I parked the car and stepped out, immediately hit by the suffocating summer heat. It had been a brutal day. The new murder case had kept me on my feet for ten hours straight, and I hadn't even found time to eat lunch. My head throbbed as I walked up to the front door, my mind still tangled in alibis and crime scene photos.

I rang the bell. A moment later, her voice came from the other side. "Coming."

The lock clicked. The door opened just enough for me to slip inside. The second I did, Shreya darted back, hurriedly pushing the door shut behind me as if terrified a neighbor might catch a glimpse from the hallway.

I turned around, the exhaustion suddenly bleeding out of me. A slow smile spread across my face.

She stood against the wall, her face burning a brilliant, furious red. She was wearing a completely normal, loose T-shirt on top. But beneath it, for the first time in her life, she was wearing denim hotpants.

Her hands were instantly at her sides, her fingers frantically tugging at the frayed edges of the denim, trying to pull them down over her thick thighs.

"Don't smile," she breathed, her voice trembling. "And stop looking."

"I can't," I said, dropping my keys into the bowl on the console table. "You look beautiful."

"I look ridiculous." She kept her eyes glued to the floor, her knuckles white from gripping the tight fabric. "They are too short, Tarun. They don't cover anything. My hairy thighs are bare. How is it any better than just wearing undies all the time"

"That's the idea." I took a step closer.

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest, shrinking back against the wall. "I hate this. I've been hiding in the bedroom all afternoon. I couldn't even walk past the living room window to get water."

"But you kept them on."

She swallowed hard, her chest rising and falling fast against the cotton T-shirt. "I didn't have a choice."

"Walk to the kitchen," I told her, my voice dropping. "Get me a glass of water."

Her eyes widened. "Tarun, no. Don't make me walk around in these. The fabric rides up when I move."

"I know." I didn't break eye contact. "I'm thirsty, Shreya."

She glared at me, her lower lip trembling into a slight pout. She wanted to argue. I could see the refusal sitting right on the edge of her tongue. But then she let out a sharp, frustrated breath, uncrossed her arms, and forced herself to take a step.

I watched her walk. She tried to keep her steps measured and proper, but the stiff denim hugged her hips tight, making the natural sway of her body impossible to ignore. Every step pulled the fabric slightly higher, highlighting the soft, heavy curve of her backside.

All thoughts of the murder case and my empty stomach completely vanished. I dropped onto the couch, unbuttoning the stiff collar of my uniform and letting out a long breath.

She came back a moment later, walking faster this time. She had seemingly given up pulling at the hem, her hands gripping a cold glass of water instead.

I took it from her, our fingers brushing. "How was the rest of your day?"

She dropped onto the cushion next to me with a heavy groan. "Terrible. I feel like a complete pervert walking around my own house in this... this piece of abomination."

I chuckled, taking a long drink of the water.

She huffed, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms. "You are clearly enjoying my discomfort a bit too much, Tarun. It's not funny. The delivery guy knocked at three o'clock and I was so scared then."

I could see the genuine frustration bubbling up, so I set the glass on the coffee table and shifted on the cushions, turning fully toward her.

"I'm not laughing at your discomfort," I said, keeping my voice low and steady. "I'm smiling because you have absolutely no idea how sexy you look."

She glared at me, but the sharp edge of her anger was already slipping, replaced by a deep, furious blush. "Don't just say things to calm me down."

"I'm not," I told her. "You look incredibly sexy, Shreya. I mean it. They suit you perfectly. They show off exactly what I want to see when I come home."

Her shoulders dropped. The fight drained out of her instantly. She looked down at her lap, biting her lower lip to hide the small, pleased smile that betrayed her. All her thoughts of discomfort seemed to evaporate under the weight of the compliment.

"Come here," I murmured.

She hesitated for only a second before sliding across the sofa, closing the distance between us.

I reached out and placed my hand firmly on her bare thigh. Her skin was warm, and she gave a sharp, quiet gasp at the sudden contact, her muscles instantly tensing under my palm.

"See?" I traced my thumb slowly over her skin, feeling the fine hairs she was so desperate to hide. "Nothing to be embarrassed about."

I opened my mouth to ask more about the delivery driver. I wanted to press her, to see her squirm just a little more about the thought of nearly being caught. But before the words left my mouth, her hand slid higher up my leg.

She didn't stop at my thigh. Her fingers grazed over the rough fabric of my uniform trousers, settling deliberately over my crotch.

I leaned back against the cushions, a slow smile spreading across my face. "For someone who hates those shorts so much," I murmured, "you realize the challenge was only for eight hours, right? You could have taken them off an hour ago."

A furious blush spread across her neck and chest on being caught. "Shut up, I wanted to show them to you," she whispered, her voice trembling.

She was incredibly embarrassed, but the desperate, heavy look in her dark eyes completely overrode her shyness; her fingers dropped to my waist and fumbled with my belt buckle. She was impatient, her breathing shallow and uneven as she yanked down my zipper.

She freed my cock, which was already aching and standing completely straight. She wrapped her warm hand around it, giving it a few clumsy, hurried strokes. Her eyes were fixed on my chest, unable to meet my gaze, but her grip was surprisingly firm.

"Shreya..." I warned quietly, my hands moving to grip her waist.

She didn't say a word. She just stood up right in front of me. With shaking hands, she hooked her thumbs under the tight waistband of the denim and her panties, pushing them all the way down her thick thighs and letting them drop to the floor.

She didn't try to hide anything. She simply climbed onto the sofa, straddled my lap, and sank all the way down onto me with a sharp, breathless gasp.

Even after seven years of marriage, the sudden shift in her always caught me off guard. The moment I was fully inside her, the embarrassed, blushing woman who had been terrified of her own shadow completely vanished.

She threw her head back, a breathless moan escaping her lips as she started moving. Her hands braced hard against my chest, setting a frantic, desperate rhythm right there on the living room sofa.

"I've been wet all day," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut as she rode me. "Since noon. I tried to just... rub it away in the bathroom. It didn't help. It didn't help at all."

"You should have called me," I groaned, gripping her heavy hips to help guide her pace.

"You were working," she gasped, her nails digging into my skin. "God, Tarun... don't stop."

We didn't waste breath on anything else. The tension of the past few months, the exhaustion of my job, her humiliation throughout the day; it all poured into the tight, desperate friction between us. Her pace broke into a chaotic rhythm, her breath catching sharply before she cried out, her entire body shuddering violently against mine as she finally came.

She collapsed onto my chest, her skin slick with a light sweat, but she wasn't done. Within seconds, she pushed herself up, her breathing heavy and her dark eyes completely unguarded.

"Turn me around," she demanded, her voice raspy.

I didn't hesitate. She shifted off my lap, moving to her knees and bracing her hands against the armrest of the sofa, presenting herself to me completely. I gripped her hips, pulling her back flush against me, and drove back into her from behind.

She let out a sharp cry, her head dropping between her shoulders. The angle was deeper, rougher, and I was already dangerously close to the edge. The sound of our bodies colliding echoed loudly in the quiet apartment, every thrust pushing me closer to the breaking point.

"I'm close, Shreya," I warned, my grip tightening desperately on her waist. "I need to pull out."

"No," she shouted, looking back over her shoulder, her dark eyes wild and demanding. "It's a safe day. Don't you dare pull out."

That was all the permission I needed. I let go of the last shred of my control, pulling her hips back to bury myself as deep as I could. I groaned loudly, my vision blurring as I pumped my hot release deep inside her.

The second it was over, the switch flipped. She pushed herself off my lap, her breath still catching, and immediately scrambled to gather the clothes scattered on the floor. The wild, demanding woman from a moment ago vanished, replaced instantly by my flustered wife.

She grabbed the hem of her loose T-shirt, bunching it up to quickly wipe between her thighs. "That was the best we've ever had," she muttered, refusing to meet my eyes.

I leaned back against the cushions, resting my arms on the back of the sofa as I watched her frantic movements. "You said the exact same thing last time."

She didn't reply. Her face flushed a brilliant red as she clutched the crumpled denim hotpants to her chest and turned toward the hallway. She walked fast, desperate to escape the exposed living room, but her hurried pace only made her hips sway heavily. I sat there and enjoyed a perfect view of her ass shaking with every rushed step until she disappeared around the corner.

The bathroom door clicked shut. I listened closely, but I didn't hear the lock turn.

A slow smile spread across my face. The heavy exhaustion and my empty stomach all forgotten, I pushed myself off the couch, leaving my uniform on the floor, and walked down the hallway after her, fully intending to get a second round under the running water.

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I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. Shreya sat at her dressing table across the room, meticulously rubbing moisturizer into her arms. She was finally telling me the rest of her story about the delivery agent.

"Luckily, the guy was in a hurry," she said, her reflection frowning in the mirror. "He just handed me the parcel and left. I did stand sideways, though, letting the doorway hide my bottom half."

"Was there any need to make such a big issue of it?" I asked, shifting against the pillows. "I'm pretty sure a delivery guy has seen weirder things than a woman wearing denim shorts in her own house."

She spun around on the stool, her dark eyes flashing. "Maybe he would be fine with it, but what if our neighbors saw? They already think I'm a freak with all the challenges we've been caught doing. And it doesn't help that I'm a Bengali woman. People already fetishize that."

She pointed the bottle of lotion at me accusingly. "Do you remember the party at Mrs. Pandey's a few weeks ago? How that one woman caught us kissing in the hallway? Savita told me she's a close relative of Mrs. Pandey, and she's made it her life mission to paint me as some kind of pervert to the whole building."

I smiled, interlacing my fingers behind my head. "Didn't you tell me later that night that getting caught spiced up the challenge even more?"

Her face flooded with heat. She dropped her hand, huffing out a sharp breath. "You have absolutely no tact," she mumbled, turning back to the mirror. "And far too good of a memory." She aggressively started rubbing a different lotion onto her face, refusing to look at me again.

It always worked. I chuckled quietly and rolled off the bed, walking over to the heavy wooden almirah. I reached into the back, under a stack of my formal shirts, and pulled out the plain black paperback.

Shreya heard the rustle of the fabric and guessed what I was doing. She groaned loudly. "Tarun, it's getting late. Don't you have the station tomorrow?"

"Don't try to fool me," I said, walking back and sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I know you're equally interested in what the next challenge is."

She stuck her tongue out at my reflection in the mirror, caught in the lie. She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over, climbing onto the bed to sit close beside me as I opened the book.

With the help of the bookmark, I carefully opened the book to where we had left off. Shreya rested her chin on my shoulder.

"I really am curious what the later challenges entail," she murmured, her eyes on the crisp paper. "How wild they actually get."

I laughed. "Probably wilder than anything we can imagine. But I don't want to spoil the surprise. We go step by step."

I focused on the book, flipping to the new page. Like usual, there was no title. Just a small paragraph of useless fluff about finding comfort in your own home and the psychology of jealousy. Shreya always hated reading those parts. She despised the cheap, snake-oil salesman style of manipulation the author used. I agreed with her, but I still quickly glanced over the words anyway before moving on.

My eyes dropped to the bold text at the bottom. The actual challenge.

"Allow your partner to completely select your outfit, which you must wear for the entire duration of a stranger's visit to your home."

Shreya, who had read it faster than me, immediately looked up. Her eyes were sharp, carrying a very clear, silent warning. I knew better than to push her too hard tonight. Suggesting something like the denim hotpants again would result in an outright refusal.

As I thought it over, my gaze dropped to her chest. She was wearing her usual cotton nightgown. Since she prioritized comfort at home, it was worn-in and incredibly loose at the collar. With her leaning against my arm, the neckline slacked, exposing a very sizable, deep stretch of cleavage.

I smirked. "Your current maxi actually feels like a good choice."

She looked down at herself, pinched the thin fabric, and thought about it for a second. She nodded. "Yes. That seems fine. But what about the stranger?"

"The hallway AC has been making that rattling noise," I said. "I can call a technician to look at it."

She nodded slowly, but her jaw set into a firm line. "I don't want to be alone in the house with some guy. You need to call him on Sunday so you can be here."

I smiled, snapping the book shut. "Good. Sunday it is."

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Shreya paced the length of the hallway, her bare feet padding softly against the tiles. She would sit beside me for ten seconds, bounce her knee, and then stand right back up to check the peephole.

I kept my eyes on my phone, scrolling through my work emails from the couch. "You're never this nervous when my parents visit."

She stopped pacing and crossed her arms, pulling the loose fabric of her nightgown tightly across her chest. "I'm apprehensive. What if they send some old creep?"

I chuckled, not looking up from my screen. "They won't. I deliberately downplayed the issue on the phone. Knowing how these repair shops operate, they will definitely send a trainee. You can relax."

She let out a heavy sigh, dropping her arms. The neckline of the worn cotton immediately slacked, dipping dangerously low. "Even a younger guy isn't safe in this city. Sunita was just telling me about these horrible eve-teasing incidents near the market ..."

I locked my phone and stood up. Walking over, I gripped her gently by the shoulders, practically lifting her to sit back down on the edge of the couch.

"I am standing right here," I told her, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I highly doubt a random AC technician is going to be brave enough to try anything rude with you while a police officer is in the room."

She opened her mouth to retort, but the sharp ring of the doorbell cut her off.

She flinched. I walked to the front door and pulled it open. A lanky, sun-tanned youth stood in the hallway, holding a worn canvas tool bag.

"I'm from the electronics shop," he mumbled, looking down at a crumpled slip of paper. "Here for the AC complaint?"

"Yes, come in." I stepped aside, letting him pass, and led him into the living area, explaining the rattling noise the vents had been making all week.

Shreya had stood up by now. She was waiting near the couch, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Without the safety of her crossed arms, the thin maxi dress draped naturally, leaving nothing to the imagination regarding the heavy shape of her chest and the deep shadow of her cleavage.

The youth turned. His eyes landed on Shreya, dropping instantly to her neckline. He froze, completely transfixed for a full second, before his head snapped away, a dark flush creeping up his neck.

I hid a smirk. I gestured for the technician to take a seat on the opposite couch so I could finish explaining the thermostat issue.

He sat down stiffly, nodding along to my words, but he wasn't really listening. His gaze kept darting across the coffee table, trying his absolute best to steal secretive, desperate glances at my wife.

I felt a heavy heat pool in my groin as I watched Shreya fidget, trying desperately to act nonchalant under the boy's stolen glances.

I cleared my throat loudly.

The technician jumped, letting out a nervous cough of his own and snapping his attention back to me.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked evenly. "Juice? Tea?"

"Just water is fine," he replied quickly, his voice cracking slightly.

I glanced at Shreya. "Shreya, bring him a glass of water."

She practically bolted toward the kitchen, desperate for the temporary relief. With her out of the room, the youth relaxed a fraction and nodded along to my explanation of the vents, though I caught his eyes drifting back to the kitchen doorway more than once.

A minute later, Shreya walked back out holding a cold glass. She approached his side of the couch and bent forward to hand it to him.

In her nervous rush, she completely forgot about her outfit. As she leaned down, the worn, loose neckline of her cotton nightgown sagged completely away from her body. From his seated angle, the youth got an unobstructed, glorious view straight down her dress.

His eyes went wide as saucers. Watching his sheer shock made the strain in my own trousers spike instantly.

A second too late, Shreya realized what had happened. She gasped, standing bolt upright and violently clutching the neckline to her throat. She let out a strained, high-pitched chuckle, her face burning a violent shade of red, and immediately made herself scarce, retreating down the hallway as fast as she could walk.

The youth swallowed hard. He shifted awkwardly, his jeans suddenly looking far too stiff and tight. He stood up in a rush, holding the glass of water directly in front of his crotch to hide the obvious bulge.

"I'll... I'll just go take a look at the unit now," he stammered, hurrying toward the hallway ladder.

I let out a slow breath, a deep smirk settling on my face. Leaving the flustered technician to his work, I stood up and followed the exact path my wife had just taken, heading straight for our bedroom.

I found her sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor.

"It was an accident," I said, walking over and sitting beside her. "It could happen to anyone."

She turned to me, her cheeks puffed out in absolute indignation. "You planned this. That is exactly why you made me wear this dress."

"I don't like the accusation," I laughed, holding my hands up in surrender.

She crossed her arms, completely unconvinced. "Did I expose too much? Be honest, Tarun."

"No," I lied smoothly. "He really didn't have a good angle."

She still looked utterly mortified, clutching the neckline tight against her collarbone. I pulled her into a hug, feeling the rapid flutter of her heartbeat against my chest.

"Think of it this way," I murmured, resting my chin on her head. "You definitely made that poor kid's day. He will probably never forget it."

"Tarun, stop," she groaned, her face heating up instantly.

"I'm serious. When he stood up to go check the vents, he had to hold the water glass directly over his crotch just to hide his bulge."

She gasped, immediately burying her burning face into my shoulder to hide from me.

I smiled. She was completely flustered, and it was incredibly cute. I tilted her chin up and leaned in to kiss her, but a sudden knock on the bedroom door made her jump a foot in the air.

"Excuse me?" The youth's nervous voice drifted through the wood. "I need to check the outer unit. Which way is the balcony?"

Shreya scrambled off the bed. Her face was still flushed a brilliant red as she rushed over, opening the door just a few inches to peek out into the hallway, using the doorframe to hide her body.

"It's... it's through the kitchen," she stammered, her voice slightly breathless. "The door on the left."

While she was distracted, talking to him through the narrow gap, I stepped up silently right behind her. Taking full advantage of her compromised position, I reached down and grabbed a firm, heavy handful of her backside right over the thin cotton maxi.

She let out a sharp yelp.

"Ma'am? Are you okay?" the youth called out from the hallway.

She kicked back blindly with her heel, catching my shin, but kept her voice painfully steady. "Nothing. I'm fine."

As soon as his footsteps retreated toward the kitchen, she whipped around. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her chest heaving.

"Sorry," I murmured, dropping to my knees. "I couldn't control myself."

I grabbed the hem of her loose maxi and pulled it straight up her thighs.

"Tarun..." she gasped, her hands immediately flying down to push my wrists away.

I ignored her. I bunched the fabric securely around her waist and moved my hands to the elastic of her panties. Before she could fight me properly, heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway again.

"Ma'am?" the youth said, his voice much closer this time. "I found the issue with the compressor."

Shreya froze. She snapped her head back toward the cracked door to answer him leaning a bit more than before. I used the distraction instantly. I slipped my hands under the cotton dress, hooked my fingers into her panties, and yanked them firmly down to her knees.

I leaned in and ran my tongue directly along the soft, bare curve of her ass.

She yelped again, much louder this time, her knees buckling slightly against the doorframe.

The youth stopped talking. The silence from the hallway was heavy and suddenly suspicious. "Ma'am? Is everything alright?"

Shreya gripped the wood of the door, her knuckles turning stark white. "Yes," she managed to squeak out, her breathing ragged. "I just... I pulled a muscle in my thigh. It's hurting."

"Oh." The youth's tone shifted, softening into something far too conversational. "My mother gets those cramps all the time. I know a baba near the main market who gives a really good herbal oil for it. I could write down the address for you..."

Under the cover of her maxi, I paused. I listened to the boy's lingering, eager voice. He hadn't seen me follow her into the bedroom. He thought she was alone in here, flustered and wearing a dress that had just given him a glorious view of her chest.

The lanky kid was actually trying to shoot his shot with my wife.

A dark thrill shot through me. I smiled against her warm skin. I gripped her heavy hips, pulled her back an inch closer, and traced my tongue right back over her, determined to see exactly how long she could keep up the conversation.

"It really helped her relax," the boy continued through the crack in the door. "The oil gets right into the muscles."

"Does it?" Shreya breathed out, her voice trembling. "That's... nice."

Beneath the heavy cotton of her maxi, I kept my hands firmly on her hips, dragging my tongue deliberately over her rim. She shivered, her thighs parting just a fraction more to give me better access.

Finding no resistance, the youth grew visibly bolder. "Have you ever had a professional massage, ma'am? It really helps open the pores. I know a guy who is great at it. I could send his number to you, if you want."

I rolled my eyes in the dark space beneath her dress. There was no 'guy'. The lanky kid was just desperately fishing for a chance to put his own grabby hands on my wife.

"Is there such a guy?" Shreya murmured, her brain clearly turned to mush from what I was doing to her. "I would love to have his number."

"I can just take yours, actually," the boy said quickly.

That made her snap back to reality. She stiffened in my grip. "Why would you need my number?"

"Just... to check on the electronics," the youth blabbered, his confidence instantly shattering into nervous panic. "Direct service for future complaints. And to coordinate the masseuse, of course."

I laughed silently at his desperate backpedaling. Deciding to help the poor kid close the deal, I slid my hand forward, found her slick opening, and thrust a single finger deep inside her.

She let out a sharp, breathless yelp, her head thumping lightly against the doorframe. Her hips bucked back against my hand.

"Nine," she gasped out, her brain completely short-circuiting. "Nine-eight-two..." She rattled off her mobile number in a breathless rush, desperate to end the conversation before her legs gave out.

"Got it," the boy said eagerly, the glee in his voice very apparent. "I'll get back to work on the unit now."

I smiled. Sliding my finger out and after having a good lick, I ducked back and pulled myself out from under her maxi dress.

Shreya gasped, finally standing straight. She spun around, frantically yanking her dress down, her face flushed dark red with fury. But before she could even open her mouth to apprehend me, I was already moving.

I rushed to the sliding glass door of the bedroom balcony, stepped outside, and quickly crossed over the small partition to the adjacent hall balcony. A few seconds later, I strolled casually back into the living room, acting nonchalant.

The technician jumped slightly as I walked in, immediately stiffening his posture to look entirely focused on the plastic vent.

"How much work is left?" I asked.

"Just tightening some screws," he stammered, hastily wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "A couple of minutes and I'm done."

Done, he packed up his canvas bag. As I handed him the cash, his eyes kept darting past my shoulder, hoping for one last glimpse of the bedroom door. Shreya had made herself completely scarce.

"Call me directly if there are any other issues," the youth insisted, eagerly holding out a crumpled business card with his number written on its back.

I rolled my eyes internally; knowing he had just successfully hustled my wife out of her personal cell number but I took the card anyway and nodded toward the exit.

After e left, I closed the front door and slid the deadbolt into place. The lock had barely clicked when Shreya marched out of the hallway.

I immediately raised both hands in surrender. "Look, I know. I'm sorry. I took it a little too far with..."

She wasn't interested in an apology. The fierce blush was still burning across her cheeks, but she didn't look angry. Her breathing was entirely too fast, her chest heaving under the loose cotton, and she was walking with a slight, deliberate stiffness.

She grabbed the collar of my shirt and pulled me forcefully toward the living room. She pushed me backward onto the edge of the couch, completely discarding her usual modesty.

"Take care of what you left back there," she demanded, her voice thick and breathless as she hiked the worn maxi dress up to her hips and climbed directly over my lap.

I smiled, letting my hands slide up her bare thighs to grip her heavy waist. "Gladly."