10-05-2026, 02:13 AM
I turned onto my right side, my body heavy with exhaustion. It’s just a dream, I told myself again. I was so drained that even the restless interruptions in my sleep couldn’t keep me awake for long. I extended my feet, and dragged the tangled blanket back over my legs with my feet, eyes still closed, then sank once more into the overbearing sleep.
---
Mummy is looking breathtaking in that magenta pink saree. She always looks beautiful, but this one is different, reserved only for special occasions and festivals. The rich silk clinging to her full curves, the color glowing against her fair skin like petals covering white marble floor. She has dbangd the pallu modestly over her head, the way she always does, with minimal jewellery – just her long magalasutra and jhumkas in ear, catching the light whenever she is moving. The simplicity is making her look even more radiant.
But what is she doing here, near the temple?
The temple bells are echoing in the background, movements of the devotees are felt, and the murmur of prayers is coming from a distance. The air smelled of incense, camphor, and jasmine. Then I see it – she is standing gracefully on the wide stone steps, offering food to the poor sitting there. This is something she does several times a year, ever since Pandit ji had advised her. She is interacting with quiet dignity as she is leaning forward to serve. The dbang of her saree accentuating the generous swell of her breasts and the soft curve of her waist.
The beneficiaries are blessing her and she is just smiling and accepting those with a genuine namaskar. She is too generous, too heavenly to get disgusted by those poor, unhealthy people and her face is looking as fresh as ever.
She extends the plate toward the next man with a gentle smile. His fingers deliberately brushes against hers as he takes it, lingering a second too long. She pretends not to notice and softly says, “Please enjoy the food,” before turning away. That’s when the man’s one hand catches her hand and pulls her down to him. Her eyes widen with disbelief and she can’t even breathe with fear as the man speaks, and the voice that comes out is dangerously familiar — low, husky, and dripping with hunger - “Just Khana? I want Maja as well…”
---
I gulped, wetted my dry lips and changed the side… What a filthy dream it is. I pulled the blanket, this time covering my face as well and forced myself to sleep.
---
It’s a pleasant evening. Mummy is walking the road from the bazaar to my house. The road is fully secluded, not even a dog wandering around. And I can see mummy is tired with both hands holding bags full of veggies, fruits and ration. Her fair face is covered with sweat droplets as if those are dew, and she is hissing and walking slowly towards the house.
And suddenly a figure blocks her road. She gulps, her face depicts the limit of panic. The bags literally spill out of her hand and items scatter on the road. Her head shakes in denial.
“Majaaaa” the voice comes and she starts running to the opposite direction, picking up her saree plates with one hand and her fleshy and juicy bum jiggles erotically through that saree. The figure follows her with confident and unhurried pace. As he passes through the scattered groceries, he steps over a juicy, ripe orange. The fruit burst under his shoe with a wet, obscene sound. Pulp explodes outward, sweet juice spraying across the road like thick, sticky nectar.
---
Man that was another filthy dream. Had I lost my mind? I felt helpless. I bit on the blanket fabric and soon regretted it. My dry-turning mouth bittered as some fabric loosened into my mouth. I slept on my stomach now, dug my face in a soft pillow and slowly fell asleep.
---
Mummy is standing at the door. She is holding two tiffin boxes in her hand, one for me and the other for papa. As we say goodbye to her, she responds cheerfully, reminding me that she wants to see my tiffin empty. And that for papa she has made his favorite methi (fenugreek leaves) sabji, which doctor has also suggested him to have as he has turned diabetic.
She turns back and there he stands.
“All gone… with khana… give me mine..”
She pushes him and vanishes inside the home. And that Rambo guy smiles mischievously as he locks front door from inside and spells “Khub Khana, bahut Maja”
---
I finally woke up. Full of sweat and a shameful erection. I checked at the clock. It was 4 AM in the morning and I understood I needed to do something for our well being, our mental health – mine and for my mummy’s too.
---
Mummy is looking breathtaking in that magenta pink saree. She always looks beautiful, but this one is different, reserved only for special occasions and festivals. The rich silk clinging to her full curves, the color glowing against her fair skin like petals covering white marble floor. She has dbangd the pallu modestly over her head, the way she always does, with minimal jewellery – just her long magalasutra and jhumkas in ear, catching the light whenever she is moving. The simplicity is making her look even more radiant.
But what is she doing here, near the temple?
The temple bells are echoing in the background, movements of the devotees are felt, and the murmur of prayers is coming from a distance. The air smelled of incense, camphor, and jasmine. Then I see it – she is standing gracefully on the wide stone steps, offering food to the poor sitting there. This is something she does several times a year, ever since Pandit ji had advised her. She is interacting with quiet dignity as she is leaning forward to serve. The dbang of her saree accentuating the generous swell of her breasts and the soft curve of her waist.
The beneficiaries are blessing her and she is just smiling and accepting those with a genuine namaskar. She is too generous, too heavenly to get disgusted by those poor, unhealthy people and her face is looking as fresh as ever.
She extends the plate toward the next man with a gentle smile. His fingers deliberately brushes against hers as he takes it, lingering a second too long. She pretends not to notice and softly says, “Please enjoy the food,” before turning away. That’s when the man’s one hand catches her hand and pulls her down to him. Her eyes widen with disbelief and she can’t even breathe with fear as the man speaks, and the voice that comes out is dangerously familiar — low, husky, and dripping with hunger - “Just Khana? I want Maja as well…”
---
I gulped, wetted my dry lips and changed the side… What a filthy dream it is. I pulled the blanket, this time covering my face as well and forced myself to sleep.
---
It’s a pleasant evening. Mummy is walking the road from the bazaar to my house. The road is fully secluded, not even a dog wandering around. And I can see mummy is tired with both hands holding bags full of veggies, fruits and ration. Her fair face is covered with sweat droplets as if those are dew, and she is hissing and walking slowly towards the house.
And suddenly a figure blocks her road. She gulps, her face depicts the limit of panic. The bags literally spill out of her hand and items scatter on the road. Her head shakes in denial.
“Majaaaa” the voice comes and she starts running to the opposite direction, picking up her saree plates with one hand and her fleshy and juicy bum jiggles erotically through that saree. The figure follows her with confident and unhurried pace. As he passes through the scattered groceries, he steps over a juicy, ripe orange. The fruit burst under his shoe with a wet, obscene sound. Pulp explodes outward, sweet juice spraying across the road like thick, sticky nectar.
---
Man that was another filthy dream. Had I lost my mind? I felt helpless. I bit on the blanket fabric and soon regretted it. My dry-turning mouth bittered as some fabric loosened into my mouth. I slept on my stomach now, dug my face in a soft pillow and slowly fell asleep.
---
Mummy is standing at the door. She is holding two tiffin boxes in her hand, one for me and the other for papa. As we say goodbye to her, she responds cheerfully, reminding me that she wants to see my tiffin empty. And that for papa she has made his favorite methi (fenugreek leaves) sabji, which doctor has also suggested him to have as he has turned diabetic.
She turns back and there he stands.
“All gone… with khana… give me mine..”
She pushes him and vanishes inside the home. And that Rambo guy smiles mischievously as he locks front door from inside and spells “Khub Khana, bahut Maja”
---
I finally woke up. Full of sweat and a shameful erection. I checked at the clock. It was 4 AM in the morning and I understood I needed to do something for our well being, our mental health – mine and for my mummy’s too.
Like erotic stories? check my Profile
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)