Incest Mom tricked by Bully (Mask of Desire)

[Steel]

Hello guys,

I welcome you all into this passionate, slow burning adult sex story between a beautiful mom and her son's manipulative high college bully. Here, you will witness the guy unravel the hidden cravings of her, peeling back her secrets one trembling confession at a time.

This one isn’t for the faint hearted! Expect a wild ride packed with creepy suspense, flirty games, relentless teasing, and darker taboo edges such as betrayal, bullying, manipulation, incest, cuckoldry, voyeurism, groping, CNC and delicious humiliation.

All the characters in this story are over 18 years of age. I don't intend to promote anything wicked. It's created by an adult for adults. Take it with a playful pinch of salt and don’t let it weigh too heavy on your mind. Sit back, relax, and sink into a thrilling, sexy escapade.

Read at your own risk 

Let's dive in!

Index

Ch 0: The Shadows

Ch 1: First Threads

Ch 2: Wolf at the Door

Ch 3: Digital Dance

Ch 4: Devil's Touch

Ch 5: First Encounter

Ch 6: Tease and Blow

Ch 7: Twisted Juices

Ch 8: Blindfold Surprise

Ch 9: Open Romance

Ch 10: Memory Trap

Ch 11: Experiments

Ch 12: The Reveal

[Uvaaaa]

Nice plot and update soon

[mzafar]

Update please

[Steel]

Character Introduction

In the bustling heart of Hyderabad, India, a twisted game of lust and ego brews beneath the surface of a seemingly perfect family.

 

Madhuri, a stunning woman in her mid-30s, is a normal desi wife on the surface, bound by marriage to her husband Ramesh. She's soft-spoken and poised in public, but beneath her lies a volcano of sexual hunger she is unaware of, stoked by years of unfulfilled need. She is the heart of the narrative. Her ego battles her lust as she later yearns to be taken without asking for it, that leaves her frustrated yet fuels her twisted moves.

Her innocent son, Abhi, a lanky, awkward and conflicted soul, clings to her like a shadow, making him an easy target to play. A momma's boy at heart, oblivious to the storm approaching.

And then there's Ishaan, a charming beast with a hunger that’s raw and untamed. Being Abhi's classmate, he sees Madhuri not as a friend's mother, not as someone's wife, but as a conquest, a MILF to break and claim. A master of manipulation, whose plans are meticulous, pulling Abhi into a role he never imagined.

Welcome to Mask of Desire, where the lines between right and wrong blur, and the shadows hold secrets too wild to resist.

[Projectmp]

Interesting plot

[Steel]

Chapter 0: The Shadows

The mirror in Madhuri's bedroom was her silent companion. One quiet night, she stood before it, adjusting the folds of her saree, the silk clinging to her thick, curvy figure like a lover's touch. “Ugh, what a day,” she sighed, exhaustion lacing her voice.

At 5' 8", she towered over most women in her luxury Banjara Hills neighborhood. Her sharp, elegant nose flared slightly as she removed her delicate silver kundan necklace, placing it on the dresser. 

She set it on the dresser and shook her hair loose, the dark, glossy waves tumbling over her shoulders.

Her plump lips, juicy as petals, curving into a proud smile. She knew she was beautiful.

"Still got it, don’t you?" she murmured to her reflection, her eyes glinting with a mix of pride. Beauty was her armor against society’s whispers that demanded she be nothing more than just a devoted wife and mother.

Madhuri is a driven consultant at a multinational corporation. That morning, when a junior associate flirted over coffee, saying, “You make the office worth showing up for, ma’am,” she shot back, “Focus on the reports, not me,” her tone sharp but composed.

Her job was intense with strategy presentations, market research and endless hours, but she thrived the grind.

That night, she attended a dinner party with her husband, dbangd in an emerald-green saree that radiated elegance. Ramesh, her balding, weary husband and a senior IT professional, felt like an obligation.

Her 36D breasts pressed against her blouse, a sight that made her husband's colleagues stutter during the party. Every man who stared too long, every jealous glance from her friends' husbands, fueled her ego.

Yet, in the bedroom, Ramesh’s lackluster 4-inch efforts had long faded into a disappointment. She’d never been satisfied, but she convinced herself she didn’t need him to. Her allure was enough. Or so she told herself.

But the mirror in her bedroom saw it all, the flush on her cheeks, the hunger in her eyes. It knew the truth she couldn't admit. 

At 36, she was a volcano, waiting for the right spark to erupt. Across the city, a predator sharpened his claws. Madhuri thought she controlled her world, but she had no idea how wrong she was.

[Steel]

Abhi, her son, was her world, sweet, shy, and utterly dependent on her. 

The next day, he hunched over his desk in the corner of his classroom, the windows casting shadows on his chubby, boyish face. 

At 18, he was a tangle of awkward limbs and insecurities. High college was a battlefield, and he was its punching bag, too trusting, too soft, a momma's boy who'd rather hide behind mom's saree than face a fight.

His classmates mocked his stammer, his quietness, but none more than Ishaan, the bully who owned him. "Oi, Abhi, still sucking on your mom's milk?" Ishaan sneered, slamming Abhi's books off his desk.

The classroom erupted in laughter, and Abhi's cheeks burned as he scrambled to pick them up. Ishaan towered over him like a beast, 21yrs old, 6 feet of lean muscle, abs rippling under his shirt, a cocky grin splitting his face.

"You're pathetic, lil' bro," his deep voice carried a menace that made Abhi shrink.

"Look at you, straight-up scurrying like a rat. Too bad there's no hole small enough to hide your sorry self from me!"

Abhi hated him. Hated how Ishaan's words stuck. 

But he couldn't fight back. Ishaan was everything he wasn't, confident, handsome, the guy girls giggled over in the halls.

His 9-inch dick was a legend whispered about in the locker room, a weapon he wielded with charisma that left Abhi feeling smaller than ever. And yet, Ishaan kept him close, like a puppet on a string.

"But, you're my buddy anyways," he'd say, slinging an arm around Abhi's shoulders, his grip too tight to be friendly, prompting an awkward smile from Abhi. “Hehe.. yeah,” Abhi mumbled.

Ishaan sprawled on Abhi's desk, flipping through a text book while Abhi sat stiffly. "Your mom’s getting home soon today?" Ishaan asked casually, his tone laced with something Abhi couldn't place.

"Huh...? maybe idk, she'll be busy at work," Abhi mumbled, eyes darting outside the window. He didn't know why Ishaan cared. He didn't want to know.

But Ishaan knew plenty. He'd seen her last week when she'd dropped off Abhi's lunch.

Her lips glistened with gloss as she scolded Abhi gently, "Sweetie, your grades are falling bad, you need to study hard and turn this around!"

Ishaan's dick twitched right there in the high college courtyard. 

She was looking ripe, untouched, begging to be ruined. Milfs were his kink, and Madhuri? She was the jackpot.

He glanced at Abhi "Tell me," Ishaan said, smirking. "Your mom. What do you like about her?"

Abhi blinked, confused, "My mom..? I mean she.. she’s a nice woman, cooks good food. Why?"

Ishaan leaned forward, eyes glinting, "Just curious. Bet she's good at farming too."

Abhi squirmed, a flicker of confusion, "Huh?"

Ishaan grinned and laughed replying "You're like a glitch in a game nobody plays Abhi, you wouldn't understand it." 

Abhi hated how he twisted it. "You're lucky, Abhi," Ishaan said, clapping him on the back. "Having a mom like that? Damn!" Abhi forced a smile, but something felt off. Ishaan's laugh echoed in the room. Abhi didn't know it yet, but his cage was locked, and Ishaan held the key.

[Steel]

Chapter 1: First Threads

The sun dipped low over Hyderabad, painting the sky orange as Ishaan leaned against an old rusty gate, watching Abhi shuffle out with his backpack slung low. 

The kid looked like a lost puppy, head down, avoiding the jeers of passing boys. Ishaan pushed off the wall, his sneakers scuffing the gravel as he fell into step beside him.

"Yo, Abhi, wait up," he called, voice slick with fake warmth. Abhi flinched but stopped, peering up through his bangs. "What do you want, Ishaan?"

"Chill dude, just wanna talk," Ishaan said, slinging an arm around Abhi's shoulders. 

"You're coming over to my place tomorrow, right? Study group?" Abhi nodded hesitantly, he'd agreed last week for a group assignment, too scared to say no.

Ishaan grinned, "Good. Then you gotta bring some of your mom's food, man. What's your favorite dish of hers?" Abhi paused, scratching his head. 

"Er… sure, I'd say her paneer curry's the best."

"Oh yeah? Tell her to pack extra," Ishaan said. He didn't give a shit about the food. It was an excuse, a thread to pull Madhuri closer. He'd seen her again that morning, dropping Abhi off in a navy saree that hugged her melons like a second skin.

His cock throbbed hard, he'd had to adjust himself behind a tree. 

She was a tease without even trying, those lips, that ass. He needed her naked, and he'd make it happen. 

They walked in silence for a bit, the buzz of autorickshaws and street vendors filling the air.

Ishaan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, taunting whisper, "Your mom's too hot to be stuck with a boring old man, you know." 

Abhi squirmed, the words sinking into him like poison. He'd never thought of his mom that way, she was his rock, his safe place.

"Stop talking like that Ishaan, my parents are happily married." He mumbled. Ishaan's eyes glinted. 

"Marriage don't mean shit when a guy's got game dumbass." Ishaan clapped him on the back, hard enough to make him stumble as they reached Abhi's street.

"See you tomorrow. Don't forget the food, or I'll come get it myself" He winked and sauntered off, leaving Abhi staring after him.

[Steel]

He didn't know why, but Ishaan's words clung to him. That night, Ishaan sat in his room, shirtless, as he scrolled through Instagram. He'd found Madhuri's profile weeks ago, full of saree pics and close-ups.

"Fucking tease," he muttered, brushing himself through his shorts. He opened a burner account, DevilzMask, and typed his first message: "Saw you today, Madhuri. That saree's a sin." and hit send.

Madhuri sat at her vanity, brushing her long, dark hair, the rhythmic strokes soothing her after a long day at the office. 

Her phone buzzed on the table, and she glanced at it, an Instagram notification. She frowned, opening the app. A message from an unknown account DevilzMask. Her breath caught, fingers tightening around the brush as she read the message.

"Who's this idiot? And how did he know my name?" she muttered, her heart racing looking at the profile picture, an evil black mask with a text DEVIL written on it. 

She wanted to block him right away and tell Ramesh, but his snores from the bed reminded her how useless he'd be.

Her thumb hovered over the message, a strange heat curling in her belly. "A sin? My saree?" 

She'd felt the eyes of men, always watching, and pretended it didn't thrill her. But this... this was different. Bold, creepy and wrong.

She typed back, "Who are you? Stop this nonsense."

The reply came fast: "I’m someone who sees you, the real you. Not the fake wife act, but the woman underneath."

Madhuri's cheeks flushed, her reflection in the mirror wide-eyed, lips parted. "Nasty fellow," she hissed, slamming the phone down.

But her nipples slightly hardened under her nightie. She stood, pacing the room. Ramesh hadn't touched her in months, his limp excuses left her cold and this stranger's words slithered under her skin, waking something she'd buried.

The phone buzzed again. Against her better judgment, she looked. "You're too gorgeous to waste on that old man. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."

A photo followed, It was her, leaving the office, captured from behind. 

She gasped, dropping the phone like it burned. Someone was watching her. Stalking her. She should be scared. She was scared.

"Oh my God, who is this? Why are they doing this?" she whispered, clutching her chest. 

She deleted the message, blocked the account, and climbed onto bed, willing her body to calm and slowly drifted off to sleep. 

[Steel]

The next day, Madhuri woke up with shame warring in her chest.

Downstairs, Abhi shuffled into the kitchen, oblivious to her turmoil. "Maa, Ishaan asked for your paneer curry yesterday," he said shyly, avoiding her eyes.

Madhuri forced a smile, smoothing her hair. "Ishaan? Your friend? Sure sweetie, you go get ready." She'd met him once, tall, charming, too confident and built for a boy his age. His greetings lingered in her ears, his gaze too bold as she brushed it off. 

Across town, Ishaan smirked at his phone. She'd blocked him, It was cute as he'd expected it. He had ten more accounts ready, a dozen plans brewing. The game was on, and Madhuri didn't even know she'd already lost the opening move.

Abhi showered, packed his bags and stood in the kitchen, the faint aroma of garlic and ginger wafting from the stove as Madhuri stirred a pot of paneer curry. 

The morning light filtered through the window, catching the edges of her cream-colored nightie, outlining her curves in a way that made Abhi's throat tighten.

He didn't understand why he noticed her bare back, thick hips shifting as she moved, the way her hair fell off her hair bun as she tried to wipe off sweat on her forehead. 

She was his mom, his safe harbor, the one who once sang sweet lullabies to him. But Ishaan's words from yesterday gnawed at him like a splinter he couldn't pull out.

"Here, Abhi, ask your friend how it is," Madhuri said, her voice warm as she spooned the spicy curry into a steel container. 

She glanced at him, her brown eyes soft but sharp, catching his fidgeting hands. "What sweetie? You're so quiet today."

Abhi ducked his head, clutching the edge of the counter. "Nothing, maa. Just... tired" He hated lying to her, but how could he say it? Those taunts on his dad kept replaying in his head, making him see her differently.

Madhuri clicked her tongue, setting the spoon down. "Study properly, okay? No daydreaming with that boy," She ruffled his hair and Abhi's chest ached with a mix of comfort and guilt.

He nodded, forcing a smile, but his eyes lingered as she turned back to the stove. The nightie clung to her lower back, hinting at the swell of her ass, and he jerked his gaze away, heat crawling up his neck. He didn't know what was wrong with him.

[Steel]

At high college, Ishaan was waiting. He lounged against the corridor wall, shirt unbuttoned at the top, exuding a lazy confidence that made Abhi shrink.

"Got the goods?" Ishaan asked, smirking as Abhi handed over the container. He popped it open, inhaling deeply. "Fuck, smells like heaven."

Abhi shifted on his feet, uneasy. "Yeah... she made it for you." Ishaan's grin widened, a predator baring teeth. "That's sweet of her."

He scooped a spoonful of the curry into his mouth, tasting slowly, "Mmm… Damn! Your mom's a g0ddamn angel", eyes locked on Abhi. 

"You know what they say? A woman who cooks food this spicy yet delicious would often crave some real spice too."

Abhi's stomach twisted, a sick flutter he couldn't name. "She's not... like that," he mumbled, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Not like what?" Ishaan stepped closer, towering over him. "Not a woman? Come on, Abhi, don't be a fool. She's got needs, needs your dad's too old to handle."

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Ever heard her moaning at night?" Abhi's face burned, his fists clenching. "Shut up, Ishaan! That's disgusting!"

Ishaan laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Relax, bro, I'm messing with you. But seriously, keep an eye on her from now on. I want you to tell me what she’s wearing and what she does when I text you."

Abhi blinked, confused. "What? Why?" Ishaan's eyes darkened, a glint of something dangerous. "Cause I'm curious. And you owe me... After I saved your ass from that locker prank last week."

Abhi swallowed hard. He owed Ishaan nothing, yet the memory of Ishaan shoving him into a locker during the break, leaving him gasping in panic, only to free him moments before the girls from class could witness the humiliation, still burned. 

"Fine," he muttered, barely audible.

Ishaan smirked, satisfied. "That's my guy right there. I'll wait tonight, text me." 

With a mocking flourish, "Oh, and these are yours," he pressed the assignment papers against Abhi's chest and sauntered off, leaving Abhi clutching the empty container like a puppet dangling on a string.

[Steel]

That night, Abhi sat on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the door to his room. Down the hall, Madhuri's voice floated, soft, scolding Ramesh about bills. 

But Ishaan's message echoed louder. "Go watch her". Abhi's fingers hovered over his door knob, a traitor's tremble in them. 

He peeked out to see his mom and typed, "She's in her nightie, yelling at Dad." He hit send, heart pounding, and waited for the shadow to grow.

Madhuri leaned against the kitchen counter, a glass of water in her hand, the coolness grounding her after a pointless argument with her husband. 

"Ramesh, you don't know anything about spending smart," she snapped at him, frustrated by his latest splurge on a tacky watch he'd never wear.

Ramesh just grunted, retreating to the TV. She sighed, sipping the water, her nightie, soft and loose, brushed her thighs as she moved, a smooth contrast against the tight sarees and office pants she wore outside.

Ishaan's reply came fast: "Nightie huh.. What else?" Abhi's palms sweated, guilt clawing at him. But he couldn't stop.

Abhi peeked out again, phone clutched tight, his breath shallow.

He watched his mom stretch her arms, turning her back towards him, the fabric pulling tight over her breasts, her melons and ass outlined for a second.

His mouth went dry, noticing how the cloth hugged her curves, a shameful jolt shooting through him. She was beautiful, always had been, but now it felt different and wrong.

He closed the door, typing with fingers shaking, "Nothing, she looks tired." 

Ishaan's response buzzed back: "She's prolly pent-up with that greybeard. Now, go check her room, see if she’s got any secrets."

Abhi's heart thudded. "Secrets? Mom doesn't have any secrets," he whispered to himself. She was pure and perfect, the one who kissed his forehead when he came home crying after the locker prank last week. But Ishaan's words were like a worm, burrowing slowly, and Abhi couldn't unhear them.

Madhuri set the glass down, oblivious, and padded toward her bedroom. She paused at Abhi's door, knocking lightly. "Get to bed early, okay?" she called.

Abhi scrambled to hide his phone, cracking the door open. "Y-Yes, maa," he said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, warm and trusting, then disappeared to her bedroom.

He waited, counting the minutes, until the house settled into silence. Then, he slowly crept to the door of his parent's bedroom above. It was slightly open, the glow of her bedside lamp spilling out.

Madhuri sat on the bed, brushing her hair, her nightie slipping off one shoulder. Ramesh snored beside her. Abhi's breath hitched as she looked lonely and vulnerable. Her fingers lingered at her collarbone, tracing it absently, and for a moment, her eyes fluttered shut, lips parting in a faint sigh.

"Was this what Ishaan meant?" Abhi's mind spun, a mix of awe and dread.

He texted: "I can't enter the room Ishaan." 

Ishaan's reply: "Dude, come on. Even a jellyfish has more spine than you."

Abhi trembles and replies: "Man, but I can't.. Dad's asleep but she's awake brushing her hair. And.. she looks... sad? idk." 

Ishaan replied instantly: "Ah! That's a good sign. Means she's hungry for more. Keep watching. You're doing great."

"No, I'm heading to bed," Abhi replied and sank against the wall, phone trembling in his hand. He didn't want to be great at this, didn't want to see her as anything but his mother. But the crack had formed, small, irreversible, and Ishaan was prying it wide open.

Back in his room, Abhi curled under his blanket, the image of his mom's sigh burned into him. In her bedroom, Madhuri lay awake on the bed, staring at the ceiling, her body restless in a way she refused to name. Neither knew the other's turmoil, nor the shadow orchestrating it from afar.

[Steel]

The next day evening, Abhi sat cross-legged on the living room floor, a math textbook open in front of him, next to the assignment papers, but his eyes kept drifting. 

Madhuri bustled in the kitchen, her kurta swishing as she chopped onions for dinner while humming a tune from an old movie.

Ishaan's text from last night buzzed in his mind: "Keep watching, . You're doing great." Abhi's stomach churned every time he thought about it.

He'd crossed a line, spying on his mom, texting Ishaan like some creep. But the more he tried to shove it away, the more it stuck.

He glanced at her again, catching the way her dupatta slipped, revealing the curve of her neck. His breath hitched, and he dug his fingers into the textbook, tearing a corner of the page.

"Abhi, done with your assignment?" Madhuri called, not turning around, her knife slicing through the onions with rhythmic thwacks.

Abhi jolted, guilt flooding him. "Almost, maa," he lied, his voice cracking.

She laughed, a warm, easy sound, and shook her head. "Don't be late, your father will nag me if you fail again," She wiped her hands on a towel, turning to face him, and Abhi dropped his gaze fast, pretending to scribble an equation.

Her footsteps padded closer, and he felt her shadow fall over him. "What? So serious today?" she teased, crouching beside him. Her perfume, rose and something earthy, hit him, and he froze, hyper-aware of her closeness.

The tight leggings hugged her thighs, her bust pressing against the fabric as she leaned in to check his work. "This is wrong," she said, tapping the page. "Add here and multiply there. Focus!"

Abhi nodded mutely, but as she stood, brushing his hair back with a fond smile, his eyes betrayed him, flicking to the sway of her hips as she walked away. His dick twitched, faint but undeniable, and he slammed the book shut, horrified.

His phone vibrated under his leg, Ishaan. "What's she up to now?" Abhi's hands shook as he typed, each word a betrayal: "Nothing, She’s just cooking in the kitchen." He hit send, then stuffed the phone in his pocket, hating how it felt like a leash. Ishaan's reply came quick: "That’s boring. Dig deeper, bro. Find out the dirt."

Abhi squeezed his eyes shut, willing the words to vanish. "Dirt? There's no dirt. My mom is perfect," he told himself. But was she? Last night's sigh, the way she'd touched her collarbone, flashed in his mind. He'd never seen her like that before, unguarded, almost... needy.

He shook his head, trying to erase it, but Ishaan's voice was louder, a devil on his shoulder. Abhi grabbed his pencil, snapping it in half, the crack echoing in the quiet room. Madhuri glanced over, frowning. "What's that noise?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing," he mumbled, scrambling to his feet. "I'll finish in my room" He fled, heart pounding, leaving her puzzled.

[Steel]

The dining table was a battlefield of silence that night. Madhuri sat at one end, her dress swapped for a loose cotton pajama set.

Ramesh sat opposite, hunched over his plate, spooning dal into his mouth with mechanical grunts. The TV blared a news debate, a distraction none of them needed but all of them clung to. 

Abhi picked at his rice, his appetite gone, every clink of cutlery amplifying the noise in his head.

She broke the silence, "Ramesh, you're eating like a machine. Still thinking about that client, aren't you?"

Ramesh didn't look up, just shrugged. "Work is work honey," he muttered.

Madhuri rolled her eyes, setting her spoon down with a clatter. "You're always zoned out. Talk to me like I'm a human, okay?" 

Her tone softened at the end, a plea masked as frustration. But Ramesh only grunted again, reaching for more roti.

Abhi watched the exchange. He'd seen this before.  Usually, he'd feel bad for her, maybe crack a joke to make her smile. Tonight, he couldn't. 

She turned to him, catching his stare. "What's wrong sweetie? You're not eating." Her brown eyes searched his face, and he flinched, dropping his gaze to the plate.

"I'm fine, maa," he said, too quick, too hollow.

She frowned, reaching over to feel his forehead. "No fever... but you're off. Are you worried about anything?" Her hand lingered, warm and steady, and Abhi's throat closed up.

He wanted to tell her about Ishaan, the texts and everything, but the words wouldn't come. "Nothing, I'm just full," he lied, pushing his plate away.

Madhuri sighed, pulling her hand back. "Fine, go rest then. But tomorrow, you will eat properly."

Later, as Madhuri washed the dishes, Abhi lingered in the hallway. The sink water splashed, her pajama top riding up slightly, exposing a sliver of her lower back. He shouldn't look. But his eyes disobeyed, tracing the curve, and his breath stuttered. Ishaan's voice hissed in his ear, "Dig deeper."

Before he could stop himself, he texted: "Dad ignored her at the dinner and she's mad."

The reply was instant: "What else can you expect from that old fart? Be a good son and don't ignore her tonight. Check her room again, look for real shit this time."

Abhi's fingers tightened around the phone, a mix of dread and curiosity churning inside thinking, "Real shit? Like what?"

Madhuri turned off the tap, drying her hands, and caught him standing there. "Have some water before bed," she said, a tired smile tugging at her lips. 

Abhi nodded, mute, and watched her head to her room. The door clicked shut, and he waited, counting the seconds, the house settling into its nighttime hush. Then, like a thief, he crept closer to their bedroom, peeking through the door.

[Steel]

She was sitting on the bed, her back to him, untying her hair. Ramesh snored, oblivious, as always. Madhuri's shoulders slumped, and she rubbed her neck, a low groan escaping her. It wasn't a sound of pain, more like exhaustion, laced with something else. 

Abhi’s heart pounded, his mind yelling at him to turn away, but his feet wouldn’t move. She slid under the covers, turning off the bed lamp, and in a few minutes, he forced himself to step forward with trembling legs and crept into the room, terrified of making a sound.

The spacious bedroom was dim, moonlight spilling through a window. He glanced around, an empty table by the door, a wardrobe tucked in the corner, its doors slightly ajar.

Heart racing, Abhi tiptoed to the wardrobe and peered inside, careful not to disturb his mother’s neatly folded sarees and clothes. 

His eyes caught a bra dangling from a hook on the top-left rack. Flushing, he averted his gaze, moving to shut the wardrobe, but froze when he spotted a thin book tucked beneath a saree. 

A strange thrill hit him as he lifted the soft fabric, hesitating, then pulled the book free.

Stepping toward the window for light, he saw it was a Debonair magazine, its cover featuring a provocative image of a woman.

His pulse hammered with dread. Keeping one ear on Ramesh’s steady snores, Abhi opened the magazine, revealing a hazy image of a shirtless man embracing a partially nude woman, kissing her neck from behind in the editorial.

His breath caught, heart lurching, and he snapped the magazine shut, hastily slipping it back under the saree. He retreated to his room, shaken.

Grabbing his phone, Abhi texted Ishaan: "There's nothing in the room. Now, please stop messing with me."

Ishaan’s reply buzzed: "Stop? We’re just warming up kiddo. I'm sure your mom's hiding something. Don't worry, we'll find out soon... Together.”

Abhi threw the phone across the room, curling into a ball on his bed. Regret clawed at him for stepping into that room.

“Warming up for what?” he thought, dread coiling in his gut.

[Steel]

Late afternoon the next day, Abhi slouched on the couch, stared blankly at the TV while playing a random Netflix show, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying last night.

The front door clicked open, and Madhuri swept in, her office bag slung over her shoulder, wearing a cream sheath dress till her feet with a deep neckline and sleek heels clinging to her frame. 

She kicked off her heels with a tired huff, her hair slightly messy from the city humidity.

"No one's home yet?" she yelled, glancing around before spotting Abhi.

Her face softened into a smile. "Oh sweetie, you're here already? How was high college?"

Abhi straightened, brushing crumbs off his shirt. "It was fine, maa.." he said, quieter than usual.

Her eyes narrowed, catching the shift, but she didn't press. "Good. Are you hungry? I'll go make something quick for you."

She dropped her bag on the table and headed to the kitchen, her dress swishing with each step.

Abhi's gaze followed her, unwillingly, snagging instinctively on the way the fabric hugged her hips, spotting a faint outline of her bra strap through the dress. He clenched his jaw, as the memory of the bra from last night hanging free flickered in his mind. He forced his eyes back to the TV, but the damage was done.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fished it out with shaky hands. Ishaan: "Is she home yet? Keep me updated." Abhi's throat tightened.

He didn't want to answer, didn't want to play this game, but his fingers moved anyway, like they belonged to someone else. "Yeah. Just got back from work." He hit send, then shoved the phone under a cushion, as if hiding it could erase what he'd done.

Madhuri returned with a plate of upma, setting it beside him. "Eat, you look pale," she said, her voice laced with concern.

She sat across from him, fanning herself with a news magazine, the dress slipping slightly to reveal her collarbone. 

Abhi's eyes darted there, smooth, golden skin glistening with a sheen of sweat, before he caught himself, shoving a spoonful of upma into his mouth to cover the flush creeping up his neck.

She didn't notice, too busy flipping pages, but then the doorbell rang. Madhuri frowned, standing to answer it. 

A delivery guy stood by the door, "Mrs. Madhuri?" he asked, handing her a parcel.

"Yes, who sent this?" she asked, turning it over in her hands searching for the label. 

"No sender info, ma’am," The guy shrugged and left. Hesitantly, she opened it, revealing a single red rose and a folded note.

Her brow furrowed as she read it, lips parting slightly, then she stuffed it back in the wrapping, her cheeks tinged pink.

"What's that, mom?" Abhi asked.

Madhuri waved a hand, too quickly. "Nothing, just... office stuff, wrong delivery." She tossed the parcel into her bag and forced a smile and retreated to the kitchen.

[Steel]

The rose's scent lingered in the air as she retreated to the kitchen.

Abhi grabbed his phone and texted Ishaan: "She just got a parcel from some unknown sender. A rose with a note... and she hid it."

Ishaan's reply was swift: "What? I told you she has secrets. Steal that note, bro. Find out what she is hiding."

Abhi's stomach dropped thinking, "Steal from mom? No way." But the question burned, "Who sent it? Was it Ishaan? or someone else?"

Later, when Madhuri went to change, Abhi crept to her bag, guilt clawing at his chest. The parcel was there, crumpled but intact. He unfolded the note with trembling fingers.

"You're too beautiful to fade away, Madhuri. I see you"

No signature, just spiky handwriting that didn't match Ishaan's. 

His mind spun, "What! Is someone watching her? Or was this Ishaan's trick?" He stuffed it back, heart hammering, and texted about the note.

Ishaan's response was a single word: "Interesting." Abhi sank onto the couch, the rose's echo haunting him.

Ishaan sprawled across his bed that evening, shirtless, the ceiling fan whirring lazily above him. 

His room was a mess, cricket gear in one corner, a half-empty protein shake on the desk.

Ishaan grinned, scrolling through his burner account, DevilzMask, still blocked. 

His phone pinged from Abhi. "Isn't that you with the rose?"

Ishaan chuckled, low and dark, thinking, "The kid was smarter than he looked, but not smart enough." 

He typed back: "No Sherlock, someone's after her. You gonna let them beat me to it? Dig up more," He hit send.

Across town that night, Madhuri sat in her vanity, hid the rose in a locked drawer using a small key, which she attached to her bracelet to ensure the note remained secret from Ramesh. 

Her pajama top hung loose, but her hands fidgeted, smoothing her hair over and over. The note had shaken her, not just the words, but the violation.

Someone knew her, saw her, and it wasn't Ramesh's tired gaze. She'd almost told him, but his snoring had stopped her.

"What's the point? He'd call me dramatic, or worse, jealous that someone noticed me when he didn't," she sighed in disbelief.

"Whoever you are, please leave me," she whispered to the mirror, but her reflection stared back, lips trembling, eyes glinting with something she refused to name.

The rose wasn't office junk, it was personal, invasive, and it stirred a heat she'd buried under years of duty. She locked the drawer tighter, as if that could lock away the feeling, then climbed into bed beside Ramesh, her body restless against the sheets.

Abhi watched through the door's narrow slit. He didn't trust Ishaan, not fully, but the rose wasn't his style. "Who could it be?" 

He grabbed his phone, and typed: "Mom's asleep now, but she seemed frightened and hid the rose."

Ishaan's reply was instant: "Then we must act quickly. Sneak me a pic of her tomorrow, something hot."

Abhi's breath caught gasping "A picture? That's too far." He couldn't, but his mind flashed to Madhuri in her dress that afternoon, the sweat on her collarbone.

[Steel]

The next morning, Madhuri got ready to work. Abhi watched her pack her bag, the drawer key, tiny, dangling on her wrist like a secret. "Have a good day, maa," he said, voice small, and she nodded absently, already halfway out the door.

He waited until both of them were gone, then crept to her room, phone in hand. The drawer was locked, but her perfume lingered, and he snapped a few quick shots of her bedroom, vanity, lipstick, a comb, a hint of her life, before fleeing back to his room, heart pounding.

He sent it to Ishaan: "Her room and stuff. This is the best I could do."

Ishaan's reply came with a laughing emoji: "What is this dipshit? I asked her, not her fucking table. Try again tonight, or I'll come get it myself"

Abhi's stomach lurched. The thought of Ishaan in their house, smirking at his mom, made his skin crawl. He typed back, fingers clumsy: "No no, wait I'll try."

Abhi sat on his bed that evening, his room felt smaller, the walls pressing in, as if they knew what he's going to do. He dragged himself to the kitchen, where his mom stood, flipping dosas. 

She changed to a pale-green saree that shimmered under the bulb. Her hair was tied back, a few strands sticking to her neck from the heat, and Abhi's eyes lingered there, tracing the damp skin. She looked up, catching him mid-stare.

"What Abhi, standing there like a ghost? Sit," she said, sliding a dosa onto a plate. Her tone was brisk, but her smile was warm, and it twisted the knife in Abhi's gut deeper.

His phone burned a hole in his pocket. Abhi glanced at her again, watching her saree pallu slipping slightly, revealing the curve of her blouse.

His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he slid the phone out, angling it from the top covertly at her. His thumb hovered over the shutter, trembling.

"This is wrong, so wrong," he grumbles but the fear of Ishaan's wrath outweighed the shame.

*Click*

The sound was faint, masked by the sizzle of the pan, but Abhi's heart stopped.

He'd caught her mid-motion, serving a dosa to his plate, head tilted downward, lips parted, the saree framing her figure like a painting.

He quickly sat, switched the phone off, pulse racing, picking at the food and shoved a piece into his mouth to hide the panic. Madhuri didn't notice, adjusting her pallu back and humming as she flipped another, oblivious to the theft.

"Your friend Ishaan.. Did he like the curry?" she asked casually, wiping her hands on a towel.

Abhi choked, coughing into his fist. "Uh... yeah, maa. He loved it."

She nodded, pleased. "Good. Maybe I'll send more sometime. Looks like you finally made a good friend."

Abhi's throat tightened, "Good? If she only knew." He mumbled incoherently and bolted to his room as soon as he finished eating, locking the door behind him.

[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. 

[Steel]

The Sunday morning sun spilled into the living room. Abhi sat on the couch, knees pulled up, picking at a loose thread on his shorts as Madhuri vacuumed nearby in a simple kurta and comfortable palazzo pants.

Her hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders.

To Abhi, though, she glowed, her movements graceful even in the mundane. He hated how he noticed, hated how Ishaan's voice made him see it.

His phone buzzed against his thigh, Ishaan's latest: "Ask about the rose. She's hiding something, and you're gonna find it."

Abhi's stomach twisted, a sick knot of dread and defiance.

He didn't want to ask. But the photo he'd sent, the note he'd read, are chains now, binding him to Ishaan's game. He glanced at her, her humming barely audible over the vacuum, and swallowed hard.

"M-Mom," he started, voice cracking. She didn't hear, too focused on a stubborn spot under the coffee table.

He tried again, louder. "Mom!" She switched off the vacuum, turning to him with a raised brow.

"What is it, Abhi? You look like you've seen a ghost." Abhi faltered, the question sticking in his throat.

"Uh... that rose," he blurted, cheeks flaming. "The one from the other day. Was it... really from work?" Madhuri froze, just for a second, her hand tightening on the vacuum handle.

Then she laughed, "Oh, that? I told you, wrong delivery. Why're you asking now?" She turned back to the vacuum, switching it on again, but Abhi saw the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers fumbled with the cord.

He didn't push. Couldn't. Her lie hung between them, fragile but firm, and he let it stand, slumping deeper into the couch.

Madhuri finished vacuuming, brushing her hair back with a sigh. "Do you want to have some tea?" she asked, her voice softer now, like she sensed his unease.

Abhi shook his head, mumbling, "N-No, maa. I'm fine.."

She nodded, heading to the kitchen, but paused at the doorway, glancing back. "You're too quiet lately, sweetie. Tell me if something's wrong, okay?" Her smile was tender, and it cut him deeper than any of Ishaan's taunts.

He nodded, mute, and watched her go. The rose lingered in his mind, a red stain on her perfection, a question he hadn't dared to fully ask.

He texted with hands shaking: "I couldn't push her man. Sorry"

Ishaan's reply was a dagger: "I've seen stray dogs with more swagger than you dude, sorry's for losers. She is playing you. Get me something real tonight. No excuses." Abhi tossed the phone aside, curling into the couch.

Down the hall, Madhuri leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the drawer key on her wrist. Abhi's question had rattled her, too close, too sudden.

"Did he read the note? No, he wouldn't. He's my sweet boy, not some detective," she thought. But the rose burned in her thoughts. She gripped the counter, steadying herself, refusing to let it unravel her. Not yet.

Abhi sat at his desk, staring at the textbook he hadn't opened. Ishaan's words clawed at him, "She's playing you", and he hated how they made sense.

His mom had dodged his question too fast, her laugh felt too forced. 

He crept to the stairs, peering down. Madhuri was in the kitchen, stirring dal, her kurta loose but still hinting at her figure. 

She looked tired, her movements slower than usual, and Abhi's chest tightened. 

He wanted to hug her, tell her he was sorry, for what, he wasn't sure, but Ishaan's command loomed larger. "Get me something real."

"What did that even mean? Another photo?" His hands itched, torn between running to her and running from her.

The doorbell rang, snapping him out of it. Madhuri wiped her hands, opening the door. 

Mrs. Sharma, a nosy neighbour entered with a loud laugh.