strings that looked like they’d break if you just touched them. Front side? Neckline so low her cleavage was on full display. Those 36D breasts are straining against the fabric. Mangalsutra is sitting right between them.

Saree was tied so low on her hips that you could see her whole midriff. That smooth, flat stomach. That tiny waist. Those wide hips. Her body is hourglass type—narrow waist, then suddenly flaring out to big hips and that round, perfect ass. Fair skin glowing like butter.
Makeup was perfect. Smoky eyes with thick kajal. Crimson lips match the saree. That small bindi. Long jhumkas dangling from ears. Hair in loose waves falling down her bare back. Gold bangles on both wrists, making that clinking sound. And her feet—goddess feet—in 5-inch golden heels.

She was taller than me without heels already. Now she towered over my 5-foot 5 height. She looked like a fantasy. Like those actresses in movies. But this was my wife. The drive to the factory was quiet. When we reached the parking, she asked softly, “Do I look okay?”

I couldn’t speak for a second. Then managed, “You look… perfect. Like always.”

The factory hall was decorated with diyas and lights everywhere. Music playing. People mixing around—workers in one area, management in another, but everyone together for Diwali. When we entered, everything stopped. Every single conversation just… stopped.

All eyes were on Isha. Every man staring. Couldn’t blame them. The way she walked—natural grace, hips swaying, heels clicking on floor, bangles making that tinkling sound.

Men were literally drinking her in with their eyes. Face. Cleavage. Midriff. Hips. Curves. Everything. I saw hunger. Lust. Envy in their eyes.

Suddenly, Shinde Sir was there. Looking sharp in black kurta. His eyes just… roamed all over her body. Hungry. “Mrs Vaidya! You look absolutely ravishing tonight.”

Isha smiled politely. Little nervous. “Thank you, Mr. Shinde.”

“Please, please, call me Samar only. Tonight we’re celebrating. Come, let me introduce you to people. Shailesh, get us some drinks, na.”

Not asking. Ordering. His hand went to her bare back. Fingers already tracing patterns on her skin. Isha looked back at me once, uncertain. But I just nodded. What else could I do?

From the bar, I watched him work his magic. He has a tall, broad-shouldered, commanding presence. Everything I’m not. At 52, he’s still fit and powerful-looking. Saw him leaning close to Isha, talking in her ear, making her laugh despite everything. His hand never left her back. Never.

I could hear some of their talk. “My late wife and I used to travel to Dubai every year,” he was saying. “Such a beautiful city. You would love it, Isha. Maybe I can take you someday. Show you how beautiful women should be treated properly.”
Isha blushed. “That’s very kind, Sir, but—”

“Being alone these three years has been very difficult for me. A man needs a woman in his life. You are the most beautiful woman I have seen in a very long time.”

Then the DJ announced dancing. Samar held out his hand to her. Isha hesitated, looking at me. I looked away. Couldn’t even meet her eyes. They went to the dance floor. His hands are on her waist. Pulling her close—very close. Too close. Her hands were on his broad shoulders.

Swaying to slow music. Bodies pressed together. His hands slide lower and lower, almost touching her ass. Then I saw them coming in. An old woman in a burkha. Young woman in hijab. And between them—Sahil. My blood went cold.

Sahil looked massive. Six foot two, dark, muscular, thick beard. Sleeveless kurta showing those powerful arms. Even from far away, his presence was… commanding. Strong. He scanned the crowd, and his eyes found Isha in Samar’s arms. His jaw clenched. Fists tightened.

Pure jealousy and rage on his face. The song ended. Samar kissed Isha’s forehead, right in front of everyone. Then said something to her and walked away to greet other guests. Isha stood alone. Looking flushed. Adjusting her saree.
Sahil moved through the crowd toward her.

Like a predator, a new slow song started. He reached her, held out his hand. “Dance with me.” Not asking. Commanding. Isha looked around nervously. Samar was far away, greeting people. I was watching helplessly from the bar. She put her trembling hand in Sahil’s huge one.

The difference was immediate. This wasn’t awkward or forced like with Samar. This was… natural. Perfect. Like they’d done this a thousand times before. Their bodies just fit together. Sahil’s large hand covered her whole bare back. On the other hand, she was swallowing hers.

Even in 5-inch heels, she had to look up at him—he was that tall. They talked in low voices. Isha’s eyes are getting wet. Sahil pulled her closer—no gap left between bodies. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Hips aligned. He leaned down, whispering something. She closed her eyes. One tear fell.

Sahil wiped that tear so tenderly. So gently. Then his hand slid lower. Grabbed her ass. Right there. Everyone watching. She should’ve protested. Pushed him away. But instead, she just melted into him. Surrendered completely to his embrace.

The song ended, but they stayed locked together for long seconds. Finally separated reluctantly. An old woman came forward.

“Isha? Isha beta, is that you?” She gasped. “Subhanallah! My beautiful girl!”
Isha’s voice broke. “Ammi. Salaam.”
Ammi. She called her Ammi. How close were they?
“This is Sahil’s fiancée, Nazia. My niece only.”

Nazia was plain. Simple face, a bit plump, conservative green hijab and salwar kameez. Next to Isha, she looked… invisible. Nothing. I saw jealousy flash in Isha’s eyes. This ordinary girl was going to marry the man Isha loved. The man who fucked her just days ago.

“You must come for Eid beta. You and your husband both. Promise me you’ll come.”

Sahil looked at Isha with burning eyes. “Yes, Ammi. They should definitely come.”

Before more could be said, Samar appeared again. “Mrs Vaidya, I need a word. In private, please.” Tone left no room for argument. Isha followed him, confused, toward the corridor.

Twenty-five minutes, they were gone. When they came back, Isha was pale. Shaken. Samar looked triumphant. He clapped my shoulder. “Shailesh, your wife has agreed to come with me to my house. To discuss Dubai trip details. You don’t mind, no?”

Mouth went dry. “Sir, I—”
“Not asking Shailesh.” Voice turned to steel. He leaned close, whispered, “Unless you want that video on the projector for everyone?”
Looked at Isha. Her eyes were terrified. “Shailesh—”

What could I say? Nodded weakly. Samar offered his arm. Isha took it. Hand trembling. I watched them leave together. Her golden heels are clicking. Red saree swaying. Everyone whispering. Staring.

I drove home alone. Waited. 10:47 PM. Phone buzzed. Unknown number. Video.
Samar’s bedroom. Expensive-looking. Big bed. Isha is standing in a red saree, looking small. Vulnerable. Samar had a phone in hand, filming. “Don’t worry, beautiful. This is just for us. A memory of our special night.” He set the phone on a tripod. Angled toward bed.

Isha saw it. Knew she was being recorded. Her eyes went to the camera, then back to him. He circled her slowly. “Such a beautiful wife, Shailesh has. Tonight, you’re mine.” Fingers found the blouse strings. One pull. It fell away.
Her 36D breasts spilt out. Large. Round.

Dusky pink nipples are already getting hard in the air. Mangalsutra hanging between them. His hands cupped them roughly. Squeezed. Kneaded. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect.” Video ended.

11:23 PM. Another one.
Isha naked. Only jewellery and mangalsutra on. Her hands were tied above her head with her own saree. Tied to the bedpost. Samar is also naked now. Fit body. Powerful. Cock was thick and commanding. Maybe six and a half inches, but very girthy.

Positioned cock at her lips. “Open.” She shook her head. SMACK! Slapped her face. Head snapped to the side. A shocked cry from her mouth. “I said open your mouth.”

Tears flowed, but she parted her crimson lips. He grabbed her hair. Pushed thick cock past those lips. “Mmmphhh!” Gagged immediately. Eyes going wide.
“That’s it. Take it deeper. Good girl.” Thrust into her throat. Drool is leaking from her lips. Pre-cum mixing with it.

Running down her chin. “Does Shailesh fuck your throat like this?”
Pulled out. She gasped for air. “Answer me!”
“N-no… never, Sir…”
“Because he’s pussy. But I’m not. Tonight, you learn what a real man does.”

Forced it back in. Fucking her mouth without mercy. Her makeup is getting destroyed. Mascara running. Lipstick smeared everywhere.
Video ended.

12:15 AM.
Isha bent over the bed. Saree bunched at the waist. Round ass high in the air. Samar is behind her. Cock at her entrance. Her pussy is glistening wet. Pink. Swollen. Clearly aroused despite everything happening.
“Tell me you want it.” Rubbing thick cockhead against her wet slit. Teasing the opening.
“Please, sir…” she whimpered.
SMACK! Hard spank. Red handprint on fair ass. “Say it properly!”
“I want your cock! Please sir! Please fuck me sir!”

Slammed into her. “OH GOD! OH GOD! FUCK!” Isha screaming. Back arching violently. “So tight! You’re so fucking tight and wet!” Started pounding. SLAP SLAP SLAP. Sound of flesh hitting flesh. “Yes! Yes! Ahhhhh! Fuck me! Mmmmm! Oh god yes!”

Wet sounds were obscene. Squelch squelch squelch. “Whose pussy is this?” SMACK!
“Yours!  It’s yours, sir! Mmmmm! Oh fuck, it’s yours!”

“Who fucks you better? Me or that pathetic excuse of a husband?” SMACK!

“You! Unnhhh! God you! You fuck me so much better! Ahhhhh! He can’t… he can’t fill me like this! Mmmmmm! Your cock is so thick! So deep! Oh god, oh god!”

Faster now. Grabbing her breasts from behind. Still hammering. “That’s right. You need a real man’s cock. Not that tiny thing between Shailesh’s legs. How big is he? Four inches?”

“Yes! Ahhhh! Four inches only! You’re so much bigger! Unnhhh! So much thicker! I can feel every inch! Oh god, I’m going to—”

“Cum for me! Cum on my cock like slut you are!”

“I’M CUMMING! OH GOD I’M CUMMING! YES! YES! FUCK YES! OH FUCK OH FUCK!” Body convulsing. Pussy clenching and spasming around his thick shaft.

Never heard her scream like that. Never made her cum so hard. My pathetic cock is leaking while I watch my wife climax on another man.

Videos kept coming. 1:33 AM—she’s riding him, breasts bouncing wild, head thrown back. “Yes! Yes! Oh god yes! Fuck! Your cock feels so good!” Mangalsutra swinging between her breasts.

2:47 AM—on her back, legs wrapped around him, kissing passionately. “Mmmmmm… ahhhhh… yes… mmmmm…” Moans muffled by his mouth.

3:52 AM—on knees again, willingly bobbing on his cock. Total submission.

4:18 AM. Last video. Samar fucking her from behind. Hand around the throat. Pulling her back. The camera is still recording from the tripod.

“Who owns you?”

“You do sir! Ahhhh! You own me!”

“Who’s your real man?”

“You are, sir! Mmmm! You’re a real man!”

“And what is Shailesh?”

Pause. Hard thrust. “Ahhhhh! A… a cuckold! He’s a pathetic cuckold! Unnhhh! Oh god!”

“That’s right! Take my cum! Take it all!”

“Yes! Cum inside me! Fill me! YESSS!” He roared. Emptying himself deep inside her married pussy.

After that, just silence. Sat in darkness. Tissues everywhere. Cum staining my pants. Waiting. Just waiting for her.

6:47 AM. Door opened. Heels clicking. Slow. Deliberate. Isha appeared.

I gasped. Couldn’t help it. Red saree completely ruined—dishevelled, wrinkled, stained with god knows what. Hanging haphazardly on her body. No blouse. She held a pallu across her bare breasts with one hand. Hair wild, tangled, like some animal had been clawing through it.

Makeup destroyed—mascara streaked down cheeks in black lines, kajal smudged everywhere, making her eyes look bruised. That crimson lipstick is completely gone. Fair skin covered in marks. Red love bites on the neck. Shoulders. The top of the breasts, where I could see.

Dark purple finger-shaped bruises on her hips where the saree sat low. Lips swollen. Puffy from kissing and… other use. Eyes red and puffy from crying.
Smell hit me hard. Raw sex. No other way to describe. Sweat. Cum. Arousal. His expensive cologne. All mixed into this cloud that clung to her.

But what shocked me most? Her face. Not just guilt and shame. There was anger. Pure burning anger. Directed at ME.

She stood there trembling. “You knew.” Voice hoarse. Damaged. “You knew this whole time.”

Opened mouth. Nothing came out. She stepped closer. Heels clicking ominously. “You made a deal with him, didn’t you? You PIMPED ME OUT to save your pathetic job!”

“Isha I—”

“You WHAT?!” Screaming now. Tears streaming. “You let him blackmail you? Agreed to let him have me? And didn’t even TELL me? I walked into that party thinking we were attending a function! Then he shows me a video of Sahil and me, and threatens to ruin everything. I found out YOU already made a deal!”

Stood up. Legs are shaking badly. “I was trying to protect us! He said he’d show everyone the video, fire me, tell our parents—”

“PROTECT US?!” Bitter laugh. “You didn’t protect anything! You’re so fucking WEAK, Shailesh! So pathetic! You just handed me over like… like I’m some property to trade away!”

Words cut deeper than a knife. World collapsing around me. “If Sahil were in your place, this would NEVER have happened!” Voice breaking. “Sahil would have fought him. Punched him. Protected me properly. Would have never let another man touch me. But you? You just… gave me away like nothing.”

Irony wasn’t lost on either of us. “But Sahil is the one who started all this!” I shouted back. “If you hadn’t fucked him in the factory—”

“And whose fault is THAT? You hired him! When I saw him again after all these years, when those feelings came back… what was I supposed to do? You can’t even satisfy me, Shailesh! Your tiny four-inch dick can’t fill me! Can’t make me cum as they do!”

Truth hanging in the air. Brutal. Undeniable. I collapsed on the bed. Completely devastated. Tears pouring. Hands shaking.

“Please…” Sobbing now. “Please don’t leave me. I know I’m weak. I know I’m pathetic. I know I failed you completely. But please… I love you. Can’t lose you.”

I fell to my knees in front of her. Crying uncontrollably. Completely emasculated. This was rock bottom. My wife, standing before me, was marked by another man, furious at my weakness. And I’m on my knees begging her not to leave.

Isha looked down at me. Expression complex—anger, disgust, pity, something else I couldn’t identify. Sank onto the bed, looking suddenly exhausted. “Can’t believe this is my life now.”

Long silence. Then quietly, “Your job is safe. Samar said he deleted the video.”
Relief flooding. “Thank god—”

“But he made me an offer.” Voice flat. Emotionless.

Looked up from the floor. “What offer?”

“Wants me to be his mistress. Regular meetings. Dubai trip. He’ll take care of us financially—pay for my shopping, spa, jewellery. Give you promotions. Make our lives comfortable. In exchange, I… I belong to him whenever he wants.”

Room spinning. My wife is another man’s mistress. Officially.

“No, no, we can’t. Find another way. I’ll quit. Move cities. We’ll—”

“Go where, Shailesh?” Hard voice. “You’re a mid-level manager in a tier-2 city. Think you’ll find better elsewhere? And when he releases a video anyway out of spite? What about Sahil? He works there. What if he talks? We have NO options left.”

She was right. Trapped. Completely utterly trapped.

Isha stood slowly. Let the pallu fall. Naked breasts came into view—perfect 36D now covered in hickeys and bite marks from Samar. Walked to bed. Lay back. Spread legs.

Voice cold. Commanding. “Come here. Eat my pussy.”
Stared in shock. “Isha, you can’t be serious—”
“I said, come here and eat my pussy. NOW.” Eyes hard. Testing me.

Crawled to bed. Completely humiliated. Between her spread legs could see everything. Pussy swollen. Red. Gaping slightly from hours of hard fucking. Inner thighs sticky with dried cum.

Pussy lips puffy, stretched, glazed with a mixture of her juices and his semen. Smell overwhelming—sex, sweat, another man’s cum. Grabbed my balding head. Pulled my face into a used pussy. “Lick it clean. Taste what a real man left inside your wife.”
Horrified. Devastated. But a pathetic four-inch cock is rock hard. Leaking. Extended tongue. Licked. Taste overwhelming—salty, musky, bitter. His thick cum mixed with her tangy arousal. Licked deeper. Cleaning her stretched hole. Tasting evidence of her night of passion.

“That’s it,” Isha moaned above. Anger mixed with arousal. “Clean up the mess, real man made. This is what you are now, Shailesh. This is what you’ve become. Cuckold. Cleanup boy. Pathetic excuse of husband.”

Tears streaming as I licked and sucked. She was right. This was what I’d become. After several minutes, she pushed my head away. Lay there in silence—her on the bed, exhausted and satisfied despite everything. I’m on the floor, face covered in another man’s cum, marriage in complete ruins.

The future stretches ahead, uncertain and dark. Samar wanted her as mistress. Sahil is still at the factory, hating me, desiring her. We’re blissfully unaware.
Isha and me? Bound together not by love anymore. By shame. Arousal. Humiliation.

Reality we neither understood nor could we escape. This was our marriage now. And somewhere in the darkness, I wondered if we’d ever find a way back. Or if we even wanted to.

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. I hope you like the story. Please let me know if you would like me to proceed further.