Incest Not just a Mother Anymore - Tale

[nivithenaughty]

WOW!

pure heart warming and excellent as well as complimentary update to the story line.

anticipation was so high, that I was on the edge till the last two LINES. what a bulidUP.

this update has just raised the BAR to another level.

It's always the journey towards the ultimate with all the highs and lows that defines the writer's foresight and imagination and that adds the weight to THE STORY.

It's not the vocabulary but the concoction and summation of well thought ideas and there presentation with everything woven in such a dramatic way and that too with how one delivers that is the key.

One of the best update so far and also the story defining.

keep up the good work.

*do add update number at the starting of every update.

well I liked the nostalgia of drinking tea in steel glass.

* also add a rough handmade map\blueprint of the house for the better understanding and deep engagment with the story.

* IF you plan to add photos to the story, then use AI generated image only, not of some tv\movie actors. but I'm ok as it is going on, I don't want your focus on other mundane things. No compromise with the quality of the storytelling.

don't take so long to post an update, on the otherhand this wait was worth it, but it's also killing. he he

Thank you so much for the feedback i dont know much about images i will try to post with images more.

[nivithenaughty]

Many are asking me to add images and gifs with the story but i'm not very good with that and if anyone can help me with  the image suggestion and good with creating AI images please contact me in PM and we shall connect via TG or WA and discuss further. 

[xfirefox]

the images you added in the last update are good. 1 or 2 images are more than enough for an update.

And don't forget to mention the update no. next time

[Fing fing]

update next part fast.....story is really hot

[xfirefox]

waiting

[xfirefox]

wooh hooh!

[nivithenaughty]

PART 9

The house felt hollow after Rajan stormed out, the slammed door still echoing in the walls.

Leka sat on the sofa, knees drawn up, eyes red and swollen, silent for once. Indhu knelt in front of Karthik, cradling his face, thumbs gently stroking the red marks blooming on his cheek. Tears fell freely down her own face, dripping onto his shirt.

“My baby… my poor baby,” she whispered over and over, voice breaking. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry he did this to you.”

Karthik's eyes were wet, but he didn't cry out loud. He just leaned into her touch, letting her hold him like he was small again.

After a long time she stood, wiped her face with the edge of her pallu, and took his hand. “Come. You need to eat.”

Leka started to follow, but Indhu shook her head gently. “Give us a little time, kanna.”

Leka nodded, still silent, and disappeared into the bedroom.

In the kitchen Indhu heated the leftover chicken curry and rice, moving on autopilot. She made one plate—big, heaped with rice, extra gravy, the pieces he liked best. Then she sat Karthik on the dining chair, pulled another close in front of him, and took the spoon herself.

“Open,” she said softly, the first spoonful trembling slightly in her hand.

He obeyed without protest, eyes down. She fed him slowly, carefully, like he was five and had fever. Between bites she wiped the corner of his mouth with her thumb, the gesture so tender it hurt.

She wanted to ask.  
What happened, kanna?  
Why the marks?  
Why the distance these weeks?  
But his cheek was still red, his eyes still haunted. She couldn't add more pain.

Instead, when half the plate was gone, she spoke quietly, voice steady only because she forced it.

“This is your last year of college, Karthik. These marks… they decide everything—college, future. I know you're hurting right now. But you're strong. You can still fix this.”

He looked down, spoon paused.

She set it aside and took both his hands in hers, squeezing tight.

“I'm telling you the truth, kanna. I live for you. Leka will grow up, marry one day, leave this house. But you… you're my world. The only reason I stay with your father, put up with everything, is you. If you grow well, settle well, become the good man I know you are… that's my whole life. My only dream.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. Tears spilled again.

Karthik's head bowed lower. “Sorry, Amma,” he whispered, so low she almost missed it.

She shook her head, pulled him into another hug, his face against her shoulder. “No sorry. Just… study hard. For you. For us. Promise me.”

He nodded against her, arms coming around her waist slowly. “Promise.”

She picked up the spoon again, fed him the rest in silence. When the plate was nearly empty she took a bite herself—same spoon, same plate, like when he was little and refused to eat alone.

When it was done she led him to the bedroom by the hand.

Leka was already under the sheet on her side, eyes puffy but pretending to sleep.

Indhu changed quickly into her cotton nightie, turned off the light, and climbed into the middle.

Karthik lay on his side facing her, still in his day clothes.

She reached for him in the dark, pulled him close until his head rested in the curve of her neck, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. No space between them. His breath warm against her skin, her fingers stroking his hair slowly, gently.

There was no heat tonight. No forbidden throb.

Only pure, fierce love—mother holding her wounded child, both of them finding the only safe place left in the world.

His arms came around her waist, holding just as tight.

Leka's breathing evened out on the other side.

Indhu pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Sleep, kanna. Tomorrow is new.”

He nodded against her neck, breath hitching once, then steadying.

They slept like that—wrapped together, hearts beating in the same broken rhythm, healing slowly in the dark.

No words.

Just the quiet promise that whatever came next, they would face it together.

-------------------------------

Indhu opened her eyes to pale light filtering through the curtains. It was late—past eight, judging by the angle of the sun. Rajan must have come in after midnight; he was on the far edge of the bed, still in yesterday's shirt, snoring softly with the heavy breath of too much drink. The room smelled faintly of whisky.

Karthik was beside her, facing her in sleep, one leg thrown carelessly over her thigh, one arm dbangd across her hip and waist like he had reached for her in the night and found her. His face was peaceful again, the red marks from yesterday's slaps faded to faint pink shadows. His breath stirred the loose hair at her neck.

She lay still for a long moment, feeling the weight of his arm, the warmth of his leg against hers. Her heart ached with tenderness and leftover fear.

Carefully, gently, she lifted his arm and leg, sliding out from under him without waking him. He stirred, murmured something soft, and settled again.

She stood, looked down at him for a long second—her boy, her wounded boy—and felt tears threaten again.

Rajan was home, so no coffee in bed for the kids today. They would come to the kitchen when they woke.

She went to the bathroom, washed her face with cold water until the puffiness around her eyes eased, and changed into one of her oldest cotton nighties—the faded blue-check one, long sleeves, ankle length. Safe. Invisible. The kind Rajan approved of.

In the kitchen she moved on autopilot—dosa batter on the tawa, coconut chutney ground fresh, sambar reheated. But her hands were heavy, her heart heavier.

Leka came in first, eyes still red from crying yesterday. She hugged Indhu without a word, tight and quick, then helped set the table in silence.

Rajan woke next. He shuffled into the hall in his lungi and banian, hair tousled, face puffy from drink and anger. He poured himself coffee, black and strong, and sat at the table scrolling his phone.

Then he looked at the bedroom door and raised his voice. “This boy is still sleeping? Wake him up! Grown-up man failing exams and sleeping till nine like a baby?”

Indhu's spoon clattered against the pan. She turned, voice low but firm. “Let him sleep, Rajan. Yesterday was enough.”

Rajan's eyes narrowed. “Enough? He needs discipline. Look at the marks! Sleeping late, wasting time—that's why he failed.”

Indhu's anger flared, hot and sudden. “Discipline? You call slapping him discipline? He's not a child anymore. He's eighteen. You can't hit him like that.”

Rajan slammed his cup down. “And whose fault is that? You and your children—you three decide everything in this house. What to wear, what to buy, what to say. I'm just the fool paying bills. He should focus on studies, not playing fashion designer for you women!”

Indhu went very still. The words cut deep.

“It wasn't just his decision,” she said quietly. “We all chose together.”

Rajan laughed, bitter. “All three of you against me. Fine. Live like I don't belong here. One day you'll need me, and I won't come running. Remember that.”

His usual speech—the saviour complex, the threat wrapped in self-pity.

He finished his coffee, grabbed his laptop bag, and left without another word. The car started, gate clanged, silence returned.

Leka's eyes were wide. “Amma…”

Indhu shook her head. “Go get ready for college. Don't wake your brother.”

Leka nodded, hugged her again, and left for the bathroom.

When the door shut behind Leka for college, the house was finally empty except for the boy still sleeping.

Indhu cleaned the kitchen slowly—wiping counters that were already clean, scrubbing the tawa harder than needed. Then she walked to the hall, sat on the sofa, and stared at nothing.

Her mind circled the same thoughts.

He failed because of me.  
Because of the shopping.  
Because I let him take charge.  
Because I enjoyed it too much.

Tears came again, silent this time.

She sat there a long time, the house quiet around her, waiting for Karthik to wake, waiting for the day to decide what came next.

But in her heart, one thing was clear.

No matter what, she would not let him carry this alone.


--------------------------------------

Indhu stood in the empty hall a long time after Leka left, the house too quiet, the air thick with yesterday's anger. The red marks on Karthik's cheek flashed in her mind again and again. Her chest ached like someone had pressed a hot iron to it.

She picked up her phone and dialled Varsha before she could think too hard.

Varsha answered on the second ring. “Indhu? So early—what happened?”

The words spilled out—Rajan's fury, the slaps, the mark sheet, Karthik's silence as he took every blow. Indhu's voice cracked halfway through, tears coming fast.

“I feel like it's my fault, Varsha. The shopping, the clothes… Rajan said he was wasting time on what we women should wear. If I hadn't let him—”

“Stop,” Varsha cut in, voice firm but gentle. “Stop right there. That man's anger is his own. You didn't make him hit his son. And Karthik? That boy loves you. He wanted you happy. That's not a crime.”

Indhu sobbed quietly. “But the marks… he failed because of me.”

“He failed because he's human and hurting. You think one shopping day ruined him? No. Talk to him. Where is he now?”

“Sleeping. I didn't wake him.”

Varsha's tone softened. “Wake him, feed him, then bring him here. Don't lock yourself in that house with yesterday's ghosts. Come to the shop. We'll talk. I'll make your favourite filter coffee.”

Indhu wiped her eyes. “Okay… okay.”

She hung up, took a shaky breath, and walked to the bedroom.

Karthik was still asleep, curled on his side facing her spot, one arm stretched across the empty sheet like he had been reaching for her in his dreams. His face was peaceful again, the red marks faded to faint shadows. He looked younger like this—her little boy, safe in sleep.

Indhu's heart twisted with love and pain.

She slipped off her slippers and climbed gently onto the bed, lying on her side facing him. Carefully, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close until his head rested against her chest. She pressed soft kisses to his forehead, his temple, the warm curve of his cheek—tender, healing kisses, like she could erase yesterday with every touch.


Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing it back, tracing the shell of his ear.

He stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep. For a moment he just looked at her—face inches away, kajal a little smudged from tears, loose hair framing her face, the old nightie soft against his skin.

A sleepy, dreamy smile curved his mouth.

“My angel…” he murmured, voice thick and low. “You look beautiful.”

Then his eyes closed again, like the words had slipped out without thought, and he nuzzled closer into her neck.

Indhu's breath caught. Butterflies exploded in her stomach—wild, fluttering, impossible to ignore.  
He's half-asleep. He doesn't know what he said.  
But the words sank into her like warm honey, spreading through her chest, her belly, lower. Her nipples tightened against the cotton nightie, a soft ache starting between her legs.

She kissed his cheek again, lingering this time, then—playful, tender—nipped gently at his jaw with her teeth.

Karthik's eyes flew open. He blinked, startled, then calmed instantly when he saw her face so close, eyes soft and shining.

For a long moment they just looked at each other—his gaze sleepy but full of quiet sorry, hers full of love and forgiveness she didn't need words for.

She smiled first, small and teasing, to break the weight. “Dei, sleepyhead. It's past ten. Get up, or I'll bite harder next time.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but his eyes stayed serious. “Why didn't you wake me earlier?”

She stroked his hair again. “Today you rest. Yesterday was enough.”

He searched her face, then slowly—carefully—lowered his head to her lap, turning to look out the window at the bright morning beyond the curtains.

Indhu's fingers kept moving through his hair, gentle circles at his temple, tracing his ear.

After a long quiet minute he whispered, “I'm sorry, Amma.”

She leaned down, kissed the top of his head. “No sorry today. Freshen up, bathe. We'll eat, then go to Varsha aunty's shop. Okay?”

He nodded against her thigh, the movement slow, trusting.

He rose eventually, stretched, and padded to the bathroom.

Indhu went to the kitchen, heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

She made two plates—idli, chutney, a little extra sambar for him—and waited, smiling to herself.

The compliment still echoed, soft and sweet.

My angel.

You look beautiful.

Today felt like the first page of something new.


------------------------------

The idlies were still warm when Karthik came out of the bathroom, hair damp, face scrubbed clean, wearing a simple T-shirt and shorts. He looked younger, softer, the red marks from yesterday barely visible now.

Indhu had set two plates on the small dining table—idli, coconut chutney, a little extra sambar on the side. She motioned for him to sit.

“Come eat, kanna. Before it gets cold.”

He sat opposite her, quiet at first, but the smell of food and her gentle smile pulled him in. She served him two more idlies without asking, the way she always did.

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the clink of steel spoons the only sound.

Karthik broke it first. “Varsha aunty… why didn't she marry again? After her husband left her for that other woman?”

Indhu paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. She set it down, thinking how to answer.

“She had a daughter, kanna. Little one, only four when he left. Varsha decided that girl was her whole world. No second marriage, no complications. She learned tailoring—worked in big shops first, saved every rupee, then opened her own boutique. Now she's independent. Happy.”

Karthik nodded slowly, eyes on his plate. “Strong woman.”

Indhu smiled, soft and proud. “Very. And you know… she keeps asking me to learn tailoring with her. Work together. Make the shop bigger. She's been saying it for years.”

Karthik looked up, interested. “You should, Amma. If you want. It'll be good—your own money, your own time. Not always depending on…” He trailed off.

Indhu's eyes softened. She knew what he meant.

“Your father always says I do nothing, sit at home, spend his money. Maybe if I earn… the scolding will be less.”

Karthik's jaw tightened. “You do everything, Amma. Everything.”

She reached across the table, squeezed his hand once. “Thank you, kanna.”

They finished the plate—sharing the last idli, the way they used to when money was tight and food was precious.

Indhu stood to clear the plates, then paused, a playful glint in her eye. “So… what should I wear to Varsha's shop?”

Karthik hesitated, cheeks warming. He opened his mouth, closed it.

Indhu laughed, light and teasing. “Varsha always says you're my young boyfriend. So choose something for your girlfriend, ha?”

The words hit him like a spark. Butterflies exploded in his stomach—wild, dizzying. Girlfriend. The joke wasn't new, but coming from her mouth, in that soft, playful voice, it felt real. Dangerous. Perfect.

He swallowed, trying to play cool. “If Appa was traveling… I'd say the jeans. The ones we hid.”

Her breath caught, eyes widening just a fraction.

“But he might come home anytime,” Karthik continued, voice low. “Too risky. Wear something comfortable.”

Indhu tilted her head, smile turning mischievous. “Then go pick for me. Wardrobe room. I'll wait.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. He stood too fast, nearly knocking the chair.

In the wardrobe-room he stood among her clothes, the secret shelf at the top burning in his mind. He ignored it. Safe today.

He scanned the new pieces—the luxury ones, the ones he had chosen with shaking hands.

Grey shimmer leggings—subtle, elegant, the kind that would make her legs glow without screaming.  
Black kurti—three-quarter sleeves, soft neckline, fitted just enough to show her shape.

He carried them out, cheeks warm.

Indhu took them with a smile that made his stomach flip again. “Good choice, boyfriend.”

He escaped to the hall while she changed.

When she stepped out, his breath caught.


The grey shimmer caught the light with every step, making her legs look endless and smooth. The black kurti hugged her waist, the neckline showing the delicate line of her collarbones. Hair loose, a touch of kajal, rose lipstick.

She looked… radiant.

Indhu caught his stare and felt the butterflies return—warm, fluttering, impossible to ignore.

She locked the house, pocketed the key.

They stepped out together into the warm late-morning sun, walking side by side toward Varsha's shop.

No words.

Just the soft brush of her arm against his, the quiet jingle of her bangles, and the shimmer of her legs with every step.

The distance was gone.

For now.


--------------------------------------

The walk to Varsha's shop was short, but it felt longer—every step under the hot sun charged with the quiet that had settled between them after breakfast. Indhu's hand brushed Karthik's once or twice, accidental, but neither pulled away.

The boutique door jingled as they pushed it open. The cool air and familiar smell of new cloth and coffee wrapped around them.

Varsha looked up from her sewing machine, needle paused mid-stitch, and her face split into a huge, mischievous grin.

“Ayyo! Look who came—the new couple of the town visiting my small shop!”

She dropped the cloth and came around the counter, arms wide.

Karthik froze in the doorway, cheeks instantly red.

Varsha turned to him, eyes twinkling. “Finally found your way to my shop, da? I was waiting years for this day.”

Indhu reached over and pinched Varsha's arm—hard. “Dei! What couple announcement is this? Stop it!”

Varsha laughed, rubbing the spot but not repentant. “Truth only, Indhu! Look at you two—walking in together like newlyweds.”

Indhu pinched her again, harder. “Stop it, Varsha! Enough!”

Varsha turned to Karthik, who was now scarlet and looking for the nearest chair to disappear into. “Am I wrong, thambi? Tell your aunty.”

Karthik opened his mouth, closed it, went completely blank. Words failed him entirely.

Varsha threw her head back and laughed loud, the sound filling the small shop. “Look at his face! Priceless!”

Indhu swatted her shoulder. “This is why he never comes here! You always bully him, tease him—he gets scared!”

Varsha wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “He has no proper aunty in the family to pull his leg. So I took the job. Someone has to!”

She turned toward the small back room where the stove was. “Come, coffee for the new couple.”

Indhu followed her in, shooting Karthik an apologetic look. He sat on the corner chair near the window, pulled out his phone, and pretended to scroll—anything to hide the burning in his face.

In the tiny back room, Indhu helped Varsha light the stove, voices low.

Indhu spoke first, serious now. “Varsha, please. He's already worried about something. Don't make those comments in front of him. He might get more scared. We need to find out what's bothering him.”

Varsha measured coffee powder, eyes soft. “What else could it be at his age? Hormones. Girls. That's all that troubles boys like him. Let's find out who the lucky girl is.”

Then, naughty grin returning, she leaned close and winked. “Or maybe… it's you.”

Indhu's hand flew to Varsha's shoulder, swatting hard. “Dei! Stop saying things like that!”

Varsha laughed again. “Look at you—nobody would guess you're his mother. You look like his girlfriend. And let me guess—this outfit? His selection, right?”

Indhu froze, spoon paused over the milk.

Varsha's eyes widened. “I was kidding! But… really?”

Indhu's voice dropped to a whisper, cheeks burning. “Not just that day. Even today… he picked this for me.”

Varsha's mouth fell open, then she reached over and pinched Indhu's cheek playfully. “Ayyo! You really became his girlfriend now!”

Indhu pushed her hand away, flustered. “Stop it, Varsha. It's not funny anymore. He's my son. Don't forget that.”

She turned to leave the room.

Varsha's voice followed, teasing but fond. “You're the one forgetting, Indhu.”

Indhu stepped back into the shop, face flaming, unable to meet Karthik's eyes.

He was sitting exactly where she left him, phone in hand, earphones in, playing a game loudly enough that the tinny music leaked out. But the shop was small. Sound carried. He had heard every word.

His cheeks were still red, heart racing from the teasing—and from the truth in it he couldn't admit.

He kept his eyes on the screen, thumb moving fast, pretending he was lost in the game.

Indhu sat on the tailor's high stool near the mirror, back to him, smoothing her kurti unnecessarily, trying to cool the blush that wouldn't leave her face.

Varsha brought the coffee tray out a minute later—three steel glasses, biscuits on a plate.

She handed one to Karthik first, grinning. “Coffee for the boyfriend.”

He took it without looking up, mumbled “thank you,” and kept playing.

Varsha and Indhu exchanged a look—half amused, half worried.

The afternoon stretched ahead, full of unspoken things.

And in the small shop, with the sewing machine humming and coffee cooling, the three of them sat in a silence that felt louder than any words.


----------------------------------------

Varsha finished the last stitch on the blouse she had been working on—a deep maroon with delicate gold thread along the neckline. She bit off the thread, held it up to the light, nodded in satisfaction, and hung it on the rack near Karthik's chair.

Then she scooted her stool closer to him, close enough that her knee almost brushed his. She tilted her head, examining his face with the frankness only an old friend could get away with.

“Dei, the marks are still there a little,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek with gentle fingers. “Faint, but I can see.”

Karthik's cheeks burned hotter than the slap had. He shifted, uncomfortable under her closeness and care, eyes dropping to his lap.

Indhu nodded from across the room, eyes sad. “It's better than yesterday, but…”

Varsha dropped her hand but didn't move back. “So, thambi… who is the lucky girl?”

Karthik blinked, confused. “What girl?”

Varsha grinned, but her eyes were sharp. “Boys your age—when marks fall, when they go quiet and distant—it's always a girl. Who is she? The one filling your head so much you forgot studies?”

Karthik froze. His face went scarlet. He looked desperately at Indhu for rescue.

Indhu just smiled—small, knowing, a little mischievous—and gestured with her hand: Answer her.

He swallowed, voice barely there. “There… there's no girl like that.”

Varsha raised an eyebrow. “No? Then why the marks? Why the failure? Your mother has been crying to me every day these weeks—saying her boy went distant, doesn't talk, doesn't look at her properly. She even thought some girl came between you two and stole you from her.”

She shot Indhu a naughty look.

Indhu's cheeks flamed. “Varsha!”

Karthik went completely silent.

The words hit him like cold water.

Amma cried.  
Because of me.  
Because I pulled away.

Guilt flooded back, sharp and poisonous—the videos, the fantasies, the shame that had made him build walls. He had thought distance would fix him, protect her. Instead he had hurt her more.

Varsha reached over and shook his knee gently. “Dei, what's going on in that head? Talk to aunty. If you want private, I'll send your mother out for biscuits—you can tell me freely.”

He shook his head fast. “No… nothing like that. I… I made some mistakes. I understand now. From today… I'll focus on studies. Promise.”

Varsha studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. But remember—one thing. Studies are important, yes. But your mother…” She glanced at Indhu, voice softening. “She loves you more than you can imagine. Don't make her feel alone. Don't leave her out. She can't handle that.”

Karthik's throat tightened. He looked at Indhu—really looked—her eyes soft and worried and full of love.

“I won't,” he whispered. “Never again.”

Then, voice barely audible: “Sorry, Amma.”

Indhu's eyes filled instantly. She smiled through the tears, nodding.

A knock at the door broke the moment—sharp, timely.

“Biryani delivery!”

Varsha jumped up, laughing to lighten the air. “Perfect timing! Lunch is here.”

They paused the heavy talk, spread newspaper on the cutting table, opened the packets—fragrant mutton biryani, chicken grill sizzling on skewers, raita on the side.

The three of them ate together, passing pieces, tearing naan, the teasing gone for now, replaced by the quiet comfort of food and company.

But the words lingered in the small shop, settling into hearts that were already changing.

And outside, the afternoon sun moved slowly across the sky, waiting for whatever came next.


--------------------------------------------------


Indhu finished eating first. She wiped her fingers on a paper napkin, the taste of spicy mutton biryani still warm on her tongue. She stood up, stretched a little, and smiled at Varsha and Karthik who were still picking at the chicken grill.

“That was perfect. Thank you, Varsha.”

Varsha waved her off with a grin, but her eyes had been thoughtful the whole lunch. She kept looking between Indhu and Karthik—the way Indhu's face softened every time Karthik took a bite she had served him, the way Karthik's gaze lingered on Indhu's lips when she licked a bit of gravy off them. Something was there. Something more than mother and son. The idea excited her in a naughty way she couldn't quite push down.

What if the “girl” troubling him isn't a girl at all? What if it's her?  
The thought was taboo, straight out of those secret stories she read late at night. A mother distracting her son so much he forgets everything else. The idea made her stomach flutter with guilty heat.

She needed to know.

Indhu started toward the sink to wash her plate.

Varsha saw her chance.

“Indhu, dei—this biriyani masala is too strong. My stomach is already burning. Can you go to the corner shop and get two cold Sprite bottles? Please?”

Indhu laughed softly. “You and your weak stomach. Fine, I'll go.”

She washed her hands quickly, grabbed her small purse, and stepped out. The door jingled shut behind her.

The moment the sound faded, Varsha turned to Karthik.

He was still eating slowly, eyes on his plate, the faint red marks on his cheek catching the light.

Varsha scooted her stool closer, voice low and caring. “Karthik… now your mother isn't here. Tell me openly. Is it a woman bothering you?”

He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth, face turning pink.

She kept her tone soft, like an aunty who only wanted to help. “I won't judge, thambi. Just want to know what's hurting you.”

He set the spoon down, looking uncomfortable. “There… there's no woman like that. Promise.”

Varsha studied him for a long second, then smiled—slow and knowing.

“I know what's bothering you,” she said quietly. “And who.”

Karthik's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear. “What… what do you mean?”

“I can't say yet. But when your mother comes back… I'll tell her.”

His face went pale. “Aunty, please—no. Who do you think it is? There's no one. Please don't tell Amma anything.”

Varsha leaned back, letting him sweat a little. “If there's no one, why are you so scared?”

He shifted on the chair, voice desperate now. “Please, aunty. Tell me what you're thinking.”

She tilted her head, smile turning playful but sharp. “If I say my guess and I'm wrong… will you tell me the truth? Who is really on your mind? Promise on your mother.”

Karthik hesitated, heart racing. Anything but the real truth. He could make up someone safe.

He nodded fast. “Promise.”

Varsha's smile widened, triumphant.

“It's Anu, isn't it? You're in love with Anu.”

Karthik blinked, stunned. Relief hit him hard—thank God, not Amma. But how did Anu even come into this?

He shook his head. “No! Anu's just a friend. How did you—”

Varsha shrugged. “My daughter is in tenth, same college. She told me you two are always together. Even heard Anu proposed last year.”

Karthik groaned inside. college gossip. “It's true she asked, but I never saw her like that. She's like a sister. Best friend since sixth. Not her.”

Varsha's eyes lit up. “Then there is someone.”

He realized his mistake too late.

“I… no, I mean—”

Varsha's smile turned loud and victorious.

She had him.

Varsha's knowing laugh hanging in the small shop, Karthik trapped, heart pounding, the secret still safe but the trap sprung.


--------------------------------


Karthik's heart stopped when he realised what he had just said.

“I… no, I mean—”

He had slipped. Badly. Admitted there was someone without meaning to.

Varsha's eyes lit up, sharp and knowing. She leaned forward on her stool, voice gentle but relentless.

“See? There is someone. Tell me, Karthik. Who is she?”

He shook his head fast, panic rising. “No—no one. I'm not in a relationship. That's not why the marks fell.”

Varsha didn't buy it. She kept her tone soft, caring, like an aunty who only wanted to help.

“Then what is the reason? You promised on your mother. Tell me the truth.”

Karthik's mind raced. He couldn't say the porn. Couldn't say the videos, the fantasies, the way he had pictured Amma in every filthy scene. He would sound like a psycho. A monster.

His hands shook in his lap. He stared at the floor, throat tight.

Varsha waited, patient.

Finally she moved closer, voice even softer. “I won't tell your mother anything. I'm here to help you, thambi. Just say it.”

He looked up, eyes pleading. “Aunty… please…”

She reached out, touched his knee lightly. “Is it your mom?”

The words landed like a bomb.

Karthik froze.

His breath stopped. Blood rushed in his ears. Tears welled up instantly, hot and sudden.

Varsha saw it—the way his face crumpled, the tears spilling over before he could stop them.

She stood quickly, moved to him, sat on the arm of his chair and pulled him into a gentle hug, one hand wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Shh… it's okay. It's okay, kanna.”

He couldn't speak. Just shook in her arms, shame and relief crashing together.

Varsha stroked his hair, voice calm. “It's not your mistake. Every boy's first crush is his mother. Every girl's is her father. That's normal. And you… you have a gorgeous mother. Any boy would feel something. I'd think something was wrong if you didn't.”

He pulled back a little, eyes red, voice broken. “But aunty… it feels bad. Wrong. When I see her… something happens inside me. I can't control it. Every woman I look at… I see her. I see Amma everywhere.”

Varsha nodded, no judgment in her eyes. “It's strong because she's close. Always there. Beautiful, kind, taking care of you. But listen to me—it's not wrong to feel. It's wrong only if you let it ruin you. Control it. Channel it. Study hard. Make her proud. She's not going anywhere. If it was a classmate or teacher, you'd lose her after college. Your luck? It's your mother. She'll be with you forever.”

Karthik wiped his eyes, breathing shaky. “I… I want to be normal again. For her.”

Varsha smiled softly. “Then be normal. Score high. Make her smile. That's all she wants.”

He nodded, slow and serious. “I will.”

They heard footsteps outside—the soft jingle of Indhu's bangles.

Varsha squeezed his shoulder once and moved back to her stool, casual as if nothing had happened.

Karthik wiped his face quickly, grabbed his phone, pretended to scroll.

The door opened.

Indhu walked in with cold Sprite bottles, smiling, oblivious.

Varsha's smile was innocent, but her eyes held the secret.

The quiet knowledge burning between aunt and nephew, the mother stepping back into the room none the wiser.


--------------------------------------------


Indhu returned with two cold Sprite bottles, condensation dripping down the green glass. She handed one to Varsha and one to Karthik, then popped hers open with a satisfying hiss.

The spicy biryani had left their mouths tingling, and the cold fizz cut through it perfectly. They drank in companionable quiet for a moment, the small shop filled with the soft gurgle of swallowing and the occasional laugh when bubbles tickled their noses.

Varsha wiped her mouth and leaned back, eyes sparkling with her usual mischief.

“So, Indhu—finally you're ready to learn tailoring? I've been asking for years!”

Indhu laughed, cheeks pink. “Yes, yes. I understood now. Arrange the classes from next week. Your tutor itself. In a few months I'll be ready to join the shop properly.”

Varsha clapped her hands. “About time! We'll make this boutique double size.”

Indhu glanced at Karthik, almost shyly, like she was waiting for his approval. “What do you think, kanna?”

He nodded immediately, smile soft and proud. “You should, Amma. It'll be good.”

Varsha caught the look—the way Indhu's eyes lingered on his for permission, the way his nod made her light up. Inside, her curiosity burned hotter.

Does Indhu feel it too? Or is it just motherly?  
These two weeks Indhu cried every day because he went distant… that's not just a mother missing her son. That's longing.

She decided then: she would keep Karthik's confession locked tight. No telling Indhu. Not yet.  
She wanted to watch this unfold on its own.  
A little push here and there—nothing obvious—just enough to see where the delicate thread led.

For her dirty mind, the idea was thrilling.

She grinned wide. “Look at you two—boyfriend asking permission, girlfriend waiting for approval. Perfect couple!”

Indhu swatted her arm. “Varsha! Stop it!”

Karthik's cheeks went red again, but he couldn't hide the small smile.

Varsha turned to him. “Seriously, thambi—where did you learn about those fancy shops you took her to? Shimmer leggings, luxury nighties, all that? You're eighteen—how do you know women's fashion so well?”

Karthik looked down, ears burning. “Reels… and fashion influencers on Instagram.”

Indhu raised an eyebrow, half-scolding, half-amused. “No more phone for you, then. Focus on studies, not fashion reels.”

He looked up at her with those big, pleading eyes—the same ones he used when he was small and wanted extra chocolate. “Okay, Amma… promise.”

Varsha laughed. “If he scores good marks in public exams, what will you give him as gift, Indhu?”

Indhu didn't hesitate, voice warm and sure. “Everything he wants. Anything.”

Varsha's mind went straight to the gutter, but she kept her face innocent. “Will see. How about a vacation trip—just you and him?”

Indhu smiled easily. “Sure. If that's what he wants, I'll take him anywhere.”

Inside Karthik's head: Why is Varsha aunty teasing like this? Vacation… alone with Amma…  
The thought made his stomach flip—excitement, fear, longing.

Varsha winked at him. “Karthik, if you score high, I'll sponsor the trip. Just you and your mom. Deal?”

He looked at Indhu, then back at Varsha, not sure what to say.

Indhu smiled at him, eyes soft. “Only if you want, kanna.”

He swallowed. “I'll… I'll score good marks.”

Varsha clapped. “That's my boy!”

Before they left, Varsha pulled Indhu aside for a quick hug, whispering, “Never ask him about the failure. Just give hope. Stand with him. He'll come back stronger.”

Then to Karthik: “Study well, thambi. That's what makes your mom happiest.”

They stepped out into the evening light, bags in hand, walking side by side again.

The teasing lingered in the air like perfume.

And in Varsha's mind, the plan was already forming—quiet pushes, gentle nudges, watching the forbidden flame grow.

But for now, she kept the secret.

And let them walk home together, closer than before.


------------------------------


The walk home from Varsha's shop was quiet, but not the heavy kind from before. This quiet had weight—soft, warm, full of things neither dared to say. Their arms brushed occasionally, accidental but lingering a second too long. The shopping bags swung between them, rustling with every step.

They reached the gate, unlocked the door, and stepped into the cool, empty house. Leka wouldn't be back for another hour; Rajan was at work.

Indhu dropped the bags on the dining table and walked straight to the sofa, sinking into it with a tired sigh. She folded her legs up beneath her, the grey shimmer leggings catching the late afternoon light from the window. The fabric stretched tight over her thighs and calves, the subtle metallic threads making her skin glow like it was dusted with starlight.



Karthik followed slower, placing his bags carefully, then sat on the other end of the sofa—close enough to feel her warmth, far enough to pretend it was normal.

Neither spoke.

They just looked.

Shy glances at first—eyes meeting, then darting away, cheeks warming. But the glances grew longer, bolder.

Karthik couldn't help it. His gaze dropped to her legs—folded neatly, ankles crossed, the shimmer dancing every time she shifted. Even her ankles looked perfect to him—delicate bones, smooth skin, the way the leggings hugged every curve.  
Varsha aunty's words echoed in his head: “Every boy's first crush is his mother… I'd think something wrong if you didn't feel anything.”  
Admiring Mom isn't sin.  

The thought loosened something in his chest. He let his eyes trace higher—the soft roundness of her thighs pressed together, the gentle dip where hip met waist.

Indhu felt his stare like a touch. Heat bloomed under her skin, starting at her cheeks and sliding down her neck, pooling low in her belly.  

He's looking at my legs. Really looking.  

The realization made her pussy clench, a soft, secret throb. She should cross her legs tighter, hide, scold him. But she didn't. She let him look, heart racing, enjoying the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath seemed to catch.



His gaze moved higher—over the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her breasts under the black kurti, finally settling on her face. Her lips.

Those lips he had imagined in the darkest moments—soft, full, rose from the lipstick she wore today.

He thought: I would do anything in this world to see a smile on those lips. Anything to keep her safe from Appa. Anything to make her happy forever.

The intensity in his eyes made Indhu's breath shallow. She felt it between her thighs—warm, wet, aching.  
Why does this feel so good? His eyes eating me up… I missed this. I missed him looking at me like I'm… everything.  
But he's my son. This is wrong.  
Still, she didn't move. Didn't speak.

When his stare locked on her lips—hungry, wondering—she couldn't take it anymore.

She stood abruptly, cheeks burning. “I'll… change.”

She hurried to the wardrobe-room, closed the door, leaned against it with her heart pounding.

Inside, she stripped off the shimmer leggings and kurti slowly, skin tingling. The mirror showed her in just bra and panties—breasts full, nipples hard, the faint wetness darkening the cotton between her legs.

She touched herself there once—light, guilty—and pulled away fast.

Old ankle-length nightie on—safe, modest.

But the heat didn't leave.

Back in the hall, Karthik's phone rang on the sofa beside him.

He picked it up. “Hello?”

“Karthik? Why didn't you come to college today?” Anu's voice, worried but sharp.

He froze. “I… wasn't feeling well.”

Pause. “Your father beat you, didn't he? For the marks?”

His throat tightened. “How did you know?”

“What else would happen if you failed? Idiot! You need to score well for public exams. We both want to be doctors, remember? If you mess this up, you won't even get engineering.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I understood.”

The wardrobe-room door opened. Indhu stepped out in the long nightie, hair tied loosely, face flushed.

She held out her hand for the phone.

Karthik handed it over, relieved.

Indhu smiled softly. “Hello, Anu mol? … Yes, he's home today. Resting…”

Her voice was warm, normal, but her eyes met Karthik's across the room—and held.

Mother and son locked in a gaze that said everything and nothing, the air between them thick with the weight of what had almost been spoken.

[xfirefox]

took your time, i would say quite a time. anyway Indhu and her family is here, but the wrong person (or i would say the right person) got the scent of the feelings of the would be affair that is shimmering in the nubile hearts of our cute couple of the day.

well it would be amazing to see how will\well the notorious Varsha be pulling and caliberating the strings to bring the both together.

the way story is being articulated, it seems it is going to be a long affair with Kartik to achieve his true potential both at academics as well as homely affair along with his mother to be self dependent.

i am looking forward to the journey of the blessed souls to get through their briyani-tandoori life.

do not undermine Leka while Kartik and indhu's life progress. I see her as a involving character who should play a crucial role all along the story line as it progresses.

liked the efforts been put by writer with the presentation of this update. the story is evolving at a right pace and direction with a right amount of spice and emotional concoction.

don't take so long to post the upcoming updates.

[nivithenaughty]

lovely .. a shopping spree .. Rajan will be pulverized if he even gets a inkling of what the mother son duo has bought so far, or more precisely what Kartik will buy for his mother, will shook the core of Mrs. Rajan. well her stomach is all along been fluttering, but what he is about to do with grand mother's backup gift money will definately give the mild heart to Indhu or the purchase may set the fire in her pants or something that they covers. till now money has been well spent, but guessing kartik isn't going to spend every paisa on just the clothes, he must have thought of something else, out of box thing, which might surprise the readers.

enjoyed it so far and looking forward.

took your time, i would say quite a time. anyway Indhu and her family is here, but the wrong person (or i would say the right person) got the scent of the feelings of the would be affair that is shimmering in the nubile hearts of our cute couple of the day.

well it would be amazing to see how will\well the notorious Varsha be pulling and caliberating the strings to bring the both together.

the way story is being articulated, it seems it is going to be a long affair with Kartik to achieve his true potential both at academics as well as homely affair along with his mother to be self dependent.

i am looking forward to the journey of the blessed souls to get through their briyani-tandoori life.

do not undermine Leka while Kartik and indhu's life progress. I see her as a involving character who should play a crucial role all along the story line as it progresses.

liked the efforts been put by writer with the presentation of this update. the story is evolving at a right pace and direction with a right amount of spice and emotional concoction.

don't take so long to post the upcoming updates.

Thanks for your valuable feedbacks this helps me write future parts. Thanks. Keep supporting.

[xfirefox]

this site attracts less incest readers but more adultery readers, thats why there more views and comments on stories that are especially based on married couples.

initially it will take a bit time but eventually it will take off. becoz this story has great content as well as good writer.

[xfirefox]

waiting

[nivithenaughty]

PART 10



Indhu took the phone from Karthik’s hand, her fingers brushing his for a second longer than needed. She smiled at him—small, reassuring—then put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Anu mol?”

Anu’s voice came bright and familiar, the way it always did when she spoke to Indhu. The two had known each other since Anu joined Karthik’s college in sixth standard—bright, top-rank girl who quickly became his closest friend. Indhu liked her: polite, smart, always helpful with Karthik’s studies. But there was always that tiny, unspoken possessiveness on both sides.

Anu adored Karthik—everyone knew it, especially after she proposed last year.  
Indhu adored him more—no one could compete with a mother’s love.

They were nice to each other, always. But the possessiveness lived quietly under the surface.

“Karthik told me you weren’t feeling well,” Anu said. “But I know it’s the marks, aunty. I was scolding him just now.”

Indhu sat on the sofa arm, glancing at Karthik who was pretending to scroll his phone but clearly listening. “Yes, mol. He scored less this time. I’m worried.”

Anu’s voice turned firm. “I told him the same. We have to make him study properly now. Public exams decide everything. Medical college—we planned together since tenth, remember?”

Indhu’s stomach gave a small, uncomfortable twist. Medical college. Years more of Anu and Karthik together—study sessions, late-night calls, shared dreams.

She forced her voice light. “Yes, yes. You must help him, mol. Make him focus.”

Anu laughed, but there was an edge. “Whenever we plan to study, aunty, he starts asking about my clothes—where I bought this kurti, that legging, which shop has good styles. I tell him ‘study da,’ but he says ‘it’s for Amma.’”

Indhu’s heart skipped.

Anu continued, voice dropping slightly—anger and possessiveness mixing. “I’m not sure if it’s really for you… or if he found some girlfriend and is asking for her.”

The words landed sharp.

Indhu looked at Karthik instantly. He was staring at the floor, cheeks red.

She punched his arm lightly, playful but with a tiny spark of anger. “See? Even Anu is saying.”

But inside, questions swirled.

Why the anger?  
Because he’s not studying?  
Or because he asked another girl about clothes—for me?

The second thought made her stomach twist again, hot and confusing.

She spoke into the phone, voice calm. “No, mol. Not like that. He got diverted a little. Won’t happen again.”

Then, firmer: “If he asks such questions again, beat him. Don’t answer.”

Anu laughed, satisfied. “Promise, aunty. I’ll make him study. We’ll both get into medical college—like we planned.”

Indhu’s stomach sank deeper.  
We’ll both… years more together.

She didn’t say it aloud. Instead: “Yes, mol. Make him study well.”

She cut the call, handed the phone back to Karthik without meeting his eyes.

The room felt suddenly smaller.

Anu’s voice echoed in her head: We’ll both get into medical college.

Indhu stood, walked to the kitchen, busied herself with nothing.

The possessiveness she had always felt toward Karthik—quiet, maternal—suddenly felt different. Sharper. Deeper.

She didn’t know what to do with it.

Karthik watched her go, guilt and longing twisting tighter in his chest.

The evening stretched ahead, full of everything neither could say.


—---- Fast forward —----


The days blurred into weeks, then months, in a rhythm that felt both healing and dangerous.

Karthik threw himself into studies like a man possessed. Early mornings at the desk, late nights under the table lamp, books spread across the dining table on weekends. He promised himself—and her—he would not fail again.

But he never forgot her.

Every morning when Indhu brought coffee, he looked up from his books with that soft, admiring smile. “Amma… you look beautiful today.”  
Simple words, but they landed on her skin like touches—warm, lingering. She would blush, scold him lightly—“Study, dei, don’t distract”—but her nipples would tighten under whatever she wore, her pussy giving a secret throb at the way his eyes traced her body.

The compliments became daily ritual.

When she wore the rose shimmer leggings and a simple kurti: “Your legs look like they’re glowing, Amma.”  
When she tried the peach-pink nightie one safe night: “You look like an angel.”  
When she came home from Varsha’s class in a new salwar she had stitched herself: “No one else could make that look so perfect.”

Each time her body answered—heat between her thighs, wetness soaking her panties, breasts heavy and aching. She told herself it was just pride in his attention, but the craving grew. She started choosing clothes for his eyes, lingering in front of the mirror a little longer, imagining his gaze on her ass, her tits, the curve of her waist.

The touches grew too.

A hand on her lower back when he passed in the narrow kitchen, fingers lingering a second too long.  
A hug good-night that pressed his chest to her breasts, his arms tight around her waist, face buried in her neck longer than before.  
When they sat on the sofa, his head on her shoulder, her fingers stroking his hair, his breath warm on her collarbone.

No one spoke of it.  
But both felt the craving build—slow, steady, unstoppable.

Indhu felt proud, fiercely proud.  
My son is doing this for me. Studying hard, changing, because of what I said.  
The thought made her heart swell and her pussy ache in equal measure. She started wearing the bolder pieces more often when Rajan was away—the off-shoulder tops that showed her smooth shoulders, the knee-length skirts that swished against her thighs, the luxury pyjamas that felt like silk on her naked skin underneath.

She joined Varsha’s tailoring classes three days a week. Mornings at the boutique, learning to cut, stitch, finish. Varsha was patient, funny, always teasing.

“Look at you—stitching like a pro already. All because your boyfriend told you to?”

Indhu would pinch her, laughing. “Stop it.”

But the teasing fed the fire.

Meanwhile, Karthik spent more time with Anu.

Weekend study sessions at her house or the library—heads bent over biology textbooks, chemistry formulas, physics problems. Anu was brilliant, always top rank, and she pushed him hard. “You can do this, Karthik. We’ll both get into medical college.”

He studied. He improved.

But Anu had her own plans.

She wore her best clothes for study sessions—tight leggings that hugged her slim legs, cropped tops that showed a strip of stomach, hair loose and scented. She touched his arm when explaining a concept, leaned close so her breast brushed his shoulder, laughed at his jokes a little too long.

She wanted him to see her.  
To choose her.

Indhu felt it like a slow poison.

Every time Karthik came home talking about “Anu explained this chapter so well” or “Anu found this trick for organic chemistry,” Indhu’s smile stayed in place, but her stomach twisted.

Possessiveness—sharp, unfamiliar, undeniable.

He’s mine.  
The thought came unbidden, hot and shameful.  
He studies for me. He looks at me. He chose clothes for me.

She started asking casual questions.  
“How was study with Anu?”  
“What did you revise today?”

The answers were innocent, but her mind painted pictures—Anu’s hand on his, Anu’s body close, Anu stealing the looks that belonged to her.

Varsha noticed everything.

At the boutique, while Indhu stitched a hem, Varsha would tease.

“Your boyfriend spending all his time with that Anu girl now? Careful, da—she might steal him.”

Indhu would laugh it off, but her needle would pause.

Varsha watched, curious, excited.  
The boy confessed it’s the mother.  
The mother acts like a jealous girlfriend.  
This is going to be interesting.

December arrived. Karthik’s term exams loomed.

He studied harder than ever, driven by guilt, by promise, by the need to make her proud.

Indhu finished her tailoring course—Varsha threw a small celebration, cake and coffee, praising her first complete salwar kameez.

“You’re ready to join the shop properly now,” Varsha said. “Partner?”

Indhu hugged her, eyes shining. “Partner.”

Karthik came home that evening to find his mother in the new salwar she had stitched herself—soft blue, perfect fit, hugging her breasts and waist just right.

He stopped in the doorway, eyes wide.

“Amma… you made this?”

She turned, shy and proud. “Yes. First one.”

He walked close, touched the sleeve gently. “It’s perfect. You look… incredible.”

Her pussy throbbed at the look in his eyes.

The exams were days away.

Indhu had proven herself.

Karthik was ready to prove himself.

And between them, the love—tender, forbidden, growing—waited for the next spark.

[Srikanthitis]

Great going bro

[xfirefox]

splendid! ati uttam

[xfirefox]

excitement his growing, so the chemistry between the characters.
soon the exams will be over, then will see what rewards does Kartik gets to cherish.

but with all this there seems a rising threat of Anu, or in the mind of Indhu. with this kind of insecurity in thoughts what would Indhu do to overcome or surpass.

had to read twice. but still missing Leka. it's an incest story but that doesn't mean that everyone is supposed to have a sexul feelings towards every family members. do show the usual sibling chemistry\rivalry. once in a while do try to dipict their regular life stuff like sharing food, paying bills, watching tv, laundry cleaning, house dusting, decorating house or rooms attending marrige or function, celebrating festival, family dynamics when relatives arrives, then later bitching about them and grinding themselves, each other etc.

buying new scooty for kids college, tution and house work, then Kartik teaching Leka and Indhu. and in situations like these little monents and accidental touches happen which compounded over the time.

things like these bring colour to the story

this story shouldn't only focused on how does kartik and indhu comes close but all the other mundane activities are also

also writer could show characters coversing in italics thier native language, like Indhu-varsha making leud and teasing comments, younger generation talking or making remarks in hindi (i'm northern netizen he he) but should be explained the same in brackets in english so everyone could understand. and especially when Indhu and Kartik do thier heartful talk; it will highlight the intimate aspect and it would create a better reader and character relationship.

carryon.

[Sage_69]

Going great. Continue please.

[xfirefox]

looking forward

[xfirefox]

waiting

[Lonely dude@1947]

Bro eagerly waiting to see what indhu and karthik upto regarding varsha's trip sponser

[nivithenaughty]

Part 11

The morning of the first public exam arrived cold and clear, the kind of January day when the Chennai sun felt gentle instead of punishing.

Karthik woke early, nerves jangling. He had studied until two a.m., the books still open on his desk like soldiers waiting for battle. He showered fast, dressed in his college uniform white shirt pressed the night before by Indhu's careful hands, navy pants, tie knotted with shaking fingers.

He stood in front of the small mirror in the bathroom, staring at himself.  
Eighteen.  
Last year of college.  
One chance to fix everything.

He thought of the marks sheet hidden in his drawer.  
He thought of Rajan's slap.  
He thought of Amma's tears.

And he thought of her always her.

He walked out to the kitchen where Indhu was packing his exam kit hall ticket, pens, water bottle, a small banana for luck. She wore a simple cream saree today, hair tied in a loose bun, a thin line of kajal making her eyes look deeper. She looked beautiful, and the sight of her made his chest ache with love and guilt and something darker he still couldn't name.

Leka was already at the table, eating toast, scrolling her phone.

Karthik stopped in front of Indhu, palms pressed together in the traditional gesture.

“Amma… blessing.”

He bent to touch her feet.

Indhu's heart cracked open.

She caught his shoulders before he could bend fully, pulled him up, and wrapped her arms around him tight chest to chest, her breasts soft against his college shirt, her cheek pressed to his. She kissed one cheek, then the other slow, warm, lingering kisses full of every prayer she had whispered for him these months.

“You'll do wonderfully, kanna,” she whispered against his skin. “This exam is yours. I'm so proud of you already.”

Her scent jasmine, coffee, clean cotton filled his lungs. His arms tightened around her waist without thinking, pulling her closer for one endless second. He felt her body against his the soft swell of her breasts, the curve of her hip under his palm and heat rushed straight to his cock, thickening it instantly against his pants.

Guilt slammed in right behind it.  
This is Amma. Blessing me. And I'm getting hard.  
What kind of son am I?

He pulled back fast, face burning, eyes on the floor.

Leka watched from the table, toast forgotten, eyes wide.

She had never seen them like this so close, so long, kisses that felt… different. Pure family love, she told herself. But jealousy stabbed sharp and sudden.  
Why does he get all that? Why is he special?

She stood up, marched over, and wedged herself between them.

“Amma! Me too!” she demanded, arms out.

Indhu laughed, surprised, and hugged her tight, kissing both cheeks. “Of course, mol. Good luck with your test today.”

But Leka wasn't satisfied. She looked at Karthik triumphantly.

Indhu playfully swatted both of them. “Enough, you two! Always competing. Karthik will be man of the house one day he's special.”  
She turned to him, cupped his burning cheek, and pressed one more quick kiss there. “Go win, kanna.”

Karthik's cock throbbed harder at the words man of the house. The taboo weight of it made him dizzy.

Leka pouted but grabbed her bag. “Fine. I'm leaving.”

Indhu walked them both to the door, waving until Leka's auto disappeared.

Then she turned to Karthik.

He stepped close again, arms sliding around her waist, pulling her into one last hug tighter this time, face buried in her neck.

“This exam is for you, Amma,” he whispered against her skin, voice rough with everything he couldn't say.

Her arms tightened around his shoulders, fingers threading through his hair. She felt the hard line of him against her belly again just for a second and her pussy clenched, wet heat blooming instantly.

Guilt flooded her.  
He's going for his exam. Pure moment. And my body…  
Why can't I control this?

She kissed his cheek once more soft, lingering. “I know, kanna. I'm with you.”

He pulled back, eyes dark and shining, and left quietly, bag on shoulder, the weight of her love and his promise carrying him out the door.

Indhu stood in the kitchen long after he left, hand pressed to her chest, feeling the wild beat of her heart.

Pride fierce, overwhelming.  
He's doing this for me.

Happiness warm, glowing.  
My boy is growing into the man I always dreamed.

Worry sharp, maternal.  
Please let him win. Please let him be happy.

And underneath it all, the taboo pulse she couldn't silence:  
The way his body felt against mine.  
The way he looked at me.  
The way I want more.

She stood there in the quiet house, saree pallu slipping from her shoulder, cheeks flushed, pussy still throbbing softly from the hug.

The day stretched ahead empty, waiting.

And in her heart, love and guilt and longing twisted tighter than ever.

The echo of his hug still warm on her skin, the forbidden questions circling without answers.



 ------------------

The house felt too quiet after Karthik left.

Indhu stood in the kitchen a long time, the exam kit still on the table, his coffee glass half-empty. Pride and worry warred inside her pride that he was fighting for a better future, worry that something deeper was still hurting him.

She needed peace.  
She needed prayer.

She picked up her phone and called Varsha.

“Varsha… I'm going to the Murugan temple nearby. For Karthik's exam. Will you come?”

Varsha's voice was warm. “Of course, da. Give me ten minutes.”

They met at the temple gate twenty minutes later. Indhu in a simple green saree, hair tied back, small bindi on her forehead. Varsha in a bright yellow salwar, dupatta dbangd loosely.

The temple was small but peaceful morning aarti just finished, the air thick with incense and vibhuti. They bought archana tickets, stood in the short queue, hands pressed together as the priest chanted.

Indhu closed her eyes.

Let him write well.  
Let him be calm.  
Let him come home happy.

She felt the weight of the morning hug again his arms tight around her waist, the hard press of him against her belly for that one shocking second. Her pussy had throbbed then, wet and guilty. She felt it now, standing in front of God, a soft ache between her legs at the memory.

Wrong. So wrong.  
But so real.

They finished darshan, took prasad sweet pongal in small leaf cups and found a quiet spot on the stone floor near a pillar, backs against cool granite, legs stretched out.

For a while they just sat, watching devotees come and go, the bell ringing softly in the background.

Varsha broke the silence. “You're worrying too much, Indhu. I can see it on your face.”

Indhu sighed, eyes on her hands. “I can't help it. I keep thinking… maybe I'm the reason he failed last time. The shopping, the clothes, all that time we spent… maybe I distracted him.”

Varsha studied her friend the beautiful, worried face, the loose hair catching the light, the saree clinging softly to her curves. Inside, Varsha's mind raced.

He confessed it's you.  
He's in love with you.  
And you… you're scared because you feel it too.

She wanted to tell her. Wanted to push, to see what would happen if the truth was out. But something held her back this was theirs to discover.

Instead she said gently, “At his age… it's common, Indhu. Hormones. Growing up. Boys get attracted to women close to them. Teachers, aunts… even mothers sometimes. Especially when the mother looks like you stunning, young, taking care of everything. It's natural. Don't take it wrong.”

Indhu's breath caught.

The morning hug flashed again his hardness against her, unmistakable.  
He felt something.  
And I felt it too.

Her pussy gave a slow, guilty throb. She pressed her thighs together under the saree, heat spreading.

“But… it feels bad,” she whispered. “He's my son.”

Varsha smiled softly. “Feeling isn't wrong. Acting is different. He's a good boy. He'll control it. And you… you're doing everything right.”

Indhu nodded, but the questions circled.

Why does his look make me wet?  
Why do I crave his compliments, his touch?  
Why does the thought of him with Anu hurt so much?

They sat a little longer, then walked back to Varsha's shop. Indhu left for home soon after, the temple peace settling over her like a thin blanket comforting, but not quite enough to cover the fire underneath.

She reached home, the quiet wrapping around her again.

Karthik was writing his exam.

And she was left with her thoughts love, pride, guilt, and the slow, undeniable craving that grew every day.

Indhu alone in the empty house, the weight of Varsha's words and her own forbidden feelings pressing down, waiting for Karthik to come home.

 -----------------------

Indhu spent the morning after the temple visit in a quiet haze cleaning the already clean house, folding laundry that didn't need folding, anything to keep her hands busy while her mind circled the same thoughts.

Karthik in the exam hall, pen scratching paper.  

Karthik coming home with good news.  

Karthik's arms around her this morning, the hard press of him against her belly, the way her pussy had throbbed in answer.

She pushed the last thought down, hard.

Lunch was simple leftover chicken curry and rice eaten alone at the table. The house felt too big without the kids. She washed the plates, changed into a comfortable cotton nightie, and lay down for the usual afternoon nap, hoping sleep would quiet the storm inside her.

Sleep came quick, deep and dreamless.

She woke to the sharp knock at the door three impatient raps.

Her heart leaped. Karthik? Early? Good news?

She rushed to the door, barefoot, nightie clinging from the heat, hair loose and messy from sleep.

She opened it with a smile already forming.

Rajan stood there, laptop bag on shoulder, office shirt wrinkled from the train.

The smile died on her face.

He noticed instantly. His eyes narrowed.

“What? Smile gone the moment you see me?” His voice was low, edged with anger. “Don't you want your husband home?”

Indhu's stomach dropped. “Nothing like that,” she said quickly, stepping aside. “Come in.”

She turned to the kitchen, busying herself with tea milk on the stove, ginger crushed, elaichi added. Anything to avoid his eyes.

Rajan dropped his bag in the hall and followed her.

She felt him behind her before he touched his presence heavy, familiar, unwanted.

Then his arms came around her from behind, hands sliding over her stomach, pulling her back against him. His breath hot on her neck, the faint smell of train sweat and whisky.

Indhu jerked like she'd been burned, shoving his hands away hard.

“Don't!”

Rajan stepped back, furious. “What the hell? I'm your husband! I can't even hug you now?”

She turned, heart pounding, nightie twisted from sleep, the fabric clinging to her breasts and hips in a way she suddenly hated.

“Even if you're my husband,” she said, voice shaking but firm, “you can't touch me without my consent.”

Rajan laughed, bitter and loud. “Consent? All these movie dialogues you're learning? This is not some film, Indhu. This is reality. I'm your husband I have rights.”

He stepped closer, eyes dropping to her body the way the nightie had ridden up slightly from sleep, showing the curve of her hip, the soft swell of her ass. The fabric was thin, worn from years, and it outlined everything.

He softened his voice, but his eyes were hungry. “How can I even stay angry? Look at you getting sexier every day. These hips…” His gaze lingered. “I can't control myself anymore.”

Indhu's skin crawled. She crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her hardening nipples from the cool air and his stare.

“Don't sweet-talk me,” she said quietly. “We agreed no touching until I say so.”

Rajan exhaled, frustrated. “I agreed. But you're making it impossible. Day by day you look like this beauty increasing, body like…” He gestured, words failing. “There are pills now, you know. For performance. So you won't be disappointed like before.”

Indhu looked at him, disgust twisting her stomach. The old failures in bed, the insecurity that had turned into suspicion and fights.

She had learned one thing from years of arguments: saying no made him explode. Postponing cooled him down.

“I'll… think about it,” she said carefully. “Right now my mind is only on Karthik. His exams. Getting him into medical college.”

Rajan paused, thinking.  

At least not a flat no.  

And the boy did fail… she's worried.

He nodded, almost pleased. “Fine. Focus on him. I understand.”

He gave her one last long look eyes tracing her hips, her breasts, the messy hair that made her look freshly fucked and walked to the hall.

Indhu stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the counter, body shaking with anger and relief.

Indhu alone with her thoughts, the unwanted touch still burning on her skin, the promise of “thinking about it” hanging heavy, and the quiet knowledge that her heart and body belonged to someone else entirely.



Indhu finished stirring the tea, the steam rising in lazy curls from the steel glass. The kitchen felt smaller than usual, the air heavy with the unsaid words from their argument. She poured the hot liquid carefully, added the right amount of sugar two spoons for him, just how he liked it and carried it to the hall.

Rajan was sitting on the sofa, legs spread wide, scrolling his phone. He didn't look up when she approached.

"Tea," she said quietly, holding out the glass.

He took it without a word, his fingers brushing hers for a split second. The touch made her skin crawl. She pulled back fast, wiping her hand on her nightie like it was dirty.

He sipped, eyes still on the screen, and she turned away, walking back to the kitchen. The door to the bedroom was open; she heard him shift on the sofa, but she didn't look back.

In the kitchen, she leaned against the counter for a moment, taking a deep breath. The stove was still warm from lunch, the smell of chicken masala lingering in the air. She started dinner prep on autopilot washing rice, chopping onions, her knife moving steady but her mind racing.

Why did I push him away so hard?  

It's Rajan. My husband. The man who tied the thaali around my neck. He has rights, doesn't he?  
But the thought of his arms around her, his breath on her neck, made her stomach twist with disgust. It wasn't like that before not always. There were times in the early years, when she was young and scared, when his touch had been the only thing she knew. But now? Now it felt wrong. Invasive. Like a stranger grabbing what wasn't his.

Like I belong to someone else.
 
The thought came unbidden, and her heart skipped. Belong to who? Rajan is my husband. The father of my children.  

But the image of Karthik's hug from this morning flooded her mind the way his arms had wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, his cheek against her neck, the hard line of his body pressed to hers for that one shocking second. Her pussy had throbbed then, wet and guilty, nipples hardening against her bra. She had felt alive. Wanted. Safe.

With Rajan, it was different. Hateful. Like cheating.  

Cheating? On who? On Karthik?  

The idea was insane. Wrong. Her son. Her baby boy. But the feeling was there, deep and undeniable. Her heart belonged to him the way he looked at her, the way he fought for her, the way he made her feel seen. And her body… God, her body reacted to him in ways it never had to Rajan. Even now, thinking of Karthik's arms, her pussy clenched, a fresh wave of wetness soaking her panties. She pressed her thighs together, feeling the ache build, nipples tightening against the old nightie.

This is sin. He's my son. Born from me. I carried him inside.  

But why does it feel right? Why does Rajan's touch feel like betrayal?  

She shook her head, tears stinging. I can't admit this. Can't accept it. Can't embrace it. Can't deny it either.

She started chopping the vegetables harder, the knife thumping against the board. Dinner would be chicken fry tonight simple, spicy, the way the kids liked. But her mind wouldn't stop.

Rajan had asked: What will change your mind? To like me again?  

She had said she'd think about it. But how long could she postpone? Days? Weeks? Months?  
The thought of sex with him again his body on hers, his breath heavy, his hands grabbing made her skin crawl. It felt like cheating. Cheating on Karthik. Why? Why did guilt add to every touch from her own husband?  

Her pussy throbbed at the wrongness of it all. She imagined Karthik's hands instead gentle, loving, knowing every inch of her. Her nipples hardened painfully, breasts heavy and sensitive. She wanted to touch herself, right there in the kitchen, but the guilt stopped her cold.

I can't understand this. I can't feel like this.  
But I do.

In the bedroom, Rajan lay on the bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling fan whirring slow.

How to get her back?  

He had made mistakes big ones. The abuse, the slaps, the accusations about her character when she was innocent. The false claims that she was seeing other men, just because she was beautiful and he was insecure. He had beaten her in the early years, left bruises that faded but scars that didn't. He had called her names, made her cry, turned their marriage into a prison.

But that was past. Years ago. He had stopped. Mostly.  

Now she was even more beautiful glowing, sexier, like she was blooming late. Her hips swayed more when she walked, her breasts fuller under those new clothes, her ass round and tempting in the leggings she wore when he wasn't around. He knew about the shopping. Knew about the changes. And it drove him mad.

I was lucky to have her. Young, beautiful, village girl. Everyone in office envies me. “Rajan sir, your wife is a lottery,” they say. Behind my back, they call me the lucky bastard.

But now? Now he couldn't touch her. Couldn't enjoy what was his.

The astrologer's words from twenty years ago echoed: “Issue with her horoscope. Marrying her won't lead to happy life.”

He had ignored it. Married her anyway. Now look.

Remediation? Pariharam? He could find that old astrologer. Or a new one. Do pujas, wear gems, whatever it took to fix this curse.

Because he wanted her back. Wanted her under him again, moaning, legs wrapped around him. Wanted to bury his face in those full breasts, grab that round ass, slide into her wet pussy and make her forget everything but him.

He shifted on the bed, cock stirring under the lungi.

Soon.  
He would fix this.

Indhu finished chopping the onions and garlic for the chicken fry, tears from the onions mixing with her own. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, the sting grounding her.

Rajan's words replayed: “Pills for performance. You won't be disappointed.”

Disgust twisted her gut. The idea of him inside her again rough, quick, over in minutes made her pussy dry up like a desert. No warmth. No love. Just duty.

But with Karthik… God, just thinking of his hug this morning his strong arms around her waist, his cheek against her neck, the faint press of his hardness against her belly made her wet all over again. Her pussy throbbed now, nipples hardening under the old nightie, breasts feeling heavy and sensitive.

Why? Why him? My son.  
Social rules screamed no. Moral voice inside her whispered sin. But her heart didn't care. Her body didn't listen.

She imagined it Karthik's hands on her breasts, gentle, exploring, his mouth on her nipples, sucking slow. His cock hard from this morning sliding between her thighs, filling her, making her moan.  
Her hand slipped under the nightie without thinking, fingers brushing her pussy lips wet, swollen, aching. She circled her clit once, twice, breath catching.

Then stopped.  
No. Wrong.  
He's my son.

But the craving stayed, a fire she couldn't put out.

Rajan lay longer, mind turning.

How to claim her?  
Sweet talk? Gifts? The pills?  
She was sexier now breasts fuller, ass rounder, hips swaying like an invitation. He got hard just thinking of her in those new clothes she hid from him.

The astrologer was right. A curse.  

He would find him. Do the pariharam. Break it.

Then she would be his again. Under him, legs spread, pussy wet and ready, moaning his name.

He adjusted his lungi, cock half-hard.

Soon.

 ------

Indhu was in the kitchen, the chicken fry already done, mutton curry simmering on low flame, rice cooker clicking to “keep warm.” The house smelled rich and spicy, but her appetite was gone.

She glanced at the clock six-fifteen.

Karthik should have been home by now. Exam finished at four. Usually he came straight, dropped his bag, hugged her, told her everything how the paper was, which questions he nailed, which ones tricked him.

Today nothing.

She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and picked up her phone.

Dialled his number.

It rang. And rang.

On the last ring, someone picked up.

“Hello? Aunty?” Anu's voice bright, familiar, a little breathless.

Indhu's heart sank a little. “Anu mol? Where's Karthik?”

“He's here at my place, aunty. Came to check answers together. Biology paper he thinks he did really well! Don't worry.”

Indhu forced her voice steady. “Put him on the phone, mol.”

“He's in the other room with my notes. We're studying for tomorrow's exam too. He said he'll come home after nine, okay? I'll send him safely.”

The call ended before Indhu could protest.

She stood frozen, phone still at her ear, the beep of the disconnected line loud in the quiet kitchen.

After nine.

At Anu's house.

Her chest tightened, a sharp, sudden pain.

He didn't call me.  
He didn't come home.  
He went to her.

Images flooded her mind Karthik and Anu at a study table, heads close, laughing over answers. Anu's hand brushing his when passing a book. Anu's eyes on him the way they always were full of love she had carried for years.

Anu was perfect for him. Same age. Smart always first rank. Good family. Beautiful in that young, fresh way. She loved him openly, had proposed, waited patiently.

Karthik needed her. She pushed him to study, believed in his dreams medical college, together.

Indhu's stomach twisted harder.

Why does this hurt so much?  
He's eighteen. Anu is right for him pretty, clever, from a good home. She'll keep him on track.  
I should be happy.  
Relieved.

But the jealousy was a living thing hot, ugly, clawing at her insides.

He's mine.  
My boy. My world.

The thought was immediate, possessive, shocking in its intensity.

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race.  
He's not yours like that. He's your son.  
Let him go. Let him love a girl his age.  
That's right. That's normal.

But the pain didn't listen.

She imagined them together Anu's hand on his arm, her laugh when he said something funny, the way she looked at him like he was everything.

Indhu's pussy gave an involuntary clench, but it was different this time mixed with hurt, not desire.

She leaned against the counter, eyes stinging.

I'm jealous.  
Of a nineteen-year-old girl.  
Because she has his time. His attention. His future.

The doorbell rang Leka.

Indhu wiped her eyes quickly, forced a smile.

Dinner was quiet.

Rajan ate in silence, scrolling work emails.

Leka asked, “Where's Karthik?”

“With Anu. Studying.”

Leka grinned. “Finally they became lovers, ha? Studying together every day now.”

Rajan looked up, eyebrow raised.

Indhu kept her voice even. “Just studying.”

Rajan grunted. “Anu is good girl. Top rank. Big family. Tell him to accept her. She'll pull him up.”

Leka nodded sadly. “Boys always get choices. Girls don't.”

The words hit Indhu like stones.

She remembered her own marriage sixteen, father gone, mother and brother forcing her into Rajan's house because they needed the alliance. Her brother married his love later. She got duty. Pain. A life she never chose.

They finished eating.

Rajan went to watch TV.

Leka helped clean, then disappeared to her phone.

Karthik came home after nine-thirty quiet “I'm tired, Amma,” straight to bed, no hug, no story about the exam.

He lay on the far edge, back turned.

Indhu changed into her nightie, climbed in beside him.

Leka was already asleep on the other side.

The bed felt huge and cold.

Indhu lay awake, eyes open in the dark.

Her heart was a storm.

Jealousy.  
Love.  
Guilt.  
Fear.

He's growing up.  
He needs a girl like Anu.  
Not… me.

But the thought of losing him to studies, to Anu, to life felt like dying.

She turned toward his back, hand hovering, wanting to touch his shoulder, pull him close.

She didn't.

The night stretched long, her heart not sleeping, questions circling without answers.

Indhu in the dark, aching with love she couldn't name, jealousy she couldn't justify, and the slow, terrifying realization that her world was shifting under her feet.