[F4M] My Son and his Friends have a “Boys Group” where they discuss Pervy & Filthy things about me!

Smita, a 45-year-old Indian mother and wife from Mumbai, stood in her kitchen, the warm glow of the Diwali lights lingering in the air from the festivities. Her thick black hair was loosely tied, and her maroon kurta clung softly to her curves, a testament to her yoga-toned figure that she proudly showcased on Instagram. She was the quintessential “cool mom” to her 19-year-old son Arjun.

But tonight, as the clock ticked toward 8 PM, her world tilted on its axis.

Arjun had crashed early in his room, leaving his phone unlocked on the kitchen counter. It buzzed relentlessly ~ ding, ding, ding ~ notifications flooding the screen. Smita hesitated, her maternal instincts urging her to check if it was something urgent. She picked up the phone..A WhatsApp group named “Boys Squad” stared back at her, filled with messages from Arjun’s friends..boys she’d known for years, who called her “Aunty” with polite smiles. Her thumb hovered, then scrolled, and what she uncovered sent a jolt through her body, a mix of shock and a forbidden thrill she couldn’t name.

The chat was a cesspool of vulgarity, centered entirely on her. Rohan, the tall one with a cocky grin, had posted a screenshot of Smita’s latest Instagram photo..a red saree from Diwali, her pallu slipping to reveal the curve of her blouse. “Dekho is randi ka maal..” he wrote. “Smita Aunty ke boobs toh blouse se nikalne ko betab hain. 10/10! isko bed pe patak ke chod dunga!” Smita’s breath caught, her eyes widening. But it was Arjun’s reply that nearly made her drop the phone: “Bhai, tu kya jaane. Kal kitchen mein jhukte hue dekha, yoga pants mein uski gaand..ek number ka chhinal maal. Maa na hoti toh uski chut faad deta..” Her own son, speaking of her like she was some street-side raand.

The boys had a dedicated thread rating her social media posts, each comment filthier than the last. A photo from their Goa trip, where Smita wore a modest swimsuit cover-up, her thighs peeking out, had Karan..the quiet one typing..“Ye pic, 9/10 raand vibes. Bet she’s craving a young lund.” Smita’s cheeks flushed, her body betraying her with a heat she couldn’t ignore. Vikram chimed in on her gym selfie, sweat glistening on her cleavage: “10/10! Gym mein hi is randi ko patak ke gaand maar dunga..Ye chhinal toh jhuk ke hi mangegi!” They egged each other on, fantasizing about ganging up on her..Arjun holding her arms while they took turns, making her scream for their “lund” like a desperate slut.

It got worse. They obsessed over her “desi mom bod”..her full hips, the soft curve they called “dabane ke liye perfect..” her long hair they wanted to yank while “uski chut mein lund pelte hain…” Rohan bragged about sniffing her bra, stolen from the laundry by Arjun..Arjun himself confessed to jerking off to her clothes! They spun fantasies of sneaking into her bedroom, ripping off her nightie, turning her into their “personal desi raand” who’d beg for more.

Smita set the phone down, her hands trembling, her kurta suddenly feeling too tight against her skin. Her mind screamed to confront Arjun, to ban his friends from the house. But her body..traitorous and flushed..hummed with a dark curiosity. These boys, who ate her food and smiled at her, saw her as a mere object of desire, a “maal” they craved to ruin. She stood frozen, torn between rage and a shameful, pulsing desire, wondering how she’d face them then on…or if she even wanted to stop their filthy thoughts from running wild.