My mom comes home

Monika came home a little after seven. I heard the front door and her keys, then her voice calling that she was back. She set her bag on the table and asked if Supriya was around. I told her Supriya was in her room and that Abhilash and Vamsi had stopped by earlier. Monika nodded, looking tired from work, and said she wanted to change out of her clothes.

She walked down the hallway to her bedroom. I stayed a few steps behind her. The door was already open. Monika stepped inside and stopped so suddenly I almost walked into her.

The bed was wrecked. Both pillows were shoved against the headboard and covered in dried white streaks and smears. The sheets in the center were twisted, damp in places, and marked the same way. On the chair by the window lay her pale dress and a pair of Supriya’s shorts, both streaked across the fabric. Some of it had dried into pale crusts; some still looked darker where it had soaked through. On the nightstand sat two printed photos of Supriya. One of them had thick smears right across her face and chest.

Monika’s hand flew to her mouth. She stared at the pillows, then at her dress, then at the ruined photo. Her face went tight with disgust. She turned to me, voice low and shaking.

“What is this? What did they do in here? Why is this on my clothes? On Supriya’s pictures?”

I didn’t answer. She stepped closer to the chair and lifted the edge of her dress with two fingers, holding it away from her body like it was filthy. The horror on her face deepened. She dropped it and looked back at the bed, breathing faster.

“Were they in my room? Did they—” She cut herself off. Her eyes went to the stained pillows again. She looked sick.

Before she could say more we both heard it—Supriya’s voice from down the hall, high and breaking into a scream, then Manogna’s right after it. The sounds were loud and rhythmic. Monika’s head snapped toward the hallway. She grabbed the dress off the chair and started pulling it on over her work clothes, hands shaking so badly the fabric twisted. She got it mostly on, then froze.

She looked down at her own arm. A pale streak of the same white mess was smeared across her forearm where she had brushed the chair. Another mark sat on the side of her wrist. Her face went pale. She rubbed at it hard, but it only smeared. Her breathing turned short and scared.

“It’s on me,” she whispered. She looked at me, eyes wide. “It’s on my skin.”

The screaming from Supriya’s room got louder. Monika flinched. She wiped her arm again, still disgusted and frightened, then moved past me into the hallway.

“Supriya?” she called, voice cracking. She started running. I followed.

Supriya’s door was open. Monika reached it first and stopped hard. Inside, Supriya was on the bed on her hands and knees, wrists bound together in front of her with a belt, face pressed into a pillow. Vamsi was behind her, fucking her hard. She was screaming. Manogna was tied the same way on her back beside them, ankles bound, Abhilash between her legs driving into her. Both girls were naked and sweating. More cum marked the pillows and sheets around them.

Monika made a choked, horrified sound. She took one step inside. “Supriya—stop—”

Abhilash and Vamsi moved at once. They pulled out. Vamsi crossed the room and grabbed Monika by both arms, yanking her fully inside. Abhilash caught her other side. They spun her and shoved the door shut. I reached it a second later. The lock clicked. I was locked outside.

Through the door I heard Monika immediately. “No—let go—please—” Her voice was high and terrified. There was struggling, then the sound of something being pulled tight. She cried out. I pressed against the door and heard them tying her—rope or belts cinching around her wrists, then her ankles. She kept begging, the words tumbling out scared and fast.

“Please don’t… I’m begging you… not me… please stop…”

The mattress shifted. Monika made a sharper sound. Then I heard kissing—wet, forceful—and her muffled protests turning into frightened whimpers. One of them was kissing her while she was tied. She tried to turn her head; I could hear it in the way her voice moved. They didn’t let her.

A phone speaker clicked on. Video audio filled the room—Supriya’s voice from earlier, moaning and then screaming, Manogna crying out, the wet sounds of them being fucked. Monika’s breathing turned ragged with horror.

“No… turn it off… please…” she begged. Her voice cracked. The video kept playing. I heard her sob when she recognized Supriya. They kissed her again while the recording continued. She made small, trapped sounds against their mouths.

The bed creaked harder. Monika cried out, the sound sharp with pain and fear. They had started fucking her. She was tied, I could tell by the way her pleas stayed in one place and the ropes pulled when she tried to move. She kept saying it hurt, kept begging them to stop, voice breaking every time the video of Supriya played louder. Supriya and Manogna were still tied on the same bed; I heard smaller sounds from them too.

They didn’t stop. I stayed against the locked door, listening to Monika cry and plead while they used her, kissed her, and made her listen to the videos of her daughter. The cum she had already found on her clothes, her photos, her pillows, and her own skin was still on her while they held her down. Her voice went hoarser. The begging turned smaller and more broken, but it never made them slow down. The room stayed loud with it—her sobbing, the bed, the videos, the wet sounds—until everything from her side of the door was just frightened, wrecked noise.