Adultery Whispers of Lust: My Mom's Forbidden Path

[Rajeev Gupta]

Manoj grabbed Mom’s waist with a sudden, hungry surge, throwing her onto the bed like a prize he’d claimed. Her body hit the mattress with a soft thud, her big, juicy ass jiggling wildly, her 38-inch breasts bouncing under the torn nightgown, her 34-inch waist twisting as she tried to catch herself. 

The sight—her curves trembling, her fat ass quivering—sent a jolt through me, peeking through the keyhole. My heart pounded, worry mixing with a strange heat I didn’t understand, my dick stirring in my pants as I watched her struggle, her boobs heaving, her skin flushed from his earlier sucking, her nipples hard and slick with his spit.

For a young person like me, I didn't really understand why my dick was getting hard just by watching my mom doing something with another man which she used to do with my dad.


Mom: - “Manoj, stop this right now—I’m begging you, get off me! I’m not your woman, this is wrong, you can’t do this to me!”

Manoj: - “Stop? Fuck that, Rekha—you’re my slut tonight, and I’m not leaving till I’ve fucked you raw. Been dreaming of your pussy, planning every move to make you scream, you filthy whore.”

His voice was thick with disrespect, a smirk curling his lips as he towered over her, his huge cock—thick, veiny, massive—swaying like a taunt. 

He leaned down, kissing her hard, his lips crashing against hers with a sloppy, greedy force that swallowed her protests. Mom twisted, her hands shoving at his chest, trying to turn her face away, her muffled cries—“No… stop…”—lost in his mouth. 

His tongue probed deep, his bad breath—sour, rancid—hitting me even through the door, but his strength pinned her, his kiss a relentless claim. 

Her fat ass shifted on the bed, her boobs pressing against him, and despite her fight, her body seemed to soften, a betraying quiver running through her.


His hands slid to her boobs, kneading them roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing until her nipples stood stiff and red. 

He sucked one hard, his lips slurping loud, his tongue swirling in slow, wet circles, spit dripping down her skin. He tugged the nipple with his teeth, then switched to the other, leaving both glistening, her 38-inch breasts flushed and marked by his hunger. 



Mom moaned—a low, unwilling sound, “Oh… Manoj… no… stop…you are hurting my breasts and nippples aaahhhh”—her hands pushing weakly at his shoulders, her plump ass grinding into the bed as she tried to shrug him off. The moans slipped out, sharp and needy, her body responding even as she fought, her horny urges battling her words.


Mom: - “Please… Manoj… don’t do this… mmm… I’m holy, not your slut… get off me, I can’t take it!”

Manoj: - “Holy? Bullshit, Rekha—your boobs are begging for my mouth, your pussy’s next, you whore. I’m gonna fuck you till you forget your prayers and your puja.”

He kissed lower, his lips trailing down her stomach, pausing at her navel—a small, perfect dip in her golden skin. His tongue flicked inside, circling slow, his breath hot and teasing as he pressed his face against her.

Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha, this navel’s a goddamn jewel—perfect, sweet, like you were born to be my slut, made for my tongue to taste every inch.”

Mom: - “No… stop it, Manoj—don’t touch me there… oh… it’s wrong, you’re filthy, leave me alone!”

Her voice shook, but her hands faltered, barely pushing now, her big ass trembling as he ignored her pleas. His fingers tore at the nightgown, ripping it clean off, the fabric falling in shreds until she lay naked except for a pink thong—thin, tight, hugging her pussy like a secret.

I was shocked to see my mom wearing a thong. As a young kid, I knew those thongs were worn by women who are on the beach. My mom never wore thongs.

I quickly remembered that maybe it was Shalini who gave her this idea of wearing thongs that are very tight. 

Her 38-inch boobs heaved, her plump ass pressed into the bed, her thighs twitching as she tried to cover herself, her face burning with shame.

Manoj: - “A pink thong? You’re a fucking whore, Rekha—holy wife my ass, you’re dressed like a slut ready for my cock. Just look at yourself,  prayerful woman wearing a thong”

Mom: - “Shut up, you bastard—it’s just underwear, not for you! You’re sick, thinking I’d want this, you pig! It was my friend who suggested it, stop calling me a slut”

Manoj: - “Just underwear? Bullshit, whore—you picked this thong to tease me, to make my cock hard. Don’t lie, you’re dripping for me.”

He hooked his fingers into the thong’s edges, tugging, ready to remove it, but Mom clamped her fat thighs shut, her juicy ass tensing as she fought to keep him out. Her hands grabbed his wrists, her voice desperate, her body rigid with defiance.


Mom: - “No—don’t you dare touch that, Manoj! Don't you dare remove my underwear! Leave it alone, I’m not letting you near my private part, you disgusting man!”

Manoj: - “Come on, Rekha—open those sexy thighs, let me see that pussy. You’re fighting, but you’re wet as fuck, whore—stop pretending you don’t want my cock inside you. All that time I was fingering you in the car, you knew very well that it was me but you were pretending to be asleep.”

She squirmed, her resistance fierce, her thighs shifting as she twisted, but his hands were strong, sensual, prying at her thighs with a lover’s patience. 

The thong slipped down, inch by inch, her fight weakening as her horny urges—sparked by his earlier touch—flared hotter. He yanked her thong off, tossing it aside, revealing her shaven pussy—smooth, glistening, fully exposed, her clit peeking out, swollen and ready.

I began to suspect was my mom really a slut? Was she just a prayerful woman outside but inside she is craving for another man's cock? And why was she following Shalini's wicked advices all the time?

Is she discovering something inside her that was never explored?


Manoj: - “Holy shit—shaven clean? You’re a dirty whore, Rekha, prepping your pussy for my cock like a proper slut.”

Mom: - “I said enough of your stupidity, Manoj—it’s not for you, you vile bastard! Stop humiliating me, get out now!”

Her words were fire, but her body betrayed her, her hips twitching as he slid his fingers to her pussy, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, just like he’d done in the car. 

His thumb grazed her clit, teasing her folds, her wetness coating his hand. Mom moaned louder, “Oh… no… stop…,” her eyes squeezing shut, her hands gripping the bed, trying to fight him with words, but her resistance was crumbling fast, her big ass lifting slightly, her pussy responding eagerly.






Manoj: - “Same as the car, Rekha—your pussy was dripping then, fucking my fingers. You’re horny as hell, whore, just like I knew.”

Mom: - “No… oh… I didn’t want that… mmm… please, Manoj, don’t… I can’t…”

Her moans grew sharp, needy—“Mmm… no… oh…”—her words fading into gasps, her horny urges overtaking her fight. Manoj smirked, his fingers working faster on her tight pussy lips and clit, and then he knelt, his mouth diving to her pussy with a wet, greedy hunger. 

He sucked her pussy folds, his tongue lapping slow at first, tracing every inch, then circling her clit with soft, teasing flicks. He tugged her clit with his lips, sucking hard, slurping loud, his spit mixing with her juices, her pussy slick and swollen under his relentless mouth.


Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha—this pussy’s so damn sweet, whore. Your clit’s throbbing for my tongue, begging me to suck it dry.”

Mom: - “Oh… Manoj… no… mmm… it’s wrong… oh… don’t… please…aaahh oooh ssshhhh ooooooohhhhh”

She didn’t push him away, her hands trembling, her moans spilling free—“Mmm… oh…”—her big ass grinding into the bed. My earlier anger faded, replaced by a shocking heat—my dick grew hard, throbbing in my pants, a feeling I didn’t understand, watching Mom lose herself.

Her hands drifted to her boobs, squeezing them slow, fingers pinching her nipples, and then—stunning me—she licked her fingers, tasting them, a wild, horny move that broke my heart. I didn't expect my mom to start enjoying what this filthy man was doing to her.

But how could she control herself? My mom was thirsty for sex for 4 months and no one has fucked her. Even if dad comes and fucks her, I don't think my mom will get satisfied by my dad's small dick

So what can she do? She has no other option than to start feeling pleasure.


I couldn’t believe it—my pure Mom, always praying, now touching herself, her 38-inch boobs heaving, her pussy dripping, lost in Manoj’s lust.

Manoj licked her pussy harder, his tongue diving deeper, sucking her clit with loud, wet pops, his hands spreading her thighs wide to feast. Mom’s moans turned frantic—“Oh… mmm… no…”—and her hands landed on his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, her horny urges winning. 

He growled, his lips smacking, and then flipped her onto her stomach, her fat ass jutting up, round and tempting, a juicy curve that made him pause.







Mom: - “Manoj—what are you doing? Why are you turning me over like this? Stop it!”

Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha—this ass is a masterpiece, big, juicy, perfect for my hands, my tongue, my cock—damn, you’re built to be fucked. I was staring at your ass the other day at the party and I couldn't get my eyes of that jiggling two globes of yours”

He parted her ass cheeks, fingers digging into the plump flesh, spreading them slow to reveal her tight asshole, pink and shy, a forbidden tease. Mom tensed, her voice rising with panic.

Mom: - “What are you looking at? Stop it, Manoj—don’t touch my that hole (asshole), it’s not right, it’s shameful, please don’t!”

Manoj: - “Shameful? This asshole’s fucking gorgeous, whore—I’m gonna suck it, make you my slut. It’s begging for my tongue, just like your pussy.”

Mom squirmed, her big ass shaking as she tried to pull away, her hands clawing the bed.


Mom: - “No—Manoj, I’m begging you, not my asshole! It’s dirty, I can’t let you—it’s too much, you’re sick!”

Manoj: - “Dirty’s what I love, Rekha—your asshole’s mine, slut, just like your pussy and boobs. I’m fucking every hole tonight, you whore.”



The house was a dark, suffocating cage, pressing in on me as I crouched outside Mom’s bedroom door, my eye jammed against the keyhole’s icy metal. 

My breath came in short, jagged gasps. 


I was Sanjay, just a kid, too young to piece together the full horror of what was happening in my mom's bedroom with Manoj, but old enough to feel its wrongness like a blade twisting in my gut. 

My stomach churned, a sick, heavy weight that begged me to run, to hide, to do anything but stay. But my body wouldn’t move, my gaze locked on the nightmare unfolding in Mom’s room, lit by the weak flicker of her bedside lamp.


Then Manoj continued licking my mom’s asshole. The door was locked—I’d heard the bolt snap shut when he followed her inside, his voice oozing with that slimy charm he’d used at Shalini’s party. 

Shalini, Mom’s loud friend who loved stirring up trouble, had thrown that party a day back, all thumping music and grown-ups laughing too hard. Manoj had been there, always too close to Mom, his eyes sharp and greedy, like he was hunting something I didn’t understand then but despised now. 

Here he was, in our house, on his knees behind her, his face pressed against her big ass in a way that made my skin crawl and my throat burn with bile. Mom stood stiff, her hands gripping the bedpost so hard her knuckles gleamed white, her nightgown bunched up around her hips, leaving her exposed to him, to me, to this moment I couldn’t unsee.


The lamplight threw cruel shadows across her tense body, and through the keyhole, I saw it all: her clenched teeth, her eyes squeezed shut, his hungry movements, the way her ass jiggled softly with every slow, deliberate lick of his tongue against her asshole. 

Each jiggle hit me like a fist, a fresh wave of nausea that made me want to puke, to scream, to make it all stop.
I was disgusted, and it wasn’t just because of what he was doing—though that was awful enough to make my head spin with horror. 

I was a kid and never understood how Manoj was licking my mom's asshole, where her shit comes from.

It was because this was Mom, the woman who’d bandaged my cuts, who’d taught me to pray with folded hands, who’d kept our family together while Dad was gone, pouring concrete under a foreign sun to pay our bills. 

She was my everything, the one who made the world feel safe, the one who held me when I cried. Seeing her like this, vulnerable and violated by a creep like Manoj, felt like someone had torn my heart out and crushed it. 

Manoj wasn’t Dad, wasn’t even close—just some sleaze Shalini had dragged into our lives, always lingering, always watching Mom like she was something to steal. The way he touched her, the way he acted like he owned this private, sacred part of her, made me want to smash through the door and drag him out. 

It wasn’t just gross—it was a betrayal, a theft of something I didn’t know could be taken until now. 

My hands shook, my breath caught, and a rage I was too young to name burned inside me, a desperate need to protect her that felt bigger than my small, trembling frame.


Their voices cut through the quiet, low but sharp, like they were both scared someone might hear—never knowing I was there, watching, my eye burning from the keyhole’s edge.


Manoj: -“Rekha, I’m not stopping. Your husband’s halfway across the world, sweating his ass off on some construction site, leaving you here all alone. You need a man, and I’m right here, ready to give you what he can’t—every fucking inch of it.”


Mom: - “Manoj, please, you have to stop this. It’s wrong, it’s a sin against my marriage, my faith. My husband’s working hard for our family, for our son, and I can’t betray him like this. I’m begging you, let me go.”

Manoj didn’t care. His face twisted with a smug, predatory grin, and he leaned in again, his tongue dragging slowly against her asshole, making her buttocks jiggle again, a soft, sickening ripple that made my stomach lurch. I clapped a hand over my mouth, fighting the bile clawing up my throat. 

It wasn’t just the act—it was his arrogance, the way he ignored her pleas like they were nothing, like she was just a body for him to use. The keyhole showed it all too clearly: the locked door, Mom’s trembling frame, Manoj’s hands on her ass, pinning her like she was his to keep. 

My nails dug into my palms, tiny stings of pain grounding me as my body screamed for me to be bigger, stronger, anything but a kid stuck watching something so vile.


Then he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice thick with a sick obsession that made my skin prickle.

Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha, your asshole’s driving me crazy. It’s so tight, so fucking dirty, smells like you’ve been keeping it just for me. That raw, musky heat—it’s like a drug, makes my cock throb so hard I can’t think straight. I wanna bury my tongue in it, taste every filthy bit of you.”

Mom: - “You’re disgusting, Manoj. How can you say such vile things? This is my body, not your plaything. I pray every day for my family, for strength, and you’re spitting on all of that with your filthy words. Stop this now, I’m begging you.”


Manoj: - “Disgusting? It’s fucking perfect, Rekha. This little hole’s begging for me, all tight and hot, like it knows I’m the only one who gets it. You can’t hide how real this is—no prayers are gonna change what your asshole is telling me.”

Mom: - “Stop it. I’m not your toy, Manoj. I belong to my husband, to God, to my son. You’re defiling everything I hold sacred with your hands, your words. Get off me and leave my house before I scream.”



He didn’t listen. His hands tightened on her thighs, and with every slow, deliberate lick, her big ass jiggled again, each movement searing into my brain like a wound. My eye stung from the keyhole’s metal, but I couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, my whole body locked in horror and helpless rage





To be continued.....

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