Coerced Shadow: Entrapment of my mother

[Rupakpolo1]

The Bollywood music still pulsed from the Playroom. Mallika sat alone in the cavernous living room now, bathed in the flickering blue light of a paused movie screen. The garish slapstick comedy was frozen mid-pratfall. She held a crystal tumbler swirling amber liquid, her gaze distant, fixed on the hallway leading to the Playroom. Priya stood like a statue near the bar, polishing a glass with unnatural focus. Neha was gone.

I walked in, Rohan trailing silently behind me. Mallika didn’t turn her head. "You should be in Rohan room, Ayan," she said, her voice unnervingly calm, the earlier fury banked to embers.

"My mom," I said, stopping a few feet away. My voice sounded small against the thumping music. "When can I see her?"

Mallika didn't turn. She took a slow sip from her tumbler, ice cubes clinking softly. "Debjani is resting deeply, Ayan. Ravi uncle is ensuring her recovery progresses optimally. Patience." Her eyes remained fixed on the hallway’s gloom.

"My mom," I repeated, forcing my voice louder over the blaring music. "I need to see her. Now." Priya stopped polishing the glass. The silence stretched, thick with the thumping bassline.

Mallika finally turned her head, her obsidian eyes pinning me. A flicker of irritation crossed her face, quickly smoothed. She took another deliberate sip. "Priya," she commanded, her voice slicing through the noise. "Go. Check what is going on inside the bathroom, Let Ravi know about this." Priya set the glass down silently, a faint chime against the marble bar top. She moved like smoke towards the hallway, vanishing into the gloom where the Bollywood beat pulsed strongest.

Mallika gestured languidly to the sofa beside her wingback chair. "Sit, Ayan," she ordered, her voice softening unnervingly. "Here. Near me." Her gaze was calculating, assessing. Rohan hovered uncertainly near the doorway. Reluctantly, I sank onto the cold leather cushion she indicated, perched on the very edge. The garish light from the paused movie screen cast shifting patterns on her impassive face. "Tell me," she began, her tone almost conversational, "what you and your mother do all day? At home? Such a quiet life, I imagine." Her eyes didn’t leave mine.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "She... she cooks. Cleans. Looks after things." My voice sounded thin. "I go to college."

Mallika nodded slowly, swirling the ice in her tumbler. The amber liquid caught the flickering blue light. "All the household work? Does your mom manages? Cooking, washing, scrubbing floors?" Her gaze sharpened, drilling into me.

"Yes," I mumbled, staring at my hands clenched on my knees. "She does everything."

Priya, who had disappeared a few moments ago, was  back to us, sharp and assessing. "She must be exhausted, madam”

"Poor Debjani," Mallika murmured, swirling her drink. "She hasn't eaten tonight." She gestured vaguely toward the hallway. "Priya, will you take the leftover food  to her home…she can have the food there…Tell me, Ayan — would you make sure she takes care of herself going forward. She need to have more strength going forward."

I did not understand what she meant to say by this.

She gestured dismissively toward Priya - "Priya! Bring the children's movie discs. Something... soothing. For Ayan." Priya vanished again. Mallika turned back to me, her smile fixed. "Now, sit properly. Relax." She picked up the remote, unpausing the movie.

Priya returned, placing a slim DVD case beside Mallika. "The Jungle Book,” Mallika stood up and ejected the existing disc with a soft whirr. She slid the new disc in. "Much more suitable for you"

Baloo the bear appeared on screen with Mowgli. The jaunty melody felt obscene against the thumping bass still leaking from the Playroom hallway. Mallika leaned back, sipping her drink.  Baloo danced with Mowgli. I couldn’t watch this and started counting each and every seconds. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. My leg bounced uncontrollably.

"Where is my mother?" The words burst out, sharp as glass.

Mallika paused the movie mid-frame, Baloo frozen mid-stride. "Patience is a virtue, Ayan," she chided, swirling her drink. "*Debjani needs rest.*"

"Where?" My voice cracked. "Where is she resting?"

Mallika sighed, swirling her drink. "Wherever Ravi uncle deems appropriate." Ice cubes clinked like tiny bones. "Now watch the movie, kid and stop asking question"

Suddenly I saw the hallway shadows shifted. Ravi emerged, steam curling off his damp shoulders, a white towel slung low on his hips. Water droplets traced the scars across his chest—thin, silvery lines like claw marks. He rubbed another towel through his dripping hair, his biceps flexing. His gaze slid to me, then away, dismissing my presence entirely. The Playroom music had finally stopped; the silence felt heavier than the bassline.

"Debjani?" Mallika asked without turning her head, swirling her drink. “ How is she”

Ravi’s lips curled, not quite a smile, but something satisfied and proprietary. “A bit unstable,” he admitted, rubbing the towel down his neck. “But good potential.” He tossed the damp cloth onto a chair, the movement flexing the thick veins in his forearms. “She’ll learn.”

Ravi uncle looked at Rohan and said - “Take your friend to your room. I have important things to discuss with Mallika aunty.”

“But what about my mother?” I asked, stepping forward, my voice too high.

Ravi Uncle barely glanced at me, toweling his hair. “When she’s well, you will get to see her,” he muttered, the words sliding off his tongue like oil.

Rohan’s grip clamped around my wrist, cold, insistent,tugging me backward. “Come,” he hissed. I went with Rohan.

After reaching his room, I asked Rohan what they were going to discuss. He locked the door with trembling fingers. “I am also curious, we are going to hear everything,” he whispered, pressing his ear to the wood.

After a few minutes Rohan responded- “I can’t make out, let us check from my dad’s laptop feed”.

The laptop screen bloomed back to life, casting a sickly pallor over our faces. Rohan bypassed the password screen with practiced ease, fingers punching in `M@ll1k@0924` before I could blink. He clicked the surveillance icon, an unblinking eye and the screen split into sixteen grainy quadrants. The top-right feed showed the living room in monochrome: Mallika still perched on her wingback throne, sherry glass dangling from manicured fingers; Ravi looming near the bar trolley, toweling off his damp chest with slow, deliberate strokes.

Mallika’s voice crackled through the speakers, tinny but clear: "Well?" She didn’t look up from her drink. "How was she in bed?"

Ravi’s towel paused mid-swipe across his shoulders. A slow, predatory grin split his face. "The best," he murmured, tossing the damp cloth aside. His fingers traced a fresh scratch along his collarbone-thin, crimson. "Fought just enough to make it fun. Then she melted like ghee." He poured himself a fresh sherry, the liquid catching the low light like molten gold. "Tighter than I expected for a mother. Screamed beautifully when I entered her"

"Details later," Mallika cut in sharply, her gaze darting toward the ceiling—toward the unseen cameras. " Tell me how useful she would be for us.”

Ravi chuckled, swirling his drink. "Hips like a temple dancer—built for rhythm. Tight little cunt still grips like a virgin’s, even after childbirth. And that cry she makes when you first split her open…ahhh" He took a slow sip, savoring the memory. “…mmm…pure gold. The bashful ones always sound sweetest when they break."

Mallika’s manicured fingers tapped the armrest. "Would it be easy for us to control her?"

Ravi chuckled, the sound thick with sherry. "Once she understands her new purpose, I expect total surrender." He rolled his shoulders "That softness? Like kneading fresh sandesh. And the warmth…ahhh" His tongue darted over his lower lip. “her cunt clenched like a fist around me when she came. Unbelievable heat for a frigid housewife." He leaned against the bar, muscles flexing. "We’ll train that shame out. Then, she will be only available to Premium clients only, who pay extras to ruin such purity.*"

Mallika’s stiletto tapped the floor. "How long would it take?"

Ravi drained his glass, ice cubes clattering. "Two months minimum," he said, wiping his mouth. "She’s stubborn, kept whispering her husband’s name while I fucked her.*" His knuckles whitened around the empty tumbler. "But I will carve that loyalty out.”

Mallika arched a sculpted brow. "Not with brute force." Her stiletto tapped an impatient rhythm against the marble. "You moved too fast tonight—she’s still trembling in recovery. Next time, slower. Let the fear simmer. Let her beg before you touch."

Ravi snorted, pouring another drink. "She won’t beg," he muttered, ice clinking like broken teeth. "Too proud. Too used to her husband’s meek hands. She clenches her thighs when I breathe near her now, like a nun guarding sacrament." His lips curled. "But her body begs. When I spread those thighs? Dripping. Silent, but wet."

Mallika’s smile was a scalpel’s edge. "Then exploit that." She swirled her sherry. "Condition her hunger against her will. Let her hate herself for craving it."