Fantasy My Conservative Mom Trapped in Weird Circumstances- Revived

[Innocent_Pervert]

I couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet except for the rain tapping the roof. My room felt too hot, sheets sticking to my skin. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the day’s thoughts—Maa in her nightie during dinner, the way her breasts moved when she laughed, the small wet spot I imagined between her thighs. The honey feeling came fast, low in my belly, making my cock twitch under the blanket.

Sleep pulled me under. And the dream began.

I was in the bedroom, but it looked different—candles everywhere, flickering gold light on the walls. The big bed was in the center like an altar. Maa lay on it, naked, wrists tied loosely to the headboard with soft red cloth, legs spread wide and tied to the posts. Her body glistened with sweat and oil—breasts heavy and full, nipples dark and swollen, belly soft, thighs trembling. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips pink and parted, already dripping onto the white sheet below her ass. 

A thin trail of wetness ran down her crack to the bed.

She looked straight at me. Eyes glassy, hungry, lips parted. Voice low and thick.

“Beta… aaja. Maa tere liye khuli hai. Aaj fertile hoon. Tere bacche ki maa banna chahti hoon. Meri chut ko phaad de. Poora cum andar daal… Maa ko pregnant kar de.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Cock instantly rock-hard, throbbing painfully in my shorts. I stepped closer. She spread her legs wider—pussy lips opening like a flower, clit swollen and glistening.

“Dekh beta… yeh teri hai. Ab andar daal… zor se… cervix tak pahuncha… Maa ki womb bhar de.”

I climbed between her thighs. Pulled down my shorts—cock sprang free, thick, veiny, leaking at the tip. Maa moaned just seeing it.
“Kitna bada ho gaya mera beta… yeh sab Maa ke liye hai na? Aaja… phaad de mujhe.”

I grabbed her hips—fingers digging into soft flesh. Lined up and slammed in—one brutal thrust, burying myself to the balls. Her cunt was scorching hot, tight, wet, gripping me like a fist. Maa screamed—pleasure-pain.

“Aah… haan beta… poora andar… kitna mota hai tera… meri chut phaad de! Zor se thoko… Maa teri randi hai… baccha de degi tujhe… zor se!”

I pounded her mercilessly—deep, fast, balls slapping her ass wetly. Her breasts bounced wildly with every thrust. She yanked at the ties, moaning filthier.

“Haan beta… cervix tak pahuncha… wahan cum daal… Maa ki womb bhar de… pregnant kar de mujhe… tere bacche se bhari rehna chahti hoon! Zor se… thoko… meri chut ko barbaad kar de!”

Her walls clenched—squeezing me tighter. I felt her come—body shaking, pussy spasming, juices squirting around my cock, soaking my balls and the sheets. She screamed loud:

“Aah… aa rahi hoon… cum kar rahi hoon tere lund pe… beta… ab tu bhi… andar daal… poora cum… Maa ke andar!”

I couldn’t hold back. Thrust deep—one last brutal push—and exploded. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded her womb, pulse after pulse. Maa’s eyes rolled back.

“Haan… feel kar… cum andar aa raha hai… kitna garam… Maa pregnant ho gayi… tera baccha… Maa teri hai hamesha!”

But the dream didn’t stop. She begged more.

“Ab gaand mein daal beta… dono holes bhar de… Maa ko double pregnant kar de… cum karo gaand mein bhi!”

I pulled out—cock slick with her juices and my cum. Pushed into her tight ass—slow at first, then hard. She howled:
“Aah… gaand phat rahi hai… par maza aa raha hai… zor se thoko… Maa ki gaand bhi teri hai… cum karo andar… poora bhar do!”

I fucked her ass deep—slamming in, pulling out, watching her hole stretch around me. She came again—squirting from her pussy while I filled her ass. Cum overflowed, dripping down her crack, pooling on the sheet.

“Beta… poora bhar diya… Maa tere bacchon se bhari hai… ab muh mein daal… last cum Maa ke muh mein!”

I pulled out, straddled her chest. She opened her mouth wide—tongue out. I stroked fast—came again—thick spurts hitting her tongue, lips, cheeks. She swallowed greedily, moaning:

“Mmm… beta ka cum… kitna tasty… Maa sab pi legi… hamesha tere liye khuli rahegi…”

I woke up soaked. Shorts sticky, thighs wet, sheets clinging to my skin like a second layer of shame. The room was dark except for the faint streetlight slipping through the curtain. My heart hammered so hard I thought it would crack my ribs. Cum still pulsed out of me in weak spurts—cock twitching, betraying me even after the dream ended.


I lay there frozen, breathing shallow. The images wouldn’t leave. Maa tied to the bed like an offering. Her legs spread wide, pussy dripping, begging me to ruin her. “Beta… meri chut ko phaad de… poora cum andar daal… Maa ko pregnant kar de.” 

Her screams echoing in my skull. The way she squirted when I filled her. The taste of her on my tongue in the dream. The way she swallowed my last load, moaning “Maa sab pi legi… hamesha tere liye khuli rahegi…”

I felt sick. Literally sick. Stomach twisting, throat closing. I curled on my side, hugging my knees, trying to make myself small. Tears burned behind my eyes—hot, angry, ashamed. What the hell is wrong with me? She’s my Maa. The one who held me when I was scared of the dark. Who made khichdi when I was sick. Who kissed my forehead every night and said “Mera beta sabse pyara hai.” And I dreamed of breeding her? Tying her up? Fucking her like an animal? Filling her until she carried my child?

Guilt crashed over me in waves—each one heavier. I pictured her face tomorrow morning—smiling, bringing me chai, asking “Beta, neend achhi aayi?” And I’d have to look at her knowing I’d imagined her naked, bound, screaming for my cum. Knowing I came thinking of her womb full of me. Knowing part of me—deep, dark part—wanted it again.

I pressed my face into the pillow. Muffled a sob. I’m disgusting. A monster. What if she knew? What if she looked at me and saw the filth in my head? Would she still hug me? Still call me “beta”? Or would she pull away, eyes full of hurt and fear? The thought cut deeper than anything. Losing her love. Losing the only person who ever made me feel safe.

I thought of the real Maa—how she slept between Papa and Chacha, soft and trusting. How she teased them with love, not filth. How she looked at me with pride, not lust. And here I was, turning that into something dirty. Something wrong. I wanted to scrub my brain clean. Rip the dream out like a bad page.

But the honey lingered—sticky, warm, refusing to leave. Even now, cock half-hard again just remembering her moans. I hated it. Hated myself more. I punched the mattress once—hard—then froze, afraid someone heard. Tears came then—silent, burning down my cheeks. I wiped them fast. Couldn’t let anyone see. Couldn’t let Maa see.

I got up quietly. Stripped the wet shorts, threw them in the corner like they were poison. Wiped myself with a towel, hands shaking. Looked at my reflection in the small mirror on the wall—face pale, eyes red, hair messy. Looked like a stranger. A sick stranger.
I crawled back into bed—new shorts, clean side of the sheet. Curled tight. Tried to breathe slow. But every time I closed my eyes, she was there—tied, begging, coming around my cock. Guilt twisted harder. I’m sorry Maa. I’m so sorry. I don’t want this. I love you. Not like that. Not like this.

But the dream stayed. Clung. Whispered.

Morning came too soon. Sunlight through the curtain. I heard Maa in the kitchen—pots clanging, soft humming. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.

I stayed in bed longer than usual. Afraid to face her. Afraid my face would show everything. Afraid she’d look at me and know.
When I finally came out, she was at the stove—saree dbangd low, blouse fitted, hair loose. She turned, smiled like always.

“Beta… uth gaya? Chai bana di hai. Aaja.”

Her voice warm. Normal. Loving.

I walked over—legs heavy. Took the cup. Hands shook a little. She noticed.

“Beta… kya hua? Neend nahi aayi?”

I looked down. Couldn’t meet her eyes. Guilt choked me. “Haan Maa… bas… sapne aaye.”

She put her hand on my cheek—soft, motherly. “Bure sapne?”

I swallowed. Nodded once.

She pulled me into a hug—gentle, warm, jasmine smell. Her breasts pressed soft against my chest. I stiffened—honey flickered, guilt stabbed harder.

“Beta… jo bhi tha, bhool ja. Maa yahan hai. Hamesha. Theek hai?”

I nodded against her shoulder. Tears threatened again. Whispered so quiet only she could hear:
“Maa… I’m sorry.”

She held me tighter. Kissed my forehead.

“Kuch bhi nahi sorry. Tu mera beta hai. Bas itna kaafi hai.”

I clung to her. Guilt still burned—deep, raw. But her arms felt like the only safe place left.

The dream didn’t leave. Not really. It hid. Waited. Whispered in quiet moments.

But Maa’s hug was louder.