19-06-2019, 04:18 PM
Arey ete bhoyer ki ache (Whats to be afraid of), he shot back, Acha jodi tui comfortable na thakis or sathe eka jete, tahle tor cheleke ke niye ja. O tor kheyal rakhbe. (Ok, if youre not comfortable with going alone with the guy, then take your son. Hell take care of you.).
Or toh naki kal raat e bhalo ghum hoyni. (He said he didnt have a good sleep last night and was feeling tired.), she said, now concerned about my health.
Tate ko hoeche Garite ghumie nebe, back seat e. Keu ekjon thaklei toh holo. Ebar Karim Chacha ke pathano aar kauke na pathano soman. (So what He can sleep in the car, in the back seat. As long as someone is there, you should be fine. Now, sending Karim Chacha in his place, would be the same as sending you alone.)
Na, Karim Chacha ke lagbe na. Thikache. Bunty jabe tahle. Ami ghore giye ready hoye niche. (No, Karim Chacha is not the person I need. Bunty will be fine. Ill go to my room and get ready.)
Khub bhalo, Shikha. Aar ekdom chinta korish na, kichu hobe na. Bahadur ekhon shudhre geche. (Very good, Shikha. And dont worry at all, nothing is going to happen. Bahadur has changed for the better.) With that said, she walked up the stairs to the room. As she was climbing up the stairs, I saw the dirty perverted driver staring at her ass and licking his lips. I could well imagine his situation. As my mother wasnt wearing any panties, her plump hips were swaying in a wave-like motion as she steadily climbed the stairs of the house. At one point, her nighty got stuck in her ass-crack in an alluring manner and as a reflex, she unstuck them from her ass with her hand. A high-class lady acting in such a careless manner caused Bahadur to scratch his crotch over his trousers.
When we got to the car, my mom seemed a little apprehensive about climbing in. She was wearing a red color saree, with red blouse, modestly covering her massive jugs and only displayed a slight hint of cleavage which, however, was covered fully underneath her saree. The driver was still clad in that same old dress. The stench of his sweat mixed with the gutka that he was chewing, was as horrid as anything. My mom smelled it too and gave a fleeting look of disgust.
I was already in the backseat. Since my mom knew I wasnt feeling well because of the lack of sleep, she wanted me to sit in the back in order to catch some quick naps. Unknown to her, I was feeling really charged about this trip and the possibilities. I knew for sure there was a camera in here somewhere that was videotaping and that reminded of how Uncle Shyam made us rig our house, so that he could perversely view my sexy hot mother whenever he pleased.
She was lingering around the front door of the car for a long time, feeling more apprehensive by the second. Kya soch rahat ho, madam Gari me aajao. (What are you wondering, madam Get in the car.), he said, while my mom was standing there holding the door. The way he said Gari me aajao. (Get in the car.), was very rude and abrasive, even by his low standards. But my mom was too scared to protest.
She finally got in the car and she sat glued to the window, on the front seat.
The driving stretch was not at all smooth. The roads were littered with potholes and bumps, so the car was jerking violently. As a result, even though my mom was sitting against the window, the jerking caused her to continuously bounce around and shift positions inside the car. The jerking was also causing her massive jugs to bounce seductively like two bowling balls and I noticed in the rear-view mirror that even Bahadur was stealing glances at her heavy bouncing titties, from time to time. The motion of her massive melons were also causing her pallu to shift occasionally from its position and each time, before falling completely off her scrumptious blouse-covered breasts, she would grab the pallu and secure it in place. Bahadurs eyes grew wide each time she did that and the slight anticipation of having a peek of that deep valley between my mothers milky jugs made him lick his gutka-stained lips.
Ouch!, my mom cried in pain. After traveling nearly a kilometer, due to the constant jerking of the car, my mother was getting continuously banged against the side of the door.
Memsahib, darwaje se chipak ke baithne se kuchu naahi hoga. Aap balki thoda hamar side aakar baithie. Warna mechanic ke paas pahunchte pahunchte aapka toh bharta banai ho jaiga! (Madam, theres no use staying stuck against the front-door. It would serve you better if you move closer to my side. Otherwise, by the time we get to the mechanic, youll be too hurt to even move out of the car!), he said in a loud voice.
My mom saw sense in what this low class driver was saying and decided to shift completely towards his side. Unknown to her at that point, her saree-covered plump thighs were now in direct contact of the gear stick. In this treacherous terrain, it was important for Bahadur to constantly change gears as he drove. For the first instance, Bahadur kept his right hand on the steering wheel and with his left hand, he roughly grabbed the gear-stick. As a result, his fingers lightly brushed against the hem of her saree, around her thighs. My moms immediately reaction was to move her thigh away from his thick hairy fingers. But then, she realized it mustve just been a mistake and even Bahadur made no sudden reactions. So, she again pressed her saree-clad thighs against the gear-stick, while looking back to see what I was doing.
By that time, I was resting my head against the back of the seat and pretended to sleep. Although, I was still peeping occasionally to see what was going on.
Mom turned ahead again. We had moved into a section of the road now where the number of bumps was less. However, there were still the occasional potholes to watch out for. The driver continued to switch gears every now and then and everytime he did, his hand lightly brushed against the hem of her saree. My mother was no longer protesting to that since it seemed only normal that he would have to change gears and it wasnt his fault that she was in the way. After driving for about 5-10 minutes more, Bahadur, in the pretext of reaching for the gear-stick, suddenly grabbed my mothers plump right thigh. In an instant, she pushed his rough hands away and jolted to the other side of the seat.
Oh, sorry, Memsahib. Hume khama karna. Hum galti se o ki thigh pakad liye. (Oh, sorry, Madam. Please forgive me. I grabbed your thigh by mistake), he grinned sheepishly when he noticed the horrified expression on her face.
Ager theke kheyal rekho! (Watch out next time!), she said angrily, but with a soft voice so as to not wake me.
Zaroor, Memsahib. (Sure, madam.), his sheepish grin never left his face.
My mom was now more careful of his touches. She no longer sat in contact with the gear-shaft and was careful not to let him brush his fingers against her anymore. After another 2-3 minutes however, they stumbled on another pothole and for a split second, my mothers pallu was completely off her bosom. Her deep cleavage was now clearly visible against the red seductive blouse. Bahadur looked at that for a second and almost lost control over the car. My mom, however, immediately covered it.
But that little show was enough for him to get slightly aroused. He kept stealing furtive glances at her modestly covered mammaries while simultaneously keeping his focus on the road. I knew what he was thinking. If there was only some way he could convince my apparently prudish sexy mother to allow him to touch her, all his dreams would come true.
We were now entering into another neighborhood. The roads were smooth here but there was another problem. It seemed that this was a very rough neighborhood. We could see a lot of loafers on the street, doing their rounds; a group of middle-aged men huddled together at the side of the street and smoking weed; a bunch of young college-goers whistling and hooting at passing women. Khidki utha lijiye memsahib. (Pull up your windows, madam.), he whispered, Ooh logan ne agar aaphuko do dekhat liya toh ghajab hoi jawo! (If these people see you, then all will be lost.)
Mane (Meaning), my mom asked surprised.
Or toh naki kal raat e bhalo ghum hoyni. (He said he didnt have a good sleep last night and was feeling tired.), she said, now concerned about my health.
Tate ko hoeche Garite ghumie nebe, back seat e. Keu ekjon thaklei toh holo. Ebar Karim Chacha ke pathano aar kauke na pathano soman. (So what He can sleep in the car, in the back seat. As long as someone is there, you should be fine. Now, sending Karim Chacha in his place, would be the same as sending you alone.)
Na, Karim Chacha ke lagbe na. Thikache. Bunty jabe tahle. Ami ghore giye ready hoye niche. (No, Karim Chacha is not the person I need. Bunty will be fine. Ill go to my room and get ready.)
Khub bhalo, Shikha. Aar ekdom chinta korish na, kichu hobe na. Bahadur ekhon shudhre geche. (Very good, Shikha. And dont worry at all, nothing is going to happen. Bahadur has changed for the better.) With that said, she walked up the stairs to the room. As she was climbing up the stairs, I saw the dirty perverted driver staring at her ass and licking his lips. I could well imagine his situation. As my mother wasnt wearing any panties, her plump hips were swaying in a wave-like motion as she steadily climbed the stairs of the house. At one point, her nighty got stuck in her ass-crack in an alluring manner and as a reflex, she unstuck them from her ass with her hand. A high-class lady acting in such a careless manner caused Bahadur to scratch his crotch over his trousers.
When we got to the car, my mom seemed a little apprehensive about climbing in. She was wearing a red color saree, with red blouse, modestly covering her massive jugs and only displayed a slight hint of cleavage which, however, was covered fully underneath her saree. The driver was still clad in that same old dress. The stench of his sweat mixed with the gutka that he was chewing, was as horrid as anything. My mom smelled it too and gave a fleeting look of disgust.
I was already in the backseat. Since my mom knew I wasnt feeling well because of the lack of sleep, she wanted me to sit in the back in order to catch some quick naps. Unknown to her, I was feeling really charged about this trip and the possibilities. I knew for sure there was a camera in here somewhere that was videotaping and that reminded of how Uncle Shyam made us rig our house, so that he could perversely view my sexy hot mother whenever he pleased.
She was lingering around the front door of the car for a long time, feeling more apprehensive by the second. Kya soch rahat ho, madam Gari me aajao. (What are you wondering, madam Get in the car.), he said, while my mom was standing there holding the door. The way he said Gari me aajao. (Get in the car.), was very rude and abrasive, even by his low standards. But my mom was too scared to protest.
She finally got in the car and she sat glued to the window, on the front seat.
The driving stretch was not at all smooth. The roads were littered with potholes and bumps, so the car was jerking violently. As a result, even though my mom was sitting against the window, the jerking caused her to continuously bounce around and shift positions inside the car. The jerking was also causing her massive jugs to bounce seductively like two bowling balls and I noticed in the rear-view mirror that even Bahadur was stealing glances at her heavy bouncing titties, from time to time. The motion of her massive melons were also causing her pallu to shift occasionally from its position and each time, before falling completely off her scrumptious blouse-covered breasts, she would grab the pallu and secure it in place. Bahadurs eyes grew wide each time she did that and the slight anticipation of having a peek of that deep valley between my mothers milky jugs made him lick his gutka-stained lips.
Ouch!, my mom cried in pain. After traveling nearly a kilometer, due to the constant jerking of the car, my mother was getting continuously banged against the side of the door.
Memsahib, darwaje se chipak ke baithne se kuchu naahi hoga. Aap balki thoda hamar side aakar baithie. Warna mechanic ke paas pahunchte pahunchte aapka toh bharta banai ho jaiga! (Madam, theres no use staying stuck against the front-door. It would serve you better if you move closer to my side. Otherwise, by the time we get to the mechanic, youll be too hurt to even move out of the car!), he said in a loud voice.
My mom saw sense in what this low class driver was saying and decided to shift completely towards his side. Unknown to her at that point, her saree-covered plump thighs were now in direct contact of the gear stick. In this treacherous terrain, it was important for Bahadur to constantly change gears as he drove. For the first instance, Bahadur kept his right hand on the steering wheel and with his left hand, he roughly grabbed the gear-stick. As a result, his fingers lightly brushed against the hem of her saree, around her thighs. My moms immediately reaction was to move her thigh away from his thick hairy fingers. But then, she realized it mustve just been a mistake and even Bahadur made no sudden reactions. So, she again pressed her saree-clad thighs against the gear-stick, while looking back to see what I was doing.
By that time, I was resting my head against the back of the seat and pretended to sleep. Although, I was still peeping occasionally to see what was going on.
Mom turned ahead again. We had moved into a section of the road now where the number of bumps was less. However, there were still the occasional potholes to watch out for. The driver continued to switch gears every now and then and everytime he did, his hand lightly brushed against the hem of her saree. My mother was no longer protesting to that since it seemed only normal that he would have to change gears and it wasnt his fault that she was in the way. After driving for about 5-10 minutes more, Bahadur, in the pretext of reaching for the gear-stick, suddenly grabbed my mothers plump right thigh. In an instant, she pushed his rough hands away and jolted to the other side of the seat.
Oh, sorry, Memsahib. Hume khama karna. Hum galti se o ki thigh pakad liye. (Oh, sorry, Madam. Please forgive me. I grabbed your thigh by mistake), he grinned sheepishly when he noticed the horrified expression on her face.
Ager theke kheyal rekho! (Watch out next time!), she said angrily, but with a soft voice so as to not wake me.
Zaroor, Memsahib. (Sure, madam.), his sheepish grin never left his face.
My mom was now more careful of his touches. She no longer sat in contact with the gear-shaft and was careful not to let him brush his fingers against her anymore. After another 2-3 minutes however, they stumbled on another pothole and for a split second, my mothers pallu was completely off her bosom. Her deep cleavage was now clearly visible against the red seductive blouse. Bahadur looked at that for a second and almost lost control over the car. My mom, however, immediately covered it.
But that little show was enough for him to get slightly aroused. He kept stealing furtive glances at her modestly covered mammaries while simultaneously keeping his focus on the road. I knew what he was thinking. If there was only some way he could convince my apparently prudish sexy mother to allow him to touch her, all his dreams would come true.
We were now entering into another neighborhood. The roads were smooth here but there was another problem. It seemed that this was a very rough neighborhood. We could see a lot of loafers on the street, doing their rounds; a group of middle-aged men huddled together at the side of the street and smoking weed; a bunch of young college-goers whistling and hooting at passing women. Khidki utha lijiye memsahib. (Pull up your windows, madam.), he whispered, Ooh logan ne agar aaphuko do dekhat liya toh ghajab hoi jawo! (If these people see you, then all will be lost.)
Mane (Meaning), my mom asked surprised.
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