Adultery My Mom & Aswath

[KarthikChennai]

It all started with Aswath, the friend who was everything Karthi was not: tall, masculine, and a self-proclaimed playboy. Karthi’s father was away in Dubai, a vast distance that left a gaping hole in their small family life. Aswath had quickly filled a space Karthi never knew was empty—the space around his mother, Sujata.
Sujata was a beautiful woman, forty-two but with the grace of a woman a decade younger. Karthi had felt a surge of foolish, wounded pride when Aswath challenged him, calling his mother a "bitch in heat." That one phrase had been a poisonous barb, sharp enough to cut through Karthi’s common sense. He invited Aswath over.
The introduction was deceptively normal, a quick exchange of polite words and, ominously, numbers. Karthi thought he’d won, proving Aswath wrong.
Then came the pictures.
A cinema selfie, Sujata and Aswath, cheek-to-cheek. Karthi's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He called his mom. A movie with a friend. She hadn’t mentioned Aswath. The plausible lie felt like a punch.
A week later, a water park. Another selfie, his mother in a wet tank top, Aswath bare-chested, his arm dbangd possessively around her shoulder. The camera angle was cruel, or perhaps intentional, giving a clear, unforgiving view of her chest. She doesn't know Aswath is sharing these with me, Karthi told himself, a fragile shield against the truth he refused to face. He was worried. And helpless.
The third incident was the one that shattered the illusion of control. A selfie from their own home, cheek-to-cheek, lips puckered in a mock kiss. Karthi started rushing home. On the way, the fourth picture: his mother’s bare back, Aswath’s hands unhooking her bra.
Then, the text: "Don't disturb us. If you wanna watch, come through back door and watch thru balcony window."
Karthi obeyed. He felt an agonizing blend of revulsion and compelled curiosity. He crept up to the balcony window.
Through the glass, the scene was raw and brutal. Sujata, completely naked, was pressed against the wall, her legs over Aswath’s broad shoulders. Aswath was ramming her like a maniac. Her moans were loud, raw, animalistic. Karthi, standing in the shadow of the balcony, was instantly aroused.
Aswath looked up, met Karthi's eye through the window, and smiled—a triumphant, mocking grin. Karthi’s mother, facing Aswath, couldn't see her son watching. Five minutes later, Aswath pulled out, his seed spraying across her heaving, beautiful breasts. Karthi, overwhelmed, ejaculated silently in the shadows. He tiptoed away, rode his bike out, and the cycle of shame and addiction was sealed.