Adultery The Motherly Slut of Paschim Vihar

[bikiniking]

I had just finished an early afternoon net session at the North Campus grounds. The coaches had kept us longer than planned, running us through fielding drills under the harsh Delhi sun until my shoulders burned and my legs felt heavy. The heat had been relentless, dry, baking, the kind that turns the grass patchy and makes the ball sting harder when it hits the palm. Mayank dropped me home in his old i20 around two-thirty. The car’s air-conditioning was half-dead, so the ride back to Paschim Vihar had been sticky and quiet except for the low drone of the engine and the occasional rattle of the loose seatbelt buckle.

As I stepped out he leaned over the passenger seat, one arm still dbangd across the wheel.

“Practice tomorrow at seven sharp, Bunty. Don’t be late. Sahil said he might come too. Looks like he’s trying to get back into form.”

I nodded, closed the door, and watched him drive off. The street in our Paschim Vihar block was quiet in the afternoon heat. Most houses stood identical three-storey structures with neat parking spaces and flowering plants along the walls. A stray dog slept under a parked scooter. Somewhere a pressure cooker whistled once and then fell silent. Dad was again away at an industrial fair in Pune. He would not return for another four days. That fact sat quietly in the back of my mind, a small, cold weight I had learned to carry without looking at it directly.

I pushed open the front gate and walked in. Mom’s white Honda City was parked in its usual place, the windshield catching the slanted light. I kicked off my dusty shoes near the entrance, the same habit she always scolded me for, and climbed the stairs to the first floor. The living room was empty and still. A faint trace of her jasmine perfume hung in the air, mixed with the warmer scent of the afternoon. Then I heard it - soft laughter coming from the master bedroom, followed by a low male voice.

My stomach tightened. I already knew.

I moved carefully, placing each foot on the wooden steps with deliberate silence so they would not creak. The bedroom door stood half open. Through the gap I could see them clearly in the soft afternoon light that filtered through the sheer curtains.
Sahil stood behind my mother. She wore a soft peach cotton saree, the pallu dbangd loosely over one shoulder. The low cut blouse beneath it clung tightly to her heavy breasts, the thin fabric stretched across the full curves. Sahil’s hands rested on her waist, then slowly slid down to cup the full curves of her ass through the fabric. He pressed his body against her back. Even from the hallway I could see the thick outline of his cock straining against his jeans, the denim pulled tight across the heavy shape.

“Aunty, we have the whole afternoon,” he murmured against her ear, voice low and rough. “Bunty is at practice. Your husband is not coming back for days. No one will disturb us. I can take my time with you.”

Mom’s breath caught. “Sahil… beta, what are you doing?” 

The words held almost no real resistance. Her hands stayed on the dresser in front of her, fingers curling against the polished wood, and she pushed her hips back slightly against him, a small, involuntary movement that pressed her soft ass more firmly into the hard ridge in his jeans.

Sahil’s hands moved higher. He reached around and squeezed both of her breasts hard through the blouse. Mom gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder. The sound was soft, almost private, but it carried clearly to where I stood.

“You feel so soft,” he said, voice thick with hunger. 

“Every time you bend over in the kitchen I get hard looking at this body. The way the saree pulls tight across your ass when you reach for something on the top shelf. I want all of you. I want to feel these heavy tits in my hands without the blouse in the way. I want to push inside you and stay there until you forget your own name.”

She giggled like a college girl...

He pulled the pallu free and let it fall to the floor in a soft heap. Then his fingers worked the hooks of her blouse one by one. The blouse opened slowly. Underneath she wore a black lace bra that barely contained her. The cups were already strained; when he yanked them down her breasts spilled free - full, heavy, the dark nipples already hard and standing out. He grabbed them from behind, pinching both peaks roughly between his fingers and thumbs, rolling them, tugging them until she made a broken little sound in her throat.

Mom moaned. “Ah… Sahil… not so hard… wait… mmmh… but it feels good… your hands are so rough… keep doing that…”



She did not stop him. Sahil turned her around and pushed her gently until she sat on the edge of the large bed. Her breasts were fully exposed now, rising and falling with her quick breaths. He stripped without hurry - shirt first, the fabric pulling up over his lean, athletic chest and the dark trail of hair that ran down his stomach, then jeans and boxers shoved down together. His cock sprang free, thick, veined, already leaking clear fluid at the tip. It looked even heavier than the last time I had watched them through this same door. The head was flushed dark, the shaft thick enough that I could see the veins standing out along its length.

Mom licked her lips slowly. “Ye to har baar bada hi hota ja raha hai (It's getting bigger every week),” she whispered. “But somehow it fits inside me every time. I still feel it the next morning when I walk.”

Sahil stepped closer and rested a hand on the back of her head. “Open your mouth, Aunty. Show me how you miss this. Show me how a married woman sucks cock when her husband is far away.”

She did. She licked the head first, tasting the precum, her tongue swirling slowly around the sensitive ridge. Then she took him deeper. Her full lips stretched around the thick shaft. Wet, filthy sounds filled the quiet room as she bobbed her head, taking more each time until her nose nearly touched his stomach. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes from the effort, but she kept going, saliva running down her chin and dripping onto her bare breasts in long, shiny strands.

Sahil held her head firmly and began thrusting in shallow strokes, fucking her mouth. “That’s it. Use that married mouth. Your husband never makes you take it this deep, does he? He doesn’t know how greedy you really are. Look at you - tears in your eyes and still trying to swallow more. Good girl. Take it. Let me feel the back of your throat.”

Mom pulled back just enough to speak, a thick string of spit still connecting her lips to his glistening cock.

“No… he is always gentle. Soft. He finishes quick and rolls over. You use me the way I need. You make me feel like a woman again. You stretch my mouth and make me choke and still I want more.”

Then she swallowed him once more, deeper this time, gagging softly but refusing to stop. Her hand came up to stroke the base of his shaft while she worked, her fingers wet with her own spit.

I stayed hidden in the hallway, one hand already inside my shorts, stroking slowly. My own mother on her knees for my college friend. The same mouth that still packed my protein shakes in the morning and reminded me to wash my cricket kit was stretched wide around another boy’s cock. The sight made my stomach twist with a mixture of anger, disbelief, and unwanted heat that I could not push away. My cock was already hard, the head leaking against the fabric of my shorts.

After several long minutes Sahil pulled free with a wet pop. Spit trailed from her lips.



He told her to lie back on the bed. Mom scrambled into position, the remaining fabric of the saree still tangled around her waist. Sahil yanked the petticoat and her black lace panties down together in one motion and tossed them aside. Her pussy was already soaked - dark trimmed hair glistening with arousal, the pink inner lips swollen and shiny. A thin trail of wetness ran down toward the tight entrance of her ass.