Yesterday, 12:49 AM
Hello friends, I am going to narrate to you a 200% true story about how my mom got involved in a forbidden affair with another man.
My name is Sanjay Yadav, and I’m a young student still in college, living in Uttar Pradesh with my mom, Rekha Yadav. My mom is 45 years old, a striking woman with a figure that turns heads wherever she goes—38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, and a 44-inch ass. Those measurements mean she’s got a full, curvaceous body: her chest is prominent and rounded, her waist dips in just enough to give her an hourglass shape, and her hips flare out dramatically, giving her a heavy, swaying presence when she walks. It’s the kind of body that’s impossible to ignore, a mix of softness and strength that makes her stand out in our small town.
![[Image: www.webp]](https://i.postimg.cc/L8gfsRFf/www.webp)
My dad, Amit Yadav, is 55 years old and works far away in Dubai. He’s been there for the past five years, coming home only once a month for a week before heading back. It wasn’t always like this. Dad used to have a steady job here in Uttar Pradesh, working as a supervisor in a local factory. But when the factory shut down due to financial troubles, he was left scrambling for work.
Jobs were scarce, and with me growing up and expenses piling on, he started looking beyond India. A friend of his connected him with a construction firm in Dubai that was hiring skilled workers. The pay was good—much better than anything he could find here—and though it meant being away from us, he took the job to secure our future. Now, his visits are short but precious, and Mom holds the fort while he’s gone.
Mom is the heart of our home. She’s deeply religious, rooted in ***** traditions that she follows with unwavering devotion. Every morning, she wakes up before sunrise to perform her puja, lighting a diya in front of the small shrine in our living rooms.
But beyond her devotion, Mom is undeniably sexy. She’s got this effortless beauty that doesn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to shine through. Her hair is long, thick, and jet-black, cascading down her back in loose waves, though she usually ties it into a simple bun when she’s working around the house.
Her face is soft and warm, with almond-shaped eyes that sparkle when she smiles and full lips that curve into a gentle, knowing grin. Her skin is a rich golden-brown, smooth and glowing, even at 45.
Then there’s her body—those 38-inch breasts are heavy and round, soft yet firm, straining against the blouses she wears with her sarees. They bounce slightly when she moves, drawing eyes even when she doesn’t mean them to.
Her waist, at 34 inches, is narrower but still fleshy, leading down to that 44-inch ass—wide, plump, and impossibly full. It sways with every step, a hypnotic rhythm that’s hard to look away from. She doesn’t flaunt it, but she doesn’t have to—her presence alone commands attention.
![[Image: 12.webp]](https://i.postimg.cc/Twbfy7Yt/12.webp)
pics hosting
There’ve been moments where her beauty has had an impact, even if she doesn’t notice. Once, when we went to the market, a shopkeeper got so distracted staring at her that he dropped a stack of bangles, scattering them across the floor. He stammered an apology, but Mom just laughed it off, oblivious to the effect she’d had.
One day, I was sprawled on the couch, playing a racing game on Mom’s phone, my thumbs mashing the screen as I swerved through virtual streets. The phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting my game, and I saw “Shalini Aunty” flash on the caller ID. Shalini is Mom’s friend, a married woman in her late 30s with a slim build, sharp features, and a loud, bubbly personality.
She’s outgoing in a way Mom isn’t—always laughing, cracking jokes, and dressing in bright, modern outfits like salwar suits or even jeans sometimes. Shalini’s the type to drag people into conversations and plan outings, while Mom prefers staying home, tending to her routines. I bolted up, ran to the kitchen where Mom was kneading dough, and handed her the phone.
“Shalini Aunty’s calling,” I said, plopping down nearby to listen. Mom wiped her hands on a towel, took the phone, and put it on loudspeaker so she could keep working. Their voices filled the room.
Shalini: “Rekha! Arre, how are you, my dear? It’s been ages since we talked properly!”
Rekha: “Shalini, I’m fine, thank you. Just busy with the house. How are you? How’s Ravi?”
Shalini: “Oh, Ravi’s the same—working, eating, sleeping, repeat! He’s off in Mumbai this week for some boring conference. But listen, I didn’t call to chat about him. There’s this party happening this weekend, and you have to come with me!”
Rekha: “A party? Where? Who’s throwing it?”
Shalini: “It’s at this fancy new place—some friend of a friend, Neha, she’s loaded and loves showing off. She’s got a big house just outside town, all decked out with lights and music. I got invited through my cousin, and I told her I’m bringing my gorgeous Rekha along!”
Rekha: “Shalini, you know I don’t go to these things. What’s it for?”
Shalini: “No special reason—just a night to let loose! Good food, sodas, dancing. Everyone’s going to be there—people from town, some city folks too. It’s a chance to have fun, Rekha. You’re always stuck at home with your puja and chores.”
Rekha: “I like being at home. And Amit’s not here—he’s in Dubai. I don’t feel right going out like that without him.”
Shalini: “Oh, come on, Rekha! Ravi’s not here either—he’s sweating it out in Mumbai, probably eating roadside vada pav while I’m planning to enjoy myself. We’re in the same boat, you and me. Why should we sit around waiting for them?”
Rekha: “It’s not the same. People talk, Shalini. And Sanjay’s here—I can’t just leave him alone.”
Shalini: “Sanjay’s young enough to handle himself for a few hours. Lock the door, give him some parathas, he’ll be fine playing those silly games on your phone. This is about you, Rekha. You deserve a night out.”
Rekha: “I don’t know… What kind of party is it? Will there be men there?”
Shalini: “Of course there’ll be men! It’s not a kitty party, Rekha—it’s a proper bash. Men, women, everyone mingling. But don’t worry, it’s not some shady thing. Neha’s got class—there’ll be decent people, just having a good time.”
Rekha: “Still, I’m not sure. What would I even wear? I don’t have anything for a party like that.”
Shalini: “Oh, that’s the best part! The dress code’s tight—really tight. You’ve got to wear something that hugs every curve, shows off that figure of yours. I’m talking breasts out, waist cinched, everything popping! That’s the vibe Neha’s going for—glamorous and bold.”
Rekha: “What?! Shalini, are you mad? I can’t wear something like that! My blouses and sarees aren’t made for… for that.”
Shalini: “Exactly why you need to! Rekha, you’ve got a body that could stop traffic—38-inch bust, that tiny waist, and don’t even get me started on that 44-inch ass. You hide it all under those loose sarees like it’s a crime. This is your chance to flaunt it! Neha said everyone’s dressing to kill—tight dresses, lehngas, even some girls in those western outfits. You’d outshine them all.”
Rekha: “Shalini, no. That’s not me. I’d look ridiculous—people would stare. And what would Amit say if he found out?”
Shalini: “Amit’s in Dubai, sweating in the desert, probably too busy to care. And so what if people stare? Let them!
Rekha: “Stop it, Shalini! You’re embarrassing me. I’m 45—I’m not some young girl prancing around like that.”
Shalini: (laughing) “Rekha. Age doesn’t matter—you’re sexier now than I was at 25. I’m wearing a tight red dress myself, and I don’t even have half your curves. Come on, live a little!”
Rekha: “I don’t have anything tight enough for that. My sarees are decent, not… not whatever you’re describing.”
Shalini: “Then borrow something! I’ve got a black saree with a blouse that’s practically painted on—it’d fit you like a glove.
Rekha: “Temple’s where I’d rather be. This sounds like trouble. What if someone I know sees me? The neighbors would gossip for months.”
Shalini: “Let them gossip! They’re just jealous they don’t have your looks. Rekha, I’m telling you, this party’s going to be wild—lights, music, people laughing. You’ll walk in, and every head will turn. Those breasts pushed up high, that ass swaying under a tight dbang—men will trip over themselves, and the women will wish they were you.”
Rekha: “You’re shameless. I don’t even know how to dance or mingle like that. I’d just stand there looking foolish.”
Shalini: “You don’t need to dance—just be there. Your presence is enough. But if you want, I’ll teach you a few moves. We’ll sway those hips together—give the men something to dream about and the women something to envy. Come on, Rekha, say yes!”
Rekha: “I don’t have the energy for this. I’ve got cooking to do, Sanjay’s collegework to check—”
Shalini: “Excuses, excuses! Sanjay can eat leftovers for one night. This isn’t about energy—it’s about letting go. You’re always so proper, so devoted. Be a little naughty for once! Wear something tight, let those curves shine. I bet you’d feel alive in a way you haven’t in years.”
Rekha: “Naughty? Shalini, I’m a mother, a wife—I don’t do naughty.”
Shalini: “You’re a woman first, Rekha. And a damn hot one. I’m not saying run off with someone—just have fun! Picture it: you walk in, blouse so tight your breasts look like they’re begging to be free, saree clinging to that ass like a second skin. People won’t know whether to stare or bow. Even I’d be jealous, and I’m your friend!”
Rekha: (sighing) “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
Shalini: “Not a chance! Say yes, Rekha. I’ll pick you up at 7—wear something tight, or I’ll dress you myself. We’ll make jaws drop together.”
Rekha: “Shalini, enough! Fine, I’ll go. But if I hate it, I’m leaving early, and you’re not stopping me.”
Shalini: “Deal! Oh, Rekha, you won’t regret this. We’re going to have a blast. And who knows—maybe some handsome stranger will sneak a glance at those curves and remind you how irresistible you are.”
Rekha: “Stop it, you devil! I’m not going for strangers—I’m going because you’re a pest.”
Shalini: (laughing) “Pest, devil—call me what you want, but I’m right. Oh, and Rekha? When you’re getting ready, push those breasts up high—give them some air. And let that ass swing free. It’s a party, not a prayer meet.”
Rekha: “Shalini! You’re awful. I’m hanging up now.”
Shalini: “Wait, wait—one last thing! If some guy stares too long, just wink at him. Let him melt. You’ve got the power, Rekha—use it!”
Rekha: “Goodbye, Shalini!”
Shalini: “Bye, my sexy queen! See you Saturday—tight and tight only!”
The way Shalini was talking, it was as if she was preparing my mom to have fun during that party and maybe even talk to men. I was not sure where this was going to....
Friends, need your thoughts on this very hot promising story!
My name is Sanjay Yadav, and I’m a young student still in college, living in Uttar Pradesh with my mom, Rekha Yadav. My mom is 45 years old, a striking woman with a figure that turns heads wherever she goes—38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, and a 44-inch ass. Those measurements mean she’s got a full, curvaceous body: her chest is prominent and rounded, her waist dips in just enough to give her an hourglass shape, and her hips flare out dramatically, giving her a heavy, swaying presence when she walks. It’s the kind of body that’s impossible to ignore, a mix of softness and strength that makes her stand out in our small town.
My dad, Amit Yadav, is 55 years old and works far away in Dubai. He’s been there for the past five years, coming home only once a month for a week before heading back. It wasn’t always like this. Dad used to have a steady job here in Uttar Pradesh, working as a supervisor in a local factory. But when the factory shut down due to financial troubles, he was left scrambling for work.
Jobs were scarce, and with me growing up and expenses piling on, he started looking beyond India. A friend of his connected him with a construction firm in Dubai that was hiring skilled workers. The pay was good—much better than anything he could find here—and though it meant being away from us, he took the job to secure our future. Now, his visits are short but precious, and Mom holds the fort while he’s gone.
Mom is the heart of our home. She’s deeply religious, rooted in ***** traditions that she follows with unwavering devotion. Every morning, she wakes up before sunrise to perform her puja, lighting a diya in front of the small shrine in our living rooms.
But beyond her devotion, Mom is undeniably sexy. She’s got this effortless beauty that doesn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to shine through. Her hair is long, thick, and jet-black, cascading down her back in loose waves, though she usually ties it into a simple bun when she’s working around the house.
Her face is soft and warm, with almond-shaped eyes that sparkle when she smiles and full lips that curve into a gentle, knowing grin. Her skin is a rich golden-brown, smooth and glowing, even at 45.
Then there’s her body—those 38-inch breasts are heavy and round, soft yet firm, straining against the blouses she wears with her sarees. They bounce slightly when she moves, drawing eyes even when she doesn’t mean them to.
Her waist, at 34 inches, is narrower but still fleshy, leading down to that 44-inch ass—wide, plump, and impossibly full. It sways with every step, a hypnotic rhythm that’s hard to look away from. She doesn’t flaunt it, but she doesn’t have to—her presence alone commands attention.
pics hostingThere’ve been moments where her beauty has had an impact, even if she doesn’t notice. Once, when we went to the market, a shopkeeper got so distracted staring at her that he dropped a stack of bangles, scattering them across the floor. He stammered an apology, but Mom just laughed it off, oblivious to the effect she’d had.
One day, I was sprawled on the couch, playing a racing game on Mom’s phone, my thumbs mashing the screen as I swerved through virtual streets. The phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting my game, and I saw “Shalini Aunty” flash on the caller ID. Shalini is Mom’s friend, a married woman in her late 30s with a slim build, sharp features, and a loud, bubbly personality.
She’s outgoing in a way Mom isn’t—always laughing, cracking jokes, and dressing in bright, modern outfits like salwar suits or even jeans sometimes. Shalini’s the type to drag people into conversations and plan outings, while Mom prefers staying home, tending to her routines. I bolted up, ran to the kitchen where Mom was kneading dough, and handed her the phone.
“Shalini Aunty’s calling,” I said, plopping down nearby to listen. Mom wiped her hands on a towel, took the phone, and put it on loudspeaker so she could keep working. Their voices filled the room.
Shalini: “Rekha! Arre, how are you, my dear? It’s been ages since we talked properly!”
Rekha: “Shalini, I’m fine, thank you. Just busy with the house. How are you? How’s Ravi?”
Shalini: “Oh, Ravi’s the same—working, eating, sleeping, repeat! He’s off in Mumbai this week for some boring conference. But listen, I didn’t call to chat about him. There’s this party happening this weekend, and you have to come with me!”
Rekha: “A party? Where? Who’s throwing it?”
Shalini: “It’s at this fancy new place—some friend of a friend, Neha, she’s loaded and loves showing off. She’s got a big house just outside town, all decked out with lights and music. I got invited through my cousin, and I told her I’m bringing my gorgeous Rekha along!”
Rekha: “Shalini, you know I don’t go to these things. What’s it for?”
Shalini: “No special reason—just a night to let loose! Good food, sodas, dancing. Everyone’s going to be there—people from town, some city folks too. It’s a chance to have fun, Rekha. You’re always stuck at home with your puja and chores.”
Rekha: “I like being at home. And Amit’s not here—he’s in Dubai. I don’t feel right going out like that without him.”
Shalini: “Oh, come on, Rekha! Ravi’s not here either—he’s sweating it out in Mumbai, probably eating roadside vada pav while I’m planning to enjoy myself. We’re in the same boat, you and me. Why should we sit around waiting for them?”
Rekha: “It’s not the same. People talk, Shalini. And Sanjay’s here—I can’t just leave him alone.”
Shalini: “Sanjay’s young enough to handle himself for a few hours. Lock the door, give him some parathas, he’ll be fine playing those silly games on your phone. This is about you, Rekha. You deserve a night out.”
Rekha: “I don’t know… What kind of party is it? Will there be men there?”
Shalini: “Of course there’ll be men! It’s not a kitty party, Rekha—it’s a proper bash. Men, women, everyone mingling. But don’t worry, it’s not some shady thing. Neha’s got class—there’ll be decent people, just having a good time.”
Rekha: “Still, I’m not sure. What would I even wear? I don’t have anything for a party like that.”
Shalini: “Oh, that’s the best part! The dress code’s tight—really tight. You’ve got to wear something that hugs every curve, shows off that figure of yours. I’m talking breasts out, waist cinched, everything popping! That’s the vibe Neha’s going for—glamorous and bold.”
Rekha: “What?! Shalini, are you mad? I can’t wear something like that! My blouses and sarees aren’t made for… for that.”
Shalini: “Exactly why you need to! Rekha, you’ve got a body that could stop traffic—38-inch bust, that tiny waist, and don’t even get me started on that 44-inch ass. You hide it all under those loose sarees like it’s a crime. This is your chance to flaunt it! Neha said everyone’s dressing to kill—tight dresses, lehngas, even some girls in those western outfits. You’d outshine them all.”
Rekha: “Shalini, no. That’s not me. I’d look ridiculous—people would stare. And what would Amit say if he found out?”
Shalini: “Amit’s in Dubai, sweating in the desert, probably too busy to care. And so what if people stare? Let them!
Rekha: “Stop it, Shalini! You’re embarrassing me. I’m 45—I’m not some young girl prancing around like that.”
Shalini: (laughing) “Rekha. Age doesn’t matter—you’re sexier now than I was at 25. I’m wearing a tight red dress myself, and I don’t even have half your curves. Come on, live a little!”
Rekha: “I don’t have anything tight enough for that. My sarees are decent, not… not whatever you’re describing.”
Shalini: “Then borrow something! I’ve got a black saree with a blouse that’s practically painted on—it’d fit you like a glove.
Rekha: “Temple’s where I’d rather be. This sounds like trouble. What if someone I know sees me? The neighbors would gossip for months.”
Shalini: “Let them gossip! They’re just jealous they don’t have your looks. Rekha, I’m telling you, this party’s going to be wild—lights, music, people laughing. You’ll walk in, and every head will turn. Those breasts pushed up high, that ass swaying under a tight dbang—men will trip over themselves, and the women will wish they were you.”
Rekha: “You’re shameless. I don’t even know how to dance or mingle like that. I’d just stand there looking foolish.”
Shalini: “You don’t need to dance—just be there. Your presence is enough. But if you want, I’ll teach you a few moves. We’ll sway those hips together—give the men something to dream about and the women something to envy. Come on, Rekha, say yes!”
Rekha: “I don’t have the energy for this. I’ve got cooking to do, Sanjay’s collegework to check—”
Shalini: “Excuses, excuses! Sanjay can eat leftovers for one night. This isn’t about energy—it’s about letting go. You’re always so proper, so devoted. Be a little naughty for once! Wear something tight, let those curves shine. I bet you’d feel alive in a way you haven’t in years.”
Rekha: “Naughty? Shalini, I’m a mother, a wife—I don’t do naughty.”
Shalini: “You’re a woman first, Rekha. And a damn hot one. I’m not saying run off with someone—just have fun! Picture it: you walk in, blouse so tight your breasts look like they’re begging to be free, saree clinging to that ass like a second skin. People won’t know whether to stare or bow. Even I’d be jealous, and I’m your friend!”
Rekha: (sighing) “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
Shalini: “Not a chance! Say yes, Rekha. I’ll pick you up at 7—wear something tight, or I’ll dress you myself. We’ll make jaws drop together.”
Rekha: “Shalini, enough! Fine, I’ll go. But if I hate it, I’m leaving early, and you’re not stopping me.”
Shalini: “Deal! Oh, Rekha, you won’t regret this. We’re going to have a blast. And who knows—maybe some handsome stranger will sneak a glance at those curves and remind you how irresistible you are.”
Rekha: “Stop it, you devil! I’m not going for strangers—I’m going because you’re a pest.”
Shalini: (laughing) “Pest, devil—call me what you want, but I’m right. Oh, and Rekha? When you’re getting ready, push those breasts up high—give them some air. And let that ass swing free. It’s a party, not a prayer meet.”
Rekha: “Shalini! You’re awful. I’m hanging up now.”
Shalini: “Wait, wait—one last thing! If some guy stares too long, just wink at him. Let him melt. You’ve got the power, Rekha—use it!”
Rekha: “Goodbye, Shalini!”
Shalini: “Bye, my sexy queen! See you Saturday—tight and tight only!”
The way Shalini was talking, it was as if she was preparing my mom to have fun during that party and maybe even talk to men. I was not sure where this was going to....
Friends, need your thoughts on this very hot promising story!
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