[Rajeev Gupta]

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.




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 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!

[Rajeev Gupta]

Mom hung up the phone, her gaze lingering on the screen. A faint smile tugged at her lips. Shalini’s cheeky words must’ve amused her. But then her expression shifted, a crease forming on her brow. 


She didn’t own a single tight outfit—her wardrobe was all modest sarees and loose blouses, nothing to showcase her 38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, or 44-inch ass like Shalini had insisted. 

Where would she find something like that? She thought about calling Dad in Dubai, maybe getting his take, but quickly dismissed it. No, he’d ask too much, and she wasn’t ready to explain. She’d handle it alone.

The next day, Mom turned to me with a casual air. “Sanjay, beta, let’s go shopping today. I need a few things.” I nodded, eager for a break from homework, and we headed to the mall. 

As we strolled through the busy corridors, the hum of voices and the scent of samosas filling the air, I looked up at her.

Me: - “Ma, what are you looking to buy?”

Mom: - “Oh, just something nice to wear. My friend invited me to a party tomorrow night. Nothing big, just a get-together.”

Me: - “A party? Cool! What kind?”

Mom: - “It’s… just some fun with her friends. Actually, Sanjay, I was thinking you could come with me. I don’t want to go alone, and it’ll be good for you to get out too.”

Me: - “Really mom? Awesome! I’m in!”

She smiled at my enthusiasm, but I didn’t catch the flicker of unease in her eyes. She wasn’t telling me everything—I could sense it—but I didn’t press. A party sounded exciting, and I was thrilled to join her.

We stepped into a boutique, its racks bursting with vibrant dresses and sarees. Mom’s eyes roamed until they landed on a creamy, tight-fitting dress that gleamed under the lights. 

It was nothing like her usual picks, but she lifted it off the rack, her fingers brushing the smooth fabric. A salesman, an old guy with a wide grin, sidled up to us.

Salesman: - “Madam, that’s a beautiful choice! Perfect for a special occasion. Why don’t you try it on? It’ll look stunning on you.”

Mom: - “No, no, that’s okay. I’ll just take it as is.”

Salesman: - “Are you sure? It’s no trouble—we have a fitting room right there. A figure like yours, it’d be a shame not to see how it fits.”

Mom: - “Thank you, but I’m fine. I’ll take it like this.”

He smirked, his eyes flicking over her curves, clearly picturing her in it anyway. The salesman wanted my mom to try the dress because he simply wanted to see my mom's deadly curves. Mom brushed it off, turning to me.

Mom: - “Sanjay, pick something for yourself too. A nice shirt, maybe? You should look good for the party.”

Me: - “Sweet! I’ll grab that blue one—it’s cool.”

She nodded, paying for the creamy dress and my shirt, her thoughts already spinning toward tomorrow. I didn’t know it, but she was secretly wondering how she’d pull off wearing something so bold.

Saturday rolled around, and by 8 p.m., our quiet home buzzed with a strange vibe. Mom emerged from her room, and I stopped dead, my eyes wide. She was breathtaking. The creamy dress hugged her like it was painted on, accentuating every curve—her 38-inch bust thrust forward, full and striking, her 34-inch waist nipped in tight, and her 44-inch ass a bold, fleshy curve that demanded attention. 





Her hair, usually in a simple bun, fell in loose, glossy waves down her back, framing her face like a dark halo. She’d done her makeup too—red lipstick stained her full lips, kohl lined her almond eyes, and her cheeks glowed with a soft blush. This wasn’t the Rekha Yadav I knew, the one who lived in sarees and puja rituals. She was stunning, almost otherworldly.






Me: - “Ma, you look amazing! Like a movie star! Wow!”

Mom: - “Chup, Sanjay! Don’t be silly. It’s just a dress.”

Me: - “No, really! You’re the prettiest mom ever!”

She swatted me with a shy laugh, but I saw her smile grow, a mix of flattery and nerves. A horn blared outside—a cab had arrived, probably sent by Shalini, I figured. We locked up and stepped into the night. 

Mom tugged at the dress as we slid into the backseat, and I noticed the driver, a rough-looking man about 50 with gray streaks in his hair, staring at her through the rearview mirror. His eyes traced her breasts, then dropped to her hips, a crooked grin spreading across his face.

Cab Driver: - “Going somewhere fancy, eh?”

Mom: - “Just a party.”

She shifted, pulling the dress up to cover her chest, but it was useless—the fabric was too snug, her curves too pronounced. The driver kept stealing looks, his grin widening, and I stared out the window, pretending not to see.


After a jostling 20-minute ride, we pulled up to the venue—a massive house just outside town, aglow with fairy lights and thumping with music. Cars lined the road, and people spilled out the front, chatting and sipping drinks. It was loud, lavish, alive. Nothing like Mom’s usual world.

We climbed out of the cab, and Mom froze, her eyes darting around. This wasn’t her scene—she looked like a goddess dropped into chaos. The creamy dress made her stand out, her beauty radiant and overwhelming. 

Men turned, their talks stuttering as they gawked. Her breasts, soft and full, pressed against the tight fabric, the neckline dipping to reveal a sliver of cleavage—something she’d never shown before. 




Her waist curved in, leading to that 44-inch ass, plump and prominent, swaying slightly as she stood there, uneasy. She was stirring a commotion without meaning to, her presence pulling every eye. She glanced around, lost in the crowd, the lights, the noise, probably wondering where to even start.





I spotted Shalini near the entrance, her slim frame wrapped in a red dress, her laugh ringing out. I tugged Mom’s sleeve.

Me: - “Ma, look! Shalini Aunty’s over there!”

Mom: - “Oh… yes, I see her.”

Mom gave an awkward wave, and Shalini’s face lit up. She rushed over, heels clacking, her energy a sharp contrast to Mom’s stiffness.

Shalini: - “Rekha! Oh my God, you made it! And Sanjay too—look at you both!”

Mom: - “Yes, Shalini… we’re here.”

Shalini: - “And this dress—Rekha, you’re a vision! That creamy color, the way it hugs you—perfection! I told you tight was the way to go!”

Mom: - “It’s… a bit much. I don’t know if I like it.”

Shalini: - “Nonsense! You’re stunning. Look at those curves—those breasts, so full and proud, and that ass? It’s like you walked out of a dream. You’re killing it!”

Mom: - “Shalini, stop! People are looking.”

Shalini: - “Of course they are. Every man here is staring, Rekha. They can’t take their eyes off you—those hips, that chest. You’re driving them wild.”

Mom: - “Shalini, please! I feel so out of place.”

Shalini: - “You’re not out of place—you’re the star. Come on, let’s get inside. Sanjay, stick close—you two are going to have a nice time!"

Mom’s cheeks flushed at Shalini’s words, her fingers fumbling with the dress’s hem. 

I didn’t catch the whisper—Shalini had leaned in too close—but I saw the way men kept staring at my mom, their eyes following her every move. 

Her breasts, so exposed in that low neckline, shifted slightly as she walked, the creamy fabric clinging tight. Her ass, round and fleshy, moved with a rhythm that drew gasps. 


She was a marvel, a beauty who didn’t fit this wild, flashy place but ruled it anyway. Shalini pulled us into the house, the music pounding louder, and I followed, secretly awed at how my quiet, devout mom had become this dazzling figure turning heads everywhere.


Shalini grabbed Mom’s hand and yanked her forward, pulling her through the crowd with quick, eager steps. Mom’s high heels clinked sharply against the polished floor, a rapid tap-tap-tap that echoed over the music. 

Her 38-inch breasts shook with each hurried movement, bouncing slightly in the tight creamy dress, the fabric straining to hold them. Her 44-inch ass swayed too, a hypnotic rhythm exaggerated by the rush. 

Men turned, their eyes locking onto her, mouths half-open as they watched her stumble to keep up.


Mom: - “Shalini, slow down! I can’t walk this fast in these heels!”

Shalini: - “Come on, Rekha, keep up! You’ve got to conform to the vibe here—move with the energy!”


Mom huffed, clutching Shalini’s hand tighter, but I could see she was struggling. The crowd parted slightly, and dozens of gazes followed my mom, hungry eyes of men, curious, blatant. 

At the corner of my eye, I caught something else: a man, about 55, standing off to the side near a pillar, staring at Mom. He wasn’t mingling or chatting like the others. His eyes were fixed, unblinking, tracing her from head to toe—her shaking breasts, her cinched waist, the curve of her ass. 


His face was weathered, lined with age, but his stare was sharp, intense, almost predatory. It made my stomach twist. I didn’t like it—not the way he stood so still, so focused, while everyone else just gawked and moved on.

Shalini finally stopped dragging Mom and led us to a quieter corner with plush velvet couches. She flagged down a server and handed us tall glasses of passion juice—Mom’s favorite, a bright orange drink that shimmered under the lights. 

Mom took hers gratefully, sipping it as Shalini leaned in close, their voices dropping low. I couldn’t hear a word—they didn’t want me to. I shrugged and turned my attention to the music, a pulsing beat that vibrated through the floor. I bobbed my head, sipping my juice, trying to enjoy the chaos.


But then I saw that man again—that man, still far off, his eyes locked on Mom. She didn’t notice, too caught up in Shalini’s chatter, laughing softly at whatever gossip they were sharing. 

He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a salt-and-pepper beard and a dark kurta that hung loose on his frame. His eyes were hungry, glinting in the dim light, a stark contrast to the casual stares of other men. 

They’d glance and move on, but him? His gaze didn’t waver—it was deeper, heavier, like he was studying my mom from head to toe, waiting for something. 

I told myself he was just another guy drawn to her beauty, but it felt different. There was intent there, a quiet menace that prickled my skin.

Mom kept fidgeting as she sat, tugging at the dress. The neckline dipped too low, showing off more cleavage than she was used to, and the fabric clung to her hips, outlining her fleshy ass against the couch. 

She crossed her legs, then uncrossed them, pulling at the hem again. That dress was really revealing 78% of her skin. I started catching bits of her conversation with Shalini as their voices rose slightly.

Mom: - “Shalini, I feel so exposed in this dress. It’s too tight—look at me, everything’s out there!”

Shalini: - “Rekha, that’s the point! You look incredible—those breasts, that ass, you’re a goddess tonight.”

Mom: - “I’m not used to this. I feel like everyone’s staring, and I don’t know how to sit or move.”

Shalini: - “They’re staring because you’re stunning. Stop adjusting it—own it! You’re not at home doing puja now.”

Mom: - “Easy for you to say. Your dress isn’t showing half your chest like mine is.”

Shalini: - “Oh, please. If I had your figure, I’d flaunt it even more. Relax, Rekha, you’re the belle of the ball!”

Mom sighed, taking another sip of her juice, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that man shift. He’d moved from the pillar to a spot near the corner where people were dancing, still watching my mom, his position angled like he was biding his time—maybe waiting for Shalini to step away. 

I frowned, but before I could dwell on it, a new figure approached our table.

A man, maybe in his 40s, strode up—tall, slick-haired, in a flashy blazer. Shalini’s eyes lit up, and she practically bounced out of her seat.


Shalini: - “Rakesh! You’re here! Rekha, I’ll be right back—this is an old friend.”

Mom: - “Shalini, wait—don’t leave me here!”

Shalini: - “Relax, I’ll be quick. You’ve got Sanjay—just enjoy your juice!”


Rakesh took Shalini’s hand, grinning, and pulled her into the crowd. They vanished into the sea of people, her red dress flashing once before disappearing. 

I knew that man Rakesh wasn’t Shalini's husband, Ravi, because Ravi is shorter, quieter, not this smooth-talking type. Mom’s eyes widened for a second, clearly surprised too, but she didn’t say anything. 

My mom sat there, clutching her glass, sipping nervously until the passion juice was gone. I glanced back toward the corner again—that man who’d been staring at my mom was nowhere in sight. 

I figured he’d left, and my shoulders relaxed a bit.

Mom stared into her empty glass, her lips pursed. She turned to me, her voice low.

Mom: - “Sanjay, I don’t think Shalini’s coming back soon. Maybe we should go.”

Me: - “Go? Ma, it’s too early! We just got here—the party’s barely started!”

Mom: - “I know, but I don’t feel right. I don’t know anyone”

Me: - “Come on, Ma, you look great! Let’s stay a little longer—Shalini will be back, right?”

Mom: - “Maybe, but I’m not sure. It’s loud, and I’m not comfortable. Let’s just head home.”

Me: - “But what about the juice? And the music? We haven’t even danced or anything!”

Mom: - “Sanjay, please. I’m tired, and I don’t belong here. We’ll call a cab and go.”

Me: - “Okay, fine… if you really want to.”

I gave in, though I wasn’t thrilled. Mom stood, smoothing her dress one last time, her heels clinking as she turned toward the exit. But before she could take a step, a hand caught her shoulder from behind. 

She flinched, spinning around—and there he was, that 55-year-old man who’d been staring all night. He held three glasses of passion juice in his hands, balancing them with a calm, confident smile. 

I blinked—how did he know we were drinking that?

Man: - “Leaving so soon? I thought you might like another round—passion juice, right?”

Mom: - “Oh… uh, thank you, but we were just about to go.”

Man: - “No need to rush. It’s a big night—stay, enjoy yourself. I’m Manoj, by the way.”

Mom: - “I’m Rekha… and this is my son, Sanjay. Really, we should get going.”

Manoj: - “No need to rush, how about we get to know each other for a few minutes as we enjoy the music.”




To be continued..........



Your thoughts guys!

[Rajeev Gupta]

Is Son helping Shalini secretly?  Does he wish to see his Mom Bed other Men?  

I would prefer if Mon beds Shalini to. This would be a good time spent [Not just a standard 1 man/Women xxx play]

No, son is not helping Shalini to bed other men. Son even doesn't know what is happening at that time.

[Rajeev Gupta]

Will be watching your thread with great interest. Would love to see the characters' dynamics evolve.

Thanks and stay tuned for more.

[Rajeev Gupta]

Mom flinched as the man’s hand caught her shoulder, but he held out the three glasses of passion juice with a warm, disarming smile. His presence was steady, not pushy, and something about it seemed to ease her tension just a bit.

Manoj: - “Leaving so soon? I thought you might like another round—passion juice, right? I’m Manoj, Manoj Malhotra by the way. Couldn’t help but notice you two looked thirsty.”

Mom: - “Oh… thank you, Manoj. I’m Rekha, and this is my son, Sanjay. We were just about to head out, actually.”

Manoj: - “No rush, Rekha. It’s a lively night—why not stay a little longer? I’ve been wandering this party alone, and you seem like good company.”

Mom: - “That’s kind of you, but I’m not really feeling up for it.”

Manoj: - “I get it—big crowds can be overwhelming. But you’ve got a glow about you, Rekha. It’d be a shame to waste it heading home so early.”

Mom hesitated, her grip on my arm loosening slightly. She glanced at the juice, then at Manoj’s easy grin, and I saw her shoulders relax a fraction. He turned to me, his tone friendly.

Manoj: - “Sanjay, right? You enjoying the party, young man? Looks like a fun night for a kid your age.”

Me: - “Yeah, it’s cool. The music’s great.”

Manoj: - “Good taste! Why don’t we all sit for a bit? Just a quick break—your mom deserves a rest in those heels.”

He gestured to the couch we’d just left, and Mom nodded slowly, sinking back down. As she sat, Manoj’s eyes flicked to her 38-inch breasts, full and straining against the creamy dress’s low neckline. 





They jiggled slightly with her movement, and his gaze lingered—hungry but subtle, like he was savoring every detail. The way the fabric hugged her curves, outlining her 34-inch waist and 44-inch ass against the velvet, only fueled his interest.

Mom: - “I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt. Thank you for the juice, Manoj.”

Manoj: - “My pleasure, Rekha. You know, you stand out in this crowd—not just the dress, but you. Where’d you find something that fits so… perfectly?”

Mom: - “Oh, it’s new. A friend insisted I wear it. I’m not used to this kind of thing.”

Manoj: - “Well, your friend’s a genius. That dress—it’s like it was made for you. Highlights everything just right.”

Mom: - “You’re too kind. I feel a bit exposed, honestly.”

Manoj: - “Exposed? No, no—elegant’s the word. You’ve got a natural grace, Rekha. I’ve been to plenty of parties, but I haven’t seen anyone carry themselves like you do.”

Mom: - “Oh, stop it. I’m just here with Sanjay, trying to keep up.”

Manoj: - “And doing it beautifully. Tell me, what brought you out tonight? You don’t strike me as the party type.”

Mom: - “My friend dragged me here—literally. She’s off somewhere now, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.”

Manoj: - “Lucky for me, then. I’d have missed meeting you otherwise. You from around here?”

Mom: - “Yes, Uttar Pradesh. My husband’s away in Dubai, so it’s just me and Sanjay most of the time.”

Manoj: - “Dubai, huh? Tough being apart, I bet. You’re holding it all together, though—strong woman. I admire that.”

His voice was smooth, his eyes locked on her, darting back to her breasts every few seconds. Mom blushed, sipping her juice, clearly flattered despite herself. I watched him, and my unease started to fade. He seemed nice—genuine, even. Maybe I’d misjudged him.

Me: - “Ma, I’m gonna get my passion juice refilled, okay?”


Mom: - “Alright, but don’t go far, Sanjay. We’ll be leaving soon.”

Me: - “I won’t—I’ll be right back.”

I stood, leaving them chatting, and weaved through the crowd to the corner. “Passion juice refill,” I told the server, who nodded and poured me a fresh glass. 

As I waited, I caught sight of Rakesh and Shalini heading toward the washrooms, his arm around her waist close to her plump ass. It struck me as odd. Ravi, her husband, wasn’t here, and Rakesh was way too cozy with her. 

I frowned but shrugged it off, grabbing my drink and stepping onto the dance floor. The beat pulsed through me, and I swayed a little, sipping my juice, letting the weirdness slip away.

After a few minutes, I felt a twinge in my bladder. I finished my drink and headed to the bathroom to piss, pushing through the crowd. Inside, I used the stall, washed my hands, and turned to leave—then froze. 

From the next stall over, I heard sounds: “Ooh, yes! Ooh, yes! Do it—oooh!” Low, rhythmic, urgent. I didn’t get it at first—moans? I stepped closer, curiosity tugging at me, and the voice clicked—Shalini’s, unmistakable, high-pitched and breathy.

I bent down, peering under the stall door. There were her red high heels, the ones I’d seen earlier, scuffed and angled awkwardly. Behind them, a pair of men’s shoes—black, polished—shifted back and forth. 

I heard flesh thumping against flesh, a steady slap-slap-slap, and spotted Shalini’s panties bunched around her knees. My heart raced. I remembered Rakesh walking off with her, but I couldn’t see the man’s face. 

What was happening? Her screams grew louder: “Harder! Yes, oh God, yes! Don’t stop—oooh, right there! Ooh yess slap my ass harder ooohhh” Each word was sharp, desperate, echoing off the tiles.

I stood up, my mind spinning. Was she in pain? Hurt? I didn’t understand, but it didn’t sound right. I knocked on the door, my voice shaky.

Me: - “Shalini Aunty? You okay in there?”

Shalini: - (pause, then a muffled gasp) “Sanjay? Uh—yes, I’m fine!”

Me: - “I heard you—are you sure? It sounded weird.”

Shalini: - “No, no, I’m good! Just… uh, fixing my shoe. It broke.”

The thumping had stopped, and the door creaked open. Shalini stepped out, her face flushed and sweaty, her red dress wrinkled, hair mussed. She wiped her forehead, forcing a smile. No sign of the man—he must’ve ducked back inside.

Me: - “You look all sweaty. What happened?”

Shalini: - “Oh, it’s hot in here, that’s all. Dancing too much, you know?”

Me: - “But I heard noises—like you were yelling.”

Shalini: - “Just me being clumsy, Sanjay. Tripped over my own feet—silly me!”

Me: - “Was there a guy in there with you? I saw shoes.”

Shalini: - “A guy? No, no, just me. You’re imagining things, beta.”

Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”

Shalini: - “I’m fine, really. Go enjoy the party—have fun! I’ll catch up with your mom soon.”

Me: - “Alright, Shalini Aunty.”

She went back inside the bathroom stall, shut the door quick, and I stood there, confused. 

Then the moans started again—“Oh, yes! Keep going!”—and the thumping resumed, louder, faster. I shook my head and walked away, my stomach churning. Whatever was going on, she didn’t want me involved. I was a kid and I didn't understand any of those things happening.


I pushed through the crowd, the bathroom encounter with Shalini still buzzing in my head, and made my way back to Mom and Manoj. When I reached them, something felt off. Mom looked dizzy—her eyes were glassy, her movements slow, like she was swaying even while sitting.

Manoj, though, was sharp as ever, his grin steady, no sign of haze in him. Mom smiled faintly when she saw me, but it didn’t reach her eyes—she wasn’t in the mood to stay long, I could tell. 

As I got closer, I noticed Manoj’s hand resting on her shoulder now and then. She’d shrug it off, shifting away slightly, but her dizziness made her sluggish, like she couldn’t fully pull back.

Mom: - “Oh, Sanjay, you’re back. Good—I was starting to worry.”

Me: - “Yeah, just got my juice. You okay, Ma?”

Mom: - “Yes, yes, just… tired, I think. It’s been a long night.”

I plopped down on the couch, deciding to tune them out. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want to fuss over it. I turned my back, sipping my passion juice, and watched the people dancing—swaying bodies under flashing lights, laughter cutting through the music. 

Behind me, Mom and Manoj’s voices drifted back and forth.

Manoj: - “So, Rekha, you said your husband’s in Dubai. What’s he do there?”

Mom: - “He works in construction—supervising projects. It keeps him busy.”

Manoj: - “Must be tough, him being so far. How long’s he been gone?”

Mom: - “Five years now. He comes home once a month, stays a week.”

Manoj: - “That’s dedication. And you—holding it all together here. You’re something special, you know that?”

Mom: - “I just do what I have to. Sanjay keeps me going.”

Manoj: - “I can see why. You’ve got a strength about you—quiet, but strong. Where’d you grow up?”

Mom: - “Right here in Uttar Pradesh. Small town, nothing fancy.”

Manoj: - “Small town girl with big city beauty. That dress—it’s doing wonders for you tonight.”

Mom: - “Oh, this? It’s not really me. My friend pushed me into it.”

Manoj: - “She’s got good taste, then. You wear it like you were born for it. Ever think about dressing up more often?”

Mom: - “No, no. I’m usually in sarees—simple ones. This is… too much.”

Manoj: - “Too much? Nah, it’s just right. You’ve got a figure that deserves to shine, Rekha.”

Mom: - “You’re flattering me too much, Manoj. I’m not used to all this attention.”

Manoj: - “Get used to it. A woman like you—people notice. I noticed you the second you walked in.”

Mom: - “Well… thank you, I suppose. But I’m really not the party type.”

Manoj: - “Could’ve fooled me. You fit right in—better than most here, I’d say.”

Mom’s voice grew quieter, a little strained. She was getting tired of his questions, I could hear it, but she stayed polite, sipping her juice to fill the gaps. His tone was warm, too warm, and I caught her glancing at him, realizing he was into her—really into her.

His eyes kept drifting over her, lingering on her chest, her hips, like he couldn’t help himself.

Me: - “Ma, you feeling sleepy? You look kinda out of it.”

Mom: - “A little, Sanjay. It’s the noise, maybe. Or this dress—it’s so tight.”

Manoj: - “You’re fine, Rekha. Just relax—here, have more of that juice. It’ll perk you up.”

Mom: - “Oh, I don’t know… I’ve had enough already.”

Manoj: - “Nonsense! It’s just juice—light, sweet, your favorite, right? Keeps the night going.”

Mom: - “Maybe one more sip, then. But I’m really not up for much longer.”

Manoj: - “Take your time. No rush. You’ve got a glow, even if you’re tired—makes you look alive.”

Mom: - “I don’t feel very alive right now. My head’s spinning a bit.”

Manoj: - “That’s just the party vibe. Drink up—it’ll settle you. You’re too beautiful to fade out early.”

Mom: - “You keep saying that. I’m not sure it’s true.”

Manoj: - “Oh, it’s true. Every eye in here’s been on you—mine especially. That juice’ll keep you shining.”

Mom: - “Maybe… but I’m not used to all this. It’s overwhelming.”

Manoj: - “You’ll get the hang of it. A little more juice, a little more fun—perfect night for a woman like you.”

He pushed the glass closer, smiling all the time, his teeth glinting under the lights. Mom took a small sip, her hand shaky, and I wondered why she looked so off. Maybe the crowd, the heat, the tight dress—I didn’t know. Then Manoj leaned in, his voice dropping.

Manoj: - “How about a dance, Rekha? Just one—loosen you up a bit.”

Mom: - “A dance? No, Manoj, I’m too dizzy for that.”

Me: - “Come on, Ma, go for it! I’ve never seen you dance—it’d be cool!”

Mom: - “Sanjay, no. I don’t even know how. And my head’s all fuzzy.”

Manoj: - “Doesn’t matter if you know how. I’ll lead—just a slow one. Come on, give it a try.”

Mom: - “I really shouldn’t. These heels, this dress—I’d stumble.”

Me: - “You won’t, Ma! Manoj’s got you. It’ll be fun!”

Mom: - “Oh, fine… but just for a minute.”


Before she could back out, Manoj caught her hand, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled her up. I watched her walk to the dance floor, her curvy body swaying with each step. The creamy dress hugged her 38-inch breasts, the fabric stretching tight across her full, soft breasts, jiggling as she moved. 





Her 34-inch waist dipped in, flaring out to that 44-inch ass—plump, fleshy, impossible to miss. Her high heels clinked, her hair bouncing in loose waves, and even dizzy, she was stunning.






Manoj slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close. Mom stiffened, unsure about his touch, her hands hovering awkwardly. She didn’t know how to dance—her steps were clumsy, tentative—but he guided her, turning her smoothly. 

He spun her once, then pulled her back, her breasts brushing his chest. They pressed against him, soft and heavy, and his eyes locked onto hers—deep, romantic, smoldering with something intense. 

Mom’s gaze met his, wide and uncertain, but she didn’t lean in. She kept her limits, her body stiff despite the closeness.
Then his hands slid lower, both palms landing on her fat ass. 

He squeezed—firm, deliberate, fingers digging into the plump flesh, kneading it like he’d been waiting all night for this. The dress stretched tighter, outlining every curve, and Mom’s face twitched, uneasy, her dizziness making her sway.


Mom: - “Manoj, what are you doing? That’s… too much.”

Manoj: - “Just dancing, Rekha. You feel amazing—can’t help it.”

Mom: - “Please, move your hands. I’m not comfortable.”

Manoj: - “Relax, it’s part of the rhythm. You’re so tense—let go a little.”

Mom: - “I can’t. My head’s spinning, and this—it’s not right.”

Manoj: - “Not right? It feels right to me. You’re a dream out here, Rekha.”

Mom: - “I don’t know how to do this. You’re holding me too close.”

Manoj: - “Close is good. Look at you—those curves, that sway. You’re made for this.”

Mom: - “I’m not. I just want to sit down—please.”

Manoj: - “One more turn, then we’ll sit. You’re doing great—better than you think.”

He spun her again, her back to his chest now. His hands gripped her 34-inch waist, tight and possessive, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh. 

photo upload internet

He leaned in, his nose brushing the back of her neck, inhaling deeply—her hair tickled his face, and he pressed closer. His groin pushed hard against her plump ass, the bulge unmistakable, grinding slightly as they moved. 





Mom’s breasts bounced with each step, full and straining, her hair whipping around, catching the light. She was picking up the dance moves, her body swaying more naturally, but her dizziness grew—her eyes fluttered, her steps faltered.



I watched, my stomach knotting. Manoj’s hands on her ass, his nose at her neck—it was too much, too bold. Mom kept her distance where she could, but the juice, the heat, something was pulling her under. Her beauty shone—those breasts, that ass—but she didn’t belong in his grip like that.


Then something extra ordinary happened that I didn't expect........


To be continued..........


Your thoughts my friends.

[Rajeev Gupta]

If I am not mistaken you are the writer for my mom and vikram continuous f**k. Why don't you complete the story which is pending

Yes you are right, I am the writer. I deleted it because it was obsolete. However, this story "Whispers...." is a new fresh and real one with tantalizing plot twists. This story will contain fresh updates every 28 hours, so stay tuned and don't miss out.

[Rajeev Gupta]

Manoj spun Mom around again, her back no longer to him, their faces inches apart. His hands slid down from her waist, brushing her plump ass, his fingers grazing the soft, fleshy curve through the tight creamy dress. 

He didn’t squeeze this time—just a lingering touch, testing her reaction. Her dizziness made her sway into him slightly, her 38-inch breasts brushing his chest.


Manoj: - “How you feeling now, Rekha? Still dizzy, or is the dance waking you up?”

Mom: - “I… I’m still dizzy, Manoj. My head’s all over the place.”

Manoj: - “You look alive to me, beautifully alive. This dance suits you.”

I watched from the couch, my stomach twisting. His hands on her fleshy ass, even just a touch, felt wrong—too intimate, too bold for my mom, who’d never let anyone this close except Dad. 

It wasn’t just unease that I felt; it was a knot of something deeper—worry, maybe anger. She wasn’t herself, swaying like that, and he was taking advantage.
Manoj’s eyes softened, locking onto hers with a romantic glint. He pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back, the other resting lightly on her hip. 

I didn't even get to explain how this strange man who just knew my mom for few seconds is now on the dancefloor with her dancing and touching her inappropriately. 

The music slowed, and he swayed her gently, his thumb brushing her waist in small circles. He leaned in, whispering something I couldn’t hear, his breath warm against her ear. 

Mom’s lips parted, dazed, a little dizzy still, and he tilted her chin up with a finger, their gazes tangled—his smoldering, hers foggy. Then, in a swift, deliberate move, he kissed her. I felt like I was dreaming while seeing this. 

I rubbed my two eyes together to ensure that I was indeed not dreaming or building castles in the air.


His lips pressed hard against hers, hungry and firm, his hand cupping her neck to hold her there. For five, maybe six seconds, Mom didn’t flinch—her dizziness must’ve dulled her senses, her body limp against him.

The fact that my mom was dizzy was what contributed to her not immediately moving away from his advances of kissing her. But it was too late, his lips were pressed against hers and he was now French kissing her.


Her breasts crushed into his chest, soft and full, the creamy dress outlining every curve as they pressed tight. I froze, shocked, my juice glass nearly slipping from my hand. My pure, religious mom—kissing a stranger on a dance floor?

This is not normal at all for me and not for hers either.


I glanced around, panicked. What if someone here knew her? What if word got back to Dad in Dubai? The neighbors, the temple folks—they’d talk for years. My heart raced, imagining his reaction—anger, hurt, betrayal.


But I knew the party contained and was full of people who don't know my mom so at least I was relaxed. The only person who knew my mom was Shalini, and by now I think that man who was doing something to her in the bathroom was probably continuing to do that thing which was making her scream.

And I was certain that if Shalini knew my mom was kissing another man, Shalini would probably encourage her and tease her more.

Then Mom snapped back to herself. Her eyes widened, and she shoved Manoj away, her hands trembling. She stumbled back, still dizzy, her heels clacking unevenly. She came back to her senses at last and I was happy about that.

Mom: - “What are you doing, Manoj? That’s enough! Leave me! How dare you?”

Manoj: - “Oh, come on, Rekha—just a little fun. You didn’t mind, did you?”

Mom: - “I minded! I’m not here for that—let go of me!”

Manoj: - “Relax, it was just a kiss. You’re too gorgeous to resist—can’t blame me.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, spitting to the side, her face flushed with anger and sweat. She turned and hurried toward me, her steps wobbly but determined, her hair sticking to her damp forehead. She reached me, fuming, her breath uneven.

I was afraid maybe she would fall because of her dizziness and the fact that she was walking angrily, the high heels pressed on the concrete floor making clinking sounds. She came to me where I was sitting.

Mom: - “Sanjay, we’re leaving—now!”

Me: - “Why, Ma? What happened?”

Mom: - “Don't worry, I don’t feel right here. Let’s go.”

Me: - “Okay, yeah, let’s get out.”

I nodded, grabbing my glass, but as we turned, Mom froze. Manoj was right there, inches from her face, his grin unshaken. Her eyes narrowed, but he stepped closer, unfazed.


Manoj: - “Leaving already? Let me drive you home—both of you. It’s no trouble.”

Mom: - “No, Manoj. We’ll manage on our own. Please, I am not in for this”

Manoj: - “Come on, Rekha, you’re dizzy—those heels, that dress. I’ll get you home safe.”

Mom: - “I said no. After that, I don’t want your help.”

Manoj: - “What, the kiss? Just a moment of weakness—you’re too stunning, Rekha. Let me make it up with a ride.”

Mom: - “I don’t need you to. We’ll call a cab. Don't mention it in front of my son”

Manoj: - “A cab in this mess? I’m right here—car’s outside. Look at you, sweating, dizzy—let me help.”

His eyes dropped to her breasts, lingering on the way they heaved with her quick breaths, the neckline still low and revealing. Mom shifted, crossing her arms, but he kept pushing, his voice smooth.


Manoj: - “You can’t walk straight, Rekha. Sanjay’s here—I won’t try anything. Just a ride.”

Mom: - “I… fine. But only because Sanjay’s with me. Nothing else.”

Manoj: - “Perfect. Wait here—I’ll pull the car around.”

He flashed that smile again and disappeared into the crowd. Mom exhaled, shaky, and I turned to her, frowning innocently.

Me: - “Ma, why’re you sweating so much?”

Mom: - “It’s hot in here, Sanjay. Too many people.”

Me: - “I saw you do something with Manoj—like what you do with Dad. Kissing him.”

Mom’s eyes widened, her whole body trembling. She grabbed my arm, her voice tight.


Mom: - “What? Oh, Sanjay… that—it’s normal, you know. Just a friendly thing.”

Me: - “Really? Looked weird to me.”

Mom: - “It’s… it’s how some people show they’re friends. Manoj got carried away, but it doesn’t mean anything bad.”

Me: - “But you only kiss Dad like that.”

Mom: - “I know, I know. It’s different here—grown-up stuff. Sometimes it happens at parties. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

Me: - “Okay… if you say so.”

I didn’t believe her. My pure Mom, who prayed every morning, lying about kissing another man? Saying it was good, normal? It felt filthy, wrong, but I played dumb, nodding like I bought it.

Mom: - “Sanjay, listen—don’t look too much when I’m with Manoj, okay? It’s not for you to watch.”

Me: - “Why not?”

Mom: - “Because it’s private—adult things. You’re young, you don’t need to see everything I do.”

Me: - “But I’m right here.”

Mom: - “I know, but just… focus on the party, not me. And please, don’t tell your dad about this.”

Me: - “Why not? He’d wanna know.”

Mom: - “Because it’d worry him for no reason. He’s far away, working hard—he doesn’t need to think I’m upset over something small. It’s our little secret, okay? To keep him happy.”

Her answer was clever—too clever. I stared at her, stunned by how she twisted it, but I nodded, keeping my doubts quiet. People danced around us, the music thumping, and then Manoj reappeared, keys jangling.


Manoj: - “My car’s ready, Rekha. Lead the way—I’ll follow.”

Mom: - “Alright, let’s go, Sanjay.”

Mom started walking, her steps awkward, unsteady. She knew Manoj was behind her, watching her 44-inch plump ass jiggle with each move. 

The dress clung tight, outlining every curve, and her hips swayed more than usual—part dizziness, part nerves. I glanced back and saw his eyes glued to her, tracing the bounce of her flesh, a smirk tugging at his lips




We climbed into Manoj’s car, a sleek black sedan parked just outside the buzzing party venue. Mom took the front passenger seat, her movements sluggish from dizziness, while I slid into the back. 

The doors shut with a soft thud, sealing us into an awkward silence that hung heavy between Mom and Manoj. The kiss on the dance floor lingered like an unspoken shadow—neither of them looked at each other. 

Mom stared out the window, her arms crossed tight over her 38-inch bust, the creamy dress still clinging to her curves. Manoj gripped the steering wheel, his jaw set, his usual grin replaced by a tight-lipped focus. The engine hummed to life, and we pulled away, the party’s lights fading behind us.


Mom’s head lolled slightly as the car rolled forward. Her eyes fluttered, then closed, her breathing slowing into a soft rhythm. She was falling asleep—her dizziness must’ve taken over, pulling her under. 

I’d never seen her like this—my strong, steady Mom, always up before dawn for puja, now slumped in a stranger’s car, her face soft and vulnerable. I didn’t know why she was so out of it—maybe the juice, the heat, the chaos of the night. 


It worried me, but I stayed quiet, watching her from the back seat.
Manoj noticed too. His eyes flicked to her, then back to the road, then to her again. A glint sparked in his gaze—something sly, opportunistic. His left hand stayed on the wheel, but his right slid off, creeping toward her. 

He brushed her thigh, just above the knee, where the dress had ridden up slightly, exposing her smooth, golden skin. His fingers lingered, tracing a slow, deliberate line, testing her stillness. Mom didn’t stir, lost in sleep, her chest rising and falling gently.


I saw it—his hand on her thigh—and anger flared in my chest, hot and sharp. But I didn’t say anything. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, my head resting against the window. Manoj glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he checked. 

Satisfied I wasn’t watching, his confidence grew. His hand pressed firmer on Mom’s thigh, caressing now, his fingers splaying wide to feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric.


Then he went further. His left hand steered steady, but his right slid up, brushing the edge of her 38-inch breasts. He cupped one gently, his palm pressing against the soft curve, the dress stretching under his touch. 

Mom’s breathing hitched and turned into a moan, she was thinking or dreaming it was dad who was touching her. But no, it was Manoj, the hungry Manoj. And just for a second, but she didn’t wake. 

He lingered there, his thumb grazing the swell, his eyes darting between her and the road, a hungry edge to his expression. The way he touched her—so bold, so possessive—made my stomach churn, but I kept my eyes shut, fists clenched in my lap.


His hand moved again, slipping back to her thighs. He massaged them now, slow and deep, his fingers kneading the smooth flesh. The dress had bunched higher, revealing more of her legs—long, toned, glowing faintly in the dashboard light. 

He traced the inner curve of her thigh, his touch lingering, savoring the softness. I peeked through slitted eyes, and something strange happened—a tightness stirred in me, a flush I didn’t understand. My body reacted, a hardness I couldn’t explain, and I shifted uncomfortably, confused by the feeling.


Manoj’s hand ventured higher, slipping between her upper thighs, towards her pussy, where the dress offered little resistance. It was short, flimsy—perfect for the party, but now it left her exposed. I realized then, with a jolt, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, nothing like panties, my mom went to the party without wearing panties! What a shocker!

Maybe it was the dress—too tight for extra layers—or maybe she’d skipped it for comfort. Either way, it made her vulnerable, and Manoj knew it. His fingers brushed higher, teasing the edge of her pussy, a subtle graze that stayed just shy of too far.


Mom stirred in her sleep, a faint moan escaping her lips—soft, breathy, almost dreamy. Her face twitched, lips parting, a flicker of pleasure crossing her features. Maybe she was dreaming of Dad, mistaking Manoj’s touch for his. 

Manoj’s eyes lit up, catching the sound, and his confidence surged. He pressed a little firmer, his fingers circling gently, coaxing more from her. Her brought the hands to his nose and smelt the juices of her pussy, then her brought it back and started rubbing her pussy again.


Another moan slipped out, louder this time, a sweet hum that filled the car. Her head tilted back, hair spilling over the seat, her chest heaving slightly.
Manoj pulled his hand back for a moment, lifting it to his face. He sniffed his fingers again, a faint smile curling his lips, then slid them back, repeating the motion. 

This time, when he withdrew, a sticky sheen glistened on his fingertips—subtle, it was mom's pussy juices again, but there. He brought them to his mouth, tasting them with a slow, deliberate lick, his eyes half-closed like he was savoring something rare. 

I saw it—the gluey shine, the way he relished it—and my confusion deepened, mingling with the anger still simmering inside me.


The car rolled on, the silence broken only by Mom’s soft sounds and the hum of the engine. Manoj kept one hand on the wheel, the other drifting back to her thigh, resting there now, a quiet claim. I stayed still, eyes barely open, torn between confronting him and letting it play out, unsure what to feel or do.



Then we reached home, I woke mom up and we headed to our house. Then something happened.........




Guys your thoughts!

[Rajeev Gupta]

The car slowed to a stop in front of our house, the engine’s hum fading into the quiet night. Mom was still slumped in the front seat, her head resting against the window, lost in a deep, dizzy sleep. 

Her legs wide and her thighs exposed, her pussy juices some flowing on the car seat.

I stirred in the back, blinking awake as the streetlights cast soft glows through the windows. I leaned forward, noticing her legs—spread slightly, the creamy dress hiked up, revealing the smooth curve of her thighs. 

A faint sheen glistened between them, a subtle wetness that caught the light. My stomach tightened, unsure what it meant, but I shook Mom’s shoulder gently.


Me: - “Ma, wake up—we’re home.”

Mom: - (groggy) “Hmm? Oh… Sanjay, we’re here?”

Me: - “Yeah, just pulled up. You were out cold.”

She blinked, coming back to herself, and shifted in the seat. Her hands brushed her thighs, and she froze, feeling the dampness. Her legs snapped together, the dress rustling as she tugged it down, her eyes wide with confusion.

Mom: - “Why… why are my legs like this? And this—why’s it wet?”

Me: - “I dunno, Ma. You were sleeping the whole ride.”

She glanced at Manoj, her cheeks flushing. He was staring—his eyes locked on her exposed thighs, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, though he quickly masked it with a casual shrug. Mom’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press me further, turning to him instead.

Mom: - “Manoj, thank you for the ride. I… I fell asleep, didn’t I?”

Manoj: - “Yeah, Rekha, you were out like a light. Long night, huh? Looked peaceful, though.”

Mom: - “I suppose. It’s been too much. Thanks again—we’ll head in now.”



I loved how my mom was friendly with him despite him kissing her earlier. This was my mom's core behaviour. Her religious norms always taught her to be friendly towards strangers.



Manoj: - “Wait, Rekha—why not invite me in? Just for a bit. Could use a glass of water after driving.”

Mom: - “Oh, no, it’s late. Sanjay and I need to rest.”

Manoj: - “Come on, just a quick stop. You’ve got a nice place—I’d love to see it. Been a good host all night, haven’t I?”

Mom: - “You’ve been kind, yes, but it’s not proper, especially what you have done earlier. My husband’s not here, and… it’s not our way.”



My mom was speaking in hushed tone because she was thinking I was listening to her.



Manoj: - “Proper? Rekha, we’re friends now, aren’t we? Nothing wrong with a little hospitality or that small kiss I gave you earlier”

Mom: - “In our culture, Manoj, it’s different. I don’t invite men in when my husband's away—it’s not right.”

Manoj: - “Culture’s fine, but you’re modern too—look at that dress. Just a water, five minutes, then I’m gone.”

Mom: - “No, really. I’m tired, and it wouldn’t feel right. Thank you, but we’ll manage.”

Manoj: - “Night’s not over yet, Rekha. Sure you won’t let me in? Could keep you company.”

Mom: - “No, really—it’s not our custom. I’ve got Sanjay to think of.”

Manoj: - “Sanjay’s a big kid—he’d be fine. Just a chat, Rekha—nothing more.”

Mom: - “I don’t think so. It’s late, and I’m not feeling myself.”

Manoj: - “You’re feeling plenty, I’d say. That dress, that glow—invite me in, let’s unwind.”

Mom: - “Manoj, please. My faith doesn’t allow it—I can’t.”

Manoj: - “Faith’s important, sure, but so’s living a little. You’ve got a spark tonight—don’t douse it.”

Mom: - “I’ve lived enough for one night. Thank you, but no.”


Her voice was firm, rooted in the religious values she held dear—the ones that guided her daily pujas, her modest life. Manoj tilted his head, his gaze softening, but he didn’t push too hard, switching tactics.


Manoj: - “Alright, I respect that. How about your number, then? So we can keep in touch.”

Mom: - “My number? Why would you need that?”

Manoj: - “Why not? You’re interesting, Rekha—beautiful, strong. I’d like to check in, see how you’re doing.”

Mom: - “I don’t give my number out like that. It’s… personal.”

Manoj: - “Personal’s the point. Tonight was special—don’t you think? Just a call now and then, nothing big.”

Mom: - “I don’t know, Manoj. What would we even talk about?”

Manoj: - “Anything—your day, Sanjay, that glow you’ve got. Maybe even the kiss. I’d just like to hear your voice again.”

Mom: - “You’re persistent, aren’t you? I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

Manoj: - “It’s the best idea. Come on, Rekha—one number won’t hurt. I’ll be a gentleman—promise.”

Mom hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the dress’s hem. Her cultural instincts tugged at her, but his charm—smooth, relentless—wore her down. She sighed, relenting.


Mom: - “Fine…. But don’t misuse it, Manoj.”

Manoj: - “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’re a gem, Rekha—thanks.”


Mom then gave him her number.



She nodded curtly and pushed the door open, stepping out with a wobble. Manoj leaned over, his voice dropping low.


Manoj: - “Oh, Rekha—go to the bathroom when you get in. You’ll find something nice between your thighs.”

Mom: - “What? What do you mean by that?”

Her eyes narrowed, inquisitive, searching his face. He just smiled, cryptic and knowing, his gaze flicking to her legs. Mom’s lips parted, puzzled, but then she glanced at me, noticing I was listening.


Mom: - “Sanjay, go open the door—quickly now.”

Me: - “Okay, Ma.”

I hopped out, heading to the house, but I knew what Manoj meant. That wetness between her thighs—the way he’d rubbed her pussy in the car, his fingers lingering, tasting her pussy juices, that is what he meant. 

She didn’t want me to hear, but I’d seen it all, pretending to sleep. I unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it ajar, my mind racing.


Mom lingered by the car a moment, then followed me in, her heels clacking unevenly. We’d eaten heavy snacks at the party—samosas, pakoras, sweets—so she didn’t need to cook. 


She muttered something about washing up and headed straight for the bathroom, her curiosity piqued by Manoj’s strange comment. 


I trailed behind, quiet, drawn by my own mix of confusion and unease.
She slipped into the bathroom and locked the door with a soft click. I crept closer, my socks silent on the floor, and pressed my ear to the wood, peeking through the tiny keyhole. 

Mom stood there, her breathing quick, and yanked the tight dress up over her hips, revealing her milky thighs that were wet with her pussy juices. 

The creamy fabric bunched at her waist, revealing her smooth, golden thighs—and there it was, a faint, glistening wetness between them. Her fingers brushed her pussy which was shaved, and her eyes widened, a flush creeping up her neck. 

She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp, her face twisting with embarrassment.
She knew now—Manoj’s fingers had stirred something in her sleep, coaxing that womanly pussy release from her. Her religious heart recoiled; this was unforgivable, a betrayal of her vows, her purity. 

She parted her thighs slightly, checking again, her fingers trembling as they traced the slickness of her pussy. Her breath hitched, shame and realization crashing over her. 

That manoj was actually rubbing and fingering her pussy the whole ride. This was a shocker to my mom.


She turned on the faucet, splashing water on her face, then stripped the dress off completely, letting it fall to the tiles. 

Her body—38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, 44-inch ass—glowed in the dim light, curves full and soft, but her expression was tight, conflicted.


She stepped into the shower, the water hissing as it hit her skin, washing away the night’s corrupt traces of her juices. Her hair clung to her shoulders, wet and heavy, and she scrubbed her thighs, her movements quick, almost frantic, as if she could erase what had happened. 

I pulled back from the keyhole, my chest tight, and slipped to my room, the image of her—beautiful, vulnerable, ashamed—burning in my mind.

Even for myself, I couldn't believe I was watching my mom naked in the bathroom, those breasts, those flat tummy, her shaved pussy, her blessed milky thighs and those magnificent two pieces of ass globes.


What is happening to me? I'm I fantasizing of Manoj, the stranger who just met my mom, fucking my mom? Him using my mom's body? And will this happen? 

Will my mom fall into Manoj's temptations or will she try her best and go back to her religious ways?



Stay tuned guys! Hope you are following the story....

[Rajeev Gupta]

‎

‎Mom stepped out of the bathroom, her hair damp and tucked into a loose bun, her nightgown flowing modestly over her curves—hiding the 38-inch bust, 34-inch waist, and 44-inch ass that had been so exposed earlier.

‎

‎I was just telling myself that if Manoj got to taste the whole package of my mom's body, then he will be satisfied fully.

‎

‎But again I cursed myself to think wrongly in that manner because I always knew that sex is only between woman and man who are married.

‎

‎The shower had washed away the night’s traces of her corruption, but her eyes held a flicker of unease, a shadow of what she’d discovered.

‎

‎She paused at my doorway, her voice soft but steady.

‎

‎

‎Mom: - “Sanjay, goodnight, beta. Sleep well, okay?”

‎

‎Me: - “Goodnight, Ma. You too.”

‎

‎Mom: - “And… Sanjay, don’t tell your dad about tonight. It’s just our little thing, just remember that me kissing Manoj was a sign of me showing friendship ok?—nothing he needs to worry about.”

‎

‎Me: - “Okay, Ma. I won’t.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Good boy. Rest now.”

‎

‎

‎She offered a faint smile, keeping it simple, shielding me from the adult weight of the night.

‎

‎Then she turned, her slippers whispering across the floor, and headed to her bedroom.

‎

‎The door clicked shut, the lock sliding into place with a soft scbang.

‎

‎

‎I lay in bed, the car ride flickering in my mind—her thighs, Manoj’s fingers rubbing her pure tight pussy, that wetness—but I pushed it aside, drifting into a restless haze.

‎

‎

‎In her room, Mom sat on the bed’s edge, the phone’s glow casting shadows on her face.

‎

‎She hesitated, then dialed Shalini, setting it on loudspeaker. The ring cut through the silence, and Shalini’s voice burst in, lively and teasing.

‎

‎

‎Shalini: - “Rekha! Finally—why’d you bolt early? I looked everywhere for you!”

‎

‎Mom: - “Shalini, it was too much. I felt dizzy, out of place—had to leave.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Dizzy? What happened? Don’t tell me you just sat there all night!”

‎

‎Mom: - “No, it… got complicated. I couldn’t stay—too many people, too loud music”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Complicated how? Come on, Rekha—give me something juicy!”

‎

‎Mom: - “It’s not like that, Shalini. Where were you? I needed you, and you vanished.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Me? Oh, I was… occupied. Having a little fun in the bathroom, you know, with a friend. Getting my pussy fucked”

‎

‎Mom: - “What? Pu....? Bathroom? With a friend? Shalini, what do you mean?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Just what it sounds like—a quick fuck. Nothing heavy, just enjoying myself.”

‎

‎Mom: - “A fuck? Shalini—you’re married! Who was it?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Rakesh, my long time fuck partner. Ravi’s away, so I took a chance—pure fun.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Fun? That’s unfaithful—how could you do that to Ravi, your holy husband?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Unfaithful’s a big word, Rekha. It’s not serious—just a quick sex moment. No one’s hurt.”

‎

‎Mom: - “But it’s wrong! Breaking vows like that—what if Ravi finds out?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “He won’t. H is out of town for a day. I’m careful—bathroom’s discreet, Rakesh won’t talk. It’s under control.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Careful? Shalini, someone could’ve seen you—then what?”

‎

‎

‎Shalini: - “No one did. I know how to play it—phone’s locked, lips sealed. Ravi’s clueless. Ihave been doing it for 6 years now with Rakesh and my husband Ravi has never found out."

‎

‎Mom: - “Gosh! Six years? I can’t believe you’re so calm. It’s reckless—sinful!”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Sinful? Oh, Rekha, lighten up—having fun isn’t a sin. It’s living! You should try it. We can't just have one dick of our husbands for the rest of our lives. We need to spice up a bit.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Try it? No, Shalini—that’s not me. I don’t see it like that. I will never do such a thing to my husband even if he is away”

‎

‎Shalini: - “You’re too strict on yourself. Tell me—did you at least meet a man tonight?”

‎

‎Mom: - “A man? Well… yes, I did. His name’s Manoj. I don't like him though.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Manoj? Ooh, now we’re talking! Who is he? Spill it, Rekha!”

‎

‎Mom: - “He’s older—maybe 55. Drove us home, kept talking, flirting. Too much, really. I told him I am married but he won't listen”

‎

‎

‎Shalini: - “Flirting is normal Rekha. Love that! What’d he do—give me the details!”

‎

‎Mom: - “He… he danced with me, got close—too close. Then he kissed me, Shalini. I cursed myself to let him. I can't explain how it happened. I was so quick but too long.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Kissed you?! Rekha, you vixen! I told you that spicing up is the way to go. How was it—hot, wild?”

‎

‎Mom: - “No, I was just dizzy. I pushed him off—it didn’t feel right, not with my husband Amit away.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Didn’t feel right? Why not? Sounds like a dream to me! Why didn't you take him to your place and get him to fuck you?”

‎

‎Mom: - “Because I’m married! I can’t—it’s a sin. I need to do puja, cleanse this guilt.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Puja? Spare me, Rekha—religion’s just a guilt trap. Everyone sins, it’s normal! When it comes to having fun, don't put religious matters into it. In fact, every married woman does it. You know Priya, Hareeta, Sangeetha?”

‎

‎

‎Mom: - "Yes, I know them, what did they do?"

‎

‎Shalini:- "They all get fucked outside their marriage by other men"

‎

‎Mom: - “Not normal for me. I feel dirty—there’s more, Shalini, something I’m hiding.”

‎

‎

‎

‎Shalini: - “Hiding? Oh, you’ve got me hooked—what’s the big secret?”

‎

‎Mom: - “In the car… I woke up with wetness between my thighs. And you know my private part was wet too. Manoj said something odd about it.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Wetness? Rekha, what?! You mean your juices? Tell me everything!”

‎

‎Mom: - “Yes—juices. He told me to check the bathroom, said I’d find something nice there.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Nice? Oh my God—he was rubbing you, wasn’t he? That’s why you were wet! He was rubbing your pussy"

‎

‎Mom: - “Rubbing me? Shalini, no—I was asleep! How could that happen?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Easy, Rekha—he teased your pussy, got you going. Sleep just let your juices flow.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Flow? While I was asleep? That’s… impossible!”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Not impossible—natural. Your body reacted, awake or not. Manoj knew the trick.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Natural? It’s filthy—I feel so wrong, Shalini. I need puja to fix this.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Puja’s a waste—why cleanse something good? You enjoyed it, deep down.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Enjoyed? No—I’m ashamed. It’s a betrayal of Amit.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Betrayal’s a big word. It’s just a thrill—own it, Rekha, don’t run to prayers. You need Manoj to fulfill your desires, not prayers Rekha, wake up”

‎

‎Mom: - “I can’t own this. But… Manoj texted me right now, he wants to come over.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Come over? Yes, Rekha, invite him! Perfect chance to let loose!”

‎

‎Mom: - “No, Shalini—I can’t. What if something happens? It’s too risky.”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Risk’s the fun! He’s into you—let him in, see what sparks fly. You are religious right? Then inviting a friend over is what a religious person does”

‎

‎Mom: - “You’re filthy, pushing me like this! What if it goes wrong?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Wrong? It’ll go right—those breasts, that ass—he’d worship you. Don’t waste it!”

‎

‎Mom: - “Shalini! That’s shocking—what are you saying?”

‎

‎Shalini: - “Truth, Rekha—your body’s begging for it while Amit’s gone. Let Manoj work it. Why should you let your big breasts and your massive ass go to waist?”

‎

‎Mom: - “You devil—I can’t believe you! Maybe… half yes, half no. I’ll think. I will see but if he tries it this time, I will chase him out of my house”

‎

‎Shalini: - (laughing) “Half yes is progress! I am sure you will not chase him once he rubs your pussy again. Trust me! Call him, temptress—night!”

‎

‎Mom: - “Goodnight, you filthy thing. You are such a naughty friend "

‎

‎Mom hung up, her breath shaky, the phone slipping to the mattress. She sat there, torn—her faith pulling her to penance, Shalini’s words luring her into something wilder.

‎

‎

‎The night’s secrets pressed heavy, her mind a storm of guilt and curiosity.

‎

‎
Next part is coming soon! Give me your thoughts guys or what you want to see. Although this is a real story, I can add few of your suggestions earlier on!

[Rajeev Gupta]

Mom locked her bedroom door behind her, the soft click reverberating in the stillness of our house. I couldn’t sleep, the night’s events—Manoj’s roaming hands, the dampness between her thighs, Shalini’s provocative words—churning in my mind like a restless storm. 


A strange pull tugged me out of bed, my socks silent on the floor as I crept toward her room. A sliver of light glowed under her door, and I pressed my ear against it, peering through the keyhole with a mix of curiosity and unease.


Inside, Mom sat on the edge of her bed, her nightgown hiked up past her knees, revealing the smooth, golden skin of her thighs. Her hand rested there, inches from her clean shaven thirsty pussy, a private warmth I’d never seen her touch before. 

Her fingers began to move—slow, tentative circles at first, then bolder, rubbing with a quiet urgency. She was horny, a raw, pulsing need etched into her quickening breaths and half-closed eyes. 

Manoj had left her in this state—his touch in the car, his kiss on the dance floor, had ignited a fire she couldn’t douse. I knew she was somehow thinking about this all the time while she was rubbing her pussy. 

Her 38-inch bust heaved with each shallow gasp, her 34-inch waist curved softly, and her big moti ass pressed into the mattress, shifting as she sought relief. 

It was clear she wanted her pussy to be fucked so hard, a release to quench the thirst he’d stirred.
She reached for her phone, and my heart skipped, expecting her to call Manoj, to invite him back to finish what he’d started. 

But instead, she tapped Dad’s name, launching a video call. 

The screen flickered to life, and his tired face appeared, I re adjusted my positioning from the window so that I could see dad's face in mom's phone, lit by the harsh glow of his Dubai apartment. 

I stayed hidden, shocked, watching as her hand lingered near her pussy, her horny restlessness spilling into the call, her body a live wire of need.

Dad: - “Rekha? It’s the middle of the night there—what’s going on? Why’re you calling me now?”

Mom: - “Amit, I couldn’t wait—I’m so horny, I needed to hear your voice. I’m burning up without you. My tiny pussy is twitching, clenching, I want it now baby, I want your dick inside my pussy”

Dad: - “Horny? Rekha, you look… different—flushed, restless. What’s gotten into you tonight? What is going on?”

Mom: - “I’m missing you so much—it’s unbearable. I’m touching myself, Amit—my pussy’s aching for you.”

Her voice trembled with desperation, and I saw her fingers press harder, rubbing her pussy through the thin nightgown. A soft moan slipped out, her 38-inch bust rising sharply, her hand grazing her breast then sliding back down.

I couldn't understand what is going on with my mom this night. Is this all because Manoj has turned her to thirst for a dick just because he kissed her and rubbed her pussy in the car while she was asleep? 


Dad’s eyes widened, his confusion plain across the screen.


Dad: - “Touching yourself? Rekha, what’s that sound—those moans? Are you alright, jaan? What’s happening over there?”

Mom: - “I’m fine—just so damn horny, Amit. It’s been too long, and I can’t stop. Talk to me—please, I need you. It has been two months since you fucked me my love”

Dad: - “I’ve never heard you like this before—you’re scaring me, Rekha. You’re always so calm, so pure—what’s changed?”

Mom: - “Don’t ask questions—just help me, Amit. Speak filthy to me, quench this fire. I want you to talk dirty to me on the phone until I cum. Let's us do phone sex right now. NO more questions my love. I’m begging you—make me feel you.”

I froze, my breath catching—shocked like Dad. My pure, religious Mom, who lit diyas every morning, now horny and demanding filth? 

My mom and dad never did phone sex before. So I don't know where my mom got this idea from. Maybe from Shalini? But I am not certain because I never heard Shalini talk to her about this idea of phone sex.

Her hand kneaded her breast, fingers circling her pussy, her eyes locked on Dad’s stunned face. Through the window, I watched her body shift, her 44-inch ass grinding slightly against the bed, the nightgown riding higher to expose more of her thighs. 

The image clashed with everything I knew—her prayers, her modesty—replaced by this raw, thirsty woman I didn’t recognize.


Dad: - “Filthy? Rekha, I can’t—you’re my wife, not some… I don’t know how to say those things!”

Mom: - “Don’t you dare hold back—I’m dying here, Amit! Call me a dirty slut—say it, make me feel alive!”

Dad: - “A dirty slut? Rekha, please—behave yourself! I’ve never seen you this wild—what’s wrong with you tonight? You are supposed to be religious”

Mom: - “Wrong? I’m thirsty, that’s what’s wrong! Been alone too long, and I need you to fuck me with your words—do it!”

Dad’s face twisted, torn between shock and love. She’d always had a hold over him, and now, her rude urgency bent him to her will. He exhaled, his voice shaky but yielding.


Dad: - “Alright, jaan—I’ll try, for you. I’d start with your neck—kissing it slow, sucking till you shiver, tasting every bit of you.”

Mom: - “Oh, Amit… yes, that’s it—keep going, don’t stop now, I’m feeling you already.”

Dad: - “Then your shoulders—I’d bite them gentle, trail my tongue down, feel your skin heat up under me, driving me crazy.”

Mom: - “Mmm… crazy—yes, I love that. More, Amit—give me more, I’m so horny for you.”





Her fingers pressed her breast harder, kneading the soft flesh, then slid back to her pussy, rubbing with a steady rhythm. Her moans grew louder—sweet, needy hums that filled the room. Her 34-inch waist twisted slightly, her plump ass shifting as she arched into her touch. 

I couldn’t believe it—my Mom, so thirsty, lost in this primal need, her body begging for what Manoj had awakened and Dad now fed.


Dad: - “Down your chest—I’d linger on those breasts, Rekha, kissing them, teasing them till you’re gasping, knowing how much I want you.”

Mom: - “Oh… gasping—yes, I’m yours, Amit. Tell me how bad you want me—make it filthy.”

Dad: - “So bad, jaan—I’d suck those nipples, squeeze you tight, then slide lower, kissing your waist, your hips, worshipping every curve.”

Mom: - “Worship me—oh, I feel it, Amit. Lower—don’t tease me, take me there. Oohh yesss I can feel my pussy vibrating just listening to your words my love oooh go on”

Her hand moved faster, fingers circling her pussy, her breaths ragged. Dad’s voice deepened, still hesitant but caught in her pull, his confusion giving way to a reluctant heat. My mom didn't really want to call dad, but she called him because she wanted to do away with thinking about Manoj and removing the thirst Manoj brought to her.


Dad: - “Your thighs, Rekha—I’d spread them wide, kiss inside, deep and slow, tasting you, driving you wild till you’re begging me.”

Mom: - “Begging—yes, I’m begging now! Deeper, Amit—tell me what you’d do, I’m so close.”

Dad: - “I’d take you, jaan—push my cock inside your pussy, pound you hard, fill you up till you’re screaming my name.”

Mom: - “Oh… fuck, Amit—hard, yes! I’m… I’m there—don’t stop, I’m cumming!”

He caught her gasps, guiding her through the peak.

Dad: - “Cum for me, Rekha—let it all out, scream if you want, I’m with you, pounding you deep—are you there?”

Mom: - “Yes—oh, fuck, Amit! I’m cumming—oh God, yes—harder… oh!”

Her body tensed, her hand trembling against her pussy, and she gasped out broken words—“Oh… fuck… Amit… yes!”—sharp, desperate, a release that shook her whole frame. Her pussy splashed out juices and she orgasmed and she even wetted the bed with her pussy juices.


Her 38-inch bust heaved, her face flushed red, her enormous ass lifting off the bed as she shuddered, waves of pleasure crashing through her. She sank back, panting, her hand falling limp, the nightgown tangled around her hips.


Dad: - “You satisfied now, Rekha? That was… intense—my heart’s racing over here. This is the first time I have ever done this phone sex thing”

Mom: - “Yes, Amit… so satisfied—thank you, love. I needed you so bad tonight.”

Dad: - “I’m glad, jaan—love you more than anything. But why’re you like this? This isn’t my Rekha—what’s going on?”

Mom: - “Love you too—just missing you, Amit. Been so horny without you, that’s all—I couldn’t hold it in. I don't know where this feeling of thirst is coming from but don't worry”

Dad: - “Missing me this much? You’re different—wilder than I’ve ever seen. My religious Rekha, acting like this?”

Mom: - “I know—it’s strange for me too. Just lonely, thirsty—when’re you back, Amit? I need you here. I just don't know what is going on with me”


I wish dad knew what was going on with my mom. She was acting like this because there is another man who is causing her to act filthy like this. 

That man is non other than Manoj, she met him for the first time and here she is in horny mode because he kissed her and rubbed her pussy earlier on.

Dad: - “Three months, jaan—still a while. Can’t rush it, but I hate leaving you like this.”

Mom: - “Three months? Too damn long—my pussy’s gonna ache till then, Amit! You have a small dick but I want that small dick in me”

Dad: - “Cmon Rekha, stop saying I have a small dick. Even if it is small, you love it. You’re strong, Rekha—my religious beauty. You can wait, keep that faith you love.”

Mom: - “Faith? I can’t wait with this horny fire burning me up—I’m not that strong right now!”

Dad: - “You are, jaan—I know you. I’ll find a way, come sooner—I can’t let my gorgeous wife suffer like this.”

Mom: - “You better, Amit—I’m counting on you. Love you—need you so much.”

Dad: - “Love you too, Rekha—more than words. Night, jaan—dream of me.”

She kissed the phone, a loud smack, and hung up, her face softening into a satisfied smile—content, dreamy, a woman quenched for now. 

After she hung up, she told herself in whispering voice, "Ooh my love Amit, the truth is that your dick never satisfies me but I miss it"

I didn't believe my mom was talking like this. I never saw my dad's dick but I believe what she is telling herself. Maybe dad had a small dick but I don't know since I never sneaked in to watch them having sex.


Her eyes fluttered shut, her breath evening out as sleep claimed her, her body still in the afterglow. But I knew—Manoj’s touch, not Dad’s voice, had sparked this thirst, a secret she’d buried in her lies.


I pulled back from the keyhole, my heart pounding, my mind reeling. Through that tiny view, I’d seen her hand slow, then fall to her side, her nightgown tangled high, exposing her thighs—smooth, damp, marked by her release. 

Her 38-inch bust settled with each deep breath, her 34-inch waist a gentle curve, her 44-inch ass pressing into the mattress, a silent testament to her need. 

She’d been horny—raw, pulsing, a fire Manoj had lit with his hands in the car, his kiss on the dance floor. Dad’s words had carried her over, but the root was deeper, darker.


I crept back to my room, shocked like Dad had been. My pure Mom—always in sarees, chanting mantras—now horny and rude, her hands on her pussy, demanding filth? I didn’t believe she could burn like this, her thirst so fierce it broke her gentle shell. 

Dad’s confusion echoed mine—her religious core clashed with this wildness, and she’d hidden Manoj, blaming it on loneliness. But I saw it—his fingers, his boldness, had cracked something in her, unleashing a hunger she couldn’t name or confess.


The house fell still, her soft snores filtering through the wall. She slept with that smile, satisfied for now, but the night’s shadow lingered. Three months until Dad returned—her horny thirst would simmer, fed by a stranger’s touch she wouldn’t admit. 

I lay in bed, the image of her—beautiful, conflicted, undone—burning in my mind, a secret I’d keep locked tight, a weight I didn’t fully understand.

However, I was ready to find out how it will go between Manoj and my mom. But what I knew is that Manoj has very well influenced my mom's sexual desire in an indirect way.



To be continued..........

Friends, will Manoj fuck my mom? What will happen next? Stay tuned and send in your comments.

[Rajeev Gupta]

This writer is inconsistent. He creates a buildup and vanishes for months. He didnt even complete his last story and finally deleted it.

Writing takes time

[Rajeev Gupta]

‎

‎Sorry for the late update friends

‎

‎

‎

‎The next morning, I woke to the smell of parathas wafting through the house.

‎

‎ Mom was already in the kitchen, bustling around, the clink of utensils a familiar comfort. I shuffled to the table, rubbing sleep from my eyes, and started eating—hot, buttery parathas with curd, her specialty.

‎

‎She stood by the stove, dbangd in a tight saree that hugged her curves like a second skin.

‎

‎The fabric clung to her 38-inch breasts, outlining their full, soft shape, and cinched her narrow waist, flaring out over her plump, juicy ass.

‎

‎It wasn’t her usual modest dbang—Shalini’s influence was clear, pushing my holy mom into something bold, sexy, meant to catch eyes.

‎

‎Me: - “Ma, you’re dressed up nice—where you going today?”

‎

‎Mom: - “Oh, nowhere special, Sanjay—just felt like wearing something good. Manoj might come by to see us later.”

‎

‎Me: - “Manoj? Okay… cool, I guess.”

‎

‎She didn’t tell me the truth—her vague answer hid something, and I knew it tied to last night’s fire, the horny edge Manoj had left her with.

‎

‎I nodded, digging into my food, keeping my suspicions quiet.

‎

‎That evening, the doorbell rang, and Manoj stepped in, carrying a jug of passion juice—Mom’s favorite, a bright orange tease in his hands.

‎

‎He grinned wide, too wide, and I wasn’t friendly. I knew his intentions—to fuck my mom, to take what he’d stirred in the car—but I trusted her strength, her faith, to keep him at bay.

‎

‎She greeted him, cautious, not overly warm, her respect a thin shield.

‎

‎Mom: - “Manoj, you’re here—thanks for the juice. Sanjay, say hello.”

‎

‎Me: - “Hey.”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Hey, kid—good to see you too. Rekha, you’re looking… radiant.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Thank you—just a simple day. How was your drive?”

‎

‎Her tone stayed careful, a shield against his charm, but Manoj’s gaze roamed over her, settling on her breasts with a sultry, unabashed hunger.

‎

‎He stared, drinking in my mom's full, luscious shape of her breasts, the saree straining to contain them, his eyes tracing every curve as if he could already feel them under his hands.

‎

‎Mom noticed, she didn't like the hungry attention she is getting from another man , and she adjusted her pallu, pulling it higher to cover her chest.

‎

‎Manoj: - “Oh, Rekha, don’t go hiding those gorgeous milkshakes—they’re too perfect to tuck away.

‎

‎Let them breathe, let them tease the world a little, like the slutty treasures they are.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Manoj, please, watch what you say my son is close—it’s just a saree, and I’d rather you didn’t talk like that in front of Sanjay. Keep it respectful, alright?”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Respectful’s fine, but this saree’s a tease all on its own—it’s hugging you like it wants to slip off, showing off those curves that’d make any man weak. It’s a warm night, Rekha, and you’re the heat.”

‎

‎
‎His voice was a low, velvety purr, thick with innuendo, and he shrugged off his shirt with a slow, deliberate motion, revealing a tight vest that clung to his broad, muscled chest—dark hair curling over taut, sweat-slicked skin.
‎
‎This was few minutes later while he was sitting on the couch.
‎
‎He stretched, flexing subtly, a sensual display that made his presence magnetic, and Mom’s eyes flickered, caught for a moment by the raw, masculine allure of his chest.
‎
‎ She masked it quickly, her tone sharpening with a hint of unease.
‎

‎Mom: - “Manoj, please put your shirt back on—it’s not that hot in here, and I’d feel more comfortable if you stayed dressed properly while you’re in my home.”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Feels like a furnace to me, Rekha—your radiance is setting me ablaze, and this vest is all I need to cool off. Relax, let me enjoy the night’s heat with you.”

‎

‎

‎

‎He leaned closer, his musky, primal scent drifting toward her—a heady tease—and she turned away, pouring the juice with hands that trembled slightly, fighting the erotic spell he cast.

‎

‎Night fell, and sleep loomed. Mom fixed me with a steady, protective look.

‎

‎Mom: - “Sanjay, you’ll sleep in my room with me tonight—Manoj can take your room. We’ve only got two, and I’d rather keep you close.”

‎

‎Me: - “Okay, Ma.”

‎

‎

‎I understood—her caution around Manoj, his simmering intent to fuck her tonight, made her want me nearby.

‎

‎In her room, I settled close on the bed, her familiar jasmine scent calming me.

‎

‎ She locked the door, checking it twice with a careful twist, then slipped into a loose nightgown, her big, juicy ass swaying as she climbed in beside me.

‎

‎We drifted off to sleep, the house hushed.

‎

‎

‎At midnight, I woke, my bladder nudging me. I slipped out, used the bathroom in the dark went to pee and padded back—then froze.

‎

‎Manoj stood at Mom’s door, his vest tight against his chest, eyes dark with a quiet, sensual purpose. My stomach tightened—I didn’t like seeing him there.

‎

‎

‎Me: - “Why are you here Manoj?”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Hey, little man—don’t worry, just go sleep in your room, okay? Your mom and I need to give your mom a massage, she told me she wanted massage after long night"

‎

‎Me: - “A massage? But it’s so late—why now?”

‎

‎Manoj: - “She’s been tired all day, Sanjay—grown-ups sometimes need to massage each other late. It’s nothing for you to think about, just head back to bed.”

‎

‎Me: - “This late? That’s strange.”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Not strange at all—just helping her unwind. Be a good kid, off you go—I’ll take care of everything.”

‎

‎

‎

‎His voice was soft, treating me like a child who shouldn’t know more, and I hesitated, then nodded, walking back to my room.

‎

‎I felt uneasy, wishing I’d stayed with her, sensing he’d try to fuck her—but his gentle tone had eased me away.

‎

‎The door clicked shut, the lock snapping into place, and worry twisted inside me—I’d let him in too easily.

‎

‎

‎Minutes later, I couldn’t stay still. I sneaked back, heart pounding, and peeked through the keyhole. Manoj was naked—his clothes a crumpled heap, his body a sculpted tease in the dim light.

‎

‎Mom was still sleeping, unaware of what was unfolding before her.

‎

‎His cock was huge, thick and veiny, a pulsing length he stroked with slow, sensual intent, whispering her name—

‎

‎“Rekha, wake up, my slut”—his voice a husky, seductive murmur. It hung heavy, a massive, erotic beast that swayed with each stroke, its raw power a shock to my wide eyes.

‎

‎Why is he calling my mom a slut? I felt anger boil in me.

‎

‎Mom stirred, blinking awake, then gasped, her eyes locking on him—on that cock, bold and thrusting toward her.

‎

‎Her nightgown clung to her curves, her plump ass shifting as she sat up, shock and a flicker of awe washing over her face.

‎

‎

‎Mom: - “Manoj—what  are you doing in here? Get out of my room this instant—I didn’t invite you!”

‎

‎Manoj: - “I’m here to fuck you, Rekha—to satisfy that needy pussy that’s been aching for me ever since the car ride. You can’t deny how bad you want this, slut.”

‎

‎Mom: - “You’re out of your mind—where’s Sanjay? What have you done with my son, Manoj? Tell me now!”

‎

‎Manoj: - “He’s safe in his room, don’t fret, slut—this is our moment now. Your body’s been screaming for my cock, and I’m here to give it what it craves.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Don’t you dare call me that—move away from me, Manoj, I’m serious! I’m not some toy for you to play with—get out!”

‎

‎

‎She stood, her gaze dropping to his cock—thick, intimidating, a monster that stole her breath.

‎

‎I saw the shock in her eyes, its size hitting her like a wave, and she pointed, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

‎

‎I am very sure my mom knew his cock was bigger than my dad's tiny rod.

‎

‎Mom: - “Hide that filthy thing right now—it’s shameful and disgusting, and I don’t want it anywhere near me!”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Shameful? This cock’s your deepest fantasy, Rekha—big, hard, throbbing just for you. It’s ready to fuck you deep, make you moan like the slut you’re dying to be.”

‎

‎

‎He lunged, a smooth, erotic hug, his lips crashing onto hers with a lover’s fiery passion.

‎

‎Mom twisted, pushing hard at his chest, her head dodging his kisses—not forced, but firm, his strength a sensual cage.

‎

‎Her hands pressed against him, her fat ass jiggling but his mouth claimed hers, a deep, wet kiss that melted her resistance with its intensity.

‎

‎His breath—rancid, sour, a filthy tang—drifted through the keyhole, making me wrinkle my nose, but his erotic pull held her captive.

‎

‎

‎Mom: - “Let me go, Manoj—I’m holy, not your dirty slut! Your breath is awful—it stinks, and I want you off me right now!”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Holy? Your pussy’s been wet for me since that car, Rekha—I won’t stop till I fuck you senseless. You need this, slut, and I’m not leaving until you’re mine.”

‎

‎Mom: - “No—you’re completely wrong, Manoj! I don’t want you—I want you out of my house, away from me! I have a husband”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Your heart’s begging for my cock, Rekha—your mind’s just playing shy. Remember the car incident? Your juices dripping on my fingers, your body trembling for more?”

‎

‎

‎

‎She stiffened, his words a sultry, piercing memory, but he didn’t pause. His hands tore at her nightgown, ripping the bra free, her 38-inch breasts spilling out—full, ripe, nipples dark and taut with unwilling tension.

‎

‎He dove in, sucking one with a wet, greedy slurp, his tongue swirling slow and deliberate, spit dripping down her skin in a warm trail.

‎

‎His other hand squeezed her boob, fingers kneading deep with a sensual, possessive grip, leaving her skin flushed and marked. His saliva coated her nipples, slick and glistening, his mouth smacking as he worshipped them with an erotic fervor that filled the room.

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha—these boobs are pure heaven—juicy, perfect, made for my lips to devour. I could suck these all night, slut, and still want more.”

‎

‎Mom: - “Aaahhhh stop it, Manoj—don’t say those filthy things! Get off me—I don’t want this, I don’t want you touching me like this!”

‎

‎Manoj: - “Can’t stop, Rekha—they’re too fucking sweet, these gorgeous tits. I’m gonna suck them till you’re moaning my name, till you admit you’re my slut.”

‎

‎

‎His tongue lapped broader strokes, leaving her breasts slick with his spit, his erotic hunger a relentless tide against her fading fight—and maybe, buried beneath her protests, that horny spark he’d ignited, now flickering brighter under his sensual assault.

‎

‎

‎Then he threw her on the bed.......

‎

‎To be continued in the next 16 hours...

‎

‎Your thoughts friends 

[Rajeev Gupta]

This update totally screwed up the story!!!

Why?

[Rajeev Gupta]

Read the last update again...I put up just a few glaring ones here...

So she invited a man who she only men once before to spend the night at her place??? 

Previous posts son did not know about fucking because he saw his aunt doing something weird in the bathroom with another man and now he knows...

He takes off his shirt in front of son just like that???

At night she sleeps with her bedroom door open especially with Manoj in the house who she is not comfortable with....

Manoj walks in and asks son to go to his room and son walks out...

And once in bed he is naked and is already addressing her as a "slut"...

Correct! Remember, the son is writing story years after he now understands about sex.

And yes, she invited Manoj A DAY after she met him but remember the mom is following instructions of her most trusted friend, Shalini. So don't forget that.

Secondly, yes Manoj removes shirt in front of son & remains in vest because he takes advantage of son's innocence of not knowing what "removing shirt" Infront of mom means.

Thirdly, read properly, mom didn't leave the door unlocked, rather son left it unlocked when he went to pee.

And Manoj was stalking all night waiting for son to go & pee & he planned it. It's common sense that son obeyed Manoj because son was taught to obey.

And yes, Manoj calls mom slut because of few things: Mom followed instructions of Shalini to wear tight dressing earlier at the party, neglecting her holy profile.

Moreover, the term "slut" as used by Manoj doesn't imply the mom slept with multiple men. Rather, he named her slut to signify mom's thirst for sex.

I understand the story isn't moving in the direction you want but I would urge you to ride along since stories are different, not all will go your way.

But stay tuned for the next update ☺️☺️

[Rajeev Gupta]

Manoj grabbed Mom’s waist with a sudden, hungry surge, throwing her onto the bed like a prize he’d claimed. Her body hit the mattress with a soft thud, her big, juicy ass jiggling wildly, her 38-inch breasts bouncing under the torn nightgown, her 34-inch waist twisting as she tried to catch herself. 

The sight—her curves trembling, her fat ass quivering—sent a jolt through me, peeking through the keyhole. My heart pounded, worry mixing with a strange heat I didn’t understand, my dick stirring in my pants as I watched her struggle, her boobs heaving, her skin flushed from his earlier sucking, her nipples hard and slick with his spit.

For a young person like me, I didn't really understand why my dick was getting hard just by watching my mom doing something with another man which she used to do with my dad.


Mom: - “Manoj, stop this right now—I’m begging you, get off me! I’m not your woman, this is wrong, you can’t do this to me!”

Manoj: - “Stop? Fuck that, Rekha—you’re my slut tonight, and I’m not leaving till I’ve fucked you raw. Been dreaming of your pussy, planning every move to make you scream, you filthy whore.”

His voice was thick with disrespect, a smirk curling his lips as he towered over her, his huge cock—thick, veiny, massive—swaying like a taunt. 

He leaned down, kissing her hard, his lips crashing against hers with a sloppy, greedy force that swallowed her protests. Mom twisted, her hands shoving at his chest, trying to turn her face away, her muffled cries—“No… stop…”—lost in his mouth. 

His tongue probed deep, his bad breath—sour, rancid—hitting me even through the door, but his strength pinned her, his kiss a relentless claim. 

Her fat ass shifted on the bed, her boobs pressing against him, and despite her fight, her body seemed to soften, a betraying quiver running through her.


His hands slid to her boobs, kneading them roughly, fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing until her nipples stood stiff and red. 

He sucked one hard, his lips slurping loud, his tongue swirling in slow, wet circles, spit dripping down her skin. He tugged the nipple with his teeth, then switched to the other, leaving both glistening, her 38-inch breasts flushed and marked by his hunger. 



Mom moaned—a low, unwilling sound, “Oh… Manoj… no… stop…you are hurting my breasts and nippples aaahhhh”—her hands pushing weakly at his shoulders, her plump ass grinding into the bed as she tried to shrug him off. The moans slipped out, sharp and needy, her body responding even as she fought, her horny urges battling her words.


Mom: - “Please… Manoj… don’t do this… mmm… I’m holy, not your slut… get off me, I can’t take it!”

Manoj: - “Holy? Bullshit, Rekha—your boobs are begging for my mouth, your pussy’s next, you whore. I’m gonna fuck you till you forget your prayers and your puja.”

He kissed lower, his lips trailing down her stomach, pausing at her navel—a small, perfect dip in her golden skin. His tongue flicked inside, circling slow, his breath hot and teasing as he pressed his face against her.

Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha, this navel’s a goddamn jewel—perfect, sweet, like you were born to be my slut, made for my tongue to taste every inch.”

Mom: - “No… stop it, Manoj—don’t touch me there… oh… it’s wrong, you’re filthy, leave me alone!”

Her voice shook, but her hands faltered, barely pushing now, her big ass trembling as he ignored her pleas. His fingers tore at the nightgown, ripping it clean off, the fabric falling in shreds until she lay naked except for a pink thong—thin, tight, hugging her pussy like a secret.

I was shocked to see my mom wearing a thong. As a young kid, I knew those thongs were worn by women who are on the beach. My mom never wore thongs.

I quickly remembered that maybe it was Shalini who gave her this idea of wearing thongs that are very tight. 

Her 38-inch boobs heaved, her plump ass pressed into the bed, her thighs twitching as she tried to cover herself, her face burning with shame.

Manoj: - “A pink thong? You’re a fucking whore, Rekha—holy wife my ass, you’re dressed like a slut ready for my cock. Just look at yourself,  prayerful woman wearing a thong”

Mom: - “Shut up, you bastard—it’s just underwear, not for you! You’re sick, thinking I’d want this, you pig! It was my friend who suggested it, stop calling me a slut”

Manoj: - “Just underwear? Bullshit, whore—you picked this thong to tease me, to make my cock hard. Don’t lie, you’re dripping for me.”

He hooked his fingers into the thong’s edges, tugging, ready to remove it, but Mom clamped her fat thighs shut, her juicy ass tensing as she fought to keep him out. Her hands grabbed his wrists, her voice desperate, her body rigid with defiance.


Mom: - “No—don’t you dare touch that, Manoj! Don't you dare remove my underwear! Leave it alone, I’m not letting you near my private part, you disgusting man!”

Manoj: - “Come on, Rekha—open those sexy thighs, let me see that pussy. You’re fighting, but you’re wet as fuck, whore—stop pretending you don’t want my cock inside you. All that time I was fingering you in the car, you knew very well that it was me but you were pretending to be asleep.”

She squirmed, her resistance fierce, her thighs shifting as she twisted, but his hands were strong, sensual, prying at her thighs with a lover’s patience. 

The thong slipped down, inch by inch, her fight weakening as her horny urges—sparked by his earlier touch—flared hotter. He yanked her thong off, tossing it aside, revealing her shaven pussy—smooth, glistening, fully exposed, her clit peeking out, swollen and ready.

I began to suspect was my mom really a slut? Was she just a prayerful woman outside but inside she is craving for another man's cock? And why was she following Shalini's wicked advices all the time?

Is she discovering something inside her that was never explored?


Manoj: - “Holy shit—shaven clean? You’re a dirty whore, Rekha, prepping your pussy for my cock like a proper slut.”

Mom: - “I said enough of your stupidity, Manoj—it’s not for you, you vile bastard! Stop humiliating me, get out now!”

Her words were fire, but her body betrayed her, her hips twitching as he slid his fingers to her pussy, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, just like he’d done in the car. 

His thumb grazed her clit, teasing her folds, her wetness coating his hand. Mom moaned louder, “Oh… no… stop…,” her eyes squeezing shut, her hands gripping the bed, trying to fight him with words, but her resistance was crumbling fast, her big ass lifting slightly, her pussy responding eagerly.






Manoj: - “Same as the car, Rekha—your pussy was dripping then, fucking my fingers. You’re horny as hell, whore, just like I knew.”

Mom: - “No… oh… I didn’t want that… mmm… please, Manoj, don’t… I can’t…”

Her moans grew sharp, needy—“Mmm… no… oh…”—her words fading into gasps, her horny urges overtaking her fight. Manoj smirked, his fingers working faster on her tight pussy lips and clit, and then he knelt, his mouth diving to her pussy with a wet, greedy hunger. 

He sucked her pussy folds, his tongue lapping slow at first, tracing every inch, then circling her clit with soft, teasing flicks. He tugged her clit with his lips, sucking hard, slurping loud, his spit mixing with her juices, her pussy slick and swollen under his relentless mouth.


Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha—this pussy’s so damn sweet, whore. Your clit’s throbbing for my tongue, begging me to suck it dry.”

Mom: - “Oh… Manoj… no… mmm… it’s wrong… oh… don’t… please…aaahh oooh ssshhhh ooooooohhhhh”

She didn’t push him away, her hands trembling, her moans spilling free—“Mmm… oh…”—her big ass grinding into the bed. My earlier anger faded, replaced by a shocking heat—my dick grew hard, throbbing in my pants, a feeling I didn’t understand, watching Mom lose herself.

Her hands drifted to her boobs, squeezing them slow, fingers pinching her nipples, and then—stunning me—she licked her fingers, tasting them, a wild, horny move that broke my heart. I didn't expect my mom to start enjoying what this filthy man was doing to her.

But how could she control herself? My mom was thirsty for sex for 4 months and no one has fucked her. Even if dad comes and fucks her, I don't think my mom will get satisfied by my dad's small dick

So what can she do? She has no other option than to start feeling pleasure.


I couldn’t believe it—my pure Mom, always praying, now touching herself, her 38-inch boobs heaving, her pussy dripping, lost in Manoj’s lust.

Manoj licked her pussy harder, his tongue diving deeper, sucking her clit with loud, wet pops, his hands spreading her thighs wide to feast. Mom’s moans turned frantic—“Oh… mmm… no…”—and her hands landed on his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, her horny urges winning. 

He growled, his lips smacking, and then flipped her onto her stomach, her fat ass jutting up, round and tempting, a juicy curve that made him pause.







Mom: - “Manoj—what are you doing? Why are you turning me over like this? Stop it!”

Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha—this ass is a masterpiece, big, juicy, perfect for my hands, my tongue, my cock—damn, you’re built to be fucked. I was staring at your ass the other day at the party and I couldn't get my eyes of that jiggling two globes of yours”

He parted her ass cheeks, fingers digging into the plump flesh, spreading them slow to reveal her tight asshole, pink and shy, a forbidden tease. Mom tensed, her voice rising with panic.

Mom: - “What are you looking at? Stop it, Manoj—don’t touch my that hole (asshole), it’s not right, it’s shameful, please don’t!”

Manoj: - “Shameful? This asshole’s fucking gorgeous, whore—I’m gonna suck it, make you my slut. It’s begging for my tongue, just like your pussy.”

Mom squirmed, her big ass shaking as she tried to pull away, her hands clawing the bed.


Mom: - “No—Manoj, I’m begging you, not my asshole! It’s dirty, I can’t let you—it’s too much, you’re sick!”

Manoj: - “Dirty’s what I love, Rekha—your asshole’s mine, slut, just like your pussy and boobs. I’m fucking every hole tonight, you whore.”



The house was a dark, suffocating cage, pressing in on me as I crouched outside Mom’s bedroom door, my eye jammed against the keyhole’s icy metal. 

My breath came in short, jagged gasps. 


I was Sanjay, just a kid, too young to piece together the full horror of what was happening in my mom's bedroom with Manoj, but old enough to feel its wrongness like a blade twisting in my gut. 

My stomach churned, a sick, heavy weight that begged me to run, to hide, to do anything but stay. But my body wouldn’t move, my gaze locked on the nightmare unfolding in Mom’s room, lit by the weak flicker of her bedside lamp.


Then Manoj continued licking my mom’s asshole. The door was locked—I’d heard the bolt snap shut when he followed her inside, his voice oozing with that slimy charm he’d used at Shalini’s party. 

Shalini, Mom’s loud friend who loved stirring up trouble, had thrown that party a day back, all thumping music and grown-ups laughing too hard. Manoj had been there, always too close to Mom, his eyes sharp and greedy, like he was hunting something I didn’t understand then but despised now. 

Here he was, in our house, on his knees behind her, his face pressed against her big ass in a way that made my skin crawl and my throat burn with bile. Mom stood stiff, her hands gripping the bedpost so hard her knuckles gleamed white, her nightgown bunched up around her hips, leaving her exposed to him, to me, to this moment I couldn’t unsee.


The lamplight threw cruel shadows across her tense body, and through the keyhole, I saw it all: her clenched teeth, her eyes squeezed shut, his hungry movements, the way her ass jiggled softly with every slow, deliberate lick of his tongue against her asshole. 

Each jiggle hit me like a fist, a fresh wave of nausea that made me want to puke, to scream, to make it all stop.
I was disgusted, and it wasn’t just because of what he was doing—though that was awful enough to make my head spin with horror. 

I was a kid and never understood how Manoj was licking my mom's asshole, where her shit comes from.

It was because this was Mom, the woman who’d bandaged my cuts, who’d taught me to pray with folded hands, who’d kept our family together while Dad was gone, pouring concrete under a foreign sun to pay our bills. 

She was my everything, the one who made the world feel safe, the one who held me when I cried. Seeing her like this, vulnerable and violated by a creep like Manoj, felt like someone had torn my heart out and crushed it. 

Manoj wasn’t Dad, wasn’t even close—just some sleaze Shalini had dragged into our lives, always lingering, always watching Mom like she was something to steal. The way he touched her, the way he acted like he owned this private, sacred part of her, made me want to smash through the door and drag him out. 

It wasn’t just gross—it was a betrayal, a theft of something I didn’t know could be taken until now. 

My hands shook, my breath caught, and a rage I was too young to name burned inside me, a desperate need to protect her that felt bigger than my small, trembling frame.


Their voices cut through the quiet, low but sharp, like they were both scared someone might hear—never knowing I was there, watching, my eye burning from the keyhole’s edge.


Manoj: -“Rekha, I’m not stopping. Your husband’s halfway across the world, sweating his ass off on some construction site, leaving you here all alone. You need a man, and I’m right here, ready to give you what he can’t—every fucking inch of it.”


Mom: - “Manoj, please, you have to stop this. It’s wrong, it’s a sin against my marriage, my faith. My husband’s working hard for our family, for our son, and I can’t betray him like this. I’m begging you, let me go.”

Manoj didn’t care. His face twisted with a smug, predatory grin, and he leaned in again, his tongue dragging slowly against her asshole, making her buttocks jiggle again, a soft, sickening ripple that made my stomach lurch. I clapped a hand over my mouth, fighting the bile clawing up my throat. 

It wasn’t just the act—it was his arrogance, the way he ignored her pleas like they were nothing, like she was just a body for him to use. The keyhole showed it all too clearly: the locked door, Mom’s trembling frame, Manoj’s hands on her ass, pinning her like she was his to keep. 

My nails dug into my palms, tiny stings of pain grounding me as my body screamed for me to be bigger, stronger, anything but a kid stuck watching something so vile.


Then he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice thick with a sick obsession that made my skin prickle.

Manoj: - “Fuck, Rekha, your asshole’s driving me crazy. It’s so tight, so fucking dirty, smells like you’ve been keeping it just for me. That raw, musky heat—it’s like a drug, makes my cock throb so hard I can’t think straight. I wanna bury my tongue in it, taste every filthy bit of you.”

Mom: - “You’re disgusting, Manoj. How can you say such vile things? This is my body, not your plaything. I pray every day for my family, for strength, and you’re spitting on all of that with your filthy words. Stop this now, I’m begging you.”


Manoj: - “Disgusting? It’s fucking perfect, Rekha. This little hole’s begging for me, all tight and hot, like it knows I’m the only one who gets it. You can’t hide how real this is—no prayers are gonna change what your asshole is telling me.”

Mom: - “Stop it. I’m not your toy, Manoj. I belong to my husband, to God, to my son. You’re defiling everything I hold sacred with your hands, your words. Get off me and leave my house before I scream.”



He didn’t listen. His hands tightened on her thighs, and with every slow, deliberate lick, her big ass jiggled again, each movement searing into my brain like a wound. My eye stung from the keyhole’s metal, but I couldn’t blink, couldn’t move, my whole body locked in horror and helpless rage





To be continued.....

What do you think guys!

[Rajeev Gupta]

‎

‎

‎My disgust wasn’t just physical—it was deeper, tied to everything Manoj was trying to take.

‎

‎Dad was gone, working himself to death for us, and Manoj thought he could slink in and claim Mom’s body, her dignity, our family.

‎

‎Ad my holy mom, didn't have any other options because she was deprived of sex.

‎

‎He wasn’t just a pervert—he was a predator, mocking Mom’s faith with every touch, every word, and I hated how small I felt, how my skinny arms couldn’t do anything but tremble.

‎

‎

‎Then he leaned back further, his voice dropping to a filthy, obsessive purr, his eyes glinting in the lamplight.

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - “It’s like sweat and salt, Rekha. Your asshole’s dripping with it—raw, like you’ve been carrying this house, this life, all on your own. The smell’s thick, heavy, like every day you’ve spent working, worrying, pretending you don’t need a man to make you feel alive. It’s salty, bitter, coats my tongue like a fucking gift, makes my dick throb so hard I can barely stand it. You’re all woman here, Rekha, and I’m gonna taste every inch of it.”

‎

‎

‎Mom: - "You’re vile, Manoj. Sweat and salt? You think that’s some kind of compliment? It’s my body, my struggle, not your sick fantasy. I pray to God to forgive me for letting you anywhere near me. You’re twisting something pure into something evil, and I won’t let you drag me into your sin.”

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - "Evil? This is real, Rekha. This sweaty, salty asshole is you—every bit of your strength, your heat, your truth. It’s screaming for me, even if you won’t admit it. Your body’s honest, even if your mouth lies. I’m not stopping, not when I can feel how much you’re mine tonight.”

‎

‎

‎Mom: - "I’m not yours, Manoj, and I never will be. My heart belongs to my husband, my faith to God, my life to my son. You’re forcing this, denigrating me, but you can’t touch my soul. Get out of my house now, or I’ll scream until someone hears.”

‎

‎

‎She tried to pull away, her nightgown slipping down, her buttocks finally still, but Manoj’s grip held her close, his fingers digging into her asscheeks skin.

‎

‎The image of her plump ass jiggling with every lick was burned into my mind, a loop I couldn’t stop, each ripple a reminder of how he was trying to break her.

‎

‎Then he stood, his face flushed with a sick kind of triumph, and moved to the bed, sprawling across it like he owned every inch of our home.

‎

‎He caught his dick, rubbing his cock—hard, ugly, a sight that made my stomach twist again, my young mind grappling with something so raw and wrong.

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - " Come here, Rekha. Get on your knees and suck my dick. It’s rock-hard for you, begging for that pretty mouth. You’ve teased me long enough—time to give me what I deserve.”

‎

‎

‎Mom: - “No, Manoj. I won’t do that. It’s a sin, a betrayal of my marriage, my faith, my family. I’m a mother, a wife, a woman who prays every day. I won’t!"

‎

‎Manoj: - “Sin? Fuck your sin, Rekha. Your husband’s not here to save you, and I’m throbbing for you. Get over here and wrap your lips around my cock, or I’ll make you. You owe me this after letting me taste you.”

‎

‎

‎Mom: -

‎“I owe you nothing, Manoj. You’ve already taken too much, forcing yourself on me like this."

‎

‎

‎He didn’t budge, just stroked himself, his eyes locked on her with a predator’s focus.

‎

‎Then he lunged, grabbing her arm and yanking her toward him. Mom stumbled, her face tight with fear and disgust, and he pushed her down, forcing her head toward his cock.

‎

‎

‎At first, it didn’t work—his dick pressed against her lips, but her mouth stayed shut, her jaw clenched like a steel trap, her hands pushing against his thighs.

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - "Open your fucking mouth, Rekha. You’re gonna take my cock, whether you like it or not. I’m done asking—suck it, or I’ll make it hurt.”

‎

‎Mom: - “It won’t fit, Manoj. It’s too big, and I don’t want this. Stop, please—I’m begging you. This is wrong, it’s against my faith, my marriage. I can’t do this, I won’t.”

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - "Too big? You’ll make it fit, Rekha. I don’t care about your whining—I want your lips around my dick, and I’m not waiting. Open up, or I’ll pry it open myself.”

‎

‎

‎

‎Mom: - “I can’t, Manoj. It’s choking me just thinking about it. You’re forcing me into something evil, something that spits on my husband, my son, I’m not that woman—stop this now.”

‎

‎He gripped her hair, twisting it hard in his fist, and pushed with more force. Mom’s lips parted under the pressure, a small, pained sound escaping as his cock forced its way in, inch by inch.

‎

‎Her eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, her face crumpling like she was choking, her throat convulsing with soft, desperate gags.

‎

‎She was bent over, her body hunched awkwardly, her naked body riding up as she tried to pull back, but Manoj’s hand was a vice, guiding her mouth down his dick with a slow, deliberate cruelty.

‎

‎He moved her head, making her take it bit by bit—first the tip, slick and swollen, then deeper, each inch a violation she couldn’t stop.

‎

‎Her cheeks hollowed, her breath came in sharp, panicked bursts, and her hands clawed weakly at the bed, fingers digging into the sheets.

‎

‎

‎Her face was a map of misery—eyes watering, brows knitted, lips stretched painfully around him, gagging softly with every push.

‎

‎It was simply rocket science to explain how her mouth accommodated his massive & astronomical cock.

‎

‎Her body shuddered, her shoulders trembled, and every movement screamed she hated this, wanted it to end, her mind clinging to her faith even as her body was trapped.

‎

‎Manoj: - “How’s it taste, Rekha? My cock filling your mouth, sliding down your throat—bet it’s better than your husband’s, better than your fucking prayers. Tell me you love it, tell me it’s making you wet.”

‎

‎

‎Mom didn’t speak, couldn’t, her mouth too full, her throat too strained. She shook her head slightly, eyes still closed, tears streaking her cheeks, and gave a tiny nod—not agreement, but a reflex, the only response she could manage under his grip.

‎

‎Her silence was her defiance, her way of holding onto herself even as he tried to break her.

‎

‎

‎I watched, my heart splintering, my young mind reeling from the sight. Then I saw something else—Mom’s pussy, exposed as it was, glistening with wetness that dripped down her thighs.

‎

‎As a kid, I didn’t understand what it meant, but it looked like she was ready, like her body was in ecstasy, begging to be fucked.

‎

‎I thought it meant she wanted this, but I was wrong—just a boy misreading her body’s involuntary reaction, not seeing the truth in her face: the disgust, the shame, the fight to stay whole.

‎

‎Her dripping pussy wasn’t desire—it was betrayal, her body acting against her will, and it made my confusion twist tighter, my disgust mixing with a childish hope I’d misunderstood.

‎

‎Honestly speaking, mom wanted to be fucked because her pussy was wet but she didn't want it.

‎

‎

‎Manoj kept her there, his hand like a clamp on her head, ensuring she couldn’t escape the sucking trap of the blowjob.

‎

‎Her mouth slid up and down his cock, slow and forced, every inch a battle she was losing.

‎

‎Her gags softened, but her body stayed tense, her fingers gripping the bed so hard the knuckles whitened, her shoulders shaking with effort.

‎

‎She couldn’t break free, not with his grip so tight, not with his will overpowering her strength.

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - "Fuck, Rekha, your mouth’s so wet, so tight around my dick. You’re sucking it like a filthy slut, you know that? Bet your pussy’s dripping for my cock, begging to be fucked raw. You’re mine, every nasty inch of you.”

‎

‎

‎Mom: - “Stop, Manoj, please. I’m not that woman. You’re forcing this, wanting to fuck me, but you can’t take my faith, my love for my family.”

‎

‎

‎Manoj: - “Faith? Fuck your faith, Rekha. Your lips are on my cock, your cunt’s wet as hell, dripping like a whore’s. You can pray all you want, but your body’s screaming for me. I’m gonna fuck every hole you’ve got before I’m done.”

‎

‎Mom: - “No, Manoj. I’m not yours. I belong to my husband, to God, to my son. You’re a devil, twisting my body against me, but my heart’s still pure. You’ll never have me, no matter what you do.”

‎

‎Her voice was muffled, cracking under the strain, but it was still Mom—still Rekha, clinging to her prayers, her love for us, even as he tried to strip it all away.

‎

‎I watched, my eye burning from the keyhole, my chest so tight I could barely breathe.

‎

‎The scene was a nightmare: Mom’s bent form, her dripping pussy I misread as desire, her asshole, which I couldn't even see clearly due to her fat ass, Manoj’s cock sliding deeper into her mouth, her buttocks no longer jiggling but her body still violated.

‎

‎

‎I wanted to be a hero, to save her, but I was just Sanjay, a kid too small to fight a monster like him.

‎

‎

‎

‎Mom—Rekha, my holy mom—was on her knees, her face twisted in pain, her lips stretched around Manoj’s cock.

‎

‎Her tears caught the lamplight, and her hands clawed at the bed, desperate for something to hold onto.

‎

‎Manoj’s hand was tangled in her hair, forcing her head down, his grunts loud and ugly, like he was claiming her.

‎

‎I wanted to be a hero, to save her, but I was just Sanjay, a skinny kid with nothing but fear in my bones.

‎

‎

‎Manoj’s eyes roamed the room, hungry for something to make this worse. His eyes landed on the desk, on the framed photo of me, Mom, and Dad—smiling at a picnic years ago, when Dad was still alive in our lives, not just a shadow working himself to death.

‎

‎The sight of it lit something evil in Manoj’s face.

‎

‎

‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, look at that photo. Your happy little family, huh? I want you to spit on it. Right now, with my cock in your mouth. Spit that wet shit all over your husband and kid.”

‎

‎

‎Mom - “Mmm—no, Manoj, please don’t make me. That’s our love, our memory. It’s all I have left of them. Don’t twist it into something filthy.”

‎

‎

‎Manoj - “Don’t fucking whine, Rekha. You’re sucking my dick like a slut—spit on that picture, show me how much you care about them.”

‎

‎

‎Mom - “I can’t, Manoj. It’s sacred—my husband, my son. I’d rather choke than hurt them like that. Please, stop this.”

‎

‎

‎Her voice was muffled, strained around his cock, but her eyes were wide with horror, darting to the photo.

‎

‎I felt my stomach drop—would Mom really do it? Spit on us? On our family photo?

‎

‎On Dad’s tired smile, on my goofy grin from that day we laughed over watermelon?

‎

‎My hands shook, my nails digging into my palms. She was my mom, pure and holy—she couldn’t desecrate our family. But then her head gave a tiny nod, so small I almost missed it, like she thought it’d end this nightmare.

‎

‎

‎Manoj - “Oh, you nodded, you filthy bitch. Knew you’d break. Keep sucking my cock, Rekha, and get ready to spit on that fucking photo.”

‎

‎

‎Mom - “Mmm—I only nodded to stop this, Manoj. I don’t want to. It’s my heart you’re asking me to ruin. Please, don’t make me.”

‎

‎Manoj - “Shut up, Rekha. You’re gonna spit, and you’re gonna like it. My dick’s throbbing for you—do it, or I’ll shove it deeper.”

‎

‎

‎Mom - “God forgive me, Manoj. I just want this to end. I’m not that woman—I love my family, not you.”

‎

‎

‎Her nod was desperation, not agreement, but it still hit me like a punch. I couldn’t breathe, thinking she might actually do it, might stain the only piece of us we had left.

‎

‎My young mind spun, torn between love for her and the fear she was slipping away.

‎

‎

‎Manoj let go of her hair for a second, grabbing the framed photo with a sneer. He held it up, tilting it so our faces—Dad’s warm eyes, my gap-toothed smile, Mom’s soft glow—stared back at her.

‎

‎Her lips were still wrapped around his cock, her cheeks hollowed, her gags quieter but her body shaking.

‎

‎He pushed the frame closer, his voice low and cruel.

‎

‎

‎

‎

‎To be continued......

[Rajeev Gupta]

I am done with this mindless BS...A totally fucked up BDSM fantasy...and not to forget the glaring loopholes in the writing... Please don't even bother to ask me to highlight if you cant see them for yourself while proof reading them...

If you are done with this BS, then goodbye! No one is forcing you to like it. ☺️☺️

There are millions of stories in this site. Choose others that suits your fantasies. Good luck!

[Rajeev Gupta]

Manoj let go of her hair for a second, grabbing the framed photo with a sneer. He held it up, tilting it so our faces—Dad’s warm eyes, my gap-toothed smile, Mom’s soft glow—stared back at her. 
‎
‎Her lips were still wrapped around his cock, her cheeks hollowed, her gags quieter but her body shaking. 
‎
‎A still a kid, I didn't understand what was going on. Manoj earlier told me that he was going to give my mom a massage.
‎
‎But what was going on in that room was not massage. Even as a kid, I knew what massage was.
‎
‎But why was my mom sucking the penis of another man? Was this really massage?
‎
‎
‎He pushed the frame closer, his voice low and cruel.
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Come on, you fucking slut. Spit on this picture, bitch. Show me how you disrespect your husband, your kid, with my cock in your mouth.”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “Mmm—no, Manoj, I won’t. It’s too much—my family’s everything. I can’t hurt them, not even for you.”
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Don’t fucking lie to me, Rekha. You nodded, you whore. Spit on it now, or I’ll make you choke till you’re blue. Do it!”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “Please, Manoj, I’m begging. I can’t do that to them. My heart’s with my son, my husband. Don’t force me.”
‎
‎
‎Her eyes locked on the photo, and I saw her hesitate, her tears pooling. She shook her head slightly, her mouth full, her defiance a quiet flame. 
‎
‎During that time as a kid, I wondered why Manoj was talking crudely to my mom.
‎
‎Was this the type of massage he was talking about?
‎
‎But Manoj’s grip tightened on the frame, his other hand back in her hair, shoving her down harder.
‎
‎Manoj - “You’re pissing me off, Rekha. Spit on that fucking photo, or I’ll ram my cock so deep you’ll beg for mercy. Do it, slut!”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “Mmm—I can’t, but… oh, God, I just want this over. I’m not yours, Manoj. I’m theirs.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Rekha. Spit now, or I’ll make you regret it. Your family’s nothing—prove it!”
‎
‎Mom - “No, they’re everything. I… I’ll do it to stop this, but my love stays pure. Forgive me, Sanjay, Amit, my husband.”
‎
‎
‎Her sob was trapped, her body trembling. Then, her lips parted just enough, and a dribble of spit hit the glass, smearing across Dad’s face, then mine. 
‎
‎Can you believe it? My mom spitting Manoj's dirty cock's filth on our family photo.
‎
‎It was a small, wet mark, but it felt like a dagger. My heart stopped—Mom had spat on us, on our family, on her marriage. 
‎
‎The spit glistened, disrespectful, a stain on everything I believed about her. I wanted to scream, to tell her I knew she didn’t mean it, but I was frozen, my eyes burning.
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck yeah, Rekha. You spat on them like a nasty bitch. Look at that mess—your family’s trash now, huh?”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj. They’re still my world. I only did it to end this. You can’t touch my love for them.”
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Love? You’re a lying slut. That spit says you’re mine. You desecrated them for my cock.”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “I’m not yours, Manoj. My heart’s with my husband, my son, my God. You forced this, but I’m still me.”
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Keep telling yourself that, bitch. Your mouth’s wet with my dick, and you spat on your family. You’re fucked.”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “I’m not fucked, Manoj. You can’t break my faith, my love. I did it to survive, not because I wanted to.”
‎
‎Her voice was soft, innocent, a prayer against his venom. The photo sat there, smeared, and I couldn’t look away from it, from the spit that felt like a betrayal. 
‎
‎
‎As a kid, I kept asking myself what the hell did the words "fuck", "slut", "cock", "bitch" & "pussy" mean.
‎
‎But Mom’s eyes were steady, even through her tears—she was fighting, holding onto us, and I was too young to see it clearly.
‎
‎
‎She sagged slightly, a flicker of relief crossing her face, like she thought this might stop the blowjob. 
‎
‎Her gags had softened, her body less tense, but the guilt in her eyes was heavy. She didn’t know I was watching, didn’t know how that spit made me question her, made my love for her twist with confusion.
‎
‎Manoj tossed the frame back on the desk, careless, like it was nothing. He yanked her off his cock, a wet pop cutting the air as she gasped, her lips swollen, her cheeks streaked. 
‎
‎She looked up at him, wary, her hands clutching the bed. He sprawled back, stroking his dick, his eyes glinting with a darker hunger.
‎
‎Manoj - “Enough of your mouth, Rekha. Get up here and ride my cock. I want that pussy wrapped around me, slut.”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj, please, I can’t. It’s a sin, a betrayal of my husband, my son. I’m begging you, stop this.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Don’t fucking beg, Rekha. Your pussy’s dripping—you want my dick. Climb on, or I’ll make you.”
‎
‎Mom - “I don’t want it, Manoj. My body’s not me—it’s my faith, my family that matter. Please, no more.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Your faith? Fuck that. You spat on your family, whore. Riding my cock’s nothing after that.”
‎
‎Mom - “I didn’t mean it, Manoj. I only did it to end your cruelty. I’m still my husband’s, my son’s.”
‎
‎Her voice shook, innocent and desperate. She glanced at the photo, the spit still wet, and her face crumpled. I could see her mind turning—she’d crossed a line, even if forced. 
‎
‎I wondered why he told my mom to ride him....what did he actually mean?
‎
‎But I began to understand this was not massage.
‎
‎Her pussy was wet, dripping down her thighs, and I didn’t understand it then, but she was thirsty, not for him but for something her body craved, something her faith told her to bury.
‎
‎Manoj - “Look at that photo, Rekha. You already fucked them over. Your cunt’s begging for my cock—ride me.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj. That photo’s my heart. I didn’t fuck them—I love them. I can’t do this.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Bullshit, slut. You’re wet as hell. You’ve sinned already—spitting on your kid and husband. Ride my dick, or I’ll force it in.”
‎
‎Mom - “Please, Manoj, I’m scared. My body’s not my heart. I’m still theirs, not yours.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Your heart’s bullshit, Rekha. Your pussy’s honest—it’s screaming for me. Get on my cock now.”
‎
‎Mom - “I see the photo, Manoj. My family—they’re still mine. I can’t betray them more than I have.”
‎
‎Her eyes lingered on the frame, the spit a silent wound. She knew Manoj was right in one cruel way—she’d been pushed so far, her body reacting against her will. 
‎
‎Her innocence was in her trembling pleas, but her thirst was real, a quiet ache she despised herself for. She sighed, broken, her hands shaking.
‎
‎Then, to my horror, she moved. She reached for the photo, gentle, like she was saying sorry. 
‎
‎She picked it up, cradling it, then set it face-down on the desk, away from Manoj’s gaze, away from this sin. 
‎
‎My jaw dropped—she was shielding us, maybe, but she was climbing onto the bed, her knees trembling as she straddled him. 
‎
‎Her hand shook as she grabbed his cock, stroking it, her face tight with disgust but her body moving like it had its own will. Her big boobs swayed, heavy, her nipples hard despite her shame. 
‎
‎I didn't understand why my mom was holding another man's thing that he uses to urinate.
‎
‎Her fat ass, plump and round, jiggled as she positioned herself, a sight that seared into my mind, confusing my love for her with something raw.
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, look at you. Stroking my cock like a nasty slut. Your tits are bouncing, that fat ass begging to me.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj. I’m not that woman. I’m doing this to stop you, to protect what’s left of me.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Protect? You’re a whore, Rekha. Look at those boobs, that ass—built to take my dick. Keep stroking.”
‎
‎Mom - “I hate this, Manoj. My heart’s with my family. I’m not yours, no matter what you say.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Keep lying, bitch. Your hand’s on my cock, your pussy’s wet. You’re gonna fuck me good.”
‎
‎Mom - “I’m not lying, Manoj. I’m a mother, a wife. This is wrong—I don’t want it.”
‎
‎Her voice was soft, innocent, but her hand moved, reluctant and slow. She felt dirty—I saw it in her eyes, clouded with shame. 
‎
‎As a kid, even though I didn't understand what was going on, I knew my mom was in total shame.
‎
‎Her boobs were massive, spilling over, and her ass was so fat it seemed to dominate the space, each curve a betrayal she couldn’t control. 
‎
‎
‎
‎
‎
‎I was shocked, my heart breaking, but I couldn’t turn away, couldn’t stop hoping she’d fight.
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Ride me, Rekha. Get that pussy on my cock. Your tits, your ass—ooh woman, you’re made for this.”
‎
‎
‎Mom - “Please, Manoj, I can’t. I’m scared—it’s too much. My family’s still in my heart. I can't betray my husband"
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck your heart, slut. Slide my dick in your cunt. You’re dripping—do it now.”
‎
‎Mom - “I don’t want to, Manoj. I’m theirs, not yours. Please, don’t make me feel this.”
‎
‎Her plea was a whisper, but she shifted, guiding his cock toward her pussy. Her face was fear and disgust, but her body was wet, glistening. 
‎
‎She was thirsty, I learned later, not for him but for something her faith couldn’t silence. 
‎
‎The tip brushed her pussy lips, and she froze, her breath catching.
‎
‎
‎My innocent eyes were being entertained by something unholy but I didn't know.
‎
‎Manoj - “Don’t stop, Rekha. Push that pussy down. Your cunt’s tight—gonna feel so good on my cock.”
‎
‎Mom - “It won’t fit, Manoj. It’s too big—it hurts already. I can’t do this, it’s wrong.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Too big? You’ll make it fit, slut. I don’t care if it hurts—slide my dick in now.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—it’s choking me just thinking about it. I’m not that woman. Please, stop.”
‎
‎
‎
‎
‎Her voice cracked, but Manoj grabbed her hip, pulling her down. The struggle was slow, painful. Her pussy lips parted, stretching around the tip, and she gasped, her body tensing. 
‎
‎She tried to lift up, to escape, but his grip held her. Her thighs shook, her fat ass quivering as she fought. 
‎
‎The tip pressed harder, her wetness easing it despite her resistance. Her pussy clenched, but Manoj pushed up, and she whimpered, her hands on his chest for balance.
‎
‎Half of his dick finally got into her tight pussy.
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, take it. Your pussy’s opening up—keep going, you filthy bitch.”
‎
‎Mom - “It hurts, Manoj! It’s too much—I can’t. I’m not yours, I’m my family’s.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Keep whining, slut. Your cunt’s wet for me. Push down—let my cock fill you.”
‎
‎
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—I hate this. It’s wrong, it’s a sin. God forgive me, please.”
‎
‎Her boobs bounced with her movements, her nipples tight, her ass jiggling with every shift. 
‎
‎The tip was deep inside, her face twisted with pain. She shook her head, tears streaming, but Manoj’s hand guided her, relentless. 
‎
‎Her pussy stretched, agonizingly slow, and I watched, frozen, as Mom lost her fight, inch by inch.
‎
‎Manoj - “That’s it, Rekha. My cock’s in your pussy now. Scream all you want—you’re mine.”
‎
‎Mom - “Aaaahhh I’m not yours! It hurts—it’s tearing me. I’m my husband’s, my son’s—always!”
‎
‎Her scream ripped through the room, raw and desperate, as the tip slipped fully inside, her pussy stretched around it. She froze, shuddering, her face crumpling with shame and pain. 
‎
‎I was shocked—Mom, my holy mom, screaming, violated, her pussy wet and betraying her. 
‎
‎I asked myself what type of massage makes women scream like this.
‎
‎
‎I thought she’d become someone else, but I was starting to see she was thirsty—not for Manoj, but for something her body demanded, something he twisted into his cruelty.
‎
‎I knew this was not massage, it was something wrong.
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, you’re tight. Keep going, slut—ride my cock like the whore you are.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—I hate you. My heart’s pure, even if you force my body. Forgive me, God.”
‎
‎Her sob was quiet, but her body stayed, the tip inside, a line she couldn’t uncross. I watched, my world shattering, but her eyes were still Mom’s—innocent, fighting, even as Manoj tried to break her.

To be continued....


Give me your thoughts guys.....

[Rajeev Gupta]

‎The room was a haze of shadows and sounds I couldn’t unhear—Mom’s soft gasps, Manoj’s grunts, the creak of the bed.
‎
‎Me with my innocent mind, was still crouched by the door, my eye burning from the keyhole, my heart a knot of fear and confusion.
‎
‎My beautiful but pious Mom—Rekha—was straddling Manoj, her fat ass trembling as she hovered over his cock, the tip just inside her dripping pussy.
‎
‎Her big boobs swayed, nipples hard, and her face was tight with pain, but her thighs were slick, betraying her.
‎
‎I didn’t understand why her body looked ready when her eyes screamed no.
‎
‎M mom's body was in need of sex but her mind wasn't letting her. Manoj’s hands gripped her hips, pulling her down, and I wanted to burst in, to save her, but I was just Sanjay, a kid too small to fight.
‎
‎
‎Her pussy stretched around the tip, and she whimpered, her hands shaking.
‎
‎ Manoj’s cock was massive—thick, veined, glistening with her wetness, a monster forcing its way deeper.
‎
‎I think if mom was given an option to choose between dad's cock and Manoj's, I am pretty sure she could've chosen Manoj's rock hard cock.
‎
‎It pushed past the tip now, inching into her, mom's lips parting wider with every slow thrust. Her breath hitched, sharp and desperate.
‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, your pussy’s tight. Take my cock deeper, slut—let it fill you up.”
‎
‎Mom - “I can’t, Manoj—it’s too big, it hurts. Please, I can’t take any more.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Don’t fucking whine, Rekha. You’re wet as hell—push down, take my dick all the way.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—it’s stretching me too much. I’m trying, but it’s… it’s too much.”
‎
‎Her voice was soft, pleading, no longer heavy with prayers but raw with fear.
‎
‎She placed her hands on his chest, fingers digging into his skin for support, her boobs bouncing slightly as she steadied herself.
‎
‎Her fat ass quivered, and then, to my shock, she started moving—not just from his pulling, but on her own, a slow roll of her hips.
‎
‎Her pussy slid down another inch, swallowing more of his cock, and her breath caught, a mix of pain and something else, something I couldn’t name as a kid.
‎
‎Was it pleasure? Her eyes fluttered, and her movements grew smoother, like her body was taking over.
‎ ‎
‎
‎Manoj - “Holy shit, Rekha, you’re riding me now? Fuck, you’re moving that pussy on your own, you slut.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—I’m not… I’m just trying to make it stop hurting. It’s not what you think.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Bullshit, you’re loving my cock. Keep going, bitch—fuck me like you mean it.”
‎
‎Mom - “I don’t mean it, Manoj. I’m… I’m just doing what I have to. Please, don’t say that.”
‎
‎Her voice cracked, hiding the truth I couldn’t see then—that her body was responding, chasing a pleasure she didn’t want to feel.
‎
‎I was innocent, my mind still clinging to Manoj’s lie from earlier that day. He’d smirked at me, saying he was coming over to give Mom a “massage” to help her relax.
‎
‎I’d nodded, thinking it was like when Dad rubbed her shoulders after a long day. But this—this was no massage.
‎
‎Mom’s pussy sliding down his cock, her ass jiggling, her moans starting to slip out—it was a sin, I realized, my young heart twisting.
‎
‎Manoj wasn’t helping her; he was doing something sinful to her, and I’d been too naive to see it coming.
‎
‎But still I don't understand what this sinful thing is
‎
‎Her hips moved faster now, his cock sinking deeper, halfway in, thick and relentless.
‎
‎Her hands pressed harder on his chest, her nails biting into him. Her moans grew louder, soft but undeniable, and I froze, my innocence crumbling.
‎
‎She was sinning, betraying Dad, betraying me, even if Manoj was forcing her. But I was not sure if she was.
‎
‎
‎Something just felt off about it.
‎ ‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, listen to you moaning. My cock’s big, isn’t it? Tell me how it feels, slut.”
‎
‎Mom - “It’s… it’s big, Manoj, too big. I can’t help it—it’s just… it’s happening.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Can’t believe you’re turning into this, Rekha. Moaning like a whore—your pussy’s loving my dick. While your son is sleeping next room”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—I’m not changing. It’s just my body… I don’t want this, I swear.”
‎
‎Her voice was desperate, but her hips kept moving, her pussy now elastic, stretching to take more of him.
‎
‎She was tuning in, I saw it—her face softening, her moans less pained, more rhythmic, as Manoj fucked her deeper.
‎
‎His cock slid in and out, slick with her wetness, and her fat ass jiggled with every thrust, a hypnotic ripple that made my stomach churn.
‎
‎My queen mom was being fucked by a king.
‎
‎She wasn’t fighting as hard, and I didn’t understand why but the more she fought, the more she was finding herself riding.
‎
‎Manoj reached up, grabbing her hair, twisting it in his fist as she rode him, pulling her head back slightly.
‎
‎Her boobs bounced wildly, her nipples tight and swollen.
‎
‎Manoj - “Ride me harder, Rekha. Your hair’s mine, your pussy’s mine—fuck my cock like a slut.”
‎
‎Mom - “Please, Manoj, don’t pull so hard. I’m trying… I don’t want to do this.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Trying? You’re fucking me good, bitch. Keep that pussy moving—take every inch.”
‎
‎Mom - “I… I can’t stop it, Manoj. It’s too much, but I don’t mean it, I don’t.”
‎
‎Her ass was a sight I couldn’t escape—fat, round, jiggling like it had a life of its own, her pussy so elastic now it swallowed his cock with less resistance.
‎
‎She forgot herself for a moment, her hips grinding faster, a soft moan slipping out, almost eager. My heart sank—she was enjoying it, wasn’t she?
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, slow down—you’re riding me like a whore. You’re loving this cock, aren’t you?”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—please, go slower. I’m… I’m losing control, but I don’t want to.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Slower? You’re going way faster than me, slut. Your pussy’s begging for my dick.”
‎
‎Mom - “I don’t mean to, Manoj. It’s just… it’s happening. I can’t help it.”
‎
‎Her voice was soft, almost lost, as she tried to pull back, but her body didn’t listen.
‎
‎How was my mom lying that she doesn't want it but she was willingly riding him?
‎
‎She was doing other things now, things that burned into my mind—her fingers curling on his chest, her back arching to push her boobs forward, her thighs squeezing him like she was chasing something.
‎
‎Manoj’s hands moved to her boobs, cupping them roughly, his thumbs flicking her nipples, pinching them until she gasped.
‎ ‎
‎Manoj - “Look at these tits, Rekha. So fucking big—your nipples are hard as hell. You love this, don’t you?”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—don’t touch me like that. It’s… it’s too much, please stop.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Stop? Your boobs are bouncing for me, slut. I’m gonna play with these nipples all night.”
‎
‎Mom - “I can’t help it, Manoj. My body’s… it’s not me. I don’t want this.”
‎
‎My innocent mind was gone now, replaced by a cold truth—this was wrong, so wrong.
‎
‎Mom wasn’t just being forced; she was moving with him, moaning, her pussy wet and eager.
‎
‎Manoj’s lie about a massage had tricked me, but the truth was clear: this was sex, a sin, a betrayal of Dad.
‎
‎I wanted to scream, to make it stop, but I was trapped, watching my mom unravel.
‎Manoj’s grin was pure venom as he fucked her deeper, his cock nearly fully inside now.
‎
‎He let go of her boobs, grabbing her hips again, then leaned up, his voice a cruel whisper.
‎
‎Manoj - “Rekha, tell your husband Amit he’s got a slut for a wife. Say you’re a whore who betrayed him.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—I won’t say that. Amit’s my love, my life. I can’t hurt him like that.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Fucking say it, bitch, or I’ll make you scream it. You’re riding my cock—tell Amit you’re a slut.”
‎
‎Mom - “Please, Manoj, don’t make me. I’m not that woman—I’m still his, always.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Apologize to Amit for cheating, Rekha. Say you’re sorry for fucking me, you whore.”
‎
‎Mom - “I won’t, Manoj. I didn’t choose this—you’re forcing me. I won’t betray him more.”
‎
‎His hand shot to her hair again, yanking hard, and he thrust up brutally, his cock slamming deep into her pussy.
‎
‎She cried out, her body shuddering, and her resistance cracked under the pain and pleasure.
‎
‎Mom - “I’m sorry, Amit—I’m so sorry for this. I didn’t mean to… I’m a slut, a whore. Forgive me.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck yeah, Rekha—that’s it. You’re my slut now, not his. Keep riding, bitch.”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj—I’m still Amit’s. I only said it because you made me. I hate you.”
‎
‎Her voice broke, tears streaming, but her hips didn’t stop, her pussy taking him fully now.
‎
‎Manoj laughed, a sick triumph, and pulled out suddenly, his cock slick and throbbing. He slapped her thigh, hard.
‎
‎Manoj - “Turn around, Rekha. Get in doggystyle—I’m gonna fuck that pussy raw.”
‎
‎Mom - “Okay, Manoj… I’ll do it. Just… just don’t hurt me more.”
‎
‎I was shocked—she obeyed, no fight left, flipping onto her hands and knees like she was giving in.
‎
‎Was she wanting this now? Her fat ass was up, jiggling slightly, her pussy glistening and open.
‎
‎I couldn’t believe it—Mom wasn’t complaining, wasn’t pleading. It was like she was ready to be fucked, and my heart shattered, thinking she’d chosen this.
‎
‎Manoj positioned himself behind her, his hand cracking down on her ass, leaving a red mark.
‎
‎Her cheeks rippled, and she gasped, her face a mix of shock and something else—pleasure, I realized, my stomach twisting.
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, this ass is perfect—fat, jiggly, begging for my cock. I’m gonna fuck your pussy so hard.”
‎
‎Mom - “Manoj, please… not so rough. Just… just do it, but don’t talk like that.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Rough? You love it, slut. Look at this ass shaking—gonna shove my dick in deep.”
‎
‎Mom - “I don’t love it, Manoj. I’m just… I’m doing what you want. Please, be gentle.”
‎
‎He guided his cock to her pussy, the tip brushing her lips, then thrust in hard, no warning.
‎
‎Her pussy swallowed him, elastic and slick, and she moaned, loud and raw, her ass jiggling with every slam.
‎
‎Manoj fucked her relentlessly, his hands gripping her hips, slapping her ass again, the sound echoing.
‎
‎Her face was what broke me—eyes half-closed, lips parted, moans spilling out like she was lost in it. Pleasure, clear as day, even if she didn’t want it.
‎
‎Her pussy was wetter now, her body rocking back to meet his thrusts, and I couldn’t deny it—she was tuning in, her body betraying her heart.
‎
‎Manoj - “Fuck, Rekha, your pussy’s gripping my cock. You’re loving this doggystyle, aren’t you, whore?”
‎
‎Mom - “No, Manoj… I’m not. It’s just… it feels… I can’t stop it. Please, slow down.”
‎
‎Manoj - “Slow down? Your ass is bouncing like crazy—keep fucking me back, slut.”
‎
‎Mom - “I’m trying not to, Manoj. My body’s… it’s not me. I don’t want this.”
‎ ‎
‎
‎But she did, in some way—her moans were louder, her pussy clenching him, her ass a blur of motion.
‎
‎She was still Mom, but she was something else too, someone I didn’t know, and it crushed me, my innocence gone, replaced by the truth of her sin.
‎ ‎

[Rajeev Gupta]

Hi the story is ok. can't feel reality as your earlier story my mom and vikram. My request is not to stop inbetween any stories. Is it possible to continue that story simultaneously.

Yep this story will leave no gaps