06-04-2025, 02:52 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-04-2025, 02:54 AM by Rajeev Gupta. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Mom flinched as the man’s hand caught her shoulder, but he held out the three glasses of passion juice with a warm, disarming smile. His presence was steady, not pushy, and something about it seemed to ease her tension just a bit.
Manoj: - “Leaving so soon? I thought you might like another round—passion juice, right? I’m Manoj, Manoj Malhotra by the way. Couldn’t help but notice you two looked thirsty.”
Mom: - “Oh… thank you, Manoj. I’m Rekha, and this is my son, Sanjay. We were just about to head out, actually.”
Manoj: - “No rush, Rekha. It’s a lively night—why not stay a little longer? I’ve been wandering this party alone, and you seem like good company.”
Mom: - “That’s kind of you, but I’m not really feeling up for it.”
Manoj: - “I get it—big crowds can be overwhelming. But you’ve got a glow about you, Rekha. It’d be a shame to waste it heading home so early.”
Mom hesitated, her grip on my arm loosening slightly. She glanced at the juice, then at Manoj’s easy grin, and I saw her shoulders relax a fraction. He turned to me, his tone friendly.
Manoj: - “Sanjay, right? You enjoying the party, young man? Looks like a fun night for a kid your age.”
Me: - “Yeah, it’s cool. The music’s great.”
Manoj: - “Good taste! Why don’t we all sit for a bit? Just a quick break—your mom deserves a rest in those heels.”
He gestured to the couch we’d just left, and Mom nodded slowly, sinking back down. As she sat, Manoj’s eyes flicked to her 38-inch breasts, full and straining against the creamy dress’s low neckline.
![[Image: 1.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/k4FMMbRp/1.png)
They jiggled slightly with her movement, and his gaze lingered—hungry but subtle, like he was savoring every detail. The way the fabric hugged her curves, outlining her 34-inch waist and 44-inch ass against the velvet, only fueled his interest.
Mom: - “I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt. Thank you for the juice, Manoj.”
Manoj: - “My pleasure, Rekha. You know, you stand out in this crowd—not just the dress, but you. Where’d you find something that fits so… perfectly?”
Mom: - “Oh, it’s new. A friend insisted I wear it. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”
Manoj: - “Well, your friend’s a genius. That dress—it’s like it was made for you. Highlights everything just right.”
Mom: - “You’re too kind. I feel a bit exposed, honestly.”
Manoj: - “Exposed? No, no—elegant’s the word. You’ve got a natural grace, Rekha. I’ve been to plenty of parties, but I haven’t seen anyone carry themselves like you do.”
Mom: - “Oh, stop it. I’m just here with Sanjay, trying to keep up.”
Manoj: - “And doing it beautifully. Tell me, what brought you out tonight? You don’t strike me as the party type.”
Mom: - “My friend dragged me here—literally. She’s off somewhere now, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”
Manoj: - “Lucky for me, then. I’d have missed meeting you otherwise. You from around here?”
Mom: - “Yes, Uttar Pradesh. My husband’s away in Dubai, so it’s just me and Sanjay most of the time.”
Manoj: - “Dubai, huh? Tough being apart, I bet. You’re holding it all together, though—strong woman. I admire that.”
His voice was smooth, his eyes locked on her, darting back to her breasts every few seconds. Mom blushed, sipping her juice, clearly flattered despite herself. I watched him, and my unease started to fade. He seemed nice—genuine, even. Maybe I’d misjudged him.
Me: - “Ma, I’m gonna get my passion juice refilled, okay?”
Mom: - “Alright, but don’t go far, Sanjay. We’ll be leaving soon.”
Me: - “I won’t—I’ll be right back.”
I stood, leaving them chatting, and weaved through the crowd to the corner. “Passion juice refill,” I told the server, who nodded and poured me a fresh glass.
As I waited, I caught sight of Rakesh and Shalini heading toward the washrooms, his arm around her waist close to her plump ass. It struck me as odd. Ravi, her husband, wasn’t here, and Rakesh was way too cozy with her.
I frowned but shrugged it off, grabbing my drink and stepping onto the dance floor. The beat pulsed through me, and I swayed a little, sipping my juice, letting the weirdness slip away.
After a few minutes, I felt a twinge in my bladder. I finished my drink and headed to the bathroom to piss, pushing through the crowd. Inside, I used the stall, washed my hands, and turned to leave—then froze.
From the next stall over, I heard sounds: “Ooh, yes! Ooh, yes! Do it—oooh!” Low, rhythmic, urgent. I didn’t get it at first—moans? I stepped closer, curiosity tugging at me, and the voice clicked—Shalini’s, unmistakable, high-pitched and breathy.
I bent down, peering under the stall door. There were her red high heels, the ones I’d seen earlier, scuffed and angled awkwardly. Behind them, a pair of men’s shoes—black, polished—shifted back and forth.
I heard flesh thumping against flesh, a steady slap-slap-slap, and spotted Shalini’s panties bunched around her knees. My heart raced. I remembered Rakesh walking off with her, but I couldn’t see the man’s face.
What was happening? Her screams grew louder: “Harder! Yes, oh God, yes! Don’t stop—oooh, right there! Ooh yess slap my ass harder ooohhh” Each word was sharp, desperate, echoing off the tiles.
I stood up, my mind spinning. Was she in pain? Hurt? I didn’t understand, but it didn’t sound right. I knocked on the door, my voice shaky.
Me: - “Shalini Aunty? You okay in there?”
Shalini: - (pause, then a muffled gasp) “Sanjay? Uh—yes, I’m fine!”
Me: - “I heard you—are you sure? It sounded weird.”
Shalini: - “No, no, I’m good! Just… uh, fixing my shoe. It broke.”
The thumping had stopped, and the door creaked open. Shalini stepped out, her face flushed and sweaty, her red dress wrinkled, hair mussed. She wiped her forehead, forcing a smile. No sign of the man—he must’ve ducked back inside.
Me: - “You look all sweaty. What happened?”
Shalini: - “Oh, it’s hot in here, that’s all. Dancing too much, you know?”
Me: - “But I heard noises—like you were yelling.”
Shalini: - “Just me being clumsy, Sanjay. Tripped over my own feet—silly me!”
Me: - “Was there a guy in there with you? I saw shoes.”
Shalini: - “A guy? No, no, just me. You’re imagining things, beta.”
Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”
Shalini: - “I’m fine, really. Go enjoy the party—have fun! I’ll catch up with your mom soon.”
Me: - “Alright, Shalini Aunty.”
She went back inside the bathroom stall, shut the door quick, and I stood there, confused.
Then the moans started again—“Oh, yes! Keep going!”—and the thumping resumed, louder, faster. I shook my head and walked away, my stomach churning. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want me involved. I was a kid and I didn't understand any of those things happening.
I pushed through the crowd, the bathroom encounter with Shalini still buzzing in my head, and made my way back to Mom and Manoj. When I reached them, something felt off. Mom looked dizzy—her eyes were glassy, her movements slow, like she was swaying even while sitting.
Manoj, though, was sharp as ever, his grin steady, no sign of haze in him. Mom smiled faintly when she saw me, but it didn’t reach her eyes—she wasn’t in the mood to stay long, I could tell.
As I got closer, I noticed Manoj’s hand resting on her shoulder now and then. She’d shrug it off, shifting away slightly, but her dizziness made her sluggish, like she couldn’t fully pull back.
Mom: - “Oh, Sanjay, you’re back. Good—I was starting to worry.”
Me: - “Yeah, just got my juice. You okay, Ma?”
Mom: - “Yes, yes, just… tired, I think. It’s been a long night.”
I plopped down on the couch, deciding to tune them out. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to fuss over it. I turned my back, sipping my passion juice, and watched the people dancing—swaying bodies under flashing lights, laughter cutting through the music.
Behind me, Mom and Manoj’s voices drifted back and forth.
Manoj: - “So, Rekha, you said your husband’s in Dubai. What’s he do there?”
Mom: - “He works in construction—supervising projects. It keeps him busy.”
Manoj: - “Must be tough, him being so far. How long’s he been gone?”
Mom: - “Five years now. He comes home once a month, stays a week.”
Manoj: - “That’s dedication. And you—holding it all together here. You’re something special, you know that?”
Mom: - “I just do what I have to. Sanjay keeps me going.”
Manoj: - “I can see why. You’ve got a strength about you—quiet, but strong. Where’d you grow up?”
Mom: - “Right here in Uttar Pradesh. Small town, nothing fancy.”
Manoj: - “Small town girl with big city beauty. That dress—it’s doing wonders for you tonight.”
Mom: - “Oh, this? It’s not really me. My friend pushed me into it.”
Manoj: - “She’s got good taste, then. You wear it like you were born for it. Ever think about dressing up more often?”
Mom: - “No, no. I’m usually in sarees—simple ones. This is… too much.”
Manoj: - “Too much? Nah, it’s just right. You’ve got a figure that deserves to shine, Rekha.”
Mom: - “You’re flattering me too much, Manoj. I’m not used to all this attention.”
Manoj: - “Get used to it. A woman like you—people notice. I noticed you the second you walked in.”
Mom: - “Well… thank you, I suppose. But I’m really not the party type.”
Manoj: - “Could’ve fooled me. You fit right in—better than most here, I’d say.”
Mom’s voice grew quieter, a little strained. She was getting tired of his questions, I could hear it, but she stayed polite, sipping her juice to fill the gaps. His tone was warm, too warm, and I caught her glancing at him, realizing he was into her—really into her.
His eyes kept drifting over her, lingering on her chest, her hips, like he couldn’t help himself.
Me: - “Ma, you feeling sleepy? You look kinda out of it.”
Mom: - “A little, Sanjay. It’s the noise, maybe. Or this dress—it’s so tight.”
Manoj: - “You’re fine, Rekha. Just relax—here, have more of that juice. It’ll perk you up.”
Mom: - “Oh, I don’t know… I’ve had enough already.”
Manoj: - “Nonsense! It’s just juice—light, sweet, your favorite, right? Keeps the night going.”
Mom: - “Maybe one more sip, then. But I’m really not up for much longer.”
Manoj: - “Take your time. No rush. You’ve got a glow, even if you’re tired—makes you look alive.”
Mom: - “I don’t feel very alive right now. My head’s spinning a bit.”
Manoj: - “That’s just the party vibe. Drink up—it’ll settle you. You’re too beautiful to fade out early.”
Mom: - “You keep saying that. I’m not sure it’s true.”
Manoj: - “Oh, it’s true. Every eye in here’s been on you—mine especially. That juice’ll keep you shining.”
Mom: - “Maybe… but I’m not used to all this. It’s overwhelming.”
Manoj: - “You’ll get the hang of it. A little more juice, a little more fun—perfect night for a woman like you.”
He pushed the glass closer, smiling all the time, his teeth glinting under the lights. Mom took a small sip, her hand shaky, and I wondered why she looked so off. Maybe the crowd, the heat, the tight dress—I didn’t know. Then Manoj leaned in, his voice dropping.
Manoj: - “How about a dance, Rekha? Just one—loosen you up a bit.”
Mom: - “A dance? No, Manoj, I’m too dizzy for that.”
Me: - “Come on, Ma, go for it! I’ve never seen you dance—it’d be cool!”
Mom: - “Sanjay, no. I don’t even know how. And my head’s all fuzzy.”
Manoj: - “Doesn’t matter if you know how. I’ll lead—just a slow one. Come on, give it a try.”
Mom: - “I really shouldn’t. These heels, this dress—I’d stumble.”
Me: - “You won’t, Ma! Manoj’s got you. It’ll be fun!”
Mom: - “Oh, fine… but just for a minute.”
Before she could back out, Manoj caught her hand, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her up. I watched her walk to the dance floor, her curvy body swaying with each step. The creamy dress hugged her 38-inch breasts, the fabric stretching tight across her full, soft breasts, jiggling as she moved.
![[Image: 1.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/FFpF204f/1.png)
Her 34-inch waist dipped in, flaring out to that 44-inch ass—plump, fleshy, impossible to miss. Her high heels clinked, her hair bouncing in loose waves, and even dizzy, she was stunning.
![[Image: 1.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/MGSh6r0z/1.png)
Manoj slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Mom stiffened, unsure about his touch, her hands hovering awkwardly. She didn’t know how to dance—her steps were clumsy, tentative—but he guided her, turning her smoothly.
He spun her once, then pulled her back, her breasts brushing his chest. They pressed against him, soft and heavy, and his eyes locked onto hers—deep, romantic, smoldering with something intense.
Mom’s gaze met his, wide and uncertain, but she didn’t lean in. She kept her limits, her body stiff despite the closeness.
Then his hands slid lower, both palms landing on her fat ass.
He squeezed—firm, deliberate, fingers digging into the plump flesh, kneading it like he’d been waiting all night for this. The dress stretched tighter, outlining every curve, and Mom’s face twitched, uneasy, her dizziness making her sway.
Mom: - “Manoj, what are you doing? That’s… too much.”
Manoj: - “Just dancing, Rekha. You feel amazing—can’t help it.”
Mom: - “Please, move your hands. I’m not comfortable.”
Manoj: - “Relax, it’s part of the rhythm. You’re so tense—let go a little.”
Mom: - “I can’t. My head’s spinning, and this—it’s not right.”
Manoj: - “Not right? It feels right to me. You’re a dream out here, Rekha.”
Mom: - “I don’t know how to do this. You’re holding me too close.”
Manoj: - “Close is good. Look at you—those curves, that sway. You’re made for this.”
Mom: - “I’m not. I just want to sit down—please.”
Manoj: - “One more turn, then we’ll sit. You’re doing great—better than you think.”
He spun her again, her back to his chest now. His hands gripped her 34-inch waist, tight and possessive, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh.
![[Image: ae3d4534cb7579b2a6cc20429a84d524-high.webp]](https://i.postimg.cc/7hRS9dP7/ae3d4534cb7579b2a6cc20429a84d524-high.webp)
photo upload internet
He leaned in, his nose brushing the back of her neck, inhaling deeply—her hair tickled his face, and he pressed closer. His groin pushed hard against her plump ass, the bulge unmistakable, grinding slightly as they moved.
![[Image: 1.webp]](https://i.postimg.cc/SNwWzBvb/1.webp)
Mom’s breasts bounced with each step, full and straining, her hair whipping around, catching the light. She was picking up the dance moves, her body swaying more naturally, but her dizziness grew—her eyes fluttered, her steps faltered.
I watched, my stomach knotting. Manoj’s hands on her ass, his nose at her neck—it was too much, too bold. Mom kept her distance where she could, but the juice, the heat, something was pulling her under. Her beauty shone—those breasts, that ass—but she didn’t belong in his grip like that.
Then something extra ordinary happened that I didn't expect........
To be continued..........
Your thoughts my friends.
Manoj: - “Leaving so soon? I thought you might like another round—passion juice, right? I’m Manoj, Manoj Malhotra by the way. Couldn’t help but notice you two looked thirsty.”
Mom: - “Oh… thank you, Manoj. I’m Rekha, and this is my son, Sanjay. We were just about to head out, actually.”
Manoj: - “No rush, Rekha. It’s a lively night—why not stay a little longer? I’ve been wandering this party alone, and you seem like good company.”
Mom: - “That’s kind of you, but I’m not really feeling up for it.”
Manoj: - “I get it—big crowds can be overwhelming. But you’ve got a glow about you, Rekha. It’d be a shame to waste it heading home so early.”
Mom hesitated, her grip on my arm loosening slightly. She glanced at the juice, then at Manoj’s easy grin, and I saw her shoulders relax a fraction. He turned to me, his tone friendly.
Manoj: - “Sanjay, right? You enjoying the party, young man? Looks like a fun night for a kid your age.”
Me: - “Yeah, it’s cool. The music’s great.”
Manoj: - “Good taste! Why don’t we all sit for a bit? Just a quick break—your mom deserves a rest in those heels.”
He gestured to the couch we’d just left, and Mom nodded slowly, sinking back down. As she sat, Manoj’s eyes flicked to her 38-inch breasts, full and straining against the creamy dress’s low neckline.
They jiggled slightly with her movement, and his gaze lingered—hungry but subtle, like he was savoring every detail. The way the fabric hugged her curves, outlining her 34-inch waist and 44-inch ass against the velvet, only fueled his interest.
Mom: - “I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt. Thank you for the juice, Manoj.”
Manoj: - “My pleasure, Rekha. You know, you stand out in this crowd—not just the dress, but you. Where’d you find something that fits so… perfectly?”
Mom: - “Oh, it’s new. A friend insisted I wear it. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”
Manoj: - “Well, your friend’s a genius. That dress—it’s like it was made for you. Highlights everything just right.”
Mom: - “You’re too kind. I feel a bit exposed, honestly.”
Manoj: - “Exposed? No, no—elegant’s the word. You’ve got a natural grace, Rekha. I’ve been to plenty of parties, but I haven’t seen anyone carry themselves like you do.”
Mom: - “Oh, stop it. I’m just here with Sanjay, trying to keep up.”
Manoj: - “And doing it beautifully. Tell me, what brought you out tonight? You don’t strike me as the party type.”
Mom: - “My friend dragged me here—literally. She’s off somewhere now, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”
Manoj: - “Lucky for me, then. I’d have missed meeting you otherwise. You from around here?”
Mom: - “Yes, Uttar Pradesh. My husband’s away in Dubai, so it’s just me and Sanjay most of the time.”
Manoj: - “Dubai, huh? Tough being apart, I bet. You’re holding it all together, though—strong woman. I admire that.”
His voice was smooth, his eyes locked on her, darting back to her breasts every few seconds. Mom blushed, sipping her juice, clearly flattered despite herself. I watched him, and my unease started to fade. He seemed nice—genuine, even. Maybe I’d misjudged him.
Me: - “Ma, I’m gonna get my passion juice refilled, okay?”
Mom: - “Alright, but don’t go far, Sanjay. We’ll be leaving soon.”
Me: - “I won’t—I’ll be right back.”
I stood, leaving them chatting, and weaved through the crowd to the corner. “Passion juice refill,” I told the server, who nodded and poured me a fresh glass.
As I waited, I caught sight of Rakesh and Shalini heading toward the washrooms, his arm around her waist close to her plump ass. It struck me as odd. Ravi, her husband, wasn’t here, and Rakesh was way too cozy with her.
I frowned but shrugged it off, grabbing my drink and stepping onto the dance floor. The beat pulsed through me, and I swayed a little, sipping my juice, letting the weirdness slip away.
After a few minutes, I felt a twinge in my bladder. I finished my drink and headed to the bathroom to piss, pushing through the crowd. Inside, I used the stall, washed my hands, and turned to leave—then froze.
From the next stall over, I heard sounds: “Ooh, yes! Ooh, yes! Do it—oooh!” Low, rhythmic, urgent. I didn’t get it at first—moans? I stepped closer, curiosity tugging at me, and the voice clicked—Shalini’s, unmistakable, high-pitched and breathy.
I bent down, peering under the stall door. There were her red high heels, the ones I’d seen earlier, scuffed and angled awkwardly. Behind them, a pair of men’s shoes—black, polished—shifted back and forth.
I heard flesh thumping against flesh, a steady slap-slap-slap, and spotted Shalini’s panties bunched around her knees. My heart raced. I remembered Rakesh walking off with her, but I couldn’t see the man’s face.
What was happening? Her screams grew louder: “Harder! Yes, oh God, yes! Don’t stop—oooh, right there! Ooh yess slap my ass harder ooohhh” Each word was sharp, desperate, echoing off the tiles.
I stood up, my mind spinning. Was she in pain? Hurt? I didn’t understand, but it didn’t sound right. I knocked on the door, my voice shaky.
Me: - “Shalini Aunty? You okay in there?”
Shalini: - (pause, then a muffled gasp) “Sanjay? Uh—yes, I’m fine!”
Me: - “I heard you—are you sure? It sounded weird.”
Shalini: - “No, no, I’m good! Just… uh, fixing my shoe. It broke.”
The thumping had stopped, and the door creaked open. Shalini stepped out, her face flushed and sweaty, her red dress wrinkled, hair mussed. She wiped her forehead, forcing a smile. No sign of the man—he must’ve ducked back inside.
Me: - “You look all sweaty. What happened?”
Shalini: - “Oh, it’s hot in here, that’s all. Dancing too much, you know?”
Me: - “But I heard noises—like you were yelling.”
Shalini: - “Just me being clumsy, Sanjay. Tripped over my own feet—silly me!”
Me: - “Was there a guy in there with you? I saw shoes.”
Shalini: - “A guy? No, no, just me. You’re imagining things, beta.”
Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”
Shalini: - “I’m fine, really. Go enjoy the party—have fun! I’ll catch up with your mom soon.”
Me: - “Alright, Shalini Aunty.”
She went back inside the bathroom stall, shut the door quick, and I stood there, confused.
Then the moans started again—“Oh, yes! Keep going!”—and the thumping resumed, louder, faster. I shook my head and walked away, my stomach churning. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want me involved. I was a kid and I didn't understand any of those things happening.
I pushed through the crowd, the bathroom encounter with Shalini still buzzing in my head, and made my way back to Mom and Manoj. When I reached them, something felt off. Mom looked dizzy—her eyes were glassy, her movements slow, like she was swaying even while sitting.
Manoj, though, was sharp as ever, his grin steady, no sign of haze in him. Mom smiled faintly when she saw me, but it didn’t reach her eyes—she wasn’t in the mood to stay long, I could tell.
As I got closer, I noticed Manoj’s hand resting on her shoulder now and then. She’d shrug it off, shifting away slightly, but her dizziness made her sluggish, like she couldn’t fully pull back.
Mom: - “Oh, Sanjay, you’re back. Good—I was starting to worry.”
Me: - “Yeah, just got my juice. You okay, Ma?”
Mom: - “Yes, yes, just… tired, I think. It’s been a long night.”
I plopped down on the couch, deciding to tune them out. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to fuss over it. I turned my back, sipping my passion juice, and watched the people dancing—swaying bodies under flashing lights, laughter cutting through the music.
Behind me, Mom and Manoj’s voices drifted back and forth.
Manoj: - “So, Rekha, you said your husband’s in Dubai. What’s he do there?”
Mom: - “He works in construction—supervising projects. It keeps him busy.”
Manoj: - “Must be tough, him being so far. How long’s he been gone?”
Mom: - “Five years now. He comes home once a month, stays a week.”
Manoj: - “That’s dedication. And you—holding it all together here. You’re something special, you know that?”
Mom: - “I just do what I have to. Sanjay keeps me going.”
Manoj: - “I can see why. You’ve got a strength about you—quiet, but strong. Where’d you grow up?”
Mom: - “Right here in Uttar Pradesh. Small town, nothing fancy.”
Manoj: - “Small town girl with big city beauty. That dress—it’s doing wonders for you tonight.”
Mom: - “Oh, this? It’s not really me. My friend pushed me into it.”
Manoj: - “She’s got good taste, then. You wear it like you were born for it. Ever think about dressing up more often?”
Mom: - “No, no. I’m usually in sarees—simple ones. This is… too much.”
Manoj: - “Too much? Nah, it’s just right. You’ve got a figure that deserves to shine, Rekha.”
Mom: - “You’re flattering me too much, Manoj. I’m not used to all this attention.”
Manoj: - “Get used to it. A woman like you—people notice. I noticed you the second you walked in.”
Mom: - “Well… thank you, I suppose. But I’m really not the party type.”
Manoj: - “Could’ve fooled me. You fit right in—better than most here, I’d say.”
Mom’s voice grew quieter, a little strained. She was getting tired of his questions, I could hear it, but she stayed polite, sipping her juice to fill the gaps. His tone was warm, too warm, and I caught her glancing at him, realizing he was into her—really into her.
His eyes kept drifting over her, lingering on her chest, her hips, like he couldn’t help himself.
Me: - “Ma, you feeling sleepy? You look kinda out of it.”
Mom: - “A little, Sanjay. It’s the noise, maybe. Or this dress—it’s so tight.”
Manoj: - “You’re fine, Rekha. Just relax—here, have more of that juice. It’ll perk you up.”
Mom: - “Oh, I don’t know… I’ve had enough already.”
Manoj: - “Nonsense! It’s just juice—light, sweet, your favorite, right? Keeps the night going.”
Mom: - “Maybe one more sip, then. But I’m really not up for much longer.”
Manoj: - “Take your time. No rush. You’ve got a glow, even if you’re tired—makes you look alive.”
Mom: - “I don’t feel very alive right now. My head’s spinning a bit.”
Manoj: - “That’s just the party vibe. Drink up—it’ll settle you. You’re too beautiful to fade out early.”
Mom: - “You keep saying that. I’m not sure it’s true.”
Manoj: - “Oh, it’s true. Every eye in here’s been on you—mine especially. That juice’ll keep you shining.”
Mom: - “Maybe… but I’m not used to all this. It’s overwhelming.”
Manoj: - “You’ll get the hang of it. A little more juice, a little more fun—perfect night for a woman like you.”
He pushed the glass closer, smiling all the time, his teeth glinting under the lights. Mom took a small sip, her hand shaky, and I wondered why she looked so off. Maybe the crowd, the heat, the tight dress—I didn’t know. Then Manoj leaned in, his voice dropping.
Manoj: - “How about a dance, Rekha? Just one—loosen you up a bit.”
Mom: - “A dance? No, Manoj, I’m too dizzy for that.”
Me: - “Come on, Ma, go for it! I’ve never seen you dance—it’d be cool!”
Mom: - “Sanjay, no. I don’t even know how. And my head’s all fuzzy.”
Manoj: - “Doesn’t matter if you know how. I’ll lead—just a slow one. Come on, give it a try.”
Mom: - “I really shouldn’t. These heels, this dress—I’d stumble.”
Me: - “You won’t, Ma! Manoj’s got you. It’ll be fun!”
Mom: - “Oh, fine… but just for a minute.”
Before she could back out, Manoj caught her hand, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her up. I watched her walk to the dance floor, her curvy body swaying with each step. The creamy dress hugged her 38-inch breasts, the fabric stretching tight across her full, soft breasts, jiggling as she moved.
Her 34-inch waist dipped in, flaring out to that 44-inch ass—plump, fleshy, impossible to miss. Her high heels clinked, her hair bouncing in loose waves, and even dizzy, she was stunning.
Manoj slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Mom stiffened, unsure about his touch, her hands hovering awkwardly. She didn’t know how to dance—her steps were clumsy, tentative—but he guided her, turning her smoothly.
He spun her once, then pulled her back, her breasts brushing his chest. They pressed against him, soft and heavy, and his eyes locked onto hers—deep, romantic, smoldering with something intense.
Mom’s gaze met his, wide and uncertain, but she didn’t lean in. She kept her limits, her body stiff despite the closeness.
Then his hands slid lower, both palms landing on her fat ass.
He squeezed—firm, deliberate, fingers digging into the plump flesh, kneading it like he’d been waiting all night for this. The dress stretched tighter, outlining every curve, and Mom’s face twitched, uneasy, her dizziness making her sway.
Mom: - “Manoj, what are you doing? That’s… too much.”
Manoj: - “Just dancing, Rekha. You feel amazing—can’t help it.”
Mom: - “Please, move your hands. I’m not comfortable.”
Manoj: - “Relax, it’s part of the rhythm. You’re so tense—let go a little.”
Mom: - “I can’t. My head’s spinning, and this—it’s not right.”
Manoj: - “Not right? It feels right to me. You’re a dream out here, Rekha.”
Mom: - “I don’t know how to do this. You’re holding me too close.”
Manoj: - “Close is good. Look at you—those curves, that sway. You’re made for this.”
Mom: - “I’m not. I just want to sit down—please.”
Manoj: - “One more turn, then we’ll sit. You’re doing great—better than you think.”
He spun her again, her back to his chest now. His hands gripped her 34-inch waist, tight and possessive, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh.
photo upload internetHe leaned in, his nose brushing the back of her neck, inhaling deeply—her hair tickled his face, and he pressed closer. His groin pushed hard against her plump ass, the bulge unmistakable, grinding slightly as they moved.
Mom’s breasts bounced with each step, full and straining, her hair whipping around, catching the light. She was picking up the dance moves, her body swaying more naturally, but her dizziness grew—her eyes fluttered, her steps faltered.
I watched, my stomach knotting. Manoj’s hands on her ass, his nose at her neck—it was too much, too bold. Mom kept her distance where she could, but the juice, the heat, something was pulling her under. Her beauty shone—those breasts, that ass—but she didn’t belong in his grip like that.
Then something extra ordinary happened that I didn't expect........
To be continued..........
Your thoughts my friends.
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