Yesterday, 05:03 PM
Yash's fantasies were a seething undercurrent long before he set foot in Usha's home, forged in the shadows of his predatory mind like blueprints for conquest, each one more depraved than the last as he plotted her fall from faithful wife to his personal plaything.
They started innocently in his youth—fleeting glimpses of her voluptuous form at family gatherings, her saree clinging to curves that made his young cock twitch—but evolved into something darker, more obsessive as he grew into his power. Alone in his penthouse, he'd stroke his massive donkey cock slowly, eyes closed, imagining her on her knees in that modest kitchen: pallu slipped, heavy breasts spilling free, lips parting hesitantly around his thick head. "Suck it, Aunty," he'd growl in the fantasy, hand fisting her long hair, guiding her deeper until her throat bulged, tears streaming as she choked but didn't stop—her neglected body betraying her with wetness dripping down her thighs.
Deeper fantasies twisted with dominance. He'd picture pinning her against the bedroom wall while Kumar snored obliviously next door—saree hiked to her waist, no panties (just like the ones he'd mark with his cum), his fingers plunging into her slick folds as she whimpered "Beta, we can't..." but her hips ground back against him. In his mind, he'd spin her around, lift one thick thigh over his hip, and thrust in raw—stretching her tight, unused pussy inch by brutal inch, her nails digging into his muscled back as she came screaming his name, guilt shattering into ecstasy.
The taboo fueled him most. Fantasies where Praju was at college, Kumar away, and Yash took her on the family bed—spreading her wide, tongue delving deep into her core until she begged for his cock, then filling her completely, pounding relentlessly as her breasts bounced, his seed flooding her womb in hot spurts. He'd imagine the aftermath: her wearing cum-soaked panties all day, feeling him leak out with every step, a constant reminder of her betrayal.
Sometimes they darkened further—humiliating Kumar by fucking Usha in earshot, making her moan loud enough to wake him, or forcing her to suck him under the dining table during family dinner, her eyes locked on his while Praju chatted innocently.
Yash's fantasies weren't just release—they were rehearsals. Each stroke hardened his resolve, each imagined moan sharpened his plan. He knew he'd make them real, one "accident" at a time, until Usha craved the ruin as much as he did.
Kumar’s plan for a family trip to Coorg was announced with unusual enthusiasm one rainy evening in late March 2026. He had booked sleeper berths on an overnight Volvo bus leaving Bengaluru at 10 PM—arriving in Coorg by morning for a long weekend of coffee estates, waterfalls, and relaxation. “We all need this,” he said, smiling at Usha and Praju across the dinner table. “No work, no stress. Just us.”
Yash, sitting quietly, nodded along, his eyes flicking to Usha’s face—watching the way her pallu slipped slightly when she reached for the roti, exposing the deep curve of her cleavage.
But two days later, Kumar’s phone rang during dinner. A major client crisis in Chennai—meetings that couldn’t be postponed. He paced the living room, voice tense, then returned defeated. “I can’t go. I have to fly out tomorrow morning.” He looked at Usha apologetically. “But the tickets are non-refundable… and Praju’s been looking forward to it.”
Usha’s heart skipped—relief and dread colliding in her chest.
Kumar turned to Yash. “Beta, you’re free this weekend, right? Take Usha and Praju.I’ll feel better knowing you’re with them.”
Yash’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes darkened when they met Usha’s.
“Of course, uncle. I’ll take care of them.”
Usha swallowed hard, thighs pressing together under the table as the familiar dampness bloomed between her legs.
The bus stand that night was crowded and chaotic—families, tourists, porters shouting. Praju was excited, backpack slung over his shoulder, chattering about spotting elephants. Usha wore a simple maroon saree, pallu pinned tightly, but the black panties she’d chosen that morning—another pair Yash had “marked” days earlier—clung wetly to her folds the moment she saw him waiting by the bus door in a fitted black t-shirt and jeans.
Yash helped Praju load the bags into the luggage hold, then turned to Usha with a small smile.
“You look… fuller today, Aunty,” he said quietly, eyes dropping deliberately to her heavy breasts and wide hips. “This saree is tight in all the right places. Makes you look even more… tempting.”
Usha’s cheeks flamed. She glanced around—no one close enough to hear—then hissed under her breath.
“I’m your aunt,” she hissed, voice cracking on the word. “Your mausi. Like your mother. You shouldn’t talk to me like that. You shouldn’t look at me like that. You shouldn’t… shouldn’t make my body feel these things.”
Yash didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on hers, dark and unblinking, the thick ridge of his cock visibly straining against his jeans inches from where her saree-covered thigh trembled.
The bus conductor called for boarding.
They climbed aboard—the sleeper coach dimly lit, curtains drawn around each berth. Praju excitedly claimed the upper berth near the front. Yash guided Usha toward the lower berth at the very back—private, curtained off, far from prying eyes.
“Praju,” Yash called softly as the boy climbed up. “It’s going to be bumpy up there. Why don’t you take my upper berth instead? I’ll sleep down here next to Aunty so she doesn’t get scared in the dark.”
Praju yawned, too sleepy to argue. “Okay, Yash bhaiya.”
He shuffled forward, climbed into the other upper berth, and within minutes was snoring softly.
Yash pulled the thick curtain around their lower berth, sealing them in a cocoon of dim red night-light and privacy. The bus rumbled to life, vibrations humming through the mattress.
Usha sat on the edge of the berth, heart pounding. Yash knelt in front of her—slowly—hands resting on her thick thighs over the saree.
Look at me, Aunty,” he whispered.
She did—eyes glassy with tears and lust.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” he said, voice rough. “For you to stop pretending. Tell me what you want right now… while Praju sleeps above us.”
Yash… stop. Just stop.”
Her hand flew up instinctively, pressing against his chest—not pushing him away, but holding him there, as if anchoring herself against the storm inside her.
Usha’s voice trembled as she gripped Yash’s wrist, eyes glistening with tears and shame. “Yash… what you’re doing is wrong—sinful. I’m your mausi, like your mother… this is taboo, a curse on our family, and every time you flash or touch me, you drag us both deeper into hell.”
She swallowed hard, her breath shaky. “You’re my sister’s son… how can you make me crave something so forbidden, so dirty… when I should only feel disgust?”
“Then why are you still holding me here, Aunty?” he asked quietly, voice velvet and dangerous. “Why haven’t you pushed me away?”
Usha’s fingers curled into his t-shirt—clenching, not releasing. Fresh tears welled in her kohl-rimmed eyes.
“Because… because you keep doing these things,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You keep flashing that… that fat cock of yours. In the hallway. In the bathroom. When you think no one’s looking—but I see. I always see. And then at night… I hear you. Jerking off. Moaning my name. Saying ‘Aunty… Aunty…’ while you stroke that huge thing. Thinking about me. Your own mausi.”
Yash’s cock jerked visibly at her words—throbbing so hard she could see the pulse through the denim.
He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear, breath hot.
“I’m going mad for you, Aunty,” he confessed, voice raw. “Completely fucking mad. Every time I see that fat, juicy ass swaying when you walk to the kitchen… every time your big tits bounce under your blouse… I lose my mind. I can’t stop. I stroke myself three, four times a day thinking about you—about burying my face between those thick thighs, about spreading that perfect ass and sliding my cock between your cheeks until I paint your back with my cum.”
Usha whimpered—soft, broken—her free hand unconsciously drifting to her own breast, pressing against the aching nipple through her blouse.
“You shouldn’t say these things,” she whispered again, but the protest sounded hollow now, almost pleading. “I’m old enough to be your mother. I’m… I’m fat. My hips are too wide, my breasts too heavy… I’m not some young girl.”
Yash’s hand slid to her waist—slow, possessive—fingers digging into the soft flesh above her saree petticoat.
“Fat?” he repeated, voice thick with hunger. “You call this fat? This is fucking perfection. These wide hips were made to be gripped while I fuck you from behind. These heavy tits were made to bounce when I pound into you. Your ass—god, Aunty, that big, round, jiggly ass—makes me harder than anything else. I want to bury my face in it. Spank it red. Spread it and watch my cum drip down your crack while you cry my name.”
Usha’s thighs trembled violently. A fresh rush of wetness soaked through her panties, trickling down her inner thigh. She pressed her legs together, trying to hide it, but Yash’s hand slipped lower—cupping the full curve of her ass through the saree, squeezing hard.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he growled against her neck. “Every curve. Every inch. Kumar uncle doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t touch you like you need to be touched. But I will. I’ll worship every part of you. I’ll make you come so hard you forget your own name… forget you’re supposed to be my ‘good mausi.’ You’ll just be mine. My dirty, needy, cock-hungry aunty.”
Usha’s sob was muffled against his shoulder. Her hand slid down—hesitant, then bolder—cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, feeling the heat, the thickness, the relentless throb.
Yash’s mouth slammed against hers in a forceful, devouring smooch—his lips hot and demanding, tasting faintly of mint from the gum he’d chewed earlier, tongue thrusting past her parted lips with raw, unyielding hunger, invading the warm, wet cavern of her mouth like he owned it.
Usha’s initial gasp was muffled into a choked whimper against his invading tongue; her palms shoved weakly at his broad chest, fingers curling into the damp cotton of his t-shirt as the sharp, salty tang of her own tears mixed with the slick slide of saliva exchanging between them—thick, messy strings of spit stretching and breaking as he angled her head back, deepening the kiss until her jaw ached and her lips swelled under the relentless pressure.
Within seconds her resistance shattered—her body betraying her with a full-body shudder, a soft, broken moan vibrating into his mouth as her tongue tentatively met his, then curled eagerly around it, sucking and swirling in desperate surrender; the wet, obscene sounds of their deep smooch filled the tiny space—slurping, panting, the slick glide of tongues tangling while saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, trailing hot down her chin and onto the heaving tops of her breasts, her nipples scbanging painfully hard against the thin blouse as she arched into him, hips rocking helplessly against the thick, throbbing ridge of his cock straining through his jeans.
Yash groaned low in his throat. He tugged her pallu free—slowly—exposing her heavy breasts straining against the blouse. He unhooked it with practiced fingers, letting them spill out—dark nipples already hard and aching.
“So fucking beautiful,” he breathed, lowering his mouth to one, sucking hard while his hand cupped the other, pinching and rolling.
Usha moaned softly—muffling it against her palm. “Yash… beta… oh god… suck harder… please…”
He obliged—teeth grazing, tongue flicking—while his other hand slid under her saree, pushing the soaked panties aside. Two thick fingers plunged into her dripping cunt, curling against her g-spot.
“You’re so wet for me,” he growled against her breast. “Your pussy’s sucking my fingers like it’s starving. Tell me—tell me you want your nephew’s cock right here, right now.”
Usha’s hips bucked, riding his hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Yes… yes… I want it. I want my own sister’s son’s fat cock inside me. I want you to fuck me… breed me… ruin me… while Praju sleeps above us. Please, beta… fuck your mausi… make me come on your big dick…”
Yash withdrew his fingers—slick and shining—then stood, shoving his jeans and boxers down. His massive cock sprang free—thick, veined, leaking precum, curving upward aggressively.
Usha stared—mouth open, tears falling—then reached for it, wrapping both hands around the shaft.
“It’s so big… so thick… how will it fit…?”
“It’ll fit,” Yash growled, guiding her back onto the berth. “Because you were made for it.”
He pushed her saree up to her waist, tore the panties aside, and positioned himself at her entrance—rubbing the fat head along her soaked slit.
“Say it one more time,” he demanded. “Beg for your nephew’s cock.”
Usha sobbed, legs spreading wider.
“Please… beta… fuck me. Fuck your mausi’s wet cunt. Stretch me with that fat cock… fill me with your cum… make me yours…”
Yash thrust in—slow at first—inch by thick inch—stretching her neglected walls until he bottomed out, balls pressed against her ass.
Usha’s back arched, a choked cry escaping before she bit her lip to muffle it. “Oh god… it’s too much… too deep… you’re splitting me…”
Yash held still, letting her adjust—then began to move—deep, slow strokes—each one dragging against every sensitive spot.
“You feel that?” he whispered harshly. “That’s your nephew owning you. Every thrust… every inch… claiming what Kumar uncle never could.”
Usha’s nails dug into his shoulders, hips rising to meet him.
“Yes… yes… own me… fuck me harder… make me come on your big cock… please…”
He picked up speed—bed creaking softly, bus vibrations masking the sound—pounding into her with controlled power. One hand covered her mouth gently to keep her quiet; the other pinched and twisted her nipple.
A sudden rustle from above.
“Ma…?” Praju’s sleepy voice drifted down through the thin mattress. “Why’s the bus shaking so much…?”
Usha froze—eyes wide with panic—her body still impaled on the edge of Yash’s clothed cock, thighs quivering around his waist. Yash’s hand clamped gently over her mouth, silencing the whimper that tried to escape.
Yash answered calmly, voice steady as if nothing was happening. “It’s just the road, little man. Bumpy ghat section. Go back to sleep.”
Praju yawned, shifting. “Okay… but Ma sounds like she’s crying…”
Usha’s tears were real now—silent, streaming down her cheeks as shame and terror crashed over her. Yash’s other hand stayed firm on her hip, keeping her pinned against his throbbing length, not letting her pull away.
“She’s fine,” Yash said smoothly, thumb stroking Usha’s cheek tenderly even as his cock pulsed against her soaked entrance. “Just tired from the journey. Close your eyes, Praju. Dream of elephants tomorrow.”
A long pause. Then Praju mumbled, “Okay, Yash bhaiya… good night, Ma…”
The rustle faded. Soft snores resumed above them.
Yash slowly removed his hand from Usha’s mouth. Her lips trembled, eyes glassy with tears and unbearable need.
“He almost heard me…” she whispered, voice shaking. “He almost caught his mother… grinding on her nephew’s cock like a slut…”
Yash fucked her through it—relentless—then groaned low.
Usha came first—hard, sudden—walls clenching around him like a fist, body shaking, muffled sobs vibrating against his palm. Tears streamed as pleasure ripped through her.
“Gonna fill you, Aunty… gonna pump my cum deep in your mausi cunt…”
“Do it,” she gasped against his hand. “Breed me… fill me… make me drip your seed all night…”
He buried himself to the hilt—cock pulsing—thick ropes flooding her, spilling out around his shaft as he came with a guttural groan.
They stayed locked together—panting, trembling—his cum leaking out of her onto the berth sheet.
Yash kissed her forehead—soft now—then pulled out slowly, watching his seed drip from her swollen pussy.
“Sleep with it inside you,” he whispered. “So you feel me all night… while Praju sleeps above us.”
Usha nodded weakly—body spent, mind shattered—pulling her saree down over the mess between her thighs.
She whispered one last thing before he slipped back to the upper berth:
“Thank you… beta.”
And in the dark, rocking bus, with her son sleeping innocently above and her nephew’s cum leaking out of her, Usha finally stopped fighting.
She was his.
Completely.
![[Image: images-3.jpg]](https://i.ibb.co/Fbf7C9LP/images-3.jpg)
This is how yash was fuckikg my mom from behind
They started innocently in his youth—fleeting glimpses of her voluptuous form at family gatherings, her saree clinging to curves that made his young cock twitch—but evolved into something darker, more obsessive as he grew into his power. Alone in his penthouse, he'd stroke his massive donkey cock slowly, eyes closed, imagining her on her knees in that modest kitchen: pallu slipped, heavy breasts spilling free, lips parting hesitantly around his thick head. "Suck it, Aunty," he'd growl in the fantasy, hand fisting her long hair, guiding her deeper until her throat bulged, tears streaming as she choked but didn't stop—her neglected body betraying her with wetness dripping down her thighs.
Deeper fantasies twisted with dominance. He'd picture pinning her against the bedroom wall while Kumar snored obliviously next door—saree hiked to her waist, no panties (just like the ones he'd mark with his cum), his fingers plunging into her slick folds as she whimpered "Beta, we can't..." but her hips ground back against him. In his mind, he'd spin her around, lift one thick thigh over his hip, and thrust in raw—stretching her tight, unused pussy inch by brutal inch, her nails digging into his muscled back as she came screaming his name, guilt shattering into ecstasy.
The taboo fueled him most. Fantasies where Praju was at college, Kumar away, and Yash took her on the family bed—spreading her wide, tongue delving deep into her core until she begged for his cock, then filling her completely, pounding relentlessly as her breasts bounced, his seed flooding her womb in hot spurts. He'd imagine the aftermath: her wearing cum-soaked panties all day, feeling him leak out with every step, a constant reminder of her betrayal.
Sometimes they darkened further—humiliating Kumar by fucking Usha in earshot, making her moan loud enough to wake him, or forcing her to suck him under the dining table during family dinner, her eyes locked on his while Praju chatted innocently.
Yash's fantasies weren't just release—they were rehearsals. Each stroke hardened his resolve, each imagined moan sharpened his plan. He knew he'd make them real, one "accident" at a time, until Usha craved the ruin as much as he did.
Kumar’s plan for a family trip to Coorg was announced with unusual enthusiasm one rainy evening in late March 2026. He had booked sleeper berths on an overnight Volvo bus leaving Bengaluru at 10 PM—arriving in Coorg by morning for a long weekend of coffee estates, waterfalls, and relaxation. “We all need this,” he said, smiling at Usha and Praju across the dinner table. “No work, no stress. Just us.”
Yash, sitting quietly, nodded along, his eyes flicking to Usha’s face—watching the way her pallu slipped slightly when she reached for the roti, exposing the deep curve of her cleavage.
But two days later, Kumar’s phone rang during dinner. A major client crisis in Chennai—meetings that couldn’t be postponed. He paced the living room, voice tense, then returned defeated. “I can’t go. I have to fly out tomorrow morning.” He looked at Usha apologetically. “But the tickets are non-refundable… and Praju’s been looking forward to it.”
Usha’s heart skipped—relief and dread colliding in her chest.
Kumar turned to Yash. “Beta, you’re free this weekend, right? Take Usha and Praju.I’ll feel better knowing you’re with them.”
Yash’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes darkened when they met Usha’s.
“Of course, uncle. I’ll take care of them.”
Usha swallowed hard, thighs pressing together under the table as the familiar dampness bloomed between her legs.
The bus stand that night was crowded and chaotic—families, tourists, porters shouting. Praju was excited, backpack slung over his shoulder, chattering about spotting elephants. Usha wore a simple maroon saree, pallu pinned tightly, but the black panties she’d chosen that morning—another pair Yash had “marked” days earlier—clung wetly to her folds the moment she saw him waiting by the bus door in a fitted black t-shirt and jeans.
Yash helped Praju load the bags into the luggage hold, then turned to Usha with a small smile.
“You look… fuller today, Aunty,” he said quietly, eyes dropping deliberately to her heavy breasts and wide hips. “This saree is tight in all the right places. Makes you look even more… tempting.”
Usha’s cheeks flamed. She glanced around—no one close enough to hear—then hissed under her breath.
“I’m your aunt,” she hissed, voice cracking on the word. “Your mausi. Like your mother. You shouldn’t talk to me like that. You shouldn’t look at me like that. You shouldn’t… shouldn’t make my body feel these things.”
Yash didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on hers, dark and unblinking, the thick ridge of his cock visibly straining against his jeans inches from where her saree-covered thigh trembled.
The bus conductor called for boarding.
They climbed aboard—the sleeper coach dimly lit, curtains drawn around each berth. Praju excitedly claimed the upper berth near the front. Yash guided Usha toward the lower berth at the very back—private, curtained off, far from prying eyes.
“Praju,” Yash called softly as the boy climbed up. “It’s going to be bumpy up there. Why don’t you take my upper berth instead? I’ll sleep down here next to Aunty so she doesn’t get scared in the dark.”
Praju yawned, too sleepy to argue. “Okay, Yash bhaiya.”
He shuffled forward, climbed into the other upper berth, and within minutes was snoring softly.
Yash pulled the thick curtain around their lower berth, sealing them in a cocoon of dim red night-light and privacy. The bus rumbled to life, vibrations humming through the mattress.
Usha sat on the edge of the berth, heart pounding. Yash knelt in front of her—slowly—hands resting on her thick thighs over the saree.
Look at me, Aunty,” he whispered.
She did—eyes glassy with tears and lust.
“I’ve waited so long for this,” he said, voice rough. “For you to stop pretending. Tell me what you want right now… while Praju sleeps above us.”
Yash… stop. Just stop.”
Her hand flew up instinctively, pressing against his chest—not pushing him away, but holding him there, as if anchoring herself against the storm inside her.
Usha’s voice trembled as she gripped Yash’s wrist, eyes glistening with tears and shame. “Yash… what you’re doing is wrong—sinful. I’m your mausi, like your mother… this is taboo, a curse on our family, and every time you flash or touch me, you drag us both deeper into hell.”
She swallowed hard, her breath shaky. “You’re my sister’s son… how can you make me crave something so forbidden, so dirty… when I should only feel disgust?”
“Then why are you still holding me here, Aunty?” he asked quietly, voice velvet and dangerous. “Why haven’t you pushed me away?”
Usha’s fingers curled into his t-shirt—clenching, not releasing. Fresh tears welled in her kohl-rimmed eyes.
“Because… because you keep doing these things,” she whispered, voice breaking. “You keep flashing that… that fat cock of yours. In the hallway. In the bathroom. When you think no one’s looking—but I see. I always see. And then at night… I hear you. Jerking off. Moaning my name. Saying ‘Aunty… Aunty…’ while you stroke that huge thing. Thinking about me. Your own mausi.”
Yash’s cock jerked visibly at her words—throbbing so hard she could see the pulse through the denim.
He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear, breath hot.
“I’m going mad for you, Aunty,” he confessed, voice raw. “Completely fucking mad. Every time I see that fat, juicy ass swaying when you walk to the kitchen… every time your big tits bounce under your blouse… I lose my mind. I can’t stop. I stroke myself three, four times a day thinking about you—about burying my face between those thick thighs, about spreading that perfect ass and sliding my cock between your cheeks until I paint your back with my cum.”
Usha whimpered—soft, broken—her free hand unconsciously drifting to her own breast, pressing against the aching nipple through her blouse.
“You shouldn’t say these things,” she whispered again, but the protest sounded hollow now, almost pleading. “I’m old enough to be your mother. I’m… I’m fat. My hips are too wide, my breasts too heavy… I’m not some young girl.”
Yash’s hand slid to her waist—slow, possessive—fingers digging into the soft flesh above her saree petticoat.
“Fat?” he repeated, voice thick with hunger. “You call this fat? This is fucking perfection. These wide hips were made to be gripped while I fuck you from behind. These heavy tits were made to bounce when I pound into you. Your ass—god, Aunty, that big, round, jiggly ass—makes me harder than anything else. I want to bury my face in it. Spank it red. Spread it and watch my cum drip down your crack while you cry my name.”
Usha’s thighs trembled violently. A fresh rush of wetness soaked through her panties, trickling down her inner thigh. She pressed her legs together, trying to hide it, but Yash’s hand slipped lower—cupping the full curve of her ass through the saree, squeezing hard.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he growled against her neck. “Every curve. Every inch. Kumar uncle doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t touch you like you need to be touched. But I will. I’ll worship every part of you. I’ll make you come so hard you forget your own name… forget you’re supposed to be my ‘good mausi.’ You’ll just be mine. My dirty, needy, cock-hungry aunty.”
Usha’s sob was muffled against his shoulder. Her hand slid down—hesitant, then bolder—cupping the massive bulge in his jeans, feeling the heat, the thickness, the relentless throb.
Yash’s mouth slammed against hers in a forceful, devouring smooch—his lips hot and demanding, tasting faintly of mint from the gum he’d chewed earlier, tongue thrusting past her parted lips with raw, unyielding hunger, invading the warm, wet cavern of her mouth like he owned it.
Usha’s initial gasp was muffled into a choked whimper against his invading tongue; her palms shoved weakly at his broad chest, fingers curling into the damp cotton of his t-shirt as the sharp, salty tang of her own tears mixed with the slick slide of saliva exchanging between them—thick, messy strings of spit stretching and breaking as he angled her head back, deepening the kiss until her jaw ached and her lips swelled under the relentless pressure.
Within seconds her resistance shattered—her body betraying her with a full-body shudder, a soft, broken moan vibrating into his mouth as her tongue tentatively met his, then curled eagerly around it, sucking and swirling in desperate surrender; the wet, obscene sounds of their deep smooch filled the tiny space—slurping, panting, the slick glide of tongues tangling while saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, trailing hot down her chin and onto the heaving tops of her breasts, her nipples scbanging painfully hard against the thin blouse as she arched into him, hips rocking helplessly against the thick, throbbing ridge of his cock straining through his jeans.
Yash groaned low in his throat. He tugged her pallu free—slowly—exposing her heavy breasts straining against the blouse. He unhooked it with practiced fingers, letting them spill out—dark nipples already hard and aching.
“So fucking beautiful,” he breathed, lowering his mouth to one, sucking hard while his hand cupped the other, pinching and rolling.
Usha moaned softly—muffling it against her palm. “Yash… beta… oh god… suck harder… please…”
He obliged—teeth grazing, tongue flicking—while his other hand slid under her saree, pushing the soaked panties aside. Two thick fingers plunged into her dripping cunt, curling against her g-spot.
“You’re so wet for me,” he growled against her breast. “Your pussy’s sucking my fingers like it’s starving. Tell me—tell me you want your nephew’s cock right here, right now.”
Usha’s hips bucked, riding his hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Yes… yes… I want it. I want my own sister’s son’s fat cock inside me. I want you to fuck me… breed me… ruin me… while Praju sleeps above us. Please, beta… fuck your mausi… make me come on your big dick…”
Yash withdrew his fingers—slick and shining—then stood, shoving his jeans and boxers down. His massive cock sprang free—thick, veined, leaking precum, curving upward aggressively.
Usha stared—mouth open, tears falling—then reached for it, wrapping both hands around the shaft.
“It’s so big… so thick… how will it fit…?”
“It’ll fit,” Yash growled, guiding her back onto the berth. “Because you were made for it.”
He pushed her saree up to her waist, tore the panties aside, and positioned himself at her entrance—rubbing the fat head along her soaked slit.
“Say it one more time,” he demanded. “Beg for your nephew’s cock.”
Usha sobbed, legs spreading wider.
“Please… beta… fuck me. Fuck your mausi’s wet cunt. Stretch me with that fat cock… fill me with your cum… make me yours…”
Yash thrust in—slow at first—inch by thick inch—stretching her neglected walls until he bottomed out, balls pressed against her ass.
Usha’s back arched, a choked cry escaping before she bit her lip to muffle it. “Oh god… it’s too much… too deep… you’re splitting me…”
Yash held still, letting her adjust—then began to move—deep, slow strokes—each one dragging against every sensitive spot.
“You feel that?” he whispered harshly. “That’s your nephew owning you. Every thrust… every inch… claiming what Kumar uncle never could.”
Usha’s nails dug into his shoulders, hips rising to meet him.
“Yes… yes… own me… fuck me harder… make me come on your big cock… please…”
He picked up speed—bed creaking softly, bus vibrations masking the sound—pounding into her with controlled power. One hand covered her mouth gently to keep her quiet; the other pinched and twisted her nipple.
A sudden rustle from above.
“Ma…?” Praju’s sleepy voice drifted down through the thin mattress. “Why’s the bus shaking so much…?”
Usha froze—eyes wide with panic—her body still impaled on the edge of Yash’s clothed cock, thighs quivering around his waist. Yash’s hand clamped gently over her mouth, silencing the whimper that tried to escape.
Yash answered calmly, voice steady as if nothing was happening. “It’s just the road, little man. Bumpy ghat section. Go back to sleep.”
Praju yawned, shifting. “Okay… but Ma sounds like she’s crying…”
Usha’s tears were real now—silent, streaming down her cheeks as shame and terror crashed over her. Yash’s other hand stayed firm on her hip, keeping her pinned against his throbbing length, not letting her pull away.
“She’s fine,” Yash said smoothly, thumb stroking Usha’s cheek tenderly even as his cock pulsed against her soaked entrance. “Just tired from the journey. Close your eyes, Praju. Dream of elephants tomorrow.”
A long pause. Then Praju mumbled, “Okay, Yash bhaiya… good night, Ma…”
The rustle faded. Soft snores resumed above them.
Yash slowly removed his hand from Usha’s mouth. Her lips trembled, eyes glassy with tears and unbearable need.
“He almost heard me…” she whispered, voice shaking. “He almost caught his mother… grinding on her nephew’s cock like a slut…”
Yash fucked her through it—relentless—then groaned low.
Usha came first—hard, sudden—walls clenching around him like a fist, body shaking, muffled sobs vibrating against his palm. Tears streamed as pleasure ripped through her.
“Gonna fill you, Aunty… gonna pump my cum deep in your mausi cunt…”
“Do it,” she gasped against his hand. “Breed me… fill me… make me drip your seed all night…”
He buried himself to the hilt—cock pulsing—thick ropes flooding her, spilling out around his shaft as he came with a guttural groan.
They stayed locked together—panting, trembling—his cum leaking out of her onto the berth sheet.
Yash kissed her forehead—soft now—then pulled out slowly, watching his seed drip from her swollen pussy.
“Sleep with it inside you,” he whispered. “So you feel me all night… while Praju sleeps above us.”
Usha nodded weakly—body spent, mind shattered—pulling her saree down over the mess between her thighs.
She whispered one last thing before he slipped back to the upper berth:
“Thank you… beta.”
And in the dark, rocking bus, with her son sleeping innocently above and her nephew’s cum leaking out of her, Usha finally stopped fighting.
She was his.
Completely.
This is how yash was fuckikg my mom from behind
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