Adultery Whispers of Lust: My Mom's Forbidden Path

[Rajeev Gupta]

Hello friends, I am going to narrate to you a 200% true story about how my mom got involved in a forbidden affair with another man.


My name is Sanjay Yadav, and I’m a young student still in college, living in Uttar Pradesh with my mom, Rekha Yadav. My mom is 45 years old, a striking woman with a figure that turns heads wherever she goes—38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, and a 44-inch ass. Those measurements mean she’s got a full, curvaceous body: her chest is prominent and rounded, her waist dips in just enough to give her an hourglass shape, and her hips flare out dramatically, giving her a heavy, swaying presence when she walks. It’s the kind of body that’s impossible to ignore, a mix of softness and strength that makes her stand out in our small town.




My dad, Amit Yadav, is 55 years old and works far away in Dubai. He’s been there for the past five years, coming home only once a month for a week before heading back. It wasn’t always like this. Dad used to have a steady job here in Uttar Pradesh, working as a supervisor in a local factory. But when the factory shut down due to financial troubles, he was left scrambling for work. 


Jobs were scarce, and with me growing up and expenses piling on, he started looking beyond India. A friend of his connected him with a construction firm in Dubai that was hiring skilled workers. The pay was good—much better than anything he could find here—and though it meant being away from us, he took the job to secure our future. Now, his visits are short but precious, and Mom holds the fort while he’s gone.


Mom is the heart of our home. She’s deeply religious, rooted in ***** traditions that she follows with unwavering devotion. Every morning, she wakes up before sunrise to perform her puja, lighting a diya in front of the small shrine in our living rooms.


But beyond her devotion, Mom is undeniably sexy. She’s got this effortless beauty that doesn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to shine through. Her hair is long, thick, and jet-black, cascading down her back in loose waves, though she usually ties it into a simple bun when she’s working around the house. 

Her face is soft and warm, with almond-shaped eyes that sparkle when she smiles and full lips that curve into a gentle, knowing grin. Her skin is a rich golden-brown, smooth and glowing, even at 45. 

Then there’s her body—those 38-inch breasts are heavy and round, soft yet firm, straining against the blouses she wears with her sarees. They bounce slightly when she moves, drawing eyes even when she doesn’t mean them to. 


Her waist, at 34 inches, is narrower but still fleshy, leading down to that 44-inch ass—wide, plump, and impossibly full. It sways with every step, a hypnotic rhythm that’s hard to look away from. She doesn’t flaunt it, but she doesn’t have to—her presence alone commands attention.


pics hosting


There’ve been moments where her beauty has had an impact, even if she doesn’t notice. Once, when we went to the market, a shopkeeper got so distracted staring at her that he dropped a stack of bangles, scattering them across the floor. He stammered an apology, but Mom just laughed it off, oblivious to the effect she’d had. 


One day, I was sprawled on the couch, playing a racing game on Mom’s phone, my thumbs mashing the screen as I swerved through virtual streets. The phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting my game, and I saw “Shalini Aunty” flash on the caller ID. Shalini is Mom’s friend, a married woman in her late 30s with a slim build, sharp features, and a loud, bubbly personality. 

She’s outgoing in a way Mom isn’t—always laughing, cracking jokes, and dressing in bright, modern outfits like salwar suits or even jeans sometimes. Shalini’s the type to drag people into conversations and plan outings, while Mom prefers staying home, tending to her routines. I bolted up, ran to the kitchen where Mom was kneading dough, and handed her the phone.

“Shalini Aunty’s calling,” I said, plopping down nearby to listen. Mom wiped her hands on a towel, took the phone, and put it on loudspeaker so she could keep working. Their voices filled the room.




Shalini: “Rekha! Arre, how are you, my dear? It’s been ages since we talked properly!”

Rekha: “Shalini, I’m fine, thank you. Just busy with the house. How are you? How’s Ravi?”

Shalini: “Oh, Ravi’s the same—working, eating, sleeping, repeat! He’s off in Mumbai this week for some boring conference. But listen, I didn’t call to chat about him. There’s this party happening this weekend, and you have to come with me!”

Rekha: “A party? Where? Who’s throwing it?”

Shalini: “It’s at this fancy new place—some friend of a friend, Neha, she’s loaded and loves showing off. She’s got a big house just outside town, all decked out with lights and music. I got invited through my cousin, and I told her I’m bringing my gorgeous Rekha along!”

Rekha: “Shalini, you know I don’t go to these things. What’s it for?”

Shalini: “No special reason—just a night to let loose! Good food, sodas, dancing. Everyone’s going to be there—people from town, some city folks too. It’s a chance to have fun, Rekha. You’re always stuck at home with your puja and chores.”

Rekha: “I like being at home. And Amit’s not here—he’s in Dubai. I don’t feel right going out like that without him.”

Shalini: “Oh, come on, Rekha! Ravi’s not here either—he’s sweating it out in Mumbai, probably eating roadside vada pav while I’m planning to enjoy myself. We’re in the same boat, you and me. Why should we sit around waiting for them?”

Rekha: “It’s not the same. People talk, Shalini. And Sanjay’s here—I can’t just leave him alone.”

Shalini: “Sanjay’s young enough to handle himself for a few hours. Lock the door, give him some parathas, he’ll be fine playing those silly games on your phone. This is about you, Rekha. You deserve a night out.”

Rekha: “I don’t know… What kind of party is it? Will there be men there?”

Shalini: “Of course there’ll be men! It’s not a kitty party, Rekha—it’s a proper bash. Men, women, everyone mingling. But don’t worry, it’s not some shady thing. Neha’s got class—there’ll be decent people, just having a good time.”

Rekha: “Still, I’m not sure. What would I even wear? I don’t have anything for a party like that.”

Shalini: “Oh, that’s the best part! The dress code’s tight—really tight. You’ve got to wear something that hugs every curve, shows off that figure of yours. I’m talking breasts out, waist cinched, everything popping! That’s the vibe Neha’s going for—glamorous and bold.”

Rekha: “What?! Shalini, are you mad? I can’t wear something like that! My blouses and sarees aren’t made for… for that.”


Shalini: “Exactly why you need to! Rekha, you’ve got a body that could stop traffic—38-inch bust, that tiny waist, and don’t even get me started on that 44-inch ass. You hide it all under those loose sarees like it’s a crime. This is your chance to flaunt it! Neha said everyone’s dressing to kill—tight dresses, lehngas, even some girls in those western outfits. You’d outshine them all.”

Rekha: “Shalini, no. That’s not me. I’d look ridiculous—people would stare. And what would Amit say if he found out?”

Shalini: “Amit’s in Dubai, sweating in the desert, probably too busy to care. And so what if people stare? Let them! 

Rekha: “Stop it, Shalini! You’re embarrassing me. I’m 45—I’m not some young girl prancing around like that.”

Shalini: (laughing) “Rekha. Age doesn’t matter—you’re sexier now than I was at 25. I’m wearing a tight red dress myself, and I don’t even have half your curves. Come on, live a little!”

Rekha: “I don’t have anything tight enough for that. My sarees are decent, not… not whatever you’re describing.”

Shalini: “Then borrow something! I’ve got a black saree with a blouse that’s practically painted on—it’d fit you like a glove. 

Rekha: “Temple’s where I’d rather be. This sounds like trouble. What if someone I know sees me? The neighbors would gossip for months.”

Shalini: “Let them gossip! They’re just jealous they don’t have your looks. Rekha, I’m telling you, this party’s going to be wild—lights, music, people laughing. You’ll walk in, and every head will turn. Those breasts pushed up high, that ass swaying under a tight dbang—men will trip over themselves, and the women will wish they were you.”

Rekha: “You’re shameless. I don’t even know how to dance or mingle like that. I’d just stand there looking foolish.”

Shalini: “You don’t need to dance—just be there. Your presence is enough. But if you want, I’ll teach you a few moves. We’ll sway those hips together—give the men something to dream about and the women something to envy. Come on, Rekha, say yes!”

Rekha: “I don’t have the energy for this. I’ve got cooking to do, Sanjay’s collegework to check—”
Shalini: “Excuses, excuses! Sanjay can eat leftovers for one night. This isn’t about energy—it’s about letting go. You’re always so proper, so devoted. Be a little naughty for once! Wear something tight, let those curves shine. I bet you’d feel alive in a way you haven’t in years.”

Rekha: “Naughty? Shalini, I’m a mother, a wife—I don’t do naughty.”

Shalini: “You’re a woman first, Rekha. And a damn hot one. I’m not saying run off with someone—just have fun! Picture it: you walk in, blouse so tight your breasts look like they’re begging to be free, saree clinging to that ass like a second skin. People won’t know whether to stare or bow. Even I’d be jealous, and I’m your friend!”

Rekha: (sighing) “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Shalini: “Not a chance! Say yes, Rekha. I’ll pick you up at 7—wear something tight, or I’ll dress you myself. We’ll make jaws drop together.”

Rekha: “Shalini, enough! Fine, I’ll go. But if I hate it, I’m leaving early, and you’re not stopping me.”

Shalini: “Deal! Oh, Rekha, you won’t regret this. We’re going to have a blast. And who knows—maybe some handsome stranger will sneak a glance at those curves and remind you how irresistible you are.”

Rekha: “Stop it, you devil! I’m not going for strangers—I’m going because you’re a pest.”

Shalini: (laughing) “Pest, devil—call me what you want, but I’m right. Oh, and Rekha? When you’re getting ready, push those breasts up high—give them some air. And let that ass swing free. It’s a party, not a prayer meet.”

Rekha: “Shalini! You’re awful. I’m hanging up now.”

Shalini: “Wait, wait—one last thing! If some guy stares too long, just wink at him. Let him melt. You’ve got the power, Rekha—use it!”
Rekha: “Goodbye, Shalini!”


Shalini: “Bye, my sexy queen! See you Saturday—tight and tight only!”



The way Shalini was talking, it was as if she was preparing my mom to have fun during that party and maybe even talk to men. I was not sure where this was going to....











Friends, need your thoughts on this very hot promising story!

[Projectmp]

Amazing and different plot. Excited for next update

[Uvaaaa]

Super awesome and update soon

[Givemeextra]

Good starting, Photos were hot

[Hotyyhard]

excellent start

[Saikarthik]

Good start

[Aragon]

Nice start.. Waiting for the next part

[1234hitman]

Bro did u delete one of ur stories??please re upload it bro big fan of ur story

[Rajeev Gupta]

Mom hung up the phone, her gaze lingering on the screen. A faint smile tugged at her lips. Shalini’s cheeky words must’ve amused her. But then her expression shifted, a crease forming on her brow. 


She didn’t own a single tight outfit—her wardrobe was all modest sarees and loose blouses, nothing to showcase her 38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, or 44-inch ass like Shalini had insisted. 

Where would she find something like that? She thought about calling Dad in Dubai, maybe getting his take, but quickly dismissed it. No, he’d ask too much, and she wasn’t ready to explain. She’d handle it alone.

The next day, Mom turned to me with a casual air. “Sanjay, beta, let’s go shopping today. I need a few things.” I nodded, eager for a break from homework, and we headed to the mall. 

As we strolled through the busy corridors, the hum of voices and the scent of samosas filling the air, I looked up at her.

Me: - “Ma, what are you looking to buy?”

Mom: - “Oh, just something nice to wear. My friend invited me to a party tomorrow night. Nothing big, just a get-together.”

Me: - “A party? Cool! What kind?”

Mom: - “It’s… just some fun with her friends. Actually, Sanjay, I was thinking you could come with me. I don’t want to go alone, and it’ll be good for you to get out too.”

Me: - “Really mom? Awesome! I’m in!”

She smiled at my enthusiasm, but I didn’t catch the flicker of unease in her eyes. She wasn’t telling me everything—I could sense it—but I didn’t press. A party sounded exciting, and I was thrilled to join her.

We stepped into a boutique, its racks bursting with vibrant dresses and sarees. Mom’s eyes roamed until they landed on a creamy, tight-fitting dress that gleamed under the lights. 

It was nothing like her usual picks, but she lifted it off the rack, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric. A salesman, an old guy with a wide grin, sidled up to us.

Salesman: - “Madam, that’s a beautiful choice! Perfect for a special occasion. Why don’t you try it on? It’ll look stunning on you.”

Mom: - “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll just take it as is.”

Salesman: - “Are you sure? It’s no trouble—we have a fitting room right there. A figure like yours, it’d be a shame not to see how it fits.”

Mom: - “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll take it like this.”

He smirked, his eyes flicking over her curves, clearly picturing her in it anyway. The salesman wanted my mom to try the dress because he simply wanted to see my mom's deadly curves. Mom brushed it off, turning to me.

Mom: - “Sanjay, pick something for yourself too. A nice shirt, maybe? You should look good for the party.”

Me: - “Sweet! I’ll grab that blue one—it’s cool.”

She nodded, paying for the creamy dress and my shirt, her thoughts already spinning toward tomorrow. I didn’t know it, but she was secretly wondering how she’d pull off wearing something so bold.

Saturday rolled around, and by 8 p.m., our quiet home buzzed with a strange vibe. Mom emerged from her room, and I stopped dead, my eyes wide. She was breathtaking. The creamy dress hugged her like it was painted on, accentuating every curve—her 38-inch bust thrust forward, full and striking, her 34-inch waist nipped in tight, and her 44-inch ass a bold, fleshy curve that demanded attention. 





Her hair, usually in a simple bun, fell in loose, glossy waves down her back, framing her face like a dark halo. She’d done her makeup too—red lipstick stained her full lips, kohl lined her almond eyes, and her cheeks glowed with a soft blush. This wasn’t the Rekha Yadav I knew, the one who lived in sarees and puja rituals. She was stunning, almost otherworldly.






Me: - “Ma, you look amazing! Like a movie star! Wow!”

Mom: - “Chup, Sanjay! Don’t be silly. It’s just a dress.”

Me: - “No, really! You’re the prettiest mom ever!”

She swatted me with a shy laugh, but I saw her smile grow, a mix of flattery and nerves. A horn blared outside—a cab had arrived, probably sent by Shalini, I figured. We locked up and stepped into the night. 

Mom tugged at the dress as we slid into the backseat, and I noticed the driver, a rough-looking man about 50 with gray streaks in his hair, staring at her through the rearview mirror. His eyes traced her breasts, then dropped to her hips, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

Cab Driver: - “Going somewhere fancy, eh?”

Mom: - “Just a party.”

She shifted, pulling the dress up to cover her chest, but it was useless—the fabric was too snug, her curves too pronounced. The driver kept stealing looks, his grin widening, and I stared out the window, pretending not to see.


After a jostling 20-minute ride, we pulled up to the venue—a massive house just outside town, aglow with fairy lights and thumping with music. Cars lined the road, and people spilled out the front, chatting and sipping drinks. It was loud, lavish, alive. Nothing like Mom’s usual world.

We climbed out of the cab, and Mom froze, her eyes darting around. This wasn’t her scene—she looked like a goddess dropped into chaos. The creamy dress made her stand out, her beauty radiant and overwhelming. 

Men turned, their talks stuttering as they gawked. Her breasts, soft and full, pressed against the tight fabric, the neckline dipping to reveal a sliver of cleavage—something she’d never shown before. 




Her waist curved in, leading to that 44-inch ass, plump and prominent, swaying slightly as she stood there, uneasy. She was stirring a commotion without meaning to, her presence pulling every eye. She glanced around, lost in the crowd, the lights, the noise, probably wondering where to even start.





I spotted Shalini near the entrance, her slim frame wrapped in a red dress, her laugh ringing out. I tugged Mom’s sleeve.

Me: - “Ma, look! Shalini Aunty’s over there!”

Mom: - “Oh… yes, I see her.”

Mom gave an awkward wave, and Shalini’s face lit up. She rushed over, heels clacking, her energy a sharp contrast to Mom’s stiffness.

Shalini: - “Rekha! Oh my God, you made it! And Sanjay too—look at you both!”

Mom: - “Yes, Shalini… we’re here.”

Shalini: - “And this dress—Rekha, you’re a vision! That creamy color, the way it hugs you—perfection! I told you tight was the way to go!”

Mom: - “It’s… a bit much. I don’t know if I like it.”

Shalini: - “Nonsense! You’re stunning. Look at those curves—those breasts, so full and proud, and that ass? It’s like you walked out of a dream. You’re killing it!”

Mom: - “Shalini, stop! People are looking.”

Shalini: - “Of course they are. Every man here is staring, Rekha. They can’t take their eyes off you—those hips, that chest. You’re driving them wild.”

Mom: - “Shalini, please! I feel so out of place.”

Shalini: - “You’re not out of place—you’re the star. Come on, let’s get inside. Sanjay, stick close—you two are going to have a nice time!"

Mom’s cheeks flushed at Shalini’s words, her fingers fumbling with the dress’s hem. 

I didn’t catch the whisper—Shalini had leaned in too close—but I saw the way men kept staring at my mom, their eyes following her every move. 

Her breasts, so exposed in that low neckline, shifted slightly as she walked, the creamy fabric clinging tight. Her ass, round and fleshy, moved with a rhythm that drew gasps. 


She was a marvel, a beauty who didn’t fit this wild, flashy place but ruled it anyway. Shalini pulled us into the house, the music pounding louder, and I followed, secretly awed at how my quiet, devout mom had become this dazzling figure turning heads everywhere.


Shalini grabbed Mom’s hand and yanked her forward, pulling her through the crowd with quick, eager steps. Mom’s high heels clinked sharply against the polished floor, a rapid tap-tap-tap that echoed over the music. 

Her 38-inch breasts shook with each hurried movement, bouncing slightly in the tight creamy dress, the fabric straining to hold them. Her 44-inch ass swayed too, a hypnotic rhythm exaggerated by the rush. 

Men turned, their eyes locking onto her, mouths half-open as they watched her stumble to keep up.


Mom: - “Shalini, slow down! I can’t walk this fast in these heels!”

Shalini: - “Come on, Rekha, keep up! You’ve got to conform to the vibe here—move with the energy!”


Mom huffed, clutching Shalini’s hand tighter, but I could see she was struggling. The crowd parted slightly, and dozens of gazes followed my mom, hungry eyes of men, curious, blatant. 

At the corner of my eye, I caught something else: a man, about 55, standing off to the side near a pillar, staring at Mom. He wasn’t mingling or chatting like the others. His eyes were fixed, unblinking, tracing her from head to toe—her shaking breasts, her cinched waist, the curve of her ass. 


His face was weathered, lined with age, but his stare was sharp, intense, almost predatory. It made my stomach twist. I didn’t like it—not the way he stood so still, so focused, while everyone else just gawked and moved on.

Shalini finally stopped dragging Mom and led us to a quieter corner with plush velvet couches. She flagged down a server and handed us tall glasses of passion juice—Mom’s favorite, a bright orange drink that shimmered under the lights. 

Mom took hers gratefully, sipping it as Shalini leaned in close, their voices dropping low. I couldn’t hear a word—they didn’t want me to. I shrugged and turned my attention to the music, a pulsing beat that vibrated through the floor. I bobbed my head, sipping my juice, trying to enjoy the chaos.


But then I saw that man again—that man, still far off, his eyes locked on Mom. She didn’t notice, too caught up in Shalini’s chatter, laughing softly at whatever gossip they were sharing. 

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a dark kurta that hung loose on his frame. His eyes were hungry, glinting in the dim light, a stark contrast to the casual stares of other men. 

They’d glance and move on, but him? His gaze didn’t waver—it was deeper, heavier, like he was studying my mom from head to toe, waiting for something. 

I told myself he was just another guy drawn to her beauty, but it felt different. There was intent there, a quiet menace that prickled my skin.

Mom kept fidgeting as she sat, tugging at the dress. The neckline dipped too low, showing off more cleavage than she was used to, and the fabric clung to her hips, outlining her fleshy ass against the couch. 

She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, pulling at the hem again. That dress was really revealing 78% of her skin. I started catching bits of her conversation with Shalini as their voices rose slightly.

Mom: - “Shalini, I feel so exposed in this dress. It’s too tight—look at me, everything’s out there!”

Shalini: - “Rekha, that’s the point! You look incredible—those breasts, that ass, you’re a goddess tonight.”

Mom: - “I’m not used to this. I feel like everyone’s staring, and I don’t know how to sit or move.”

Shalini: - “They’re staring because you’re stunning. Stop adjusting it—own it! You’re not at home doing puja now.”

Mom: - “Easy for you to say. Your dress isn’t showing half your chest like mine is.”

Shalini: - “Oh, please. If I had your figure, I’d flaunt it even more. Relax, Rekha, you’re the belle of the ball!”

Mom sighed, taking another sip of her juice, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that man shift. He’d moved from the pillar to a spot near the corner where people were dancing, still watching my mom, his position angled like he was biding his time—maybe waiting for Shalini to step away. 

I frowned, but before I could dwell on it, a new figure approached our table.

A man, maybe in his 40s, strode up—tall, slick-haired, in a flashy blazer. Shalini’s eyes lit up, and she practically bounced out of her seat.


Shalini: - “Rakesh! You’re here! Rekha, I’ll be right back—this is an old friend.”

Mom: - “Shalini, wait—don’t leave me here!”

Shalini: - “Relax, I’ll be quick. You’ve got Sanjay—just enjoy your juice!”


Rakesh took Shalini’s hand, grinning, and pulled her into the crowd. They vanished into the sea of people, her red dress flashing once before disappearing. 

I knew that man Rakesh wasn’t Shalini's husband, Ravi, because Ravi is shorter, quieter, not this smooth-talking type. Mom’s eyes widened for a second, clearly surprised too, but she didn’t say anything. 

My mom sat there, clutching her glass, sipping nervously until the passion juice was gone. I glanced back toward the corner again—that man who’d been staring at my mom was nowhere in sight. 

I figured he’d left, and my shoulders relaxed a bit.

Mom stared into her empty glass, her lips pursed. She turned to me, her voice low.

Mom: - “Sanjay, I don’t think Shalini’s coming back soon. Maybe we should go.”

Me: - “Go? Ma, it’s too early! We just got here—the party’s barely started!”

Mom: - “I know, but I don’t feel right. I don’t know anyone”

Me: - “Come on, Ma, you look great! Let’s stay a little longer—Shalini will be back, right?”

Mom: - “Maybe, but I’m not sure. It’s loud, and I’m not comfortable. Let’s just head home.”

Me: - “But what about the juice? And the music? We haven’t even danced or anything!”

Mom: - “Sanjay, please. I’m tired, and I don’t belong here. We’ll call a cab and go.”

Me: - “Okay, fine… if you really want to.”

I gave in, though I wasn’t thrilled. Mom stood, smoothing her dress one last time, her heels clinking as she turned toward the exit. But before she could take a step, a hand caught her shoulder from behind. 

She flinched, spinning around—and there he was, that 55-year-old man who’d been staring all night. He held three glasses of passion juice in his hands, balancing them with a calm, confident smile. 

I blinked—how did he know we were drinking that?

Man: - “Leaving so soon? I thought you might like another round—passion juice, right?”

Mom: - “Oh… uh, thank you, but we were just about to go.”

Man: - “No need to rush. It’s a big night—stay, enjoy yourself. I’m Manoj, by the way.”

Mom: - “I’m Rekha… and this is my son, Sanjay. Really, we should get going.”

Manoj: - “No need to rush, how about we get to know each other for a few minutes as we enjoy the music.”




To be continued..........



Your thoughts guys!

[masud93]

nice,,,,start well,,,,give A long Big update,,, story mein to gusne ke liye

[Givemeextra]

 . . . . . . . .


Your thoughts guys!

Is Son helping Shalini secretly?  Does he wish to see his Mom Bed other Men?  

I would prefer if Mon beds Shalini to. This would be a good time spent [Not just a standard 1 man/Women xxx play]

[Saikarthik]

nice one

[Rocky]

Good start

[DeviKamasutra]

Will be watching your thread with great interest. Would love to see the characters' dynamics evolve.

[Rajeev Gupta]

Is Son helping Shalini secretly?  Does he wish to see his Mom Bed other Men?  

I would prefer if Mon beds Shalini to. This would be a good time spent [Not just a standard 1 man/Women xxx play]

No, son is not helping Shalini to bed other men. Son even doesn't know what is happening at that time.

[Rajeev Gupta]

Will be watching your thread with great interest. Would love to see the characters' dynamics evolve.

Thanks and stay tuned for more.

[Uvaaaa]

Nice update and keep it up update soo6

[Rajeev Gupta]

Mom flinched as the man’s hand caught her shoulder, but he held out the three glasses of passion juice with a warm, disarming smile. His presence was steady, not pushy, and something about it seemed to ease her tension just a bit.

Manoj: - “Leaving so soon? I thought you might like another round—passion juice, right? I’m Manoj, Manoj Malhotra by the way. Couldn’t help but notice you two looked thirsty.”

Mom: - “Oh… thank you, Manoj. I’m Rekha, and this is my son, Sanjay. We were just about to head out, actually.”

Manoj: - “No rush, Rekha. It’s a lively night—why not stay a little longer? I’ve been wandering this party alone, and you seem like good company.”

Mom: - “That’s kind of you, but I’m not really feeling up for it.”

Manoj: - “I get it—big crowds can be overwhelming. But you’ve got a glow about you, Rekha. It’d be a shame to waste it heading home so early.”

Mom hesitated, her grip on my arm loosening slightly. She glanced at the juice, then at Manoj’s easy grin, and I saw her shoulders relax a fraction. He turned to me, his tone friendly.

Manoj: - “Sanjay, right? You enjoying the party, young man? Looks like a fun night for a kid your age.”

Me: - “Yeah, it’s cool. The music’s great.”

Manoj: - “Good taste! Why don’t we all sit for a bit? Just a quick break—your mom deserves a rest in those heels.”

He gestured to the couch we’d just left, and Mom nodded slowly, sinking back down. As she sat, Manoj’s eyes flicked to her 38-inch breasts, full and straining against the creamy dress’s low neckline. 





They jiggled slightly with her movement, and his gaze lingered—hungry but subtle, like he was savoring every detail. The way the fabric hugged her curves, outlining her 34-inch waist and 44-inch ass against the velvet, only fueled his interest.

Mom: - “I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt. Thank you for the juice, Manoj.”

Manoj: - “My pleasure, Rekha. You know, you stand out in this crowd—not just the dress, but you. Where’d you find something that fits so… perfectly?”

Mom: - “Oh, it’s new. A friend insisted I wear it. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”

Manoj: - “Well, your friend’s a genius. That dress—it’s like it was made for you. Highlights everything just right.”

Mom: - “You’re too kind. I feel a bit exposed, honestly.”

Manoj: - “Exposed? No, no—elegant’s the word. You’ve got a natural grace, Rekha. I’ve been to plenty of parties, but I haven’t seen anyone carry themselves like you do.”

Mom: - “Oh, stop it. I’m just here with Sanjay, trying to keep up.”

Manoj: - “And doing it beautifully. Tell me, what brought you out tonight? You don’t strike me as the party type.”

Mom: - “My friend dragged me here—literally. She’s off somewhere now, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

Manoj: - “Lucky for me, then. I’d have missed meeting you otherwise. You from around here?”

Mom: - “Yes, Uttar Pradesh. My husband’s away in Dubai, so it’s just me and Sanjay most of the time.”

Manoj: - “Dubai, huh? Tough being apart, I bet. You’re holding it all together, though—strong woman. I admire that.”

His voice was smooth, his eyes locked on her, darting back to her breasts every few seconds. Mom blushed, sipping her juice, clearly flattered despite herself. I watched him, and my unease started to fade. He seemed nice—genuine, even. Maybe I’d misjudged him.

Me: - “Ma, I’m gonna get my passion juice refilled, okay?”


Mom: - “Alright, but don’t go far, Sanjay. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Me: - “I won’t—I’ll be right back.”

I stood, leaving them chatting, and weaved through the crowd to the corner. “Passion juice refill,” I told the server, who nodded and poured me a fresh glass. 

As I waited, I caught sight of Rakesh and Shalini heading toward the washrooms, his arm around her waist close to her plump ass. It struck me as odd. Ravi, her husband, wasn’t here, and Rakesh was way too cozy with her. 

I frowned but shrugged it off, grabbing my drink and stepping onto the dance floor. The beat pulsed through me, and I swayed a little, sipping my juice, letting the weirdness slip away.

After a few minutes, I felt a twinge in my bladder. I finished my drink and headed to the bathroom to piss, pushing through the crowd. Inside, I used the stall, washed my hands, and turned to leave—then froze. 

From the next stall over, I heard sounds: “Ooh, yes! Ooh, yes! Do it—oooh!” Low, rhythmic, urgent. I didn’t get it at first—moans? I stepped closer, curiosity tugging at me, and the voice clicked—Shalini’s, unmistakable, high-pitched and breathy.

I bent down, peering under the stall door. There were her red high heels, the ones I’d seen earlier, scuffed and angled awkwardly. Behind them, a pair of men’s shoes—black, polished—shifted back and forth. 

I heard flesh thumping against flesh, a steady slap-slap-slap, and spotted Shalini’s panties bunched around her knees. My heart raced. I remembered Rakesh walking off with her, but I couldn’t see the man’s face. 

What was happening? Her screams grew louder: “Harder! Yes, oh God, yes! Don’t stop—oooh, right there! Ooh yess slap my ass harder ooohhh” Each word was sharp, desperate, echoing off the tiles.

I stood up, my mind spinning. Was she in pain? Hurt? I didn’t understand, but it didn’t sound right. I knocked on the door, my voice shaky.

Me: - “Shalini Aunty? You okay in there?”

Shalini: - (pause, then a muffled gasp) “Sanjay? Uh—yes, I’m fine!”

Me: - “I heard you—are you sure? It sounded weird.”

Shalini: - “No, no, I’m good! Just… uh, fixing my shoe. It broke.”

The thumping had stopped, and the door creaked open. Shalini stepped out, her face flushed and sweaty, her red dress wrinkled, hair mussed. She wiped her forehead, forcing a smile. No sign of the man—he must’ve ducked back inside.

Me: - “You look all sweaty. What happened?”

Shalini: - “Oh, it’s hot in here, that’s all. Dancing too much, you know?”

Me: - “But I heard noises—like you were yelling.”

Shalini: - “Just me being clumsy, Sanjay. Tripped over my own feet—silly me!”

Me: - “Was there a guy in there with you? I saw shoes.”

Shalini: - “A guy? No, no, just me. You’re imagining things, beta.”

Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”

Shalini: - “I’m fine, really. Go enjoy the party—have fun! I’ll catch up with your mom soon.”

Me: - “Alright, Shalini Aunty.”

She went back inside the bathroom stall, shut the door quick, and I stood there, confused. 

Then the moans started again—“Oh, yes! Keep going!”—and the thumping resumed, louder, faster. I shook my head and walked away, my stomach churning. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want me involved. I was a kid and I didn't understand any of those things happening.


I pushed through the crowd, the bathroom encounter with Shalini still buzzing in my head, and made my way back to Mom and Manoj. When I reached them, something felt off. Mom looked dizzy—her eyes were glassy, her movements slow, like she was swaying even while sitting.

Manoj, though, was sharp as ever, his grin steady, no sign of haze in him. Mom smiled faintly when she saw me, but it didn’t reach her eyes—she wasn’t in the mood to stay long, I could tell. 

As I got closer, I noticed Manoj’s hand resting on her shoulder now and then. She’d shrug it off, shifting away slightly, but her dizziness made her sluggish, like she couldn’t fully pull back.

Mom: - “Oh, Sanjay, you’re back. Good—I was starting to worry.”

Me: - “Yeah, just got my juice. You okay, Ma?”

Mom: - “Yes, yes, just… tired, I think. It’s been a long night.”

I plopped down on the couch, deciding to tune them out. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to fuss over it. I turned my back, sipping my passion juice, and watched the people dancing—swaying bodies under flashing lights, laughter cutting through the music. 

Behind me, Mom and Manoj’s voices drifted back and forth.

Manoj: - “So, Rekha, you said your husband’s in Dubai. What’s he do there?”

Mom: - “He works in construction—supervising projects. It keeps him busy.”

Manoj: - “Must be tough, him being so far. How long’s he been gone?”

Mom: - “Five years now. He comes home once a month, stays a week.”

Manoj: - “That’s dedication. And you—holding it all together here. You’re something special, you know that?”

Mom: - “I just do what I have to. Sanjay keeps me going.”

Manoj: - “I can see why. You’ve got a strength about you—quiet, but strong. Where’d you grow up?”

Mom: - “Right here in Uttar Pradesh. Small town, nothing fancy.”

Manoj: - “Small town girl with big city beauty. That dress—it’s doing wonders for you tonight.”

Mom: - “Oh, this? It’s not really me. My friend pushed me into it.”

Manoj: - “She’s got good taste, then. You wear it like you were born for it. Ever think about dressing up more often?”

Mom: - “No, no. I’m usually in sarees—simple ones. This is… too much.”

Manoj: - “Too much? Nah, it’s just right. You’ve got a figure that deserves to shine, Rekha.”

Mom: - “You’re flattering me too much, Manoj. I’m not used to all this attention.”

Manoj: - “Get used to it. A woman like you—people notice. I noticed you the second you walked in.”

Mom: - “Well… thank you, I suppose. But I’m really not the party type.”

Manoj: - “Could’ve fooled me. You fit right in—better than most here, I’d say.”

Mom’s voice grew quieter, a little strained. She was getting tired of his questions, I could hear it, but she stayed polite, sipping her juice to fill the gaps. His tone was warm, too warm, and I caught her glancing at him, realizing he was into her—really into her.

His eyes kept drifting over her, lingering on her chest, her hips, like he couldn’t help himself.

Me: - “Ma, you feeling sleepy? You look kinda out of it.”

Mom: - “A little, Sanjay. It’s the noise, maybe. Or this dress—it’s so tight.”

Manoj: - “You’re fine, Rekha. Just relax—here, have more of that juice. It’ll perk you up.”

Mom: - “Oh, I don’t know… I’ve had enough already.”

Manoj: - “Nonsense! It’s just juice—light, sweet, your favorite, right? Keeps the night going.”

Mom: - “Maybe one more sip, then. But I’m really not up for much longer.”

Manoj: - “Take your time. No rush. You’ve got a glow, even if you’re tired—makes you look alive.”

Mom: - “I don’t feel very alive right now. My head’s spinning a bit.”

Manoj: - “That’s just the party vibe. Drink up—it’ll settle you. You’re too beautiful to fade out early.”

Mom: - “You keep saying that. I’m not sure it’s true.”

Manoj: - “Oh, it’s true. Every eye in here’s been on you—mine especially. That juice’ll keep you shining.”

Mom: - “Maybe… but I’m not used to all this. It’s overwhelming.”

Manoj: - “You’ll get the hang of it. A little more juice, a little more fun—perfect night for a woman like you.”

He pushed the glass closer, smiling all the time, his teeth glinting under the lights. Mom took a small sip, her hand shaky, and I wondered why she looked so off. Maybe the crowd, the heat, the tight dress—I didn’t know. Then Manoj leaned in, his voice dropping.

Manoj: - “How about a dance, Rekha? Just one—loosen you up a bit.”

Mom: - “A dance? No, Manoj, I’m too dizzy for that.”

Me: - “Come on, Ma, go for it! I’ve never seen you dance—it’d be cool!”

Mom: - “Sanjay, no. I don’t even know how. And my head’s all fuzzy.”

Manoj: - “Doesn’t matter if you know how. I’ll lead—just a slow one. Come on, give it a try.”

Mom: - “I really shouldn’t. These heels, this dress—I’d stumble.”

Me: - “You won’t, Ma! Manoj’s got you. It’ll be fun!”

Mom: - “Oh, fine… but just for a minute.”


Before she could back out, Manoj caught her hand, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her up. I watched her walk to the dance floor, her curvy body swaying with each step. The creamy dress hugged her 38-inch breasts, the fabric stretching tight across her full, soft breasts, jiggling as she moved. 





Her 34-inch waist dipped in, flaring out to that 44-inch ass—plump, fleshy, impossible to miss. Her high heels clinked, her hair bouncing in loose waves, and even dizzy, she was stunning.






Manoj slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Mom stiffened, unsure about his touch, her hands hovering awkwardly. She didn’t know how to dance—her steps were clumsy, tentative—but he guided her, turning her smoothly. 

He spun her once, then pulled her back, her breasts brushing his chest. They pressed against him, soft and heavy, and his eyes locked onto hers—deep, romantic, smoldering with something intense. 

Mom’s gaze met his, wide and uncertain, but she didn’t lean in. She kept her limits, her body stiff despite the closeness.
Then his hands slid lower, both palms landing on her fat ass. 

He squeezed—firm, deliberate, fingers digging into the plump flesh, kneading it like he’d been waiting all night for this. The dress stretched tighter, outlining every curve, and Mom’s face twitched, uneasy, her dizziness making her sway.


Mom: - “Manoj, what are you doing? That’s… too much.”

Manoj: - “Just dancing, Rekha. You feel amazing—can’t help it.”

Mom: - “Please, move your hands. I’m not comfortable.”

Manoj: - “Relax, it’s part of the rhythm. You’re so tense—let go a little.”

Mom: - “I can’t. My head’s spinning, and this—it’s not right.”

Manoj: - “Not right? It feels right to me. You’re a dream out here, Rekha.”

Mom: - “I don’t know how to do this. You’re holding me too close.”

Manoj: - “Close is good. Look at you—those curves, that sway. You’re made for this.”

Mom: - “I’m not. I just want to sit down—please.”

Manoj: - “One more turn, then we’ll sit. You’re doing great—better than you think.”

He spun her again, her back to his chest now. His hands gripped her 34-inch waist, tight and possessive, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh. 

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He leaned in, his nose brushing the back of her neck, inhaling deeply—her hair tickled his face, and he pressed closer. His groin pushed hard against her plump ass, the bulge unmistakable, grinding slightly as they moved. 





Mom’s breasts bounced with each step, full and straining, her hair whipping around, catching the light. She was picking up the dance moves, her body swaying more naturally, but her dizziness grew—her eyes fluttered, her steps faltered.



I watched, my stomach knotting. Manoj’s hands on her ass, his nose at her neck—it was too much, too bold. Mom kept her distance where she could, but the juice, the heat, something was pulling her under. Her beauty shone—those breasts, that ass—but she didn’t belong in his grip like that.


Then something extra ordinary happened that I didn't expect........


To be continued..........


Your thoughts my friends.

[Saikarthik]

Nicely going

[Aragon]

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