Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(11 videos)-Scene-28-GOLD!*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 16 - Home

When I reached home that evening, the house felt strange, like someone had turned down the volume on the world. The lights were on, the smell of tadka (spices) was in the air, everything looked normal… but nothing felt normal.

My mother, Sunita, was in the kitchen cutting vegetables.

She didn’t hear me enter at first. Her movements were slow and careful, almost too careful. I stood in the doorway, clutching my bag, just watching her.

She finally looked up and smiled—the kind of warm, safe smile she used when she didn’t want anyone to worry.
"You’re home, beta," she said gently. "How was your day?"

I looked at her face. It was scrubbed clean. There was no trace of the makeup she might have worn, and definitely no trace of the thick white fluid I had seen Raju splash all over her an hour ago.

But I saw it. In my mind, her face was still overlaid with that image—her eyes closed, her tongue out, licking the helper’s seed off her own skin.
"Fine," I answered. My voice sounded small even to myself.

She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to me. She looked concerned.
"You look so tired, Anu," she said softly. She reached out and placed her palm on my forehead, checking for a fever. "Is it the presentation? You were so worried about it yesterday. Did the professor say anything?"
I flinched inside, but I didn't pull away. Her hand was warm. It was the hand of my mother who stayed up late to help me with projects.

But my mind screamed. That hand. That was the same hand I watched wrapping around Remo’s thick erection. That was the hand that had rubbed her own wetness in the middle of the shop.
"No, Mom," I lied, looking at her wrist. "The presentation was good. I just... I have a headache."
"Go wash up," she said, stroking my hair. "I made your favorite Bhindi (Okra). It will make you feel better."

I sat at the dining table, watching her move back to the stove.
She turned her back to me to stir the pot. She was wearing a simple house saree now. It was dbangd loosely over her hips.
I couldn't help it. I stared at her backside.

I remembered the sound. Thup-thup-thup. I remembered the way her ass had shaken as Raju pounded her from behind. I remembered how she had spread her own cheeks in the mirror for Remo.
Now, she looked like a saint. But I knew that under that cotton petticoat, her skin was probably red and raw from the slapping. I knew her muscles were trembling not from age, but from the aftershocks of being filled by two men at once.

During dinner, Mom served food like she always did—same recipes, same jokes.
"Did you talk to Sonali?" she asked casually, putting a roti on my plate. "Is she still fighting with her boyfriend?"
"Yes," I mumbled. "They broke up again."

She shook her head, smiling. "Young love. So much drama."

I watched her hand as she poured water into my glass. It was shaking. Just a little. A tiny tremor.
She caught me looking. She quickly put the jug down and hid her hand in her lap. She took a deep breath, her chest rising—the same chest I had seen heaving and bare, squeezed by Remo’s dark hands.

She was still high from it. She was trying to act normal, but her body was still vibrating from the orgasm.

Then, the front door opened.
"I'm home!" a cheerful voice called out.
My father, Rajesh, walked in. He was a tall man, wearing a formal office shirt, looking tired but happy. He carried a box of sweets.

Mom stood up immediately. The wild woman from the shop vanished completely, replaced by the perfect wife.
"You are late today," she said softly.

Papa walked over and hugged her. He kissed her forehead gently—a dry, respectful peck.
"Sorry, traffic was bad," he said, smiling at her with pure adoration. "But I brought Rasgulla. I know you like it."

He looked at her like she was a glass doll. He treated her like a Devi (Goddess). He didn't grab her waist. He didn't slap her ass. He didn't look at her with hunger. He looked at her with respect.

I watched them. Papa sat down, telling her about his boring day at the bank. He held her hand gently on the table.
And suddenly, I understood.

He was too good. He was safe. He gave her security, money, and respect. But he didn't see her. He didn't see the woman who needed to be choked, slapped, and used. He didn't have the darkness she needed.
That’s why she went to the shop. She didn't go for the clothes. She went because Remo and Raju treated her like a piece of meat, and deep down, my mother needed to be devoured to feel alive.

The house felt too quiet. My father ate his sweet, thinking he was the luckiest man in the world, while his wife sat next to him, smelling of soap but still wet with the secret life he would never understand.