The Mas of Desire

Following her shocking revelation at the end of Chapter 3, this chapter explores her regret and rising need as Ishaan intensifies his creepy taunts and thefts. Abhi's dreams come true as he aids Ishaan, pushing all three characters deeper into their twisted roles

4.1: The Shame's Echo

Monday morning broke over Hyderabad like a heavy shroud, the air thick with humidity and the weight of Madhuri's unraveling. She sat hunched on her bed, still nude from last night's video call, the purple scarf crumpled beside her, her alt phone--ShyVelvet--a silent accuser on the sheets. DevilzMask's reveal--"I've known all along, Madhuri"--echoed in her skull, leaving a bitter memory tainted by shock and embarrassment.

Her body still trembled, her pussy faintly pulsing from the near climax, but her mind was a storm of regret, shame flooding every corner of her being.

"This better be a nightmare" she whispered, her voice hoarse, tears streaking her face as she replayed the call--his voice, his cock, her surrender, and that final, devastating blow: her name on his lips.

She grabbed her phones, hands shaking, and opened ShyVelvet--nudes, voice notes, videos of her fingering herself, all sent to him, all seen by a stranger who knew her.

"What have I done!?" she sobbed, deleting everything--every snap, every plea, her wildness erased with frantic taps--but the damage was done, burned into his hands.

Her main phone buzzed--DevilzMask: "Screamed good last night, Madhuri--bet you're still wet for me"

She shouted in despair, "Arghh!" tossing it across the room, but her thighs clenched, a lingering need stabbing through her shame.

"You're in a big trouble, girl" she muttered, pulling on a loose nightie--white, modest, a shield--but her body betrayed her, nipples hardening at his taunt, her regret warring with a dark, unquenchable crave. She couldn't face it--couldn't face him--but deep inside, she waited, her heart whispering for something big, something wild, despite the ruin.

Downstairs, Ramesh shuffled in, bleary-eyed from a late night, oblivious to her chaos. "I'm leaving for a short business trip--US, two weeks," he grunted, tossing his suitcase by the door. "Leaving tonight."

Madhuri nodded, mute, her mind spinning--alone again, vulnerable, the stalker's playground widening. "Travel safe, honey!" she said, her voice flat, and he left to pack, leaving her staring at the empty kitchen, her shame a cage, her need a key she couldn't throw away.

Abhi emerged, headphones dangling, his eyes flicking to her--red-eyed, shaken, a shadow of his mom. He'd heard her scream last night--raw, shattering--and Ishaan's "More tomorrow" burned in his skull.

"Maa... u okay?" he asked, voice small, testing.

She flinched, forcing a smile. "Yea sweetie.. just tired.." Her lie hung thin, her tremble visible, and Abhi's chest tightened--guilt, awe, a thrill he couldn't name.

He texted Ishaan, fast: "She's off and quiet Ishaan, also dad's leaving for US tonight"

Ishaan's reply buzzed: "That's perfect timing, my guy--Your busy dad's gonna regret this big time!"

Ishaan grinned across town, sprawled shirtless on his bed, her deleted pics still safe in his locked folder--her shock, his triumph. Ramesh's trip was a gift--he'd creep closer now, tease her shame and stoke her need.

Later that night, after Ramesh left, he texted as DevilzMask, slow, taunting: "Feeling alone? I understand a woman's dread when she's exposed without a protector--Let me take his place and I'll keep you safe."

Madhuri's main buzzed on the floor--she read it, sobbing, "How did he find out!? Man, I hope this doesn't stretch any further."--but her pussy throbbed, her regret a fragile dam against a flood she couldn't stop.

She deleted it, but the echo stayed, her shame loud, her need secretly louder.

4.2: The Door Unlocked

Tuesday afternoon simmered with tension--Ramesh gone, the house a hollow shell, Madhuri alone in her kitchen, chopping vegetables with a trembling hand. She'd dressed conservative--a blue saree, blouse buttoned high--but her mind churned, stalker's taunts she'd deleted but couldn't erase.

Her shame was a weight--every snap, every moan replayed, his wit a blade--but beneath it, her need lingered, a dark pulse she couldn't kill. "Godd... give me the strength to hold back," she prayed, gripping the knife, but her resolve was glass, cracking with every breath.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden--she froze, heart slamming, then opened it to Ishaan, grinning wide, Abhi trailing behind.

"Hey, aunty!" Ishaan boomed, his tight tee hugging his arms, his eyes glinting--predatory, bold.

"Abhi said you're cooking--couldn't miss it"

Madhuri forced a smile, "Hey Ishaan! Done with classes already? Come in, both of you.. sit," but her voice wavered, his presence a jolt--his charm too familiar.

Abhi mumbled, "I didn't... He wanted to..," avoiding her eyes.

Ishaan sprawled on the sofa, legs wide, owning the space. "Mmm.. Smells good already," he purred, his voice silky and dangerous. His gaze sliding over her saree--subtle, but piercing.

"High school's out for Pongal holidays starting tomorrow, Aunty. Thought Abhi would've told you by now."

Abhi fidgeted in the corner, looking confused. "How could I tell her when I only found out hours ago?" he thought, biting his lip. "And how the hell did he sweet-talk Dean Miss Sherley into giving us both such a long break before dragging me back here... I'll never figure him out."

Madhuri's forced a soft smile. "Oh... that's lovely," she murmured, her voice trembling just a little. "Make the most of your holidays, boys." Her fingers twisted nervously in her saree's pallu, betraying her fragile calm.

"Sure Aunty, I'll make sure we won't waste a day." Ishaan replied, adjusting his watch, his voice casual but sharp, "By the way, where's Uncle? Thought I'd say hi" he looked at her suddenly with a charming smile catching her eyes staring at him with innocence and guilt.

She flinched, turning to the kitchen, "He... he's on a short work trip," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "He'll be back soon." The stalker's taunts slithered into her mind--dark, thrilling, and shameful--making her cheeks burn. "I-I'll... I'll go get some snacks," she mumbled, retreating with a flustered sway of her hips, desperate to escape Ishaan's piercing stare.

Ishaan sighed, "Oh.. guess I'm unlucky then.." loud enough for Madhuri to hear. He pulled out his phone, flashing a photo Abhi had sent him last week--Madhuri's vanity cupboard, with the rose inside.

"Go grab it," he muttered under his breath, smirking. "I'll keep her busy here--lighten her up a bit."

Abhi questioned "What are you going to do with the rose?"

Ishaan pointed to a key with a tag:

Bedroom Spare

written upside down. "This idiot! The key, not the rose. Now go," he ordered.

Abhi's eyes widened, a jolt of shock freezing him. "W-what? That's my parents bedroom spare key.. Why--"

"Just do it," Ishaan hissed, handing him a fake key from his pocket. "Swap it quick. She won't notice." His grin was all teeth, daring Abhi to hesitate.

Abhi swallowed hard, nodding, his legs shaky as he slipped toward the stairs, "I screwed up--basically gave him the way in. How could I be so dumb and careless?" heart pounding with a mix of guilt and strange excitement.

Ishaan turned back to Madhuri, leaning closer as she fumbled with a plate of samosas.

Meanwhile Ishaan followed her, to the kitchen, casual, leaning against the doorway. "Need help, aunty? I'm good with my hands," he said, folding his arms, his biceps bulging--innocent, but loaded.

She turned and smiled, brittle, "I'm good--sit down," but her eyes lingered, as she fumbled with a plate of steamed momos.

Upstairs, Abhi pushed open his parents' bedroom door, the air thick with her scent--sandalwood and faint jasmine. His eyes darted over the bed, neatly made, the wardrobe half-open with Madhuri's sarees spilling out, a glimpse of her blouse hanging loose.

At one end of the spacious room, beside a wall, there was also an attached bathroom, luxurious, with glass doors gleaming faintly in the dim light. His hands trembled as he crept to the vanity, fingers brushing the cool wood, steadying himself as he spotted the key.

In the kitchen, Ishaan leaned against the counter, watching Madhuri's nervous movements. "You've got this glow today, aunty--like you're hiding something special. Makes a guy wonder what's under all that calm." His words dripped with suggestion, his eyes tracing the curve of her neck as she blushed, dropping a spoon.

Abhi's breath hitched as he took the spare key, its chain glinting in the dim light. He fumbled with the fake key Ishaan gave, exchanging the tags and swapping them with clumsy precision--his fingers grazed a silk scarf on the vanity, soft and intimate, and his stomach twisted with guilt and something darker. He slid the real key into his pocket, the weight of it burning against his thigh.

Back downstairs, Ishaan chuckled softly, picking up the spoon Madhuri dropped and handing it to her, his fingers brushing hers. "Careful now, aunty--those hands are too pretty to be so shaky." His smile was disarmingly warm, but his eyes held a glint of control, watching her squirm.

Madhuri stammered, "T-thanks, Ishaan... I'm fine, really," her voice a fragile thread, her cheeks flaming as she turned back to the snacks, her heart racing from his closeness. The shame from the video call pulsed beneath her skin, warring with a flicker of flattered heat she couldn't douse.

Abhi shuffled back into the living room, the key swapped, his face pale but his pulse thundering. Ishaan caught his eye, flashing a quick, triumphant grin before turning to Madhuri one last time. "You're too good to us, aunty--feeding us, looking out for us. Makes me wanna stick around longer, keep you company." His tone was playful, but the edge in it lingered, a tease that landed like a spark on dry grass.

Madhuri forced a laugh, "Oh, you are... always welcome," but her voice cracked, her hands clutching the tray as Ishaan sauntered back to the sofa, Abhi already there sitting calmly, the air between them thick with unspoken plans.

4.3: The Silent Betrayal

That evening, the house settled into an uneasy quiet after Ishaan polished off the last momo, wiping his hands with a smug grin. He leaned close to Abhi, his breath hot against his ear. "Tomorrow's the day, my guy--don't screw it up," he hissed, voice low and commanding.

Abhi nodded, hesitant, his throat tight with a mix of fear and something he couldn't name. Ishaan clapped his shoulder--too hard--and left, the door clicking shut like a trap springing closed.

Night draped over the city, thick and heavy. Madhuri lay in bed, her nightie clinging to her restless body, trying to drown out the chaos in her skull. Her main phone buzzed--Ramesh: "Landed safe. How's it back there?"

She glanced at the screen, disappointment curling her lip--like she'd been expecting someone else. With a sigh, she dropped the phone face-down, guilt prickling her chest. In a few minutes, it buzzed again--DevilzMask: "All alone now, huh? Hubby's off on his little trip--bet it's lonely in that spacious bed."

Her breath caught, a shiver of unknown excitement racing down her spine. She stared at the words, fingers hovering, but didn't reply--couldn't. His next text rolled in, sharp and teasing: "Not replying? I know how to make you talk--watch out for a surprise tomorrow."

Her breath caught, eyes widening with an unknown thrill. "No... control yourself," she muttered, opening her husband's chat, typing a quick, guilty reply to Ramesh: "All good here. Sleep well." She tossed the phone aside, curling under the sheets, her heart racing with secret fear and a shameful spark she couldn't snuff out.

Wednesday morning broke late, the holiday hush letting her sleep past dawn.

Madhuri woke groggy, her body craving a reset. "A deep cleanse... that's what I need," she murmured, locking her bedroom door with a soft click.

She peeled off her nightie and inners, letting them pool on the floor, and wrapped a towel around her curves, her skin prickling in the cool air.

She padded to the attached bathroom, leaving its door unlocked--careless, trusting--and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded over her, steam rising, the hum of an old Telugu song slipping from her lips as she lathered soap over her skin.

Outside, Abhi pressed his ear to the bedroom door, the muffled rush of water and her faint melody seeping through.

His palms sweated, pulse hammering as he texted Ishaan: "She's in the shower now."

Ishaan's reply buzzed fast: "Stick to the plan. No distractions--or I'll make you regret it." The threat sank into Abhi's gut, Ishaan's shadow looming even from miles away.

He fished the spare key from his pocket, hands trembling as he slid it into the lock. He swallowed, unlocked the door with a faint click, and slipped inside. The room was cool, scented with her presence--jasmine and soap.

The shower's rhythm and her humming filled the room, tugging at his nerves. He glanced at the bathroom door--unlocked, ajar--a sliver of steam curling out, and his feet moved before his mind could stop them.

He nudged it wider, eyes locking on the glass shower--mist blurred her form, but he caught her outline--curves swaying, wet skin glistening under soap suds, her hair a foamy cascade. She was oblivious, eyes closed, lost in her song.

Abhi took two steps closer, the air thick with heat and her scent, before Ishaan's voice barked in his skull: "No distractions."

He froze, heart slamming, and backed off, easing the door shut with a shaky hand. Turning to the wardrobe, he worked fast--quietly yanking sarees, blouses, office wear, inners into a bag, her clothes soft and intimate against his fingers.

He left a single saree and blouse--new, slightly sheer, a gift from Ishaan's twisted game. alongside a face mask Ishaan had slipped him last night, its dark design a taunting twin to DevilzMask's profile.

His legs brushed her nightie on the floor; he hesitated, then stuffed it in too after sniffing her used inners.

Moving to the windows, he slid them open slow and silent, a breeze slipping in, then darted back to the door, locking it behind him, bag slung over his shoulder.

Madhuri stepped out of the shower, towel clinging to her damp skin, hair dripping. She froze--her wardrobe gaped empty, save for the strange, unfamiliar cloth and a mask that's staring back at her.

She took a closer look at the mask and her stomach dropped. The windows yawned wide, curtains fluttering. "What the--" she gasped, rushing to shut them, her hands trembling as she grabbed her phone and fired off a furious text to DevilzMask: "Who the hell do you think you are? You were HERE?"

His reply came swift, "That humming, Madhuri... so pleasant to ears, like a siren calling me to join you in the shower. Took a bit longer, didn't you? Bet you feel like all your sins have been washed away."

Her eyes widened--he'd been in her room--the realization sinking claws into her. She checked the vanity--jewelry untouched, glinting mockingly. No theft, just... her clothes. A weird sensation twisted in her gut--not fear, not quite anger, but something hotter, murkier. He didn't want money--he wanted her, and she knew it.

"You sick bastard--invading my room, stealing my clothes? This is too far!" she texted, trying to muster rage, but her fingers shook with a thrill she couldn't name.

His reply came cool, taunting: "Don't worry, gorgeous--I left you something pretty. Wear it. You'll look divine."

She glared at the saree--fabric slightly transparent, blouse thin enough to hint at what lay beneath.

"Pervert," she muttered, but her eyes lingered, torn.

She rushed to a hidden drawer in the wardrobe--"Thank God," a few bras and panties remained.

Relief washed over her, shaky and brief. She could've asked a neighbor for clothes, aired her shame, but pride--or something darker--kept her silent.

Hesitant, she slipped on the bra and panties, then the saree, its translucence whispering against her skin. Up close, anyone could see the faint outline beneath if they looked hard enough.

She stared in the mirror, cheeks burning--vulnerable, exposed, yet oddly alive.

She grabbed her phone, texting her boss: "Need a few days off--family emergency." Then ordered clothes online, fingers trembling, cursing the wait, knowing she couldn't step out like this. Not yet.

4.4: The Hidden Beauty

Wednesday noon crept up slow and heavy, the house silent save for Madhuri's racing thoughts. She paced her locked room, the sheer saree clinging to her skin, its translucence a constant taunt.

Abhi would need lunch soon--she couldn't order out, not when she'd always prided herself on feeding him healthy, home-cooked meals. But stepping out like this? Her mind churned for solutions--drape a shawl, borrow something, anything--but time slipped away, but couldn't find any. With a shaky breath, she unlocked the door, the latch clicking like a gunshot in her ears.

She tiptoed down the stairs, bare feet silent on the cool wood, clutching the saree's pallu to shield herself. Voices hit her--Ishaan's loud, brash tone cutting through Abhi's quieter mumbles.

Her stomach lurched; "Is Ishaan here?" She froze mid-step, heart hammering, then darted toward the kitchen, hoping to slip by unnoticed. But Ishaan's head snapped up, catching her shadow like a hawk.

"Hey, aunty!" he called, voice warm but edged with something sly. "Looking sneaky today!"

Madhuri flinched, forcing a tight smile. "H-hey, Ishaan... Abhi, lunch'll be ready soon, just wait a bit," she stammered, tugging the saree tighter around her chest, her arms crossing to hide the faint outlines beneath. She hurried past, head down.

Ishaan grinned, leaning back. "That saree's a killer, aunty--fits you like it was made for you. Right, Abhi?" His eyes flicked to Abhi, who trembled, nodding fast, his gaze fixed on the floor, too scared to meet hers.

"Y-yeah, Maa... its nice," Abhi muttered, his voice barely audible, fear and guilt twisting in his chest.

Ishaan stood, stretching lazily. "I'll help you in the kitchen, aunty--can't let you do all the work."

"No, no!" Madhuri stumbled over her words, panic flaring. "I'm fine, really--stay there!" She imagined him closer, his sharp eyes tracing the thin fabric, seeing too much--and her cheeks burned as she rushed into the kitchen, heart hammering.

She grabbed a pan, hands shaking as she tossed vegetables in, desperate to finish fast. But Ishaan sauntered in, interrupting her frantic rhythm, his presence filling the space.

"Had a cricket match this morning, Aunty," he started, voice smooth and flirtatious. "I was swinging hard out there--kept the team on their toes. You'd have liked watching me move." He tossed an apple up, catching it mid-air, his gaze sliding over her back as she chopped onions, the saree's faint sheen revealing soft skin beneath.

Madhuri's breath hitched, his charm disarming her despite herself. "That's... nice, Ishaan," she managed, trying to shut it down, but he stepped closer, the apple arcing again, his eyes lingering where the fabric hugged her hips. She fumbled for a dish towel, draping it over her hips, a flimsy shield against his stare, but it slipped, leaving her helpless as she stirred the pot.

He edged nearer, close enough to see the faint outline of her bra strap through the blouse. "Damn it, Abhi," he cursed inwardly, realizing some inners had escaped the purge.