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Chapter 6 – Naughty but Silent Games
Sameer’s voice trembled in the heavy silence of the room. "But it wasn't like that. It was just a kiss… Your mom, alone, struggling with financial problems after your dad's and elder brother's deaths. Come on, Harsh, I had helped her with all the paperwork and spent most of the time with her while you and your brother were out pleasing yourselves.” (Lekin waisa nahi tha. Yeh, bas ek kiss thi... Tumhari mom, akeli, paison ke problems mein phasi hai tumhare dad aur bade bhai ki death ke baad. Chalo Harsh, maine usse saare papers mein help ki thi aur zyada waqt uske saath bitaya jab tum aur tumhara bhai enjoy kar rahe the.)
"I know you helped her after my elder brother and Dad's death. But you were my best friend!" He laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "My brother... fucking my sister... and my best friend... kissing my mom?" (Mujhe pata hai tumne use meri badi bhabhi aur Dad ki death ke baad help ki. Lekin tum mere best friend the! Mera bhai... meri behen ko chod raha hai... aur mera best friend... meri mom ko kiss kar raha hai?)
Sameer looked down, his hands clenching and unclenching as if he could still feel the heat of that memory. "Your mom... she was so alone. Your dad and elder brother were gone, and you and your brother, Ajay, were always out, chasing girls and drinking. I was there, helping her with the loan and financially. I helped her and sat with her when the house was quiet.” (Tumhari mom... woh itni akeli thi. Tumhare dad aur bada bhai gaye the, aur tum aur tumhara bhai, Ajay, hamesha bahar the, ladkiyon aur drink ke peeche. Main waha tha, us loan mein, aur financially help kar raha tha. Main use help kiya, uske saath baitha jab ghar chup tha.)
Harsh turned to Sonakshi, his eyes wild with a sudden, terrifying clarity. "Do you see it, Sonakshi? Do you see the pattern? We’re not a family. We’re a fucking circus." He then turned back to Sameer, “And what about my widow Bhabhi, my elder brother’s wife, Manisha? Did you fuck her?” (Kya tumhe dikha raha hai, Sonakshi? Kya tumhe pattern dikh raha hai? Hum khandan nahi hain. Hum ek fucking circus hain.) (Aur meri vidhwa Bhabhi, mere bade bhai ki patni, Manisha kaisi hai? Kya tumne use choda?)
"I never talk to her. Just your mom! But it wasn't like that, Harsh," Sameer rushed out, his face pale. "It wasn't... sex. It was just a moment... a terrible, weak moment. One day, after a young girl I had a crush on had brutally rejected me, I was feeling low. She was comforting me, and I just... did it. I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. It was a soft, quick kiss, born of loneliness and desperation on both parts. She had pulled away, shocked, but hadn't been angry. Just... sad.” (Main usse kabhi baat nahi karta. Sirf tumhari mom! Lekin waisa nahi tha, Harsh.) (Yeh... sex nahi tha. Yeh bas ek moment tha... ek kharab, kamzor moment. Ek din, ke baad jab ek young ladki jisse mujhe crush tha, ne mujhe brutally reject kiya, main low feel kar raha tha. Woh mujhe comfort kar rahi thi, aur maine... bas kar diya. Main jhuk kar uske lips ko kiss kiya. Yeh ek soft, quick kiss thi, dono taraf se loneliness aur desperation ki wajah se. Woh peeche hat gayi, shocked, par gussay mein nahi thi. Bas... sad.)
Harsh’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.
They all sat in silence, the weight of the confessions pressing down on them. Sonakshi knew the volatile mix of anger and possessiveness that churned within Harsh. She looked him straight in the eye. "Promise me, Harsh," she said, her voice firm. "Promise me you won't retaliate against Sameer. Not against your own mother also." (Mujhe promise kar, Harsh.) (Mujhe promise karo tum Sameer ke khilaf badla nahi lenge. Apni khud ki mom ke khilaf bhi nahi.)
Harsh didn’t explode. He didn’t shout. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate swig of whiskey, his eyes never leaving Sameer’s face. He saw the genuine fear in his friend's eyes. "I know you were always there to help her. It’s probably my fault, okay," he finally said, his voice low. "I won't go after my mom. Does anyone else know that? I mean Anjali or Manisha Bhabhi?” (Mujhe pata hai tum hamesha use help karne ke liye waha the. Yeh, shayad mera fault hai, theek hai.) (Main apni mom ke peeche nahi jaunga. Kya aur kisi ko pata hai? Main matlab Anjali ya Manisha Bhabhi?)
Sameer looked down, his face burning. "No, Harsh, we were alone… I’m sorry, Harsh! I didn't mean to... It just happened.” (Nahi Harsh, hum akeley the... Mujhe maaf kar do, Harsh! Mera matlab nahi tha... Yeh, bas ho gaya.)
He laughed, a dry, humorless sound that sent a shiver down Sonakshi’s spine. "You really are a piece of work, Sameer. My dad and elder brother die, she’s vulnerable, and you... you comfort her." A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. "But I will retaliate against Anjali. Her slap! And for that... I need to blow off some steam," Harsh finished, his voice dropping to a low, lecherous growl. "Since we’re sharing all our dirty secrets tonight, I think we need some 'practical act of sharing.” (Tum sach mein kaam ke insaan ho, Sameer. Mere dad aur bade bhai ki death, woh vulnerable hai, aur tum... tum use comfort karte ho.) (Lekin main Anjali se badla lunga. Uska slap! Aur uske liye... mujhe steam nikalni hai.) (Kyunki aaj hum apne saare gande secrets share kar rahe hain, mujhe lagta hai humein kuch 'practical act of sharing' chahiye.)
“Practical sharing?” Sonakshi repeated in a fearful manner, and she left Harsh’s hand while seeing him gouging his boner over his pants. ('Practical sharing?')
As she asked so, Harsh's eyes flicked from Sonakshi to Sameer. "Sameer," he said, his voice a low, suggestive drawl. "I was going to beat the shit out of you for touching my mom. You know what, Sonakshi! My best friend, here, likes 'comforting' lonely, older women with soft kisses. But I think he never knew what the young ones are for. And you... are also lonely tonight!" He licked his lips, his eyes crawling over her body. "You are the perfect one to give him a taste of what young girls always denied him. (Sameer, main tumhe meri mom ko chune ke liye pitne wala tha. Tum kya sochti ho, Sonakshi? Mera yeh best friend 'akeli, budhi auraton ko soft kisses se comfort' karna pasand karta hai. Lekin mujhe lagta hai use kabhi pata nahi tha "young ones" ka matlab kya hai. Aur tum... aaj bhi akeli ho!) (Tum uske liye perfect ho usse ye dikhane ke liye ki usse young ladkiyon ne hamesha kya nahi diya.)
"Harsh, stop it, Rascal," Sonakshi said, though her voice lacked conviction. She knew that tone. He was shifting from angry brother to cruel lover. (Harsh, ruk jaa, Badmash!)
"Stop it? Why?" (Ruk kyun? Kyun?) Harsh swayed slightly, the alcohol hitting his system. “Come on, just give him the chance. He just got to console old ladies; I think it's only fair he sees what a 'happy, horny sister' looks like, don't you?" (Arey, usse ek chance toh do. Use toh bas purani auraton ko santarna mila, maine socha yeh fair hai ki woh dekhe 'ek khush, horny behen' kaisi dikhti hai, nahi?)
“She’s not my sister,” Sameer chimed in. (“Yeh meri behan nahi hai.”)
“Then what? Your naughty neighbor-ji or bhabhi-ji? Either way, she’s damn hot and wet tonight,” Harsh retorted to him. (“Toh kya? Tumhari naughty neighbor-ji ya bhabhi-ji? Kaise bhi, woh aaj damn hot aur wet hai.”)
Sonakshi knew they were both staring at her. She moved away, her movements slow and deliberate. She put the half-empty can of beer down with a soft thud. Then, she started to run around the room, pretending to feel shy, knowing pretty well their eyes were glued to her. Her ass, encased in the tight blue leggings, giggled with every step she took, a mesmerizing, heart-shaped spectacle.
Sonakshi felt a thrill, sharp and electric, shoot through her. Sameer didn't move. He looked paralyzed. The sudden change in Harsh’s mood puzzles him.
"That's great! Yes, Didi, show him the ass he’s been staring at! Look at that ass, Sameer, bro," Harsh murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Mommies have saggy ones. But look at this. Fresh. Tight. And hers is like a ripe little peach." (Ye bohat badhiya! Haan didi, use wo gand dikhao jise woh taak raha tha. Is gand ko dekho, Sameer Bhai. Mommies ka jhulta hota hai. Lekin isko dekho. Fresh. Tight. Aur yeh ek ripe choti peach ki tarah hai.)
She turned around, giggling her back to them.
"So firm," Sameer added, his voice a hoarse whisper, his earlier shyness burned away by the daring tease of her and the promise in Harsh's words. "I bet it would fit perfectly in my hands." (Itni firm.) "(Main shart lagaata hoon yeh mere haathon mein perfectly fit hogi.)
"Sameer!" Harsh barked. "Get over here and cop a feel. Don't make me drag you." (Sameer!)" (Idhar aao aur haath lagaao. Mujhe tumhe pakad ke laane na pade.)
Swallowing hard, Sameer walked over slowly, his eyes locked on Sonakshi’s swaying hips.
"Come on," Harsh urged, "let's grab it. Compare it to my mom’s. I promise you, this one doesn't smell like sadness like old ladies." (Chalo,) "(Chalo ise pakadte hain. Isse meri mom ke saath compare karo. Main promise karta hoon; isme sadness ki smell nahi hai.)
The pretense didn't last. With a shared, animalistic look, they both started running towards her. Sonakshi let out a small, panicked gasp, her playful demeanor evaporating. She froze in the middle of the room, a deer caught between two predators.
Sameer reached her first, giving it a sharp, stinging slap through the tight blue leggings. Smack!
Sonakshi gasped, jerking forward.
“Don't be a baby," Harsh teased. "Squeeze it. Hard."
His large hands grabbing her ass cheeks from behind over her leggings. He squeezed, the flesh yielding and warm under his palm, the thin fabric doing little to dull the sensation. "Oh Bhabhi, it's so soft," (Arre Bhabhi, kitni soft hai,) he groaned, his voice thick with awe.
In the same instant, Harsh was in front of her. His hand shot out, his fingers pressing directly against her pussy mound, the shape of it perfectly defined by the tight leggings. He started stroking it, a slow, possessive rhythm that made her knees feel weak. "This is already wet, Sonakshi. You're getting hot” (Yeh toh bheeg chuki hai, Sonakshi. Tum garam ho rahi ho,) he growled, his eyes dark with lust.
Sonakshi closed her eyes, shame burning her cheeks, but her body betrayed her. She felt her pussy throb at the humiliation of being compared to Harsh’s mother, of being passed between them like a toy, and she was loving it. Sameer's hard body pressed against her back, his hands kneading her ass, and Harsh in front, his fingers tormenting her throbbing clit through the damp fabric.
Panic warred with a wave of intense, undeniable excitement. Her heart hammered against her ribs when she felt their naughty hands replaced by their hard cocks pressing against her, one from the front and one from the back.
"Harsh... Sameer... what are you doing?” she breathed, her voice a trembling whisper, trying to act decent though she wanted to be their slut for the whole night. (Harsh... Sameer... tum kya kar rahe ho?)
"What does it look like, Didi? We're enjoying you.” (Kya lagta hai, Didi? Hum tumhe enjoy kar rahe hain,) Harsh said, his dick pressing harder, rubbing her clit, forming a wet camel toe over her leggings. "Sameer, rub it well. Enjoy her ass from behind.” (Sameer, isko aur khoob dabao. Peeche se iska pura maza lo.)
Sameer didn't wait this time. The shame was gone, replaced by a dark, overwhelming curiosity and lust. His erect dick becoming more adventurous, he dipped his fat boner into the cleft of her ass, stroking up and down while his fingers traced the line of her panty. "Yes, Harsh, this ass is heaven." (Haan, Harsh bhai. (Yeh gand toh swarg hai.)
The dual assault was overwhelming. Her head fell back against Sameer's shoulder, a soft moan escaping her lips. The feeling of being possessed by both of them, of being the center of their raw desire, was intoxicating. She could feel the seam of her leggings digging into her sensitive folds, every touch amplified by the thin, wet fabric.
"Ahhh! Harsh! Sameer! Please..." she whimpered, though she wasn't sure if she was asking them to stop or to continue.
"Please what, Sonakshi Didi? (Please, kya, Sonakshi Didi?)" Harsh taunted, his voice a low rumble. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "Please pull off your leggings or along with your panty? Please, fuck you? Say it. What do you want? (Please, tumhari panty utaaru? Please, tumko chodu? Bolo, kya chaahiye?)”
Sameer leaned in from behind, his hot breath on her neck. "Yes, Bhabhi, say it. We'll do anything for you. We'll tear these clothes off if you just ask." (Haan Bhabhi, bolo na. Hum tumhare liye kuch bhi karenge.)
“Just pull them off... please..." She gasped, her voice thick with desire. She reached down, her own hands hooking into the waistband of her leggings, ready to help them, ready to bare herself to them completely. She was done playing games. "I can't wait anymore... just ruin me, and make me pregnant both of you..." She needed them now. (Unhe bas utaar do... please...) "(Main aur wait nahi kar sakti... bas mujhe barbaad kar do, mujhe dono se pregnant kar do...)"
Ding-dong.
The sharp, shrill sound of the doorbell cut through the air like a knife.
***
Sonakshi froze, her hands still clutching her leggings around her knees. She quickly lifted it, covering her exposed panty. Harsh cursed violently, the sound like a gunshot in the sudden silence.
"Who the fuck is that?" Harsh snarled, his chest heaving. The mood was shattered, leaving them all in a state of agonizing suspension. (Bhainsadike kaun hai?)
"Don't... don't move." Sonakshi whispered, terrified of being found like this. (Mat... mat hilao,)
"Shit," Harsh breathed, his voice a choked whisper. He looked at Sonakshi, his eyes wild. "Is it him? Is your husband back tonight?" (Kya yeh woh hai? Kya tumhara husband aaj wapas aa gaya?)
A genuine, gut-wrenching fear washed over Sonakshi's face. She looked at Sameer, who was already taking a hesitant step towards the door, a foolish, ingrained politeness overriding his terror. "Idiot, where are you going?" she hissed at him. (Bewakoof, kahan ja rahe ho?)
He turned back to the living room, looking at a terrified Harsh and a half-naked Sonakshi.
"Opening the door," he stammered back, confused. (Darwaza khol raha hoon,)
"Are you a fool?" She whispered fiercely, her voice a venomous rush of words. "Look at the state I'm in! Look at my blouse!" She pointed at the large, dark wet spot over her nipple, a damning circle of saliva. "It's a clear sign! You can't open the door like this! Let me first get in the room! Harsh, handle it." (Kya tum pagal ho?) (Mere haalat ko dekho! Meri blouse ko dekho!) (Yeh ek clear sign hai! Tum aise darwaza nahi khol sakte! Pehle mujhe kamre mein jaane do! Harsh, ise sambhalo.)
"You better go inside and put on a decent dress, Sonakshi," Harsh whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed laughter and dark anticipation. “Open it now, Sameer.” (Tum behtar hai andar jaao aur ek decent dress pehen lo, Sonakshi,) (Ab ise kholo, Sameer.)
He unlocked the deadbolt with a loud click.
Sameer opened the door a crack, trying to look as normal as possible. "Mom?" (Mom?)
Madhvi stood there, a knowing little smile on her face. "I knew you all weren't out," she said, her voice calm. (Mujhe pata tha tum sab bahar nahi gaye,)
Harsh, listening, "But how, Mommy-ji?" he said teasingly. (Lekin kaise, Mommy-ji?)
Madhvi's eyes flicked past Sameer towards the living room, where Harsh was standing. "Beta-ji, the lights in the house were on, and I could see your shadows moving around the living room from my window. It didn't look like three people who had gone out for dinner." (Beta-ji, ghar ki lights on thi, aur mujhe apni khidki se tumhari living room mein ghumti huyi saayen dikhi. Yeh teen logon jinka dinner ke liye bahar gaya tha, waisa nahi lag raha tha.)
Just then, Sonakshi emerged from the bedroom, having made a quick change. She'd swapped the revealing blouse and churidar for a simple, modest green dress reaching slightly above her knees. She looked every bit the proper housewife. "Aunty! It's you! What a nice surprise. These two were just watching some horror movie, and I was trying to get some rest in my room. It was so boring." (Aunty! Yeh toh tum ho! Kitne acche surprise. Ye log bas kuch horror movie dekh rahe the, aur main apne kamre mein rest kar rahi thi. Yeh, itna boring tha.)
Madhvi's smile widened seeing the turned-off TV, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Oh, I know what was going on in here," she said, her voice laced with a meaning that made all three of them freeze again. (Oh, mujhe pata hai yahan kya ho raha tha,)
"What, Mom?" Sameer squeaked, his voice cracking. (Kya, Mom?)
Madhvi let them squirm for a moment, enjoying their fear. "I know you were hiding in here," she said, finally letting them off the hook. "Drinking beer, thinking the old neighbor lady wouldn't notice." She chuckled, a warm, throaty sound. "I was young once too, you know." (Mujhe pata hai tum yahan chupe the,) (Beer pee rahe the, soch rahe the ki puri neighbor lady notice nahi karegi.) (Main bhi ek baar young thi, tumhe pata hai.)
Harsh felt a wave of relief so strong he almost sagged to the floor. He let out a nervous laugh. "Aunty, you scared us." (Aunty, tumne hum dara diya.)
Madhvi's gaze became challenging. "I dare you to stop hiding and bring your drinks over to my place. I've made a nice mutton curry with rice. Much better than whatever fast food you were planning." (Main tumhe challenge karti hoon ki chhupna band karo aur apne drinks mere paas lekar aao. Maine mutton curry bana hai chawal ke saath. Tum jo bhi fast food plan kar rahe ho, usse bohat behtar hai.)
Sonakshi, ever the hostess, even in a state of panic, piped up, "Oh, great! We have a salad too! And some fried chicken pieces.” (Oh, bohot badhiya! Humare paas salad bhi hai! Aur kuch fry chicken ke tukde.)
But Harsh, feeling his confidence return, decided to push his luck. He looked at Madhvi, his eyes bold and appreciative. "Okay, Mommy-ji," he said, the word a deliberate, teasing challenge. "But only if you share a drink with us." (Theek hai, Mommy-ji,) (Lekin agar tum hamesha saath drink karo.)
Madhvi looked at Harsh, a flicker of surprise in her eyes as she remembered him addressing her as his mommy-ji since they met. "I haven't had a drink in years, beta. And I hate what you youngsters drink... that beer. If I were to drink, it would only be whiskey." (Mujhe saalo se drink nahi mili, beta. Aur mujhe yeh nafrat hai ki tum young log kya peete ho... woh beer. Agar main peena chahungi, toh woh sirf whiskey hogi.)
With a flourish of pride, Harsh walked over, snatched the half-empty bottle of whiskey from the table, and held it up. "Your wish is my command, Mommy-ji." (Tumhari ichha meri aagya hai, Mommy-ji.)
She looked over at her son, Sameer, as if for an explanation.
Sonakshi saw her stare and quickly intervened. "Sameer only had beer, Aunty. He's a good boy." (Sameer ko sirf beer mili, Aunty. Yeh ek achha ladka hai.)
Madhvi's eyes twinkled as she looked back at Sonakshi. "And how would you know that, given that you were supposedly in your bedroom?" she teased, enjoying the way Sonakshi blushed and stammered. "I'm just joking, beta. A young woman should have her fun, especially when her husband is away. Now, stop standing around. Let's drink one peg before moving to my place, mutton curry, and drinks. Okay?" (Aur tumhe yeh kaise pata, jabki tum supposedly apne bedroom mein thi?) (Main bas maza kar rahi hoon, beta. Ek young woman ko apna maza lena chahiye, jabki uska husband door hai. Ab, khade hone ke liye band karo. Mere paas jaane se pehle ek peg peelo, mutton curry, aur drinks. Theek hai?)
They all agreed, moving towards the small dining area adjacent to the living room.
Madhvi sat on the sofa, arranging her saree pleats with a practiced, elegant grace. Harsh’s eyes, however, were glued to her. He was stunned. It was the same reaction when he saw her for the first time. She had clearly just stepped out of a bath. Her damp hair was pulled back loosely, exposing the fresh, glowing skin of her neck and face. Water droplets still clung tantalizingly to the stray tendrils near her ears.
In her late thirties, she was the epitome of ripe, mature beauty. Though she wasn’t busty, she possessed a fullness that young girls like Sonakshi lacked, a heavy softness that spoke of womanhood completed. Her bust was small but strained against the simple cotton blouse, and the curve of her waist flowed into wide, maternal hips. Harsh realized with a jolt that she was the first "older" woman who had ever truly turned him on, igniting a dark, specific hunger that mixed with his anger at his own mother.
Harsh smirked, sensing the victory. "Sameer," Harsh said, his voice dropping to a commanding, persuasive purr as he handed the whiskey bottle to his friend. "Be a good son. Go and get a glass for Mommy-ji. A clean one. She deserves to taste the good stuff tonight." (Ek accha beta bano. Mommy-ji ke liye ek glass laao. Ek saaf wala. Aaj woh achhi cheez ka swad chakhti hai.)
Sameer hesitated, looking nervously between his mother and the bottle. "Mom? Are you sure? You never drink..." (Mom? Kya tum sure ho? Tum kabhi nahi peeti...)
Madhvi laughed, a soft, dismissing sound. "Just one, Beta! I don’t want to displease your best friend, Sameer. If Harsh is insisting, I’ll drink a small one." (Bas ek, Beta! Mujhe tumhare best friend ka dil mat todna, Sameer. Agar Harsh insist kar raha hai, toh main ek choti pee lungi.)
As Sameer turned towards the kitchen, Harsh saw Sonakshi lingering nearby, watching them with a curious look. He knew he needed her out of the way. He needed Madhvi alone, just for a few minutes.
"Sonakshi Didi," Harsh called out, "The beer is getting warm. Go and get some ice from the freezer. Trust me, Mommy-ji, whiskey on the rocks tastes a thousand times better with ice." (Sonakshi Didi,) (Beer garam ho rahi hai. Freezer se kuch baraf laao. Mujhe par vishwas karo, Mommy-ji, baraf wali whiskey ka swad hazaar guna behtar hai.)
"Fine," she muttered, and reaching a safe distance where Madhvi couldn’t see, she grabbed Sameer’s arm and pulled him towards the kitchen. "Come on, let's go." (Theek hai,) (Chalo, chalte hain.)
As soon as they disappeared around the corner, Harsh turned his full attention to Madhvi. He didn't sit opposite her. Instead, he moved closer, sitting next to her, invading her personal space with a confident, predatory grin.
"You know, Mommy-ji," Harsh began, his voice a low, intimate rumble that made her shift slightly on the sofa. "Calling you 'Mommy-ji' feels wrong now." (Tumhe pata hai, Mommy-ji,) (Tumhe 'Mommy-ji' kehna ab galat lagta hai.)
Madhvi looked down at him, her hand fidgeting with her saree pallu. "And why is that, Harsh? You called me that so sweetly earlier." (Aur yeh kyun, Harsh? Tumne mujhe pahle itni pyaar se yeh kaha tha.)
"Because frankly, you don't look like a mother," Harsh said, his eyes boldly roaming over the dampness of her neck and the heavy rise and fall of her chest. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing his face inches from her knees. "You look like a woman. A beautiful, young woman." (Kyunki frankly, tum maa nahi lagti,) (Tum ek aurat lagti ho. Ek sundar, young aurat.)
Madhvi blushed, a deep red that crept up her neck. She tried to laugh it off, looking away. "Stop it, Harsh. Don't talk nonsense. I am old enough to be your mother." (Ruk jao, Harsh. Bakwas mat karo. Main tumhari maa banne ke liye kaafi boorh hoon.)
"Age doesn't define beauty, Madhvi-ji." Harsh countered, dropping the honorific purposely. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray damp lock of hair away from her cheek. The touch was electric, lingering. "Look at you. Fresh from a bath... your skin is glowing. You are more beautiful than any girl I've ever seen. Why should I call you Mommy when I could call you... Didi?" (Umr sundarta define nahi karti, Madhvi-ji,) (Khud ko dekho. Taaaz se naha kar aayi ho... tumhari skin chamak rahi hai. Tum usse bhi zyada khubsurat ho jo maine kabhi dekhi hai. Main tumhe Mommy kyun kahoon jab main tumhe... Didi bula sakta hoon?)
"Didi?" Madhvi repeated, her eyes widening in shock. She tried to stand up, to escape this sudden intensity. "Harsh, I bet you’re the one who had drunk that half bottle! Or are you trying to flirt with me? If that is the case, then, mind your tongue. I’m Sameer's mother!” (Harsh, main shart lagata hoon tumne woh aadhi bottle pee li hai! Ya, kya tum mujhse flirt kar rahe ho? Agar yeh maamla hai, toh, apni zubaan sambhlo. Main Sameer ki maa hoon!)
"I am not flirting," Harsh insisted, his voice dropping an octave, thick with lust. "I am appreciating. I am admiring what others are too blind to see." (Main flirt nahi kar raha,) (Main appreciate kar raha hoon. Main wahi admire kar raha hoon jo doosre andhe hain aur nahi dekh paate.)
Madhvi’s breath hitched. She stared at him. The sheer boldness of this young man, the way he looked at her with such hunger—it was terrifying, and yet, a long-dormant part of her fluttered in response. No one had looked at her like this in years.
"Harsh... please," she whispered, her voice trembling, unsure if she was asking him to stop or to continue. "This is wrong." (Yeh galat hai.)
"What is wrong about admiring beauty?" Harsh asked. “But that dress doesn’t suit you, Mommy-ji!” (Sundarta ko admire karne mein kya galat hai?) (Lekin woh dress tumhe suit nahi karti, Mommy-ji!)
Madhvi blushed, a wave of heat rising to her cheeks, but couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why? What’s wrong with that?” (“Kyun? Isme kya galat hai?”)
Harsh took another inch, invading her personal space again. He smelled the fresh soap on her skin, mixed with the natural scent of a woman. "Because it suits old moms but sounds odd with you. I won’t say you are a heroine, but certainly not a mom also!" (Kyunki yeh purani momon ke liye suit karti hai lekin tumhare saath odd lagti hai. Main nahi kahunga ki tum ek heroine ho lekin certainly mom bhi nahi!)
“A mermaid then, I guess,” she teased him. (“Phir ek mermaid, shayad,”)
“A beauty. And I think a blouse and skirt would reveal that,” he countered smoothly. He looked her up and down, his gaze appreciative and bold. (“Ek sundarta. Aur mujhe lagta hai ek blouse aur skirt usey dikhayegi,”)
"Stop it," she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction. She looked away, unable to hold the intensity of his stare. "I am Sameer's mother. Treat me with respect." (Ruk jao,) (Main Sameer ki maa hoon. Mujhe izzat do.)
"I do treat you with respect, Mommy-ji." Harsh said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in closer. "That’s why I want to give you the compliment you deserve. But I can't call you 'Mommy-ji' while saying this. It feels... wrong." (Main tumhe izzat deta hoon, Mommy-ji) (Isliye main tumhe woh compliment dena chahta hoon jo tumhe milna chahiye. Lekin main yeh kehte waqt 'Mommy-ji' nahi bol sakta. Yeh feel hota hai... galat.)
"Then don't say anything," she retorted, turning towards the kitchen door, looking for an escape. "Where is Sameer with that glass?" (Toh kuch mat bolo,) (Sameer woh glass lekar kahan hai?)
"He's coming," Harsh said. “I think you're getting bored talking to me, Madhvi Didi!” (Woh aa raha hai.) (Mujhe lagta hai tum mujhse baat kar ke bored ho rahi ho, Madhvi Didi!)
Madhvi froze at the name. "Madhvi Didi? Are you mad? Talk softly, and they’ll listen. But I must admit, you’re just a smooth talker. Like the heroes in those movies." (Madhvi Didi? Kya tum pagal ho? Halki awaaz mein baat karo, woh sunenge. Lekin main maanta hoon, tum bas ek smooth talker ho. Woh filmon ke heroes ki tarah.)
"Maybe," Harsh admitted, taking a risk and reaching out to brush a droplet of water from her shoulder. His finger grazed her damp skin, and she shivered. "But unlike them, I mean every word. You just need to try... a blouse and a skirt.” (Shayad,) (Lekin unke waisa nahi, main har shabd ka matlab rakhta hoon. Tumhe sirf try karna hai... ek blouse aur ek skirt.)
Madhvi bit her lower lip, her face burning a bright red. She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt like a young girl again, cornered by a boy who was too handsome and too bold and saying exactly the things she had secretly longed to hear for years.
"You... you are impossible," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "Harsh..." she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you... are you trying to 'line' me?" (Tum... tum namumkin ho,) (Harsh...) (Kya tum... kya tum mujhe 'line' mar rahe ho?)
Harsh let out a low, dark laugh. "Line you, Mommy-ji? I'm not trying to 'line' you. I'm trying to make you admit that you're still a woman. That you're young inside." (Tumhe line, Mommy-ji? Main 'line' marne ki koshish nahi kar raha. Main tumhe admit karwane ki koshish kar raha hoon ki tum abhi bhi ek aurat ho. Ki tum andar young ho.)
"You... you are a bad boy," she stammered, her eyes dropping to his chest. (Tum... tum ek bad boy ho,)
"I am," Harsh agreed, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "And I think you like bad boys." (Main hoon,) (Aur mujhe lagta hai tumhe bad boys pasand hain.)
Just then, the sound of ice cubes clattering in a metal tray echoed from the kitchen, followed by Sonakshi's loud, nervous laughter.
Madhvi smoothed her dress, her hand shaking visibly. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze, a bright red blush staining her cheeks and neck. "They... they are coming," she whispered, trying to compose herself. "And please, don’t talk like that if front of them." (Woh... woh aa rahe hain,) (Aur please, unke samne aise baat mat karo.)
Harsh smiled, a triumphant, wolfish grin. "As you wish, Mommy-ji," he whispered, turning to the table. (Jaisa tumhari marzi, Mommy-ji,)
While Sameer and Sonakshi walked back in, trying to act normal, hiding their naughty game in the kitchen, Harsh's mobile rang once again.
***
He saw the name flashing on the screen: Bhabhi Anjali. He excused himself and went to the kitchen.
"What?" Harsh barked into the phone, not waiting for a greeting. (Kya?)
"Harsh? Where are you?" Anjali’s voice came through, small and hesitant. "I... I was worried. You left so angrily." (Harsh? Tum kahan ho?) (Main... main pareshan thi. Tum itne gusse se chale gaye.)
Harsh rolled his eyes, gripping the counter edge. "I'm at a friend's place," he lied smoothly, though the edge in his voice was razor-sharp. "And unlike you, I'm actually enjoying myself. Not sitting at home feeling sorry like a pathetic housewife." (Main ek dost ke yahan hoon,) (Aur tumhare waisa nahi, main actually khush hoon. Ghar mein baith ke ek pathetic housewife ki tarah sorry feel nahi kar raha.)
"Harsh, please..." she pleaded. "Just come home. It's not safe to be out when you're this angry." (Harsh, please...) (Bas ghar aa jao. Jab tum itne gusse mein ho toh bahar rehna safe nahi hai.)
"Safe? You think you can tell me what's safe?" Harsh snarled, the memory of the slap burning his cheek. "You really are a controlling bitch, aren't you? First you slap me, then you pretend to care. Don't call me again. I'm busy." He didn't wait for a reply. He stabbed the 'end call' button with his thumb, hard. (Safe? Tumhe lagta hai tum mujhe batla sakti ho ki kya safe hai?) (Tum sach mein ek controlling bitch ho, nahi? Pehle tumne mujhe thappad mara, phir tum care karne ka natak karte ho. Mujhe dubara phone mat karna. Main busy hoon.)
Anjali stared at her phone, the screen now black. He hung up on her.
She hung up, her hand trembling slightly. A cold knot of anxiety tightened in her stomach. She remembered the beer cans in his hand and the hard, angry look on his face. He was with his friend Sameer. She was sure of it. Drinking. That boy, she thought, with a mix of anger and a strange, unwelcome pang of something else. He's going to get himself into real trouble.
Shaking her head to clear the dark thoughts, she lifted her head, trying to steady her breathing. Her mother-in-law, Sumitra, was looking at her.
"Did you get hold of him?" Sumitra asked, her eyes tired but sharp. (Kya tumhe uska pata chala?)
Anjali quickly hid the phone behind her back, forcing a calm she didn't feel. "Yes, Maa-ji. He... he's fine. He's just helping a friend. His car broke down on the highway, so he's stuck with him there." (Haan, Maa-ji. Woh... woh theek hai. Woh bas ek dost ki madad kar raha hai. Uski car highway par kharab ho gayi, toh woh wahan phansa hua hai.)
Sumitra sighed, shaking her head. "These boys and their cars. Always breaking down. Is it Sameer's car? Probably that Sameer. That boy always buys cheap second-hand things." She didn't wait for an answer, shuffling towards her bedroom. "Make sure he eats something when he comes back. I'm off to sleep." (Yeh ladke aur unki gaadiyan. Hamesha kharab hoti hai. Kya yeh Sameer ki car hai? Shayad woh Sameer. Us ladke ko hamesha sasti second-hand cheezein milti hain.) (Dhyan rakhna ki woh kuch khaaye jab woh wapas aaye. Main sone ja rahi hoon.)
Anjali watched her go, guilt gnawing at her. Lying to her... again. She knew Harsh was angry and drinking, likely doing things she couldn't even fathom, and she couldn't tell her mother-in-law the truth. The house felt too big, too quiet, and filled with secrets.
She walked upstairs, the marble floor cold under her feet. As she reached the upper landing, she heard voices coming from the small home office near the stairs.
"Can't you do anything right, Manisha Bhabhi? It’s just water!" (Kya tum kuch bhi sahi se nahi kar sakti, Manisha Bhabhi? Yeh toh bas paani hai!)
Anjali froze. It was Ajay, her husband. His voice was raised, harsh, and jagged.
She stepped closer to the doorway. Ajay was sitting at the large wooden desk, his laptop glowing in the dim light. Standing in front of him, her head bowed, was his elder sister-in-law, Manisha. A puddle of water was spreading across the polished desk from a fallen glass.
"Sorry, Bhaiya," Manisha mumbled, her voice shaking. "I just came to give you tea and..." (Sorry, Bhaiya,) (Main bas tumhe chai dene aayi thi aur...)
"Sorry? You're always sorry!" Ajay snarled, slamming his hand on the desk. "You clumsy, useless woman. You spill water on my important documents and then stand there like a wet hen. Can't you see I'm working? Get out! Go before I lose my temper completely." (Sorry? Tum hamesha sorry rehti ho!) (Tum ek bholi, bekaar aurat. Tum mere important documents par paani girate ho aur phir wahan ek geeli murgi ki tarah khadi rehti ho. Kya tumhe nahi dikh raha main kaam kar raha hoon? Bahar jao! Jao jab tak main apna gussa puri tarah khoon nahi deta.)
Anjali felt a flush of anger heat her cheeks. Ajay was always like this, stressed, bitter, and taking it out on the vulnerable. Manisha was a widow, dependent on them, and Ajay never missed a chance to belittle her.
Anjali quickly stepped into the room, making her presence known with a soft cough. She caught Manisha's eye and gave her a sharp, meaningful jerk of her head towards the door. Go. Leave him to me.
Manisha looked at her with gratitude, grabbed a rag from the side table, and whispered, "Thank you," before slipping past Anjali and fleeing the room.
Ajay didn't even look up. He kept typing furiously, muttering under his breath about "idiots" and "ruined reports."
Anjali walked over to the desk, her heart aching for the cruelty in the house. She picked up the glass and started wiping the water with her own dupatta.
"Leave it," Ajay snapped, finally looking at her. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion. "I'll do it. You probably just make it worse." (Chhodo,) (Main khud karunga. Tum shayad isse aur bura bana dogi.)
"It's okay, Ji," Anjali said softly, ignoring his tone. "It's almost dry. You should rest. It's late." (Theek hai, Ji,) (Yeh almost sukh gaya hai. Tum araam karo. Der ho gayi hai.)
"Rest? You think I can rest?" He laughed bitterly. "This company is sinking, Anjali. Every day is a battle. And what do I get at home? Spilled water and nagging." He slammed the laptop shut with a loud thud that made her jump. "I'm going for a smoke. Don't wait up." (Aaraam? Tumhe lagta hai main araam kar sakta hoon?) (Yeh company doob rahi hai, Anjali. Har din ek jang hai. Aur ghar par mujhe kya milta hai? Giraya hua paani aur jhagda.) (Main cigarette lene ja raha hoon. Intezaar mat karna.)
He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back, and stormed out of the room to the toilet.
Anjali stood there for a moment, the damp cloth in her hand. She looked at the empty doorway, the silence echoing his rage. She threw the cloth into the basket and walked slowly towards her daughter’s bedroom, feeling the weight of the house pressing down on her. She felt so incredibly lonely.
Ishani was reading a novel while her little sister, Pari, was playing quietly with their dolls, their soft murmurs a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. "Come on, my angels," Anjali said, her voice gentle. "Time for bed." She tucked them in, kissing their foreheads, inhaling their sweet, clean scent. "Sleep tight," she whispered, her heart aching with a fierce, protective love. At least they were there for her.
As she closed the door of their room, she saw her husband again, hunched over his laptop in the living room. The rhythmic click-clack of the keyboard was the only sound. He hadn't even looked up when she came in. An involuntary warmth, a ghost of a forgotten desire, flickered low in her belly. It had been so long. Months. She walked away, her steps silent on the cool marble floor.
She went into her own bedroom, closing the door behind her. The full-length mirror reflected her image back at her: a woman in a simple cotton nightie, her face etched with a tired sadness. But her body... her body was still that of a desirable woman. Her mother was right. Her breasts were large and full, heavy and high on her chest, the nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her nightie. They were the breasts of a mother, yes, but also the breasts of a woman in her prime. A woman who still had power. I brought him back once before, with this body, she thought, her hands slowly rising to cup her breasts. I can do it again. I just need to remind him what he's been ignoring.
With a newfound resolve, she hooked her thumbs into the straps of her nightie and pulled it over her head. She stood there in just her plain white cotton panties, looking at her reflection. She turned slightly, admiring the curve of her hips and the roundness of her ass. Still firm, she thought with a small, private smile. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panty and slowly slid them down her legs, stepping out of them.
She picked up the discarded garment, the soft cotton still warm from her skin, and held it in her hand for a moment before letting it fall to the floor. She opened her wardrobe and pulled out a sheer, black blouse, the kind she wore for special occasions. It was almost transparent, designed to be worn over a camisole, but she wore it alone. The dark fabric clung to her skin, the black lace at the cuffs and neckline a stark contrast to her fair flesh. She looked at herself, a vision of domesticity and raw, unapologetic sexuality. This was a weapon, and she knew how to use it.
She walked back into the living room, her bare feet silent on the floor. Ajay was still typing, completely oblivious. She came up behind him, leaning down until her lips were just brushing his ear. "Ji," she whispered, her voice a husky, seductive murmur. "Don't you want a baby boy? We can make one right now... just you and me." She let her tongue trace the delicate shell of his ear, a wet, intimate caress. (Ji,) (Kya tumhe ek baby boy nahi chahiye? Hum abhi ek bana sakte hain... bas tum aur main.)
"Anjali, stop it," he snapped, his fingers never ceasing their frantic dance on the keyboard. "I'm serious. I have to finish this." (Anjali, ruk jao,) (Main serious hoon. Mujhe yeh khatam karna hai.)
"Ishani and Pari are asleep," she persisted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The house is quiet. We have all the time in the world." She pressed her breasts against his back, the hard nubs of her nipples digging into his shirt. (Ishani aur Pari so gayi hain,) (Ghar chup hai. Hamein duniya ka poora waqt hai.)
"For heaven's sake, Anjali!" he shouted, finally turning to glare at her. "I said stop it! I have work to do! Go to bed!" (Bhagwan ki kasam, Anjali!) (Maine kaha ruk jao! Mujhe kaam karna hai! Jao so jao!)
The rejection was a physical blow. She felt foolish, and a hot wave of humiliation washed over her. But a desperate, last-ditch idea sparked in her mind. With a fluid motion, she brought the crumpled white panty she was still holding and dropped it next to the keyboard, right in front of his hands. He didn't even look, his eyes already back on the screen. He just swept it aside with the back of his hand, his annoyance palpable. "And take this with you," he grumbled. (Aur ise saath lekar jao,)
Defeated, Anjali bent down to pick up the panty. As she did, her eyes fell on the open door of Harsh's room from upstairs. It was dark inside, a black, empty hole. A shiver ran down her spine. She pulled out her phone and tried his number again. It went straight to voicemail. His phone is off. A new fear, sharp and cold, pierced through her humiliation. Where is he? What is he doing? The worry was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest. She clutched the discarded panty in her hand, the soft cotton a pathetic reminder of her failed seduction and her growing fear. She turned and walked back to her bedroom. She got into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin, but sleep was a long way off.
***
Just then, Ajay moved downstairs; the house was dark. Ajay didn't stop in the living room. He marched past the dark shadows of the furniture and went straight to the ground floor bedroom where his mother, Sumitra, slept.
He opened the door quietly. Sumitra was already in bed, her breathing rhythmic.
"Maa?" he whispered, leaning over. (Maa?)
Sumitra stirred, blinking. "Ajay? What is it, beta?" (Ajay? Kya hua, beta?)
"Just... came to say goodnight," he said, his voice unusually gentle, a stark contrast to how he had just spoken to his wife and sister-in-law. "Don't wait up for Harsh. He's busy." (Bas... goodnight kehne aaya tha,) (Harsh ke liye intezaar mat karo. Woh busy hai.)
Sumitra smiled sleepily. "Okay, beta. Goodnight." (Theek hai, beta. Goodnight.)
Ajay closed the door softly. He stood in the hallway for a moment, the darkness swallowing him. He looked towards the stairs that led to the upper floor, then towards the front door. A strange look crossed his face.
But he shook his head. He sighed, a long, weary sound, and turned back towards the stairs and walked to his room.
Anjali was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She had changed into her nightie, but sleep felt miles away. The room was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall.
The door creaked open. She sat up slightly, expecting Ajay to come in and apologize, or maybe just ignore her and go to sleep.
He walked in, but he didn't look at the bed. He went to the dresser, running a hand through his hair. He looked agitated, his eyes darting around the room.
"Where did you go?" Anjali asked softly. "I heard you go downstairs." (Tum kahan gaye the?) (Maine tumhe neeche jaate hue suna.)
Ajay turned to her, his expression unreadable in the low light. "Just... out for some air," he lied, his voice clipped. "And a cigarette. You know how it is." (Bas... hawa lene ke liye bahar,) (Aur ek cigarette. Tumhe pata hai yeh kaisa hota hai.)
Anjali nodded, suppressing the urge to tell him she could smell no smoke on him. "Okay. Come to bed now, Ji? Please." (Theek hai. Ab bistar par aao, Ji? Please.)
Ajay walked over to the bed. He looked down at her, his gaze critical, as if inspecting an object. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned down. Anjali closed her eyes, expecting a kiss on the lips, a sign of affection.
Instead, his lips brushed her forehead, cold and fleeting. It felt like a dismissal, a seal on her fate for the night.
"I have some work to finish," he lied again, his voice devoid of emotion. "Don't disturb me." (Mujhe kuch kaam khatam karna hai,) (Mujhe disturb mat karo.)
He pulled away, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room.
Anjali opened her eyes, stunned. "Ji?"
The door clicked shut.
She heard the key turn in the lock from the outside.
"Ajay?" she called out, getting up and rushing to the door. She tried the handle, but it was locked. He had locked her in. She slumped against the door, sliding down to the floor, listening to his footsteps fade away.
He walked briskly past his mother’s room, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of the long corridor that led to the last wing. The silence of the house was suffocating, but as he neared that place which he started to love since the last few months, at the very end, he heard it.
A smile, predatory and dark, curled Ajay's lips. He reached for the handle, turning it slowly. It wasn't locked. He pushed it open just a crack, then wider, the light from the inside spilling out into the dark hall.
He stared at his erected boner and smile...
(To be completed...)
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