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

[thoristhanos]

I jerked back from the screen as if shocked. She enveloped the head of his cock with her lips, her cheeks hollowing as she began to suck. A soft, slurping sound filtered through the speakers. She moved her head up and down in a slow, exploratory rhythm, one hand wrapping around the base of him to guide her movements.


She’s sucking his dick. The thought was a blunt instrument to my soul. She’s giving him a blowjob on my father’s bed.

After a minute, she pulled off with a wet pop. A string of saliva connected her lips to his glistening crown. Still looking at him, she leaned to the side and rubbed the slippery head over one of her stiff nipples. She moaned, the sound genuine and wanton. She turned her body, dragging his cock across her chest to the other nipple, pressing it there, rolling the sensitive nub under the broad, smooth head.

“You like that?” Aakash grunted, his voice strained.

“I love it,” she gasped. “I love how hard you are for me.”



She became rougher, more frantic. She clenched his shaft tightly in her fist and started grinding him against her breasts with force, using him like a tool on her own body. For five minutes, she pleasured herself with his cock, rubbing it over her cleavage, her nipples, her sternum, all while licking her lips and swallowing audibly, as if the very sight of him made her ravenous.

Then she paused. She put both hands on the sides of her breasts and pushed them together, creating a deep, inviting valley of cleavage. She guided his cock into that warm, soft tunnel.




Oh god. A boobjob. She’s giving him a fucking boobjob.

But she stopped almost immediately, as if remembering something crucial. Her hand flew to her back, where the mangalsutra lay. She gathered the chain and pulled it around to the front. Carefully, almost ritualistically, she adjusted it so the black beads and the two golden vatis rested perfectly in the center of her cleavage, between her pressed-together breasts.

My blood ran cold. No. No, she wouldn’t.

She recreated the tunnel with her breasts, the mangalsutra now centered within it. Then, with a look of fierce determination, she guided Aakash’s cock back into the space. But now, as she began to move her torso up and down, sliding her breasts along his length, his shaft rubbed directly against the sacred symbol of her first marriage.

Thrust, rub, thrust, rub. The mangalsutra beads would press into his flesh, then into hers, a perverse middleman in their act. She increased her pace, her breasts bouncing, the mangalsutra swinging and slapping against their heated skin. In between strokes, she would duck her head to lick the tip of his cock, swallowing the pre-cum that leaked copiously from him.

She kept this up for fifteen agonizing minutes. On screen, Aakash’s face was a mask of intense concentration, his jaw clenched, his abdominal muscles taut. He was close.

Sensing it, my mother moved faster, her body a piston. She was literally jumping on her knees now, driving her breasts up and down his shaft with frantic energy.

“Parineeti… I’m gonna…” he warned, his voice a guttural rasp.

She didn’t stop. She tilted her face down, opening her mouth wide like a baby bird.

With a choked roar, Aakash came.

The first powerful jet shot straight into her waiting mouth. I saw her throat convulse as she swallowed it instantly. She lifted her face, semen glistening on her lips, her eyes triumphant as she met his gaze.

The second burst hit her neck, a white streak against her skin that began to drip downward toward her collarbone and the mangalsutra.




Acting quickly, she released her breast grip. She took his still-spurting cock in her right hand and aimed it directly at the pendant of the mangalsutra lying in her cleavage.

Splat. Splat. Splat.

The third, fourth, and fifth shots landed with perfect accuracy, drenching the sacred gold cups and black beads in thick, white semen. The symbol of my father’s claim was defiled, coated in the seed of his enemy.

Only then did she direct his wilting cock toward her breasts, smearing the last few drops over her nipples, painting them white.




For a long moment, there was silence except for their ragged panting. Aakash’s cock, now softening, rested in her sticky hand.

Then, my mother did something so profoundly depraved that I felt the last vestige of my childhood tear away forever.

She stuck out her tongue. The first load of his cum, which she hadn’t fully swallowed, was still pooled there. She slowly licked her lips, coating them in the viscous fluid. Then, with a deliberate finger, she scooped some from her tongue and dabbed it onto the already semen-soaked mangalsutra, as if anointing it further.

She threw her head back and swallowed the rest with a loud, satisfied gulp.

“Mine,” she whispered hoarsely, looking at Aakash.

Then, as if in a trance, she took his semi-flaccid, cum-smeared cock and began to rub it over her face. Over her nose, her cheeks, her semen-coated lips. She dragged the sticky head across her forehead, through the decorative bindi, and then up through the sindoor in her hair parting. The crimson powder mixed with the white semen, creating a pinkish, filthy paste.

Finally, she rubbed him over her neck and, with a final act of symbolic desecration, over the mangalsutra one more time.

She had taken the ultimate emblem of her marriage to my father and transformed it into a trophy of her conquest by Aakash, plastered with his essence.

Utterly spent, she reached for his discarded briefs from the floor. Not with disgust, but with practicality. She used the soft black cotton to wipe the semen from her face, her neck, her breasts, and the mangalsutra, cleaning the sacred symbol with the fabric that had so recently contained her lover’s cock.

On my laptop screen, in the silent darkness of my hostel room, I watched my mother complete her transformation. She was no longer a victim, a widow, or even a cheating wife. She was a celebrant in a vile sacrament, and she had just consummated her new faith all over the ruins of the old one. The sight didn’t just hurt; it hollowed me out, leaving behind a cavern of icy, impotent rage.