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

[byteson]

Anjali's blouse (kinda):
Waiting for Azad to use her the way he wants to.

[img]<a href=[/img]" />


Author, please confirm if it is what you had in your mind.

[Aragon]

Will sunny find his comfort zone with Mrs. Nair??.. For which occasion anjali designed that blouse...lot of question arised.. Waiting for the next part

[firing]

I think this is closer one to the description

[Max Duncun]

Mrs Nair is now in the picture as the other lady with whom Sunny will spend more time in the future and ......may help Sunny with his sexual needs.. great ..

[Rangushki]

Will there be a sunnath for sunny

[Paty@123]

She is becoming open recent day's heroine

[Authorsunny]

Anjali's blouse (kinda):
Waiting for Azad to use her the way he wants to.

[img]<a href=[/img]" />


Author, please confirm if it is what you had in your mind.

Yes buddy, pretty much close to what she would be wearing. Cups and hooks are almost perfect, strap could be a little more broad.

[V1star]

Goodmorning ANJALI NATION.
anjali the BLACK WIDOW

[Paty@123]

Sir, any update today plz

[byteson]

Please finish the Wednesday episodes today. Can't wait (for obvious reasons)

[V1star]

Bro... already time is 9 pm, they are still at shop and not had dinner.
But Anjali is in hurry ...why?...what happened to their evening 6 pm plan.

 I wish Anjali's complete wardrobe will get replaced with new seducing branded clothes (sleeveless deep cut blouses, transparent sarees,satin nighty etc...,.(I don't know about her dressing style infront of people like ammai,and neighbours)

Since she mentioned about gym, why don't Anjali and sunny together do it at home.yoga atleast.
Azad is dominant person,he already knows Anjali is submissive,he knows Sunny's acceptance,and sunny won't object anything.and he even know sometimes Anjali won't wear anything under nighty at home,infront of sunny.
So,what is azad doing in his relationship. Just plain sex with Anjali when ever he is in mood. 
Will he advance it to the other level like... staying night in their flat even when sunny is there.
Will he dominate sunny like a stepdad.
As of now sunny is trying to talk more openly with his mom.
And Anjali also...doing same.

[Authorsunny]

[img]<a href=[/img]" />

[Authorsunny]

Bro... already time is 9 pm, they are still at shop and not had dinner.
But Anjali is in hurry ...why?...what happened to their evening 6 pm plan.

 I wish Anjali's complete wardrobe will get replaced with new seducing branded clothes (sleeveless deep cut blouses, transparent sarees,satin nighty etc...,.(I don't know about her dressing style infront of people like ammai,and neighbours)

Since she mentioned about gym, why don't Anjali and sunny together do it at home.yoga atleast.
Azad is dominant person,he already knows Anjali is submissive,he knows Sunny's acceptance,and sunny won't object anything.and he even know sometimes Anjali won't wear anything under nighty at home,infront of sunny.
So,what is azad doing in his relationship. Just plain sex with Anjali when ever he is in mood. 
Will he advance it to the other level like... staying night in their flat even when sunny is there.
Will he dominate sunny like a stepdad.
As of now sunny is trying to talk more openly with his mom.
And Anjali also...doing same.

Agreed, brother. Azad has a huge role in this story — that part isn’t changing.


Because it’s written from Sunny’s point of view, you won’t always get detailed scenes centered on Azad. A lot of what he does will land through Sunny’s eyes, his reactions, and the space Azad starts taking up around him.


This is a slow-burn, long-term story. Nothing here happens overnight. Azad can’t just start dominating Sunny by tomorrow morning. That shift needs a solid buildup, real pressure, and reasons that feel earned.


I want readers to feel like they’re living inside it — and to feel the heat by staying with Sunny.


Hope the pace is sitting right with you so far.

[masti.bhai]

Author's note:

Dear readers,

As I mentioned earlier, this is not a sex story. It was never written to drop humiliation, cuckson, or similar elements out of nowhere without proper buildup.

I know most stories here move quickly from tension to explicit scenes. That is not a criticism of fellow authors. Those stories have their own audience, and that audience enjoys them.

This story, as the title suggests, is closer to a daily soap opera. Some chapters exist only to build character, relationships, and situation. That slower pace is necessary if the story is going to hold together.

I am committed to this story and I try to give readers something new. That does not mean I will insert scenes that do not belong just because they are requested.

Many of you have asked in DMs and on Telegram for humiliation, cuckson, and similar elements. Without spoiling where the story is headed, I can say this: the story will not suddenly change direction.

There will be proper buildup, emotional drama, and a course that stays true to the characters and the plot.

Thank you for reading and for staying with it.

I appreciate and support your literary stance. Yes, every author should have the liberty to write the story as they please. Of course, we readers will want to make suggestions. If it's an idea that interests the author, they can include it. Great going.

[V1star]

[V1star]

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 27 (Continued)
3 December 2025 – Wednesday

That was when Ma put her hand on the table.

“Mukesh ji, you already have my measurements right?,” she said. “Use those only. We are already late. No need to take measurements again.”

Mukesh shook his head the way a man shakes his head when the cloth is already decided and the numbers are still last month’s.

“Madam, last measurements are of last month. This design is not last month. Deep V and fully open back don’t sit on a house-blouse number. Neck drop is different, back depth is different, even the strap sits in a different place. If I cut this on the old measurements, tomorrow you will come and say it is pulling from here, or loose from there, or the V is sitting off-centre… then we will fight with the cloth. Two minutes only. Fresh measure for a new cut. Please. I have to insist.”

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nine-thirty already. Then at me, only a flick, as if the son on the stool were part of the lateness.

“Sorry beta, I know you must be hungry. Just five more minutes, ok?”

Then she nodded to Mukesh.

“All right Mukesh ji. But quickly please.”

He pointed to the low wooden platform in front of the centre mirror. Two steps. Just enough that a body stood fully in the glass with light on it from above.

Ma went up.

The payal sounded once on the wood. Different from the kitchen tile. Sharper.

“Madam, pallu will have to come off. Otherwise shoulder and back I cannot take properly.”

“Yes, yes. I know.” She unpinned it. The pin clicked, the same small click from the morning when she had dressed in the kitchen. 

She dropped the pallu over her arm, then the boy came and took it and folded it on the chair.

Now it was only the light green house blouse. Sleeveless. The same one from tea and from the onion board and from the charger wire. Saree still knotted at the waist. Gold chain. Silver bracelet. Hair open, a little flattened from the wind on the bike. Sweat at the hairline. A shine in the hollow of the throat where the chain sat.

The mirror showed all of it. Front. Side. The start of the back where the blouse ended and the skin began.

“Arms up please.”

Ordinary. Like asking someone to hold a corner.

She raised both arms.

The cut of the blouse opened the underarms to the tube light. Shaved. Smooth in the way they had been on the bed last night when she slept on her stomach.

He started at the shoulders. The tape went across. His knuckles brushed the strap of the green blouse once, not looking down, only finding the bone.

“Shoulder… fifteen and a half..”

Then the strap point. He put two fingers inside from the shoulder bone. The pad of his finger sat a moment too long on the dip where the house strap already lived.

“Strap will not sit on the edge, madam. Little inside, here. Thin. If we put it on the bone, by night it will keep slipping off the sleeveless arm. Then whole function you will be pulling it back, and that pulling will drag the cup also.”

Ma’s mouth tightened.

“Yes, thats true. Till here it's fine then..”

Then the armhole. He stood close. The tape went under her arm. His vest was almost against the side of her breast. The back of his hand grazed the green cloth where it pulled across the side swell, then lifted as if the cloth had been only in the way of the number.

He did not look at that. He looked at the tape.

“Armhole… eighteen and a quarter. Keep ease. Full through here. This neck will not allow a tight armhole.”

Ma made a small sound, then added, quieter,

“Don’t make it so open that the side shows when I lift my hand.”

“Don't worry. It will be perfect fit.”

He smiled with one side of his mouth, not cheap, only used to this argument.

“Normal breath. One second. Then little hold.”

Bust.

The tape went around.

I saw it in the mirror first, then from the side. The green cloth tightened where the tape pulled. The line between her breasts deepened for a second. The gold chain slipped into it and came back when she breathed. His left hand held the tape at her back; his right came around to meet it at the front. For a second the meeting of the tape was also the meeting of his knuckles against the lower curve of the green blouse. He read it once, loosened, took it again with hold. The second time his thumb sat a breath too long at the side, adjusting the tape so it would not ride up into the underarm.

He did not make a show of it. He only compared the tape to whatever number he was holding in his head from last month.

“Forty and a half. See, I told you no? Slightly more than last time. Around half inch at the bust. On a deep V that one inch is the difference between a cup that sits and a cup that spills.”

Ma looked down at her own front as if the half inch were a thing she could see sitting on the cloth.

“Oh,” she said. A small, real sound. “That is why my blouses are coming tight these days.”

“That is why only. House neck hides upto an inch. Deep V will not hide. Good we measured again. If we had cut on last month, sequin cup would have come short and the wire would have sat on flesh instead of on the line.”

The boy wrote. Forty and a half. The words stayed in the room after the tape came off.

My stomach went tight. Lower than the stomach. The stool suddenly had no correct way to sit. I put one ankle over the other and kept the phone higher, near my mouth, as if a message were taking all of me.

Underbust next. Where the wired band would sit. He ran the tape there. The edge of his finger followed the line under the green blouse, finding the crease the house bra had already made.

“Under… thirty-four. Mark will come here, madam. Soft lining will reduce it.”

“Mukesh ji, can’t you keep the wire a little higher? Please. If it sits exactly on that line the whole evening, by ten o’clock it starts burning. I have that already from the other one.”

“If I keep it higher, cup loses the hold and the V opens from below. Then whole night you will be pulling the front up with two fingers, and that pull will show more than the wire ever will. Soft lining we will put. Mark will come, I am not lying. But it will not scream. That is the best this cut can do, trust me.”

“All right. Keep it like that. But don’t make the band tight only for shape. I have to sit also na, not only stand.”

“You will sit, madam. Band will remember that. Don’t worry.”

“Now back, please.”

She turned.

The mirror gave me her face in profile and then the back of her head and then, when she settled, the open stretch below the blouse edge. The green cloth had ridden a little with the turning. A thin strip of skin. The start of the spine. He measured how low the new back would go. His two fingers walked down from the blouse line, not on the skin at first, then once on the skin to show the point. The second touch stayed a moment, flattening the cloth so he could see where the old blouse ended and the new one would begin.

“Back depth… twelve and a half. Till here. Under the pallu. Hook here and here. Middle no cloth. Fully open.”

Ma’s shoulders went a fraction tighter.

“Twelve and a half is low, Mukesh ji. Please. Last time you kept a band na. At least keep it till here.” She reached behind herself, awkward in the blouse, and touched a point higher on her own back, nearer the shoulder blades. “If it goes that far down, the moment pallu shifts everyone will see. I don’t want that kind of talk.”

Mukesh did not move his fingers from the lower point.

“Madam, look at the saree in your photo once. Embroidered net. Slant pallu. If I leave a band across the shoulder blades, the back will look like a house blouse that got invited to the wrong function. Front we have already locked as deep V. High back on a deep V is like starting a sentence and not finishing it. Twelve and a half is not vulgar on your waist madam. Vulgar is cheap cut on a thin body. Your waist is there. So don't worry. Let the back follow it.”

“Still, Mukesh ji. Keep it one inch higher, please.”

“If I keep one inch higher, the thin straps will have nothing to pull against. I have seen that blouse leave this shop, madam. Next season the same woman comes and says, next time keep the back open. You are already here at this hour. Don’t make a blouse you will outgrow in one wearing.”

He waited. The tape hung from his neck. His finger was still on the lower point, the genuine point of the work, not a performance.

Ma’s throat moved. She touched the gold chain once, then let the hand fall.

“If I take the safer back,” she said, “front can still be deep na?”

“Yes, it can. But it will look unfinished. Like you started and got scared in the middle. Sahab did not call at nine at night for this. This cloth is not asking for a band. Two hooks. Thin. Extra cloth we will not put only to look modest. Thin straps will come over and meet nothing in the middle. That is the point of them.”

She looked at the dummy’s spine in the glass, then at her own back in the same glass, then at the black piece on the table.

“Keep it fully open then,” she said. Clearer now. A decision that had been walked to, not jumped to. “But hooks should sit properly, Mukesh ji. Two hooks. Not one. One looks like the blouse gave up.”

“Two hooks, madam. If you want, small loop on top for the pallu. If you don’t want, we take it off.”

“Keep the loop. Pallu has to be managed. But when it comes off, the back should show. That much I have understood.”

The old house was still in the first half of that sentence. The new house was in the second.

Then the front neck.

He came around. He used two fingers on the existing green neckline, the house neck she had been wearing for weeks, the one I had been told not to stare at across the folding table.

“This is where you are now, madam. House neck. New one will come till here, in a V.”

He showed the difference on her skin. Not a long touch. A tailor’s touch that still had to find the bone and the hollow. From the place the green cloth already sat, down, in a point between, not in a curve around. The gold chain had to be lifted aside with her own hand so he could see the line. When she lifted it, the inner curve opened in the mirror the way it had opened at breakfast. Lotion-smooth. Warm under this harder light. His fingertip marked the point of the V on the skin just above where the chain had been resting. He held it there while he spoke, so the number would have a place.

“Neck drop… nine. Deep V. Cups stay rounded. Point sits here at nine.”

Ma looked down, then into the glass. And then a slight nod.

“This is too low, Mukesh ji. If it is this low, the moment I bend for anything — even to take a plate — it will open. I don’t want to spend the evening thinking about my own neck.”

“Madam, Seven is the drop that follows the dbang. When pallu is across, one cup stays in the light, the other sits under. When pallu moves, V is still V. If some room feels too much, pallu will manage. That is what pallu is for on a net saree. Not to hide a shy blouse.”

“Still, Mukesh ji. People will be there. Not only… not only known people.”

“People will be there in every room this blouse enters. That is why the cut has to be sure, not sorry. The almost-nothing drawing I already refused. Seven is sure. Anything below that is sorry. On a forty-and-a-half bust a short V looks like the blouse got frightened after the measurement. Please don't do that to this blouse. I wouldn't have insisted if it would have been your regular blouse.”

She let out a breath that was not quite a laugh.

“You have an answer for everything, Mukesh ji.” She said with a smile.

“I have an answer for cloth, madam. The rest is your evening.”

She looked at her face in the glass. Then, only once, her eyes found the stool.

A check.

Is he watching.

I quickly looked at the phone.

The screen had gone dark again. I pressed it on so the light would sit on my eyes.

She looked away first.

“All right,” she said. “Seven. But the cups - soft pad please. Not the kind that makes it look like a bra sitting outside.”

“Soft pad, madam. Wire. Soft lining. Sequin will do the showing. Pad will do the holding. From outside it should look like the cloth has a body, not like a pad has a cloth. Don’t worry.”

“Arms down. Then once more up. Final armhole.”

She raised them again. Longer this time. The underarms stayed in the light. A small shine of sweat had gathered where the arm met the body. When he ran the tape the second time, the back of his hand touched that shine and came away as if the number had needed the damp to sit true. My mouth was dry the way it had been on the bed when the navel was moving. I swallowed and the swallow felt loud only inside my own head.

“Final armhole, seventeen and a half with ease. Strap width, one centimetre.”

The boy wrote the last numbers. Mukesh took the pad, checked, and tore a slip from a small pad of his own — not the shop bill yet, a working slip. He wrote the measurements in a short list. Shoulder. Armhole. Bust forty and a half. Under. Waist. Back depth. Neck drop. Strap. A note at the bottom in his running hand: black / sleeveless / sequin-net cups / thin net yoke / wired / soft pad / deep V / thin straps / back fully open / 2 hooks / pallu loop.

He folded it once and put it on the table near the black cloth and the sequin roll.

Then he picked the slip up again, as if remembering something, and held it out — not only to her. A little toward the space between us.

“Keep this, madam.”

Ma took it. Her fingers, purple polish, closed on the paper. She looked at it for a second the way she looks at a ration bill, then slipped it into her blouse side, under the pallu that was still on the chair. Against her. The numbers sitting on her skin.

I saw the top lines before they disappeared.

Forty and a half. Written. Foldable. Carryable in a blouse.

“When will it be ready, Mukesh ji?”

“As you need it urgently, the earliest we can try is tomorrow afternoon or evening. After that you come for trial. Wear it here once. The cut is different, so in case of any fitting issues, we correct it the same hour.”

Ma’s face changed.

“Mukesh ji, tomorrow coming here for trial, that would be difficult. Can you please send it home directly? I will message the address.”

He was already shaking his head, but not the first no of a man who likes saying no.

“Madam, you need to understand that this is not a house neck that you can pull on in the kitchen and decide it is fine. Deep V. Open back. Sequin cups. Wired. If the strap sits even two millimetres off, the whole front will tell you by evening and I will not have a machine to answer you. You come. Trial first. That chance I cannot take.”

“I am telling you I may not be able to come, Mukesh ji. If you can send it with someone—”

“Most likely further stitching will not be needed, madam. Your numbers are clean. Cloth is good. Still I will not send an open-back blouse out of this shop without seeing it on the body it was cut for. One look. Five-Ten minutes max. If it sits, you take it and go. If it does not sit, evening is still there. That is all I am asking. Please understand.”

Ma pressed her lips together. The part of her that packed tiffins and counted rotis was doing sums with a shop that would not bend.

“Noon you said.”

“Yes, by noon the blouse will be ready, madam. After that we will call you, then you come and put it on.”

“All right, Mukesh ji. I will see. But please try it as early as possible.”

“Sure madam.”

He wrote the proper bill.

Ma opened her purse.

I had thought, for one stupid second, that he would wave it off. Sahab will settle it. He did not wave it off. He turned the bill toward her.

Stitching. Wired lining. Soft pad. Sequin-net cups. Hooks. Rush. Fresh measurement for a new cut. The sequin work separately named.

Three thousand five hundred.

She looked at the paper longer than she had looked at V neck in the catalogue.

“Mukesh ji, this is high. Last time it was around 2000 only.”

“Last time was not sequin-net cups and plunging V with open back, madam. This design will be unique and require special efforts to make madam. Don't worry, I am not charging extra from you. This same design would have costed around five thousand for other customers. But since, Azad Sahab is involved here, I am charging almost at the cost. Believe me. You already know our work.”

She smiled and nodded. She then counted from the inner zip of the purse. She put the notes on the table without counting twice in front of him, but her mouth had gone small while she did it.

He counted. Nodded. The boy wrote paid.

“Thank you, Mukesh ji.”

“You are most welcome madam. See you tomorrow. Good night”. Then he looked at me - “Good night beta”.

I nodded a little awkwardly, pretending to be coming out from staring at the phone.

We stepped off the cooled floor into the corridor.

The first-floor heat came back at once. Frying oil from downstairs. Someone shouting a rate. A scooter on the road we could not see yet. Ma walked ahead, payal ordinary again, the purse closed, the paper sitting where the tape had been.

I walked behind her.

The stool was still in my legs. The smell of her underarm was still in the cold part of my head. Forty and a half was still as clear as if it had been written on the inside of my eye. Three thousand five hundred had left her purse. Tomorrow noon the blouse would exist. After noon she would stand in that mirror again and put a deep V and sequin-net cups and a fully open back on the same body the tape had just named out loud. 

At the top of the stairs she stopped and looked back, only to see if I was coming.

“Sorry beta, we got late no? Whats the time? Lets grab some food first. I am also hungry.” she said. The mother-voice, thinner after the shop, but trying. “Golgappa. Pav bhaji. Whatever is open. Then home.”

“Yes Ma…it's nine-fifty already.”

We started down.

The shop door behind us made its soft chime once more, and then Mukesh’s voice, already speaking to the boy about the shutter.

Tomorrow noon the blouse would exist.

Tonight we only had the market, and the oil smell, and the walk to the bike, and the paper against her skin that said the cut was bolder than last month, that the front was a V and not a U, that the back would not wear a band, and that I had been in the room to hear why her blouses had gone tight.

[Aragon]

Small update... For which reason the blouse needed still unknown.. Not happy with this update

[V1star]

Author sunny bro...good morning.
I hope next part includes mom and son talk while having dinner and if Anjali don't have any plans for night... more talk b/w them at home also... evening bath,before sleep talk...

It was around 5 parts back....sunny asked Anjali...how the affair started ...
If possible make sunny to ask Anjali...
Do you really like these branded, revealing, transparent cloths.
As you are a open minded person...how do you feel when I see you in these cloths, are you shy about it.
If Anjali ask Sunny's openion about her dressing style,sunny would say it's your wish mom.if you like it then do it.rather make him go little bold by saying I like it when you wear these revealing cloths( in front of;,.'@home).
And make him say to Anjali....when azad calls , you don't have to go into kitchen corner and talk lowering your voice,you can talk infront of me and be your self.

I hope sunny continues his morning flow. And don't become silent.
Even after witnessing his mom's new blouse measurements and all.

[Ayush01111]

I just request as i can read i want eithwr son lost mom completley and start fresh and have trust issues or there is realty check