Adultery FALL OF THE ARROGANT MOTHER

[Momhunter123]

Part 11 - The SACRED BATH

Before Vumika can even catch her breath, Bishal is already in front of her.

His hand slides into her wet, tangled hair, twists tight, and pulls. She has no strength left. Her heavy body slides off the bed and drops to her knees on the warm wooden floor with a soft, wet sound. Her thick thighs spread wide so she doesn’t fall forward, breasts hanging heavy, nipples dark and stiff, fresh cum still leaking from both her used holes in slow, shining lines down the inside of her legs.

Bishal lifts the handycam and points it down at her face, so close she can almost feel the lens. He steps closer. The swollen head of his cock brushes her lips once, leaving a sticky trail. Her mouth opens on its own.

He pushes in slowly.

His cock is thick but not huge. It fills her mouth completely, stretching her lips, pressing against her tongue until the head touches the back of her throat. She gags softly, eyes watering. He just keeps it there for a moment, letting her taste him, letting her feel the weight.

Then he starts moving, slow at first, sliding in and out, using her mouth like it belongs to him now. Wet, sloppy sounds fill the room. Saliva drips from her lips, runs down her chin, falls in steady drops onto her heavy breasts and slides over the mangalsutra.

He goes faster. His grip tightens. Her head moves with his rhythm. Tears roll down her cheeks. She makes soft,  muffled whimpers that vibrate around him.

Finally he pushes forward one last time and comes.

The first hot jet shoots into her mouth. She swallows hard, choking. The second fills her mouth until thick white spills from the corners and runs down her chin. He pulls out slowly and lets the rest splash across her face, heavy ropes landing on her smeared sindoor, her cheeks, her swollen lips, dripping from her eyelashes, sliding down her neck in slow, sticky lines.

She stays on her knees, mouth open, cum dripping from her lips in long threads.

Sahil quietly lifts the round wall mirror and holds it in front of her.

Vumika looks.

The woman staring back is a stranger, wild hair stuck to her forehead, sindoor smeared like blood, kajal washed away in black rivers down red cheeks, lips glossy and stretched, thick white streaks covering her face, hanging from her chin in shining strings. Her eyes are empty. The proud mother from Pritam’s photo is gone.

Rocky steps close, phone flashlight blazing bright. The harsh white light freezes everything: her ruined face, mouth still dripping, breasts rising and falling fast. The camera clicks again and again.

Then Rocky speaks, voice low and cold.

“You slapped me in the market that day. Now you’ll remember.”

He unzips.

The first hot stream hits her forehead like a shock of fire.

Vumika freezes. Her mind goes blank. This can’t be real. Not this. Not on her face, her hair, pouring into her eyes, running over her sindoor and washing it pale pink down her temples. She tries to turn away, but there is nowhere to go. The sharp smell fills her nose. The warm liquid slides into her open mouth, salty and bitter. She tastes it. She tastes everything.

In one last desperate act to save her face, she throws herself backward. She lands flat on her back with a loud, wet splash, thighs falling open wide, arms limp at her sides, completely exposed on the piss-soaked floor.

The stream follows her, now pouring straight over her face, into her hair, her eyes, her mouth. She turns her head side to side, but it keeps coming, soaking her completely, running down her throat, between her breasts, over her belly, between her spread thighs.

Rocky moves the stream slowly down her trembling body, over her heaving breasts, her soft belly, finally settling between her open legs.

Sahil steps up next. His stream lands on her chest, warm and heavy, pooling around the mangalsutra before spilling over both breasts, running in warm rivers around her dark nipples and down her sides.

Bishal takes the last place between her spread thighs. His powerful stream hits her swollen pussy, washing the mixed cum away in cloudy swirls, pouring over her open asshole, running between her cheeks and joining the growing yellow lake beneath her. He moves it slowly up and down her inner thighs, her knees, her feet, until every inch of her skin shines wet.

She lies there, legs wide open, body shaking, arms limp in the puddle, piss dripping from her hair, her lashes, her lips. She doesn’t even try to cover herself anymore.

When they finish, the sharp smell clings to her skin, her hair, every breath she takes.

Rocky zips up, crouches beside her ruined body, and speaks one last time, voice quiet and final.

“You wore your pride like a crown, aunty.  You spoke to your husband like he was beneath you.  You ruled your house with an iron hand.  You slapped me once in the market and thought that made you powerful.  Now look at you, naked, soaked, legs spread in our piss.  This is what your arrogance earned.  From tonight, every time you feel the urge to raise your voice, every time you want to command instead of obey, this taste will flood your mouth again.  You will remember this moment.  You will remember who you really are now.  Stay quiet.  Stay small.  Or we will make you smaller still.”

The front door closes softly behind them...Silence.The room is empty except for the slow drip from her body and the faint ticking of the wall clock.

She lies there a long time, staring up at the ceiling, at Pritam’s smiling photo that looks down on her like a silent witness.

Guilt crashes over her in waves, heavier than the piss cooling on her skin....For every time she silenced Sunirmal....  For every time she made him feel small in his own house....  For every sharp word, every proud look, for that one slap in the market...  For the arrogance that once made her feel tall. Now she is nothing.
But she cannot be weak.  Not even in front of her husband. Never again.

With trembling arms she pushes herself up from the yellow lake. Piss pours from her hair, her breasts, her thighs. She gathers the soaked petticoat and torn bra, presses them to her chest. She pulls the dripping green bedsheet from Pritam’s bed and wraps it around her naked body like a broken sari.

One last look at the photo. She meets her son’s painted eyes and whispers inside her heart,  Forgive your mother, baba. I will carry this alone till my last breath.

Then she stands, back straight, chin high, eyes dry and harder than stone, and walks barefoot through the wet footprints she leaves behind, carrying the ruined sheet and every drop of shame with her.

The bathroom door closes. The lock clicks. The shower roars.

Hot water beats down, washing piss and cum and tears into the drain. But the shame stays. It will stay forever, locked behind the proud, perfect smile she will wear when Sunirmal walks through the door, when she serves him tea, when she speaks softly from now on, when she bows her head just enough, when she greets the world tomorrow and every tomorrow after.

The old Vumika is dead on that floor. The new one stands from the filth, silent, humbled, and will never let anyone, not even her husband, see what she has become.