19-06-2019, 04:27 PM
No CD found
By the time we reached the garage, I was actually asleep. So, my mother had to wake me up with a few shoves and nudges. When I opened my eyes, I saw that for the most part she had straightened herself up. Her hair was no longer disheveled; she had adjusted her red blouse-and-bra appropriately and covered her heavy bosom with her saree, so now she was once again looking prim and proper. However, looks aren’t everything. The smell of Bahadur’s sweat and his cum was still somewhat evident. Even though the stickiness in her left hand was gone, her palm still had the strong odor of sex. She tried her best to hide her shame, but the expression on her face gave it all away.
Bahadur was already inside the car garage when we entered. He was waiting for one of the mechanics at the desk. The garage was the same as any regular car repair shops. It was a huge space inside a warehouse with rows of workstations, each of them either with a fresh car or a damaged car or a broken down car or just plain empty. My mother and I went up to Bahadur and I asked him, ”Ki go, kothon lagbe” (“Hey, how long will this take”)
When Bahadur turned towards me to answer, I saw that his face was drained from cumming so hard in my sweet submissive mother’s hands. “Mechanic abhi aa rahat hain chote sircar.” (“The mechanic is on his way, chote sircar.”), he replied.
Literally a minute after he said that, the mechanic appeared. From a distance, he seemed familiar and when he got closer, me and my mom’s jaws dropped when we recognized him. “Arey! Tumi Kakababu’r bhaipo na” (“Hey, aren’t you Kakababu’s nephew”), my mom asked him with shock and amazement.
Even he was flabbergasted to see us. “Boudi, apni” (“Bhabhi, you”), his voice was as heavy as ever. It was Haripada - our neighborhood tailor’s nephew! Just to recap, he was the same lowborne guy who had molested my mom in the pretext of taking her measurements (Read: The visit to the tailor), during our visit to Kakababu’s tailor shop, a few months ago. He was big and brutish as the day we had first seen him; a huge bear of a guy – close to six feet tall – with bulging muscles and tufts of body hair encompassing his massive frame. The huge man’s face was as ugly as ever – adequately covered in boils and his beard poking out like little sharp needles. He was wearing a blue-colored uniform which clung to his sweaty body and smelly body. Other than that, he was speckled in oil and grease stains, as all mechanics should be. When he came in front of us, I briefly caught his hungry eyes scanning my mother’s entire body from head to toe.
My mom’s expression turned to revulsion at the very sight of him. “Kintu tumi toh Kakababu’r dokan e kaaj korte, darji hishebe. Ekhane mechanic er kaaj shuru korle kobe theke” (“But you were working as a tailor in Kakababu’s shop. How did you end up as a mechanic here.”), she asked.
Haripada laughed, bearing his disgusting moss-covered teeth. “Mama’r kaaj amar khub ekta poshachilo na, tai ekhane desher barite chole eschi aar mechanic hishebe ei garage e kaaj korchi. Apni ki korchen ekhane” (“I wasn’t liking my uncle’s job after a while, so I came back to my hometown and now I’m working as a mechanic in this garage. What are you doing here”)
“Amar ek attiyor barite eschi.” (“I’ve come to a relative’s place.”), she said with a fake smile.
Haripada looked at Bahadur. “Achi tarah se ghuma ke le ke aye na bhabhi ko tumhar gadi mein” (“Did you give Bhabhi a nice hard ride on her way here”), he asked with a wry smile.
“Haan, acchi tarah se.” (“Yes, very nice and hard.”), Bahadur winked and had the same wry grin on his face as Haripada. Their casual smiles obviously had a deeper and more vulgar meaning to it than what it sounded. Of course, my mom couldn’t catch any of it.
From the looks of it, Bahadur and Haripada were friends. How ironic that the driver who had just molested my mom on the way to this garage and the tailor-turned-mechanic who had molested her as well months ago, were such great friends.
The next few minutes were uneventful as Haripada asked our driver a few questions regarding the car, like “what had happened” and “any noise the car had been giving prior to its problem”, etc. The driver replied to most of his questions in a normal style. In the meantime, my mom was settled on a nearby chair. I noticed from her expression that she was highly nervous about being in a garage filled with strangers who kept stealing glances at her ripe, mature body and the fact that her two big molesters were also part of her present company. After the brief chat with Bahadur, Haripada went to work on the car. He opened the hood and was going over every inch of the car, using all the tools – screwdriver, hex keys, wrenches, pliers, etc. – that were available in his toolbox.
Bahadur was standing beside him, monitoring the fixes and also chatting casually. It was hard to hear what they were talking about because the garage was so much noisy, with sounds of hammering and sheet cutters and all the clanky noises that one hears in every garage. But, once in a while, they would laugh and look back at my mom and myself, and give sly knowing smiles to each other. No doubt, they were chatting about each of their experiences with my mother. Haripada was probably telling our driver about our trip to the tailor shop months ago and how he had taken measurements of her luscious body, while Bahadur must’ve been sharing his recent experiences with my mom inside the car, on the way to the garage.
After nearly an hour, my mom felt restless as neither of them were telling her what was wrong with the car and how long it would take to fix. So, after another few minutes, she walked towards the place where the car was being fixed, to recheck Haripada’s progress and also to find out how long it would take him to provide any information on the problem. Bahadur turned around and the tailor-turned-mechanic took his head out of the hood to reply. His ugly face seemed even dirtier now that it was dotted with dark greasy spots, his chest was heaving and beads of sweat were sliding down his large hairy chest. “Boudi, garite prochur samasya ache. Ami koyekta jinis thik kore felechi, kintu aaro onek kichu theek kora baaki ache.” (“Bhabhi, there’s a lot of issues with this vehicle. I’ve tackled some of the stuffs, but there are so many others to fix.”)
My mother gave a sigh of exasperation. “Kintu ete khorcha toh onek hobe, tai na” (“But this will cost a lot of money, right”).
“Haan, memsahib. Kharcha toh kaafi hoga.” (“Yes, madam. That would be very expensive.”), Bahadur replied, almost instantly.
Haripada followed suit. “Hain boudi. Jodio Bapi Da amader ei garage er purono customer aar uni prae amader theke discount paan, ei garir pechone ja khorcha seta onek.” (“Yes, Bhabi. Even though Bapi Da is our regular customer and we do give him discounts from time to time, fixing this car would cost a fortune.”)
Something smelled fishy from their conversation, but I decided to let my mother speak and not interfere. In truth, I was getting excited by the prospect of her falling into one of their traps. “T-Tahle ki kora jae” (“Then what do we do”), she asked confusedly.
“Memsahib, saab ko bilkul eeh baat achi nahi lagegi ke hum itna kharcha kar kea aye gadi ke upar.” (“Madam, sir will not like it when he hears that we had to spend so much money on the car.”), Bahadur said with an air of false fear. Forget that, we didn’t even have the money to pay such a huge amount, I thought.
“Tahle upae ki ache Haripada, ami ki kichu korte pari khorcha komanor jonno” (“Then what do we do Haripada, is there anything I can do to cut down the price further”), my innocent mother asked.
The cunning driver and the shrewd mechanic looked towards each other and gave a slight smirk. “Hain, hoyto ekta upae thakte pare…kintu seta alochona korar jonno apnake amader garage er office e cholte hobe.” (“Yes, there might be a way…but for discussing that, you have to come to our office inside the garage.”).
I knew this would happen! My mom looked at me in despair, as if she wanted me to say something. I decided that I had to say something at least. “Ki hoeche tate Jao kotha bole asho. Ete jodi khorcha kome jae tate toh amaderi bhalo.” (“So what happened Go and talk to them, its okay. If that lowers the cost, then it’s good for us, right”), I said nonchalantly, but inside I was smiling with joy and excitement.
My mom seemed to understand that it was just a private chat that they would be having in the office. Nothing to be scared about. “Thikache, cholo.” (“Fine, let’s go.”), she said to them.
“Daran, gadi ta theek kore di, tarpor jabo.” (“Wait, let me fix the car and then we’ll go.”)
When the car was fixed and ready to rumble, Haripada signaled that now was the time to go to the office to work out a deal. He led my mother and our driver to a room at the corner of the building. The reason that Haripada gave for bringing in the driver was that since my mom wasn’t knowledgeable in the subject of the mechanics of a car, they would need Bahadur to translate the finer details and work out an agreement.
In truth, I was aware that something was not right and that my sweet innocent homely mother was about to experience something she had never experienced in her life! The thought of that caused butterflies to flutter inside my stomach. As soon as they entered the room through the large wooden door, Haripada lowered the blinders and completely shut them off. Before locking the door, they hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign around the doorknob. Now, I felt a little scared! The walls were thick and the windows were sealed, so now there was no way for me to find out what was happening inside those closed doors.
While they were inside, I saw some of the mechanics stealing furtive glances towards me and grinning sheepishly. Their erratic stares were making me slightly uncomfortable and I couldn’t help but think how they must’ve felt I was stupid to let my mother go inside the room alone with two other men. I was feeling scared and excited at the same time and my stomach was in knots, with the though of what might be happening inside those closed doors. I wondered what this cunning ugly perverted driver and this brutish beast of a mechanic were doing to my mother.
By the time we reached the garage, I was actually asleep. So, my mother had to wake me up with a few shoves and nudges. When I opened my eyes, I saw that for the most part she had straightened herself up. Her hair was no longer disheveled; she had adjusted her red blouse-and-bra appropriately and covered her heavy bosom with her saree, so now she was once again looking prim and proper. However, looks aren’t everything. The smell of Bahadur’s sweat and his cum was still somewhat evident. Even though the stickiness in her left hand was gone, her palm still had the strong odor of sex. She tried her best to hide her shame, but the expression on her face gave it all away.
Bahadur was already inside the car garage when we entered. He was waiting for one of the mechanics at the desk. The garage was the same as any regular car repair shops. It was a huge space inside a warehouse with rows of workstations, each of them either with a fresh car or a damaged car or a broken down car or just plain empty. My mother and I went up to Bahadur and I asked him, ”Ki go, kothon lagbe” (“Hey, how long will this take”)
When Bahadur turned towards me to answer, I saw that his face was drained from cumming so hard in my sweet submissive mother’s hands. “Mechanic abhi aa rahat hain chote sircar.” (“The mechanic is on his way, chote sircar.”), he replied.
Literally a minute after he said that, the mechanic appeared. From a distance, he seemed familiar and when he got closer, me and my mom’s jaws dropped when we recognized him. “Arey! Tumi Kakababu’r bhaipo na” (“Hey, aren’t you Kakababu’s nephew”), my mom asked him with shock and amazement.
Even he was flabbergasted to see us. “Boudi, apni” (“Bhabhi, you”), his voice was as heavy as ever. It was Haripada - our neighborhood tailor’s nephew! Just to recap, he was the same lowborne guy who had molested my mom in the pretext of taking her measurements (Read: The visit to the tailor), during our visit to Kakababu’s tailor shop, a few months ago. He was big and brutish as the day we had first seen him; a huge bear of a guy – close to six feet tall – with bulging muscles and tufts of body hair encompassing his massive frame. The huge man’s face was as ugly as ever – adequately covered in boils and his beard poking out like little sharp needles. He was wearing a blue-colored uniform which clung to his sweaty body and smelly body. Other than that, he was speckled in oil and grease stains, as all mechanics should be. When he came in front of us, I briefly caught his hungry eyes scanning my mother’s entire body from head to toe.
My mom’s expression turned to revulsion at the very sight of him. “Kintu tumi toh Kakababu’r dokan e kaaj korte, darji hishebe. Ekhane mechanic er kaaj shuru korle kobe theke” (“But you were working as a tailor in Kakababu’s shop. How did you end up as a mechanic here.”), she asked.
Haripada laughed, bearing his disgusting moss-covered teeth. “Mama’r kaaj amar khub ekta poshachilo na, tai ekhane desher barite chole eschi aar mechanic hishebe ei garage e kaaj korchi. Apni ki korchen ekhane” (“I wasn’t liking my uncle’s job after a while, so I came back to my hometown and now I’m working as a mechanic in this garage. What are you doing here”)
“Amar ek attiyor barite eschi.” (“I’ve come to a relative’s place.”), she said with a fake smile.
Haripada looked at Bahadur. “Achi tarah se ghuma ke le ke aye na bhabhi ko tumhar gadi mein” (“Did you give Bhabhi a nice hard ride on her way here”), he asked with a wry smile.
“Haan, acchi tarah se.” (“Yes, very nice and hard.”), Bahadur winked and had the same wry grin on his face as Haripada. Their casual smiles obviously had a deeper and more vulgar meaning to it than what it sounded. Of course, my mom couldn’t catch any of it.
From the looks of it, Bahadur and Haripada were friends. How ironic that the driver who had just molested my mom on the way to this garage and the tailor-turned-mechanic who had molested her as well months ago, were such great friends.
The next few minutes were uneventful as Haripada asked our driver a few questions regarding the car, like “what had happened” and “any noise the car had been giving prior to its problem”, etc. The driver replied to most of his questions in a normal style. In the meantime, my mom was settled on a nearby chair. I noticed from her expression that she was highly nervous about being in a garage filled with strangers who kept stealing glances at her ripe, mature body and the fact that her two big molesters were also part of her present company. After the brief chat with Bahadur, Haripada went to work on the car. He opened the hood and was going over every inch of the car, using all the tools – screwdriver, hex keys, wrenches, pliers, etc. – that were available in his toolbox.
Bahadur was standing beside him, monitoring the fixes and also chatting casually. It was hard to hear what they were talking about because the garage was so much noisy, with sounds of hammering and sheet cutters and all the clanky noises that one hears in every garage. But, once in a while, they would laugh and look back at my mom and myself, and give sly knowing smiles to each other. No doubt, they were chatting about each of their experiences with my mother. Haripada was probably telling our driver about our trip to the tailor shop months ago and how he had taken measurements of her luscious body, while Bahadur must’ve been sharing his recent experiences with my mom inside the car, on the way to the garage.
After nearly an hour, my mom felt restless as neither of them were telling her what was wrong with the car and how long it would take to fix. So, after another few minutes, she walked towards the place where the car was being fixed, to recheck Haripada’s progress and also to find out how long it would take him to provide any information on the problem. Bahadur turned around and the tailor-turned-mechanic took his head out of the hood to reply. His ugly face seemed even dirtier now that it was dotted with dark greasy spots, his chest was heaving and beads of sweat were sliding down his large hairy chest. “Boudi, garite prochur samasya ache. Ami koyekta jinis thik kore felechi, kintu aaro onek kichu theek kora baaki ache.” (“Bhabhi, there’s a lot of issues with this vehicle. I’ve tackled some of the stuffs, but there are so many others to fix.”)
My mother gave a sigh of exasperation. “Kintu ete khorcha toh onek hobe, tai na” (“But this will cost a lot of money, right”).
“Haan, memsahib. Kharcha toh kaafi hoga.” (“Yes, madam. That would be very expensive.”), Bahadur replied, almost instantly.
Haripada followed suit. “Hain boudi. Jodio Bapi Da amader ei garage er purono customer aar uni prae amader theke discount paan, ei garir pechone ja khorcha seta onek.” (“Yes, Bhabi. Even though Bapi Da is our regular customer and we do give him discounts from time to time, fixing this car would cost a fortune.”)
Something smelled fishy from their conversation, but I decided to let my mother speak and not interfere. In truth, I was getting excited by the prospect of her falling into one of their traps. “T-Tahle ki kora jae” (“Then what do we do”), she asked confusedly.
“Memsahib, saab ko bilkul eeh baat achi nahi lagegi ke hum itna kharcha kar kea aye gadi ke upar.” (“Madam, sir will not like it when he hears that we had to spend so much money on the car.”), Bahadur said with an air of false fear. Forget that, we didn’t even have the money to pay such a huge amount, I thought.
“Tahle upae ki ache Haripada, ami ki kichu korte pari khorcha komanor jonno” (“Then what do we do Haripada, is there anything I can do to cut down the price further”), my innocent mother asked.
The cunning driver and the shrewd mechanic looked towards each other and gave a slight smirk. “Hain, hoyto ekta upae thakte pare…kintu seta alochona korar jonno apnake amader garage er office e cholte hobe.” (“Yes, there might be a way…but for discussing that, you have to come to our office inside the garage.”).
I knew this would happen! My mom looked at me in despair, as if she wanted me to say something. I decided that I had to say something at least. “Ki hoeche tate Jao kotha bole asho. Ete jodi khorcha kome jae tate toh amaderi bhalo.” (“So what happened Go and talk to them, its okay. If that lowers the cost, then it’s good for us, right”), I said nonchalantly, but inside I was smiling with joy and excitement.
My mom seemed to understand that it was just a private chat that they would be having in the office. Nothing to be scared about. “Thikache, cholo.” (“Fine, let’s go.”), she said to them.
“Daran, gadi ta theek kore di, tarpor jabo.” (“Wait, let me fix the car and then we’ll go.”)
When the car was fixed and ready to rumble, Haripada signaled that now was the time to go to the office to work out a deal. He led my mother and our driver to a room at the corner of the building. The reason that Haripada gave for bringing in the driver was that since my mom wasn’t knowledgeable in the subject of the mechanics of a car, they would need Bahadur to translate the finer details and work out an agreement.
In truth, I was aware that something was not right and that my sweet innocent homely mother was about to experience something she had never experienced in her life! The thought of that caused butterflies to flutter inside my stomach. As soon as they entered the room through the large wooden door, Haripada lowered the blinders and completely shut them off. Before locking the door, they hung a “Do Not Disturb” sign around the doorknob. Now, I felt a little scared! The walls were thick and the windows were sealed, so now there was no way for me to find out what was happening inside those closed doors.
While they were inside, I saw some of the mechanics stealing furtive glances towards me and grinning sheepishly. Their erratic stares were making me slightly uncomfortable and I couldn’t help but think how they must’ve felt I was stupid to let my mother go inside the room alone with two other men. I was feeling scared and excited at the same time and my stomach was in knots, with the though of what might be happening inside those closed doors. I wondered what this cunning ugly perverted driver and this brutish beast of a mechanic were doing to my mother.
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