Adultery Dad's Enemy Made My Mom Heartless (COMPLETED!!)

[thoristhanos]

They were talking, their voices low murmurs on the audio track. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was intimate, loving. This wasn't just fucking. This was romance. This was the honeymoon she was supposed to have had with my father twenty years ago, now being performed for his greatest enemy.





A hot, confusing pressure built behind my eyes and simultaneously pooled in my lap. My cock was hard, straining against my jeans, throbbing in time with my racing heart. The guilt was a physical acid in my throat, but it was no match for the raw, voyeuristic arousal. With a trembling hand, I unzipped my pants, my eyes glued to the screen where my mother rested peacefully in the arms of the man who had orchestrated our family's ruin. As my hand moved, I hated myself, I hated her, I hated him, but most of all, I hated the undeniable, depraved truth: I was about to jerk off to my own cuckolding.

The intimate tableau on the screen held for another fifteen agonizing, slow-burning minutes. My mother’s hand would drift down from Aakash’s chest, her fingers tracing the hard lines of his abdomen before curling around his circumcised cock. She would give it a few lazy, exploratory strokes, her bangles softly clinking with each movement, before returning her hand to rest on his chest, as if savoring the feel of him. The casual ownership in that gesture—the way she handled the very instrument of my father’s humiliation with such familiarity—sent a fresh wave of conflicting heat through me.

Then, she pushed herself up onto her knees beside him. For a long moment, she just looked at his cock, her expression one of focused reverence. She leaned down and pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the swollen head. Then another, lower, on the shaft. Her tongue emerged, a pink flash in the hotel room light, and she dragged it slowly from the base all the way back to the tip, swirling around the broad, smooth crown. Aakash groaned, his hips lifting off the mattress.





Emboldened, she opened her mouth and took him in, not all at once, but with a slow, deliberate descent that made her lips stretch wide. Once she’d taken as much as she could, she began to move. At first it was a gentle, almost meditative rhythm—up and down, her cheeks hollowing with suction. But soon, she gathered momentum. Her head began to bob faster, deeper. Each time she plunged down, his thick, circumcised cock disappeared right to the back of her throat, and I could see her neck muscles working to accommodate him. The wet, obscene sounds filled my headphones: the slick gluck-gluck-gluck of her saliva, the sharp gasps she took through her nose when she came up for air, the low, continuous moans vibrating from her own throat around his flesh.

Her hands worked in tandem with her mouth, stroking what she couldn’t take, her forearms a shimmering cascade of clinking gold bangles. Aakash’s hands, which had been resting at his sides, now moved to her. One tangled in her disheveled hair, not forcing, but guiding. The other found her heavy, milk-full breast. He squeezed it, his fingers sinking into the impossibly soft flesh, and a small, surprised bead of milk instantly welled from her nipple, pearling white against the dark areola. The sight was so profoundly wrong it stole my breath. He thumbed the droplet, spreading it over her skin, then cupped her entire breast, kneading it as she sucked him with increasing ferocity.

“Ahhh, Parineeti… fuck…” he groaned, his voice ragged. “I love you, don’t stop… I’m gonna come!”

Hearing this, her movements became frantic. She used more tongue, swirling it wildly around the head on every upstroke, sucking so hard her cheeks seemed to cave in. Aakash’s legs began to tremble. His hand fisted in her hair, holding her head firmly in place as his back arched off the bed. With a final, choked cry, he came.

I watched, mesmerized and sickened, as his cock pulsed violently in her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, her throat working, but the sheer volume was too much. Thick, white ropes of his cum shot out past her stretched lips, splattering across the full, creamy slopes of her 38DD breasts and dripping onto the soft, protruding swell of her belly. A stray strand landed on her mangalsutra, desecrating the gold chain with his seed.



Spent, Aakash collapsed back onto the bed, senseless, his now-softening cock slipping from her bruised lips. My mother sat back on her haunches for a moment, catching her breath, a glistening trail of his cum still connecting her lower lip to his limp flesh. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then got up—her heavy breasts swaying, milk and semen mingling on her skin—and walked out of frame to clean up.