Adultery When Mother Strayed

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Wow wonderful Reveale the flash back soon , keep rocking.

[kohli2458]

Nice Update

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[Givemeextra]

Mother's A/C guy updates were hot.

Such episodes with lower skill folks - post more.

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Update soon we are waiting, all best wishes for the writing

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[Mooni26]

Thank you all for the lovely comments

[Mooni26]

Days and months passed. The life of mom became normal again. Dad visited on vacation and spend couple of weeks with us and life started boring when he left for US again.

The house next to ours had been vacant for what felt like an eternity, a silent witness to the comings and goings of various families over the years. Then one sunny afternoon, a moving truck rumbled down our quiet street, and with it, a new chapter in our lives began. The new neighbors, Raman and Brinda, introduced themselves with a warm smile and a box of freshly baked cookies. Raman, a handsome man in his mid-forties, had the kind of confidence that came from years of working in a multinational corporation. His salt and pepper hair was neatly combed back, and his eyes sparkled with an unmistakable intelligence. Brinda, on the other hand, was a youthful 30, with a gentle demeanor that perfectly complemented her role as a teacher. She had a soft voice and a way of speaking that immediately put you at ease.

The first time Raman and Brinda visited our home, it was like a breath of fresh air. Raman's well-built frame filled the doorway, exuding an aura of strength and stability, while Brinda's slim, sexy figure was a vision of youthful elegance. Their eyes met my mom's and I could see the surprise in hers. She quickly composed herself, though, and invited them in with a shy smile. They talked about the neighborhood, the colleges, and the best places to shop. Raman spoke with the authority of someone who knew the city like the back of his hand, and Brinda's soft voice chimed in with tales of her students and the joy of teaching. Despite their professional success, there was a kindness in their demeanor that was genuinely comforting.

As the conversation flowed, Brinda revealed that she was also from my mom's native village, a small place called Kumara Nagar, which was quite a coincidence. She spoke fondly of the shared heritage and how she was looking forward to reconnecting with her roots. Then she dropped the bombshell - she would be joining my college as the new science teacher. Mom's eyes lit up with excitement, and she couldn't help but blurt out, "What a small world!" It was clear that the universe had a peculiar way of bringing people together. This unexpected revelation grew into a heartwarming exchange about their shared experiences and the memories of the village they both held dear. Their bond grew stronger with every shared anecdote, and I could see that they were already beginning to form a friendship that transcended mere neighborliness. As Brinda promised to be a guiding presence in the college community, Mom looked at her with a mix of admiration and relief, as if she had finally found a trustworthy confidante in this vast, often overwhelming city of Bangalore.

The conversation grew livelier as the afternoon turned into evening, and the warmth between Raman and Brinda filled our house like the sweet scent of their cookies. However, I noticed something peculiar in Raman's gaze. His eyes would often sneak glances at my mom's figure, lingering just a bit longer than necessary. Mom, though seemingly oblivious to his attention, grew increasingly uncomfortable. She tried to steer the conversation towards more neutral topics, like the upcoming community festival and the latest Bollywood gossip, hoping to keep things friendly and casual. Despite her efforts, I could feel the tension building. Brinda, on the other hand, remained her usual cheerful self, seemingly unfazed by the undercurrent of attraction. As the couple left, my mom's smile was forced, and she closed the door with a gentle but firm click, as if to shut out any awkwardness that had entered with them. The room fell quiet, and she turned to me with a look that conveyed both confusion and a hint of concern. She had sensed Raman's interest but wasn't quite sure how to navigate it, especially since she had just found a potential friend in Brinda. This unexpected turn of events was about to add a layer of complexity to our otherwise mundane lives in the suburbs of Bangalore.

One day, as I returned from college, I couldn't help but notice the unusually warm breeze that seemed to hang in the air. I looked up to see Mom on our balcony, her wet sari clinging to her body as she hung the clothes to dry. The vibrant colors of the fabric fluttered like the wings of a butterfly in the gentle wind. Unbeknownst to her, Raman was standing on his balcony across the way, his eyes not on the clothes but on her. I felt a strange discomfort at the sight of him so blatantly watching her, his gaze lingering on her wet, bare shoulders and the way her sari hugged her curves as she moved. It was clear that the innocent friendship between the neighbors had taken a turn, and the line between admiration and something more had been blurred. I hastily turned away, pretending not to notice, as I didn't know how to confront the situation. Inside, I heard Mom's nervous giggle and the rustle of fabric as she quickly retreated into the safety of our home. The incident left me with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if a silent storm was brewing in our once peaceful neighborhood.


It wasn't long before the clandestine glances from Raman's balcony became a regular occurrence. Every time Mom went outside to hang the laundry, the soft jingle of her anklets would alert me to the impending spectacle. I'd peek through the curtains, watching as Raman would emerge from his house, topless, his well-defined abs glistening with the sheen of sweat from his workout. He'd lean against the railing, casually sipping from a water bottle, his eyes never leaving my mom's form as she moved about. The sight of his blatant ogling made me feel a mix of anger and protectiveness, but also a strange sense of curiosity. Mom remained oblivious to his leering, her movements growing more self-conscious with each passing day. She'd tug at her sari, ensuring it was dbangd just right, and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she wondered if he was watching. The tension grew palpable, a silent dance of desire and discomfort playing out across the narrow strip of sky that separated our houses.

As the weeks passed, Brinda's presence in our lives grew more frequent, especially on weekends. While she spent long hours at college during the week, teaching and shaping young minds, she made it a point to spend quality time with Mom, often visiting our home to share stories from her classes and seek advice on the local customs she had missed out on while living in the city. These visits grew into a weekly tradition, with Brinda bringing books, crafts, and sometimes even small gifts for Mom. The two women would sit for hours, sipping chai and chatting about everything under the sun, from their shared past in Kumara Nagar to the latest Bollywood dramas. 

As the days turned into weeks, I couldn't help but get to know Raman better. His charm was undeniable, and his kindness to me made it easier to ignore the unsettling glances he sometimes threw at Mom. I discovered that he worked in a hybrid system, spending most of his weekdays at home while Brinda taught at the college. This arrangement meant that he was often around, mingling in the neighborhood and offering to help with small errands. Little by little, I began to warm up to him, finding his company surprisingly enjoyable. His stories of corporate life and the world beyond our small suburb were fascinating, and he had a way of explaining complex concepts in a way that even I could understand. We'd chat about cricket matches, the latest gadgets, and even the books he'd read.

One lazy weeken afternoon, as we sat in our living room with the TV blaring in the background, Raman mentioned in passing that he often had to resort to ordering food online since Brinda was usually at college during lunchtime. The comment struck a chord with me, and an idea began to take shape in my mind. I knew my mom was an excellent cook and took pride in her culinary skills, often complaining that she didn't have enough people to feed. I saw an opportunity to bring the two of them closer, albeit for more wholesome reasons than his ogling.

"Why don't you let Mom make lunch for you on the days you work from home?" I suggested casually, trying to keep the mischief out of my tone. "She's always looking for an excuse to cook more, and she'd love to feed someone who actually appreciates it."

Raman's eyes lit up at the prospect, and he looked at me with a grateful smile. "That's a brilliant idea!" he exclaimed. "Your mother's cooking is legendary in the neighborhood, and I've been meaning to try it for ages."



The following weekend, as Brinda and Mom were engrossed in their usual banter, I casually floated the idea of Mom cooking lunch for Raman on his work-from-home days. Mom's eyes widened in surprise, and she looked at me questioningly, unsure of how to respond. Brinda, however, beamed with delight. "Oh, Nisha, that's such a wonderful thought!" she exclaimed. "Raman always complains about the bland food from those online services. Your home-cooked meals would be a godsend!"

Mom's initial hesitation melted away under the warmth of Brinda's encouragement. "Well, if it's not too much trouble," she murmured, trying to play it cool despite the excitement bubbling within her.

"Nonsense," Brinda waved her hand dismissively. "I'll make sure to stay late at college those days so you two can have some time to catch up." She winked at me, as if we were all in on some secret.

The air grew thick with unspoken tension as the three of us sat there, each lost in our own thoughts about the implications of this new arrangement. For Brinda, it was a gesture of friendship and trust. For Raman, a chance to indulge in more than just the food. And for Mom, a mix of trepidation and excitement, unsure of where this newfound closeness would lead.


The next day, after college, I called Raman to come over for lunch as planned. He arrived promptly, dressed in a crisp shirt and trousers, his hair still damp from his shower. The scent of his cologne filled the air as he stepped into our house, a stark contrast to the aroma of spices wafting from the kitchen. Mom, in a simple yet elegant sari, greeted him with a shy smile, her eyes avoiding his as she led him to the dining table she had meticulously set. Throughout the meal, she talked very little, focusing instead on serving us both with a silent grace that spoke volumes about her nervousness. Raman, ever the charmer, engaged me in conversation, asking about college and my hobbies, while subtly watching my mom's every move. Her modesty was both endearing and a little sad to see, as she clearly felt out of place in the shadow of his more assertive personality. Yet, she remained poised, her hands fluttering over the serving dishes as she offered him more of the delicious food she had prepared. The silence between them grew heavier, filled with unspoken words and unanswered questions. As we ate, I couldn't help but feel like an unwitting participant in a dance of desire and denial, the air around us charged with an energy that seemed ready to ignite at any moment.

The first few days of this new arrangement went by without any significant incident. I'd eat my fill of Mom's delicious food and then retreat to my room, eager to give them the privacy they seemed to need. From the corner of my eye, I'd see Raman's gaze lingering on Mom as she served him, his eyes tracing the graceful arc of her hand as she placed a steaming plate before him. Her responses to his questions remained as brief as ever, a one-word answer here, a shy nod there. Yet, it was clear that she was growing more comfortable with him, even allowing a small smile to flit across her face when he complimented her cooking. The air in the house vibrated with a tension that was both electrifying and unsettling, a silent symphony of yearning and restraint. Each time I'd leave them alone, I couldn't help but wonder what was left unsaid between the lines of their conversation, and if the walls of our home were thick enough to contain the secrets that threatened to spill over.

As the weeks rolled by, Brinda's visits to our house grew more frequent, her friendship with Mom blossoming like the flowers in our garden. She confided in Mom about her work, her dreams, and even the occasional troubles with her students, all the while maintaining a blissful ignorance of Raman's not-so-innocent glances. Trusting my mother implicitly, Brinda saw her as an elder sister, someone wise and reliable, a confidante who could understand her without judgment. This unshakeable bond of sisterhood between the two women served as an invisible barrier, keeping Raman's desires in check and allowing Mom to maintain a respectable distance from him. Despite the occasional awkwardness, the three of us had found a new rhythm to our lives, one that danced around the unspoken tension that had settled into the fabric of our relationship. Yet, as the days grew warmer and the whispers of summer approached, the lines of this delicate dance began to blur, hinting at a storm of passion and deceit that was slowly but surely gathering on the horizon of our seemingly tranquil lives.

The news of Brinda's month-long seminar in Chennai brought a peculiar mix of relief and anxiety to our household. When she broached the topic of Mom preparing dinner for Raman during her absence, I watched Mom's expression shift from surprise to concern, and then finally to a tentative agreement. "Of course, I can," she murmured, her eyes flickering to Raman's before quickly looking away. "It's the least I can do for a friend in need." Raman's smile grew wider, his eyes gleaming with something other than gratitude. The air thickened as Brinda thanked Mom profusely, her excitement about the seminar blissfully overriding any suspicion she might have had about her husband's intentions.

For the next week, Raman arrived punctually each evening, dressed in his usual casual attire, his eyes eagerly searching for Mom as soon as he stepped through the door. They'd exchange pleasantries, their conversation sticking to the surface of their shared experiences and the mundane happenings of the day. Dinner was served with the same meticulous care that Mom had always taken with her meals, the spicy aromas filling the house with a warm embrace. Raman ate with gusto, praising Mom's culinary skills, his gaze never straying from the graceful movements of her hands as she served him. Yet, the atmosphere remained tense, a fine line drawn between friendship and desire.

[Uvaaaa]

Nice update keep rocking.

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Update soon we all are waiting, all best wishes for the writing.

[rp7575]

Update bro i think mom and shan going to bankok mom wondering in bikini foreigner stranger engage with her is nice plot

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Please update, your story is wonderful

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[StoryReader1]

To read

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[Kam1nam2]

ufff chud gai rand