Adultery Home is where the scandals are !

[Lousy1995]

Our house is a proper upper-class beast: four bedrooms total—two massive ones downstairs (Mom and Dad's master, plus the guest room), and two upstairs (mine and Britto's empty one). There's a huge hall, dining room, modern kitchen, service room for laundry and storage, and a wide veranda wrapping around the front. Every bedroom has its own attached bathroom, all marble and shiny fixtures now that we're living large. In the month we'd been here, I'd explored every goddamn inch like a horny ninja. With my athletic build—flexible as fuck from years of sports—I'd figured out every sneaky way to slip into or peek through any room without a key: loose vents, high windows I could hoist myself to, even a gap in the veranda railing that gave angled views into the downstairs rooms if you crouched just right. I told myself it was just curiosity about the new place, but deep down, my inner perv knew better.


                                                                After Mom vanished into her room—her fat ass jiggling under that thin nighty with no panties in sight—I chugged some cold water from the kitchen tap, trying to cool the lingering throb in my cock. I flopped onto the living room sofa, grabbing the newspaper like a normal son, pretending to scan headlines while my mind replayed that chubby MILF from Instagram getting mentally railed.

---

[img][/img]

---

A few minutes later, the master bedroom door opened again, and out stepped Mom—freshly bathed, looking like a wet dream wrapped in saree. Her long black hair was twisted into a tight braided bun, still dripping water that trailed down her neck like teasing fingers. She’d dbangd herself in a plain blue georgette saree, the sheer fabric clinging to her damp skin, outlining every curve of that 36C-28-38 body. The short-sleeve blouse was U-necked, with thin golden zari borders and fancy decorative sleeve piping that screamed elegant but slutty. The wet pallu stuck slightly to her tits, making the outline of her bra faintly visible, and droplets from her hair slid down her collarbone, disappearing into the valley of her cleavage. Fuck, she was radiating heat—milfy, conservative, yet so goddamn sexy my cock surged upward without warning, thickening instantly against my shorts like it had a mind of its own. She walked straight to me, hips swaying, that georgette swishing softly, and asked in her sweet voice, “Tea or coffee da?”

“Coffee,” I mumbled, eyes glued to the tiny sliver of hip flesh visible where her saree dbangd low—smooth, fair skin just above the petticoat knot, begging to be licked. We chatted—something about the weather, my internship, Dad’s trip—but I couldn’t focus for shit. All I saw was that teasing hip, the way the saree hugged her ass when she turned, imagining yanking it off and burying my face in her cheeks.
She headed to the kitchen, and I was rock-fucking-hard, 8 inches straining painfully, precum already wetting my boxers.