My Adopted Mom

[ashuezy2]

Scene 6

The demand for three kilos was a mountain, but my mind wasn't on the kilos. It was on the "reward." And even more, on the "punishment."
All week, I kept replaying the feeling of her hands, the cold malish (massage), the final, stinging smack. The saza (punishment) had felt sharper, more real than the inaam (reward). I was getting addicted. I was a bhukkad (bulking beast) again, eating not just to gain weight, but to earn my next saza. My whole body was aching, waiting for it.

When the day came, I walked into the clinic in a daze. Vinod just grunted. I went straight to her room. Click. The sound of the kundi (latch) was a familiar, comforting sound now, sealing me in.

She was not standing by the scale. She was sitting at her desk, leaned back in her chair. And she was wearing something new. A saree, yes, but the blouse...

It was a beautiful green colour, but it was cut very, very low at the front. As she leaned back, I could see the deep, dark curve where her breasts began. So much soft, white skin. My breath just... stopped. I felt a hot blush creep up my neck. I couldn't look away.
She smiled, a lazy, slow smile. She knew. She knew I was staring. She called me her little shaitaan (devil).
I blushed and looked away, feeling caught. Her voice, deep and slow, told me it was time for the test.
I quickly stripped down to my underwear. My hands were clumsy. My eyes kept flickering back to her blouse. I felt nervous, like I was doing something wrong just by looking.

I stepped on the scale, my heart pounding like a dhol (drum). She stood up slowly, her saree rustling, and came to stand very close to me to adjust the weights. My gaze was fixed on her blouse again. I couldn't help it.

I felt her warm breath on my ear. Kahan dekh raha hai? (Where are you looking?)
I jumped. My eyes snapped up to her face. My whole head felt like it was on fire. I was mortified. But she was looking at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She was laughing at me, softly. Naughty boy. My eyes were very fast. She leaned in again, her lips brushing my ear, sending a shiver through me. You will look at ME. Not my clothes. Samjha? (Understood?)

I just nodded, my face burning. She moved the weights. Clank. Clank. Her smile faded. She frowned. She sighed. Shaan...
My stomach dropped. I failed. A wave of coldness and shame washed over me. Two point five. Not three.
I tried to protest... Lekin! (But!) I ate everything! She just shook her head, looking genuinely disappointed. It wasn't enough. She said I needed more... personal attention. That my body wasn't taking the food properly.

She sat on the patient bed and patted the space next to her. Come. Sit. I sat down, my head hanging. My underwear felt too thin. I felt useless.

Dr. Anjali: (Her voice, soft and firm) Look at me, Shaan.
I slowly looked up. Her eyes were intense. And her blouse... the way she was sitting, it seemed even more open.
She said my body needed heat. Lots of it. The kaju katli and the badam cream were good, but they were not the real medicine. She reached out and put her hand flat on my bare chest. My skin sizzled where she touched.

Dr. Anjali: You are still so (cold). My poor Shaan.
She started rubbing my chest, slowly, with her palm. Her eyes were locked on mine.

Dr. Anjali: We need to warm you up from the inside. From here.
Her hand moved lower, over my stomach, her fingers gently pressing in circles. Her touch was so soft, but it was setting my whole body on fire. I couldn't breathe properly.

Dr. Anjali: I think... my special patient needs the full dose today.
She pulled me closer, gently. Come here. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into her. This was not a quick hug. My face was pressed hard against her low-cut blouse. I wasn't just touching fabric. I could feel the warm, yielding skin of her breasts. They were big, pressing against my chest and face, so soft and full. I felt like I was being swallowed. I was drowning in her, in her warmth, in her mogra smell.

Dr. Anjali: (Whispering, her voice muffled against my hair) Ssshh. Just feel the garmi, Shaan. My garmi.
She held me there, swaying slightly. And then... my body, my shaitaan body, did something I couldn't control. I was suddenly hard, pressing against her soft stomach. I froze. I was so embarrassed, so terrified.
She must have felt it. She pulled back a little, just enough for me to breathe, but her arms were still around me. Her eyes were looking right into mine, dark and intense.

Dr. Anjali: (Her voice, a low purr) Oh-ho. My shaitaan is getting excited, han? Is this the garmi?
I just stared, unable to speak, my face redder than a chili. She leaned in, and her lips brushed my ear.

Dr. AnAnjali: (Whispering) Next week, I want to see you fat and naram (soft) from everywhere.
She let me go, gently pushing me back.

Dr. Anjali: Chalo. Get dressed, my golu-molu. My real next patient will be here soon.
I quickly pulled on my clothes, my hands shaking so badly I could barely zip my jeans. As I reached the door, she called out.

Dr. Anjali: Shaan.
I turned. She was sitting at her desk again, watching me.

Dr. Anjali: Don't forget. This is our secret. You are my special patient. And I am your Anjali-mom.
She winked. A slow, knowing wink.

I just nodded, my mouth dry. I unlocked the door and left. The loneliness was not just gone. It was replaced by an electric, buzzing feeling, a secret fire that was growing hotter and hotter with every visit.