10-10-2026, 05:11 PM
(This post was last modified: 10-10-2026, 05:12 PM by chrisgale159. Edited 2 times in total. Edited 2 times in total.)
I snapped back to reality only when Mom asked me to order dinner. She said she wanted something light, so I ordered just salad and soup.
Then, we started eating while watching the news on TV.
My mind was still miles away, and I was staring blankly at the screen; I had no idea what was actually playing.
Just then, Mom’s voice reached my ears. She said something, but because my attention was elsewhere, I didn't hear it clearly.
It felt as though her voice was coming from far away.
Mom grew a bit irritated and said with annoyance, "You shouldn't drink so much that you can't even hear what the person in front of you is saying."
Her rebuke startled me. Little did she know that I hadn't actually drunk too much; rather, I had seen something that had left me deeply unsettled.
I said, "I'm sorry, Amma. It’s not the drinking; I’m just exhausted from the journey. That’s why I didn't hear you."
Then I looked at Mom, and my gaze fell directly on her cleavage, visible through the neckline of her nightie since she wasn't wearing a bra.
Not much was showing, but whenever she leaned forward to sip her soup, the upper curve of her breasts became visible.
Catching myself staring at Mom's breasts made me want to slap myself, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from gazing at her body.
I didn't know what had come over me all of a sudden. At thirty-three, I was seeing Mom in a completely new light—a woman whose image had always been that of a revered mother figure to me.
Just then, Mom drew my attention to a news report on TV about the biting cold gripping North India and the fact that most airports were closed for the next few days due to fog.
The TV showed distressed passengers at Delhi airport whose flights had been cancelled.
I saw my chance. Venting my frustration at Mom, I said, "Look, Amma, I had already told you that the weather was terrible this time and we shouldn't go on the trip, but you wouldn't listen to a word I said.
Now look at the TV—people are stranded at the airport, miserable. Flights have been cancelled."
Mother said in a calm voice, "Chinu, when you met with that accident, I prayed that if you survived, I would go on a pilgrimage to the two places we have just visited.
Do you think that if you hadn't come along, I wouldn't have gone? I would have gone anyway—and all by myself."
I felt bad after hearing what Mom said, and I apologized to her for having vented my frustration on her.
Some time ago, I had fallen in the bathroom and lost consciousness after hitting my head against something.
Blood kept flowing from the wound, and by the time I was taken to the hospital, a significant amount of blood had already been lost.
It took me about fifteen days to recover. Mom was referring to that very accident.
When I apologized, Mom got up and sat beside me. Smiling affectionately, she cradled my head and pressed it against her chest.
For a while, I forgot the world and, clinging to her like a child, began to sob.
Seeing me cry, she held me even tighter and tried to soothe me with some words, but I couldn't hear what she said over the sound of my own sobbing.
Mother thought I was feeling guilty because I had opposed her undertaking this pilgrimage—a journey she was making solely for my sake.
But the reason for my tears was something else entirely.
I felt deeply guilty that she was making this pilgrimage because of my accident, yet here I was—becoming aroused and ogling her body after having seen that revered mother of mine naked.
After about ten minutes, things calmed down, and as I regained my senses, I realized my head was resting on Mom's chest.
As soon as I came to, those same thoughts began to flood my mind again.
Her nightie had slipped down a bit, allowing me to see the tops of her breasts through the neckline; my right cheek was pressed right against one of them.
I was holding Mom in an embrace with both arms.And the elbow of the arm I was using to hold Mom's right shoulder was pressing against the nipple of her right breast.
Lust took over me again, and, forgetting everything else, just as I was about to press my lips against her breasts—which were peeking out from the neckline of her nightie—Mom straightened me up and said, "Chinu, let's go to sleep now."
Mom got up and went to bed. As soon as she lay down, she started snoring.
After Mom fell asleep, I sat on the sofa and thought about the day's events.
In just one day, I had gone from being the 'good Chinu' to the 'bad Chinu.' Sitting there, I began to masturbate while recalling the image of my mother—completely naked and drenched with water—in the bathroom.
Then, feeling like I was about to climax, I headed toward the bathroom.
As I got up from the sofa, I glanced at Mom. She was sleeping on her right side. Her left knee was bent, causing her nightie to ride up and expose her upper thighs.
Perhaps due to the room heating, she had felt warm in her sleep and kicked her legs out from under the quilt.
Her legs were completely bare from the bottom up to the point where the curve of her buttocks began.
Instead of going to the bathroom, I stood right there and gazed at Mom's nakedness.
Then, my hand moved to my cock, and shamelessly, I began to masturbate right there beside the bed.
When I ejaculated, my eyes closed in sheer pleasure; despite trying to hold it back, a soft moan escaped my lips.
Then, a thought crossed my mind: had any of my semen landed on Mom's thighs? The thought stirred a strange excitement in me, though it also brought a touch of anxiety.
I briefly considered turning on the light to check, but instead of switching on the bedroom light, I opened the bathroom door.
In the light spilling from the bathroom, I saw a few drops of semen on the inner part of Mom's thighs.
I wondered—if I wiped it off and Mom woke up, I’d be in trouble. Or, I could just leave it; it would dry on its own soon enough, and wash off when she bathed in the morning.
I had to choose between wiping it away or leaving it be.
But the urge to run my hand over Mom's thighs compelled me to take the risk.
I grabbed a small towel and knelt on the floor. Gently, I wiped away the semen.
As I leaned down, I caught the scent of perfume. I figured Mom must have used it to mask the smell of sweat.
The fragrance was wafting up as I brought my nose close to the upper part of her thighs.
Then, we started eating while watching the news on TV.
My mind was still miles away, and I was staring blankly at the screen; I had no idea what was actually playing.
Just then, Mom’s voice reached my ears. She said something, but because my attention was elsewhere, I didn't hear it clearly.
It felt as though her voice was coming from far away.
Mom grew a bit irritated and said with annoyance, "You shouldn't drink so much that you can't even hear what the person in front of you is saying."
Her rebuke startled me. Little did she know that I hadn't actually drunk too much; rather, I had seen something that had left me deeply unsettled.
I said, "I'm sorry, Amma. It’s not the drinking; I’m just exhausted from the journey. That’s why I didn't hear you."
Then I looked at Mom, and my gaze fell directly on her cleavage, visible through the neckline of her nightie since she wasn't wearing a bra.
Not much was showing, but whenever she leaned forward to sip her soup, the upper curve of her breasts became visible.
Catching myself staring at Mom's breasts made me want to slap myself, yet no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from gazing at her body.
I didn't know what had come over me all of a sudden. At thirty-three, I was seeing Mom in a completely new light—a woman whose image had always been that of a revered mother figure to me.
Just then, Mom drew my attention to a news report on TV about the biting cold gripping North India and the fact that most airports were closed for the next few days due to fog.
The TV showed distressed passengers at Delhi airport whose flights had been cancelled.
I saw my chance. Venting my frustration at Mom, I said, "Look, Amma, I had already told you that the weather was terrible this time and we shouldn't go on the trip, but you wouldn't listen to a word I said.
Now look at the TV—people are stranded at the airport, miserable. Flights have been cancelled."
Mother said in a calm voice, "Chinu, when you met with that accident, I prayed that if you survived, I would go on a pilgrimage to the two places we have just visited.
Do you think that if you hadn't come along, I wouldn't have gone? I would have gone anyway—and all by myself."
I felt bad after hearing what Mom said, and I apologized to her for having vented my frustration on her.
Some time ago, I had fallen in the bathroom and lost consciousness after hitting my head against something.
Blood kept flowing from the wound, and by the time I was taken to the hospital, a significant amount of blood had already been lost.
It took me about fifteen days to recover. Mom was referring to that very accident.
When I apologized, Mom got up and sat beside me. Smiling affectionately, she cradled my head and pressed it against her chest.
For a while, I forgot the world and, clinging to her like a child, began to sob.
Seeing me cry, she held me even tighter and tried to soothe me with some words, but I couldn't hear what she said over the sound of my own sobbing.
Mother thought I was feeling guilty because I had opposed her undertaking this pilgrimage—a journey she was making solely for my sake.
But the reason for my tears was something else entirely.
I felt deeply guilty that she was making this pilgrimage because of my accident, yet here I was—becoming aroused and ogling her body after having seen that revered mother of mine naked.
After about ten minutes, things calmed down, and as I regained my senses, I realized my head was resting on Mom's chest.
As soon as I came to, those same thoughts began to flood my mind again.
Her nightie had slipped down a bit, allowing me to see the tops of her breasts through the neckline; my right cheek was pressed right against one of them.
I was holding Mom in an embrace with both arms.And the elbow of the arm I was using to hold Mom's right shoulder was pressing against the nipple of her right breast.
Lust took over me again, and, forgetting everything else, just as I was about to press my lips against her breasts—which were peeking out from the neckline of her nightie—Mom straightened me up and said, "Chinu, let's go to sleep now."
Mom got up and went to bed. As soon as she lay down, she started snoring.
After Mom fell asleep, I sat on the sofa and thought about the day's events.
In just one day, I had gone from being the 'good Chinu' to the 'bad Chinu.' Sitting there, I began to masturbate while recalling the image of my mother—completely naked and drenched with water—in the bathroom.
Then, feeling like I was about to climax, I headed toward the bathroom.
As I got up from the sofa, I glanced at Mom. She was sleeping on her right side. Her left knee was bent, causing her nightie to ride up and expose her upper thighs.
Perhaps due to the room heating, she had felt warm in her sleep and kicked her legs out from under the quilt.
Her legs were completely bare from the bottom up to the point where the curve of her buttocks began.
Instead of going to the bathroom, I stood right there and gazed at Mom's nakedness.
Then, my hand moved to my cock, and shamelessly, I began to masturbate right there beside the bed.
When I ejaculated, my eyes closed in sheer pleasure; despite trying to hold it back, a soft moan escaped my lips.
Then, a thought crossed my mind: had any of my semen landed on Mom's thighs? The thought stirred a strange excitement in me, though it also brought a touch of anxiety.
I briefly considered turning on the light to check, but instead of switching on the bedroom light, I opened the bathroom door.
In the light spilling from the bathroom, I saw a few drops of semen on the inner part of Mom's thighs.
I wondered—if I wiped it off and Mom woke up, I’d be in trouble. Or, I could just leave it; it would dry on its own soon enough, and wash off when she bathed in the morning.
I had to choose between wiping it away or leaving it be.
But the urge to run my hand over Mom's thighs compelled me to take the risk.
I grabbed a small towel and knelt on the floor. Gently, I wiped away the semen.
As I leaned down, I caught the scent of perfume. I figured Mom must have used it to mask the smell of sweat.
The fragrance was wafting up as I brought my nose close to the upper part of her thighs.
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