Incest Mom tricked by Bully (Mask of Desire)

[Steel]

The photo glared up at him, his mom frozen in a moment he'd stolen. She was beautiful, too beautiful, and he hated how it stirred him, a flicker of heat he couldn't name. He sent it to Ishaan with a curt, "Here," then threw the phone onto his bed, pacing the room.

Ishaan's reply came fast: "Fuck, dude. Look at those big jugs. I guess you're more than just a marker of shame, hahaha.. good job!" Abhi's face burned with shame warring inside him. He felt like a traitor.

Abhi deleted the chat, but the image lingered in his mind, Madhuri, unaware, trapped in a frame Ishaan now owned. 

He sank into the bed, head in his hands, the weight of his betrayal pressing down. 

He didn't know how to stop, didn't know if he could. Ishaan had him, and every step pulled him further from the boy his mom thought he was.

Madhuri stood in her bedroom that night, the locked drawer a silent taunt as she slipped out of her saree. The rose incident gnawed at her, two days since it arrived, and no more after that. 

She checked her Instagram after blocking that creepy DevilzMask, expecting new messages, but her inbox was empty.

Silence felt worse, somehow, louder, heavier. She pulled on a nightie and sat at her vanity, brushing her hair with slow, deliberate strokes, trying to calm the jitter in her chest.

Ramesh shuffled in, already in his faded kurta, yawning as he climbed into bed. "I'm surprised you're taking so long to sleep these days, honey," he grumbled, barely glancing at her before pulling the blanket up.

Madhuri's brush paused. "I'll be surprised too, if you cared about me," she shot back. He didn't respond, just rolled over, and the familiar sting of rejection settled in her bones.

She set the brush down, her reflection staring back and her fingers drifted to the key on her bracelet, a nervous habit now. The note had wormed its way under her skin, not for its creepiness, but for what it promised.

Someone’s creeping up on her. She hated how it thrilled her, how it woke a part of her she'd locked away. "This is so weird," she whispered, unlocking the drawer and pulling out the rose. It was wilting now, petals curling, but she held it to her nose, inhaling the faint sweetness.

"Who could it be? That junior associate who always lingered too long at the desk? That neighbour at the park who always seemed too eager to ask about my day? Or someone closer?" 

Her pulse quickened, a mix of fear and something darker, something that made her thighs press together under the nightie. She tucked the rose back, relocking the drawer, but the thought stayed, coiling tighter.

Downstairs, she heard Abhi moving, probably sneaking a late-night snack, and it grounded her. Her sweet boy was her anchor. She couldn't let this nonsense unravel her. 

She climbed into bed, turning off the lamp, but sleep didn't come easy. Her body hummed, restless, and when she finally drifted off, her dreams were hazy, faceless hands brushing her skin, a voice whispering her name.

Meanwhile, Abhi sat in the kitchen, a glass of water untouched as he stared at his phone. Ishaan's last message glowed on the screen. He'd crossed a line today, snapping that photo, and the guilt was a stone in his chest. 

But worse was the flicker of something else, curiosity, maybe, or awe, at how Ishaan is seeing her. Not as his mother, but as... something else. Something raw and forbidden.

Across town, Ishaan saved Madhuri's photo to a hidden folder, his grin sharp in the dark.

Madhuri was a puzzle, and Abhi was his tool to solve it, piece by piece. The night deepened, the house quiet but alive with secrets. Madhuri clutched her pillow, dreaming of shadows. Abhi stared at the ceiling, caught between loyalty and betrayal.