Incest Mom tricked by Bully (Mask of Desire)

[Steel]

The next morning, Madhuri got ready to work. Abhi watched her pack her bag, the drawer key, tiny, dangling on her wrist like a secret. "Have a good day, maa," he said, voice small, and she nodded absently, already halfway out the door.

He waited until both of them were gone, then crept to her room, phone in hand. The drawer was locked, but her perfume lingered, and he snapped a few quick shots of her bedroom, vanity, lipstick, a comb, a hint of her life, before fleeing back to his room, heart pounding.

He sent it to Ishaan: "Her room and stuff. This is the best I could do."

Ishaan's reply came with a laughing emoji: "What is this dipshit? I asked her, not her fucking table. Try again tonight, or I'll come get it myself"

Abhi's stomach lurched. The thought of Ishaan in their house, smirking at his mom, made his skin crawl. He typed back, fingers clumsy: "No no, wait I'll try."

Abhi sat on his bed that evening, his room felt smaller, the walls pressing in, as if they knew what he's going to do. He dragged himself to the kitchen, where his mom stood, flipping dosas. 

She changed to a pale-green saree that shimmered under the bulb. Her hair was tied back, a few strands sticking to her neck from the heat, and Abhi's eyes lingered there, tracing the damp skin. She looked up, catching him mid-stare.

"What Abhi, standing there like a ghost? Sit," she said, sliding a dosa onto a plate. Her tone was brisk, but her smile was warm, and it twisted the knife in Abhi's gut deeper.

His phone burned a hole in his pocket. Abhi glanced at her again, watching her saree pallu slipping slightly, revealing the curve of her blouse.

His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he slid the phone out, angling it from the top covertly at her. His thumb hovered over the shutter, trembling.

"This is wrong, so wrong," he grumbles but the fear of Ishaan's wrath outweighed the shame.

*Click*

The sound was faint, masked by the sizzle of the pan, but Abhi's heart stopped.

He'd caught her mid-motion, serving a dosa to his plate, head tilted downward, lips parted, the saree framing her figure like a painting.

He quickly sat, switched the phone off, pulse racing, picking at the food and shoved a piece into his mouth to hide the panic. Madhuri didn't notice, adjusting her pallu back and humming as she flipped another, oblivious to the theft.

"Your friend Ishaan.. Did he like the curry?" she asked casually, wiping her hands on a towel.

Abhi choked, coughing into his fist. "Uh... yeah, maa. He loved it."

She nodded, pleased. "Good. Maybe I'll send more sometime. Looks like you finally made a good friend."

Abhi's throat tightened, "Good? If she only knew." He mumbled incoherently and bolted to his room as soon as he finished eating, locking the door behind him.