24-02-2026, 04:06 PM
(This post was last modified: 24-02-2026, 04:06 PM by Innocent_Pervert. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
That evening, after dinner, the house was quiet. Dad had gone to the terrace. I sat in the living room, pretending to scroll on my phone, but my ears were tuned to the bedroom door that was slightly ajar.
Inside, Mom lay on the bed in just a thin white nightie, legs lazily crossed. Chacha was curled against her side, head on her breast, one hand gently stroking her bare thigh under the fabric. His voice was low, almost shy — the same hesitant tone he had used on the very first night years ago.
“Bhabhi… ek baat mann mein hai bahut din se. Bataun?”
Mom ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “Bolo na, Devar ji. Tumhare mann mein kya hai, woh mujhko batao.”
Chacha swallowed, cheeks flushing. “Main… main chahta hoon ki main aapko market le jaun. Poori nangi sirf burqa pehen kar. Bilkul nangi. Sirf burqa. Log dekhte rahenge ki kitni sharif aurat hai… aur sirf main jaanunga ki andar meri biwi nangi ghum rahi hai.”
He buried his face deeper into her breast, voice trembling with excitement and shame. “Har kadam pe sochunga… meri Bhabhi ke nipples burqa ke andar sakht ho rahe hain. Meri Bhabhi ki chut hawa mein geeli ho rahi hai. Aur koi nahi jaanega.”
Mom’s fingers paused for a second. Then she laughed — low, delighted, genuinely thrilled.
“Arre waah, Devar ji… yeh toh bahut kinky idea hai. Bahut risky… bahut naughty.” She tilted his chin up so he could see her eyes sparkling. “Main taiyaar hoon. Kal shaam hi chalte hain Panchavati market.”
Next evening – 6:30 PM
Dad stood in the bedroom doorway, face tight with worry.
“Bilku nahi. Yeh unsafe hai. Market mein itna crowd… koi haath laga dega, … koi photo le lega. please. Yeh mat karo.”
Mom was already stepping into the long black burqa Chacha had brought. It was the full traditional kind — loose, floor-length, with a small mesh screen for the eyes and gloves. Nothing underneath. Not even slippers. Her bare feet touched the cool floor as she adjusted the fabric over her naked body.
She turned to Dad, voice calm but firm, the same tone she used when she decided something final.
“Papa ji, yeh kinky hai. Aur main kinky feel karna chahti hoon. Devar ji ne itna pyar se maanga hai… main unko mana nahi karungi. Tum bas ghar pe raho. Beta bhi saath jaayega — car mein baith ke dekh lega. Koi unsafe nahi hoga.”
She pulled the burqa’s front open for a second, giving both men a flash of her completely naked body underneath — heavy breasts, soft belly, trimmed pussy already glistening. Then she closed it again.
Chacha’s hands were shaking as he helped her adjust the headpiece. His voice was hoarse. “Bhabhi… thank you. Main… main aaj poora din soch raha tha ki aap nangi burqa mein mere saath chal rahi hongi.”
At the market – 7:15 PM
The evening market was crowded as usual — vegetable stalls, clothes vendors, fruit carts, people pushing past each other. The son sat in the back seat of the car parked at the edge, window slightly down, heart hammering as he watched.
Mom walked slowly beside Chacha, fully covered in the black burqa. From the outside she looked like any modest, traditional woman. Only Chacha knew the truth.
Chacha’s hand rested lightly on her lower back through the fabric.
“Log dekh rahe hain na, Bhabhi?” he whispered, voice thick. “Sab soch rahe hain ki kitni achhi biwi hai mere saath. Aur main jaanta hoon… andar aapki chut hawa se touch ho rahi hai. Nipples burqa ke kapde se ragad rahi hain.”
Mom’s voice came muffled but amused from inside the mesh. “Haan Devar ji… bahut geeli ho gayi hoon already. Har step pe feel ho raha hai ki main nangi hoon aur koi bhi dekh sakta hai agar burqa uth jaaye.”
She stopped at a vegetable stall, bending slightly to check tomatoes. The loose burqa shifted. For a split second the front parted just enough that a cool breeze went straight between her naked thighs. She shivered visibly.
Chacha stood close behind her, pretending to help choose. His hand slipped under the side slit of the burqa for a moment — fingers brushing her bare ass cheek.
“Arre… kitni garam hai yahan,” he murmured. “Log dekh rahe hain humein… aur main aapki nangi gaand chhoo raha hoon.”
Mom straightened, voice playful even through the burqa. “Aur thoda aur chhoo lo… par dhyan se. Beta car mein baitha sab dekh raha hai.”
They moved to the clothes section. Mom picked up a saree piece, holding it up as if interested. While the shopkeeper was busy, Chacha stepped closer and whispered, “Socho… agar main abhi burqa ke andar haath daal kar aapki chut mein ungli daal doon… toh kya hoga?”
Mom’s breathing quickened inside the mesh. “Kinky lag raha hai na? Main bhi soch rahi hoon… kitna maza aa raha hai. Sab normal samajh rahe hain… aur main bilkul nangi hoon apne Devar ke saath.”
They walked for almost forty minutes. Every time a group of men passed and stared at the “modest burqa woman,”
Chacha would lean in and describe it to her. Every time wind lifted the hem slightly, Mom would let out a tiny, hidden moan only he could hear.
Finally, near the car, Mom stopped. Through the mesh her eyes found the son sitting inside, watching everything.
She lifted one gloved hand and gave a tiny wave — almost innocent.
Then she turned to Chacha and said loud enough for the son to hear through the open window:
“Ghar chalte hain, Devar ji. Aaj raat poora reward milega tumhe… kyuki tumhari yeh fantasy ne mujhko bahut kinky bana diya hai.”
She got into the car still wearing the burqa.
Chacha drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on her thigh through the loose fabric. Every few seconds his fingers would slip under the side slit, brushing bare skin, confirming she was still completely naked underneath. He didn't speak much; he didn't need to. The occasional low groan when his thumb grazed higher said enough.
From the back seat, I watched everything. Mom never once turned to look at me. Her eyes — the only part visible through the mesh — stayed forward, calm, almost distant.
Dad was waiting at the gate when they pulled in, arms crossed, face a mix of relief and lingering worry.
As soon as the car stopped, Mom stepped out gracefully. The burqa swayed around her ankles, hiding everything. She walked straight past Dad without a word, into the house.
Inside the living room, she finally stopped. Slowly, deliberately, she reached up and lifted the burqa over her head in one smooth motion.
The black fabric pooled at her feet.
She stood there completely nude — skin flushed from the evening heat and excitement, nipples hard and dark, a visible sheen of arousal between her thighs, pussy lips swollen and glistening. No shame, no hurry to cover up. She just stood, letting the cool AC air hit her bare body.
Dad's eyes widened. Chacha's breath caught audibly.
Mom looked at Chacha first, voice soft but commanding.
“Devar ji… yeh sab tumhare liye tha. Ab reward time hai.”
She turned slightly toward Dad.
“Papa ji, tum worried the na? Ab dekh lo — bilkul safe thi. Aur kitna maza aaya. Tum bhi join karo… par pehle dekh lo kitni geeli ho gayi hoon bas burqa ke andar rehne se.”
She walked to the sofa, sat down with legs parted casually, one hand trailing down her belly to rest just above her mound — not touching yet, just teasing.
Chacha dropped to his knees in front of her instantly, face between her thighs before anyone could speak. His tongue went straight to work — long, hungry licks, tasting how wet the public risk had made her.
Mom moaned low, head falling back.
“Haan… aise hi… market mein soch rahi thi ki agar burqa thoda uth jaaye toh sab dekh lenge… par tumhare haath ne mujhe sambhal liya.”
Dad hesitated for a second — still processing — then moved behind the sofa. He leaned over, cupping her heavy breasts from behind, thumbs circling her nipples.
“Tu sach mein pagal hai,” he muttered, but his voice was thick with arousal. “Par yeh dekh ke… main bhi pagal ho ja raha hoon.”
Mom laughed breathlessly, reaching one hand back to stroke Dad's cheek.
“Papa ji… aaj raat sirf hum teeno. Beta ko bol do jaake so jaaye. Yeh sirf humare liye hai.”
She glanced toward the doorway where the son still stood, frozen.
“Beta… jaa so ja. Kal subah chai bana dena.”
No softness. No invitation. Just dismissal.
Chacha lifted his head briefly, lips shiny with her juices.
“Bhabhi… ab andar daalna hai. Poora raat bhar.”
Mom pulled him up by his shirt, guiding his cock to her entrance while Dad kept playing with her breasts.
“Haan… daal do. Zor se. Aaj mujhe poora bhar do… market ka reward.”
She sank down onto Chacha in one slow motion, taking him deep, then started riding — slow at first, then faster, breasts bouncing in Dad's hands.
The sounds filled the room — wet slapping, moans, Chacha's grateful whispers of “thank you Bhabhi… thank you meri jaan.”
Dad moved to her mouth, feeding her his cock while she rode. She took him eagerly, humming around him.
I watched from the shadows of the hallway for a few more minutes — hard, aching, completely ignored — before quietly turning away to his room.
In the bedroom, Mom came hard twice more — once on Chacha's cock, once with both men switching places — screaming their names, body shaking.
When they finally collapsed in a sweaty tangle, Mom lay between them, still naked, one leg dbangd over Chacha, head on Dad's chest.
She whispered sleepily, “Kal phir market jaana hai… par is baar thoda aur risky. Shayad burqa ke neeche sirf nipple clamps pehen ke.”
Chacha groaned in happy exhaustion. Dad chuckled weakly.
“Tu nahi sudhregi.”
Mom smiled into the dark.
“Nahi sudharna hai”
Next morning was humid. The ceiling fan whirred lazily above the dining table where Dad sat with his chai, newspaper open but unread. His eyes kept flicking toward the kitchen doorway, still processing last night’s events — the burqa, the market, the way Mom had come home dripping and demanding, then fucked both him and Chacha senseless while barely acknowledging the son watching from the shadows.
Mom emerged first, fresh from her bath, wearing nothing but a thin, damp cotton saree wrapped low on her hips. Just the pallu loosely dbangd over one shoulder, barely covering her heavy breasts. Water droplets still clung to her collarbone and the undersides of her tits. She moved with deliberate laziness, hips swaying, knowing exactly what the sight did to him.
Chacha followed a minute later, shirtless, pajama low on his waist, hair still wet, a satisfied grin he couldn’t hide.
Mom poured tea for Dad first, leaning over the table so the pallu slipped just enough to let one boob peek out. She didn’t fix it.
“Papa ji… kal raat achha laga na?” she asked sweetly, voice dripping honey. “Maine notice kiya, jab Devar ji mujhe market se leke aaye aur main burqa utaar ke nangi khadi thi… tumhara lund kitna jaldi khada ho gaya tha.”
Dad cleared his throat, cheeks reddening. “Haan… par risky tha. Main bas—”
Mom cut him off with a soft laugh, sitting sideways on his lap so her bare thigh pressed against his crotch. She could feel him twitch instantly.
“Risky? Arre Papa ji, risky toh Devar ji ka idea tha. Aur kitna kinky tha woh. Socho… main poori nangi, sirf burqa pehen ke, market mein ghum rahi thi. Log soch rahe the ‘kitni sharif aurat hai’… aur andar meri chut hawa se chhoo rahi thi, nipples burqa ke kapde se ragad rahe the. Har kadam pe soch rahi thi — agar burqa uth jaaye toh sab dekh lenge ki main kya pehni hoon… yaani kuch nahi pehni.”
She rocked subtly on his lap, grinding just enough to make him groan.
“Devar ji ne poora time mujhe whisper kiya — ‘Bhabhi, log dekh rahe hain… aur main jaanta hoon aapki gaand kitni garam hai andar.’ Aur main geeli ho gayi thi itni ki juice meri thighs pe tapak raha tha. Tum toh bas ghar pe baith ke worry kar rahe the… par Devar ji ne mujhe itna tease kiya ki main wahan hi cum karne wali thi.”
Dad’s hands gripped her waist instinctively. “Bas Karo ab..Beta sun raha hai.”
Mom glanced toward me. She didn’t lower her voice.
“Beta sun raha hai toh kya? Woh kal car mein sab dekh raha tha. Aur jaanta hai uske Chacha ji kitne kinky hain. Unhone mujhe bola tha — ‘Bhabhi, agle baar nipple clamps pehen ke chalna market mein… main pull karunga chain se jab log dekh rahe honge.’ Kitna naughty hai na tumhara chhota bhai?”
Chacha, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own chai, smirked. “Bhabhi… main toh bas soch raha tha aapko kitna maza aayega. Aur aaya na?”
Mom turned her head toward him, eyes sparkling. “Bahut aaya, Devar ji. Itna ki raat ko maine tum dono ko ek saath liya… par dil mein soch rahi thi — yeh sab tumhare us kinky dimag ki wajah se hua.”
She leaned forward, pressing her bare breasts against Dad’s chest through the thin saree, lips near his ear.
“Papa ji… tum toh hamesha safe-safe khelte ho. ‘Yeh mat karo, woh mat karo.’ Par Devar ji? Woh mujhe nanga burqa pehna ke market le gaye aur mujhe itna garam kar diya ki main wahan khadi reh ke ungli se khud ko chhodne wali thi.
Kitna bada difference hai na — bada bhai safe, chhota bhai mei.”
Dad’s breathing was ragged now, hands sliding up her bare back under the pallu.
“Tu jaan bujh kar mujhe jalati hai.”
Mom laughed softly, grinding down harder on his growing erection.
“Haan jalati hoon. Kyunki mujhe pasand hai jab tum jealous hote ho… aur phir mujhe zor se chodte ho. Par sach bataun? Kal Devar ji ne jo kiya — woh mujhe bahut zyada excite karta hai. Unka yeh fetish… nangi aurat ko public mein cover karke ghumana… yeh toh alag level ka thrill hai. Tum bhi try karoge na kabhi?”
She stood up suddenly, letting the pallu fall completely so her breasts were fully exposed to both men. She walked to Chacha, pressed her naked body against him, and kissed him deep — tongue sliding in slow, wet circles.
When she broke the kiss, she looked back at Dad over her shoulder.
“Papa ji… aaj dopahar mein Chacha ji mujhe phir market le jayenge. Is baar thoda aur kinky — shayad burqa ke andar remote vibrator. Tum ghar pe rehna… aur sochna ki main kitni zor se moan kar rahi hoongi aur koi nahi sun pa raha. Phir shaam ko jab wapas aaungi… tum dono mujhe saath mein le sakte ho.”
She patted Chacha’s cheek affectionately.
“Devar ji, taiyaar raho. Aaj mei tumhari sari fetish ko poora kar dugi.”
Dad groaned, head falling back against the chair. “Tu sach mein pagal hai.”
Mom smiled wickedly, walking toward the bedroom — hips swaying, completely naked now, saree left in a puddle on the floor.
“Pagalpan pasand hai na tum dono ko? Toh aaj raat dekhna… kitna pagalpan karungi main.”
I stayed silent at the table, untouched chai growing cold, while Mom disappeared into the bedroom with Chacha following close behind — already hard again.
Dad sat there a moment longer, then stood, adjusting himself with a sigh.
“Chalo… main bhi dekhta hoon kitna kinky ban sakta hai yeh din.”
The house filled with the soft sounds of anticipation — and Mom’s low, teasing laughter echoing from the bedroom.
Inside, Mom lay on the bed in just a thin white nightie, legs lazily crossed. Chacha was curled against her side, head on her breast, one hand gently stroking her bare thigh under the fabric. His voice was low, almost shy — the same hesitant tone he had used on the very first night years ago.
“Bhabhi… ek baat mann mein hai bahut din se. Bataun?”
Mom ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. “Bolo na, Devar ji. Tumhare mann mein kya hai, woh mujhko batao.”
Chacha swallowed, cheeks flushing. “Main… main chahta hoon ki main aapko market le jaun. Poori nangi sirf burqa pehen kar. Bilkul nangi. Sirf burqa. Log dekhte rahenge ki kitni sharif aurat hai… aur sirf main jaanunga ki andar meri biwi nangi ghum rahi hai.”
He buried his face deeper into her breast, voice trembling with excitement and shame. “Har kadam pe sochunga… meri Bhabhi ke nipples burqa ke andar sakht ho rahe hain. Meri Bhabhi ki chut hawa mein geeli ho rahi hai. Aur koi nahi jaanega.”
Mom’s fingers paused for a second. Then she laughed — low, delighted, genuinely thrilled.
“Arre waah, Devar ji… yeh toh bahut kinky idea hai. Bahut risky… bahut naughty.” She tilted his chin up so he could see her eyes sparkling. “Main taiyaar hoon. Kal shaam hi chalte hain Panchavati market.”
Next evening – 6:30 PM
Dad stood in the bedroom doorway, face tight with worry.
“Bilku nahi. Yeh unsafe hai. Market mein itna crowd… koi haath laga dega, … koi photo le lega. please. Yeh mat karo.”
Mom was already stepping into the long black burqa Chacha had brought. It was the full traditional kind — loose, floor-length, with a small mesh screen for the eyes and gloves. Nothing underneath. Not even slippers. Her bare feet touched the cool floor as she adjusted the fabric over her naked body.
She turned to Dad, voice calm but firm, the same tone she used when she decided something final.
“Papa ji, yeh kinky hai. Aur main kinky feel karna chahti hoon. Devar ji ne itna pyar se maanga hai… main unko mana nahi karungi. Tum bas ghar pe raho. Beta bhi saath jaayega — car mein baith ke dekh lega. Koi unsafe nahi hoga.”
She pulled the burqa’s front open for a second, giving both men a flash of her completely naked body underneath — heavy breasts, soft belly, trimmed pussy already glistening. Then she closed it again.
Chacha’s hands were shaking as he helped her adjust the headpiece. His voice was hoarse. “Bhabhi… thank you. Main… main aaj poora din soch raha tha ki aap nangi burqa mein mere saath chal rahi hongi.”
At the market – 7:15 PM
The evening market was crowded as usual — vegetable stalls, clothes vendors, fruit carts, people pushing past each other. The son sat in the back seat of the car parked at the edge, window slightly down, heart hammering as he watched.
Mom walked slowly beside Chacha, fully covered in the black burqa. From the outside she looked like any modest, traditional woman. Only Chacha knew the truth.
Chacha’s hand rested lightly on her lower back through the fabric.
“Log dekh rahe hain na, Bhabhi?” he whispered, voice thick. “Sab soch rahe hain ki kitni achhi biwi hai mere saath. Aur main jaanta hoon… andar aapki chut hawa se touch ho rahi hai. Nipples burqa ke kapde se ragad rahi hain.”
Mom’s voice came muffled but amused from inside the mesh. “Haan Devar ji… bahut geeli ho gayi hoon already. Har step pe feel ho raha hai ki main nangi hoon aur koi bhi dekh sakta hai agar burqa uth jaaye.”
She stopped at a vegetable stall, bending slightly to check tomatoes. The loose burqa shifted. For a split second the front parted just enough that a cool breeze went straight between her naked thighs. She shivered visibly.
Chacha stood close behind her, pretending to help choose. His hand slipped under the side slit of the burqa for a moment — fingers brushing her bare ass cheek.
“Arre… kitni garam hai yahan,” he murmured. “Log dekh rahe hain humein… aur main aapki nangi gaand chhoo raha hoon.”
Mom straightened, voice playful even through the burqa. “Aur thoda aur chhoo lo… par dhyan se. Beta car mein baitha sab dekh raha hai.”
They moved to the clothes section. Mom picked up a saree piece, holding it up as if interested. While the shopkeeper was busy, Chacha stepped closer and whispered, “Socho… agar main abhi burqa ke andar haath daal kar aapki chut mein ungli daal doon… toh kya hoga?”
Mom’s breathing quickened inside the mesh. “Kinky lag raha hai na? Main bhi soch rahi hoon… kitna maza aa raha hai. Sab normal samajh rahe hain… aur main bilkul nangi hoon apne Devar ke saath.”
They walked for almost forty minutes. Every time a group of men passed and stared at the “modest burqa woman,”
Chacha would lean in and describe it to her. Every time wind lifted the hem slightly, Mom would let out a tiny, hidden moan only he could hear.
Finally, near the car, Mom stopped. Through the mesh her eyes found the son sitting inside, watching everything.
She lifted one gloved hand and gave a tiny wave — almost innocent.
Then she turned to Chacha and said loud enough for the son to hear through the open window:
“Ghar chalte hain, Devar ji. Aaj raat poora reward milega tumhe… kyuki tumhari yeh fantasy ne mujhko bahut kinky bana diya hai.”
She got into the car still wearing the burqa.
Chacha drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting possessively on her thigh through the loose fabric. Every few seconds his fingers would slip under the side slit, brushing bare skin, confirming she was still completely naked underneath. He didn't speak much; he didn't need to. The occasional low groan when his thumb grazed higher said enough.
From the back seat, I watched everything. Mom never once turned to look at me. Her eyes — the only part visible through the mesh — stayed forward, calm, almost distant.
Dad was waiting at the gate when they pulled in, arms crossed, face a mix of relief and lingering worry.
As soon as the car stopped, Mom stepped out gracefully. The burqa swayed around her ankles, hiding everything. She walked straight past Dad without a word, into the house.
Inside the living room, she finally stopped. Slowly, deliberately, she reached up and lifted the burqa over her head in one smooth motion.
The black fabric pooled at her feet.
She stood there completely nude — skin flushed from the evening heat and excitement, nipples hard and dark, a visible sheen of arousal between her thighs, pussy lips swollen and glistening. No shame, no hurry to cover up. She just stood, letting the cool AC air hit her bare body.
Dad's eyes widened. Chacha's breath caught audibly.
Mom looked at Chacha first, voice soft but commanding.
“Devar ji… yeh sab tumhare liye tha. Ab reward time hai.”
She turned slightly toward Dad.
“Papa ji, tum worried the na? Ab dekh lo — bilkul safe thi. Aur kitna maza aaya. Tum bhi join karo… par pehle dekh lo kitni geeli ho gayi hoon bas burqa ke andar rehne se.”
She walked to the sofa, sat down with legs parted casually, one hand trailing down her belly to rest just above her mound — not touching yet, just teasing.
Chacha dropped to his knees in front of her instantly, face between her thighs before anyone could speak. His tongue went straight to work — long, hungry licks, tasting how wet the public risk had made her.
Mom moaned low, head falling back.
“Haan… aise hi… market mein soch rahi thi ki agar burqa thoda uth jaaye toh sab dekh lenge… par tumhare haath ne mujhe sambhal liya.”
Dad hesitated for a second — still processing — then moved behind the sofa. He leaned over, cupping her heavy breasts from behind, thumbs circling her nipples.
“Tu sach mein pagal hai,” he muttered, but his voice was thick with arousal. “Par yeh dekh ke… main bhi pagal ho ja raha hoon.”
Mom laughed breathlessly, reaching one hand back to stroke Dad's cheek.
“Papa ji… aaj raat sirf hum teeno. Beta ko bol do jaake so jaaye. Yeh sirf humare liye hai.”
She glanced toward the doorway where the son still stood, frozen.
“Beta… jaa so ja. Kal subah chai bana dena.”
No softness. No invitation. Just dismissal.
Chacha lifted his head briefly, lips shiny with her juices.
“Bhabhi… ab andar daalna hai. Poora raat bhar.”
Mom pulled him up by his shirt, guiding his cock to her entrance while Dad kept playing with her breasts.
“Haan… daal do. Zor se. Aaj mujhe poora bhar do… market ka reward.”
She sank down onto Chacha in one slow motion, taking him deep, then started riding — slow at first, then faster, breasts bouncing in Dad's hands.
The sounds filled the room — wet slapping, moans, Chacha's grateful whispers of “thank you Bhabhi… thank you meri jaan.”
Dad moved to her mouth, feeding her his cock while she rode. She took him eagerly, humming around him.
I watched from the shadows of the hallway for a few more minutes — hard, aching, completely ignored — before quietly turning away to his room.
In the bedroom, Mom came hard twice more — once on Chacha's cock, once with both men switching places — screaming their names, body shaking.
When they finally collapsed in a sweaty tangle, Mom lay between them, still naked, one leg dbangd over Chacha, head on Dad's chest.
She whispered sleepily, “Kal phir market jaana hai… par is baar thoda aur risky. Shayad burqa ke neeche sirf nipple clamps pehen ke.”
Chacha groaned in happy exhaustion. Dad chuckled weakly.
“Tu nahi sudhregi.”
Mom smiled into the dark.
“Nahi sudharna hai”
Next morning was humid. The ceiling fan whirred lazily above the dining table where Dad sat with his chai, newspaper open but unread. His eyes kept flicking toward the kitchen doorway, still processing last night’s events — the burqa, the market, the way Mom had come home dripping and demanding, then fucked both him and Chacha senseless while barely acknowledging the son watching from the shadows.
Mom emerged first, fresh from her bath, wearing nothing but a thin, damp cotton saree wrapped low on her hips. Just the pallu loosely dbangd over one shoulder, barely covering her heavy breasts. Water droplets still clung to her collarbone and the undersides of her tits. She moved with deliberate laziness, hips swaying, knowing exactly what the sight did to him.
Chacha followed a minute later, shirtless, pajama low on his waist, hair still wet, a satisfied grin he couldn’t hide.
Mom poured tea for Dad first, leaning over the table so the pallu slipped just enough to let one boob peek out. She didn’t fix it.
“Papa ji… kal raat achha laga na?” she asked sweetly, voice dripping honey. “Maine notice kiya, jab Devar ji mujhe market se leke aaye aur main burqa utaar ke nangi khadi thi… tumhara lund kitna jaldi khada ho gaya tha.”
Dad cleared his throat, cheeks reddening. “Haan… par risky tha. Main bas—”
Mom cut him off with a soft laugh, sitting sideways on his lap so her bare thigh pressed against his crotch. She could feel him twitch instantly.
“Risky? Arre Papa ji, risky toh Devar ji ka idea tha. Aur kitna kinky tha woh. Socho… main poori nangi, sirf burqa pehen ke, market mein ghum rahi thi. Log soch rahe the ‘kitni sharif aurat hai’… aur andar meri chut hawa se chhoo rahi thi, nipples burqa ke kapde se ragad rahe the. Har kadam pe soch rahi thi — agar burqa uth jaaye toh sab dekh lenge ki main kya pehni hoon… yaani kuch nahi pehni.”
She rocked subtly on his lap, grinding just enough to make him groan.
“Devar ji ne poora time mujhe whisper kiya — ‘Bhabhi, log dekh rahe hain… aur main jaanta hoon aapki gaand kitni garam hai andar.’ Aur main geeli ho gayi thi itni ki juice meri thighs pe tapak raha tha. Tum toh bas ghar pe baith ke worry kar rahe the… par Devar ji ne mujhe itna tease kiya ki main wahan hi cum karne wali thi.”
Dad’s hands gripped her waist instinctively. “Bas Karo ab..Beta sun raha hai.”
Mom glanced toward me. She didn’t lower her voice.
“Beta sun raha hai toh kya? Woh kal car mein sab dekh raha tha. Aur jaanta hai uske Chacha ji kitne kinky hain. Unhone mujhe bola tha — ‘Bhabhi, agle baar nipple clamps pehen ke chalna market mein… main pull karunga chain se jab log dekh rahe honge.’ Kitna naughty hai na tumhara chhota bhai?”
Chacha, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own chai, smirked. “Bhabhi… main toh bas soch raha tha aapko kitna maza aayega. Aur aaya na?”
Mom turned her head toward him, eyes sparkling. “Bahut aaya, Devar ji. Itna ki raat ko maine tum dono ko ek saath liya… par dil mein soch rahi thi — yeh sab tumhare us kinky dimag ki wajah se hua.”
She leaned forward, pressing her bare breasts against Dad’s chest through the thin saree, lips near his ear.
“Papa ji… tum toh hamesha safe-safe khelte ho. ‘Yeh mat karo, woh mat karo.’ Par Devar ji? Woh mujhe nanga burqa pehna ke market le gaye aur mujhe itna garam kar diya ki main wahan khadi reh ke ungli se khud ko chhodne wali thi.
Kitna bada difference hai na — bada bhai safe, chhota bhai mei.”
Dad’s breathing was ragged now, hands sliding up her bare back under the pallu.
“Tu jaan bujh kar mujhe jalati hai.”
Mom laughed softly, grinding down harder on his growing erection.
“Haan jalati hoon. Kyunki mujhe pasand hai jab tum jealous hote ho… aur phir mujhe zor se chodte ho. Par sach bataun? Kal Devar ji ne jo kiya — woh mujhe bahut zyada excite karta hai. Unka yeh fetish… nangi aurat ko public mein cover karke ghumana… yeh toh alag level ka thrill hai. Tum bhi try karoge na kabhi?”
She stood up suddenly, letting the pallu fall completely so her breasts were fully exposed to both men. She walked to Chacha, pressed her naked body against him, and kissed him deep — tongue sliding in slow, wet circles.
When she broke the kiss, she looked back at Dad over her shoulder.
“Papa ji… aaj dopahar mein Chacha ji mujhe phir market le jayenge. Is baar thoda aur kinky — shayad burqa ke andar remote vibrator. Tum ghar pe rehna… aur sochna ki main kitni zor se moan kar rahi hoongi aur koi nahi sun pa raha. Phir shaam ko jab wapas aaungi… tum dono mujhe saath mein le sakte ho.”
She patted Chacha’s cheek affectionately.
“Devar ji, taiyaar raho. Aaj mei tumhari sari fetish ko poora kar dugi.”
Dad groaned, head falling back against the chair. “Tu sach mein pagal hai.”
Mom smiled wickedly, walking toward the bedroom — hips swaying, completely naked now, saree left in a puddle on the floor.
“Pagalpan pasand hai na tum dono ko? Toh aaj raat dekhna… kitna pagalpan karungi main.”
I stayed silent at the table, untouched chai growing cold, while Mom disappeared into the bedroom with Chacha following close behind — already hard again.
Dad sat there a moment longer, then stood, adjusting himself with a sigh.
“Chalo… main bhi dekhta hoon kitna kinky ban sakta hai yeh din.”
The house filled with the soft sounds of anticipation — and Mom’s low, teasing laughter echoing from the bedroom.
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