Chapter 1

Jyothi Datta, a 41-year-old Indian woman, had always been a simple, reserved, and prudish woman. She was fair by Indian standards, standing at 5 feet 2 inches with short wavy hair. Married to Ajay Datta, a 43-year-old businessman, they had an 18-year-old son named Aditya. The family lived in a modest 2BHK flat in Byculla, Mumbai.

Ajay, despite being a devoted husband, harbored a dark secret. He loved chatting about his wife to strangers on the internet, a thrill that had grown over the years. One day, he encountered a young chat partner who seemed to know far too much about Jyothi.

“96193 15160 is your number, and 98202 XXXXX is your wife Jyothi’s,” the chat guy wrote, shocking Ajay to his core. Before he could recover, the stranger sent him a barrage of intimate photos and videos of Jyothi. Ajay was stunned and scared, his mind racing with questions.

Days later, the chat guy, now revealed to be a 23-year-old internet whizzkid named Rohan, showed up at their doorstep. Ajay, meek and submissive, could only watch in horror as Rohan forced himself on Jyothi, stripping her naked and violating her right in front of him. Rohan’s friend, a burly man named Vikram, joined in, and the two took turns ravaging Jyothi’s body.

The entire sordid affair was recorded, with Rohan making it clear that he now owned Jyothi, her body, and her sexuality. He created an escort website for her, complete with photos and videos of their encounter. The URL was simple: m.happyescorts.com/jyothi-e119031.

Jyothi, once a reserved housewife, found herself transformed into a high-class escort. She resigned from her job, embracing her new life with a fervor that surprised even herself. Money flowed in, and Jyothi found herself enjoying the power and control she wielded over her clients.

However, Jyothi had one rule: no Indian clients, especially not from Mumbai. She wanted to avoid anyone who might recognize her or, worse, inform her son about her new profession. She focused on non-Indian clients, men who appreciated her fair skin and exotic features.

Ajay, meanwhile, found himself relegated to the role of cuckold, watching helplessly as his wife transformed into a sexual dynamo. He was both humiliated and aroused by her new lifestyle, his own sexual desires awakened in ways he had never imagined.

One evening, as Jyothi prepared for a date with a wealthy American businessman, Ajay couldn’t help but stare at her. She was a vision in a sleek black dress, her hair styled and makeup perfect. She caught his eye in the mirror and smirked.

“You like what you see, darling?” she purred, turning to face him. “This is all thanks to you, you know. If you hadn’t been so careless with your little chats, none of this would have happened.”

Ajay swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “I’m sorry, Jyothi. I never meant for this to happen.”

Jyothi laughed, a cruel sound that sent shivers down Ajay’s spine. “Oh, I know you didn’t. But it did happen, and now we’re both reaping the benefits. Or should I say, I’m reaping the benefits?”