Prologue

                                    

                                          
The plan was simple, that there was no plan, Shaurya Luthra never did anything with a plan. 
All he knew was that Rajveer Arora's Maasi was his weak point. Hurting her would hurt him, and after yesterday's incident- how Rajveer had insulted him in front of the media, smashed his award into two pieces, Shaurya wanted to hurt him and hurt him badly, get his revenge.
The best way to do that was through Rajveer's Maasi. So he went to her home,vwith the full intent of bothering the woman, of hurting her the same way her nephew had him.
But her kindness, the warmth with which she welcomed him into her home, sat him down, and even apologized for Rajveer's behavior threw him off. 
When the conversation turned and he found himself boasting about his bad boy image, and being damn proud of it.
She called him a good boy. A very good boy, who is just pretending to be bad, and he hated it. Hated how she could see right through him, even when his own father couldn't. Hated the heat that rushed to his cheeks and ears at her praise.
On a whim, she decided to cook for him, he sat on the kitchen counter while she worked and “taught” him how to engage in small talk, which he never had much interest in.
When asked, he said her name was “Maasi.” She laughed, It made him smile too. Of course he knew that wasn't her actual name and just a title.
Preeta. That was her name, but it didn't occur to him to ask.
Preeta. The name of his dead mother. She and this woman were one and the same, that would be revealed to him later.
How she didn't yell when he made a mess in the kitchen, just told him to step aside so he wouldn't slip and fall on the oil on the floor, confused him. Yelling he was used to, used to ignoring it. This- calmness he wasn't, it did something to him, made him want to… cry or rip his hair out.
So he rebelled against the thoughts that told him to fall apart in her arms, without the fear of judgment. Fell back on his half cooked plan, nudging the oil container on the floor with his foot, towards her, causing more to spill. She would slip on it, it would hurt, it would hurt Rajveer even more, it would-.
He moves without even thinking about it, she can even begin to fall, grabbing her wrist with one hand and an arm protectively around her back. “There's oil, you could've fallen.” He explained lamely, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Why did he save her?
She just smiled at him and his heart skipped a beat or two.
When the kheer was done, she insisted on feeding it to him, herself, blowing on to cool it down so he didn't burn his tongue, something not even Nidhi- his mother- would think to do. 
He didn't help his plea for independence, by dropping a glob of the pudding on his jacket the second she handed him the bowl and spoon. She dabbed it away quickly with a washcloth, like she knew what he was going to do before he did it, and it was too much. He fled. Making some dumb excuse, as fast as his suddenly jelly legs could carry him, he left.
***
What did he know then, that that day would lead to today.
Today where he lay in her lap, his mouth attached to her tit, suckling noisily, her milk coating his tongue and warming his belly. Her fingers  through his messy hair, scratching his scalp lightly as she whispered in his ear “my good boy.” 
He hummed in agreement. Yes.
For her.
Only for her.
He could be a good boy.
***
This isn't meant to be incestuous, more so on the side of non-sexual age play, exploring the mother-son dynamics between Preeta and Shaurya, something different, that I hope you like.