Adultery My Muzlim Mom Became Shameless For a Hiindu Cock

[Rajeev Gupta]

The next day, the sun rose over the small house in Uttar Pradesh, casting a warm glow through the windows. Fatima was glued to her phone, her fingers tapping the screen with a quiet intensity. It seemed she’d found someone who gave her more attention than her husband, Faizan, ever could in his brief, exhausted visits every two weeks.  

 
The phone’s glow lit up her face, her warm brown eyes fixed on the notifications that buzzed like a heartbeat. She stood in the living room, her green salwar kameez swaying as she danced to the soft tunes of the radio, her hips moving with a grace that seemed freer, almost defiant.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Sometimes, she’d pause to record a short video of her dancing, her movements light and joyful. Some videos she sent to Faizan, hoping to spark a smile from him in the city. Others she kept for herself, private moments of feeling alive, stored in her phone’s gallery. 
 
Amir noticed how his mom was different now. When he came home from playing in the courtyard, his sandals dusty and his shirt damp with sweat, he’d find her sitting on the woven mat, her phone in hand, her lips curved in a faint smile as she typed.  
 
The house smelled of dal and rice, the ceiling fan creaking above, but Fatima’s attention was elsewhere. She’d look up briefly, asking, “Amir, beta, did you have fun?” before her eyes drifted back to the screen.  
 
It wasn’t just boredom anymore—something was pulling her in, something that made her light up in a way Amir hadn’t seen before. 
 
One afternoon, Amir plopped onto the couch, wiping his sweaty forehead. The courtyard games had been fun, but he was curious about his mom’s Facebook fame. “Mom, can I see how many followers you have now?” he asked, his voice casual as he reached for a glass of water. 
 
Fatima looked up from her phone, her smile bright. “Oh, beta, it’s so many now! Here, take a look.” She handed him the phone, her fingers brushing his, her excitement spilling over. 
 
Amir unlocked the screen, expecting to see her Facebook page. Instead, it opened to an article, the title bold at the top: How to Get a Big Butt and Wow Men. His eyes widened as he scrolled, seeing pictures of women in tight clothes, their curves highlighted.  
 
His cheeks flushed, and he glanced at his mom, who was stirring a pot in the kitchen, humming softly. Why was she reading this? His mom already had a full figure—her abaya hugged her curves, her hips swaying naturally when she walked.  
 
He wondered if she was trying to make his dad more excited, maybe to spice up their nights when he came home to fuck her. Faizan was always tired, their moments together quick and rushed. Maybe she wanted to make him notice her more, to make him want her the way he used to.  
 
But the word “men” in the article’s title stuck in Amir’s mind. It didn’t say “husband.” It felt off, like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit. 
He frowned, scrolling up to read more, but the words blurred in his head. Was his mom looking for attention from someone else? From Vivaan, the Hiindu businessman who kept messaging her? The thought made his stomach twist.  
 
He knew his mom was Musslim, devout and loyal. Her prayers, her modesty, her love for Faizan—they were unshakable. She’d never cross that line, not with Vivaan or anyone. He dismissed the idea, shaking his head. “No, she’s just being Mom,” he muttered to himself.  
 
“Probably wants Dad to like her more.” 
 
He tapped the Facebook app, wanting to check her messages with Vivaan to see what they talked about. Were they still just chatting about her quotes and his business? 
 
Or was there something more? Before he could open the chat, he heard Fatima’s footsteps coming from the kitchen. “Amir, beta, did you see the followers?” she called, her voice cheerful. 
Amir quickly closed the app, his heart racing. “Uh, yeah, Mom, it’s a lot!” he said, handing the phone back as she approached. “Six thousand now, right?” 
 
“More than that!” Fatima beamed, taking the phone. “Six thousand five hundred! Can you believe it, beta?” She sat beside him, scrolling through her notifications, her face glowing with pride. 
 
“That’s cool, Mom,” Amir said, forcing a smile. He stood, brushing off his shorts. “I’m gonna go play again.” He didn’t want to think about the article or Vivaan. His mom was fine—she had to be. 
That night, the house was quiet, the air cool and still. Fatima was asleep, her phone charging by her bed. Amir sat at his desk, the laptop screen glowing as he loaded his racing game.  
 
The hum of the game’s engines filled his headphones, but his mind wandered to his mom’s Facebook. She’d used his laptop the day before, promising to log out, but he had a feeling she’d forgotten. He minimized the game and checked. Sure enough, her account was still open, the Facebook page loaded with notifications. 
 
Amir’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He shouldn’t snoop, but the article he’d seen earlier gnawed at him. He clicked on the messages, scrolling to the chat with Vivaan. His eyes widened as he read the recent ones, his heart sinking with shock at what he saw