A Harassed Wife's Revenge Story

I don’t want to share my name. I’m just a broken man who needs to put this out somewhere because the pain is eating me alive. This is my real story.

I was married with two kids. My wife was hot, sexy, homely, with a good shape and a big ass that used to drive me crazy. But I never treated her like a wife. She was my stress buster. Nothing more. I never respected her feelings.

I talked shit about her family in front of her. At home and outside, I spoke to her like she was beneath me. High tone. Demands. Sex when I wanted it, how I wanted it. She was supposed to open her legs and shut her mouth. That was the deal in my head.

At work I was a failure. Always. I wasn’t good at my job, and I blamed everyone else for not helping me enough. Managers got frustrated. I changed five jobs. Survival kept getting harder. Then, in the last company, one office mate started helping me.

Really helping. So, I invited him home for lunch. Later, when I was working from home and drowning, I invited him over again so he could help me finish the work. I took credit for what he did. My boss didn’t buy it. He reassigned me to a different project where that colleague wasn’t involved.

I struggled again. This time the boss was cold and closed every door. Still, the guy kept coming to my place. I didn’t take it seriously. I was too busy being useless. I never imagined that the same helping mate would impress my wife and slowly gain her trust.

I thought he was just being useful. I never saw it coming. My wife understood how stupid I was at work. She started looking for a job of her own and got one. Big relief for the house. Money started coming in through her.

Then one day I walked into the kitchen and saw my wife kissing that same office mate. Deep. Hungry. I told her to stop. She didn’t. The next day they fucked right in front of me. I stood there like a ghost while he bent her over the counter, pulled her pants down, and buried himself inside her.

She moaned as she had never moaned for me. I watched his hands dig into that big ass I used to claim. I watched her push back onto him. I said stop. They didn’t stop. They finished. And something inside me cracked.

I found a new job. Much lower salary. Frustration boiled over. I shouted at my wife. Really shouted. Ugly words. She warned me. I didn’t listen. She warned me again. I kept going, talking badly, tearing her down. Then she went quiet. Calm in a way that scared me later.

A few days after that, I got sick. Real weakness. I was stuck in bed. That same day my mother came from the village to look after me. She was in the next room when my wife decided to take her revenge. I was lying there, feverish, barely able to move, when I heard voices in the living room.

Then the sound of clothes. My wife’s laugh. His low voice. My mother was sitting on the sofa. I could see her from the bedroom doorway if I turned my head. She froze when my wife pulled the office mate into the room and started undressing him in front of her.

My wife looked at me first. Then at my mother. Then she dropped to her knees, grabbed his thick, heavy cock with both hands, and forced it straight down her throat like a starving bitch.

She gagged hard, eyes streaming, thick ropes of spit exploding out around the base and pouring down her chin onto her tits in long sticky strands. She didn’t pull back. She kept shoving it deeper, choking herself on purpose, until her nose smashed against his stomach and she made disgusting wet retching sounds.

When she finally ripped her mouth off, a thick string of spit still connected her swollen lips to his shiny cock. She looked straight at my mother while pumping him hard.

“Dekh saas… tere bete ki biwi kitni gandi tarike se lund chus rahi hai. (Look here, my dear MIL, I am the wife of your asshole son and sucking the dick of another person like a whore) Your son used to shove his average dick in my mouth and call me a cheap hole.”

“This one actually chokes me. If your son keeps insulting me and talking dirty about my parents, this is what I do. I drop to my knees for a real man in front of both of you and let him use my throat like a fucking toilet.”

She stood, turned around, shoved her jeans and soaked panties down to her ankles. She bent over the arm of the sofa right in front of my mother. Her big ass was fully spread, pussy dripping in long sticky threads that hung from her lips like spit.

The office mate stepped up behind her, slapped his heavy cock against her wet slit again and again, smearing her juices all over the head. He rammed it all the way in with one brutal, ruthless thrust that made her scream.

“Stretch that married cunt open until it fucking tears. Your son never fucked me like this. He just pumped twice, dumped his weak load, and rolled over like a selfish bastard.” (Haan madarchod… chod dal is chut ko… phaad de saali ko.)

The words mother fucker (madarchod) and pussy (chut) hit me like punches to the chest. Hearing my wife scream for her own pussy to be destroyed while another man was buried inside it in front of my mother made my vision blur.

He started pounding her like a rabid animal.

The wet, obscene slap of his hips against her ass was so loud it echoed off the walls. Her big soft cheeks rippled and bounced violently with every vicious thrust. He gripped the flesh hard enough to leave deep purple fingerprints and yanked her back onto his cock like she was nothing but a piece of meat.

“Bol na randi,” (yes, my whore) he growled, slamming in harder, the wet squelch of her pussy getting louder and filthier. He demanded with her lustful voice, “Tell me how to fuck your asshole in front of your asshole husband. Tell me, am I satisfying your cunt?”

(Bol saamne wali ko kitni gandi chudai karwa rahi hai. Bol kaise tera chut faad raha hoon. Bol kitna geela ho gaya hai)

Whore and fucking (Randi. Chudai). Those words from his mouth while he wrecked my wife in front of my mother hit me harder than anything. The man I trusted was calling her a whore and describing the filthy fucking he was giving her. She was taking every thick inch with open, greedy, shameless enjoyment.

My wife looked over her shoulder at my mother while getting railed, spit still shiny on her chin and dripping onto the floor in long strings. “See this, saas? Your son used to scream at me, call my mother a bitch, call my father useless.

So now I open my legs for his office friend and let him breed this dripping, greedy pussy in front of you. Listen to how wet and filthy I sound for him. Listen to my cunt begging for more. This is your son’s sin, as he did not respect me.”

(Yeh lund tere bete se kai guna mota hai… poori tarah se phaad raha hai meri chut. Mera chut uska lund nigal raha hai jaise bhookhi randi.)

That word from her mouth while she compared his cock to mine and said it was tearing her open hit me so hard I felt sick. My own wife was praising another man’s cock in the filthiest way possible while my mother was forced to watch every single thrust.

He pulled out, spun her around, hiked one of her legs high over his arm until she was almost split in half, and drove back into her cunt while she faced my mother. His thick cock was coated in thick white cream from her pussy.

He fucked her standing, hard and deep, her heavy tits bouncing wildly with every thrust, nipples hard and begging. She clawed at his shoulders and met every stroke, moaning like a bitch in heat.

“Harder… ruin this cunt… make his mother watch how a real man wrecks a married hole. Your son only knew how to shout and demand. This one knows how to own it. Look at my juices running down my thighs for him.” (Dekh kaise meri chut uska lund nigal rahi hai jaise koi bhookhi kutia.)

He shoved her down onto the floor on all fours. My mother was crying, whispering my name, begging them to stop. My wife crawled closer on purpose, so her face was almost in my mother’s lap while he mounted her from behind again.

And started railing her like a dog in heat, long, deep, nasty strokes that made her ass ripple. Her pussy splashed loudly with every thrust, cream foaming and dripping around the base of his cock in thick white strings. She pushed back onto him harder, cursing, moaning, talking pure vulgar filth between gasps.

“Fuck me deeper… fill this used hole… I hope your son is watching while his mother sees what a real fuck looks like. He used to treat me like a stress-relief toy. Now I’m this man’s cumdump in front of both of you. Look at how my big ass swallows his cock. Look at how wet I am for someone who isn’t my husband.” (Chod mujhe… aur tezz… meri chut faad de… mujhe randi bana de uske saamne.)

He flipped her onto her back, spread her legs wide until her knees almost touched the floor. He fucked her missionary right there while my mother sat frozen a few feet away. The wet, sticky sound of his heavy balls slapping against her soaked cunt mixed with my wife’s loud, broken moans.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, nails digging into his back hard enough to draw blood. Her pussy made filthy sucking sounds every time he pulled back.

“Look at me, useless fucking asshole” (Dekh madarchod ke saamne) the office mate growled, slamming into her harder, sweat dripping from his chest onto her tits. See your wife, how she is enjoying my dick. You have a cheap whore as a wife and like my dick.”

(Teri biwi ki chut kitni maze se le rahi hai mera lund. Bol randi… bol kitna pasand hai. Bol kaise tera chut faad raha hoon.)

Hearing him call me that while buried inside my wife, with my mother forced to watch every single second, broke something deeper inside me than I thought possible. She came hard, body shaking violently, a messy gush of clear juices squirting out around his cock and running down onto the floor in a puddle.

He didn’t stop. He kept fucking her through the orgasm, calling her a married whore who needed real cock. Slamming into her oversensitive pussy until she was sobbing from pure filthy pleasure.

When he finally came the first time, he pulled out and shot thick, heavy ropes across her stomach, tits, and face. Long sticky strings landed on her tongue and chin. My wife rubbed his cum into her skin like lotion, smearing it over her nipples and pushing more into her mouth.

While looking at me and then at my mother with pure greedy, revengeful eyes—hungry, satisfied, and cruel all at once. Then she climbed on top of him, sat on his still-hard, cum-slick cock, and started riding him like a desperate slut in front of both of us. Up and down. Grinding deep.

Her big ass spreading wide every time she sank to the base, his cum and her juices making loud, filthy wet sounds as she fucked herself on him. She rode him for a long time like that, taking her time, moaning, talking more dirty rubbish while staring at both of us.

“Feel that, saas? Your son’s wife is milking another man’s cock with the same pussy he used to demand. He shouted at me yesterday… called me names… so today I ride this thick dick until my legs shake and let his mother hear every wet, nasty slap. Watch how I take every inch. Watch how I use him. Watch how I left every marriage ethic behind because your son made me into this whore.” (Dekh kaise meri chut uska lund choos rahi hai.)

She bounced harder, tits jumping, spit and cum running from the corner of her mouth as she got completely lost in it. He came inside her the second time, flooding her deep. When they finally stopped, she cleaned herself up slowly in front of us.

Her fingers scooping his cum from her used, swollen pussy and licking it off with open enjoyment, then put her clothes back on and told my mother she could leave if she wanted. My mother left the next morning without looking at me.

I don’t dare to talk to my mother or even see her face after what my wife did that day. The shame sits on my chest like a stone that never gets lighter. I can’t look her in the eyes knowing she watched everything… heard every filthy word… saw her daughter-in-law become a complete whore in front of her.

Because of my wife’s revenge, I have lost the right to face my own mother. I avoid her calls. I make excuses. I stay silent. The guilt is too heavy. The humiliation is too complete. My wife is happy now.

She moves through the house with a quiet, satisfied calm that feels like a constant reminder of what she did. I pick every single word carefully when I speak to her. I measure my tone. I swallow my anger before it can even rise.

I keep my eyes down. I agree. I stay small. Because if I show even a little heat, if I raise my voice even slightly, that office mate enjoys it. He feeds on my helplessness. My suffering has become his entertainment. My brokenness is the thing that keeps him coming back, keeps her smiling.

I am completely dependent on her. The money she brings in is what keeps the house running. The stability she provides is the only reason the kids still have a normal life. I have nothing of my own left. No strength. No respect. No voice. I live in the same house as the woman who destroyed me.

I am too weak, too scared, too broken to do anything about it. I will share the next incident when I can bear to write it. But right now I am broken. Helpless in a way I never thought a man could be.

There is nothing left of the person I used to be. Just this hollow, careful, defeated shell who exists under the same roof as his own ruin, too afraid to speak, too ashamed to face his mother, and too weak to leave.

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