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

[Ayush01111]

Author's note:

Hello everyone,

Sorry for the long gap between updates. I got caught up with some personal matters and work, and it took longer than I expected to get back on track.

- Sunny

Is it any use will you except our idea so as per me now anjali should get a silent treatment of son and son should become a real man of house he should take control anjali life let make hell felling after this

[Authorsunny]

Chapter 29 - Morning
6 December 2025 – Saturday

I did not sleep till morning. I slept in pieces.

The first piece ended when a scooter went down the lane and the grill took the sound and put it on the bed. The second ended when she turned. The nighty pulled. Her back came closer to my chest and then did not touch it. Heat came off her anyway. Soap on top. Under the soap, the night that water had not finished. I kept my hands where they were. One under the pillow. One on my stomach. The pocket of the shorts sat against my thigh. The lace was still in it. I could feel the edge of it through the cloth, a small hard line, as if the night had decided to stay on my body even after she had washed.

The third piece of sleep ended because of her voice.

Not loud. The kitchen voice, but softer than the voice she uses on me. I opened my eyes a little. The tube light was off. Morning had come in through the grill in a pale strip and stopped on the floor near the chair. The chair still held the black net, crushed, and the blouse turned half inside out. One thin strap hung the way it had hung when I put it down. The heel was still near the bed. The steel glass was still on the folding table. 

She was not on the bed.

I heard the small click of a steel cup being set down, and then her voice again, low, with the phone close to her mouth.

“Haan, Azad Sahab… I am only saying it again, please don’t mind. The back is not agreeing this morning. Sorry on the phone is sweet, I know. But you were not the one who had to stand in those heels and then lie down on this thin mattress. If you can understand only that much.”

Azad Sahab’s answer did not reach me as words. Only as a low male sound against her ear. She had the volume down. Not speaker. The phone was at her cheek. Still, the kitchen is not a room. It is a corner. The corner is four steps from the pillow.

I did not sit up. I kept the breath of a person who is still under. If she turned and saw my eyes she would change the call. I wanted the call. I hated that I wanted it. Both things sat in the chest and did not cancel each other.

She shifted her weight. The payal was not on. Bare feet on the tile. A small sound of skin and floor.

“The wires also, Azad Sahab.” Her tone stayed soft, almost apologising for having a body that had complained. “I am not fighting about the blouse. You liked it. I wore it for that. I am only requesting you to see what the blouse was sitting on. That bra. The whole evening it cut. Under the arm. Under the breast. Even now if I press, the line is there. Red. Like someone tied a string and forgot. I am forty-seven. I am not a mannequin in Mukesh ji’s shop. Please don’t laugh. It is hurting a little, that is all.”

A pause. His voice, a little clearer because she had moved the phone half an inch. I caught the shape of a laugh, not the words.

She made a tired sound that was almost a laugh and almost not. She let him have the laugh.

“Haan, it suited. You have said it enough. I believe you. The hall looked. You looked. Even—” She stopped, and the stop had my name in it, even if she did not say the name. “Even here, when I bent to pour the water, it did the same work. I am not blind. I have a mirror. I also have a son in the house. That is the only thing I am asking you to keep in your head when you tell me to leave the pallu.”

I felt the heat come into my face against the pillow. She had seen the looking. She had known it in the moment, between his knees, and she was saying it now in the morning as a small plea, not as a scolding.

His answer went longer. She listened with her shoulder against the fridge, the free hand quiet, not tapping, not correcting. I could see that much if I opened the eye on the kitchen side a fraction. Old cotton nighty. The neck loose. Hair still a little dull from the late wash, pins gone. The bite on the left side of the neck had gone darker in sleep. It sat above the collarbone like a thumbprint made of blood under the skin. She had not covered it. There was no one in the kitchen to cover it for, except the man on the phone, and he had put it there.

“And one more thing, if you will not get angry,” she said, quieter. “You did not use it. I had asked you. You heard me ask. Then I also said the other thing, I know. I said come inside. I was not in my senses for that one minute. You were drunk. I was — I don’t have a clean word. My body had already gone ahead. I am not blaming you. I am only requesting, for next time, please keep one working mind between the two of us. You had the drink. I had the hall in my head and your hands.”

She was speaking plainly, but the plainness had a bow in it. Not the hall voice. Not the mother voice she uses on me. The voice of a woman doing the accounts of her own body and asking the man who had used it to be a little kind about the total.

He said something. She did not cut him. She waited, and then she answered as if she was smoothing a cloth.

“I am not saying I hated it, Azad Sahab. If I hated it I would not have told you to stay inside. I liked it. You know I liked it. I am only saying, next time, if you can, keep the thing you always keep. I will not make a scene about last night. Last night already happened.”

A longer pause. I heard her open the fridge, not for food. For the cold on her face, maybe. The door shut.

“One more thing is also missing,” she said, and here the request went thinner, almost shy. “The panty. Black. Lace. I took it off near the bed. I told you. You laughed and said wear the nighty, so I wore the nighty. I looked in the sheet after. I looked near the chair. It is not in the saree. It is not in the bathroom. If you kept it as a joke, please tell me. I will not be angry. I only don’t want to find it in the afternoon in front of him. If it is here, I will look again. I am only asking.”

My hand, under the pillow, closed. The pocket against my thigh answered before my mind did. It was there. Warm from my leg. Damp in the middle when I had taken it, drier now, still hers. She was searching the house for a thing that was sleeping against her son’s skin, and she was asking Azad for it the way a person asks for a misplaced earring. I should have felt only shame. The shame came. Under it, a mean small relief that she could not produce it at the table and hold it up and ask whose it was.

Azad’s reply made her give a small, polite breath.

“Ohh. Then it is here only. These flats are not so big. If it is under the bed I will see when I sweep. Sorry I asked like that. I thought maybe you had taken it.”

She rubbed her lower back with the free hand. I saw the elbow move. The nighty pulled across her seat. No line under it. She had slept the way she had opened the door. Nothing between her and the cotton.

“And Sunny,” she said.

The name landed differently from the rest. She said it carefully, as if the man on the phone might not like the direction.

“I had to make him stand outside. I told him five minutes. It was not five minutes. You know how long it was. I could hear myself. I tried to keep it in and then I stopped trying. Please don’t mind me saying this. The door is wood. Wood is not a wall. And we were so loud, the whole would have heard us. I am feeling shame to even open our door today. To go down for milk. What face do I take?.”

Her voice had gone tight. Not crying. The tightness of a person who has looked at the stair in her head and does not want to put her foot on it, and is asking the other person to make the stair smaller.

Azad spoke for a while. I could not take the sentences. I could take the effect. Her shoulders dropped a little. The hand on her back stayed, but the fingers stopped pressing so hard. When she answered, some of the shame was still there, and some of it had been moved to the side by his voice. She took the comfort the way she takes a gift. With a small thanks in the tone.

“You are saying nobody can say anything. I know why you can say it. You live on the ground floor. Your door is thick. I have to pass these people with a bite on my neck. I am not arguing. I am only requesting you to see it from this floor also. Mouths in this building still wait. If you say they will not open in front of me, I will try to believe you.”

He said something short. She gave a small breath of a laugh, unwilling, and then made it willing.

“Haan, you are the landlord. I know. I have used that sentence also, when it suited me. Last night it did not feel like a sentence. It felt like a bed hitting the wall. Sorry. I should not have said it so flat. You were happy. I was also not unhappy. I am only a little sore today.”

Then she brought the other name in, not as a blade. As a worry she was putting in his hand.

“And Sunita, Azad Sahab? You are telling me nobody will speak. She spoke. She did not whisper. She stood on the first-floor landing with a glass in her hand and said kalank. She said I open my blouse for the man who reduces the rent. She said it with my son on the step below me. You were there for the end of it. You may not have heard the start. The start was worse. She looked at him and asked what he is learning. I am not asking you to do anything. I am only saying, that day was not a small rumour. That was a woman saying the dirty version in a voice the whole stair could keep.”

The line of his answer changed. I could hear it in the way she went still. The fridge hum filled the gap. When she spoke again she was not defending Sunita out of love. She was asking him, politely, not to pick the woman up.

“If you are still angry, I understand. Please, if it is possible, leave her as she is. She has a husband who already pulled her wrist that morning. She has children. She went to her mayka with a suitcase. Let the holiday finish and let the mouth get tired. I can fight with her if she stands in front of me again. I am only requesting you not to do it from above. That becomes the owner. I am already living with what the owner means. Please don’t add her flat to it for my sake.”

He did not accept it quickly. She did not order him a second time. She asked again, smaller.

“Azad Sahab. I am saying please. Leave her. I am not telling you your building. I would not. I am asking, as a woman who has to climb those stairs. If you do something, it will not stay on her door. It will come up. I don’t want a war because of me. If you can keep it, keep it. If you cannot, at least tell me before. That is all I am asking.”

A pause. His voice, lower, the cunning one, the one that does not shout and still moves the furniture. She listened with her head tilted, the way she listens when she has already decided not to win. Her free hand came up and touched the bite, checking it was real.

“A lesson,” she said, carefully. “I heard. I am not asking you to explain the whole thing on the phone. If it is only anger, let the anger sit. If it is something you are thinking, please don’t let me be the last to know. And please don’t use me as the reason if you can avoid it. She was ugly that day. I agree. Ugly is still not a person I want shifted because of me. I am requesting. You decide. You always decide.”

He must have stepped half a step back from the open threat, because her next line was softer, almost grateful for the half-step.

“Hmm. You have not forgotten. I heard that. Then keep it in your pocket for a little while, na?.”

She was quiet. He filled the quiet. I heard one phrase because he had raised it, or because she had angled the phone. Not a full sentence. Enough.

“—your boy was already standing there—”

She did not snap. She closed around it.

“Azad Sahab, please. Don’t start on him. Not this morning. He waited. He took the bag. He did not make a scene in front of you. That is more than most sons would have done. I am requesting you not to turn it into a joke on the phone. I saw what you saw. I am his mother. I cannot discuss that part as if we are two people laughing in a car. Please leave that one. For me.”

So she had seen the shorts. She was not going to give Azad the sentence. She was also not going to pretend the sentence was impossible. She had asked him to leave it, the way she asked him for things now. The distinction sat in my stomach like the tea she had not yet made.

He went on. She let a little of it happen. The call changed temperature. Shame moved to the side again. The body came back into the talk, because that was the ground he knew how to stand on, and she was willing to stand there if he asked gently enough, or even if he did not.

“The blouse,” she said, and the politeness warmed. “Haan, the deep one. You want me to say it? The V was too much. I had told Mukesh ji. I had told you also. You still wanted it, so I wore it. In the hall I kept thinking the pallu would fall, and it kept falling. You liked that. You were watching the same place the contractor was watching. I saw your eyes when I came back from the washroom. If that made you happy, then it was all right. I wore it for you.”

His answer made the colour come into her throat, under the bite.

“It was tight because you said tight. The wire was your wish more than the shop’s. You said it should hold the whole evening, no loosening. I bought it. I wore it. By the time you opened the hooks my skin was already marked. And still you spoke as if you had found them for the first time. They are the same, Azad Sahab. They were there before the hall. They will be there after the marks go. If you liked the weight, I am glad. I am only saying the wire was a little cruel. Next time, if you want, we can choose a little softer. I will still wear what you like. That is not a problem.”

She listened. A small unwilling sound left her, then she let it become a laugh for him.

“You felt that. Heavy. Haan. They are heavy. They were heavy in the car also, when you put your hand inside and said there was no time. Last night you had time, and you still held like the bed would be taken away. My back is telling me the story this morning.”

Then the line I had been waiting for without knowing I was waiting.

He must have said he should have stayed, because she answered it as a regret she was not allowed to grant.

“Two more times? Three? Azad Sahab, please don’t think I was refusing you. You were not in a state for three. You were drunk. Your walk on the stair was already a negotiation. I was finished. My legs were shaking in those heels before you even pulled me down. If you had stayed, Sunny would have been outside till light. I could not do that to him twice in one night. Once was already a thing I will see when I look at his face.”

She rubbed the back again.

“I am not saying I did not want you. Please don’t make that face, I can hear the face. I wanted you. I am saying the body had a limit, and the house had a boy in it. You got what you came up for. The water was an excuse. We both know. I am happy you came up. I am only requesting you not to rewrite it into a whole night I did not have the strength to give. If you had stayed, I would have tried. I would also have failed. That is the truth.”

The call thinned into the day. Practical things. Her voice stayed agreeable. I lifted my head a fraction so the words would not fall between the fridge and the fan.

“Eleven is all right,” she said. “Eleven-thirty is also all right. I will be here. I am not going down anyway. You had said the man would call before he climbs. If he calls, I will tell him the third floor. The corner we spoke about, I have not put anything heavy there. He can see it.”

She was not asking what the parcel was. That was the strange part. The question I had expected did not come. She already had the shape of the day in her head. I did not.

“Send him,” she said. “I will take it. If he wants someone to sign, I will sign. I know why you are sending it. The room becomes too much after some time. You said it yourself. I was only worried about the place. The grill side is narrow.”

Another piece. The fitting. She knew this too. She was only confirming the hour.

“And the fitting person, today itself, na? You had said he might come the same day.”

She listened. 

Then Pune.

“You said Pune also. Sorry, I want to keep the time straight so I don’t wait with one tick like last night. If you leave tonight, you cannot be back by evening. If you leave now, the road can bring you by evening, if the road listens. Which one should I keep? I am only asking.”

A short answer. She repeated it, the way she repeats a thing when she is putting it on the shelf so she will not annoy him by asking again.

“Leaving in some time. Pune. Back by evening. No function. Work. Achha. Then please don’t drink on the highway and call me from the car. And message when you start, not when you have already reached. I will keep the phone near me. The parcel I will handle. You go with a light head.”

She was quiet for a few seconds. The fan turned. Somewhere on the second floor a door opened and closed, ordinary, Saturday, somebody going for milk. The ordinary sound made the kitchen feel more exposed, not less.

“Azad Sahab,” she said. The Sahab did not drop. “I meant the other thing also. Not only the back. When I said I love you, I was not performing for the hall. You did not say it. I am not asking you to say it now, on a morning call, with my son sleeping ten feet away. I am only telling you I heard the missing sentence. Please don’t think I didn’t. If you don’t want to answer, don’t answer. I can keep it. I only didn’t want to pretend I had not said it.”

I could not hear what he gave her. I heard her take it. A small sound. Not satisfied. Not broken. The sound of a woman who has decided to carry a sentence alone for one more day, and to thank him for the call anyway.

“Achha, you go. Eat something. If Ammi asks, tell her I will send lunch if needed. No, no, don’t tell her anything else. God. Just go. And thank you for calling. I was feeling heavy. It is a little less now.”

A small pause and then giggle.

“Mmmmuaaaahhhhh..you naughty! Go now. Bye.”

The call ended. The phone touched the counter. She did not move for a while.

[Paty@123]

What is happening, Is Azad dragging them into mafiya activities? and an early update is required for things calirification

[Ayush01111]

I just want to son shouod leave slutty mom

[SK369]

I feel this story is gradually losing its importance and impact. I think there are two reasons for this: the inconsistent updates and the way Sunny, one of the main characters, is being portrayed. Even when his self-respect is being stripped away, Sunny does nothing but stand by and watch like a helpless spectator.

[Thasa]

Dear author
Is this story will turn incest can we expect sunny fuck anjali mother son sex in future

[Aragon]

Enjoying the conversation between anjali and the Landlord.. Keep going bro!!!

[saka1981]

Will Sunny and Anjali talk about what happened last night? In particular, will Sunny tell her how much it hurt him to be left standing outside, or will he just let it go and keep everything to himself?. Whatever Sunny says, I hope Anjali doesn't respond by bringing up how she educated him or how much she struggled for his sake. Instead of using those things to justify herself, she needs to face the truth and honestly acknowledge how much she has hurt her son.

[wxxxx]

Sunny, a 21-year-old working man, lives with his 47-year-old mother, Anjali, in a small, rented one-room flat in Andheri; both live on a limited income. Thanks to a close bond between his mother and their landlord, Mr. Azad, Sunny enjoys a monthly rent discount of 5,000 rupees. Mr. Azad also helped Sunny purchase a bike for his commute to work. One Friday, after attending an event, Mr. Azad and Anjali returned to the flat in an intoxicated state and entered the room right in front of Sunny; Anjali asked Sunny to stay outside while she and Mr. Azad engaged in deviant sexual acts until late into the night. Exhausted from waiting outside for so long, Sunny eventually knocked on the door and was let in by his mother. Mr. Azad then gave Sunny a 1,000-rupee tip—which Sunny accepted at his mother's urging—before sharing a romantic farewell with Anjali and leaving. Afterward, Sunny lay down on the bed, while his mother bathed and then joined him. Once she was asleep, Sunny became aroused by smelling his mother's panties; he ejaculated into them, tucked them into his pocket, and fell asleep. On Saturday morning, Sunny was woken up by the sound of his mother talking to Mr. Azad on the phone from the kitchen, and he listened intently to the conversation. The author, 'Authorsunny', has captivated readers with thoughtful and skillful writing; the story is progressing smoothly, and readers are eagerly awaiting the next update.

[mzafar]

Readers expect the next update to be interesting.

[Lesbian lover]

Fantastic like always... Please keep going

[Paty@123]

Continue an update plz

[mzafar]

Readers might assume that after witnessing the perverse sexual acts between the landlord, Mr. Azad, and his mother, Anjali, on a Friday night, Sunny’s mindset would undergo a drastic shift—leaving him desperate to witness such scenes every night.

[Milf Destroyer]

Seems Anjali is going to be shared by someone in night

[baddu]

Any update

[mzafar]

update please

[wxxxx]

update please

[Paty@123]

Sir, any update tonight or tomorrow? Plz indicate

[baddu]

Waiting for update

[Rocky]

waiting for the update