Fantasy Mom and them

[Rupakpolo1]

My name is Abhishek. I am going to narrate all the incidents that i have experienced in my childhood. My dad Jayanta was a government Engineer. The whole thing started when my family moved to a village where my dad was posted.

The bungalow we stayed in was huge, with a sprawling garden that seemed to stretch for an eternity. It was like a mini jungle, with trees and shrubs that whispered secrets to each other in the breeze. The air was always filled with the sweet scent of blooming flowers and the distant sound of chirping birds. Our house was located at the end of a long, dusty road, surrounded by nothing but nature's beauty and simplicity.

My mother, Kakoli, was a beautiful Bengali woman with long, wavy hair that fell like a dark waterfall down her back. Her eyes were warm and inviting, always sparkling with life. She had a way about her that made everyone feel at ease. The villagers adored her, often bringing her gifts of fresh produce from their fields. She had a gentle grace that could tame even the wildest of hearts.

Kamala, our maid, was a short, sturdy woman with a heart as vast as the ocean. Her skin was sun-kissed from years of working under the unforgiving village sun, and her smile was as bright as the first rays of dawn. Every morning, she would arrive with a basket of freshly picked vegetables and a bouquet of flowers, chattering away in her native language while my mother listened with a smile. They had an unusual bond, one that transcended the lines of employer and servant. Kamala had been with us since we moved to the village, and she took care of our home like it was her own. She was always praising my mom’s beauty, often remarking how lucky my father was to have her.

But there was one person who didn’t share the same sentiment as everyone else about my mother’s charm—Raghu, my father’s driver. He was a tall, lanky man with a scruffy beard and a furtive gaze that always made me feel uncomfortable. His eyes often lingered on my mother, and it wasn’t the respectful gaze of admiration that others had. It was something else, something darker. My mother had noticed it too. She had become more withdrawn and less comfortable around him as time went by. I could see it in the way she held herself, the way she’d tighten her sari when he was near, and the way she’d avoid eye contact.

Kamala had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on Raghu, often whispering her concerns to my mother. She had seen the way he looked at her, and she knew it wasn’t right. She didn’t want to cause trouble for my father at work by accusing his driver of something so serious without solid evidence. Plus, she had a strength about her, a belief that she could handle herself. But as the days grew longer and the heat of the summer sun bore down upon us, the tension in our little household grew thicker.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in a fiery glow, Kamala sat with my mother in the cool shade of the veranda. Her eyes grew solemn as she spoke of Raghu and his friends Rafiq and Shambhu. She recounted stories of how they had ruined the lives of several village girls, leaving them with hearts shattered and reputations in tatters. My mother’s expression grew grave as she listened, her hand unconsciously playing with the hem of her sari. She knew she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Mother gathered her courage and approached my father one day after dinner. He was in his study, engrossed in the blueprints sprawled across his desk. She spoke softly but firmly, telling him everything that Kamala had shared. My father looked up from his work, his brow furrowed with concern. He knew the importance of a good driver in a place as remote as this, but he also knew he couldn’t ignore the potential danger lurking in their midst. He sighed heavily, rubbing his temples, and said, "Kakoli, I understand your worry, but finding a replacement in this village isn’t easy. People are scarce and trustworthy ones even more so."

He promised to look into it, but his work was demanding and he was often gone for days at a time. The situation grew tense as the days passed, and my mother became increasingly vigilant. She never traveled alone with Raghu, even if it meant inconveniencing herself. Instead, she would send him on errands with Kamala, ensuring she was never left vulnerable. The two women grew closer, united by their silent pact to watch over each other.

[Rupakpolo1]

One afternoon, I heard a faint sound of whispering coming from my mother's room. Curiosity piqued, I approached the half-closed door and listened closely. It was my mom and Kamala, their voices hushed but urgent. "He watched me again today," my mother said, her voice trembling. "While I was changing in the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of his shadow under the door. I know it was him."

Kamala nodded solemnly, her eyes full of empathy. "Ma'am, you must be careful .," she urged, her voice a mix of concern and anger. "Raghu is a snake, and he's slithering too close for comfort."

My mother took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "I know," she whispered. "His eyes...it's like he's banging me with his gaze." The words hung heavy in the air, painting a vivid picture of the fear and violation she felt every time Raghu's eyes latched onto her.

The days grew into weeks, and my mother's anxiety grew with each passing moment. Even when we were on the road, traveling in the old, creaky car that Raghu drove, I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes flickered towards the rearview mirror. It was subtle, but it was there—a hungry look that made my skin crawl. He'd watch her every move, his eyes devouring her beauty, his thoughts a dark mystery.

One day, as we were heading to the local market, the car jolted over a pothole, and my mother's sari slipped, revealing a hint of skin. Raghu's gaze lingered just a second too long, and my mother's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. She quickly readjusted her sari, her eyes meeting his in the mirror for a brief moment. In that instant, I saw the fear and desperation in her eyes, and I knew she wasn't just being overly cautious.

Raghu used to take me to college.

The journey was mostly quiet, with only the purr of the car engine and the rustle of the wind through the trees for company. But on the way back home one day, Raghu took a detour, claiming a shortcut. As we turned onto a narrow dirt path, I saw them for the first time—Rafiq and Shambhu. They were leaning against a dilapidated shack, smoking cigarettes and eyeing the car with a knowing smirk. They were rough around the edges, their clothes tattered, and their eyes held a glint that sent a shiver down my spine.

Kamala used to stay in our bungalow from morning to noon. At evening she used to travel back to her house which was in the village few distance away. Raghu used to stay in a servant quarter near to our bungalow. Initially i never had courage to visit his place but one incident change every thing.

One night, I was startled awake by the rustling of leaves outside my window. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the moon, casting eerie shadows across the floor. I lay in bed, my heart racing, as I strained to make out the source of the sound. It grew louder, and then I heard it—the unmistakable footsteps of someone pacing outside.

I held my breath, my heart hammering in my chest. The steps grew closer, and I could feel the presence of someone just beyond the thin barrier of my window pane. I wanted to call out, to scream for my parents, but something held me back—fear, perhaps, or the irrational hope that it was all just a bad dream.

I peered through the curtains, the moonlight casting a silver sheen on the figure moving in the shadows. It was Raghu. His eyes were fixed on the room where my parents slept, and his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides. His gaze was intense, his body coiled like a snake ready to strike. I watched, my young mind racing with a mix of terror and confusion.

Mustering all the courage I had, I slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the corridor, the cold cement sending shivers down my spine. My heart thudded in my ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the village asleep. The door to my parents' room was slightly ajar, the warm glow of their bedside lamp spilling into the hallway. I pushed it open, my eyes widening at the sight before me.

My mother, Kakoli, lay on the bed, her sari discarded in a pool of fabric at her feet. My father, Jayanta, was on top of her, their bodies entwined in a dance as old as time. Her eyes were closed, her face a picture of serenity, and he looked like he was in the throes of passion. I had stumbled upon an intimate moment that I hadn't quite understood, but I knew it was a part of their love.

My heart racing, I retreated back to my room in shame, my thoughts a jumble of confusion and curiosity. I couldn't shake the image from my mind, and it was a secret I carried with me like a burden. It was the first time I had seen my parents in such a light, and it changed the way I saw them, ever so slightly.

The next day, I made up my mind. I had to know more about Raghu and his intentions. After college, I waited for the perfect moment—when the house was quiet, and my mother was busy in the kitchen with the windows open. I slipped out the back door and made my way to Raghu's quarters. His room was a tiny space, barely larger than a closet, with a single bed and a few personal items scattered about. I could feel his presence there, like a palpable force, and I shivered despite the heat.

The window was slightly ajar, letting in the sweet scent of jasmine from the vines that had climbed up the wall. I peeked in, my heart in my throat. Raghu was nowhere to be seen, but his room held a secret that sent my mind racing. On his bedside table, there was a small, worn-out photo album. With trembling hands, I picked it up and began to flip through the pages. The photos were of various women, some smiling, some not, all looking... used. A chill ran down my spine as I realized these were the faces of the village girls he had preyed upon.

I heard a sound and quickly ducked down, my heart hammering in my chest. The door creaked open, and Raghu stepped in. His eyes fell on the open album, and for a split second, I saw fear flicker across his face. But then, he saw me, and the fear turned to rage. He lunged towards me, his hand outstretched, and I stumbled backward, dropping the album in my haste. He grabbed my arm, his grip like a vice. "What do you think you're doing, little boy?" he snarled, his breath hot and sour on my face.

I tried to pull away, my eyes darting around the room for an escape, but his grasp was too strong. He dragged me to the bed, pushing me down onto the mattress. "You're going to keep my secret," he said, his voice low and threatening. "You tell anyone, and you'll regret it." His hand moved towards my throat, and I felt the pressure build as he squeezed. I struggled, my eyes bulging, but his grip only tightened.

"Do you understand?" he growled, his eyes boring into mine. "If you say a word, I'll make sure you won't live to tell the tale." His other hand reached for the album, snatching it from the floor. He held it up, the pages fluttering in the dim light.

My mouth was dry, my heart thudding in my chest like a drum. I nodded, fear clouding my judgment. "Yes, Raghu uncle" I croaked. "I won't tell anyone."

He released my throat, his eyes searching my face for any signs of defiance. He didn't find any. "Good," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Then for a moment, he looked at with his nasty evil smile. "I would like to say one more thing, little boy. You see, your mother is a beautiful woman. You are lucky to have a beautiful mother like her"

He paused for a moment and was going to say some more things to me but he resisted. I did not understand why he said such a thing about my mother all of a sudden.

He leaned down, his face a mere inch from mine. "You're going to learn a lot of new things in the coming few days," he whispered, his breath hot and foul. "Things that will make you understand what it means to be a man." His eyes bore into me, and I nodded again, trying to swallow the bile rising in my throat.

The following days were a blur of fear and anticipation. I avoided Raghu as much as possible, but he was everywhere—driving us around, lurking around the bungalow, his gaze never leaving my mother for too long. I watched him, his every move a silent threat, and I didn't know what he meant. All i can make out that he had something planned.

[Amino]

First update is good

[Rupakpolo1]

One day i saw him with his two friends entering the servant quarter. I could not control my curiosity.

I followed them, keeping a safe distance so as not to be seen. They sat in a circle, passing a bottle of local liquor around. The air was thick with their laughter and lewd comments. They spoke about my mother, Kakoli, their voices low and hungry. My cheeks burned with rage as I heard the words that should never have been spoken about her.

"Look at the way she moves," Rafiq slurred, his eyes glazed. "So graceful, like a deer in the forest. Just waiting to be caught."

Shambhu chuckled, his teeth stained from years of chewing paan. "And those eyes, so innocent, so... ripe."

Rafiq nodded, his lecherous grin widening. "Can you imagine her pink lips wrapped around our cocks?" His tongue darted out, licking his own lips as if he could already taste her.

Shambhu took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Raghu, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Her mouth, so soft and warm," he said, his voice thick with desire. "It'd be heaven to feel those lips sliding down, taking all of us in."

Raghu nodded, his gaze distant, as if he was already seeing the scene play out in his depraved mind. "Her eyes," he murmured, his hand moving to his crotch, "those big, scared eyes looking up at us, begging for mercy while she chokes on our cocks."

Rafiq leaned in, his eyes shining with excitement. "And her body," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "so soft and delicate. Like a freshly plucked flower, waiting to be crushed under our weight."

Shambhu let out a low whistle, his eyes glinting with greed. "Her breasts," he said, cupping his hands in the air, "so full and ripe, bouncing with every moan she makes."

Rafiq leaned back against the wall, his hand sliding down his shirt to his pants. "And those pink nipples," he groaned, his eyes half-closed, "so sweet and sensitive, just begging for a bite."

Shambhu took the bottle from Raghu, his hand shaking with excitement. "Her skin," he said, his voice a low growl, "so soft and smooth, like fresh milk. The way it'd feel against our bare chests as we take turns pumping into her tight, wet pussy."

Rafiq nodded, his eyes glazed with lust. "Yeah," he agreed, "and she's gotta have a tight one. You know how these high-class bitches are, saving it all for their husband."

Shambhu laughed, his eyes on the bottle as he took another swig. "Fuck her husband," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "We're going to show her what real men are like."

Rafiq leaned in, his grin turning predatory. "We'll make her anniversary a night she'll never forget," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We'll give her the kind of celebration she deserves."

Shambhu's laughter grew louder, echoing through the small room. "But first," he said, slapping Raghu on the back, "we need to make sure the engineer doesn't come home." Raghu nodded in agreement, his gaze never leaving the bottle of alcohol as it made its way around the circle. His mind was racing, thinking of ways to ensure that my father would be detained.

Rafiq, the cleverest of the three, spoke up with an idea. "Why don't we cause some trouble at the worksite?" he suggested, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent. "A small 'accident' would keep him busy for hours, maybe even the whole night." The other two men grinned, the plan already taking shape in their minds.

Shambhu added, "Yeah, and we can say it's urgent, that we need him to come right away." Raghu nodded thoughtfully. "It's worth a shot," he said, his hand still resting on his crotch as if he was already imagining something.

Their conversation grew more heated, their voices rising in excitement as they plotted. I crouched there, my heart hammering against my ribs, my mind racing to understand the depth of their depravity. They were going to hurt my mother, use her, and then discard her like a piece of trash. The thought made me sick. I had to tell someone, but who? I couldn't tell my father, not without proof. And what if they found out I knew?

Raghu's eyes grew more intense as he spoke. "We need more than just a night," he said, his gaze flicking to the calendar on the wall. "We need to plan this right.”

It was true my mom and dad anniversary was near. I heard them talking about it. I was not sure how Raghu came to hear about this. It may happened that he had overheard the conversation of my parents. I did not disclose anything about this discussion to my parents. It may be because I was naive enough to understand what Raghu was planning.

Finally our parents anniversary day came. My dad went to working site as usual like other days. Mom wanted dad to stay at home on that day but my dad said he can't do that but promised my mom he will be back soon. My mom seemed excited all day. She cleaned all our rooms and cooked good food for us but my dad did not return from site as expected. She got upset about all this. Kamala told my mom before she left-‘ Bhabhi...dont get upset... Engineer Saheb must have got busy with his work...he will come soon‘.

I saw her crying when my dad did not return by evening.

I asked mom - ' Why are you crying mom'

Mom sighed and said - ‘Work is important to your dad instead of us‘.

Mom had gone to great lengths to prepare for the day. She had worn a stunning red Benarasi sari that she had bought during our last trip to Kolkata. The intricate gold and silver threads woven into the fabric caught the light, giving it a mesmerizing glow. The blouse was tight, hugging her full breasts, making them look like two ripe mangoes waiting to be plucked. Her fair skin was flawless, glowing from the light dusting of powder she had applied, and her eyes were lined with kajal, making them appear even more alluring than usual.

But it was her rosy lips that truly stood out. They were the color of freshly picked raspberries, a perfect shade that made me wonder if she had stolen a bit of the setting sun's beauty for herself. The lipstick she had chosen was a deep red, the kind that seemed to whisper secrets and promises in the most intimate of moments. It was the same shade she wore on special occasions, and every time I saw her with it on, I knew something important was happening.

As the night grew darker and my dad's absence grew heavier, I could see the hope in my mother's eyes slowly fading. She tried to put on a brave face, telling us she was sure he'd be home soon, but I could see the cracks in her armor. Her eyes searched the horizon, willing him to appear, but all she was met with was the indifferent stare of the stars.

Little did we know, the three men had been watching our house from the shadows of the night, their hunger for her growing with each passing moment. They had bided their time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. And tonight, with my father's unexpected absence, it had arrived.

Mom's eyes searched the room, looking for something to distract herself from the sadness that had settled in. She picked up a book from the bedside table, her fingers tracing the spine without really seeing the title. "Why don't you go have your dinner?" she suggested, her voice brittle. "I'll wait up for your father."

I nodded, my stomach churning with unease. As I made my way to the dining room, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. The house felt eerily quiet, the silence only broken by the occasional chirp of a night cricket. The food lay untouched on the table, growing cold and forgotten.

It was much later, after what felt like hours of tossing and turning, that I heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine approaching. I sat up in bed and decided to check who it was.

I tiptoed to the window, peering through the curtains. The headlights of the car swept across the garden, illuminating the house with an eerie glow. I watched as my mother, still dressed in her stunning sari, walked out onto the porch.

"Switch off the lights," she called out, shielding her eyes from the harsh beam.

The engine cut off, and the world was plunged into darkness. The headlights of the car remained on, casting a ghostly pallor on the porch and blinding my mother as she stepped out into the night. I held my breath, watching from the safety of my bedroom window.

"Raghu?" she called out, squinting against the brightness. "Is that you?"

[Krishna11]

Waiting for big update

[Givemeextra]

Was this already posted in this site? The title looks familiar?
Just Asking.....

[Rupakpolo1]

Not sure about title. I did not get better story name.story is mine.

[garamrohan]

Welcome back Rupakpolo, the legendary writer!!!

You don't need introduction to long time lovers of cuckold/voyeur son theme lovers. I believe you were few of earliest writers in the genre with your epic stories : bad seeds, Village of the damned etc.

It was treat to read the corruption of beautiful and pious mother Kakoli through her son's lenses from your stories.

I feel this story as well, will live up to the fan's expectation.


Thanks for the comeback.


P.S. Requesting all the fans to keep giving feedback to support and motivate the author.

[Amino]

Fantastic update bro looks like mom will have a memoriable anniversary hehe

[lou12]

Rupakda is a legend. Village of the damned, Maa ke Sanjayer Baba, Biyebarite Maake ******, Amar Bondini Maa…. all of his stories were and still are my favourites.
“Kalo Bari” was one of his most memorable works, though, forever lost.
Glad to see you back.

[garamrohan]

Rupakda is a legend. Village of the damned, Maa ke Sanjayer Baba, Biyebarite Maake ******, Amar Bondini Maa…. all of his stories were and still are my favourites.
“Kalo Bari” was one of his most memorable works, though, forever lost.
Glad to see you back.

Yeah absolutely. I sometimes wish I could read bengali so that I could have read his many bengali stories.