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

[ashuezy2]

Scene 22 - No More Secrets - Gold

A few minutes later, Mom knocked on the door. She didn’t wait for an answer and walked right in. We had already opened it earlier after getting dressed.

She was carrying a tray. The aroma of tea and fried pakoras filled the room, masking the scent of what we had just done. I looked at the tray.

There were three cups. Not two.
She knew. She wasn't here to serve us; she was here to join us.

"Relax, girls," Mom said, her voice smooth like silk. "You must be hungry after all that... studying."
She set the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing both of us. She crossed her legs comfortably. Her eyes darted from my flushed face to Saloni’s wet lips. She knew exactly what had happened minutes ago, but she smiled that secret, knowing smile.

"So, Saloni beta," Mom started, taking a sip of her tea. "Tell me about your family?"
Saloni, still in her mode, leaned back on her hands, spreading her legs slightly.

"Oh, Aunty," Saloni sighed, looking at Mom with bold eyes. "My parents are boring. My dad is always working, and my mom... well, she just prays and cooks. No spice in their life. Not like here."

Mom laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "Spice is important, Saloni. Without it, food—and life—turn dull and tasteless."
They started talking, laughing and joking around about silly things. Mom shifted into storytelling mode.

"You know," she said, her eyes twinkling. "When I was in college, I was quite the firecracker. Boys used to go crazy. They would write love letters in blood—can you imagine? And the calls! Our landline would ring all day. My father would pick up, and there would be silence on the other end. Just breathing. They just wanted to hear my voice."

My mom was in fun mode and she was charming. But then, the atmosphere shifted.

Saloni, frustrated that I hadn't touched her and emboldened by my mother’s openness, decided to push the boundaries. 
"Aunty," Saloni asked, tracing the rim of her cup. "You were so popular... so when did you have sex? Was it with Ananya's father?"

I choked on my tea. "Saloni!"
Mom waved her hand dismissively. "It’s okay, Ananya. We are all women here."
She looked Saloni dead in the eye. "No. It wasn't with Rajesh. It was a senior. I was eighteen. He had a motorbike. It was fast, painful, and thrilling. He was the one."

Saloni shifted on the bed, She leaned closer to Mom.
"Tell me about him, about this senior with the motorbike. How did that happen?"

Mom let out a short, sharp laugh. Her eyes hardened, glittering with a different kind of memory, something darker, faster.
"Ah," Mom said, swirling her tea. "Vicky. He was three years senior. He rode a black Royal Enfield Bullet. You know the sound... dhug-dhug-dhug. You could feel it in your chest before you saw him."
She looked at me, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"I didn't like him, Ananya. He was arrogant. But when I sat behind him on that bike... wrapped my arms around his leather jacket... the vibration of that engine right between my legs? That was foreplay enough. I was dripping wet before we even parked."

"Where did you go?" Saloni asked, breathless.
"Behind the North Campus ridge," Mom said. "It was late. Pitch black. Just dirt roads and thorny bushes. No one goes there at night unless they are up to no good."

She set her cup down with a decisive clink.
"He stopped the bike. He didn't say a word. He just cut the engine. The silence was sudden and terrifying."

"He didn't try to woo me, girls," Mom said, her voice dropping low, "There were no candles. No gentle touches. He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bike."

"He didn't kiss me. He didn't even take his jacket off. He just shoved my salwar down to my ankles. He bent me over the seat of the bike. The leather seat was cold against my bare stomach."

I flinched, imagining my mother—eighteen years old—bent over a motorcycle in the dark.

"He didn't have a condom. He didn't care. He just spat into his palm to lube himself up. I heard the spit hit his hand. Phhh-tuh."

My stomach churned.

"And then," Mom whispered, her eyes unfocused, staring at the wall, "He just jammed it in. I screamed. It felt like tearing. It burned. He put his hand over my mouth to shut me up, his leather glove that tasted like dust and petrol."

Saloni was staring, mouth slightly open. "Did you hate it?"
Mom looked back at us.
"For the first minute? Yes. I thought I was dying. He was fucking me hard, Ananya. Fast and brutal. Slamming his thighs against my hips so hard the bike was shaking on its stand. The pieces of the dirt road was digging into my flip-flips."

She paused, licking her lips.

"But then... the pain turned into something else. The adrenaline. The power of him holding me down, using my body like a ragdoll... it woke something up in me. I realized I didn't want sweet. I didn't want gentle. I wanted to be broken."

She looked at me, and for a second, In my mind I saw the woman from the tailor shop looking back—the woman who begged two men to fill her.

"That night on the ridge," she said softly, "I learned that pain and pleasure are just neighbours living in the same house. And sometimes, you have to knock down the wall between them to feel alive."

Saloni grinned. "Oh, That was hot, Aunty. But I have to ask did you have more than one boyfriend at a time?"

"I was a juggler," Mom confessed without an ounce of shame. "One for the movies, one for the long drives, one for the... physical needs. Men are simple creatures, Saloni. If you feed their ego, they won't notice you're feeding someone else too."

Then came the big one. Saloni leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Looks like you were so much into this, Aunty. Did you ever got a chance to... try out with women too?"
I froze. I got scared. My heart hammered against my ribs. Saloni was crossing a line.

But Mom didn't flinch. She placed her hand on my knee, squeezing gently.
"Relax, Ananya," she said soothingly. "This is all fun. You are grown up now. This is women talk. What happens in this room, remains private."

She turned back to Saloni.

"Yes," Mom said, her voice dropping to a husky purr. "In the hostel. Girls get lonely. And sometimes... boys are too rough. Girls know where the buttons are. Girls are soft. It’s a different kind of sweetness."

"Tell me about it," Saloni pressed, her voice breathless. "How did it happen? What did you do?"

Mom smiled, a distant, hazy look entering her eyes. She set her cup down on the tray. She ran a hand through her hair, loosening a few strands from her bun.

"Her name was Susan," Mom began softly. "She was my roommate. Very shy, very quiet. Not like me. I was the loud one."

She looked at us, leaning in.

"It was monsoon season. The power had gone out in the hostel. It was pitch black, and the rain was hammering against the windows. Susan was scared of the thunder. She asked if she could sleep in my bed."

Mom licked her lips, as if she could still taste the memory.

"We lay there, side by side. It was a single bed, very narrow. Our bodies were pressed together. I could feel the heat radiating off her. She was wearing a thin cotton nightie... and I wasn't wearing much underneath."

"I thought she was asleep," Mom continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But then, her hand moved. It brushed against my stomach. It wasn't an accident. She traced the line of my hip bone. Her fingers were so soft... not like the boys I was seeing. Boys have rough hands. They grab. They bruise. But Susan? Susan was like water."

Saloni bit her lip. "And then?"

"Then she whispered my name," Mom said. "She asked if she could touch me. I didn't say no. I couldn't. I was nineteen and curious."

"She moved down," Mom said, looking straight at me now, her eyes intense. "She pushed my nightie up. She kissed my thighs first. It tickled. It was sweet."

Mom closed her eyes for a second.

"But then she spread me open. She put her mouth on me. And girls... let me tell you. A man knows how to thrust, but a woman? A woman knows the map. She knows where the treasure is buried."

"She used her tongue," Mom murmured, mimicking a swirling motion with her hand. "It was like velvet. She didn't rush. She licked me slow, teasing the pearl, circling it until I was gripping the headboard, trying not to scream and wake the warden. She drank me, Saloni. She swallowed everything I had, and she didn't ask for anything in return except to watch me fall apart."

Mom opened her eyes. The room was silent.

"That night," Mom said, picking up her tea cup again. "I realized that men are for power. But women? Women are for pleasure. That was the first time I climaxed without faking it."

She took a sip of her cold tea, leaving us stunned in the silence, the image of my mother moaning in a hostel bed burned into my brain forever.

I thought that was the end of it. But Saloni wasn't done. She wanted to crack the final lock.

"So Aunty, looking at your adventurous side." Saloni asked, her eyes sharp. "Did you sleep around after marriage? It looks like you have."
The room went dead silent. This was it. The secret I held from the shop, the secret from the bedroom door—Saloni was asking for it directly.

My mom was in that mode where the filter was gone. The adrenaline of the conversation, the memory of Remo and Raju earlier that day, the vibe of the room—it all spilled over.

"Saloni," Mom said, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. "Marriage is a contract for society. It gives you a roof, a name, and security."
She looked back at us, her eyes hard and unapologetic.
"But hunger? Hunger doesn't care about contracts. Rajesh is a good man. But he is... vanilla. I need flavor. I need fire. So yes. I have slept around. I have found my pleasure outside these walls. Because if I didn't... I would have burned this house down with my frustration."

She looked at me, unaware that I had seen her with the tailors, unaware that I knew exactly who she slept with.
"A woman has needs, Ananya," she whispered.

Saloni leaned back, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her eyes flicked to me, then back to my mother.

"Tell me me," she asked, her voice steady.

She glanced at me. "Ananya, I hope you don't mind."
I didn't say anything. I just gripped the bedsheet. I didn't suspect. I had seen the white stains on the floor of the tailor shop. I had heard my father thanking her for sodomizing him. I knew more than Saloni could ever guess.

Mom didn't answer immediately. She went quiet.
She looked at me. For a long moment, she wasn't the wild woman from the ridge or the sensual lover from the hostel. She was just my mother, looking at her daughter, weighing the cost of the truth.

She picked up her empty cup, turning it in her hands. She couldn't tell me everything—not about the threesomes, not about the shop—but she couldn't lie anymore either. The door was already open.

"You have to understand Rajesh," Mom said finally, her voice low and measured. "Your father... he is a good man. A perfect man, really. He puts me on a pedestal. He worships the ground I walk on."

She laughed, but it was a dry, hollow sound.

"But girls... have you ever tried to be intimate with someone who treats you like a doll? Someone who is afraid to squeeze you because you might break?"

She looked at her hands—the hands I had seen oiling the strap-on last night.

"In our bedroom, I like to dominate. I give the orders. He is... submissive. He needs me to be strong, to be in control. And I do it. I play the role because I love him."

She leaned forward, her eyes darkening.
"But a Queen gets lonely on her throne. I get tired of being in charge, Ananya. I get tired of being worshipped."
"So," she whispered, "I go looking for men who don't know who I am. Men who don't care about my reputation or my husband's money. Men who see me.....my fire."

She didn't name Remo. She didn't name Raju. But I knew exactly who she was talking about.
"It started small," she confessed. "A gym instructor. A neighbor's driver. Just touches. Stolen glances. But then... the hunger grew. I realized I needed the balance. To be the perfect wife at home, I needed more outside."
She used the word deliberately. More... It hung in the air, heavy and shocking coming from her lips.

"It’s not about love, Saloni. I love my husband. These affairs... they are just medicine. They are the release valve that keeps this house from exploding. I go out, I let them use me, I let them break me down... and then I come home, fixed. Ready to be a mother again."

She looked straight at me, her eyes pleading for understanding beneath the hardness.
"I know it sounds wrong. I know society calls it sin. But that sin is the only reason I am still sane."

There was pin drop silence in the bedroom. My mother sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tight in her lap, her knuckles white. She had laid herself bare stripped, revealed her insatiable hunger.

She looked at me. Her eyes were wide with unshed tears. She was terrified. She had handed me the knife, and now she was waiting to see if I would stab her with judgment or cut her loose with acceptance. I knew if I rejected her now, she would shatter. She would retreat into that shell of the "perfect wife" and I would lose her forever.

I took a deep breath. I looked at the woman who had raised me, the woman I had watched being destroyed by two men in a tailor shop just days ago. I didn't see a monster. I saw a survivor.

I reached out and covered her trembling hands with mine.
"Mom," I said, my voice steady and soft. "I can understand."
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging.
"But tell me one thing," I asked, looking her straight in the eye. "Does father know about it or not?"

Mom looked down at our joined hands. A sad, tender smile touched her lips.
"Rajesh?" she whispered. "He knows I am... restless. He knows I have moods where I need to be left alone. Sometimes, when I come home late, he looks at me, and I see a question in his eyes."
She shook her head.

"But no, Ananya. He doesn't know this. He doesn't know about the men. He doesn't know about my past as well."
She looked up at me, fierce and protective.

"If he knew... it would destroy him. Not because of the infidelity, but because of the... degradation. He worships me, Ananya. To him, I am a perfect wife. If he knew that I let men use me for pleasure..... his entire world would collapse. He needs his perfect wife. And I need to protect him from the truth of who I really am."

I squeezed her hands. I thought about my father on his knees last night, thanking her for the pain. They were both protecting each other's fantasies. He needed a perfect wife; she needed the slave in bed. It was a twisted, perfect balance. "It's okay, Mom," I whispered.

I moved closer and hugged her. It wasn't the hug of a child seeking comfort. It was the hug of an equal.
"I am not judging you," I said into her hair, "You did what you had to do to survive. You kept this family together."
I pulled back and looked at her.

"You are safe with me, Mom. I won't tell him. I won't tell anyone."

Tears finally spilled over her cheeks. She laughed, a wet, broken sound of pure relief. She cupped my face.
"Oh, Ananya," she cried. "I was so scared. I thought you would hate me. I thought you would look at me with disgust."
"I don't hate you," I said firmly. "I think... I think I finally know you."

I glanced at Saloni, who was watching us with wide eyes, respecting the moment.
"And Mom," I added, a small, mischievous smile touching my lips, the first sign that I was accepting my own heritage. "Maybe... maybe I have more of you in me than I thought."

Then I told myself, If my mother could share the truth, surely she could handle this.

I looked at Mom. Her mascara was slightly smudged from the tears, but she looked stronger than I had ever seen her. She had trusted me with her darkest secret. I realized I couldn't let her be the only vulnerable one in this room. Honesty had to go both ways.

Having Saloni sitting right next to me, her leg pressing warmly against mine, made it easier. I wasn't alone in this confession.

"Mom," I started, my voice a little shaky but determined. "You were honest with me. You didn't hide who you are. And... I need to do the same."

Mom tilted her head, listening intently, the relief still palpable on her face.
"I don't think I'm straight," I said. The words felt huge in the small room. "Or, at least, not only straight. I think I am bi-curious. I like boys... but I am realizing I like girls too. I'm not 100% sure what it all means yet, but I enjoy it."

Mom didn't interrupt. She just nodded slowly, her eyes flicking briefly to Saloni.
I took a deep breath and decided to lay it all out. No more "studying" excuses.

"When you knocked before coming in... with the tea," I said, "We weren't studying. We had locked the door because... because we were kissing. Deep kissing."
I glanced at Saloni, who was watching me with a fierce pride.

"And then we moved to the bed," I continued, my voice dropping. "My top was up. Saloni was..." I searched for the right words, the honest words. "She was going down on me, Mom. Her mouth was between my legs. She was licking my clit."
I said the word deliberately. I needed her to know the extent of it.

"It felt amazing. I came hard right before you knocked. That’s why we looked so flustered."
Mom looked at Saloni. There was no judgment in her gaze, just an assessment.
Saloni didn't shrink away. She straightened her back.

"It’s true, Aunty," Saloni said, her voice clear and unapologetic. "I've wanted to do that for a long time. Ananya is beautiful. Her body is incredible. And... I wanted to taste her. I wanted to make her scream."
She reached out and took my hand, lacing her fingers through mine in front of my mother.

"I really like her, Aunty. She is my best friend."

The room fell silent again. My mother looked at our joined hands. Then she looked at me—really looked at me, past the daughter she raised and seeing the woman I was becoming.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. It wasn't the smile of a mother; it was the smile of a co-conspirator.
"Well," Mom said softly, picking up her cold tea cup again. "It seems the apple didn't fall far from the tree after all. You have the hunger too, Ananya. Just a different flavor."

She leaned back, looking relaxed for the first time in years.
"Good for you, beta. Explore it. Taste everything. Just don't let the world make you feel guilty for what your body wants."

Then she smiled, a real, genuine smile.
"God help us then," she chuckled, pulling both me and Saloni into a group hug on the bed.

Mom broke the hug and then she looked at our joined hands, then up at my face, and finally at Saloni.

"I need to ask one more thing," Mom said, her voice dropping lower. "Because I know how dangerous feelings can be."
She leaned in, her eyes searching ours.

"Are you serious about this relationship? Ananya? Saloni? Please, I want to know. Is this love? Are you planning a future, or is this... something else?"

She needed to know if hearts were on the line. She knew better than anyone that bodies heal faster than hearts.

I opened my mouth to speak, to try and fumble through my confusion, but Saloni squeezed my hand and spoke first. She was calm, confident, and brutally honest.

"Aunty," Saloni said, looking Mom dead in the eye. "We are just exploring."
She shrugged one shoulder, a gesture of easy detachment.
"It is friendly, but it is not emotional. I love Ananya as my best friend, yes. But the sex? The licking? The touching? That is just... curiosity. It’s physical."

Saloni glanced at me with a playful smirk.
"We talk casually about it. We joke about her big tits and my long tongue. We help each other release the stress. So, no... it’s not that serious. We aren't writing poetry to each other. We are just using each other's bodies to feel good."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Saloni had put it perfectly.
"She's right, Mom," I added, validating Saloni’s words. "I don't feel... romance for her. I don't want to marry her. I just... I like the way she touches me. I like the thrill of it. It’s like what you said about the hostel. It’s sweet, it’s fun, but it’s not my life."

Mom nodded slowly. She looked relieved. A strange look of recognition passed over her face.
"Good," she whispered. "That is good."
She smoothed the wrinkles in her saree.

"Emotional affairs are messy, girls. Physical ones? Those you can manage. If it’s just hunger... feed it. But don't let it starve your heart for the real thing when it comes along."

She smiled, a cynical, worldly smile that told me she was thinking about Remo—her physical release—and Dad—her emotional anchor.

"As long as you know the difference," Mom said, standing up and picking up the tray of empty cups, "then you are safer than most women I know."

After a while, the room was cooling down from the confession, but the energy was still humming. My mother stood up and was getting ready to pick the tray of empty cups, ready to leave and resume her role as the respectable housewife. But the truth had made us all giddy, reckless.

Mom let out a loud, laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all, her daughter, her daughter’s lover, and her own  confessions all in one room.

"Enough serious talks," she declared, adjusting her saree pallu. "My god, this room is too heavy. We are all too young to be this serious."

She looked at Saloni with a mischievous, glittering eye. The adrenaline from the shop hadn't fully faded; it was just waiting for something new.

"Listen, Saloni beta," she teased, winking. "If Ananya here doesn't satisfy you properly with all her 'exploring'... don't worry. I am always there for you."

Mom laughed again, expecting us to giggle along with her naughty joke.

I smiled awkwardly, but Saloni didn't laugh.
The smile faded from Saloni's face. She went dead quiet. She looked at me first, gauging the gravity of what my mother had just said. Then, she turned her full attention to Mom.

Saloni wasn't looking at "Aunty" anymore. She was looking at the woman who had described Susan’s velvet tongue in the hostel. She was looking at the woman who let Remo and Raju fuck her in a tailor shop. Saloni was a cat, and she recognized another one in the wild.

Saloni stood up slowly from the bed. She walked over to where Mom was standing near the door.
Saloni reached out and grabbed Mom by the shoulder. It wasn't a respectful touch; it was firm, possessive, testing the waters.

"Aunty..." Saloni said, her voice dropping to that husky register she used on me in the garden. "You are really something."
Her eyes raked down Mom's body, appraising the curves hidden by the domestic cotton saree, seeing the raw sexuality my mother usually kept hidden under layers of tradition.

"You joke," Saloni murmured, stepping into Mom's personal space. "But I may actually be interested. Looking at how well you have maintained yourself... you've got more fire than half the girls on campus."

Mom stopped laughing, rattled slightly in her hands before she quickly looked at Saloni, surprised, but definitely not offended. A spark lit up in her eyes—the same hungry spark I saw when she looked at Remo. She didn't back away.

Saloni didn't wait for permission. She pulled my mother into a hug. It started as a hug, bodies pressing close, breasts flattening against breasts. But then Saloni leaned back slightly, just enough to make eye contact, and then she leaned in.
I watched from the bed, my breath catching in my throat, as my best friend kissed my mother.
Mom didn't pull away. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and opened her mouth.

It wasn't a polite peck. It was deep, wet, and immediate. Saloni’s tongue—the same one that had made me scream minutes ago—was now pushing into my mother’s mouth.

I sat paralyzed, watching them. Mom’s hands went into Saloni’s hair, gripping hard. Saloni’s hands dropped from Mom's shoulder to her waist, finding the bare skin between her blouse and petticoat.
They stumbled back against the wardrobe. Thud.

"Saloni," Mom gasped, breaking the kiss for air, her face flushed. "You are trouble."
"The best kind," Saloni whispered.

Saloni dropped to her knees right there on my bedroom rug. I watched, eyes wide, as my best friend lifted the hem of my mother's saree. Mom didn't stop her. She gripped Saloni's shoulders for balance, spreading her legs slightly as Saloni buried her face between Mom's thighs, inhaling the scent of an older, hungrier woman.

It should have been horrifying. It should have broken my brain. But after everything today—the shop, the dad revelation, my own orgasm—it just felt inevitable.

I watched them. My honest, starving mother, finally getting the softness she missed from her hostel days. My bold best friend, crossing a line nobody else dared to cross. It didn't feel wrong in that moment. In this room where we had stripped away all the lies, it felt perfectly fine for my mom and my friend to love each other right in front of me and the understanding that good women are just bad women who haven't been caught yet.