6.1: The Eyes That Haunt
Sunday morning dawned over Hyderabad, her nightie crumpled around her thighs, still damp from the restless night.
The clock ticked toward 10 AM, each second a taunt--her phone lay silent beside her, no buzz from DevilzMask since his fingers had fucked her to the edge and left her dripping, aching, unspent.
She clutched it, scrolling the dead chat--her last plea, "Don't leave me like this!" unanswered--and her chest tightened, a mix of shame and fury simmering beneath her curves. "Why hasn't he responded?" she whispered, her voice a fragile rasp, her juicy lips pursed in a sulk, her volcano smoldering, starved for his spark.
She'd barely slept--his phantom touch haunted her, three thick fingers plunging deep, her loud moans echoing in the bus's chaos.
She'd begged and exposed herself, but he'd vanished--teasing her, playing a cruel game to make her crave him more.
"I'm not going to yield," she muttered, shame crashing over her like a wave--her pride, her control, shredded by a stranger's hands. But her pussy still wet from imagining his cock splitting her open.
She tossed the phone down, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, and pressed her thighs together--her clit throbbed, unspent--and a soft "No!" slipped out, her anger at herself boiling.
"I need to get a grip," she vowed, her voice firm, but her body trembled, traitor to her resolve, his silence a whip lashing her deeper into need.
Downstairs, laughter erupted--Abhi's high-pitched giggle mingling with Ishaan's low, confident chuckle, spilling from Abhi's room where they'd crashed after a late cricket chat.
The sound jolted her, a lifeline out of her spiral, and she straightened--her nightie clinging, outlining her thick ass--and smoothed her hair.
"I need to shift my focus. Let me spend time with the fellas," she murmured, forcing a smile, desperate to shake the stalker's grip.
She slipped on a robe--hiding her curves, her shame--and padded downstairs, her bare feet soft on the tiles, her breath shaky but determined.
The laughter grew louder--Abhi's "Bro, you're crazy!" and Ishaan's "What can I say, man?"--and she paused at the door, her hand trembling on the knob, urging her to flee back to her room.
She pushed it open, peering into the sunlit chaos--Abhi sprawled on the bed, Ishaan lounging against the wall, wearing a snug grey tank, phone in hand, his tall frame radiating ease.
"Maa! You're up!" Abhi chirped, sitting up, but her eyes snagged on Ishaan--his grin widened, his deep, expressive eyes locking hers, a flash of the bus slamming back: those eyes matching his.
Her knees quaked, "What the--?" she thought, stunned, but his muscular, bare arms looked alluring, awkwardly trying to close the door.
"Morning, aunty--looking fresh today," Ishaan said, voice smooth, a playful edge cutting through, and her breath hitched--his charisma hit her like a wave, sudden and overwhelming.
"Yeah... morning, sorry, should've knocked," she stammered, slowly opening the door back, looking away, but his gaze held her, tugging at her resolve, and her nipples stiffened under the robe, her shame whispering: "Not again."
"No worries, aunty--barriers aren't really a thing here. Come inside," he said, smirking as he grabbed his shirt off the table and sliding it over his head.
"I... just came to check on you boys," she managed, stepping in, but froze mid-step, his abs briefly exposed in a deliberate, playful flex that stopped her cold.
"Check on us? Or join the fun, aunty? We're plotting world domination here," he quipped, winking, and Abhi snorted, oblivious. Ishaan's eyes pinned her, stripping her bare.
Her heart thudded--those eyes sparking memories of the stalker, his whispered secrets from their calls flooding back.
"You're trouble enough on your own," she shot back, forcing a smile, but her voice wavered, her gaze darting--toward Abhi, the wall, anything--but his stare blazed,
tugging her right back.
"Can't help it, aunty--some of us are just born to keep things interesting," he teased, stepping closer, his scent--sweat, spice of a raw male--hitting her, and her nipples hardened, her robe no shield against the heat flaring low.
Trying to regain control, Madhuri flicked her gaze to Abhi, her voice sharp but unsteady. "Why don't you two do something productive for once?" she said cheekily, folding her arms, hoping to mask the tremor in her hands.
Ishaan's lips curled, undeterred, as he leaned back casually. "Oh, we've been productive, aunty. Final results came out today--Abhi and I smashed it. Check this out." He pulled two report cards from his pocket, handing them over with a flourish.
Madhuri's eyes widened, scanning the grades--her son, Abhi, the boy she'd always thought a bit dull, had scored impossibly high, matching Ishaan's near-perfect marks. Little did she know how helpful Ms. Sherley's extra classes were.
Shock jolted through her, mingled with pride, though suspicion lingered. "This... this is amazing," she said hesitantly, her voice soft, her gaze flickering to Ishaan's smug expression. "Congratulations, both of you."
Abhi grinned, bouncing with excitement. "Maa, since we did so well, can I ask something for me and Ishaan to play with indoors? You know, as a reward?" His eyes sparkled, oblivious to the tension crackling in the room.
She met Ishaan's gaze, his devilish grin widening, a glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine--half fear, half something darker, hotter.
She quickly looked away, swallowed, her throat dry. "Fine," she said, her voice tight, "but keep it reasonable." Abhi whooped, already pulling out his phone, while Ishaan's gaze locked on her,
"Good, umm... I'll... leave you guys to it then," she mumbled, turning to flee, berating herself--"Why did I think this was a good idea, walking in here?"
"Wait mom, he couldn't stop raving about your Biryani from last time--tell her, Ishaan!" Abhi piped up, crunching chips, and Ishaan's laugh rumbled, low and warm. "Oh Abhi, your mom's a killer--cooking's just the start. Bet every guy's dying to taste... whatever she's serving," he said, his eyes flicking down her curves--deliberate, bold.
Her eyes flared open, "Do you always talk like this?" she muttered, turning again grabbing a water bottle, but her hands shook, spilling drops on her robe--his stare tracked it, and her cheeks burned.
"Depends on who's listening--some people make words slip out a little smoother," he quipped, voice low and thick with intent, she gripped the desk, fighting to look away, his quiet charm tugging at her like a hidden thread she prayed Abhi wouldn't notice.
"Gotta run, bro--catch you later," Ishaan said suddenly, clapping Abhi's shoulder, but his eyes lingered on her--slow, searing.
"Take care, aunty--don't let the day get too dull without me," he added, winking, his stride casual as he brushed past her--his arm grazing her hip like a spark--and she froze, her breath hitching.
"Bye, Ishaan," Abhi called, but she barely nodded, her voice lost-- "Yeah... bye"--and he was gone, the door clicking shut, leaving her trembling.
His eyes--exactly matched the stalker's from the bus's dark fire, and her mind spun: "Is it really him!?"
Her pussy throbbed, wetter now, and she sank onto Abhi's chair, her resolve crumbling--his charm, his flirtation, a mirror to the stranger who'd owned her, and she couldn't unsee it.
"Maa, you okay? You look weird," Abhi asked, frowning, and she forced a smile, standing fast.
"Just... tired, Abhi--going to rest," she lied, fleeing upstairs, her robe sticking to her thighs, her heart pounding. She locked her door, leaning against it--his voice replayed, "dying to taste," and her hand drifted down, brushing her clit through the leggings, a soft "Ohh" slipping free.
"Him? No way! But, those eyes? Ughh.. I'm confused..." the doubt clawed, the matching eyes flashing her memories from the bus, her shame warring with a need she couldn't kill.
The phone sat silent--messages from her husband and friends, but none from the guy she craved--and her confusion deepened, Ishaan's flirt a fresh wound, his charm a trap she couldn't evade, her self-control unwinding string by ardent string.
6.2: The Seeds of Doubt
The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting golden streaks through Madhuri's bedroom window as she sat on her bed, in a lavendar cotton saree--its fabric draping her curves, her thick waist peeking out, a fragile armor against the chaos in her mind.
Ishaan's departure lingered--his playful jabs a new ache, glinting eyes searing her soul, a mirror to the Devil on the bus, fingering her to ruin.
She paced, the saree swishing, her bare feet soft on the tiles--every step a battle to shake it.
"What's going on?" she muttered, shame curling in her gut--she'd melted for the stalker, begged him, and now Ishaan's flirtatious charm twisted the knife, his eyes a haunting echo she couldn't unsee.
"I need to find out," she vowed, voice firm, but her knees quaked, the bus flashing back--his grip, her surrender--and she sank onto the bed, her saree slipping, her nipple hardening under the blouse, her need a beast she couldn't cage.
She replayed it--Ishaan's arm brushing her hip, his scent hitting her, her hand drifting to her thigh, tracing the curve--wetness seeped through, her shame warring with a wild urge to test it, find him out, unravel the mask, reclaim her control.
Ishaan's face merging with the stalker's shadow, "Him or not, I'll know it myself," she thought, her plan forming--wild, risky. His tease a spark she'd turn against him.
Monday morning hummed, the house quiet save for the ceiling fan's whir as Madhuri stood in her kitchen.
Her phone sat silent on the counter and her anger at his tease fueled her, her shame a whisper she drowned with resolve. "I'll find you at any cost, Mr.Devil," she murmured, adjusting her pallu--her thick ass outlined, her blouse tight--and her heart thudded, a mix of dread and thrill pulsing through her veins.
The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden--Abhi yelled, "I got it, maa!"--and Ishaan strode right into the kitchen.
"Hey, aunty--no office today?," he said, his grin wide as usual, his deep eyes locking hers.
"No... I'm off work for now. Just... exhausted. Want some chai?" she replied, voice soft, turning to the stove--her saree slipped, flashing her waist--and she caught his glance, testing him.
