10-05-2026, 12:06 PM
I couldn't completely shake off what happened at that store. Two days later, I bought broadband service and told my son, “You don't need to go out and buy it anymore—just watch it right here.”
From now on, I don't have to go to places like that anymore. I felt a bit of relief that I didn't have to show anything to anyone. But I later realized that that relief would only last a short time.
After I gave him an internet connection, he never came out cleanly. He was always in his room watching porn. His condition kept me from sleeping. No matter how many times I asked, he wouldn't even come out to eat.
Day by day, I was at a loss, not knowing what to do about his condition. One day, when my younger brother came from the village, I forced my son to come out for that day only. While he ate with us, he didn't say a single word. As soon as he finished eating, he immediately went back to his room.
When my younger brother asked me, I hid the fact that he was watching porn and, crying, told him all my other worries. Seeing how worried I was, my brother took my son outside and gave him an hour-long lecture. My son, who listened patiently, then went back into the room without saying a word.
My brother, fed up, went off to town, and I, resigned to my fate, washed everything and went into the bathroom to do the laundry. Just then my son burst in, glared at me, and angrily asked, “What are you telling my brother about me to embarrass me?”
I remembered what the doctor had told me then: ‘Under no circumstances should you provoke him.’ And here he was, glaring at me right in front of my ex. Not knowing how to handle him, I stammered, 'I...I didn't...say...anything...'
“You didn't say anything, so he just went and talked to me like that… you're the one who kept complaining… what am I supposed to do with you…” he said angrily, then scooped up the water from the bucket and poured it over me. In that rush, my sari slipped down and I was soaked to the skin.
Since I was at home, I wasn't wearing a bra, so my nipples were poking through my jacket, soaked in water. I didn't notice it at first; I was just thinking about what to do to calm my son down.
My son didn't notice it either; in his anger he said, “If raising you was that hard, maybe you should just go,” and then he poured half of the water from another bucket over me—only then did his gaze fall on my chest.
This time my white jacket was completely soaked, revealing my breasts. I felt my son's angry gaze slowly soften, and that's when I realized he was looking at my breasts.
As soon as I felt like my son was looking at my breast, my hand instinctively went to pull up my sari, but I stopped myself because he would get angry again. That could have endangered his life. I just stood there.
The moment I thought my son was looking at my breast, my hand instinctively went to pull up my sari, but if I did that, he would get angry again. That could endanger his life. I just stood there.
My son staring at my breast like that made my whole body tingle; I felt like just crumpling up and sitting right there. Up until now, I had endured the lewd words of some man and even shown my ass to him, all for my son's sake, and this was for him too. I just stood there.
My son, still staring at my breasts, slowly poured the rest of the water over me. Watching it run down my body made me even more embarrassed, and his anger seemed to subside. He said, “Don't do this again,” and rushed to his room. I stood there, motionless, for a few moments.
What a thing to do. Would any mother stand there showing her breasts to her son? I stood there for my son, for his well-being. I didn't know any other way out that day.
Days passed, and there was no change in my son's condition. I couldn't focus properly on my work either. A week later, by chance, I noticed the door to his room was ajar. I quietly peeked inside.
My son wasn't there; he might have gone to the bathroom. Fine, at that moment I saw a plate on the table where he'd finished eating, so I quietly went in and picked it up. As I did, my hand brushed the mouse cable and it moved.
As soon as the mouse moved, the computer screen suddenly turned on, and I was startled. Then, calming myself down, I picked up the plate and looked at the screen. It looked like some kind of bathroom. Thinking it was some kind of porn, I turned away, but then suddenly something hit me. I stared at the screen and realized it was my own bathroom—the very one I shower in every day.
When I was showering, I saw my own bangles that I had hung on the wall, and my clothes from yesterday sitting in the corner... I didn't stay there any longer; I moved away immediately.
Has my son been secretly watching me and his mom shower, making porn videos of us all this time without my knowledge? How could he have the heart to do something like this? Maybe I should have covered my breasts when he came into my bathroom to pour water that day.
It's over, it's all over. What do I do now? What if I just don't go there? If I do that, my son will know I found out. I can't even imagine what he'll do then.
Starting with little porn clips and now watching his mother bathe as if it were a porn movie… tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped them away. By now he must be sitting in front of his computer; it's time for me to bathe… what am I to do…
I went straight to the bathroom, staring at the floor… I thought, what if he comes back? I took a deep breath and slowly removed my sari. Now I was standing in my jacket and petticoat.
My son must be watching all this; it felt like I was doing it right in front of him. Next was my jacket… but my hands wouldn't lift. I forced my arm up and undid the first button. My breathless breasts got a little air.
I undid the next clasp, and half of my breast was exposed. My son must be watching… thinking of that, his… I gasped again as I undid the last clasp and my entire breast sagged. I felt like I was standing naked right then.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and without looking up, I took off my jacket. Half-naked, with my breasts hanging, I stood there showing them to my son through the camera. I tried to calm myself, thinking I could just take off my skirt next, pour some water, and get out of there quickly.
The skirt's tie came undone and it slipped right off, leaving me standing there completely exposed. As tears welled up, I suddenly poured the cold water over my head, my tears mixing with the water... but would my son understand any of this? That I'm doing it all for him.
Would he get angry if he found out? Would he stop everything? Or, I wondered, seeing my naked body, would he do the very thing I feared he might be doing? Just then, the door opened and my son walked in.
I stood there naked, looking at him pitifully, and he took my hand, pulled me, and stood me under the camera he had in his bathroom. “Stand like this and shower... turn around every now and then... and when you lather up with soap,” he said, pointing up at the camera, “do it while watching this...” Turn around, show your ass to the camera, and lather up," he said, and then he left. 79
I couldn't process what had just happened. Had my son just told me how to pose for his camera? Did he tell me to show my body, even knowing I was aware of the camera… 80
I stood there motionless for a moment, and the next, I stood in front of the camera my son had set up, showing him my body as I bathed. I took the soap and, just as he told me, soaped myself, showing everything—my breasts, my pussy, my ass—to the camera.
You can think whatever you want of me for doing this, but for my son, for his life, if I show my body and he masturbates watching it, then in the end I have to show it, right?
As I finished showering and was changing into other clothes, my son came back again and said, “Superma, take the same shower like this every day.” It was the first time he had spoken to me, and then he left. At that moment, I felt a new confidence that my son would definitely get better.
With that hope, I started showing my butt to my son in the bathroom every day. In the belief that he would surely
get better...
But what did he do... I'll tell you in the next part...
To be continued...
From now on, I don't have to go to places like that anymore. I felt a bit of relief that I didn't have to show anything to anyone. But I later realized that that relief would only last a short time.
After I gave him an internet connection, he never came out cleanly. He was always in his room watching porn. His condition kept me from sleeping. No matter how many times I asked, he wouldn't even come out to eat.
Day by day, I was at a loss, not knowing what to do about his condition. One day, when my younger brother came from the village, I forced my son to come out for that day only. While he ate with us, he didn't say a single word. As soon as he finished eating, he immediately went back to his room.
When my younger brother asked me, I hid the fact that he was watching porn and, crying, told him all my other worries. Seeing how worried I was, my brother took my son outside and gave him an hour-long lecture. My son, who listened patiently, then went back into the room without saying a word.
My brother, fed up, went off to town, and I, resigned to my fate, washed everything and went into the bathroom to do the laundry. Just then my son burst in, glared at me, and angrily asked, “What are you telling my brother about me to embarrass me?”
I remembered what the doctor had told me then: ‘Under no circumstances should you provoke him.’ And here he was, glaring at me right in front of my ex. Not knowing how to handle him, I stammered, 'I...I didn't...say...anything...'
“You didn't say anything, so he just went and talked to me like that… you're the one who kept complaining… what am I supposed to do with you…” he said angrily, then scooped up the water from the bucket and poured it over me. In that rush, my sari slipped down and I was soaked to the skin.
Since I was at home, I wasn't wearing a bra, so my nipples were poking through my jacket, soaked in water. I didn't notice it at first; I was just thinking about what to do to calm my son down.
My son didn't notice it either; in his anger he said, “If raising you was that hard, maybe you should just go,” and then he poured half of the water from another bucket over me—only then did his gaze fall on my chest.
This time my white jacket was completely soaked, revealing my breasts. I felt my son's angry gaze slowly soften, and that's when I realized he was looking at my breasts.
As soon as I felt like my son was looking at my breast, my hand instinctively went to pull up my sari, but I stopped myself because he would get angry again. That could have endangered his life. I just stood there.
The moment I thought my son was looking at my breast, my hand instinctively went to pull up my sari, but if I did that, he would get angry again. That could endanger his life. I just stood there.
My son staring at my breast like that made my whole body tingle; I felt like just crumpling up and sitting right there. Up until now, I had endured the lewd words of some man and even shown my ass to him, all for my son's sake, and this was for him too. I just stood there.
My son, still staring at my breasts, slowly poured the rest of the water over me. Watching it run down my body made me even more embarrassed, and his anger seemed to subside. He said, “Don't do this again,” and rushed to his room. I stood there, motionless, for a few moments.
What a thing to do. Would any mother stand there showing her breasts to her son? I stood there for my son, for his well-being. I didn't know any other way out that day.
Days passed, and there was no change in my son's condition. I couldn't focus properly on my work either. A week later, by chance, I noticed the door to his room was ajar. I quietly peeked inside.
My son wasn't there; he might have gone to the bathroom. Fine, at that moment I saw a plate on the table where he'd finished eating, so I quietly went in and picked it up. As I did, my hand brushed the mouse cable and it moved.
As soon as the mouse moved, the computer screen suddenly turned on, and I was startled. Then, calming myself down, I picked up the plate and looked at the screen. It looked like some kind of bathroom. Thinking it was some kind of porn, I turned away, but then suddenly something hit me. I stared at the screen and realized it was my own bathroom—the very one I shower in every day.
When I was showering, I saw my own bangles that I had hung on the wall, and my clothes from yesterday sitting in the corner... I didn't stay there any longer; I moved away immediately.
Has my son been secretly watching me and his mom shower, making porn videos of us all this time without my knowledge? How could he have the heart to do something like this? Maybe I should have covered my breasts when he came into my bathroom to pour water that day.
It's over, it's all over. What do I do now? What if I just don't go there? If I do that, my son will know I found out. I can't even imagine what he'll do then.
Starting with little porn clips and now watching his mother bathe as if it were a porn movie… tears welled up in my eyes, and I wiped them away. By now he must be sitting in front of his computer; it's time for me to bathe… what am I to do…
I went straight to the bathroom, staring at the floor… I thought, what if he comes back? I took a deep breath and slowly removed my sari. Now I was standing in my jacket and petticoat.
My son must be watching all this; it felt like I was doing it right in front of him. Next was my jacket… but my hands wouldn't lift. I forced my arm up and undid the first button. My breathless breasts got a little air.
I undid the next clasp, and half of my breast was exposed. My son must be watching… thinking of that, his… I gasped again as I undid the last clasp and my entire breast sagged. I felt like I was standing naked right then.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and without looking up, I took off my jacket. Half-naked, with my breasts hanging, I stood there showing them to my son through the camera. I tried to calm myself, thinking I could just take off my skirt next, pour some water, and get out of there quickly.
The skirt's tie came undone and it slipped right off, leaving me standing there completely exposed. As tears welled up, I suddenly poured the cold water over my head, my tears mixing with the water... but would my son understand any of this? That I'm doing it all for him.
Would he get angry if he found out? Would he stop everything? Or, I wondered, seeing my naked body, would he do the very thing I feared he might be doing? Just then, the door opened and my son walked in.
I stood there naked, looking at him pitifully, and he took my hand, pulled me, and stood me under the camera he had in his bathroom. “Stand like this and shower... turn around every now and then... and when you lather up with soap,” he said, pointing up at the camera, “do it while watching this...” Turn around, show your ass to the camera, and lather up," he said, and then he left. 79
I couldn't process what had just happened. Had my son just told me how to pose for his camera? Did he tell me to show my body, even knowing I was aware of the camera… 80
I stood there motionless for a moment, and the next, I stood in front of the camera my son had set up, showing him my body as I bathed. I took the soap and, just as he told me, soaped myself, showing everything—my breasts, my pussy, my ass—to the camera.
You can think whatever you want of me for doing this, but for my son, for his life, if I show my body and he masturbates watching it, then in the end I have to show it, right?
As I finished showering and was changing into other clothes, my son came back again and said, “Superma, take the same shower like this every day.” It was the first time he had spoken to me, and then he left. At that moment, I felt a new confidence that my son would definitely get better.
With that hope, I started showing my butt to my son in the bathroom every day. In the belief that he would surely
get better...
But what did he do... I'll tell you in the next part...
To be continued...
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)