07-04-2025, 08:02 PM
Manoj spun Mom around again, her back no longer to him, their faces inches apart. His hands slid down from her waist, brushing her plump ass, his fingers grazing the soft, fleshy curve through the tight creamy dress.
He didn’t squeeze this time—just a lingering touch, testing her reaction. Her dizziness made her sway into him slightly, her 38-inch breasts brushing his chest.
Manoj: - “How you feeling now, Rekha? Still dizzy, or is the dance waking you up?”
Mom: - “I… I’m still dizzy, Manoj. My head’s all over the place.”
Manoj: - “You look alive to me, beautifully alive. This dance suits you.”
I watched from the couch, my stomach twisting. His hands on her fleshy ass, even just a touch, felt wrong—too intimate, too bold for my mom, who’d never let anyone this close except Dad.
It wasn’t just unease that I felt; it was a knot of something deeper—worry, maybe anger. She wasn’t herself, swaying like that, and he was taking advantage.
Manoj’s eyes softened, locking onto hers with a romantic glint. He pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back, the other resting lightly on her hip.
I didn't even get to explain how this strange man who just knew my mom for few seconds is now on the dancefloor with her dancing and touching her inappropriately.
The music slowed, and he swayed her gently, his thumb brushing her waist in small circles. He leaned in, whispering something I couldn’t hear, his breath warm against her ear.
Mom’s lips parted, dazed, a little dizzy still, and he tilted her chin up with a finger, their gazes tangled—his smoldering, hers foggy. Then, in a swift, deliberate move, he kissed her. I felt like I was dreaming while seeing this.
I rubbed my two eyes together to ensure that I was indeed not dreaming or building castles in the air.
His lips pressed hard against hers, hungry and firm, his hand cupping her neck to hold her there. For five, maybe six seconds, Mom didn’t flinch—her dizziness must’ve dulled her senses, her body limp against him.
The fact that my mom was dizzy was what contributed to her not immediately moving away from his advances of kissing her. But it was too late, his lips were pressed against hers and he was now French kissing her.
Her breasts crushed into his chest, soft and full, the creamy dress outlining every curve as they pressed tight. I froze, shocked, my juice glass nearly slipping from my hand. My pure, religious mom—kissing a stranger on a dance floor?
This is not normal at all for me and not for hers either.
I glanced around, panicked. What if someone here knew her? What if word got back to Dad in Dubai? The neighbors, the temple folks—they’d talk for years. My heart raced, imagining his reaction—anger, hurt, betrayal.
But I knew the party contained and was full of people who don't know my mom so at least I was relaxed. The only person who knew my mom was Shalini, and by now I think that man who was doing something to her in the bathroom was probably continuing to do that thing which was making her scream.
And I was certain that if Shalini knew my mom was kissing another man, Shalini would probably encourage her and tease her more.
Then Mom snapped back to herself. Her eyes widened, and she shoved Manoj away, her hands trembling. She stumbled back, still dizzy, her heels clacking unevenly. She came back to her senses at last and I was happy about that.
Mom: - “What are you doing, Manoj? That’s enough! Leave me! How dare you?”
Manoj: - “Oh, come on, Rekha—just a little fun. You didn’t mind, did you?”
Mom: - “I minded! I’m not here for that—let go of me!”
Manoj: - “Relax, it was just a kiss. You’re too gorgeous to resist—can’t blame me.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, spitting to the side, her face flushed with anger and sweat. She turned and hurried toward me, her steps wobbly but determined, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. She reached me, fuming, her breath uneven.
I was afraid maybe she would fall because of her dizziness and the fact that she was walking angrily, the high heels pressed on the concrete floor making clinking sounds. She came to me where I was sitting.
Mom: - “Sanjay, we’re leaving—now!”
Me: - “Why, Ma? What happened?”
Mom: - “Don't worry, I don’t feel right here. Let’s go.”
Me: - “Okay, yeah, let’s get out.”
I nodded, grabbing my glass, but as we turned, Mom froze. Manoj was right there, inches from her face, his grin unshaken. Her eyes narrowed, but he stepped closer, unfazed.
Manoj: - “Leaving already? Let me drive you home—both of you. It’s no trouble.”
Mom: - “No, Manoj. We’ll manage on our own. Please, I am not in for this”
Manoj: - “Come on, Rekha, you’re dizzy—those heels, that dress. I’ll get you home safe.”
Mom: - “I said no. After that, I don’t want your help.”
Manoj: - “What, the kiss? Just a moment of weakness—you’re too stunning, Rekha. Let me make it up with a ride.”
Mom: - “I don’t need you to. We’ll call a cab. Don't mention it in front of my son”
Manoj: - “A cab in this mess? I’m right here—car’s outside. Look at you, sweating, dizzy—let me help.”
His eyes dropped to her breasts, lingering on the way they heaved with her quick breaths, the neckline still low and revealing. Mom shifted, crossing her arms, but he kept pushing, his voice smooth.
Manoj: - “You can’t walk straight, Rekha. Sanjay’s here—I won’t try anything. Just a ride.”
Mom: - “I… fine. But only because Sanjay’s with me. Nothing else.”
Manoj: - “Perfect. Wait here—I’ll pull the car around.”
He flashed that smile again and disappeared into the crowd. Mom exhaled, shaky, and I turned to her, frowning innocently.
Me: - “Ma, why’re you sweating so much?”
Mom: - “It’s hot in here, Sanjay. Too many people.”
Me: - “I saw you do something with Manoj—like what you do with Dad. Kissing him.”
Mom’s eyes widened, her whole body trembling. She grabbed my arm, her voice tight.
Mom: - “What? Oh, Sanjay… that—it’s normal, you know. Just a friendly thing.”
Me: - “Really? Looked weird to me.”
Mom: - “It’s… it’s how some people show they’re friends. Manoj got carried away, but it doesn’t mean anything bad.”
Me: - “But you only kiss Dad like that.”
Mom: - “I know, I know. It’s different here—grown-up stuff. Sometimes it happens at parties. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”
I didn’t believe her. My pure Mom, who prayed every morning, lying about kissing another man? Saying it was good, normal? It felt filthy, wrong, but I played dumb, nodding like I bought it.
Mom: - “Sanjay, listen—don’t look too much when I’m with Manoj, okay? It’s not for you to watch.”
Me: - “Why not?”
Mom: - “Because it’s private—adult things. You’re young, you don’t need to see everything I do.”
Me: - “But I’m right here.”
Mom: - “I know, but just… focus on the party, not me. And please, don’t tell your dad about this.”
Me: - “Why not? He’d wanna know.”
Mom: - “Because it’d worry him for no reason. He’s far away, working hard—he doesn’t need to think I’m upset over something small. It’s our little secret, okay? To keep him happy.”
Her answer was clever—too clever. I stared at her, stunned by how she twisted it, but I nodded, keeping my doubts quiet. People danced around us, the music thumping, and then Manoj reappeared, keys jangling.
Manoj: - “My car’s ready, Rekha. Lead the way—I’ll follow.”
Mom: - “Alright, let’s go, Sanjay.”
Mom started walking, her steps awkward, unsteady. She knew Manoj was behind her, watching her 44-inch plump ass jiggle with each move.
The dress clung tight, outlining every curve, and her hips swayed more than usual—part dizziness, part nerves. I glanced back and saw his eyes glued to her, tracing the bounce of her flesh, a smirk tugging at his lips
We climbed into Manoj’s car, a sleek black sedan parked just outside the buzzing party venue. Mom took the front passenger seat, her movements sluggish from dizziness, while I slid into the back.
The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing us into an awkward silence that hung heavy between Mom and Manoj. The kiss on the dance floor lingered like an unspoken shadow—neither of them looked at each other.
Mom stared out the window, her arms crossed tight over her 38-inch bust, the creamy dress still clinging to her curves. Manoj gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set, his usual grin replaced by a tight-lipped focus. The engine hummed to life, and we pulled away, the party’s lights fading behind us.
Mom’s head lolled slightly as the car rolled forward. Her eyes fluttered, then closed, her breathing slowing into a soft rhythm. She was falling asleep—her dizziness must’ve taken over, pulling her under.
I’d never seen her like this—my strong, steady Mom, always up before dawn for puja, now slumped in a stranger’s car, her face soft and vulnerable. I didn’t know why she was so out of it—maybe the juice, the heat, the chaos of the night.
It worried me, but I stayed quiet, watching her from the back seat.
Manoj noticed too. His eyes flicked to her, then back to the road, then to her again. A glint sparked in his gaze—something sly, opportunistic. His left hand stayed on the wheel, but his right slid off, creeping toward her.
He brushed her thigh, just above the knee, where the dress had ridden up slightly, exposing her smooth, golden skin. His fingers lingered, tracing a slow, deliberate line, testing her stillness. Mom didn’t stir, lost in sleep, her chest rising and falling gently.
I saw it—his hand on her thigh—and anger flared in my chest, hot and sharp. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, my head resting against the window. Manoj glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he checked.
Satisfied I wasn’t watching, his confidence grew. His hand pressed firmer on Mom’s thigh, caressing now, his fingers splaying wide to feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric.
Then he went further. His left hand steered steady, but his right slid up, brushing the edge of her 38-inch breasts. He cupped one gently, his palm pressing against the soft curve, the dress stretching under his touch.
Mom’s breathing hitched and turned into a moan, she was thinking or dreaming it was dad who was touching her. But no, it was Manoj, the hungry Manoj. And just for a second, but she didn’t wake.
He lingered there, his thumb grazing the swell, his eyes darting between her and the road, a hungry edge to his expression. The way he touched her—so bold, so possessive—made my stomach churn, but I kept my eyes shut, fists clenched in my lap.
His hand moved again, slipping back to her thighs. He massaged them now, slow and deep, his fingers kneading the smooth flesh. The dress had bunched higher, revealing more of her legs—long, toned, glowing faintly in the dashboard light.
He traced the inner curve of her thigh, his touch lingering, savoring the softness. I peeked through slitted eyes, and something strange happened—a tightness stirred in me, a flush I didn’t understand. My body reacted, a hardness I couldn’t explain, and I shifted uncomfortably, confused by the feeling.
Manoj’s hand ventured higher, slipping between her upper thighs, towards her pussy, where the dress offered little resistance. It was short, flimsy—perfect for the party, but now it left her exposed. I realized then, with a jolt, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, nothing like panties, my mom went to the party without wearing panties! What a shocker!
Maybe it was the dress—too tight for extra layers—or maybe she’d skipped it for comfort. Either way, it made her vulnerable, and Manoj knew it. His fingers brushed higher, teasing the edge of her pussy, a subtle graze that stayed just shy of too far.
Mom stirred in her sleep, a faint moan escaping her lips—soft, breathy, almost dreamy. Her face twitched, lips parting, a flicker of pleasure crossing her features. Maybe she was dreaming of Dad, mistaking Manoj’s touch for his.
Manoj’s eyes lit up, catching the sound, and his confidence surged. He pressed a little firmer, his fingers circling gently, coaxing more from her. Her brought the hands to his nose and smelt the juices of her pussy, then her brought it back and started rubbing her pussy again.
Another moan slipped out, louder this time, a sweet hum that filled the car. Her head tilted back, hair spilling over the seat, her chest heaving slightly.
Manoj pulled his hand back for a moment, lifting it to his face. He sniffed his fingers again, a faint smile curling his lips, then slid them back, repeating the motion.
This time, when he withdrew, a sticky sheen glistened on his fingertips—subtle, it was mom's pussy juices again, but there. He brought them to his mouth, tasting them with a slow, deliberate lick, his eyes half-closed like he was savoring something rare.
I saw it—the gluey shine, the way he relished it—and my confusion deepened, mingling with the anger still simmering inside me.
The car rolled on, the silence broken only by Mom’s soft sounds and the hum of the engine. Manoj kept one hand on the wheel, the other drifting back to her thigh, resting there now, a quiet claim. I stayed still, eyes barely open, torn between confronting him and letting it play out, unsure what to feel or do.
Then we reached home, I woke mom up and we headed to our house. Then something happened.........
Guys your thoughts!
He didn’t squeeze this time—just a lingering touch, testing her reaction. Her dizziness made her sway into him slightly, her 38-inch breasts brushing his chest.
Manoj: - “How you feeling now, Rekha? Still dizzy, or is the dance waking you up?”
Mom: - “I… I’m still dizzy, Manoj. My head’s all over the place.”
Manoj: - “You look alive to me, beautifully alive. This dance suits you.”
I watched from the couch, my stomach twisting. His hands on her fleshy ass, even just a touch, felt wrong—too intimate, too bold for my mom, who’d never let anyone this close except Dad.
It wasn’t just unease that I felt; it was a knot of something deeper—worry, maybe anger. She wasn’t herself, swaying like that, and he was taking advantage.
Manoj’s eyes softened, locking onto hers with a romantic glint. He pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back, the other resting lightly on her hip.
I didn't even get to explain how this strange man who just knew my mom for few seconds is now on the dancefloor with her dancing and touching her inappropriately.
The music slowed, and he swayed her gently, his thumb brushing her waist in small circles. He leaned in, whispering something I couldn’t hear, his breath warm against her ear.
Mom’s lips parted, dazed, a little dizzy still, and he tilted her chin up with a finger, their gazes tangled—his smoldering, hers foggy. Then, in a swift, deliberate move, he kissed her. I felt like I was dreaming while seeing this.
I rubbed my two eyes together to ensure that I was indeed not dreaming or building castles in the air.
His lips pressed hard against hers, hungry and firm, his hand cupping her neck to hold her there. For five, maybe six seconds, Mom didn’t flinch—her dizziness must’ve dulled her senses, her body limp against him.
The fact that my mom was dizzy was what contributed to her not immediately moving away from his advances of kissing her. But it was too late, his lips were pressed against hers and he was now French kissing her.
Her breasts crushed into his chest, soft and full, the creamy dress outlining every curve as they pressed tight. I froze, shocked, my juice glass nearly slipping from my hand. My pure, religious mom—kissing a stranger on a dance floor?
This is not normal at all for me and not for hers either.
I glanced around, panicked. What if someone here knew her? What if word got back to Dad in Dubai? The neighbors, the temple folks—they’d talk for years. My heart raced, imagining his reaction—anger, hurt, betrayal.
But I knew the party contained and was full of people who don't know my mom so at least I was relaxed. The only person who knew my mom was Shalini, and by now I think that man who was doing something to her in the bathroom was probably continuing to do that thing which was making her scream.
And I was certain that if Shalini knew my mom was kissing another man, Shalini would probably encourage her and tease her more.
Then Mom snapped back to herself. Her eyes widened, and she shoved Manoj away, her hands trembling. She stumbled back, still dizzy, her heels clacking unevenly. She came back to her senses at last and I was happy about that.
Mom: - “What are you doing, Manoj? That’s enough! Leave me! How dare you?”
Manoj: - “Oh, come on, Rekha—just a little fun. You didn’t mind, did you?”
Mom: - “I minded! I’m not here for that—let go of me!”
Manoj: - “Relax, it was just a kiss. You’re too gorgeous to resist—can’t blame me.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, spitting to the side, her face flushed with anger and sweat. She turned and hurried toward me, her steps wobbly but determined, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. She reached me, fuming, her breath uneven.
I was afraid maybe she would fall because of her dizziness and the fact that she was walking angrily, the high heels pressed on the concrete floor making clinking sounds. She came to me where I was sitting.
Mom: - “Sanjay, we’re leaving—now!”
Me: - “Why, Ma? What happened?”
Mom: - “Don't worry, I don’t feel right here. Let’s go.”
Me: - “Okay, yeah, let’s get out.”
I nodded, grabbing my glass, but as we turned, Mom froze. Manoj was right there, inches from her face, his grin unshaken. Her eyes narrowed, but he stepped closer, unfazed.
Manoj: - “Leaving already? Let me drive you home—both of you. It’s no trouble.”
Mom: - “No, Manoj. We’ll manage on our own. Please, I am not in for this”
Manoj: - “Come on, Rekha, you’re dizzy—those heels, that dress. I’ll get you home safe.”
Mom: - “I said no. After that, I don’t want your help.”
Manoj: - “What, the kiss? Just a moment of weakness—you’re too stunning, Rekha. Let me make it up with a ride.”
Mom: - “I don’t need you to. We’ll call a cab. Don't mention it in front of my son”
Manoj: - “A cab in this mess? I’m right here—car’s outside. Look at you, sweating, dizzy—let me help.”
His eyes dropped to her breasts, lingering on the way they heaved with her quick breaths, the neckline still low and revealing. Mom shifted, crossing her arms, but he kept pushing, his voice smooth.
Manoj: - “You can’t walk straight, Rekha. Sanjay’s here—I won’t try anything. Just a ride.”
Mom: - “I… fine. But only because Sanjay’s with me. Nothing else.”
Manoj: - “Perfect. Wait here—I’ll pull the car around.”
He flashed that smile again and disappeared into the crowd. Mom exhaled, shaky, and I turned to her, frowning innocently.
Me: - “Ma, why’re you sweating so much?”
Mom: - “It’s hot in here, Sanjay. Too many people.”
Me: - “I saw you do something with Manoj—like what you do with Dad. Kissing him.”
Mom’s eyes widened, her whole body trembling. She grabbed my arm, her voice tight.
Mom: - “What? Oh, Sanjay… that—it’s normal, you know. Just a friendly thing.”
Me: - “Really? Looked weird to me.”
Mom: - “It’s… it’s how some people show they’re friends. Manoj got carried away, but it doesn’t mean anything bad.”
Me: - “But you only kiss Dad like that.”
Mom: - “I know, I know. It’s different here—grown-up stuff. Sometimes it happens at parties. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”
I didn’t believe her. My pure Mom, who prayed every morning, lying about kissing another man? Saying it was good, normal? It felt filthy, wrong, but I played dumb, nodding like I bought it.
Mom: - “Sanjay, listen—don’t look too much when I’m with Manoj, okay? It’s not for you to watch.”
Me: - “Why not?”
Mom: - “Because it’s private—adult things. You’re young, you don’t need to see everything I do.”
Me: - “But I’m right here.”
Mom: - “I know, but just… focus on the party, not me. And please, don’t tell your dad about this.”
Me: - “Why not? He’d wanna know.”
Mom: - “Because it’d worry him for no reason. He’s far away, working hard—he doesn’t need to think I’m upset over something small. It’s our little secret, okay? To keep him happy.”
Her answer was clever—too clever. I stared at her, stunned by how she twisted it, but I nodded, keeping my doubts quiet. People danced around us, the music thumping, and then Manoj reappeared, keys jangling.
Manoj: - “My car’s ready, Rekha. Lead the way—I’ll follow.”
Mom: - “Alright, let’s go, Sanjay.”
Mom started walking, her steps awkward, unsteady. She knew Manoj was behind her, watching her 44-inch plump ass jiggle with each move.
The dress clung tight, outlining every curve, and her hips swayed more than usual—part dizziness, part nerves. I glanced back and saw his eyes glued to her, tracing the bounce of her flesh, a smirk tugging at his lips
We climbed into Manoj’s car, a sleek black sedan parked just outside the buzzing party venue. Mom took the front passenger seat, her movements sluggish from dizziness, while I slid into the back.
The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing us into an awkward silence that hung heavy between Mom and Manoj. The kiss on the dance floor lingered like an unspoken shadow—neither of them looked at each other.
Mom stared out the window, her arms crossed tight over her 38-inch bust, the creamy dress still clinging to her curves. Manoj gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set, his usual grin replaced by a tight-lipped focus. The engine hummed to life, and we pulled away, the party’s lights fading behind us.
Mom’s head lolled slightly as the car rolled forward. Her eyes fluttered, then closed, her breathing slowing into a soft rhythm. She was falling asleep—her dizziness must’ve taken over, pulling her under.
I’d never seen her like this—my strong, steady Mom, always up before dawn for puja, now slumped in a stranger’s car, her face soft and vulnerable. I didn’t know why she was so out of it—maybe the juice, the heat, the chaos of the night.
It worried me, but I stayed quiet, watching her from the back seat.
Manoj noticed too. His eyes flicked to her, then back to the road, then to her again. A glint sparked in his gaze—something sly, opportunistic. His left hand stayed on the wheel, but his right slid off, creeping toward her.
He brushed her thigh, just above the knee, where the dress had ridden up slightly, exposing her smooth, golden skin. His fingers lingered, tracing a slow, deliberate line, testing her stillness. Mom didn’t stir, lost in sleep, her chest rising and falling gently.
I saw it—his hand on her thigh—and anger flared in my chest, hot and sharp. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, my head resting against the window. Manoj glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he checked.
Satisfied I wasn’t watching, his confidence grew. His hand pressed firmer on Mom’s thigh, caressing now, his fingers splaying wide to feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric.
Then he went further. His left hand steered steady, but his right slid up, brushing the edge of her 38-inch breasts. He cupped one gently, his palm pressing against the soft curve, the dress stretching under his touch.
Mom’s breathing hitched and turned into a moan, she was thinking or dreaming it was dad who was touching her. But no, it was Manoj, the hungry Manoj. And just for a second, but she didn’t wake.
He lingered there, his thumb grazing the swell, his eyes darting between her and the road, a hungry edge to his expression. The way he touched her—so bold, so possessive—made my stomach churn, but I kept my eyes shut, fists clenched in my lap.
His hand moved again, slipping back to her thighs. He massaged them now, slow and deep, his fingers kneading the smooth flesh. The dress had bunched higher, revealing more of her legs—long, toned, glowing faintly in the dashboard light.
He traced the inner curve of her thigh, his touch lingering, savoring the softness. I peeked through slitted eyes, and something strange happened—a tightness stirred in me, a flush I didn’t understand. My body reacted, a hardness I couldn’t explain, and I shifted uncomfortably, confused by the feeling.
Manoj’s hand ventured higher, slipping between her upper thighs, towards her pussy, where the dress offered little resistance. It was short, flimsy—perfect for the party, but now it left her exposed. I realized then, with a jolt, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, nothing like panties, my mom went to the party without wearing panties! What a shocker!
Maybe it was the dress—too tight for extra layers—or maybe she’d skipped it for comfort. Either way, it made her vulnerable, and Manoj knew it. His fingers brushed higher, teasing the edge of her pussy, a subtle graze that stayed just shy of too far.
Mom stirred in her sleep, a faint moan escaping her lips—soft, breathy, almost dreamy. Her face twitched, lips parting, a flicker of pleasure crossing her features. Maybe she was dreaming of Dad, mistaking Manoj’s touch for his.
Manoj’s eyes lit up, catching the sound, and his confidence surged. He pressed a little firmer, his fingers circling gently, coaxing more from her. Her brought the hands to his nose and smelt the juices of her pussy, then her brought it back and started rubbing her pussy again.
Another moan slipped out, louder this time, a sweet hum that filled the car. Her head tilted back, hair spilling over the seat, her chest heaving slightly.
Manoj pulled his hand back for a moment, lifting it to his face. He sniffed his fingers again, a faint smile curling his lips, then slid them back, repeating the motion.
This time, when he withdrew, a sticky sheen glistened on his fingertips—subtle, it was mom's pussy juices again, but there. He brought them to his mouth, tasting them with a slow, deliberate lick, his eyes half-closed like he was savoring something rare.
I saw it—the gluey shine, the way he relished it—and my confusion deepened, mingling with the anger still simmering inside me.
The car rolled on, the silence broken only by Mom’s soft sounds and the hum of the engine. Manoj kept one hand on the wheel, the other drifting back to her thigh, resting there now, a quiet claim. I stayed still, eyes barely open, torn between confronting him and letting it play out, unsure what to feel or do.
Then we reached home, I woke mom up and we headed to our house. Then something happened.........
Guys your thoughts!
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