Adultery Whispers of Lust: My Mom's Forbidden Path

[Rajeev Gupta]

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: - “A party? Cool! What kind?”

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

Me: - “Really mom? Awesome! I’m in!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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





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






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

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

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

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

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

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

Mom: - “Just a party.”

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


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

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

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




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





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

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

Mom: - “Oh… yes, I see her.”

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

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

Mom: - “Yes, Shalini… we’re here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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


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

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


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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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



Your thoughts guys!