My mother and the landlord (Slow burn, long read)

[Leo Arya]

Great update bro... Waiting for the next part

[Anubantu]

Nice narration

[Naresh987]

Absolutely going great ....sunny was being made stinky by his mother will be witness her mother sex with uncle will they become new father when you start sex scene eagerly waiting...

What will he do in shopping mall will sunny witness her mother real nature by reveal her phone secrete.?

[Kamaveri]

This is my point of view, make her completely remove traditional dress like saree shalwar etc, change into western type of mature woman like this. Even she is in the house or goes out side. This could be hot while imagine this mother.

[deepangshu]

Don't remove those traditional dresses, it will completely ruin the story

[Authorsunny]

This is my point of view, make her completely remove traditional dress like saree shalwar etc, change into western type of mature woman like this. Even she is in the house or goes out side. This could be hot while imagine this mother.

Thanks for the suggestion, buddy. But I don't think this kind of transformation is what this story is about, at least not yet.

Anyway, maybe another story, another day.

Feel free to generate images relevant to this story and post them, though; that would be interesting.

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 17 - Part 2


24 November 2025 – Monday (continued)

I walked half a step behind her, carrying nothing except my wallet and phone, already feeling the weight of the day that was about to unfold.

On the second-floor landing Mrs. Desai was standing with two other women from the building, all three holding small steel plates with diyas and sweets for the usual celebration exchange. They looked up as we came down. The conversation between them stopped for a second.

Mrs. Desai’s eyes moved over Ma from the open neckline of the blouse down to the way the light chiffon clung to her hips and then back up to the jhumkas and the careful makeup. One of the other women, the one from the first floor who always wore thick glass bangles, raised her eyebrows just enough to be noticed.

“Happy celebration , Anjali ben,” Mrs. Desai said, her voice sweet and sharp at the same time. “Arre, looking so fresh today. New saree?”

Ma stopped and folded her hands politely.

“Happy celebration . Yes, an old one I had kept aside. You also look nice.”

The third woman, older, from the ground-floor corner flat, smiled with her lips only.

“Going out with Sunny beta? Or someone is coming to pick you up?”

The question was not innocent. Everyone in the building had seen the white sedan enough times by now.

Ma answered without any change in expression.

“We are going for some shopping. Crackers and a few clothes. Happy celebration to your family also.”

She moved past them before more questions could come. I followed. I felt their eyes on my back the entire way down the last flight of stairs. One of them said something in a low voice that I could not catch, but the short laugh that followed was clear enough.

Outside, the November morning was bright and slightly cool. The lane still smelled of last night’s gunpowder and incense. The white sedan was parked a few metres away from the entrance, engine already running. Azad Sahab stood beside the open passenger door. He wore a crisp cream pathani suit and dark sunglasses that he removed when he saw us.

His eyes went straight to Ma. He did not hide the appreciation. They moved slowly over the soft peach chiffon, the wide scoop of the blouse, the bare shoulders, the way the light material followed the full shape of her breasts and the round curve of her hips, the jhumkas, the fresh bindi, the painted nails. The look lasted long enough for anyone watching to notice.

“Happy celebration ,” he said, his voice warmer than the polite tone he usually used in front of others.

Ma’s cheeks coloured slightly, but she did not look away.

“Happy celebration , Azad Sahab.”

He opened the door wider and held it. As she moved to sit, his hand rested for a moment on the bare skin of her upper arm, just above the elbow, guiding her in. The touch was light and familiar. She did not pull away. The chiffon of the saree whispered against the car seat as she settled.

I walked around to the other side. He looked at me over the roof of the car and gave a short nod, just like the last time.

“Sunny. Happy celebration to you too. Sit comfortably.”

I sat in the back. The door closed. The air-conditioning was already cool. The moment the car began to move away from the building I saw Mrs. Desai and the other two women still standing near the entrance, watching the sedan leave. One of them had her phone out, but I could not tell if she was taking a photograph or only checking a message.

Inside the car the atmosphere changed at once. Azad Sahab glanced sideways at Ma while driving, the sunglasses now resting on the dashboard.

“The jhumkas were the right choice,” he said. “They move when you turn your head. I like that.”

Ma smiled at the windscreen, a small private smile.

“They are old. I have had them for years.”

“Then they have been waiting for the right day to come out again.” He shifted gears smoothly. “The blouse also. The neck is better than the ones you usually wear. It shows you properly.”

She did not scold him or ask him to lower his voice. She only adjusted the pallu a little, which had the effect of drawing the wide scoop neck slightly lower for a second before she settled it again.

“Don’t start in the car,” she said, but there was no real warning in her tone. “Sunny is here.”

“Sunny is not a child.” He glanced at me in the rear-view mirror for a brief moment. “He already understands more than he says. Isn’t that right, Sunny?”

I met his eyes in the mirror and then looked away without answering. The silence that followed was comfortable for them and heavy for me.

Ma turned the conversation toward practical things, as if trying to create a safer surface.

“First the mall,” she said. “Clothes. Sunny needs one or two better shirts and maybe jeans. After that we can buy some clothes for both of us. Then crackers. I don’t want to keep him out the whole day. In the evening we should be home to light the diyas again and burst some crackers in the lane.”

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 17 - Part 2 Continued

Azad nodded.

“We will finish in time. I have already kept the boot empty for the crackers. Whatever Sunny wants, let him choose freely. celebration comes once a year.”

The generosity was deliberate. It sat in the car like another presence.

Ma looked at him for a moment and then spoke in a firmer voice.

“You are paying for everything again. I don’t like that.”

“It is celebration .”

“Even then. At least let me buy one thing for you. Something small. I can afford one proper shirt or maybe a wallet or something. I don’t want this whole day to be only you giving.”

He smiled, the same slow smile I had seen at the restaurant weeks earlier.

“You want to buy something for me?”

“Yes. I insist. You can pay for Sunny’s clothes and the crackers and whatever else. But one thing for you will be from me. I have a little money of my own still.”

He did not refuse immediately. He drove in silence for half a minute, then spoke without looking at her.

“If it is important to you, all right. One item. You choose. But nothing expensive. I will not argue about it in the shop.”

Ma looked satisfied, as if she had won a small and necessary point.

“Good. Then it is decided.”

The car moved through the late-morning Andheri traffic. Festival congestion had already begun. Loudspeakers from some societies played aarti recordings. Children waved sparklers even though it was still daylight. Every time the car stopped at a light, Azad Sahab’s eyes returned to Ma. Once he reached across and adjusted the edge of her pallu where it had slipped too far down her shoulder. His fingers brushed the thin strap of the blouse and the bare skin beside it. She let him.

“You look like a different woman today,” he said quietly. “Not the one who used to come down only for milk and vegetables.”

“I am the same woman.”

“No. That woman did not wear this saree or sit in my car looking like this. That woman did not let me touch her arm in front of her son’s building. You have changed.”

Ma glanced quickly at me in the back seat and then back at him.

“Speak carefully.”

“I am speaking the truth. You have started living again. That is all I am saying.”

The words hung in the cool air of the car. I watched the side of her face. A faint colour remained on her cheeks. She did not deny what he had said.

They began discussing the shopping list in more detail. Which section of the mall first, whether the cracker market near the highway would be less crowded in the afternoon, whether she needed anything for the house. Every now and then Azad Sahab would add a remark that was only for her, about the way the chiffon moved when she shifted in the seat, about how the peach colour made her skin look warmer, about how he had thought of this particular saree when he had first seen it. Ma answered some of the remarks and ignored others, but she never told him to stop.

I sat behind them and listened. The soft peach material, the open neckline, the black lace I had seen that morning, the careful nail polish, the jhumkas he had praised, everything had been arranged for this exact reception. She had asked me to close the necklace clasp. She had asked me to hold the polish bottle. She had let me watch her dbang the saree in the middle of our small room. And now she sat in the front seat of his car accepting his open appreciation.

The car turned onto the wider road that led toward the mall. Azad Sahab spoke again, his voice lower.

“After the clothes and the crackers, if there is time, I want to stop at one more place. A small surprise. Nothing too much.”

Ma looked at him.

“What surprise?”

“You will see the gift. I have already spoken to the man.”

She did not press further. She only smiled once more at the windscreen and settled deeper into the seat. The thin strap of the blouse slipped half an inch down her shoulder. She did not immediately push it back up.

I watched the strap rest against her skin and felt the same tight, complicated heat I had felt that morning while holding the nail-polish bottle. The day was still young. The mall, the shops, the crackers, the unknown surprise, and whatever would come after we returned, all of it still lay ahead. Yet the shape of the day was already clear from the way she sat beside him, the way she accepted his eyes and his comments, and the way she had insisted on buying him one small thing, as if that single purchase could balance everything else he was about to spend.

The car moved forward through the festival traffic.

In the front seat my mother and Azad Sahab continued their quiet, familiar conversation.

In the back seat I sat with the memory of black lace, peach chiffon, and the knowledge that every careful detail of her appearance had already been received exactly as it was meant to be received.

[Aragon]

What is the surprise!!??... Eager to know that

[saka1981]

First of all, congratulations, author, on bringing us this story. Your storytelling ability is truly beautiful and wonderful. Xossipy is a platform for telling sex stories, but even though there hasn’t been a single intimate scene in this story yet, you are taking the story forward with great excitement and keeping the readers engaged. I really like how the story is being narrated from the son’s perspective. He is still watching everything unfold from the sidelines, and even after everything happens, he remains confused about whether he should accept it or not.

Mom Heroin of the story
What she says is right in a way. She has spent many years living for others, so saying, “Now I should live my own life,” is understandable. But can she speak this way when it affects her son’s life and hurts him emotionally? Isn’t that selfish?

Up to the point where her actions do not affect her son, what she does is her choice. But if her actions start affecting her son’s life, what will she do?

For example, when mom is looking for a bride for him, suppose the girl’s family learns that the prospective groom’s mother is involved in an extramarital relationship and refuses to proceed with the marriage. Even then, would his mother still speak the same way and defend her actions with such philosophy?

These are all the questions that come to my mind. i'm not degrading or criticizing the mother character.“Whatever happens in the future, will they still be the same as they are now?”

[Naresh987]

[Naresh987]

[Authorsunny]

First of all, congratulations, author, on bringing us this story. Your storytelling ability is truly beautiful and wonderful. Xossipy is a platform for telling sex stories, but even though there hasn’t been a single intimate scene in this story yet, you are taking the story forward with great excitement and keeping the readers engaged. I really like how the story is being narrated from the son’s perspective. He is still watching everything unfold from the sidelines, and even after everything happens, he remains confused about whether he should accept it or not.

Mom Heroin of the story
What she says is right in a way. She has spent many years living for others, so saying, “Now I should live my own life,” is understandable. But can she speak this way when it affects her son’s life and hurts him emotionally? Isn’t that selfish?

Up to the point where her actions do not affect her son, what she does is her choice. But if her actions start affecting her son’s life, what will she do?

For example, when mom is looking for a bride for him, suppose the girl’s family learns that the prospective groom’s mother is involved in an extramarital relationship and refuses to proceed with the marriage. Even then, would his mother still speak the same way and defend her actions with such philosophy?

These are all the questions that come to my mind. i'm not degrading or criticizing the mother character.“Whatever happens in the future, will they still be the same as they are now?”

Thank you so much for the kind words and for reading the story!

I am really glad you are enjoying the storytelling and the way it is being told from the son perspective.

Regarding the point about mom looking for a bride and how things might play out if the family of the girl found out, I would say that the story will unfold itself on its own, so I can not really comment on how or what would happen next.

Just keep reading and see where it goes.

[Authorsunny]

Excellent portrait brother! Keep it up.

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 17 - Part 3

24 November 2025 – Monday (continued)

The mall rose in front of us like a glass-and-steel box full of light and noise. Azad Sahab parked in the covered basement and switched off the engine. For a moment no one moved. The soft peach chiffon of Ma’s saree still held the coolness of the car’s air-conditioning. She adjusted the pallu once, the wide gold zari border sliding across her lap, and then opened the door before he could come around to do it for her.

We walked toward the lift together. The basement smelled of concrete and engine oil. Other families were also arriving — women in bright Banarasi and georgette sarees, men in new kurtas, children already holding plastic toys and sparklers. Beside them Ma looked different. The expensive light chiffon, the sleeveless wide-scoop blouse with its thin straps, the careful makeup and the heavy jhumkas set her apart from the more ordinary festival clothes around us. People noticed. A man in a dark blue kurta glanced at the open neckline and then quickly away. Two women near the lift whispered after we passed.

Azad Sahab walked on her other side, close enough that his sleeve sometimes brushed the bare skin of her arm. He did not move away. When the lift doors opened he placed his palm lightly against her back, guiding her in. The touch lasted only a second, but it was public and deliberate. I stepped in after them and stood near the panel.

The mall was already crowded. Festival sales banners hung from every railing. Loud festival music mixed with the sound of hundreds of conversations. We came out on the first floor. Ma stopped for a moment, looked around, and then turned to me with a practical expression I had not expected so soon.

“First we will finish your clothes,” she said. “Come.”

She did not wait for Azad Sahab’s opinion. She simply started walking toward the men’s section of a large mid-range store that was neither the cheapest nor the most expensive in the mall. Azad Sahab followed without comment, but I saw the small lift of his eyebrows. He had clearly expected the order of shopping to be different.

Inside the store the air was cooler and smelled of new fabric. Ma went straight to the formal shirts and began pulling sizes with the same efficiency she once used when she bought my college uniforms. She held a light-blue cotton shirt against my shoulders, then a white one with a thin self-stripe, then a pale lavender that I would never have chosen myself.

“Try these three,” she said. “And those two pairs of jeans — the darker ones. Your old ones have become too light.”

I took the hangers and went into the trial room. The small cubicle had a mirror on three sides. When I came out in the first shirt she was standing right outside with Azad Sahab a few steps behind her. She stepped forward, adjusted the collar with both hands, and tugged the shoulders to check the fit. Her fingers brushed my neck. The wide scoop of her blouse was directly in my line of sight, the black lace of her bra showed in a thin dark line against the soft upper curve of her breasts whenever she leaned in.

“This one is good,” she said. “The sleeves are proper. Take it.”

She made me try the other two as well. The lavender one she liked more than I did. The jeans she checked by asking me to turn, then pinching the fabric at the waist and the thigh to judge the cut. Throughout the process Azad Sahab remained silent, watching her more than the clothes. Every time she reached up or bent slightly the peach chiffon moved across her hips and the thin straps of the blouse shifted on her shoulders. He did not hide that he was looking.

At the billing counter the total for two shirts and one pair of jeans came to a little over four thousand eight hundred rupees. Ma opened her handbag as if she intended to pay. Azad Sahab’s hand closed over the bill before she could take it.

“I will do this,” he said.

“I can pay for my son’s clothes.”

“You can. But today you will not.” His voice was calm and final. He handed his card to the salesman. The transaction went through.

We left the store with the shopping bag in my hand. The difference in clothing levels felt sharper now. Around us most women wore standard festival sarees or heavy salwar-kameez. Ma’s light peach chiffon with its expensive sheen and open neckline drew second glances. Azad Sahab walked on her right, occasionally placing his hand on her elbow when the crowd thickened. Each time he did it her body accepted the touch without resistance.

The footwear section was on the same floor. The moment we entered, Azad Sahab took over the direction.

“Sit,” he told her, pointing to the low cushioned benches. “You need at least two proper pairs. I don't like your current footwear much.”

Ma sat. The chiffon pooled around her legs. She tried to reach for a simple pair of black sandals priced under two thousand. He gently moved her hand away and called the salesman.

“Show the ones in the glass case. The leather ones with the small heel.”

The pairs he selected were clearly more expensive — soft leather, cleaner finish, prices between thirty-eight hundred and fifty-two hundred rupees. Ma looked at the tags and then at him.

“These are not necessary.”

“They are. Try them.”

She slipped off her gold sandals. Her peach-painted toenails looked bright against the store’s pale carpet. She tried the first pair, stood, and walked a few steps. The short heel changed her posture, the chiffon moved differently across her hips. Azad Sahab watched the walk with open attention. When she sat again to remove them his eyes dropped briefly to the open neckline of her blouse before returning to her face.

“The brown ones also,” he said.

She tried those as well. In the end he decided on both pairs. The bill came to a little over nine thousand. Again his card went into the machine before Ma could object. She sat looking at the two boxes for a long moment after the salesman had gone.

“You are spending too much.”

“It is Festival . And you needed them.”

The quiet authority in his voice ended the discussion. She did not thank him extravagantly. She only nodded once, as if accepting that this was now the pattern.

We moved out of the footwear section and stood near the atrium railing for a minute. Below us the ground floor was packed with families. Ma turned to Azad Sahab with a determined expression.

“Now something for you. I already said it in the car. One thing. From me.”

He smiled, the same slow smile.

“I told you it is not needed.”

“It is needed for me. I don’t want to walk around this mall only receiving. Come.”

She did not wait for further argument. She walked toward a men’s accessories and formal-wear section two stores away. Azad Sahab exchanged a brief look with me — half amusement, half resignation — and followed her. I walked behind them carrying the bags.

Inside the store she went straight to the formal shirts and began looking at the sizes that would fit him. She pulled out a light-grey cotton shirt with a subtle texture, held it up against his chest without asking, and nodded to herself.

“This colour is good. You wear too much cream and white. Try it.”

“I am not trying shirts today.”

“You are. Go.”

The firmness in her voice was the same firmness she sometimes used with me when she had decided a matter was closed. Azad Sahab looked at her for a second longer, then took the shirt and went into the trial room. While he was inside Ma stood with her arms folded, the shopping bags at her feet, the peach chiffon and open neckline drawing occasional glances from other customers. She looked completely at ease.

He came out wearing the grey shirt. It fitted him well across the shoulders. Ma stepped forward, adjusted the collar in exactly the same way she had adjusted mine earlier, and checked the sleeves. Her fingers brushed the side of his neck. The gesture was intimate in its domesticity. Standing so close to him in the fitted sleeveless blouse, the soft upper curve of her breasts moved visibly with her breathing. He looked down at her with an expression that was no longer amused.

“It is good,” she said. “We are taking it.”

“Anjali.”

“Don’t argue please. This one is from me. Give me the bill.” she said with a smile.

At the counter the salesman looked between the two of them and then at me, trying to understand the configuration. Ma took out her own card — the one linked to the small savings she still controlled — and paid the three thousand two hundred rupees without letting Azad Sahab touch the machine. When the payment went through she gave a short, satisfied breath and took the bag herself.

“Now it is balanced a little,” she said.

Azad Sahab did not look offended. He looked at her with something closer to quiet pleasure.

“You are stubborn.”

“I have always been stubborn. You only started noticing recently.”

They stood there for a moment longer than necessary, the new shirt bag in her hand, the other shopping bags in mine, the crowd of the mall moving around them.

We walked back toward the atrium. Azad Sahab took the bags from me without asking and transferred them to his left hand so that his right hand remained free. That hand settled again at the Ma’s back as we moved through the crowd. She did not remove it.

I walked half a step behind them and watched the way the soft peach material shifted across her hips with every step, the way the wide scoop of the blouse revealed the black lace edge when she turned her head to speak to him, the way her peach-painted fingers rested lightly against the shopping bag she had paid for herself. The morning images — her bare breasts in the bathroom, the black lace bra, the necklace clasp, the open dbanging of the saree in our small room — sat just under the surface of everything I was seeing now.

She had given me the first attention of the day. She had made sure I received new clothes. She had insisted on buying one thing for him with her own money. And still the clear centre of the outing remained the man who walked beside her with his hand on her back and his eyes returning to her open neckline whenever he thought no one was looking.

The mall continued its loud festival noise around us.

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 17 – Part 4

24 November 2025 – Monday (continued)

As we left the footwear and clothing sections behind and walked toward the quieter end of the first floor. The crowd thinned a little near the premium stores.

The jewellery store stood behind a glass wall with soft yellow lighting. The name was written in discreet gold letters. As soon as we entered, a man in a dark waistcoat came forward with a recognition that was immediate and deferential.

“Azad Sahab. Please come. We were expecting you might visit today.”

The jeweller’s eyes flicked briefly to Ma and then returned to Azad with a small, knowing inclination of the head. He did not ask who she was. He simply treated her presence as natural and already accounted for. Two assistants cleared a private glass counter near the back and brought out low premium chairs. Azad waited until Ma was seated before he sat beside her. I remained standing a little to the side, the shopping bags still in my hands.

The jeweller unlocked a drawer and placed three trays on the black velvet cloth. Gold earrings of different weights and designs. Azad did not look at the trays first. He looked at Ma’s face, then at the open neckline of her blouse, then at the thin straps on her shoulders.

“Something that sits properly with this neck,” he said to the jeweller, his voice low but clear enough for me to hear. “Not too heavy. She already has jhumkas. Something that rests closer to the skin.”

Ma’s hand moved once to the wide scoop of her blouse, as if she had suddenly become aware of how much skin was visible. Azad’s eyes followed the movement of her fingers. For a moment the air between them felt tighter than the rest of the store.

The jeweller brought a smaller tray. Azad picked up a pair of rose-gold studs with a thin drop of polished stone. He turned them in the light, then held them out toward Ma’s face without actually touching her.

“Look up,” he said.

She lifted her face. He compared the metal against the skin of her cheek and the side of her neck. His knuckles came within a centimetre of her jaw. She held completely still. I watched the soft rise and fall of her breasts under the fitted blouse become a fraction faster.

“These,” he decided. “And keep the other two trays away. We don’t need to waste time.”

I could see the smile of gratitude, genuine affection, and admiration for his dominant yet controlling attitude.

The jeweller inclined his head and removed the extra trays at once. There was no attempt to up-sell. The respect was absolute. Whatever relationship Azad had with this shop, it was not the ordinary customer relationship most people experienced.

While the earrings were being packed, Azad leaned closer to Ma. His voice dropped to a register meant only for her, yet the quiet of the premium store carried most of the words to me.

“The blouse is lower than I thought it would be when you sit like this. Every time you breathe I can see the edge of what you wore underneath.”

Ma’s peach-painted fingers tightened once on the edge of the velvet cloth. She did not look at him. She looked at the glass surface of the counter, with shy smile on her face.

“Not here,” she murmured.

“I am only telling you what is in front of my eyes. You chose to wear it. I am not complaining.”

A small, almost unwilling breath left her mouth. She shifted on the chair. The movement made the thin strap of the blouse slip a few millimetres down her shoulder. Before she could lift it herself, Azad’s hand rose and settled the strap back in place. His fingers rested against the bare skin of her shoulder for two full seconds longer than the adjustment required. The touch was intimate, possessive, and completely open to anyone who happened to look. The jeweller kept his eyes on the billing screen and gave no sign that he had noticed. I noticed.

Ma’s throat moved as she swallowed. She did not push his hand away. When he finally removed it, the place where his fingers had been remained slightly pink.

The bill for the earrings came to a little over seventy-eight thousand rupees. Azad paid with the same card he had used earlier. No discussion. No hesitation. The jeweller placed the small box inside a larger red outer box and tied it with a thin gold ribbon. Then he brought out a second, flatter red box from under the counter and placed it beside the first without being asked.

Azad slid the second box across the velvet toward Ma.

Ma looked at the closed red box. “What is it?”

“You will see later. Not here.”

"Offoo, Azad Sahab, this was not needed. You already bought these earrings for me, they are enough. Please, I can't take it."

"Oh, come on, since when did you start refusing my gifts? I am giving it, I know you will like it." He then looked at me and back to Ma, as if questioning her behavior because of my presence.

She then nodded, smiled and rested her fingers on the lid for a moment but did not open it. The jeweller’s face remained carefully neutral, yet the slight smile at the corner of his mouth suggested he already knew the contents and approved of them.

We stood to leave. As Ma rose from the chair the peach chiffon shifted across her hips and the wide neckline of the blouse dipped forward for a brief second. Azad’s eyes dropped and stayed there deliberately until she straightened. She caught the direction of his gaze. Instead of turning away or covering herself, she held his eyes for a long moment and then looked down, a small, private acceptance in the gesture.

Outside the store the mall noise returned. Azad carried both the red boxes in one hand and the earlier shopping bags in the other. His free hand returned to the Ma’s back, lower than before, fingers spread against the soft curve just above the start of her hips. This time the touch was not guiding. It was claiming. Ma walked with it. Her body had already adjusted to the pressure.

We moved toward the escalators that led to the food court and restaurant level. Halfway there Azad slowed his steps so that Ma and he fell a little behind me. I heard the low murmur of his voice but not every word. What reached me was enough.

“…when you leaned over the counter… the way the cloth moved… I could see the lace properly for a moment…you are looking so so so damn hot today….darling”

Ma’s reply was too soft to catch, but the tone was not refusal. It was the low, slightly breathless tone of a woman who was being affected and was trying not to show how much. When I glanced back I saw that his hand had moved from her back to the side of her waist, under the free end of the pallu, resting directly against the fitted blouse. His thumb stroked once, slowly, along the line of her lower ribs. Ma’s shoulders tightened and then released. She kept walking.

The erotic charge between them had stepped past the earlier marks and scents and private phone calls. It was now present in open daylight, inside a crowded mall, in the way he touched her, the way he spoke about what the blouse revealed, and the way she allowed both the words and the hands without pulling away. I felt it in the heat that rose under my own skin and in the simultaneous cold weight that settled in my stomach.

We reached the upper level. Azad finally removed his hand and spoke in a normal voice again.

“We will eat here. The place at the corner is quieter. Then we go for the crackers.”

Ma nodded. Her cheeks still held colour. The thin strap of her blouse had slipped again; this time she adjusted it herself, but the movement was slower than necessary, as if she was still feeling the earlier touch of his fingers on her shoulder.

I followed them toward the restaurant, the shopping bags heavier in my hands than they had any right to be.

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 17 – Part 5

24 November 2025 – Monday (continued)

The restaurant occupied a quieter corner of the upper level, separated from the main food court by a glass partition and soft lighting. We were shown to a table for four near the window. Azad Sahab pulled out the chair for Ma and waited until she sat before taking the seat beside her. I sat opposite them. The shopping bags and the two red jewellery boxes were placed on the fourth chair. From where I sat I could see the wide scoop of her blouse clearly every time she leaned forward even slightly. The thin straps looked more delicate under the restaurant lights. The soft peach chiffon had settled around her in loose folds that still followed the shape of her hips when she shifted.

A waiter placed the menus in front of us. Azad Sahab did not open his immediately. He looked at Ma instead.

“You should eat properly. The whole morning has gone in walking.”

“I will. Something light.”

He opened the menu and ran his finger down the section with deliberate openness.

Ma glanced at the menu and then at me before answering.

“It is still festival time. We are eating vegetarian at home these days.”

“At home is at home. Outside is different. One piece will not change anything.” His tone was mild, but the expectation was present. “You eat otherwise, come on, I know that.”

"But never during festival , Azad Sahab," she said, not too strongly, but just so he'd know.

“Then it is time to stop keeping old rules for no reason.” He looked at the waiter.

The waiter noted everything and left. Ma sat with her hands folded on the table. The peach-painted nails looked bright against the white tablecloth. She simply let it stand.

I spoke for the first time since we had entered the restaurant.

“You didn’t ask what I wanted.”

Azad Sahab turned his head toward me with the same polite, slightly distant expression he had used at the earlier mall dinner.

“You will eat what is ordered. Paneer and dal are there. If you want anything extra, say it now.”

“I am fine with that.”

Ma looked at me across the table.

“Eat properly. Don’t make a face about the food. We still have the crackers to buy after this.”

The words were motherly. The timing made them feel like a small instruction to keep the atmosphere smooth.

While we waited, Azad Sahab rested his right arm along the back of Ma’s chair. His fingers hung close to her bare shoulder. Every now and then the tips of his fingers brushed the thin strap of her blouse. She did not move forward or back. She simply allowed the contact to continue.

The food arrived quickly.  The vegetarian dishes were set nearer to me.
“Taste.”

The silence at the table lasted only a second. Then Ma leaned forward slightly and took the piece from his fork. Her lips closed around it. She chewed slowly, eyes lowered. Azad Sahab watched her mouth with open attention. When she swallowed he gave a small nod of satisfaction.

“See. Nothing happened.”

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 17 – Part 5 Continued

I spoke again, keeping my voice even.

Ma looked at me. There was no guilt in her expression, only a calm tiredness of having to explain.

“I never used to do many things. Life is not frozen at the same rules forever. Eat your food, Sunny.”

Azad Sahab served her a spoonful of biryani as well. She did not refuse that either. The two of them began eating from the shared non-veg dishes while I ate the paneer and dal. The division on the table felt deliberate.

Conversation moved in slow circles. Azad Sahab asked about the new shirts we had bought for me, whether the size was correct, whether I needed anything else for office. His questions were polite and slightly remote, the questions of a man performing concern rather than feeling it. Ma answered some of them on my behalf, the way she used to when I was younger. Every time she leaned forward to speak, the wide neckline of the blouse opened further and the black lace edge became visible for a moment. Azad Sahab’s eyes dropped each time without shame.

Under the table something shifted. I could not see the exact movement, but I saw Ma’s posture change. Her shoulders tightened and then released. Her thighs, under the peach chiffon, pressed together once and then relaxed. A faint colour rose again along her throat. She kept her eyes on her plate and continued eating, but her breathing had become shallower. Azad Sahab’s right shoulder moved in a small, rhythmic way that suggested his hand was occupied beneath the tablecloth. Ma’s free hand, the one not holding the spoon, rested on the edge of the table with the fingers slightly curled.

I forced myself to speak, if only to break the private circuit that had formed between them.

“The red box. You still haven’t said what is inside.”

Ma glanced at the two red boxes on the fourth chair.

“He told me to open it at home. I will open it at home.”

Azad Sahab smiled without looking up from his plate.

“You already bought the earrings,” I said. “That was also a gift.”

“The earrings are different. The other box is different.” He finally looked at me. “Your mother understands the difference. You will also understand when she opens it.”

Ma remained silent. The under-table movement seemed to have stopped, but the colour on her neck had not fully faded. She reached for her water glass and drank slowly. When she kept the glass down, Azad Sahab’s hand rose above the table again and rested openly on her bare upper arm, thumb stroking once along the soft skin.

“You are quiet,” he said to her.

“I am eating.”

“You are thinking too much about the boy sitting opposite us.”

The sentence was crude in its directness. Ma’s eyes flicked toward me and then back to him.

“Don’t speak like that.”

“It is the truth. He is sitting right here. He has eyes. He has already seen more than most sons see. Pretending otherwise is useless.”

I felt the words land in the centre of my chest. Ma did not defend me. 
A few minutes later Azad Sahab leaned toward her and spoke near her ear. This time the words were soft enough that I caught only fragments.

“…later… when he is not with us… I want to properly see what is under that blouse”

Ma’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth. Her eyes closed for a brief second. When she opened them again she stared at the tablecloth as if it required all her concentration. The shamelessness of the comment — spoken in a restaurant, with her son sitting two feet away — hung in the air between the three of us. She did not tell him to stop. She did not move her chair away. She simply absorbed it and continued eating.

I kept my voice steady with effort.

“Are we going for the crackers after this?”

Ma nodded without looking up.

“Yes. I told you. We will buy them and go home. In the evening we will burst some in the lane.”

Azad Sahab sat back, the private moment ended for now.

“The market near the highway will still be open. We can finish quickly. Whatever Sunny wants, put it in the cart. No counting.”

The generosity again. The display of money and ease. I nodded once and returned to the paneer that had gone slightly cold on my plate.

Azad Sahab commented on the quality of the biryani. Ma agreed. Underneath the normal words the earlier under-table contact and the whispered remark about the black lace continued to sit between them like an open secret. Every time Ma shifted in her chair the peach chiffon moved across her legs and the thin straps of the blouse threatened to slip again. Azad Sahab watched each small movement with the calm ownership of a man who already knew he would be removing those same clothes later.

When the bill came he paid it without letting Ma’s hand reach her bag. She did not protest this time. The fight about paying for one shirt earlier in the day seemed to have exhausted her need to balance the ledger.

We stood. Ma adjusted the pallu and smoothed the front of her blouse with both hands. The gesture pushed her breasts together for a moment under the fitted fabric. Azad Sahab’s eyes followed the movement openly. She caught him looking and held his gaze for a second longer than required before turning toward the exit.

I picked up the shopping bags and the two red boxes. The closed red box felt heavier than its size warranted. Whatever was inside already carried the weight of the lunch, the non-veg she had accepted from his hand, the under-table touch I had only been able to read through her body, and the crude, intimate words he had spoken about the lace she wore under the peach chiffon.

We walked out of the restaurant together. 

[RCF]

I guess when lust takes over, one becomes shameless. Lets not call her mother anymore lol
Defending her is a disgrace now to the word.
One needs to know how to keep a relationship proper, maintain dignity on private matters else they are nothing but two street dogs coupling on the side of a road.

~ RCF

[Minki]

great going dear what a skill not any sex session more exciting feeling this is the beauty please don't miss out this feeling when actual sex session being happened great going please keep it up