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One of his hands slid up from her waist, his fingers tracing the curve of her breast, his thumb finding her nipple through the thin fabric of her kurti and teasing it into a hard, aching peak.
 
"I guess, your mom’s are bigger, right? But yours are too tempting… I need more from you, Neetu. I need to know I can count on you. Completely."
 
His touch was maddening, a perfect blend of possessiveness and pleasure that made her head spin.
 
She could feel the heat building between her legs, her body betraying her mind, responding to him with an eagerness that was both shameful and undeniable.
 
"What... what do you need?" she breathed, her eyes fluttering closed as he gently nipped at her earlobe.
 
"I need advice," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
 
"I need to know what she likes. What she dreams about. What makes a woman like her... happy."
 
His other hand slid down, cupping her ass and pulling her flush against him, letting her feel the hard, insistent ridge of his cock through his jeans.
 
"Help me, Neetu. Help me win her over, and I'll make sure you're rewarded. I'll give you anything you want."
 
His words were a dark, tempting promise.
 
He was asking her to betray her mother, to help him seduce the woman who had given her life, and he was framing it as a romantic quest, a noble endeavor.
 
And the worst part was, a part of her wanted to help him.
 
A part of her wanted to see him succeed, wanted to witness the culmination of his grand, seductive scheme.
 
"Rohan... we can't," she whispered, but her protest was weak, half-hearted.
 
Her hands, which had been pressed against his chest in a gesture of resistance, were now clutching his shirt, pulling him closer.

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Rohan can see an inviting look in her eyes.
 
He knew she is going to what he wants.
 
"We can," he growled, his mouth finally finding hers.
 
The kiss was deep and demanding, a possessive claim that left no room for argument.
 
He kissed her like he owned her, and in that moment, she felt like he did.
 
He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing ragged.
 
"Don’t worry, Anjali is talking to your mom. She will keep your mom busy until we go. Now, tell me what to do. Tell me how to make her fall for me."
 
As he spoke, his hand slid from her breast down to the hem of her kurti, slipping underneath it to find the warm, soft skin of her stomach.
 
His fingers danced along the waistband of her jeans, teasing, promising.
 
He was tempting her, bribing her with pleasure, using her own body against her.
 
And it was working.
 
"She... she likes poetry," Neetu gasped, her mind racing, her body on fire.
 
"Old romantic poetry. Ghalib, Faiz. And... she loves gardens. She always wanted a big garden with lots of roses."
 
Rohan smiled against her skin, a slow, triumphant smile.
 
"Roses," he murmured.
 
"I can do roses." His fingers dipped lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans and the soft cotton of her panties, finding the slick, swollen folds of her pussy.
 
"Anything else? What does she like to do for fun? What makes her feel... alive?"
 
Neetu's knees buckled as his fingers found her clit, circling it with a slow, maddening pressure.
 
"She... she likes to dance," she managed to choke out, her voice a desperate, breathless whisper.
 
"She used to take Kathak classes. She hasn't danced in years, but... she misses it."
 
"Perfect," Rohan growled, his voice thick with lust and victory.
 
He was getting everything he wanted.
 
He was mapping out his conquest, using his newest lover as his unwilling, yet eager, informant.

[prasannas2001]

 
He slid one long finger inside her, then another, his thumb continuing its relentless assault on her clit.
 
"You're being so good, Neetu. So helpful. You're going to make this happen, aren't you?"
 
"Yes," she moaned, her head falling back against the wall, her hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more.
 
"Yes... I'll help you."
 
He rewarded her with another searing kiss, his fingers pumping in and out of her, his touch a masterful, expert dance that pushed her closer and closer to the edge.
 
He was claiming her mouth and her body, and with every stroke, every touch, he was also claiming her loyalty, bending her to his will.
 
"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a dark, seductive purr.
 
"Now, cum for me. Right here. Right now. Show me how much you want to help me."
 
The command was all it took.
 
With a sharp, strangled cry that she muffled against his shoulder, Neetu's world exploded.
 
Her body convulsed, her pussy clenching around his fingers in a series of powerful, rhythmic spasms as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over her.
 
He held her through it, his body a solid anchor in the storm of her orgasm, his mouth whispering dark, triumphant praises in her ear.
 
As she came back to earth, panting and trembling, he slowly withdrew his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his lips and licking them clean, his eyes burning into hers.
 
"Delicious," he murmured.
 
"As always."
 
He straightened her clothes, a small, satisfied smirk on his face.
 
"Now, go back out there. Act normal. And think about what you're going to tell me next time. About your beautiful, lonely mother."
 
He gave her one last, possessive kiss on the forehead and then walked away, leaving her leaning against the wall, her body humming with pleasure and her heart heavy with the weight of her betrayal.
 
She had just given him the keys to her mother's heart, and she had done it for a few moments of pleasure and a few honeyed words from a boy who saw her as nothing more than a stepping stone on his path to a far greater prize.
 
The rest of the time in their house passed pleasantly, with the conversation flowing naturally and laughter filling the room.
 
Rohan remained lively and engaged throughout, effortlessly steering discussions with his wit, thoughtful observations, and quiet confidence.
 
Every chance he got, he found a way to draw Mamta into the conversation, hoping to leave a lasting impression without making his intentions too obvious.
 
Judging by the interest she showed and the genuine appreciation in her responses, his efforts had not gone unnoticed.
 
By the end of the night, he could allow himself a small, satisfied smile.
 
He had set out with a simple goal, to catch Mamta's attention and earn her admiration and by all appearances, he had succeeded.
 
 
 

[prasannas2001]

Cute

Thank you 

[prasannas2001]

Lovely 

Thank you so much

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Nice update bro, waiting for next update

Those want to do Roleplay and hot chat message me on telegram @riyabhan

Thank you so much

[prasannas2001]

Rohan, Mamta and neetu at the dinner. 

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Awesome 

Thank you

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Excellent narration

Thank you so much 

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Niice picture

Thank you so much 

[prasannas2001]

Very nice interesting story. One request, please try to share a bit bigger updates, if possible with pics.

Thank you so much. Sorry this weekend little bit busy, that's why small update. But usually I give long updates.

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Rohan should impregnate mamta and give a sibling to Neetu

Thank you for your suggestion.

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Nice start

Thank you so much.

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I will try to post more story bits as a continuation of the current update soon. Please stay tuned 

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The days that followed the dinner carried an unusual, almost dreamlike quality for Rohan. Every moment seemed to exist between two worlds, the guilt of knowing he was stepping into dangerous territory, and the excitement of discovering something he had never expected to feel.
 
There was a thrill in the secrecy, in the careful planning, in every small piece of information that brought him closer to Mamta.
 
True to her reluctant promise, Neetu became his unwilling source of information.
 
She never openly encouraged him, and every time she spoke about her mother, there was a hint of discomfort in her voice. But she continued.
 
Their conversations would begin innocently.
 
“Mummy spent the whole afternoon reading her old poetry books today,” Neetu mentioned one evening. “Those books are probably older than me. She gets this strange smile when she reads them… like she is remembering some other life.”
 
Rohan listened carefully, absorbing every word.
 
“Was she happy?” he asked.
 
Neetu paused. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe a little sad too.”
 
Another day, she said, “The gardener came today. Mummy spent almost an hour discussing roses with him. She knows every variety by name. It’s funny… she gets so excited talking about flowers.”
 
For Rohan, those details became precious. They were not just pieces of information, they were glimpses into Mamta’s world.
 
A woman who was not just Neetu’s mother, not just someone he had admired from a distance, but someone with her own dreams, passions, and quiet moments.
 
Anjali, meanwhile, had become his enthusiastic partner in this impossible mission.
 
“So let me understand this,” she said one evening, walking around his room with her arms folded. “Your strategy is to become a flower expert because a beautiful woman likes roses?”
 
Rohan smiled. “Not become an expert. Just understand her interests.”

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Anjali raised an eyebrow.
 
“Rohan, you are studying engineering. Yesterday you didn’t know the difference between a rose and a hibiscus.”
 
“That’s why I need help.”
 
She laughed. “You are unbelievable.”
 
Then she became thoughtful.
 
“But if you want a natural meeting, it has to happen somewhere she feels comfortable. Somewhere she is herself.”
 
“Like where?”
 
“Poetry? Too obvious. A bookstore maybe.”
 
Rohan shook his head.
 
“No. A nursery.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because that’s where she won’t be pretending. She’ll be in her own world.”
 
Anjali studied him for a moment and smiled.
 
“You have actually thought about this.”
 
Rohan looked away.
 
“Maybe.”
 
“Fine,” she said, laughing. “The great Rohan’s mission begins.”
 
A few days later, the message came.
 
“Mummy is going to Green Haven nursery tomorrow morning around eleven. She wants to buy fertilizer and some new plants.”
 
Rohan read the message twice.
 
The plan was set.
 
 
 
***
 
 
The next morning, Rohan and Anjali reached the nursery twenty minutes early.
 
Green Haven was a beautiful chaos of colors and fragrances. Rows of flowering plants stretched across the large outdoor space, while inside the greenhouse, sunlight filtered through glass panels, falling softly over leaves and petals.
 
Rohan walked through the aisles pretending to examine plants, but his attention was somewhere else.
 
His heart beat faster with every passing minute.
 
Then he saw her.
 
For a moment, everything else seemed to fade.
 
Mamta stood near a collection of rose bushes, carefully examining the small labels attached to each plant.
 
She was dressed simply, yet there was an effortless elegance about her.
 
Her white summer dress moved gently with the breeze, highlighting her graceful posture and the natural confidence with which she carried herself.
 
She did not look like someone who had come merely to buy plants.
 
She looked like she belonged there.
 
The sunlight touched her hair, creating a soft glow around her.

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Mamta’s expression was focused and peaceful as she leaned closer to inspect a rose, her fingers gently brushing against the leaves without disturbing them.
 
There was something captivating about the way she treated the flowers, with patience, affection, and almost a motherly tenderness.
 
Rohan understood then why Neetu had described this place as her mother’s world.
 
“Wow,” Anjali whispered beside him.
 
Rohan looked at her.
 
“What?”
 
“She really does love roses.”
 
He smiled faintly.
 
“No. She loves life.”
 
Anjali looked at him suspiciously.
 
“Careful. You’re already talking like a poet.”
 
She gave him a small push.
 
“Go.”
 
Rohan took a deep breath, adjusted his shirt, and walked toward Mamta.
 
“Aunty? Mamta Aunty?”
 
Mamta turned.
 
For a second, surprise crossed her face.
 
Then it transformed into a warm smile.
 
“Rohan?”
 
Her smile was genuine, and somehow that made him even more nervous.
 
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were an engineering student, not someone who spends weekends among flowers.”
 
He laughed.
 
“Definitely not a botanist, Aunty. Actually, I’m here because of my mother.”
 
“Your mother?”
 
“Yes. Her birthday is next week. She loves gardening, and I thought I would surprise her with a rose plant.”
 
Mamta’s eyes immediately softened.
 
“That is actually very thoughtful.”
 
He smiled.
 
“The problem is… I have no idea what I’m doing.”
 
She laughed softly.
 
The sound was gentle and unexpectedly charming.
 
“I don’t believe that.”
 
“It’s true. I came here looking confident, but inside I’m completely lost.”
 
Mamta shook her head, amused.
 
“Young people today are so confident about everything. At least you are honest enough to admit when you don’t know something.”
 
Rohan smiled.
 
“So you’re saying I get some points for honesty?”
 
“Maybe one or two.”
 
He laughed.
 
The conversation began naturally.
 
“What kind of garden does your mother have?” Mamta asked.
 
“Small one. Mostly plants in pots.”
 
“Then don’t choose something that requires too much space. Some roses need room to grow.”

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Mamta with Rohan in the nursery.

[prasannas2001]

 
Mamta moved toward another section, and he followed.
 
“What about this one?”
 
“Beautiful,” she said. “But not ideal for a beginner.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because beauty often comes with responsibility.”
 
She looked at the flower while saying it, but for a brief second, Rohan wondered if she was talking about something beyond roses.
 
He smiled.
 
“You make flowers sound complicated.”
 
“They are.”
 
“More complicated than people?”
 
Mamta looked at him and laughed.
 
“Definitely not.”
 
The conversation continued effortlessly.
 
She explained the differences between hybrid teas and floribundas, between fragrance and appearance, between plants that needed attention and those that could survive independently.
 
Rohan listened with genuine interest.
 
Not because he cared about roses.
 
Because he cared about listening to her.
 
Every time he asked a question, her face brightened.
 
There was a youthful excitement in her expressions when she spoke about something she loved.
 
The seriousness disappeared, replaced by a warmth that made her look even more beautiful.
 
“You really enjoy this, don’t you?” he asked.
 
Mamta looked down at the rose in her hand.
 
“Yes.”
 
“Why?”
 
She smiled softly.
 
“Plants don’t ask for much. They just need care. A little patience. A little attention. And if you give them that, they quietly reward you.”
 
Rohan watched her.
 
“That sounds like good advice for people too.”
 
She looked at him, slightly surprised.
 
Then she smiled.
 
“You notice too much, Rohan.”
 
“Is that a bad thing?”
 
“No.”
 
A faint blush appeared on her cheeks, and she quickly turned her attention back to the flowers.
 
“But sometimes noticing too much makes life complicated.”
 
Rohan smiled but did not push further.
 
After twenty minutes, they finally selected a beautiful pink rose bush.
 
“This one,” Mamta said. “Your mother will love it.”
 
“Because it’s beautiful?”
 
“Because it’s fragrant. Beauty attracts attention, but fragrance creates memories.”
 
Rohan looked at the rose.
 
“I think you have a quote for everything.”

[prasannas2001]

 
She laughed.
 
“Maybe I just read too much poetry.”
 
“Neetu told me.”
 
Mamta looked at him.
 
“She did?”
 
“Yes. She said you spend hours with old poetry books.”
 
A surprised smile appeared on her face.
 
“She told you that?”
 
“Yes.”
 
Mamta shook her head.
 
“That girl talks too much.”
 
“But she talks about you with a lot of affection.”
 
For a moment, Mamta became quiet.
 
The simple statement touched something inside her.
 
“That’s nice to hear.”
 
Rohan noticed the softness in her expression.
 
He wanted to remember that moment.
 
 
 
***
 
 
 
When they reached the checkout area, Rohan noticed the heavy bags and large pots in her trolley.
 
“Let me help you.”
 
“Oh no, Rohan. It’s okay.”
 
“It’s not okay. You’ll end up carrying all this yourself.”
 
“I manage.”
 
“I know you do.”
 
He smiled.
 
“But that doesn’t mean you always have to.”
 
The words surprised her.
 
For a moment, she simply looked at him.
 
Then she smiled gently.
 
“Fine. Thank you.”
 
He carried the plants easily, and she watched him with quiet amusement.
 
“You make it look effortless.”
 
“I’m an engineering student. We are trained for impossible problems.”
 
She laughed.
 
“Is carrying flower pots an engineering problem?”
 
“Today it is.”
 
She shook her head, smiling.
 
The drive home was even more comfortable than Rohan had imagined.
 
The conversation moved away from flowers.
 
He told her funny stories about his college projects, the disasters, the arguments, and the moments when everything went completely wrong.
 
Mamta listened with a growing smile, clearly enjoying his animated storytelling.
 
“You mean your entire team spent three weeks building something that didn’t work?” she asked, trying not to laugh.
 
Rohan nodded with a serious expression.
 
“Yes. Three weeks of late nights, endless debates, and complete confidence that we had created something revolutionary.”
 
“And then?”
 
He sighed dramatically.
 
“We discovered one wire was connected incorrectly.”
 
For a second, Mamta tried to maintain her composure.
 
Then she laughed.