Ananya(Student) - How I gave my measurements to the tailor(11 videos)-Scene-28-GOLD!*

[ashuezy2]

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[ashuezy2]

Scene 14

She didn't look like my mother. Her shoulders were relaxed, her posture loose and inviting. She dropped the plastic bag of fabric on the counter, but she didn't ask about the lining.

"Is the room free?" she asked.
"For you? Always," Remo said.

Mom laughed. It was a dirty, wet laugh. She stepped into his space. She ran a finger down Remo's chest.

"I missed this," she whispered. "That blue blouse you made... I wore it to the kitty party. I was leaking the whole time thinking about what you did to me in Trial Room 1."

My stomach turned over. She was talking about my mother.
Remo smirked. "You ripped the hooks off that one, Sunita. You were too impatient."
"I was hungry," she moaned. "You made me wait too long."

Then, the conversation took a turn that made me dizzy.

"You are better than the others, Remo," she confessed, leaning her hip against the table.
Remo raised an eyebrow. "Others?"

She rolled her eyes, a gesture so casual it was terrifying. "That new boy you hired... Raju. He tries hard, but he is too fast. And Masterji... well, his hands are old. He shakes too much when he holds my chest."

I clamped my hand over my mouth. My mother hadn't just been with Remo. She had been with the helper. She had been with Masterji.

"But you..." she breathed, looking at Remo’s crotch. "You break me."

She didn't wait for him to touch her. She started touching herself.
Right there in the open shop. She pressed her hand between her legs, right over the folds of her cotton saree. She rubbed her mound vigorously.

"Oh god," she hissed, her eyes rolling back. "I'm so wet just looking at you."
She grabbed Remo’s hand and tried to pull it towards her saree.

"Please, Remo," she begged, her voice cracking. "Take me to the back. Put it in. I need it deep today. Don't make me use my fingers."

I watched my mother—the woman who scolded me for wearing short skirts—begging the tailor to fuck her, rubbing herself in public, admitting she had slept with the staff.

She looked at Remo. He was ready, standing there with that smirk, but it wasn't enough for her today. The memory of the "others" had unlocked something greedy inside her.

"Remo," she panted, licking her dry lips. "Is Raju free as well?"
Remo raised an eyebrow. "Raju? You said he was too fast."

Mom laughed, a low, dirty sound. "I don't care if he is fast. I need the weight. One man isn't enough right now."
She stepped closer, gripping Remo’s shirt.

"I can use him also," she whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. "Let's have a threesome today. I want to be stuffed from both sides."

Remo didn't judge her. He turned his head towards the back of the shop.
"Raju!" he shouted. "Raju!"

Raju appeared from the stockroom. He was young, maybe twenty-one, with messy hair and a nervous grin. He wiped his hands on his pants. He saw Mom standing there, flushed and begging. He didn't look surprised. He looked hungry.
"Namaste, Madam," Raju said, his eyes dropping straight to her heaving chest.

"Namaste, Raju," my mother purred. She reached out and grabbed his hand. She pulled him close.
"Come," she commanded both of them.

She didn't wait. She walked towards Trial Room 1—the big one. She dragged Raju with one hand and beckoned Remo with the other.

"I want you on my mouth," she told Remo. "And Raju... you take the back door. Or maybe the front. I don't care. Just fill me up."

I watched as my mother walked into the trial room, sandwiched between the two tailors. Raju was already unbuckling his belt as he walked. Remo looked back at my hiding spot one last time. He winked again.

The door clicked shut. Clack.

Then, the sounds began.

"Yes!" my mother screamed instantly. "Both of you! Grab them! Suck them!"

I heard the sound of fabric ripping. I heard the wet smack of skin on skin. I heard two male voices groaning and my mother’s voice rising above them in a crescendo of pure, unadulterated filth. 

I ran towards the opening. I didn't care if I made a sound. I dared myself to look. I had to know if the picture in my head matched the reality.

I found the small drill hole in the wood—the same one I used for Meenal. I pressed my eye against it.

It was exactly as it sounded.
My mother was bent over, her hands bracing against the side walls of the small cubicle. Her saree was bunched up around her waist, a colorful mess of cotton.

Raju was behind her. He wasn't gentle. He was gripping her wide hips with his hands, his knuckles white. He was driving into her with some speed.

Thup-thup-thup.

It was the wet, heavy sound of his groin slapping against her buttocks. He was pounding her. His young, eager body was slamming into my mother’s soft flesh, shaking her whole frame.

Remo stood in front of her. He wasn't watching; he was participating. He forced her to stand upright enough so he could access her chest. He had pulled her blouse completely down. Her heavy, mature breasts were bouncing with the force of Raju’s thrusts from behind.

Remo was holding them, squeezing the nipples hard, twisting them like dials on a radio.

And my mother... she wasn't crying. She was laughing. She was talking dirty to them, her voice unrecognizable.
"Yes, Raju! Break it!" she screamed, her head thrown back. "Don't stop! Fuck your Aunty like a dog!"
She looked at Remo, her eyes glazed.

"Look at him, Remo! He is destroying me!" she panted. "You taught him well! He is hitting the perfect spot!"

"Shut up and suck," Remo growled.

He unzipped his pants. He took out his hardness. It was thick and dark. He pressed it against her wet, open mouth.
"Take it, Sunita," he commanded. "Make yourself useful."

My mother opened her mouth wide. She took him in. She started sucking Remo while Raju hammered her from behind. She was completely filled—mouth, ass, and soul.

"Mmmph-guck," she gagged, but she didn't stop. She hummed with pleasure, vibrating between the two men, being passed around like a shared meal in the very shop where unknown to her I was watching, her own daughter.

I watched her tongue swirl around Remo’s tip. I watched her ass ripple with every impact from Raju. I felt a line cross in my mind. She wasn't my mother anymore. She was just a woman with a bottomless hunger, and I was the daughter who was realizing that hunger runs in the blood.

Raju groaned, his grip on her hips slipping. "Madam... I can't... I'm going to burst."

Remo stepped back from my mother’s mouth. He looked at Raju, then at Mom’s backside.
"Move, boy," Remo laughed. "Today is ass only, Sunita. Let the boy breathe.

Remo then put the entire penis in, it went in her ass, it was tight, he moved gently and then started pounding her ass."
"Your ass, Sunita. So many times I have put it in, yet this feel the best", Remo said.

Remo then grabbed Mom’s waist to steady her, but Raju pulled out too fast. He scrambled around to the front. He didn't have time to aim.

"Oh god!" Raju cried out.

He unloaded right onto her face. Thick white spurts landed on her cheek, her chin, and her eyelashes.
Mom didn't wipe it away. She didn't flinch. She smiled, her eyes closed. She leaned forward and cleaned his slowing erection with her tongue to catch the drops running down his penis.

"Good boy," she purred, tasting him. "You have a lot in you."
She didn't mind at all. She welcomed it like it was face cream for her.

Remo wasted no time. He spun her around for the next part, They moved like dancers who knew the steps perfectly.
"Turn," Remo commanded.

"Yes," Mom breathed, wiping her mouth. "Now you."
She looked at Remo’s growing erection.

"Put it in front now," she demanded.
She didn't mind that it was dirty. She didn't mind the mix of fluids. She liked it this way—raw and messy.
Remo lined himself up. He looked her in the eye.

"Are you ready, Sunita?" he asked, gripping her thigh.
Mom laughed, breathless. "You say Ready? Remo, but I have already climaxed multiple times. Just finish me."

Remo didn't wait. He thrusted inside her.
"Ahhh!" she screamed and he creamed, wrapping her legs around his waist.
He hammered into her, hard and fast. Raju watched from the corner, catching his breath, staring at the way Remo owned her.

"Mine," Remo growled.

He drove deep one last time and poured himself again inside her.
Mom’s eyes rolled back. Her legs gave out. They collapsed onto the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, with Remo still on top of her, breathing heavily into her neck.

They lay there for a minute in the silence of the shop. Then, Mom hugged Remo tight. She kissed his sweaty shoulder.
"I bought a gift for you," she whispered, stroking his hair. "It's inside the plastic bag at the counter. A new watch."
Remo chuckled, rolling off her. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Sunita," he sighed. "You always bring these gifts for me and I keep saying to you... I don't want your husband's money. I just want this." He slapped her bare thigh playfully.

Mom propped herself up on one elbow. She looked at him with a sad, playful smile.
"Yet you share me with other staff," she countered, glancing at Raju. "Why don't you take me away with you? Save me from that boring house."

Remo smiled. He knew she was joking. They both knew she loved her rich life too much to leave, and she loved this dirty secret too much to stop.

"Then who would pay for the silk?" Remo teased.
He stood up. He grabbed a dry cloth from the shelf. He tossed it to her.

"Clean up," he said. "The next customer is waiting."
I watched my mother wipe herself down, her face glowing with a happiness I had never seen at home. I called her Slut without saying a word.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 15 - The aftermath

The door of Trial Room 1 opened slowly to the world inside the little shop. I froze behind the mirror, heart pounding so hard and I was not prepared for the way they emerged.

Mom stepped out first. She didn’t see me. Not even a flicker of recognition. Her eyes were somewhere far away, unfocused, like a woman walking out in a hurry. Her saree wasn’t sitting the way she had worn it earlier. The pallu had fallen out of place, and she pushed her pallu back onto her shoulder. Her hair, usually tight and disciplined, had loosened at the edges. She exhaled once a long quiet exhale and after that walked out of the shop with an unhurried confidence that did not belong to the mother I knew.

The bell tinkled softly as she vanished into the busy market. She did not look back. She did not see me standing there.

Raju came out next, head low, steps shaky. His shirt was wrinkled and he kept adjusting it like he wasn’t sure how it was supposed to sit anymore. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He brushed past the counter and disappeared into the storeroom.

Remo came out last. He paused in the doorway, just a beat, but enough to reset the entire room. Then he straightened his shirt, rolled his shoulders back, and became Remo again — the tailor, the professional, the man who controlled rooms by controlling himself.

When he finally looked up, his gaze met me. Calm. Steady. Already expecting.

I stepped forward, throat tight, blood hot and cold at the same time. “What is going on here?” I asked, voice raw.

Remo didn’t pretend. He didn’t soften it. He didn’t dance around me. “What you saw,” he said quietly, “is a part of her life she doesn’t share with anyone.”

“Why does she even come here?” my voice was sharper now, cracking under betrayal.
“Because this is the one place,” Remo said, “where she remembers she’s a person… not a parent, not a wife, not someone’s responsibility. A person with her own past.”

“How long has she been coming?” The words fell out like I was afraid of the answer.
“Years,” he said plainly. “Since before you even started college.”

My breath hitched. I stepped closer, eyes burning. “How do you know all this, Remo? How? You’re not her friend. You’re just a tailor.”

Remo’s jaw tightened. “I know it,” he said, “because she told me. Directly. Not with stories but with the way she walked in here one day and said she needed something stitched ‘for herself, not for the house.’”

He continued, voice firm and honest: “She wasn’t always like this. She had a different life once. A freer one. She didn’t lose it, it was taken from her by time, duty, and circumstances you don’t know about.”
I blinked hard. “Why would she tell you?”

“Because I’m the kind of person people talk to when they’re tired of lying to themselves,” Remo said simply. “No judgment. No consequences. Just a place where they can breathe.”

He stepped back, giving me space to absorb it. “Adults have complicated lives,” he added in a low, steady voice. “Much more complicated than what you saw today. Don’t judge her from outside the story. One day… you’ll understand why people find places to keep their truth.”

The weight of his words settled over me like dust after a collapse. Mom was gone. Raju was hiding. Remo was unshakable. And I stood alone in the middle of the shop, holding a truth I had not asked for: I did not know my mother. Not even close. For the first time, the world felt bigger, darker, and painfully real — and the curtain of Trial Room 1 swayed gently behind Remo, carrying the ghost of a secret I could never unsee.

Remo watched me digest the truth. Then, slowly, his serious face changed. That dark, hungry smirk returned to his lips. He walked past me to the front of the shop.

Click. He locked the main glass door. Snap. He turned the "Closed" sign outward.
He walked back to me. He didn't stop at a polite distance. He stepped right into my personal space.

"But you didn't run away, Ananya," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. "You watched. You put your eye to the hole."

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm.
"You judged her," Remo murmured, trailing his finger down my neck. "But you were wet watching her. Weren't you?"

I shivered. "Remo... don't."
"Don't what?" he teased. "Don't tell you the truth? That is a wild woman, Ananya. She takes what she wants. She takes two men at once because one isn't enough to fill her."

He grabbed my waist. He pulled me hard against his body. I could feel the heat radiating off him—the heat generated by my mother.

"Are you like her?" he asked, looking deep into my eyes. "Do you have that same fire inside? That same dirty hunger?"
I tried to push him away, but my hands just rested on his chest. I could smell it on him. Musk. Sweat. Sex. It was intoxicating.

"I... I am not like her," I stammered.
"Liar," Remo growled playfully.

He lifted his hand. He brought it to my face. He rubbed his thumb over my lower lip.
"Smell," he commanded.

I inhaled. His skin smelled of her. It smelled of the fluids I had seen flying in that room. It was disgusting, and yet, my body reacted violently. My knees went weak.

"You want to know what she tasted?" Remo asked.
He didn't wait. He crushed his mouth against mine.

It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was possessive. He forced my lips open. His tongue invaded my mouth, tasting of the shop, tasting of the secret acts he had just performed.

I moaned into his mouth. I didn't fight. I grabbed his hair. I kissed him back, desperate to taste the same pleasure that had made my mother scream.

He pulled back, breathless. He grabbed my ass with both hands, squeezing the flesh hard through my kurta.
"You feel just as soft as her," he whispered in my ear. "But tighter. Much tighter."

He ground his hips against mine. I felt his erection—the same one that had just been inside my mother—pressing against my stomach.

"Let's see if you can scream louder than her," he challenged, biting my neck. "Trial Room 1 is still warm, Ananya. It’s waiting for you."

I looked at the curtain where my mother had just been ruined. Then I looked at Remo.
"Show me," I whispered. "Show me everything you did to her."

Remo watched me with that dark, knowing smile. He didn't know Sunita was my mother. He just thought I was a curious girl fascinated by an older woman’s depravity.

"Go on," he whispered, pointing to the cubicle. "You wanted to see everything? Go inside. It’s still warm."

I stepped forward. My legs felt heavy. I pushed aside and walked into Trial Room 1.
The heat hit me instantly. It wasn't just the lack of ventilation. It was the residual body heat of three people who had been thrashing against each other for twenty minutes. It felt suffocating, like stepping into a used mouth.

I looked down.
The floor was a disaster. The dust was disturbed, scuffed by shoes and knees. But it was the wetness that made my stomach turn.

There were droplets of white fluid on the wooden floorboards—spilled seed that hadn't made it inside. A damp, dark patch stained the wood where my mother had collapsed.
I looked at the mirror.

It was fogged up with condensation and sweat. But lower down, at hip height, there were smudges. Oily streaks where skin had pressed against glass. And there, right in the center, was a smear of white residue—the aftermath of Raju’s finish on her face, wiped off and flung aside.

I stared at a discarded tissue in the corner, crumpled and soaked.
Remo leaned in from the doorway, misinterpreting my silence.

"She is a wild one, that Sunita," he chuckled, admiring the mess. "She took everything we had and still walked out walking straight."

He was comparing me to her. He thought it was an aspirational game. He didn't know that the "wild one" was the woman who packed my lunchbox. He didn't know that the fluids on the floor belonged to the woman who tucked me in at night.

It was too much. The visual of the white stains, the smell of the sex, the echo of her screams that still seemed to bounce off the walls—it crashed down on me.

I couldn't breathe. The arousal died, replaced by a violent wave of nausea.
"I... I can't," I choked out.

Remo reached for me, thinking I was just overwhelmed by the scent. "It’s okay, Ananya. It’s just the smell of—"
"No!" I screamed.

I shoved past him. I didn't look back at the mirror. I didn't look at Remo’s confused face. I ran.

I burst out of the trial room, stumbled through the shop, and pushed open the glass door.

The bell jingled cheerfully behind me as I fled into the noisy, dusty street, gasping for air that didn't smell like my mother’s sins.

[blackdesk]

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx story. Xxxxxx storytelling

[Projectmp]

Amazing story. Amazing plot

[samanthasam]

Very good story.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 16 - Home

When I reached home that evening, the house felt strange, like someone had turned down the volume on the world. The lights were on, the smell of tadka (spices) was in the air, everything looked normal… but nothing felt normal.

My mother, Sunita, was in the kitchen cutting vegetables.

She didn’t hear me enter at first. Her movements were slow and careful, almost too careful. I stood in the doorway, clutching my bag, just watching her.

She finally looked up and smiled—the kind of warm, safe smile she used when she didn’t want anyone to worry.
"You’re home, beta," she said gently. "How was your day?"

I looked at her face. It was scrubbed clean. There was no trace of the makeup she might have worn, and definitely no trace of the thick white fluid I had seen Raju splash all over her an hour ago.

But I saw it. In my mind, her face was still overlaid with that image—her eyes closed, her tongue out, licking the helper’s seed off her own skin.
"Fine," I answered. My voice sounded small even to myself.

She wiped her hands on a towel and walked over to me. She looked concerned.
"You look so tired, Anu," she said softly. She reached out and placed her palm on my forehead, checking for a fever. "Is it the presentation? You were so worried about it yesterday. Did the professor say anything?"
I flinched inside, but I didn't pull away. Her hand was warm. It was the hand of my mother who stayed up late to help me with projects.

But my mind screamed. That hand. That was the same hand I watched wrapping around Remo’s thick erection. That was the hand that had rubbed her own wetness in the middle of the shop.
"No, Mom," I lied, looking at her wrist. "The presentation was good. I just... I have a headache."
"Go wash up," she said, stroking my hair. "I made your favorite Bhindi (Okra). It will make you feel better."

I sat at the dining table, watching her move back to the stove.
She turned her back to me to stir the pot. She was wearing a simple house saree now. It was dbangd loosely over her hips.
I couldn't help it. I stared at her backside.

I remembered the sound. Thup-thup-thup. I remembered the way her ass had shaken as Raju pounded her from behind. I remembered how she had spread her own cheeks in the mirror for Remo.
Now, she looked like a saint. But I knew that under that cotton petticoat, her skin was probably red and raw from the slapping. I knew her muscles were trembling not from age, but from the aftershocks of being filled by two men at once.

During dinner, Mom served food like she always did—same recipes, same jokes.
"Did you talk to Sonali?" she asked casually, putting a roti on my plate. "Is she still fighting with her boyfriend?"
"Yes," I mumbled. "They broke up again."

She shook her head, smiling. "Young love. So much drama."

I watched her hand as she poured water into my glass. It was shaking. Just a little. A tiny tremor.
She caught me looking. She quickly put the jug down and hid her hand in her lap. She took a deep breath, her chest rising—the same chest I had seen heaving and bare, squeezed by Remo’s dark hands.

She was still high from it. She was trying to act normal, but her body was still vibrating from the orgasm.

Then, the front door opened.
"I'm home!" a cheerful voice called out.
My father, Rajesh, walked in. He was a tall man, wearing a formal office shirt, looking tired but happy. He carried a box of sweets.

Mom stood up immediately. The wild woman from the shop vanished completely, replaced by the perfect wife.
"You are late today," she said softly.

Papa walked over and hugged her. He kissed her forehead gently—a dry, respectful peck.
"Sorry, traffic was bad," he said, smiling at her with pure adoration. "But I brought Rasgulla. I know you like it."

He looked at her like she was a glass doll. He treated her like a Devi (Goddess). He didn't grab her waist. He didn't slap her ass. He didn't look at her with hunger. He looked at her with respect.

I watched them. Papa sat down, telling her about his boring day at the bank. He held her hand gently on the table.
And suddenly, I understood.

He was too good. He was safe. He gave her security, money, and respect. But he didn't see her. He didn't see the woman who needed to be choked, slapped, and used. He didn't have the darkness she needed.
That’s why she went to the shop. She didn't go for the clothes. She went because Remo and Raju treated her like a piece of meat, and deep down, my mother needed to be devoured to feel alive.

The house felt too quiet. My father ate his sweet, thinking he was the luckiest man in the world, while his wife sat next to him, smelling of soap but still wet with the secret life he would never understand.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 17

I couldn’t sleep that night. My bed felt too soft, the ceiling fan too loud. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flashing images of my mother in the tailor shop—her head thrown back, her mouth open, Remo’s hand on her throat.
The dinner conversation played on a loop in my head.

I was thirsty. So, I got up around 2:00 AM to get water from the kitchen. The hallway glowed faintly under a zero-watt bulb. The house was silent… or so I believed.

As I passed my parents' bedroom door, I heard it. It wasn't a snore. It wasn't the rustle of sheets.
"Stay down," a voice hissed.

I froze. It was my mother’s voice. But it wasn't the soft, maternal voice she used at dinner. It was the voice she had used in the shop—commanding, raw, powerful. But this time, she wasn't begging. She was ordering.
Then I heard a man groan. "Ohhhhh... God..." It sounded like a sound of pain mixed with intense, suffocating pleasure. It was my father.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I should have kept walking. I should have run to the kitchen. But the demon that woke up in me at the tailor shop was awake now. I needed to see.

I crept closer. The door wasn't clicked shut. It was slightly ajar, just a crack. I pressed my fingers against the wood and pushed. Just a millimetre. Just enough to see into the slice of dim orange light coming from their bedside lamp.
I clamped my hand over my mouth to stop the scream.

My father was on the bed, but he wasn't on top. He was on his hands and knees, his head buried in the pillows, his back arched, his white buttocks exposed to the air. He was completely naked.
And standing behind him was my mother. She was naked too, her body glowing in the dim light. But she was wearing something else. A black leather harness strapped tight around her wide hips. And sticking out from it was a thick, dark purple dildo.

My mother didn't just shove it in. She picked up a bottle from the nightstand. She poured oil into her palm.

Squelch.

She rubbed the oil onto the synthetic cock, making it glisten in the orange light. Then, she reached down and rubbed the oil onto my father’s hole. She circled it sensually, teasing him.

"Relax, Rajesh," she commanded, her voice clinical and cold. "Open up for me."
"Aaahhh... yes... Sunita..." my father whimpered into the sheets.

She gripped my father’s hips—just like Raju had gripped hers earlier.
"Take it, Rajesh," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. "Take it in your ass!"

She thrust forward. Slap. The harness hit his cheeks. She drove the strap-on deep into my father.
"Ohhh! F-fuck!" my father let out a long, broken moan. "Oh God... Sunita... yes!"

He wasn't fighting her. He wasn't just tolerating it. He was pushing back against her, desperate for it. He wasn't the strong, protective husband in that moment. He was submissive. He was hers to use.
My mother moved her hips with a rhythm that was terrifyingly confident. She dominated him. She looked down at his back with a look of pure ownership.

"You love this, don't you?" she taunted him, pulling back and slamming in again. Schlick. Slap.
"Yes!" my father gasped, his knuckles gripping the sheets. "I love it. Please... harder!"
She raised her hand and brought it down hard on his bare ass. Thwack! "Aaahhh!" he screamed in pleasure. Thwack! "Good boy," she purred. "Take every inch."

"I'm close," he gasped. "Sunita... please."
"Turn over," she ordered sharply.
She pulled out. Pop.

My father scrambled to turn onto his back. He looked pathetic and desperate, his erection standing straight up, red and angry.
My mother moved between his legs. She grabbed his ankles. She lifted his legs high in the air, pinning his knees to his chest. It was a humiliating position. He was wide open to her, splayed out like a broken doll.
"Look at you," she whispered, looking down at him with a mix of pity and power. "You need this, don't you? You can't feel anything unless I break you open."

"Yes," he sobbed, his eyes squeezed shut, his legs trembling in her grip. "It’s the only way. Please."
She didn't use her mouth. She didn't use her body. She reached out with her hand. She gripped his penis. She started jerking him off, using a rough, milking motion.

"Come on," she said, pumping her hand. "Give it to me."
My father arched his back violently. He let out a long, high-pitched cry. "Thank you! Thank you, Sunita! Aaahhhhh!"
He erupted. He shot all over his own chest and stomach. My mother watched him cum with zero emotion. She didn't smile. She didn't kiss him. She just held his legs until he stopped twitching.

I stumbled back from the door, my head spinning. I leaned against the wall in the dark hallway, trying to breathe.
Everything suddenly made sense in a twisted, sickening way.
My father didn't treat her like a Goddess because he was boring. He treated her like a Goddess because he worshipped her. He gave her all the power. In their bedroom, she was the King, and he was the servant. She controlled him. She pegged him. She owned him.

And that was the problem.
At home, she had too much power. She was in charge. She was the Don.
That’s why she went to Remo. That’s why she let Raju use her. She didn't go to the shop to be worshipped. She went there to be degraded. She went there to lose the control she had to maintain at home. She needed to be the one on her knees, the one being slapped, the one being used, because everywhere else—even in her own marriage—she was the one holding the whip.

I looked at the closed door one last time, hearing my mother’s grunts of exertion and my father’s whimpers of submission fading into the silence. I realized then that my family was a house of mirrors, and everyone was wearing a mask. And now, I had to decide which mask I was going to wear.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 18

I woke up on my alarm. My whole body felt tight throughout the night. I got out of bed and walked straight to the bathroom because I needed something—anything—to wash the night out of my head.

I turned the water on as hot as it could go. Steam filled the bathroom instantly, turning the mirror into a white fog. I stripped off my clothes. I looked at my body in the glass—my breasts, my waist, the dark triangle between my legs.
I stepped under the stream. It felt like the world finally held me. The water hit my shoulders, heavy and burning, like it was trying to melt the memory off me.



I closed my eyes. But the darkness brought the images back. Flash. My mother’s hand jerking my father off. Flash. The black strap-on glistening with oil. Flash. The white fluid splashing on her face in the shop.
My breathing hitched. The heat of the water felt like hands. I reached for the soap. I lathered my hands, making them slick and slippery—just like my mother’s hands had been with the oil.

I couldn't help it. My hand moved down. I touched my own breasts, squeezing them hard, mimicking the way Remo had held her. My nipples hardened instantly under the scalding water. I slid my hand lower, over my flat stomach, down to my wet curls. I slipped a finger inside myself.

"Ahhh," I gasped, leaning my forehead against the cold tile wall.

It felt wrong. It felt dirty. But it felt real. I rubbed myself faster, washing away the confusion with pleasure, trying to understand the hunger that drove my mother to do those things. The steam swirled around me, heavy and suffocating, as I chased a release that felt more like a punishment than a joy.

When I finally stepped out, my skin was red and raw. I wrapped a towel around me, feeling like a stranger in my own body.
I couldn't sit at the table with them. With her. With him. The kitchen felt wrong, suddenly they felt wrong.

My mother was humming, cutting apples. My father was reading his newspaper, looking fresh and professional. Both pretending to be normal. Both performing a life that wasn’t real.
My throat closed up. "I’m leaving early," I choked out, grabbing my bag.

"Eat something—" my father said, looking up with that same pathetic, worshipful expression he wore last night when he was on his knees.
"I’ll get something on the way," I shouted back.

I rushed out the door before I could scream at them. Fresh air hit me like a slap. I didn't breathe easier, but at least I could breathe.

The campus was bustling, loud, messy. Students everywhere. Laughter, scooters, chai stalls, morning gossip. And yet—I felt like a ghost walking through the noise.

My friends were sitting under the big neem tree near the canteen. Saloni waved at me, her tight kurta hugging her chest. Ishita gave a tiny smile. The two boys nodded shyly. The romantic guy—the one with the silver ring—lit up like a puppy when he saw me.

Their world was still the same. Mine wasn’t. I walked toward them, trying to fix my face so it didn’t show the terror sitting under my skin.

"Hey Dude... what happened?" Saloni whispered the moment I sat down. She could read me like a book.
"Nothing," I said too quickly.

She raised an eyebrow. "You look like you saw a ghost."
I swallowed the truth. I couldn't let it out. Not this truth. So I said quietly, "I just had... a really bad night."
Saloni didn't pull back. She shifted closer on the bench. Her thigh pressed against mine—warm, solid, and deliberate.
"Talk to me," she said.

Her voice was soft, steady, and low. It wasn't just friendly; it was intimate. She reached out and took my hand. She didn't just hold it; she stroked the inside of my palm with her thumb, a slow, sensual rhythm that sent a shiver up my arm.

"I saw something I wasn’t supposed to," I whispered, looking at her lips.
Saloni’s face softened instantly. She didn't ask what it was. Instead, she leaned in. I could smell her perfume—vanilla and spice. Her breath brushed my ear.

"You’re shaking, Anu," she murmured.
She moved her hand from my palm to my knee. She squeezed gently, her fingers lingering on the fabric of my jeans, inching slightly upward. It was a touch meant to ground me, but in my heightened state, it felt electric.
"You’re safe now," she whispered, her eyes dark and focused on mine.

She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her side. My face buried into the soft curve of her neck. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest.
"Whatever it is... we’ll deal with it," she hummed against my hair.

She rubbed my arm up and down, her nails grazing my skin lightly. It was soothing, but it was also a reminder that bodies were warm, soft, and hungry. I closed my eyes, letting the morning noises of college wash over me, leaning into Saloni’s embrace, realizing that I didn't want to pull away. I wanted to sink deeper into the heat.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 19

It started. Saloni leaned in so close, her lips brushed my earlobe.
"I know what you need," she whispered, her hot breath sending a shiver down my spine. "And I wanna do it."
I pulled back slightly, looking at her eyes. They were dark, dilated, full of a mischievous intent I hadn't seen before.
"I don't know what you mean," I said softly, with my innocence.

Saloni smirked. "It means I am making you happy," she said. She squeezed my knee. "You are thinking too much, Anu. We are grown-ups. We can take care of each other. We don't need these boys."

She glanced at the boy with the silver ring, rolling her eyes. Then she grabbed my hand.

We walked slowly, pretending to take a stroll, but our destination was specific. We slipped behind the massive trunk of the Banyan tree. The grass here was tall, thick, and cool.

I lay down on the lush grass, staring up at the canopy of leaves blocking the harsh sun. It felt private. Hidden.
Saloni sat near my feet. She didn't look at me; she looked at my ankles. She started rubbing my feet, her thumbs digging into my arches.

"Feel the grass," she said dreamily. "It grounds you."
It felt good. Safe. But Saloni wasn't interested in safety. Her hands moved up. They glided over my shins, over my knees.
Then, they went where they weren't meant to go.

Her hand slid up my inner thigh, resting right between my legs over the fabric of my salwar.
I gasped and sat up slightly. We gave each other a big stare. Then, the tension broke, and we both laughed—a nervous, electric sound.



"Seriously?" I whispered. "This is how you make me happy?"
Saloni bit her lip, her eyes dropping to my crotch. "You haven't seen anything yet."

She reached for my waist. I was wearing a comfortable cotton salwar with a drawstring.
She found the knot. She pulled the string. Swish. My pajama loosened instantly.
"Saloni..." I breathed, looking around to make sure no one was watching.

She didn't stop. She brought her hand to her mouth. She licked her index and middle fingers, coating them in saliva. She looked me right in the eye as she did it—a dirty, intimate gesture.
"We are sisters," she said, her voice husky. "This is for the sisterhood."
She slid her wet hand inside the waistband of my loose pants. She bypassed my panties, sliding her fingers right under the elastic.

Her cool, wet fingers touched my hot skin. I arched my back into the grass.
"Oh god," I moaned softly.
She found my clit instantly. She didn't hesitate. She rubbed the wet spit over me, circling the sensitive nub.
"See?" she whispered, leaning over me so her hair curtained our faces. "Boys don't know where this is. But I do."

She slipped one finger inside me. It felt tight, then good. She curled her finger, hitting a spot that made my toes curl in the grass. I grabbed her other hand, squeezing it hard as she pumped her finger in and out of me, right there in the college garden, hidden by the tree and the secrets we were suddenly sharing.

"That's it, Anu," she purred. "Let it go. Your secret is safe with me."

"Oh yea," I moaned, my head rolling back against the earth.

Saloni heard the change in my breathing. She picked up the pace. Her wet finger moved faster inside me, hitting that sweet spot over and over. She was determined to release my stress, to scrub the image of my parents out of my mind with pure pleasure.

I didn't try to close my legs. I did the opposite. I spread my legs wide, digging my heels into the soft soil, offering everything to her.

Suddenly, she stopped. She pulled her finger out with a wet pop.
She leaned over me, her hair brushing my stomach. Her eyes were dark and hungry.
"I want to go down on you," she whispered, staring at my wetness.
I looked at her. Yesterday, I would have been scandalized. Today? After seeing my mother begging for it, after seeing my father on his knees? I wasn't shy. I was desperate.
I nodded. "Do it."

Saloni smiled. She opened her mouth wide.
She stuck her tongue out. It was shockingly long. She curled the tip upward, making it rigid. It looked strong, muscular.

"Watch," she teased.

She lowered her head. She didn't lick the surface. She aimed that curled, rigid tip right at my entrance.

She used it like a penis.
She pushed her tongue inside of me.

I gasped, my back arching off the grass. It was a new feeling—slippery, warm, and incredibly agile. It wasn't hard like a finger or a phallus; it was alive. It pulsed inside me, exploring ridges I didn't know I had.
"Mmmph," Saloni hummed against me, the vibration traveling straight to my core.

She pumped her tongue in and out, fucking me with her mouth. The sensation was overwhelming. I reached out blindly. My hands found the thick grass on either side of me. I pulled the grass from the roots, ripping it out in clumps as the pleasure built.

"Harder, Saloni!" I whispered-screamed. "Don't stop!"
She swirled the tip deep inside, then flicked my clit with the flat of her tongue.
The climax hit me like a lightning strike. My vision went white. I clamped my thighs around her head, trapping her there. I shuddered violently, pouring my release into her mouth, crying out into the silence of the garden.

Saloni stayed there until I stopped shaking. Then she pulled back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked triumphant.

"See?" she grinned, helping me pull my salwar up. "Sisters take care of sisters."
I lay there, breathing hard, looking at the leaves above. I realized then that the world was full of secret gardens, and I was finally learning how to walk in them.

[Assanlisan]

Keep going man. You are doing a grest work.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 20

When we reached my house, it was already late afternoon.


We walked in the house, My mother, Sunita, was in the living room, folding clothes. She looked perfectly normal—the respectable housewife. But I knew better now.

"Mom," I said, my voice steadier than this morning. "Saloni is here."
Mom looked up. She smiled, smoothing a bedsheet. "Hello, Saloni. Long time no see."

Saloni grinned. She didn't look nervous. She looked at my mother with a strange, new confidence.
"Hello, Aunty," Saloni said. "We were just at college... studying hard. But Ananya is very stressed."

I looked at Saloni's face trying to understand why is she telling my mom that I am stressed.

My mother paused. She looked at Saloni, then at me. 
"Tension?" Mom asked, a small, knowing glint in her eye. "Well, you girls are at that age. 
The pressure builds up. You need to find ways to... release it. Listen to some music or talking helps a lot."

Saloni bit her lip, holding back a laugh. "Exactly, Aunty. That's why I came. To help her... study. We need to go deep into the subject."

"Go ahead," Mom said, turning back to the folding clothes but watching us from the corner of her eye. "Don't let me disturb your private time. Close the door if you need to focus."

We walked to my room. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from anticipation.
I opened the door. We stepped inside. Click. I locked it.
The sound of the lock sliding home was the trigger.

We dropped our bags on the floor. Thud.
We didn't say a word. Saloni grabbed my waist and slammed me against the closed door.
She kissed me. It wasn't the tentative kiss of two girls experimenting. It was a Deep French Kiss (DFK) with a lot of tongue—wet, hungry, and demanding. She tasted of the mint she had popped in the auto and the lingering taste of me from the garden.

"Mmmph," I moaned into her mouth, my hands tangling in her hair.
We were smiling against each other's lips, giggling breathlessly as we stumbled toward the bed. We fell onto the mattress, a tangle of limbs and desire.

"I can't wait anymore," Saloni whispered, straddling my waist.
She looked down at my chest. The kurta I was wearing was tight.
"I saw them," Saloni murmured, her eyes dark. "In the canteen. In the garden. Your chest... it's huge, Anu. And those nipples..."

She traced the outline of my hardened nipples through the fabric. They were poking out, defiant and sharp.
"They are so perky," she groaned. "I have to see them. I have to taste them."
"Do it," I begged, arching my back. "Take them out."

Saloni pulled my kurta up, removed the bra.
My heavy, pale breasts spilled out, swaying slightly. My large, brown nipples stood at attention, waiting to be worshipped.
"Oh wow," Saloni breathed.

She lowered her head. She didn't be gentle. She latched onto my left nipple, sucking hard, swirling her tongue around the areola, just like Remo had done to the women in his shop.
"Yes!" I cried out, my fingers digging into her shoulders. "Saloni!"

Outside the door, the hallway was quiet.
Mom stood there. She hadn't gone back to the laundry. She was standing right next to the wood, her head tilted slightly.
She heard the giggle. She heard the thud of the bodies hitting the bed. She heard the wet sounds of the kissing. And then, she heard her daughter’s moan—a sound of pure, uninhibited pleasure.
Mom didn't knock. She didn't look shocked.

A slow smile spread across her face.
So, she thought, listening to the rhythm of the bedsprings squeaking. She is into girls.
She realized then that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. Her daughter had the same hunger, the same need to break the rules, just in a different way.

Mom stepped back from the door, leaving them to their secrets. She walked back to the kitchen to make tea, humming to herself. She wouldn't say a word. In this house, secrets were the only thing they truly shared.

[doctor101]

Hope to get more male low class partners adventures for Ananya and Saloni

[ashuezy2]

Scene 21

Saloni took charge of my body completely. I had invited her in, and now she owned the space. My nipples were the hardest they had ever been—throbbing, dark peaks against my pale skin. Her mouth was latched onto the right one, sucking with a pressure that sent jolts straight to my groin.

A sudden wave of panic hit me. This wasn't the garden. This was my bed. My mother was just down the hall. The reality of what we were doing crashed into the fantasy.

I put my hands on her shoulders, trying to push her back.
"Saloni... wait," I gasped. "I'm scared."

She stopped sucking but didn't pull away. She looked up, her lips wet. Her eyes were dark, dilated with a hunger that scared me even more.

"Stop now?" she whispered, her voice husky. "When I am finally so close?"
She shook her head, moving my hands away from her shoulders and pinning them to the mattress.
"You just relax and close your eyes," she commanded softly. "I will do it all."

And she did.
She moved down my body. I realized somewhere in the frenzy, my salwar had been kicked off. I was not only topless but nothing below as well. I was completely bare to her.

The next thing I saw was the top of her head moving between my legs.
She didn't wait. She buried her face in me.
"Oh god!" I cried out.

Her tongue, that incredibly long, agile muscle I had seen in the garden—ignited my passion instantly. It wasn't just touching me; it was lapping at me. She spread me wide with her hands and drove her tongue deep into my folds.
My juices began flowing, soaking her chin, soaking my inner thighs. The sensation was too intense, too focused. I couldn't stop myself from moaning loudly, thrashing my head against the pillow.

She found the spot. She curled that long tip around my clitoris and flicked it hard.
The pleasure built like a tidal wave. I lost all sense of where I was. I forgot about the door. I forgot about my mom.
"Saloni!" I screamed, grabbing her hair. "Your tongue... Saloni, it is so big!"
I climaxed violently, my hips bucking off the mattress, grinding my wetness against her face as she drank everything I gave her.

My mom was still standing there. She hadn't moved.
She heard the scream. She heard the words clearly through the wood.

"Your tongue, Saloni, it is so big!"

Sunita’s eyes widened. She touched her own throat involuntarily. She knew exactly what that felt like—to be filled by something that made you lose your mind. But hearing her daughter say it to another girl?

A strange flush crept up her neck. She wasn't disgusted. She was... curious. She stayed for a moment longer, listening to the heavy panting, before finally walking away with a secret smile.

Inside the room, the storm settled. Saloni pulled back, wiping her face. She looked triumphant, like she had just won a prize.
I lay there, limp and exhausted, staring at the ceiling fan.
I was bi-curious. I knew that now. I liked it when Saloni was doing it to me. I liked the softness of her skin, the way she knew exactly where to touch.

But when I looked at her—at her waiting lips, at her expectant eyes—I felt... nothing. No urge to go down on her. No desire to taste her the way she had tasted me.
Saloni saw it in my eyes. She let out a small, dry laugh.

"I know," she said softly, pulling her shirt down. "I won't get anything, will I?"
I looked away, feeling a twinge of guilt but mostly relief.

"I am not sure I can do this to you," I admitted, my voice quiet. "I... I like receiving. But I don't think I can give. Not yet."
I was reluctant. I was taking my time to explore, and for now, I was selfish with my pleasure. Saloni just kissed my forehead, accepting the scraps I offered, knowing that in this room, I was the one learning how to be hungry.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 22 - No More Secrets - Gold

A few minutes later, Mom knocked on the door. She didn’t wait for an answer and walked right in. We had already opened it earlier after getting dressed.

She was carrying a tray. The aroma of tea and fried pakoras filled the room, masking the scent of what we had just done. I looked at the tray.

There were three cups. Not two.
She knew. She wasn't here to serve us; she was here to join us.

"Relax, girls," Mom said, her voice smooth like silk. "You must be hungry after all that... studying."
She set the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing both of us. She crossed her legs comfortably. Her eyes darted from my flushed face to Saloni’s wet lips. She knew exactly what had happened minutes ago, but she smiled that secret, knowing smile.

"So, Saloni beta," Mom started, taking a sip of her tea. "Tell me about your family?"
Saloni, still in her mode, leaned back on her hands, spreading her legs slightly.

"Oh, Aunty," Saloni sighed, looking at Mom with bold eyes. "My parents are boring. My dad is always working, and my mom... well, she just prays and cooks. No spice in their life. Not like here."

Mom laughed, a rich, throaty sound. "Spice is important, Saloni. Without it, food—and life—turn dull and tasteless."
They started talking, laughing and joking around about silly things. Mom shifted into storytelling mode.

"You know," she said, her eyes twinkling. "When I was in college, I was quite the firecracker. Boys used to go crazy. They would write love letters in blood—can you imagine? And the calls! Our landline would ring all day. My father would pick up, and there would be silence on the other end. Just breathing. They just wanted to hear my voice."

My mom was in fun mode and she was charming. But then, the atmosphere shifted.

Saloni, frustrated that I hadn't touched her and emboldened by my mother’s openness, decided to push the boundaries. 
"Aunty," Saloni asked, tracing the rim of her cup. "You were so popular... so when did you have sex? Was it with Ananya's father?"

I choked on my tea. "Saloni!"
Mom waved her hand dismissively. "It’s okay, Ananya. We are all women here."
She looked Saloni dead in the eye. "No. It wasn't with Rajesh. It was a senior. I was eighteen. He had a motorbike. It was fast, painful, and thrilling. He was the one."

Saloni shifted on the bed, She leaned closer to Mom.
"Tell me about him, about this senior with the motorbike. How did that happen?"

Mom let out a short, sharp laugh. Her eyes hardened, glittering with a different kind of memory, something darker, faster.
"Ah," Mom said, swirling her tea. "Vicky. He was three years senior. He rode a black Royal Enfield Bullet. You know the sound... dhug-dhug-dhug. You could feel it in your chest before you saw him."
She looked at me, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

"I didn't like him, Ananya. He was arrogant. But when I sat behind him on that bike... wrapped my arms around his leather jacket... the vibration of that engine right between my legs? That was foreplay enough. I was dripping wet before we even parked."

"Where did you go?" Saloni asked, breathless.
"Behind the North Campus ridge," Mom said. "It was late. Pitch black. Just dirt roads and thorny bushes. No one goes there at night unless they are up to no good."

She set her cup down with a decisive clink.
"He stopped the bike. He didn't say a word. He just cut the engine. The silence was sudden and terrifying."

"He didn't try to woo me, girls," Mom said, her voice dropping low, "There were no candles. No gentle touches. He grabbed my arm and pulled me off the bike."

"He didn't kiss me. He didn't even take his jacket off. He just shoved my salwar down to my ankles. He bent me over the seat of the bike. The leather seat was cold against my bare stomach."

I flinched, imagining my mother—eighteen years old—bent over a motorcycle in the dark.

"He didn't have a condom. He didn't care. He just spat into his palm to lube himself up. I heard the spit hit his hand. Phhh-tuh."

My stomach churned.

"And then," Mom whispered, her eyes unfocused, staring at the wall, "He just jammed it in. I screamed. It felt like tearing. It burned. He put his hand over my mouth to shut me up, his leather glove that tasted like dust and petrol."

Saloni was staring, mouth slightly open. "Did you hate it?"
Mom looked back at us.
"For the first minute? Yes. I thought I was dying. He was fucking me hard, Ananya. Fast and brutal. Slamming his thighs against my hips so hard the bike was shaking on its stand. The pieces of the dirt road was digging into my flip-flips."

She paused, licking her lips.

"But then... the pain turned into something else. The adrenaline. The power of him holding me down, using my body like a ragdoll... it woke something up in me. I realized I didn't want sweet. I didn't want gentle. I wanted to be broken."

She looked at me, and for a second, In my mind I saw the woman from the tailor shop looking back—the woman who begged two men to fill her.

"That night on the ridge," she said softly, "I learned that pain and pleasure are just neighbours living in the same house. And sometimes, you have to knock down the wall between them to feel alive."

Saloni grinned. "Oh, That was hot, Aunty. But I have to ask did you have more than one boyfriend at a time?"

"I was a juggler," Mom confessed without an ounce of shame. "One for the movies, one for the long drives, one for the... physical needs. Men are simple creatures, Saloni. If you feed their ego, they won't notice you're feeding someone else too."

Then came the big one. Saloni leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Looks like you were so much into this, Aunty. Did you ever got a chance to... try out with women too?"
I froze. I got scared. My heart hammered against my ribs. Saloni was crossing a line.

But Mom didn't flinch. She placed her hand on my knee, squeezing gently.
"Relax, Ananya," she said soothingly. "This is all fun. You are grown up now. This is women talk. What happens in this room, remains private."

She turned back to Saloni.

"Yes," Mom said, her voice dropping to a husky purr. "In the hostel. Girls get lonely. And sometimes... boys are too rough. Girls know where the buttons are. Girls are soft. It’s a different kind of sweetness."

"Tell me about it," Saloni pressed, her voice breathless. "How did it happen? What did you do?"

Mom smiled, a distant, hazy look entering her eyes. She set her cup down on the tray. She ran a hand through her hair, loosening a few strands from her bun.

"Her name was Susan," Mom began softly. "She was my roommate. Very shy, very quiet. Not like me. I was the loud one."

She looked at us, leaning in.

"It was monsoon season. The power had gone out in the hostel. It was pitch black, and the rain was hammering against the windows. Susan was scared of the thunder. She asked if she could sleep in my bed."

Mom licked her lips, as if she could still taste the memory.

"We lay there, side by side. It was a single bed, very narrow. Our bodies were pressed together. I could feel the heat radiating off her. She was wearing a thin cotton nightie... and I wasn't wearing much underneath."

"I thought she was asleep," Mom continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. "But then, her hand moved. It brushed against my stomach. It wasn't an accident. She traced the line of my hip bone. Her fingers were so soft... not like the boys I was seeing. Boys have rough hands. They grab. They bruise. But Susan? Susan was like water."

Saloni bit her lip. "And then?"

"Then she whispered my name," Mom said. "She asked if she could touch me. I didn't say no. I couldn't. I was nineteen and curious."

"She moved down," Mom said, looking straight at me now, her eyes intense. "She pushed my nightie up. She kissed my thighs first. It tickled. It was sweet."

Mom closed her eyes for a second.

"But then she spread me open. She put her mouth on me. And girls... let me tell you. A man knows how to thrust, but a woman? A woman knows the map. She knows where the treasure is buried."

"She used her tongue," Mom murmured, mimicking a swirling motion with her hand. "It was like velvet. She didn't rush. She licked me slow, teasing the pearl, circling it until I was gripping the headboard, trying not to scream and wake the warden. She drank me, Saloni. She swallowed everything I had, and she didn't ask for anything in return except to watch me fall apart."

Mom opened her eyes. The room was silent.

"That night," Mom said, picking up her tea cup again. "I realized that men are for power. But women? Women are for pleasure. That was the first time I climaxed without faking it."

She took a sip of her cold tea, leaving us stunned in the silence, the image of my mother moaning in a hostel bed burned into my brain forever.

I thought that was the end of it. But Saloni wasn't done. She wanted to crack the final lock.

"So Aunty, looking at your adventurous side." Saloni asked, her eyes sharp. "Did you sleep around after marriage? It looks like you have."
The room went dead silent. This was it. The secret I held from the shop, the secret from the bedroom door—Saloni was asking for it directly.

My mom was in that mode where the filter was gone. The adrenaline of the conversation, the memory of Remo and Raju earlier that day, the vibe of the room—it all spilled over.

"Saloni," Mom said, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. "Marriage is a contract for society. It gives you a roof, a name, and security."
She looked back at us, her eyes hard and unapologetic.
"But hunger? Hunger doesn't care about contracts. Rajesh is a good man. But he is... vanilla. I need flavor. I need fire. So yes. I have slept around. I have found my pleasure outside these walls. Because if I didn't... I would have burned this house down with my frustration."

She looked at me, unaware that I had seen her with the tailors, unaware that I knew exactly who she slept with.
"A woman has needs, Ananya," she whispered.

Saloni leaned back, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her eyes flicked to me, then back to my mother.

"Tell me me," she asked, her voice steady.

She glanced at me. "Ananya, I hope you don't mind."
I didn't say anything. I just gripped the bedsheet. I didn't suspect. I had seen the white stains on the floor of the tailor shop. I had heard my father thanking her for sodomizing him. I knew more than Saloni could ever guess.

Mom didn't answer immediately. She went quiet.
She looked at me. For a long moment, she wasn't the wild woman from the ridge or the sensual lover from the hostel. She was just my mother, looking at her daughter, weighing the cost of the truth.

She picked up her empty cup, turning it in her hands. She couldn't tell me everything—not about the threesomes, not about the shop—but she couldn't lie anymore either. The door was already open.

"You have to understand Rajesh," Mom said finally, her voice low and measured. "Your father... he is a good man. A perfect man, really. He puts me on a pedestal. He worships the ground I walk on."

She laughed, but it was a dry, hollow sound.

"But girls... have you ever tried to be intimate with someone who treats you like a doll? Someone who is afraid to squeeze you because you might break?"

She looked at her hands—the hands I had seen oiling the strap-on last night.

"In our bedroom, I like to dominate. I give the orders. He is... submissive. He needs me to be strong, to be in control. And I do it. I play the role because I love him."

She leaned forward, her eyes darkening.
"But a Queen gets lonely on her throne. I get tired of being in charge, Ananya. I get tired of being worshipped."
"So," she whispered, "I go looking for men who don't know who I am. Men who don't care about my reputation or my husband's money. Men who see me.....my fire."

She didn't name Remo. She didn't name Raju. But I knew exactly who she was talking about.
"It started small," she confessed. "A gym instructor. A neighbor's driver. Just touches. Stolen glances. But then... the hunger grew. I realized I needed the balance. To be the perfect wife at home, I needed more outside."
She used the word deliberately. More... It hung in the air, heavy and shocking coming from her lips.

"It’s not about love, Saloni. I love my husband. These affairs... they are just medicine. They are the release valve that keeps this house from exploding. I go out, I let them use me, I let them break me down... and then I come home, fixed. Ready to be a mother again."

She looked straight at me, her eyes pleading for understanding beneath the hardness.
"I know it sounds wrong. I know society calls it sin. But that sin is the only reason I am still sane."

There was pin drop silence in the bedroom. My mother sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tight in her lap, her knuckles white. She had laid herself bare stripped, revealed her insatiable hunger.

She looked at me. Her eyes were wide with unshed tears. She was terrified. She had handed me the knife, and now she was waiting to see if I would stab her with judgment or cut her loose with acceptance. I knew if I rejected her now, she would shatter. She would retreat into that shell of the "perfect wife" and I would lose her forever.

I took a deep breath. I looked at the woman who had raised me, the woman I had watched being destroyed by two men in a tailor shop just days ago. I didn't see a monster. I saw a survivor.

I reached out and covered her trembling hands with mine.
"Mom," I said, my voice steady and soft. "I can understand."
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging.
"But tell me one thing," I asked, looking her straight in the eye. "Does father know about it or not?"

Mom looked down at our joined hands. A sad, tender smile touched her lips.
"Rajesh?" she whispered. "He knows I am... restless. He knows I have moods where I need to be left alone. Sometimes, when I come home late, he looks at me, and I see a question in his eyes."
She shook her head.

"But no, Ananya. He doesn't know this. He doesn't know about the men. He doesn't know about my past as well."
She looked up at me, fierce and protective.

"If he knew... it would destroy him. Not because of the infidelity, but because of the... degradation. He worships me, Ananya. To him, I am a perfect wife. If he knew that I let men use me for pleasure..... his entire world would collapse. He needs his perfect wife. And I need to protect him from the truth of who I really am."

I squeezed her hands. I thought about my father on his knees last night, thanking her for the pain. They were both protecting each other's fantasies. He needed a perfect wife; she needed the slave in bed. It was a twisted, perfect balance. "It's okay, Mom," I whispered.

I moved closer and hugged her. It wasn't the hug of a child seeking comfort. It was the hug of an equal.
"I am not judging you," I said into her hair, "You did what you had to do to survive. You kept this family together."
I pulled back and looked at her.

"You are safe with me, Mom. I won't tell him. I won't tell anyone."

Tears finally spilled over her cheeks. She laughed, a wet, broken sound of pure relief. She cupped my face.
"Oh, Ananya," she cried. "I was so scared. I thought you would hate me. I thought you would look at me with disgust."
"I don't hate you," I said firmly. "I think... I think I finally know you."

I glanced at Saloni, who was watching us with wide eyes, respecting the moment.
"And Mom," I added, a small, mischievous smile touching my lips, the first sign that I was accepting my own heritage. "Maybe... maybe I have more of you in me than I thought."

Then I told myself, If my mother could share the truth, surely she could handle this.

I looked at Mom. Her mascara was slightly smudged from the tears, but she looked stronger than I had ever seen her. She had trusted me with her darkest secret. I realized I couldn't let her be the only vulnerable one in this room. Honesty had to go both ways.

Having Saloni sitting right next to me, her leg pressing warmly against mine, made it easier. I wasn't alone in this confession.

"Mom," I started, my voice a little shaky but determined. "You were honest with me. You didn't hide who you are. And... I need to do the same."

Mom tilted her head, listening intently, the relief still palpable on her face.
"I don't think I'm straight," I said. The words felt huge in the small room. "Or, at least, not only straight. I think I am bi-curious. I like boys... but I am realizing I like girls too. I'm not 100% sure what it all means yet, but I enjoy it."

Mom didn't interrupt. She just nodded slowly, her eyes flicking briefly to Saloni.
I took a deep breath and decided to lay it all out. No more "studying" excuses.

"When you knocked before coming in... with the tea," I said, "We weren't studying. We had locked the door because... because we were kissing. Deep kissing."
I glanced at Saloni, who was watching me with a fierce pride.

"And then we moved to the bed," I continued, my voice dropping. "My top was up. Saloni was..." I searched for the right words, the honest words. "She was going down on me, Mom. Her mouth was between my legs. She was licking my clit."
I said the word deliberately. I needed her to know the extent of it.

"It felt amazing. I came hard right before you knocked. That’s why we looked so flustered."
Mom looked at Saloni. There was no judgment in her gaze, just an assessment.
Saloni didn't shrink away. She straightened her back.

"It’s true, Aunty," Saloni said, her voice clear and unapologetic. "I've wanted to do that for a long time. Ananya is beautiful. Her body is incredible. And... I wanted to taste her. I wanted to make her scream."
She reached out and took my hand, lacing her fingers through mine in front of my mother.

"I really like her, Aunty. She is my best friend."

The room fell silent again. My mother looked at our joined hands. Then she looked at me—really looked at me, past the daughter she raised and seeing the woman I was becoming.

A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. It wasn't the smile of a mother; it was the smile of a co-conspirator.
"Well," Mom said softly, picking up her cold tea cup again. "It seems the apple didn't fall far from the tree after all. You have the hunger too, Ananya. Just a different flavor."

She leaned back, looking relaxed for the first time in years.
"Good for you, beta. Explore it. Taste everything. Just don't let the world make you feel guilty for what your body wants."

Then she smiled, a real, genuine smile.
"God help us then," she chuckled, pulling both me and Saloni into a group hug on the bed.

Mom broke the hug and then she looked at our joined hands, then up at my face, and finally at Saloni.

"I need to ask one more thing," Mom said, her voice dropping lower. "Because I know how dangerous feelings can be."
She leaned in, her eyes searching ours.

"Are you serious about this relationship? Ananya? Saloni? Please, I want to know. Is this love? Are you planning a future, or is this... something else?"

She needed to know if hearts were on the line. She knew better than anyone that bodies heal faster than hearts.

I opened my mouth to speak, to try and fumble through my confusion, but Saloni squeezed my hand and spoke first. She was calm, confident, and brutally honest.

"Aunty," Saloni said, looking Mom dead in the eye. "We are just exploring."
She shrugged one shoulder, a gesture of easy detachment.
"It is friendly, but it is not emotional. I love Ananya as my best friend, yes. But the sex? The licking? The touching? That is just... curiosity. It’s physical."

Saloni glanced at me with a playful smirk.
"We talk casually about it. We joke about her big tits and my long tongue. We help each other release the stress. So, no... it’s not that serious. We aren't writing poetry to each other. We are just using each other's bodies to feel good."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Saloni had put it perfectly.
"She's right, Mom," I added, validating Saloni’s words. "I don't feel... romance for her. I don't want to marry her. I just... I like the way she touches me. I like the thrill of it. It’s like what you said about the hostel. It’s sweet, it’s fun, but it’s not my life."

Mom nodded slowly. She looked relieved. A strange look of recognition passed over her face.
"Good," she whispered. "That is good."
She smoothed the wrinkles in her saree.

"Emotional affairs are messy, girls. Physical ones? Those you can manage. If it’s just hunger... feed it. But don't let it starve your heart for the real thing when it comes along."

She smiled, a cynical, worldly smile that told me she was thinking about Remo—her physical release—and Dad—her emotional anchor.

"As long as you know the difference," Mom said, standing up and picking up the tray of empty cups, "then you are safer than most women I know."

After a while, the room was cooling down from the confession, but the energy was still humming. My mother stood up and was getting ready to pick the tray of empty cups, ready to leave and resume her role as the respectable housewife. But the truth had made us all giddy, reckless.

Mom let out a loud, laugh, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all, her daughter, her daughter’s lover, and her own  confessions all in one room.

"Enough serious talks," she declared, adjusting her saree pallu. "My god, this room is too heavy. We are all too young to be this serious."

She looked at Saloni with a mischievous, glittering eye. The adrenaline from the shop hadn't fully faded; it was just waiting for something new.

"Listen, Saloni beta," she teased, winking. "If Ananya here doesn't satisfy you properly with all her 'exploring'... don't worry. I am always there for you."

Mom laughed again, expecting us to giggle along with her naughty joke.

I smiled awkwardly, but Saloni didn't laugh.
The smile faded from Saloni's face. She went dead quiet. She looked at me first, gauging the gravity of what my mother had just said. Then, she turned her full attention to Mom.

Saloni wasn't looking at "Aunty" anymore. She was looking at the woman who had described Susan’s velvet tongue in the hostel. She was looking at the woman who let Remo and Raju fuck her in a tailor shop. Saloni was a cat, and she recognized another one in the wild.

Saloni stood up slowly from the bed. She walked over to where Mom was standing near the door.
Saloni reached out and grabbed Mom by the shoulder. It wasn't a respectful touch; it was firm, possessive, testing the waters.

"Aunty..." Saloni said, her voice dropping to that husky register she used on me in the garden. "You are really something."
Her eyes raked down Mom's body, appraising the curves hidden by the domestic cotton saree, seeing the raw sexuality my mother usually kept hidden under layers of tradition.

"You joke," Saloni murmured, stepping into Mom's personal space. "But I may actually be interested. Looking at how well you have maintained yourself... you've got more fire than half the girls on campus."

Mom stopped laughing, rattled slightly in her hands before she quickly looked at Saloni, surprised, but definitely not offended. A spark lit up in her eyes—the same hungry spark I saw when she looked at Remo. She didn't back away.

Saloni didn't wait for permission. She pulled my mother into a hug. It started as a hug, bodies pressing close, breasts flattening against breasts. But then Saloni leaned back slightly, just enough to make eye contact, and then she leaned in.
I watched from the bed, my breath catching in my throat, as my best friend kissed my mother.
Mom didn't pull away. She made a small sound in the back of her throat and opened her mouth.

It wasn't a polite peck. It was deep, wet, and immediate. Saloni’s tongue—the same one that had made me scream minutes ago—was now pushing into my mother’s mouth.

I sat paralyzed, watching them. Mom’s hands went into Saloni’s hair, gripping hard. Saloni’s hands dropped from Mom's shoulder to her waist, finding the bare skin between her blouse and petticoat.
They stumbled back against the wardrobe. Thud.

"Saloni," Mom gasped, breaking the kiss for air, her face flushed. "You are trouble."
"The best kind," Saloni whispered.

Saloni dropped to her knees right there on my bedroom rug. I watched, eyes wide, as my best friend lifted the hem of my mother's saree. Mom didn't stop her. She gripped Saloni's shoulders for balance, spreading her legs slightly as Saloni buried her face between Mom's thighs, inhaling the scent of an older, hungrier woman.

It should have been horrifying. It should have broken my brain. But after everything today—the shop, the dad revelation, my own orgasm—it just felt inevitable.

I watched them. My honest, starving mother, finally getting the softness she missed from her hostel days. My bold best friend, crossing a line nobody else dared to cross. It didn't feel wrong in that moment. In this room where we had stripped away all the lies, it felt perfectly fine for my mom and my friend to love each other right in front of me and the understanding that good women are just bad women who haven't been caught yet.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 23

I watched Mom screaming, her head thrown back against the wardrobe door, her hands tangling violently in Saloni's hair.
Saloni wasn't holding back. She had unleashed that long, curly tongue of hers, pushing it deep inside my mother.
"Oh, ah, what is this!" Mom gasped, her voice cracking. "I haven't felt this kind of slippery touch inside me... all across my insides! Saloni, you maniac!"

Then I watched firsthand as my mom’s hand gripped Saloni’s head, forcing her deeper. Saloni took her command, working her tongue in a frenzy.

"Ananya!" my mom called my name, her eyes rolling back. "So this is what you have been hiding from me!"
Then I saw it. My mom’s body seized up. She let out a powerful squirt that soaked Saloni’s face and the rug beneath them. Her body shook violently, shivering from the force of the release.

"Oh, my god!" Mom panted, sliding down to the floor, her chest heaving. "I haven't squirted in years."
She lay there for a second, breathless. Then, the predator in her woke up. She grabbed Saloni’s arm and pulled her up.
"Come here," Mom commanded, her voice husky. "Your turn now. On the bed, Saloni!"

Saloni looked flushed, her face wet with my mother’s fluids. This was the first time for Saloni was receiving from an older woman, and she looked terrified and excited all at once.
I stood behind her. I held her hand, squeezing it tight.
"You need this," I told her softly.

She looked at me, gratitude in her eyes, and pulled my hand, dragging me towards her.

Saloni lay back on the mattress. My mom didn't hesitate. She crawled between Saloni’s legs, hungry to return the favor.
Saloni started breathing faster as Mom buried her face in her crotch.

I knew what I had to do. I removed my salwar and underwear in one motion and straddled Saloni’s face, positioning myself above her.

She licked me immediately, her tongue hot and eager. I reached up and removed my kurta and bra. I tossed them to the floor.

I was fully naked.

My mom looked up from between Saloni’s legs. She paused for a second. Her eyes traveled over my bare skin, landing on my chest. She saw the heavy curve of my breasts, the way they swayed as I moved.
She looked at my extra thick, brown nipples.

"I wonder of nature," Mom whispered in awe, seeing her own hunger reflected in my body.

Saloni pushed my hips a little ahead. She buried her tongue in my asshole, licking my behind with a rhythmic desperation.
I leaned ahead, bringing my face closer to my mom’s face. We were both hovering over Saloni’s core.

I saw my mom up close, her lips wet, her tongue working on Saloni’s clit.
I closed my eyes and took out my tongue. I leaned down.
I gave it a flick.

I licked the top of Saloni’s clit for the first time, right where my mom was working. It was salty, but not too bad and then My tongue touched my mom’s tongue.

My mom looked up at me. She didn't pull away. She smiled—a wide, messy, happy smile. I smiled back. We exchanged saliva, our tongues dancing together over my best friend’s pleasure.

I was getting very horny. The sight of my mother sharing a lover with me, the feel of Saloni’s tongue in my rear, the heat of the room—it was too much.
"Mom... Saloni..." I moaned.

I let it out. My first threesome. I rode Saloni’s face hard, grinding my hips as the orgasm ripped through me.
At the same time, I saw my mom rubbing herself with 3 fingers inside, her hand moving frantically between her legs as she sucked Saloni.

"Yes!" Saloni screamed, her back arching off the bed.
She orgasmed violently, caught between the mother and the daughter.

We collapsed into a heap of limbs and heavy breathing.
Mom was still wearing her kurta, though it was disheveled and stained. She lay back against the pillows, looking at me with glazed, adoring eyes.

I walked from the foot of the bed towards her. I knelt beside her.
I reached for the hem of her kurti. I pulled it up.

"Mom," I whispered.

She lifted her arms, letting me strip her.
"Come here," she said, pulling me down for a kiss on the forehead. "This is love."

We hugged each other, My big breasts against hers, we bonded naked, shredding all our fears, all our secrets, melting into each others arms,  closer together than ever before.

[ashuezy2]

Hope to get more male low class partners adventures for Ananya and Saloni

This story is already fully written, they will make come back with Masterji.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 24

The dynamics at home had completely shifted overnight. We weren't just mother and daughter anymore; we were co-conspirators who had shared fluids and a lover.

Breakfast was electric. We didn't talk about Saloni, but every time Mom passed me the butter, her fingers brushed mine, lingering a second too long. She was digging me, and god help me, I was digging her right back. We had this amazing, dirty chemistry going. We were like college friends who knew exactly what the other looked like when they were coming.
But there was a gap in her confession.

She had told Saloni about the gym instructor—fine, understandable. A hot body. But then she mentioned a "neighbor's driver." That stuck in my craw. A driver? It felt raw, classless, a pure power play.
And the biggest omission: The Tailor Shop. She never mentioned Remo or Raju or others. Why confess to the driver but hide the tailors? Perhaps there was more to her than even I knew. I decided I needed to verify the pieces she did give me.

The next day was a gift. The university student union called a strike. College was closed.
My father left early, kissing Mom on the forehead.

Once he was gone, the house was ours. Mom was in the shower, humming.
I went out to the balcony. I looked down at the street, scanning the neighborhood. I was hunting for the driver she talked about.

There were very few regular drivers in our colony. But on the corner, near the big Gupta residence, stood a shiny Black Mercedes. Leaning against it was a driver in a crisp white uniform.
I watched him. He was young, maybe twenty-five. Tight build, thick hair, a strong lean to his stance. He looked like the kind of guy who knew he was good-looking in a cheap way.

That must be him.
I needed to know for sure. I couldn't just ask, "Are you fucking my mom?" It wasn't that simple. These men talked less about others.

I needed a strategy. A trick.

I went inside, and checked my reflection. No hoodie today. I was wearing a tight t-shirt and a tight jeans. I looked like trouble. I went downstairs and walked straight to the Mercedes.

The driver straightened up as I approached. He checked me out—a quick, upward sweep of the eyes that landed on my chest before meeting my face.

"Yes, Madam?" he asked, polite on the surface.
"What's your name?" I asked, keeping my voice flat, authoritative. Like my mother’s.
He hesitated. "Sonu, Madam."

Okay, Sonu.
I took a step closer, invading his personal space just enough to make him uncomfortable. I needed to leverage the one thing I knew about my mother’s affairs: she was the boss.

"Listen to me carefully, Sonu," I said, lowering my voice so the passing vegetable vendor wouldn't hear. "Sunita Madam sent me down."
His eyes flickered. There it was. Recognition. Fear. Excitement.
"Sunita Madam?" he repeated, playing dumb.

I rolled my eyes, channeling my mother’s impatience.
"Don't play games with me. She told me everything," I lied smoothly. "About the car rides. About what you do for her."

He froze. His adam's apple bobbed. He didn't deny it.
Now for the kill shot.
"The house is empty," I said, checking my nails casually. "Mr. Rajesh has gone to the office. Madam is upstairs, fresh out of the shower."

I looked him dead in the eye, dropping my voice to a husky whisper.
"She said your service is required immediately. In the master bedroom. She said not to keep her waiting."

I stepped back, opening the path to the front door of my house.

"Well? Are you coming, or do I tell her you're too scared today?"
I waited. If he walked away, I was wrong. If he walked toward my house, I had him.

Sonu didn't move toward the gate. He didn't lick his lips in anticipation. Instead, he took a nervous half-step back, checking the windows of the neighboring houses.
"Madam..." he stammered, his arrogance slipping. "Sunita ji... has never called me up inside her house."
I frowned, keeping my face hard. "Are you calling me a liar?"

"No! No, Madam," he said quickly, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But... the rules. She made rules. Never in the house. Never near Mr. Rajesh."
He looked at me, desperate to prove he wasn't disobeying orders, just confused by the change in protocol.
"I drive her to parties and functions," he mumbled, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "That is our time. The car is safe."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "So? Tell me. If not the house, then what?"
He looked around again, then leaned in closer to me. The floodgates opened. He thought I was part of the game now, so he mumbled out the truth.

"It started few months ago," Sonu confessed, his eyes glazing over slightly. "It was a wedding reception in Chhatarpur. Madam had... a lot of wine. She was stumbling when I helped her into the back seat."
He gulped.

"We were coming back. It was late, maybe 2:00 AM. The roads were empty. I was driving. Suddenly, she called my name. I thought she wanted to sleep."

"But then," Sonu continued, his voice getting thicker, "she tapped on my shoulder. She told me to adjust the rearview mirror."

I stared at him. "To see the traffic?"

Sonu shook his head, a dirty smirk ghosting his lips.
"No. She said, 'Sonu, Look at me.'"
"I did it. I looked in the mirror. Madam was... she was lying back on the leather seat. She had pulled her heavy saree up. It was bunched around her waist. Her legs were spread wide open, right there in the moving car."

"She wasn't wearing panties," Sonu whispered. "She was touching herself. She was looking right at my eyes in the mirror while she rubbed her clit. She told me to watch. She said, 'Don't look at the road, Sonu. Look at your Madam. Look at what you can't have.'"

I felt a flush of heat. My mother, drunk and imperious in the backseat of a luxury car, commanding a servant to watch her pleasure.
"Did you stop the car?" I asked.

"She made me pull over," Sonu admitted. "Under the flyover, where it was dark. She unlocked the back door. She called me back there."
He looked at his hands—rough, driving hands.

"She told me to kneel on the floor of the car. She put her feet on my shoulders. She told me to use my fingers. She said her husband was useless and she needed a 'rough hand' to open her up."
He looked me in the eye, emboldened by the memory.

"I fingered her for twenty minutes, Madam. She screamed so loud the right window fogged up. She grabbed my hair and forced my face into her lap. She tasted like expensive wine and sweat."

He paused, breathing a little faster.
"That is what we do," he said. "In the car. In the dark. But never inside the house. So... are you sure she is calling me upstairs?"

I looked at him. I believed him. It fit perfectly. The control, the degradation, the need to be serviced by men she considered "beneath" her.

"Yes," I lied, maintaining the frame. "Today, the rules have changed, Sonu. She wants the rough hand in her bed."
I turned around and walked back to the gate, hearing his heavy footsteps following me on the pavement. My strategy had worked. I had the driver, and I had the truth. Now, I just had to deliver him to the Queen.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 25

I led the way. Sonu followed close behind, he was nervous, breathing through his mouth, but the promise of what awaited him pushed him forward. We were inside. The door to my parents' bedroom was open. The sound of the water was louder here.

We stopped at the threshold of the bathroom. Mom inside it—curvaceous, and completely unaware.
Mom was singing softly to herself, scrubbing under the hot shower.

Sonu stood next to me. He stared at me, his hands twitching at his sides. He looked at me for confirmation.
"She is waiting for you inside," I whispered, leaning close to his ear. "She wants you to take her. No talking. Just action."

Sonu reached for the door handle.
"Wait," I commanded softly.

He froze.
"You can't go in dressed like a driver," I said.
I walked behind him. I stood at his back. He didn't move. He let me take control.

I reached for the buttons of his white safari shirt. Pop. Pop. Pop. I undid them one by one. I peeled the stiff fabric down his arms. His skin was warm, damp with nervous sweat. He had a runner’s build—lean muscle and tanned skin.
I tossed the shirt to the floor.

Next, the belt. Click. The metal buckle undone. I unzipped his white trousers. The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet room. "Step out," I ordered.

He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the trousers. He wasn't wearing underwear. He was already hard, his erection bobbing eagerly, ready for the service he was to provide.

He stood there, naked and trembling with adrenaline, framed by the bathroom door.
"Go," I whispered, giving him a gentle push on his bare back.

Sonu took a deep breath. He pushed the door open fully, it wasn't locked.

He stepped onto the tiled floor. I stayed in the bedroom, watching my mother’s "rough hand" where she was naked and waiting—she just didn't know it yet.

Sonu didn't hesitate. I had stripped him of his uniform and his fear. He was just a man now, walking toward a woman he had been in the back of a Mercedes, believing she had summoned him for more.

He reached inside. She was facing the wall, her head tilted back, letting the water run over her face. She was humming a tune, scrubbing her neck with a loofah.

There was change in air pressure in the bathroom.

Mom didn't hear the door open over the roar of the water. She only reacted when Sonu stepped closer, blocking the spray.

She wiped her eyes and spun around.
"Rajesh?" she began, thinking it was my father coming home early.

But it wasn't Rajesh. It was the young, hard body of her driver, standing inches from her, water sluicing down his chest.
"Sonu?" she gasped, her eyes going wide. She covered her breasts instinctively with her hands. "What are you—"
Sonu didn't let her finish. He remembered my lie: She is waiting for you.

He grabbed her wrists. He pulled her hands away from her chest, pinning them against the wet tile wall.
"You called for me, Madam," he growled, water dripping from his nose. "Don't be shy now."

Mom stared at him. For a split second, there was fear. Then, confusion.
Then, she looked past his shoulder, she saw me.

I was standing in the doorway, watching them. I didn't look away. I nodded slowly.
Mom’s eyes locked onto mine. She realized instantly what I had done. I had brought her the toy she played with in the dark. I had brought the "roughness" into her sanctuary.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her wet face. The fear vanished, replaced by that dark hunger I knew so well.
"You bad girl," she mouthed at me.

Then, she turned her attention back to Sonu. She didn't push him away. She leaned into him.
"I called, did I?" she purred, pressing her wet breasts against his chest. "Then why are you just standing there, Driver? Drive."

Sonu didn't need to be told twice. He kissed her hard, mashing her lips against her teeth. He spun her around, slamming her front against the tile wall.

Slap.

The sound of wet skin hitting wet tile echoed in the bathroom.
He grabbed her hips. The water made everything slick. He didn't need spit today. He rubbed his cock against her wet asscheeks, teasing the entrance.

"Open up," he commanded.
Mom spread her legs wide, bracing her feet against the sides of the cubicle.
He thrust forward.

"Ahhh!" Mom screamed, her voice echoing off the marble.
He slid deep inside her in one smooth motion. The water washed over them as he began to pound her, his hands gripping her waist to keep from slipping.

I watched the show. I watched my mother’s head fall forward, her forehead resting against the tiles, moaning as the servant she paid to drive car claimed her body in her own shower.

I watched the way her back arched. I watched Sonu’s muscles flex as he hammered into her.
I moved my hand down to my jeans. I rubbed myself through the denim.

With all the pleasure my mom was getting, I couldn't just watch anymore. The heat coming off them was magnetic. I felt heavy, and desperate to be part of the wet, slippery mess they had created.

I pushed off the doorframe. My hands shook as I reached for the hem of my t-shirt. I pulled it over my head and threw it onto the dry bathroom floor. Next, I unbuttoned my jeans. I kicked them off, hopping on one foot, eager to be free of them.

I stood naked in the bathroom, the cool air hitting my skin, waiting to be warmed by the spray.

I walked closer, Water splashed onto my feet.
"Mom," I whispered, stepping into the cubicle.

It was tight. Three people in a shower meant skin was touching skin everywhere. Sonu froze mid-thrust, sensing my presence. Mom turned her head, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes wild and unfocused.

She saw me. Naked. Ready.

She didn't tell me to leave. She smiled—a welcoming, primal smile. She tapped Sonu on the shoulder.
"Stop," she commanded him.
Sonu pulled out. Pop.

Mom turned fully to face me. Water ran down her breasts, over her stomach. She reached out and took my hands. Her palms were warm and wet.

"Ananya?" she asked softly, searching my face.

I squeezed her hands. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it would crack.
"I saw you," I choked out, my voice barely audible over the shower. "I saw how it felt. I want to be inside, Mom. In that feeling."

I looked at Sonu, who was standing against the wall, confused but visibly aroused by the sight of the daughter joining the mother.

I looked back at Mom. Tears pricked my eyes, mixing with the shower spray.
"I am still a virgin, Mom," I confessed. "Saloni... that was just playing. But this... a man... I haven't done this."
I took a deep breath. "This will be my first time. And I want you to be here."

Mom’s expression softened. The lust in her eyes turned into a fierce, protective maternal instinct—but twisted to fit our new reality. She wasn't going to stop me; she was going to facilitate it.

"My brave girl," she whispered, kissing my wet forehead. "Don't be scared. I am right here."
She turned me around. She placed my hands against the wet tile wall, right where hers had been moments ago.
"Arch your back," she instructed, her voice calm and authoritative. "Spread your legs. Let the water relax you."
I obeyed. I spread my legs wide. I felt vulnerable, exposed, and incredibly powerful.

Mom looked at Sonu. She nodded at him.
"Sonu," she said, her voice sharp. "Be gentle. It is her first time. you do it slowly. Understand?"
"Yes, Madam," Sonu whispered, his voice thick.

He stepped behind me. I felt his hot body press against my back. I felt his hardness nudge against my opening.
I flinched.
"Breathe, Ananya," Mom said. She moved to stand in front of me, avoiding the direct spray. She placed her hands on my cheeks, locking eyes with me. "Look at me. Don't look down. Just look at Mom."
"Okay," I gasped.

"Push," Mom commanded Sonu.
I felt him enter. It hurt. A sharp, tearing pain that made me cry out.
"Ahhh! Mom!"
"Shhh," Mom cooed, stroking my hair. "It’s okay. The pain is just the door opening. Let him in."
Sonu pushed past the resistance. He filled me completely. It felt massive, foreign, and overwhelming.

"That's it," Mom whispered, smiling as she saw the change in my eyes—the moment the pain faded and the fullness took over. "Now move with him."

Sonu began to move, slow and steady, respecting the order.
I looked at my mother while a stranger fucked me in our shower. I saw my own reflection in her eyes. I wasn't the good student anymore. I wasn't the innocent daughter. I was a woman who had crossed the line, guided by the one person who should have stopped me.

"Good girl," Mom purred, leaning in to kiss me on the lips as I moaned into her mouth. "Welcome to the real world."

Sonu was moving slowly, In. Out. In. Out. It was a thick, stretching sensation. I gripped my mother’s forearms, my nails digging into her wet skin.

"Just breathe," Mom whispered, her eyes locked on mine. "Feel him. He is filling the space that was empty."
I closed my eyes for a second, focusing on the friction. The pain was gone. In its place, a strange, electric heat began to spread from my center. It wasn't just the invasion; it was the power. I had a man inside me, a servant doing my bidding, and my mother watching with pride.

I opened my eyes. The water blurred my vision, making Mom look divine. I felt a surge of emotion—not shame, not regret, but an overwhelming gratitude. She hadn't hidden me away; she had invited me into her secret garden.
"Mom," I gasped, stepping out of the girlhood I had just lost.

I leaned forward and kissed her wet cheek.
"I love you," I whispered fiercely into her ear. "Thank you for showing me."
Mom smiled, her eyes glistening. She brushed a wet strand of hair from my forehead. "I love you too, beta. My wild girl."

But the slow rhythm wasn't enough anymore. The hunger I had inherited from her woke up. I didn't want gentle. I didn't want careful. I remembered the way she described the motorbike—the vibration, the roughness. I wanted that.
I looked at Mom, my eyes pleading and dark.

"Mom," I panted, my hips bucking slightly back against Sonu. "Tell him to move faster now. I want to feel it hard."

Mom’s smile widened into a wicked grin. She looked over my shoulder at the driver.
"You heard her," she barked, her voice cutting through the noise of the shower. "Stop treating her like this, Sonu. Drive her faster."

Sonu grunted. He tightened his grip on my hips.
He slammed into me.

Slap.

"Oh!" I cried out, my head thrown back.
He started pumping into me with the same ferocity I had seen him use on my mother.

Thrust. Slap. Thrust. Slap.

My body shook with every impact. My breasts bounced against my mother’s chest as I was pushed forward. The water splashed violently around us.

"Yes!" Mom encouraged, watching the connection point between my legs. "Take it, Ananya! Let him break you in!"

I moaned loud and uninhibited, the sound mixing with the water. I wasn't thinking anymore. I was just feeling. The steam, the sweat, the hard cock inside me, and my mother’s hands holding me up as I learned exactly what it meant to be a woman in this house.

I looked at Mom. She was watching Sonu pound me with a look of pure, vicarious pleasure. Her lips were parted, her chest heaving as if she were the one being taken. Water cascaded down her face, making her eyelashes clump together.
I felt a surge of need that had nothing to do with the man behind me. He was just a body. She was the connection. I remembered the taste of her tongue from the bedroom rug. I remembered the way she held me.

I didn't want to just be watched. I wanted to be shared.
I reached out with wet, trembling hands and grabbed her shoulders. I dug my fingers into her skin.
"Mom," I gasped, timing my words between Sonu’s thrusts.
She focused on me, her eyes dark and dilated.
"I want you now," I begged.
I pulled her towards me. "Don't just watch. Come here."

Mom didn't hesitate. She stepped into the space between me and the wall. She pressed her naked, wet body against my front.
I was sandwiched.
Behind me, the driver was hammering into my virginity. In front of me, my mother was pressing her soft breasts against mine, her nipples hardening against my own.
She leaned in and crashed her mouth onto mine.
It wasn't a motherly kiss. It was hungry. She devoured me. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting the shower water and my own desperation. I moaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through both of our bodies.

It was sensory overload.

"Mmmph!" I cried out, breaking the kiss to gasp for air.
Mom moved her head down. She started kissing my neck, biting gently on my wet skin. She moved lower, licking the water off my chest.

"Yes!" I screamed as Sonu hit a deep spot. "Mom, please!"

Mom reached down. Her hand slid between our bodies. She found my clit, slippery and swollen.
She started rubbing me, matching Sonu’s rhythm.

"Come for me, Ananya," she whispered against my breast. "Come for us."
That was it. The combination of the penetration, her hand, and her lips on my skin sent me over the edge.
My legs shook violently. I clamped down on Sonu.

"Oh god! I'm coming!"

I exploded. My vision went white. I clung to my mother, sobbing with pleasure as the orgasm ripped through me, while behind me, Sonu groaned and poured himself deep inside, sealing the act.

We stood there for a some time, three wet bodies tangled together, breathing the same steam, after which Sonu picked up his clothes and left.

[blackdesk]

Waooo....what a writing... fabulous. Sexy. Thank you