08-02-2026, 10:43 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-02-2026, 11:43 AM by Innocent_Pervert. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
[b]Neeta Aunty’s Arrival[/b]
Neeta Aunty arrived unannounced around 4 PM, her usual style ,loud doorbell, bright pink salwar-kameez, dupatta loosely dbangd, heavy jhumkas jingling as she stepped inside carrying a cloth bag full of Mumbai sweets and dry fruits.
Papa opened the door. His face lit up the moment he saw her ,genuine warmth mixed with something older, quieter.
“Arre Neeta! Kitne saal baad? Aao andar.”
She stepped in and pulled him into a tight hug, cheek pressed to his, breasts pressing firmly against his chest for a second longer than a normal family greeting. “Bhaiya! Aap bilkul nahi badle ho… ab bhi utne hi handsome.”
Papa laughed, a little too loud and stepped back, but his eyes dropped for a heartbeat. They traced the deep neckline of her kameez, the soft swell of her cleavage where the dupatta had slipped, the gentle jiggle of her full breasts when she laughed. He looked away fast, clearing his throat.
Maa was standing in the living room doorway.
She had just come out of her bath hair damp and loose, dripping onto the cream cotton saree she had thrown on quickly. The blouse was light, still clinging slightly in places from the water, outlining her full breasts and the hard peaks of her nipples. The pallu was dbangd casually, midriff bare, the soft roll above her navel visible. She looked stunning, effortless, glowing but her eyes were already fixed on Papa.
Neeta turned to her, face lighting up. “Bhabhi! Wah… aap toh aur bhi khoobsurat ho gayi ho. Yeh figure kaise maintain karti ho?”
Maa smiled, polite, calm, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Bas ghar ka kaam aur thoda khayal, Neeta. Tu baith na.”
Neeta sat on the sofa, dupatta slipping again as she crossed her legs exposing more of her deep cleavage, the soft inner curves of her breasts rising with each breath.
Papa sat opposite her and asked, “Kya haal hai Mumbai ka? Husband ka promotion suna tha.”
Neeta laughed loud, head thrown back breasts bouncing noticeably under the thin kameez. “Haan bhaiya… bahut busy rehta hai. Par aap log toh yahan maze mein ho na? Bhabhi ke saath…”
Her eyes flicked to Maa - appreciative, innocent. Maa stood there, tray of chai in hand, watching Papa’s gaze linger on Neeta’s chest when she leaned forward to take the cup. His eyes traced the deep neckline, the way her breasts pressed together, the faint outline of her bra through the fabric.
That small twist in Maa’s chest flared into sharp heat.
She set the tray down harder than necessary. Walked straight to Chacha, who was standing near the plants outside, towel over his shoulder. He looked up, eyes immediately on her, only her. No glance toward the living room. No distraction. His gaze traced the damp saree clinging to her waist, the way her breasts rose with each breath.
Maa stopped close breasts brushing his chest through the saree. She looked up, eyes dark, voice low and edged. “Tum kyun nahi dekh rahe usse?”
Chacha blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t pretend. His hand came to her waist, fingers pressing into the soft skin under the saree. “Kyunkyunki mujhe sirf tum chahiye. Woh… kuch nahi hai mere liye.”
Maa’s breath hitched. The jealousy twisted tighter but now it had a release. She grabbed his hand pulled him toward the bedroom. No words. Just the sharp click of the door closing behind them.
Inside, she pushed him against the wall. Hands on his chest, nails digging in through his kurta. “Kapde utaro. Abhi.”
Chacha obeyed fast, kurta off, pajama down. Cock already hard, thick, curved, leaking at the tip from the fire in her eyes.
Maa stripped roughly, saree tugged off, blouse unhooked, skirt falling. Naked, skin warm, breasts heavy, nipples erect, pussy glistening.
She dropped to her knees, took him deep, throat relaxing, sucking hard. Chacha groaned ,hands in her hair. Maa bobbed fast ,wet, sloppy ,moaning around him. “Sirf tum… aaj sirf tum…”
She pulled off, lips swollen, pushed him onto the bed. Straddled him ,sank down brutally. Pussy swallowing him whole. She gasped ,head back ,breasts bouncing. “Wo bahar Neeta se baat kar rahe hain. Unhe karne do. Aaj mei sirf tumhara lungi.”
She rode hard ,hips slamming, grinding. Chacha’s hands on her breasts ,pinching, twisting. He thrust up ,hips slapping her ass. Bed creaking ,headboard tapping.
Maa leaned down, kissed him deep, tongue invading. Whispered raw: “Bolo… sirf main… koi aur nahi chahiye na?”
Chacha flipped her ,legs wide ,slammed back inside. Pounded relentlessly ,thumb on her clit. Maa arched ,nails raking his back ,cries rising: “Zor se… pura andar… aaj sirf tumhari hoon…”
She came hard, pussy clenching. Screamed: “Haan, sirf tum… bhar do mujhe…”
Chacha followed ,thrusting deep ,spilling inside her.
They lay tangled ,sweat-slick, hearts pounding. Maa kissed his neck ,possessive. “Yaad rahega na… jab bhi koi aur nazar aaye… toh mujhe yaad karna.”
Chacha nodded, breathless. “Sirf tum. Hamesha.”
Outside, Papa was still talking to Neeta. Voice distant, strained.
Maa smiled against Chacha’s skin. Jealousy burned away. Revenge tasted sweet.
They dressed, lingering touches. When Maa walked back into the living room, saree perfect, hair re-tied, face glowing, Papa looked up.
His eyes flicked to her, then Chacha, then her flushed cheeks, slight limp, satisfied lips.
He swallowed. Put the phone down.
Neeta was still talking
Maa sat beside Papa ,thigh pressed to his. Hand on his knee ,firm.
Leaned in, whispered only for him: “Aur batao… kya batein ho rahi hai?”
Did everything turn Normal? I doubt it
The night after Neeta Aunty left
The house felt colder than usual, even with the fan off and the windows closed. Maa didn't speak much during dinner. She served the food with the same calm movements, same soft smile, but her eyes kept finding Papa's face - searching, measuring.
Papa tried to fill the silence ,talking about the office, tomorrow's market list, anything ordinary. But every time his phone buzzed (Neeta's goodnight message in the group chat), his thumb hovered a second too long before swiping it away. Maa noticed. Again.
Chacha ate quietly ,eyes only on her. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the spoon tighter when Papa smiled at his phone. He didn't say anything. He just waited.
After dinner, Maa cleared the table alone. Papa offered ,“Main kar deta hoon” ,voice gentle, trying to bridge whatever invisible gap had opened. Maa shook her head. “Nahi. Tum baitho. Aaj main kar lungi.”
Papa sat back down ,confused, uneasy. Chacha stood up ,moved to help her anyway. She let him. They stood side by side at the sink ,shoulders almost touching ,while she scrubbed the plates with more force than needed. After a long silence, she spoke ,voice low, meant only for him.
“Tumne dekha na… kaise muskuraya woh photo pe. Neeta ki cleavage pe nazar thami rahi. Jaise… jaise main wahan nahi thi.”
Chacha's hand paused under the tap. He turned to her ,eyes dark, serious. “Haan. Maine dekha.”
Maa's fingers tightened on the plate ,knuckles white. “Main do mardon ko har raat apne andar leti hoon. Dono ko pura kush karti hoon. Dono ke liye cheekhti hoon. Aur woh… ek purani crush ki photo pe muskurate hai. Jaise main kaafi nahi hoon.”
Chacha turned off the tap. Dried his hands slowly. Then cupped her face ,gentle but firm , made her look at him. “Tum kaafi nahi ho. Tum sab kuch ho. Sirf tum. Woh galti kar rahe hai. Par main nahi karunga.”
Maa's eyes shimmered ,not tears, but something close. Anger. Hurt. Need. She grabbed his kurta, pulled him closer. Voice breaking just a little: “Aaj raat… sirf mei aur tum. Unko akela chhod denge. Woh dekhenge. Woh samjhenge… main kya feel karti hoon.”
Chacha nodded once ,no hesitation. He followed her to the bedroom.
Maa didn't close the door fully. She left it cracked ,wide enough for sound to carry. Wide enough for Papa to hear.
She pushed Chacha against the wall ,hands shaking slightly as she pulled his kurta off.
Chacha stripped fast ,eyes never leaving her face. He saw the storm in her ,the jealousy, the hurt, the raw need to be seen, chosen, claimed above everything else.
Maa tore her saree off ,blouse ripped open, skirt kicked away. Naked ,skin flushed, breasts heaving, nipples hard, pussy already wet and swollen.
She dropped to her knees ,took his cock deep ,no teasing, no gentleness. Sucked hard ,throat relaxing, gagging herself on him ,moaning like she was starving. Chacha groaned ,hands in her hair ,hips jerking. “Bhabhi… fuck… itna zor se…”
Maa pulled off ,stood ,pushed him onto the bed. Straddled him ,sank down brutally ,pussy swallowing him whole. She cried out ,sharp, broken ,head falling back. “Sirf tu… aaj sirf tu mujhe chhulega… pura lega…”
She rode him like she was punishing something ,hips slamming down, grinding hard, breasts bouncing wildly. Chacha's hands flew to them ,kneading roughly, pinching nipples until she whimpered. He thrust up ,meeting her violence ,hips slapping wetly against her ass. Bed creaking loud ,headboard banging the wall.
Maa leaned down ,kissed him deep ,tongue invading, teeth biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. She whispered ,voice cracking, raw: “Papa bahar baitha hai… Neeta ki photo dekh raha hoga. Usse keh do… main sirf tere liye aise cheekhti hoon. Sirf tera lund andar chahiye. Sirf tera maal.”
Chacha groaned ,flipped her onto her back ,legs forced wide ,slammed back inside. Pounded relentlessly ,deep, punishing ,thumb rubbing her clit in rough circles. “Sirf tum… hamesha tum… koi aur nahi…”
Maa arched ,nails raking his back ,cries rising louder, deliberate: “Zor se… haan… pura andar… dikhao usse… main sirf teri hoon… sirf tera…”
She came hard ,body convulsing ,pussy clenching around him ,squirting over his cock, soaking the sheets. Screamed ,loud, unashamed ,“ … bhar do mujhe… andar… abhi!”
Chacha followed ,thrusting deep ,spilling inside her ,hot pulses filling her completely. He collapsed over her ,breathing ragged ,cock still twitching.
They lay tangled ,sweat-slick, hearts pounding. Maa kissed his neck ,slow, possessive. Voice hoarse: “Yaad rahega na… main jab hurt hoti hoon… main aise leti hoon. Aur jab main leti hoon… tum sirf mujhe dekhte ho.”
Chacha nodded ,breathless. “Sirf tum. Hamesha.”
Outside ,in the living room ,Papa sat alone. Phone dark now. He had heard everything ,every moan, every slap of skin, every cry of Chacha's name. He sat there ,cock hard in his pajama, untouched ,face burning with shame, guilt, and a twisted kind of arousal.
When Maa finally walked out ,fresh saree, hair re-tied, face glowing ,she paused at the living room doorway. Looked at him ,eyes calm, but steel underneath.
She didn't speak. Just looked.
Papa stood up ,voice low, broken: “Mujhe maaf kar do.”
Maa walked closer ,slow. Cupped his face ,thumb brushing his cheek. Voice soft ,almost tender: “Kal se jab bhi koi aur nazar aaye… yaad rakhna. Main do mardon ko sambhalti hoon. Aur dono mujhe hi chahiye. Koi teesri nahi.”
She kissed him ,once ,slow, deep. Then turned ,walked to the bedroom.
The door closed.
And Papa ,from that night forward ,never looked at another woman again. Not even for a second. Because he knew exactly what it cost.
Neeta Aunty arrived unannounced around 4 PM, her usual style ,loud doorbell, bright pink salwar-kameez, dupatta loosely dbangd, heavy jhumkas jingling as she stepped inside carrying a cloth bag full of Mumbai sweets and dry fruits.
Papa opened the door. His face lit up the moment he saw her ,genuine warmth mixed with something older, quieter.
“Arre Neeta! Kitne saal baad? Aao andar.”
She stepped in and pulled him into a tight hug, cheek pressed to his, breasts pressing firmly against his chest for a second longer than a normal family greeting. “Bhaiya! Aap bilkul nahi badle ho… ab bhi utne hi handsome.”
Papa laughed, a little too loud and stepped back, but his eyes dropped for a heartbeat. They traced the deep neckline of her kameez, the soft swell of her cleavage where the dupatta had slipped, the gentle jiggle of her full breasts when she laughed. He looked away fast, clearing his throat.
Maa was standing in the living room doorway.
She had just come out of her bath hair damp and loose, dripping onto the cream cotton saree she had thrown on quickly. The blouse was light, still clinging slightly in places from the water, outlining her full breasts and the hard peaks of her nipples. The pallu was dbangd casually, midriff bare, the soft roll above her navel visible. She looked stunning, effortless, glowing but her eyes were already fixed on Papa.
Neeta turned to her, face lighting up. “Bhabhi! Wah… aap toh aur bhi khoobsurat ho gayi ho. Yeh figure kaise maintain karti ho?”
Maa smiled, polite, calm, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Bas ghar ka kaam aur thoda khayal, Neeta. Tu baith na.”
Neeta sat on the sofa, dupatta slipping again as she crossed her legs exposing more of her deep cleavage, the soft inner curves of her breasts rising with each breath.
Papa sat opposite her and asked, “Kya haal hai Mumbai ka? Husband ka promotion suna tha.”
Neeta laughed loud, head thrown back breasts bouncing noticeably under the thin kameez. “Haan bhaiya… bahut busy rehta hai. Par aap log toh yahan maze mein ho na? Bhabhi ke saath…”
Her eyes flicked to Maa - appreciative, innocent. Maa stood there, tray of chai in hand, watching Papa’s gaze linger on Neeta’s chest when she leaned forward to take the cup. His eyes traced the deep neckline, the way her breasts pressed together, the faint outline of her bra through the fabric.
That small twist in Maa’s chest flared into sharp heat.
She set the tray down harder than necessary. Walked straight to Chacha, who was standing near the plants outside, towel over his shoulder. He looked up, eyes immediately on her, only her. No glance toward the living room. No distraction. His gaze traced the damp saree clinging to her waist, the way her breasts rose with each breath.
Maa stopped close breasts brushing his chest through the saree. She looked up, eyes dark, voice low and edged. “Tum kyun nahi dekh rahe usse?”
Chacha blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t pretend. His hand came to her waist, fingers pressing into the soft skin under the saree. “Kyunkyunki mujhe sirf tum chahiye. Woh… kuch nahi hai mere liye.”
Maa’s breath hitched. The jealousy twisted tighter but now it had a release. She grabbed his hand pulled him toward the bedroom. No words. Just the sharp click of the door closing behind them.
Inside, she pushed him against the wall. Hands on his chest, nails digging in through his kurta. “Kapde utaro. Abhi.”
Chacha obeyed fast, kurta off, pajama down. Cock already hard, thick, curved, leaking at the tip from the fire in her eyes.
Maa stripped roughly, saree tugged off, blouse unhooked, skirt falling. Naked, skin warm, breasts heavy, nipples erect, pussy glistening.
She dropped to her knees, took him deep, throat relaxing, sucking hard. Chacha groaned ,hands in her hair. Maa bobbed fast ,wet, sloppy ,moaning around him. “Sirf tum… aaj sirf tum…”
She pulled off, lips swollen, pushed him onto the bed. Straddled him ,sank down brutally. Pussy swallowing him whole. She gasped ,head back ,breasts bouncing. “Wo bahar Neeta se baat kar rahe hain. Unhe karne do. Aaj mei sirf tumhara lungi.”
She rode hard ,hips slamming, grinding. Chacha’s hands on her breasts ,pinching, twisting. He thrust up ,hips slapping her ass. Bed creaking ,headboard tapping.
Maa leaned down, kissed him deep, tongue invading. Whispered raw: “Bolo… sirf main… koi aur nahi chahiye na?”
Chacha flipped her ,legs wide ,slammed back inside. Pounded relentlessly ,thumb on her clit. Maa arched ,nails raking his back ,cries rising: “Zor se… pura andar… aaj sirf tumhari hoon…”
She came hard, pussy clenching. Screamed: “Haan, sirf tum… bhar do mujhe…”
Chacha followed ,thrusting deep ,spilling inside her.
They lay tangled ,sweat-slick, hearts pounding. Maa kissed his neck ,possessive. “Yaad rahega na… jab bhi koi aur nazar aaye… toh mujhe yaad karna.”
Chacha nodded, breathless. “Sirf tum. Hamesha.”
Outside, Papa was still talking to Neeta. Voice distant, strained.
Maa smiled against Chacha’s skin. Jealousy burned away. Revenge tasted sweet.
They dressed, lingering touches. When Maa walked back into the living room, saree perfect, hair re-tied, face glowing, Papa looked up.
His eyes flicked to her, then Chacha, then her flushed cheeks, slight limp, satisfied lips.
He swallowed. Put the phone down.
Neeta was still talking
Maa sat beside Papa ,thigh pressed to his. Hand on his knee ,firm.
Leaned in, whispered only for him: “Aur batao… kya batein ho rahi hai?”
Did everything turn Normal? I doubt it
The night after Neeta Aunty left
The house felt colder than usual, even with the fan off and the windows closed. Maa didn't speak much during dinner. She served the food with the same calm movements, same soft smile, but her eyes kept finding Papa's face - searching, measuring.
Papa tried to fill the silence ,talking about the office, tomorrow's market list, anything ordinary. But every time his phone buzzed (Neeta's goodnight message in the group chat), his thumb hovered a second too long before swiping it away. Maa noticed. Again.
Chacha ate quietly ,eyes only on her. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the spoon tighter when Papa smiled at his phone. He didn't say anything. He just waited.
After dinner, Maa cleared the table alone. Papa offered ,“Main kar deta hoon” ,voice gentle, trying to bridge whatever invisible gap had opened. Maa shook her head. “Nahi. Tum baitho. Aaj main kar lungi.”
Papa sat back down ,confused, uneasy. Chacha stood up ,moved to help her anyway. She let him. They stood side by side at the sink ,shoulders almost touching ,while she scrubbed the plates with more force than needed. After a long silence, she spoke ,voice low, meant only for him.
“Tumne dekha na… kaise muskuraya woh photo pe. Neeta ki cleavage pe nazar thami rahi. Jaise… jaise main wahan nahi thi.”
Chacha's hand paused under the tap. He turned to her ,eyes dark, serious. “Haan. Maine dekha.”
Maa's fingers tightened on the plate ,knuckles white. “Main do mardon ko har raat apne andar leti hoon. Dono ko pura kush karti hoon. Dono ke liye cheekhti hoon. Aur woh… ek purani crush ki photo pe muskurate hai. Jaise main kaafi nahi hoon.”
Chacha turned off the tap. Dried his hands slowly. Then cupped her face ,gentle but firm , made her look at him. “Tum kaafi nahi ho. Tum sab kuch ho. Sirf tum. Woh galti kar rahe hai. Par main nahi karunga.”
Maa's eyes shimmered ,not tears, but something close. Anger. Hurt. Need. She grabbed his kurta, pulled him closer. Voice breaking just a little: “Aaj raat… sirf mei aur tum. Unko akela chhod denge. Woh dekhenge. Woh samjhenge… main kya feel karti hoon.”
Chacha nodded once ,no hesitation. He followed her to the bedroom.
Maa didn't close the door fully. She left it cracked ,wide enough for sound to carry. Wide enough for Papa to hear.
She pushed Chacha against the wall ,hands shaking slightly as she pulled his kurta off.
Chacha stripped fast ,eyes never leaving her face. He saw the storm in her ,the jealousy, the hurt, the raw need to be seen, chosen, claimed above everything else.
Maa tore her saree off ,blouse ripped open, skirt kicked away. Naked ,skin flushed, breasts heaving, nipples hard, pussy already wet and swollen.
She dropped to her knees ,took his cock deep ,no teasing, no gentleness. Sucked hard ,throat relaxing, gagging herself on him ,moaning like she was starving. Chacha groaned ,hands in her hair ,hips jerking. “Bhabhi… fuck… itna zor se…”
Maa pulled off ,stood ,pushed him onto the bed. Straddled him ,sank down brutally ,pussy swallowing him whole. She cried out ,sharp, broken ,head falling back. “Sirf tu… aaj sirf tu mujhe chhulega… pura lega…”
She rode him like she was punishing something ,hips slamming down, grinding hard, breasts bouncing wildly. Chacha's hands flew to them ,kneading roughly, pinching nipples until she whimpered. He thrust up ,meeting her violence ,hips slapping wetly against her ass. Bed creaking loud ,headboard banging the wall.
Maa leaned down ,kissed him deep ,tongue invading, teeth biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. She whispered ,voice cracking, raw: “Papa bahar baitha hai… Neeta ki photo dekh raha hoga. Usse keh do… main sirf tere liye aise cheekhti hoon. Sirf tera lund andar chahiye. Sirf tera maal.”
Chacha groaned ,flipped her onto her back ,legs forced wide ,slammed back inside. Pounded relentlessly ,deep, punishing ,thumb rubbing her clit in rough circles. “Sirf tum… hamesha tum… koi aur nahi…”
Maa arched ,nails raking his back ,cries rising louder, deliberate: “Zor se… haan… pura andar… dikhao usse… main sirf teri hoon… sirf tera…”
She came hard ,body convulsing ,pussy clenching around him ,squirting over his cock, soaking the sheets. Screamed ,loud, unashamed ,“ … bhar do mujhe… andar… abhi!”
Chacha followed ,thrusting deep ,spilling inside her ,hot pulses filling her completely. He collapsed over her ,breathing ragged ,cock still twitching.
They lay tangled ,sweat-slick, hearts pounding. Maa kissed his neck ,slow, possessive. Voice hoarse: “Yaad rahega na… main jab hurt hoti hoon… main aise leti hoon. Aur jab main leti hoon… tum sirf mujhe dekhte ho.”
Chacha nodded ,breathless. “Sirf tum. Hamesha.”
Outside ,in the living room ,Papa sat alone. Phone dark now. He had heard everything ,every moan, every slap of skin, every cry of Chacha's name. He sat there ,cock hard in his pajama, untouched ,face burning with shame, guilt, and a twisted kind of arousal.
When Maa finally walked out ,fresh saree, hair re-tied, face glowing ,she paused at the living room doorway. Looked at him ,eyes calm, but steel underneath.
She didn't speak. Just looked.
Papa stood up ,voice low, broken: “Mujhe maaf kar do.”
Maa walked closer ,slow. Cupped his face ,thumb brushing his cheek. Voice soft ,almost tender: “Kal se jab bhi koi aur nazar aaye… yaad rakhna. Main do mardon ko sambhalti hoon. Aur dono mujhe hi chahiye. Koi teesri nahi.”
She kissed him ,once ,slow, deep. Then turned ,walked to the bedroom.
The door closed.
And Papa ,from that night forward ,never looked at another woman again. Not even for a second. Because he knew exactly what it cost.
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