Coerced Shadow: Entrapment of my mother

[tweeny_fory]

wo what a hot and erotic story
loved it
so the story is in full action now

waiting to know th slow and steadysex of dabjani

[Rupakpolo1]

Camera Two, positioned directly above the bed in the mirrored ceiling, offered a cold, clinical top-down view. It showed everything. Ravi Uncle’s bare hips pressed between Ma’s spread, shackled legs. His buttocks clenched as he shifted his weight, grinding his thick erection against her silk-covered hip. His left hand gripped her thigh painfully tight, fingers digging into the soft flesh above the ankle cuff. His right hand, slick with oil, was busy lower down. We saw his fingers slide beneath the crimson silk bunched at her waist. They probed past the dark triangle of her pubic hair, slicking oil over her exposed folds, glistening obscenely under the harsh lights. He rubbed slow, deliberate circles over her clitoris, then pressed two fingers deep inside her entrance, twisting them cruelly. Ma’s hips jerked upwards in a spasm, her back arching off the bed, she was pleading to him to stop but her voice was muffled. Her bound wrists strained against the padded leather cuffs, fingers clawing uselessly at air. The pearls bounced violently against her flushed, tear-streaked chest.

"Still fighting?" Ravi Uncle chuckled, lifting his head from her breast, leaving the nipple red and swollen. He withdrew his fingers from her depths with a wet sound. "Remarkable. The sedative should have turned you to jelly by now." His oiled hand gripped her thigh tighter, forcing her legs wider apart against the chains. "Most women just... drift. Whimper a little. Accept it. But you?" He grinned, wiping his fingers on the silk bunched at her waist. "You twist, you plead, you resist after even doped to the eyeballs." He positioned himself lower, his knees nudging her thighs wider still. His thick cock, fully erect and slick with oil, glistened like a dark, veined weapon poised directly at her exposed entrance. "It’s futile, Debjani. Admirable, but futile." He leaned forward, his bulk settling heavily onto her pelvis. "Your pussy," he breathed, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against her glistening folds, "is about to be invaded by my manhood. I will make you impure now, Debjani." He pushed, not slowly, not gently but a hard, deliberate thrust.

Ma gasped, a sharp, involuntary intake of breath. Her eyes flew wide, pupils dilating impossibly large against the harsh lights. Not a scream of pain escaped her lips; the sedative wrapped its thick fingers around her nerves, muffling the raw agony into a deep, internal throb. But her body understood. Her spine arched off the bed, not in pleasure or pain, but in primal recoil. Her bound wrists strained violently against the padded leather, fingers clawing at nothing. Her mouth opened in a silent O of shock and violation as she felt the immense pressure, the impossible stretch, the tearing sensation deep inside her core as he breached her entrance. It wasn't pain she registered first, but sheer, overwhelming intrusion. Something massive, foreign, and unwanted was forcing its way deep into her body. Her eyes locked onto the mirrored ceiling above, reflecting the scene back infinitely: Ravi Uncle’s paunchy torso pressed down, her own legs splayed wide and helpless, his hips grinding forward relentlessly.

"Mallika said... don't damage... your precious purse" Ravi Uncle grunted, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust that slammed Ma's hips deeper into the leather mattress. The entire bed frame groaned and shook with his powerful movements. "But I don't care." He leaned closer, his hot, sour breath washing over her tear-streaked face. "I want you to be damaged." Another brutal push. Ma whimpered, a thin, drugged sound escaping her lipstick smeared lips. "When you touch yourself later," he hissed, his voice thick with exertion and malice, "when you lie awake beside that weak husband of yours... you'll feel me." His hips pistoned roughly, each inward stroke deliberate and deep. "You'll feel the stretch. The ache. The memory of  my cock filling you.*" He emphasized his words with a particularly vicious thrust that made Ma's entire body jolt upwards against the restraints. "Every time you spread your legs for him, you'll remember how I claimed you first.*"

Ma's whole body flinched with each invasion. Shame wasn't just an emotion; it was a physical wave washing over her skin with every wet slap of his flesh against hers. She felt pinned, crushed beneath his weight, the chains biting into her ankles and wrists. Something primal screamed inside her that this mating was profoundly wrong,  the depth of her invasion is beyond anything natural that she has experienced in the past. Her face shows she can feel the depth of her stretch but with no pain.

Her hips were slammed firmly into the leather mattress with each powerful downward thrust from his hips. The bolted bed frame groaned and shook violently with the force of his movements. Above, the mirrored ceiling fractured the obscene scene into infinite repetitions: her pale legs spread wide and helpless, Ravi’s sweating back pistoning relentlessly, the pearls bouncing obscenely against her flushed, tear-streaked chest. Each jarring impact echoed through the chamber.

"Debjani," Ravi Uncle growled, his voice thick with exertion and malice. He slowed his thrusts, grinding his hips in slow, deliberate circles inside her. "Do you feel me now? Deep inside you? I've made you impure, haven't I?" His fingers dug into her hips, leaving angry red marks as he forced her to feel every inch of him. Ma's eyelids fluttered, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she nodded weakly, unable to deny the overwhelming presence violating her.

With a cruel laugh, Ravi Uncle withdrew slightly, his cock glistening with her arousal and the remnants of the oil. He trailed his fingers up her trembling abdomen, pausing just beneath her breasts. "This," he murmured, licking his lips, "is where I'll leave my mark." He pinched the delicate skin of her left breast hard enough to bruise, twisting viciously until Ma let out a choked sob. "Every time you bathe," he promised, digging his nails in deeper, "every time you see yourself naked in the mirror…you will see my love bites and remember this night ” He leaned down, his teeth grazing the tender flesh before biting down sharply. Ma jerked violently against the restraints, a pained whimper escaping her lips as he sucked the skin into his mouth, leaving an angry red mark blooming across her pale flesh.

Ravi pulled back, admiring the beginnings of a dark purple bruise forming on her breast. He traced it with oily fingers, smearing the evidence of his violation across her skin like a brand. "See this?" he hissed, pressing down on the fresh bruise until Ma whimpered. "This is my property seal. It will remain there on your body till your husband is back," another vicious pinch, "every time you dress in morning, you'll remember me." He shifted his weight, his cock still buried deep inside her, and reached for her other breast. His teeth found the untouched nipple, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. "This one too," he murmured against her skin. "They'll match."

We heard someone footsteps near our door. Rohan quickly close the live video software. It was Priya. She knocked sharply, her silhouette visible through the frosted glass panel. "Rohan-babu? Dinner is served. Mallika-mem wants you both in the living room immediately."

Rohan’s knuckles brushed mine—cold and trembling—as he stood. "Come," he muttered, voice scbangd raw. "We... we need to act normal." The laptop lid snapped shut, swallowing the mirrored horror. I didn’t want to leave this room, this fragile shield of distance, but Rohan’s pleading look anchored me. *Act normal*.

Priya’s shadow lingered beyond the frosted glass. Rohan opened the door, his posture stiffening into practiced indifference. Priya’s gaze swept past him, landing on me. "Dinner," she repeated, her tone flat as polished stone. "Mallika-mem dislikes waiting." Her eyes lingered a beat too long on my frightened cheeks before she turned, her footsteps retreating down the corridor. The silence in Rohan’s room felt thick, suffocating.

I didn’t want to go. Every instinct screamed to stay hidden, to curl into myself until this nightmare dissolved. But Rohan’s hand clamped onto my shoulder, his grip surprisingly strong. "Food," he hissed, his voice low and urgent. "We sit. We eat. We say nothing. Not about the Playroom. Not about my dad and your Ma. Not even a whisper." His eyes were wide, desperate marbles. "If Mallika suspects... she may talk about this to Dad, I don’t want that ." He pulled me towards the door. "Act normal, Ayan. Smile."

The dining room felt like stepping into a different world—a world scented with saffron rice and roasted fish, illuminated by warm light from a crystal chandelier. Priya stood stiffly beside a sideboard laden with steaming dishes. And there was Neha, seated at the far end of the long mahogany table. Her face was freshly washed, scrubbed pink and raw, her hair pulled back severely. She stared blankly at her untouched plate of fried prawns, her fingers tracing the rim of her water glass. She looked hollowed out, fragile as spun sugar. Mallika sat at the head of the table, serene as a statue, meticulously dissecting a piece of pomfret with her fork and knife. She didn’t look up as we slipped into our chairs.

Rohan nudged a bowl of fragrant dal toward me. "Eat," he whispered, his voice tight. I picked up my spoon, the silver cold against my fingers. The food tasted like sawdust. The clink of cutlery against fine china echoed unnaturally loud in the heavy silence. I watched Neha flinch as Priya placed a basket of luchis near her elbow. Her knuckles were bruised. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. "Where’s my mother?" The words tumbled out, louder than I intended, shattering the fragile peace. "Is she okay?"

Mallika paused, her fork hovering mid-air above a delicate piece of fish. She didn’t look up. "Your mother," she stated calmly, slicing through the flesh with surgical precision, "is resting. Ravi is attending to her... needs." She speared the bite, lifted it, and finally met my gaze. Her eyes were flat, opaque pools. "He’s taking excellent care of her, Ayan. Ensuring her comfort." She popped the fish into her mouth, chewing slowly. "She’s in very capable hands."

My stomach lurched. Images flooded my mind – Ma’s tear-streaked face, the pearls swinging wildly, Ravi’s oiled back pistoning. The saffron rice tasted like wet cardboard, the dal like glue. I pushed my plate away, the silver spoon clattering loudly against fine china. "I... I’m finished," I stammered, my voice trembling. "Please, Mallika Aunty, I want to go home now."

Mallika didn't pause her meticulous dissection of the pomfret. "Go home?" she echoed, her tone coolly dismissive. "Your mother isn't well enough to leave, Ayan. She needs rest. Ravi is ensuring her comfort." She speared another piece of fish, her gaze flicking briefly to Neha’s vacant stare. "You’ll stay until she’s recovered."

The word recovered echoed grotesquely in my mind. I saw Ma’s bound wrists straining, and heard the wet slap of flesh against flesh from the surveillance feed.

Then it came, a muffled cry slicing through the dining room’s suffocating silence. Not loud, but unmistakable. A raw, jagged sound of agony, choked off abruptly. It echoed down the corridor from the Playroom wing. Priya flinched, her eyes darting nervously to Mallika. "The sedative... it must be wearing thin," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "The pain response is returning."

Mallika’s fork paused mid-air. She didn’t turn her head, didn’t shift her gaze from her plate. Only her eyelids lowered in a slow, deliberate blink. A silent command. *Silence*. "Priya. Attend Debjani. Give her the drug to reduce the pain. Ensure she rests... comfortably." The implication hung thick: *Quiet her*. Priya vanished soundlessly toward the corridor.

The muffled cries didn’t stop. They were ragged gasps now, punctuated by low, guttural sobs that scbangd against my eardrums. Each one felt like a physical blow. Ma’s agony didn’t fade; it seeped through the walls, a relentless tide drowning the clinking cutlery and Neha’s shallow breaths. Then, abruptly, a new sound intruded—frivolously cheerful Bollywood music blared from the Playroom speakers down the hall. A jarring, upbeat dance track clashed violently with the horror unfolding behind that door.

Priya reappeared silently, her face impassive. Mallika’s fork finally clattered onto her plate. "What is that noise?" she demanded, her voice icy. "Did he instruct you to play that?"

"The music, madam," Priya replied, her gaze fixed on the polished tabletop. "Ravi-sir insisted. He said... she needs to adjust to the discomfort. That a mature woman shouldn't require pain killer for such things." Her knuckles tightened around the water jug handle. "He ordered me to play it."

Mallika’s nostrils flared almost imperceptibly. "Adjust?" The word crackled with icy fury. "That fool. He ruins everything for his own need, sometimes forgetting about our businesses ." She pushed her plate away, the untouched pomfret gleaming under the chandelier. "He never listens. Never." The Bollywood beat thumped through the walls, a sickening counterpoint to Ma’s muffled whimpers that still leaked through – thin, ragged threads of agony Priya’s drugs couldn't fully sever. Each sob scbangd raw against my bones.

She snapped her fingers at Priya. "Dinner is concluded. Clear this." Her gaze swept over Neha’s trembling form, Rohan’s frozen stillness, my own clenched fists. "You three," she commanded, her voice brittle as cracked porcelain, "Stay in the living room. Now. Priya, select a film. Something... diverting." Her eyes pinned me. "Your mother is undergoing intensive therapy, Ayan. Enjoy this movie, when she is feeling better, she will take you home."

Priya guided us wordlessly to the cavernous living room. The Bollywood music bled through the walls—frantic drums and shrill flutes clashing with Ma’s muffled, rhythmic cries. Priya slid a disc into the player. The screen bloomed with garish colours: a slapstick comedy, heroes chasing villains through absurd pratfalls. The volume was cranked high, drowning nothing. Priya vanished.

I sank into the cold leather sofa. Rohan sat rigid beside me, eyes glued to the screen, unblinking. Neha curled into the farthest armchair, a trembling ghost. On screen, a movie started to play. Down the hall, Ma gasped,a wet, choked sound. My fingers dug into the sofa cushion. I was not watching the movie anymore. I was worried about her.

When the movie ended with a flurry of absurd pratfalls and canned laughter, the Bollywood music still pulsed relentlessly from the Playroom. I was not able to hear my mom crying anymore. Mallika didn’t move from her wingback chair, her gaze fixed on the blank screen as if studying its static ghosts. "Priya," she commanded, her voice slicing through the artificial cheer, "Ascertain their status. Report if they’re resting." Priya slipped away silently, a shadow melting into the dim corridor. The silence stretched, thick with the thumping bassline and our shared dread. I couldn’t hold it. "Mallika Aunty," I blurted, my voice cracking, "Please. When can we leave? When can Ma take me home?"

[Farz@123]

The best... But it's going very slow sir want a longer and sooner update

[Sexone]

need a big update##update

[bananna123]

Nice
Waiting

[Farz@123]

Update

[bananna123]

Waiting for update

[Rupakpolo1]

Mallika turned her head slowly, her eyes like polished obsidian catching the low light. "Home?" She smiled, a thin, cold crescent. "Soon, Ayan. When Ravi is satisfied with her therapy." She gestured languidly toward the hallway. "Rohan, take Ayan to your room. Both of you play game now. Neha, remain here, I have few things to discuss with you" Her dismissal was absolute.

Back in Rohan’s room, the silence screamed louder than the Bollywood beat. I paced, the plush carpet swallowing my frantic steps. "I need to see what is going on" I hissed, stopping before Rohan. "Open that camera video feed now"

Rohan hesitated, fingers hovering over the laptop like it was radioactive. "Ayan, it should be worse now—you should not see this adult things”

"*Open it." My voice was low, trembling, but absolute. He flinched, then tapped the keys. The screen blinked awake, flooding the dim room with the Playroom’s harsh glare.

The top-down view from the mirrored ceiling was brutally clear. Ma lay naked on the stained leather bed, limbs still shackled wide apart. Her skin gleamed with sweat and oil under the lights. Deep, angry bite marks bloomed like dark bruises across the swell of her breasts and the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Her crimson silk saree lay ripped and scattered across the floor like discarded petals. Only the pearl necklace remained, incongruously elegant against the violence etched onto her skin, resting heavily between her breasts. Between her legs, thick, milky-white fluid dripped sluggishly from her swollen, parted folds onto the mattress cover beneath her hips, soaking into dark, wet patches.

Ravi Uncle sat slumped in a leather armchair near the corner, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Smoke curled lazily towards the ceiling vents. "See, Priya?" His voice rasped, thick with satisfaction and exhaustion. "The bitch finally understood what actual fucking feels like. No more delicate flower nonsense." He took a long drag, exhaling slowly. Priya, her face impassive, knelt by the bed, efficiently unlocking the heavy cuffs from Ma's ankles. Ma’s chest heaved with ragged, shallow breaths, making the pearls tremble against the bite marks. Her eyes stared blankly upwards, unfocused, tears dried in tracks on her temples.

Rohan’s finger trembled on the laptop’s touchpad. He zoomed in, the camera focusing brutally on Ma’s exposed sex. Thick, milky fluid seeped sluggishly from her swollen folds, pooling onto the stained leather mattress beneath her hips. The image was obscenely clinical under the harsh lights. Beside me, Rohan shifted uncomfortably. I glanced sideways. His hand was pressed flat against his thigh, but the bulge straining against his trousers was unmistakable. He wasn’t touching himself openly, but the rigid outline was clear – a traitorous response to the violation unfolding on screen. Shame burned hot in my own cheeks.

Then, deliberately, Rohan’s hand moved. He slipped it under the waistband of his trousers. A soft, rhythmic friction started beneath the fabric. His eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching Priya unlock Ma’s ankle cuffs. Ma’s chest heaved, making the pearls tremble against the bite marks. "Rohan?" My voice cracked, disbelief warring with nausea. "What... what are you doing?"

He flinched violently, snatching his hand away like he’d been burned. His face flushed crimson, eyes wide with panic. "Forget it!" he hissed, voice thick with shame. "Just... forget you saw that! Don’t look at me! Focus on... on your Ma!"

On screen, Priya finished unlocking the heavy cuffs from Ma’s ankles and moved to her wrists. The metal clattered open. "Stand up, Debjani-mem," Priya ordered, her voice flat. "I need to take you to the bathroom. Clean you." Ma stirred weakly, her head lolling towards Priya’s voice. Her lips moved, forming soundless words. Priya leaned closer. "Ayan?" Ma whispered, her voice a shredded thread. "Is... Ayan okay?"

Priya’s reply was brisk, impersonal. "He’s fine. Eating dinner. Now stand." Priya hooked an arm under Ma’s shoulders, trying to haul her upright. Ma’s legs buckled instantly, jelly-like. Priya staggered, unable to support her dead weight. Ma crumpled to the floor beside the stained bed with a dull thud, her limbs splayed awkwardly, the pearls swinging violently against her bruised chest. She moaned softly, curling in on herself.

Ravi chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette. "Useless," he muttered, standing. He pulled his trousers on, zipping them roughly, then tucked his phone into the pocket. He strode over, nudging Priya aside with his hip. "Move." Without ceremony, he bent, hooked an arm under Ma’s knees and another behind her back, and hoisted her limp body over his shoulder like a sack of rice. Her head lolled against his back, her dark hair obscuring her face. "I’ll handle the cleaning," he announced, adjusting her weight. "Properly." He carried her out of the Playroom, Ma’s bare feet dangling helplessly near his waist, leaving Priya staring at the wet stain on the mattress.

I whirled on Rohan. "*Where did he take her?*" My voice was a choked whisper. "*Where?*"

Rohan flinched, eyes darting to the laptop screen showing the empty Playroom. "*Probably... the main bathroom,"* he mumbled, avoiding my gaze. "Near his private suite. For... cleaning." He swallowed hard, then his fingers flew over the keyboard, closing the surveillance window. "But... look here" He clicked open a different folder, buried deep within his father’s encrypted files. It was labelled simply: *Inventory*.

The screen is filled with thumbnails – maybe a few dozens. Each showed a woman facing the camera against a homely background . Neha’s face stared back from one thumbnail, Priya’s from another, their expressions strained. Rohan double-clicked a video. A woman in her late forties, wearing a simple floral salwar kameez, stood nervously in what looked like the penthouse library. "My name is Sunita Sharma," she whispered, eyes downcast. "Age forty seven." An un known male voice off-camera, barked: "State your measurements. Chest, waist, hips." Sunita flinched, tears welling as she stammered the numbers. "Now remove your kurta." Sunita’s hands trembled violently as she fumbled with the buttons. "Faster!" The man behind the camera snapped. She obeyed, exposing her plain bra, then unhooked it with shaking fingers, revealing sagging breasts. "*Lower your salwar, bitch. Show your cunt." Sunita wept openly as she complied.

Rohan clicked another thumbnail. A younger woman,perhaps twenty-five, sat stiffly on a velvet sofa, wearing a bright red bridal lehenga, her hair adorned with fresh marigolds. "Introduce yourself," commanded a different male voice, deep and unfamiliar. "*I am... Rashmi Malhotra,” she stammered, her voice thick with tears. "Married... married a year ago."
"Tell us about your husband," the deep voice demanded. Priya Malhotra swallowed hard. "He... he is gentle. Kind." "Is he?" the voice mocked. "Then why are you here? Strip. Everything." Priya Malhotra’s hands shook uncontrollably as she began removing her heavy jewellery. "Faster," the voice growled. She sobbed, tearing at the lehenga hooks, exposing her plain white petticoat and blouse. "All of it," the voice ordered. She hesitated. "NOW!" She flinched, peeling off the blouse, then the petticoat, standing naked except for her bridal bangles and anklets. "On your knees." She sank down. "Open your mouth." The camera zoomed in as a thick, erect penis entered the frame, pushing roughly past her lips. "Suck it properly, bitch. Show us how a new wife pleases." She gagged, eyes squeezed shut.

"*Who are these men?*" I choked out.

Rohan slammed the laptop shut. "A lot of men worked under my dad. They manage most of the girls. Dad manages only the special ones." His voice was flat, hollow.

Rohan moved to the new one. "Look at this one." He clicked a thumbnail. A woman sat stiffly on the velvet sofa Mallika had lounged on earlier. She looked exactly like Ma – mid-thirties, Bengali features sharp with fear, dark hair pulled back tightly. She wore a simple cotton saree, faded floral print. The camera zoomed brutally close on her face. "State your name." Ravi Uncle’s voice, unmistakable, came from behind the camera.

"Sneha Saha," she whispered, eyes darting nervously. Her fingers twisted the edge of her pallu. "Age?" Ravi barked. "Thirty-four." Her voice cracked. "Measurements. Chest. Waist. Hips." Sneha flinched. "Please... I...*" "*State them!*" The command cracked like a whip. She choked out the numbers, humiliation staining her cheeks crimson.

The camera zoomed in. "Family?" Ravi demanded. "Husband..." Sneha stammered, "and two children." "Youngest?" "A baby boy..." Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "Four months." A pause. "The baby…" Ravi pressed, "is he your husband's?" Sneha froze. Tears welled. "No..." The admission was a strangled gasp. "From... another man.”

Behind the camera, Ravi chuckled. "Rajeev's kid?" Sneha nodded mutely. "Heard he knocked you up?" Sneha flinched. "Yes." "Good," Ravi declared. "A fertile cow." He leaned into frame, tapping the screen. "*See that mouth?*" He thrust a thick finger towards Sneha's lips. "Perfect cock-sucker." Sneha recoiled as Ravi shoved his finger brutally into her mouth, forcing her jaw wide. "Suck it! Show us!" She gagged, tears streaming, her lips stretched obscenely around his knuckle.

He withdrew his wet finger, smearing saliva across her chin. "Now show us those udders." Sneha trembled, fumbling with her blouse buttons. "Faster!" She ripped the fabric open, exposing large, heavy breasts swollen with milk, veins prominent beneath pale skin. "See that?" Ravi gloated, grabbing one breast roughly, squeezing until milk leaked in thin streams onto her saree. "Full buckets. Good for sharing." He pinched her nipple hard. "You like feeding other men? Like Rajeev? Like me?" Sneha whimpered, nodding desperately. "Yes..." "Louder!" "Yes!” she cried out, milk dripping onto her lap.

"Strip the rest." Ravi stepped back, camera focusing. Sneha wept silently as she unwound her saree, letting it pool around her ankles. She stood naked except for her petticoat, arms crossed over her sagging belly. "Petticoat off." She hesitated. "NOW!" She flinched, letting the thin slip fall. Her body was soft, stretched from childbirth, stretch marks like silver streaks across her hips. "Turn around." She obeyed, shaking. "Bend over.*
" Sneha bent forward, clutching her knees, exposing her full buttocks and the dark cleft between them. The camera zoomed brutally close on her anus and swollen vulva. "See that hole?" Ravi narrated to his unseen audience. "Untouched ass. Tight. Perfect for breaking." He jabbed a finger against her puckered opening. Sneha gasped. "And this sloppy cunt?" He spread her labia apart with two fingers, revealing glistening pink folds. "*Stretched out from Rajeev’s bastard. Ready for filling.*" Sneha sobbed, milk dripping onto the floor between her bare feet.

I slammed the laptop shut. The plastic casing cracked against the desk. "Enough!" My voice was raw, scbanging my throat. "*I don’t want to see anymore.*" Sneha’s milk-dripping breasts, the cruel inventory of her body – it wasn’t just Ma anymore. It was a factory line of violation. Rohan didn't argue. "I’m going to the living room," I declared, pushing back the chair. "To Mallika."


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[Farz@123]

Exciting and hot update... Want to know about Debjani

[Sincemany]

What an update. Very very rare story.

[bananna123]

Excellent
Looking forward for more updates

[6sense]

PLease update next part

[Little finger]

Super story bro. Dm

[Farz@123]

Update

[bananna123]

Waiting.

Superb narration and story
Thrilling

[Farz@123]

Update

[Sanjay Sen]

 

your writing skills is just awesome dada 

[Rupakpolo1]

The Bollywood music still pulsed from the Playroom. Mallika sat alone in the cavernous living room now, bathed in the flickering blue light of a paused movie screen. The garish slapstick comedy was frozen mid-pratfall. She held a crystal tumbler swirling amber liquid, her gaze distant, fixed on the hallway leading to the Playroom. Priya stood like a statue near the bar, polishing a glass with unnatural focus. Neha was gone.

I walked in, Rohan trailing silently behind me. Mallika didn’t turn her head. "You should be in Rohan room, Ayan," she said, her voice unnervingly calm, the earlier fury banked to embers.

"My mom," I said, stopping a few feet away. My voice sounded small against the thumping music. "When can I see her?"

Mallika didn't turn. She took a slow sip from her tumbler, ice cubes clinking softly. "Debjani is resting deeply, Ayan. Ravi uncle is ensuring her recovery progresses optimally. Patience." Her eyes remained fixed on the hallway’s gloom.

"My mom," I repeated, forcing my voice louder over the blaring music. "I need to see her. Now." Priya stopped polishing the glass. The silence stretched, thick with the thumping bassline.

Mallika finally turned her head, her obsidian eyes pinning me. A flicker of irritation crossed her face, quickly smoothed. She took another deliberate sip. "Priya," she commanded, her voice slicing through the noise. "Go. Check what is going on inside the bathroom, Let Ravi know about this." Priya set the glass down silently, a faint chime against the marble bar top. She moved like smoke towards the hallway, vanishing into the gloom where the Bollywood beat pulsed strongest.

Mallika gestured languidly to the sofa beside her wingback chair. "Sit, Ayan," she ordered, her voice softening unnervingly. "Here. Near me." Her gaze was calculating, assessing. Rohan hovered uncertainly near the doorway. Reluctantly, I sank onto the cold leather cushion she indicated, perched on the very edge. The garish light from the paused movie screen cast shifting patterns on her impassive face. "Tell me," she began, her tone almost conversational, "what you and your mother do all day? At home? Such a quiet life, I imagine." Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "She... she cooks. Cleans. Looks after things." My voice sounded thin. "I go to college."

Mallika nodded slowly, swirling the ice in her tumbler. The amber liquid caught the flickering blue light. "All the household work? Does your mom manages? Cooking, washing, scrubbing floors?" Her gaze sharpened, drilling into me.

"Yes," I mumbled, staring at my hands clenched on my knees. "She does everything."

Priya, who had disappeared a few moments ago, was  back to us, sharp and assessing. "She must be exhausted, madam”

"Poor Debjani," Mallika murmured, swirling her drink. "She hasn't eaten tonight." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "Priya, will you take the leftover food  to her home…she can have the food there…Tell me, Ayan — would you make sure she takes care of herself going forward. She need to have more strength going forward."

I did not understand what she meant to say by this.

She gestured dismissively toward Priya - "Priya! Bring the children's movie discs. Something... soothing. For Ayan." Priya vanished again. Mallika turned back to me, her smile fixed. "Now, sit properly. Relax." She picked up the remote, unpausing the movie.

Priya returned, placing a slim DVD case beside Mallika. "The Jungle Book,” Mallika stood up and ejected the existing disc with a soft whirr. She slid the new disc in. "Much more suitable for you"

Baloo the bear appeared on screen with Mowgli. The jaunty melody felt obscene against the thumping bass still leaking from the Playroom hallway. Mallika leaned back, sipping her drink.  Baloo danced with Mowgli. I couldn’t watch this and started counting each and every seconds. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. My leg bounced uncontrollably.

"Where is my mother?" The words burst out, sharp as glass.

Mallika paused the movie mid-frame, Baloo frozen mid-stride. "Patience is a virtue, Ayan," she chided, swirling her drink. "*Debjani needs rest.*"

"Where?" My voice cracked. "Where is she resting?"

Mallika sighed, swirling her drink. "Wherever Ravi uncle deems appropriate." Ice cubes clinked like tiny bones. "Now watch the movie, kid and stop asking question"

Suddenly I saw the hallway shadows shifted. Ravi emerged, steam curling off his damp shoulders, a white towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets traced the scars across his chest—thin, silvery lines like claw marks. He rubbed another towel through his dripping hair, his biceps flexing. His gaze slid to me, then away, dismissing my presence entirely. The Playroom music had finally stopped; the silence felt heavier than the bassline.

"Debjani?" Mallika asked without turning her head, swirling her drink. “ How is she”

Ravi’s lips curled, not quite a smile, but something satisfied and proprietary. “A bit unstable,” he admitted, rubbing the towel down his neck. “But good potential.” He tossed the damp cloth onto a chair, the movement flexing the thick veins in his forearms. “She’ll learn.”

Ravi uncle looked at Rohan and said - “Take your friend to your room. I have important things to discuss with Mallika aunty.”

“But what about my mother?” I asked, stepping forward, my voice too high.

Ravi Uncle barely glanced at me, toweling his hair. “When she’s well, you will get to see her,” he muttered, the words sliding off his tongue like oil.

Rohan’s grip clamped around my wrist, cold, insistent,tugging me backward. “Come,” he hissed. I went with Rohan.

After reaching his room, I asked Rohan what they were going to discuss. He locked the door with trembling fingers. “I am also curious, we are going to hear everything,” he whispered, pressing his ear to the wood.

After a few minutes Rohan responded- “I can’t make out, let us check from my dad’s laptop feed”.

The laptop screen bloomed back to life, casting a sickly pallor over our faces. Rohan bypassed the password screen with practiced ease, fingers punching in `M@ll1k@0924` before I could blink. He clicked the surveillance icon, an unblinking eye and the screen split into sixteen grainy quadrants. The top-right feed showed the living room in monochrome: Mallika still perched on her wingback throne, sherry glass dangling from manicured fingers; Ravi looming near the bar trolley, toweling off his damp chest with slow, deliberate strokes.

Mallika’s voice crackled through the speakers, tinny but clear: "Well?" She didn’t look up from her drink. "How was she in bed?"

Ravi’s towel paused mid-swipe across his shoulders. A slow, predatory grin split his face. "The best," he murmured, tossing the damp cloth aside. His fingers traced a fresh scratch along his collarbone-thin, crimson. "Fought just enough to make it fun. Then she melted like ghee." He poured himself a fresh sherry, the liquid catching the low light like molten gold. "Tighter than I expected for a mother. Screamed beautifully when I entered her"

"Details later," Mallika cut in sharply, her gaze darting toward the ceiling—toward the unseen cameras. " Tell me how useful she would be for us.”

Ravi chuckled, swirling his drink. "Hips like a temple dancer—built for rhythm. Tight little cunt still grips like a virgin’s, even after childbirth. And that cry she makes when you first split her open…ahhh" He took a slow sip, savoring the memory. “…mmm…pure gold. The bashful ones always sound sweetest when they break."

Mallika’s manicured fingers tapped the armrest. "Would it be easy for us to control her?"

Ravi chuckled, the sound thick with sherry. "Once she understands her new purpose, I expect total surrender." He rolled his shoulders "That softness? Like kneading fresh sandesh. And the warmth…ahhh" His tongue darted over his lower lip. “her cunt clenched like a fist around me when she came. Unbelievable heat for a frigid housewife." He leaned against the bar, muscles flexing. "We’ll train that shame out. Then, she will be only available to Premium clients only, who pay extras to ruin such purity.*"

Mallika’s stiletto tapped the floor. "How long would it take?"

Ravi drained his glass, ice cubes clattering. "Two months minimum," he said, wiping his mouth. "She’s stubborn, kept whispering her husband’s name while I fucked her.*" His knuckles whitened around the empty tumbler. "But I will carve that loyalty out.”

Mallika arched a sculpted brow. "Not with brute force." Her stiletto tapped an impatient rhythm against the marble. "You moved too fast tonight—she’s still trembling in recovery. Next time, slower. Let the fear simmer. Let her beg before you touch."

Ravi snorted, pouring another drink. "She won’t beg," he muttered, ice clinking like broken teeth. "Too proud. Too used to her husband’s meek hands. She clenches her thighs when I breathe near her now, like a nun guarding sacrament." His lips curled. "But her body begs. When I spread those thighs? Dripping. Silent, but wet."

Mallika’s smile was a scalpel’s edge. "Then exploit that." She swirled her sherry. "Condition her hunger against her will. Let her hate herself for craving it."

[Farz@123]

Nice and awesome update

[moledcock]

Nice going one