23-07-2025, 06:39 PM
(This post was last modified: 24-07-2025, 06:55 PM by Kabib. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Vikas's heart pounded in his chest as the crowded bus jolted through the chaotic streets of Mumbai. The smells of spicy food, diesel fumes, and sweaty bodies melded into an intoxicating cocktail that only added to the sound of the city. He had just moved here from the quiet, orderly confines of Chandigarh, and the stark contrast was already getting to him. The press of humanity around him was suffocating, a stark reminder of the anonymity that came with living in a place where everyone was a stranger.
He looked out the window, watching the city go by, when suddenly his eyes locked onto a figure that made his breath hitch in his throat. It was his mother, Inspector Anasuya dressed in a tantalizingly transparent sapphire blue blouse that clung to her ample curves like a second skin, her midriff exposed by the knot of her crimson and gold bordered saree. The soft fabric of the blouse allowed the barest hint of her areolae to show through, making her look like a forbidden fruit ripe for the plucking. Her voluptuous breasts bounced with the rhythm of the bus, the fabric of her blouse doing little to hide their grandeur. Her waist was cinched in by the stark white petticoat, creating a mesmerizing hourglass figure that seemed to flow effortlessly into the soft curve of her hips.
Her eyes were cast down, a picture of innocence, yet her full, luscious lips were pursed in a way that suggested something entirely different. As the bus stopped with a jerk, she was pushed back against the metal bar, the fabric of her blouse stretching taut, giving the men around her an eyeful of her deep, dark cleavage. Vikas felt a strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside him—shame, anger, and an uncomfortable arousal. He knew his mother was a strong, independent woman, but he had never seen her like this before. Her beauty, usually hidden beneath the stern, no-nonsense exterior , was laid bare for all to see, and it made him feel like a moth drawn to a flame.
As the bus lurched forward, and he caught a glimpse of the swell of her stomach, the soft curve of her belly leading to the navel that winked back at him. Her skin was a warm, golden brown, kissed by the sun, and her hips swayed with a grace that was at once seductive and maternal. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a bun, revealing a neck that was adorned with the traditional mangalsutra and a smattering of fine wrinkles that only added to her allure. She was a woman who had seen the world and yet retained an aura of vulnerability that was impossible to ignore.
The sight of her in such a compromising situation was like a punch to the gut, but it was the look on her face that truly shook him. She seemed to be in a daze, a soft smile playing on her lips as if she enjoyed the unwanted attention.
Suddenly, the teenager next to him nudged his ribs with a knowing grin. "Dude, check out that aunty," he said, jerking his head towards his mother. Vikas felt his blood boil. This was not the time for lewd comments. The boy, noticing his discomfort, leaned closer, whispering, "I'd tap that, if you know what I mean."
Vikas's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to punch the smug smile off the teen's face. He knew he couldn't cause a scene, not here, not now. His mother's secret was obviously not as well-kept as she thought. The teenager, a cocky kid with a mop of hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a week, winked at him, as if they were sharing some secret joke. "Bet she's got some moves," he leered, his eyes ogling Anasuyas retreating figure.
It was clear that he was not just watching the show but also getting off on it. "Imagine those big tits in your face," he said with a low chuckle, his voice dripping with innuendo.
Vikas's stomach turned. "Shut up," he snarled under his breath. But the teen was not one to be silenced easily. He leaned in closer, his breath reeking of paan masala and lust. "And that ass, man," he continued, his eyes glazed over with desire. "It's like it's begging to be grabbed."
The boy's words painted a vivid, unwelcome picture in Vikas's mind. He could see his mother's ample hips swaying as she walked, the fabric of her petticoat clinging to her curves, hinting at the treasure beneath. Her skin, so soft and warm from his childhood memories, was now being ogled by this stranger. It was a violation of the purest kind, and yet his traitorous mind couldn't help but wander to the dark places that his mother's newfound sexuality had opened up.
"Those thighs," the teen mused, stroking his own thigh with a greasy hand. "They're like pillars of heaven. I bet they're so tight they could strangle a man." His gaze raked over the retreating figure of Anasuya, his eyes lingering on the spot where her legs met her skirt, as if he could see through the fabric to the secrets hidden beneath. "And that pussy," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "It must be like a warm, wet paradise."
Vikas felt his face flushing with rage. He couldn't believe the audacity of this stranger, speaking about his mother in such a way. But as the words sank in, something else began to stir inside him. The anger was giving way to a confusing mix of arousal and disgust. His mother was a respected figure in their town, and here she was, being talked about like a piece of meat in a public bus. It was wrong, but he couldn't deny the way his cock was responding to the crude descriptions.
"Look at her," the teen said, his voice barely above a murmur. "So prim and proper, but I bet she's a wildcat in bed." He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving Anasuya, "Those big, juicy melons, just waiting to be squeezed." His hand moved to his crotch, and he began to stroke himself through his pants.
Vikas felt his own arousal growing, despite the horror and anger. He knew he should stop the boy, but he was frozen in place. The teen's hand worked faster and faster, his eyes locked onto Anasuyas breasts. "I'd love to see those puppies bounce," he murmured. "I bet she's got a set of big, beautiful tits that could fill a man's hands."
With each bump of the bus, the teen's hand grew bolder, his eyes never leaving the sway of Anasuyas hips. "And that ass," he groaned. "So round and firm, like a ripe mango." His hand had made its way to his crotch, and he was now openly masturbating. "I'd bury my face between those cheeks, lick her until she screams."
Vikas felt his own hand clenching, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to do something—anything—to make it stop. But the words kept coming, painting a picture so vivid it was like watching a porno flick in his mind. The teen's breath grew ragged, his eyes glazed with desire. "And that pussy," he panted. "I'd tear that thing apart."
Vikas's world was spinning out of control. The sight of his mother being ogled and talked about in such a crass manner was like a punch to the gut, but the strange, forbidden feelings that were awakening inside him were even more disturbing. He watched as the teenager, emboldened by his own words, stood up from his seat, the fabric of his pants tenting outwards with the obvious bulge of his arousal. The boy's eyes remained glued to Anasuyas voluptuous figure as he stepped closer, his body language screaming of his intentions.
"Looks like she's enjoying the view," the teen smirked, nodding towards the window Anasuya was leaning against. She was indeed looking out, her eyes seemingly oblivious to the lewd stares and whispers that surrounded her. But as the boy approached, she is unbothered absent minded.
Without missing a beat, the teenager leaned against the bar behind her, his body accidentally pressing into her, his crotch nestling against her backside. Anasuya gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sound that was half shock, half pleasure. Vikas felt his stomach churn, but his eyes remained glued to the scene unfolding before him. The teen's hand slithered down her side, coming to rest on the soft, supple flesh of her hip. He began to squeeze, his grip tightening, and Anasuyas eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Vikas's hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. He knew he had to do something, to stop this, but his legs refused to move. The teenager was practically dry-humping his own mother, and Anasuya seems to be unbothered
He looked out the window, watching the city go by, when suddenly his eyes locked onto a figure that made his breath hitch in his throat. It was his mother, Inspector Anasuya dressed in a tantalizingly transparent sapphire blue blouse that clung to her ample curves like a second skin, her midriff exposed by the knot of her crimson and gold bordered saree. The soft fabric of the blouse allowed the barest hint of her areolae to show through, making her look like a forbidden fruit ripe for the plucking. Her voluptuous breasts bounced with the rhythm of the bus, the fabric of her blouse doing little to hide their grandeur. Her waist was cinched in by the stark white petticoat, creating a mesmerizing hourglass figure that seemed to flow effortlessly into the soft curve of her hips.
Her eyes were cast down, a picture of innocence, yet her full, luscious lips were pursed in a way that suggested something entirely different. As the bus stopped with a jerk, she was pushed back against the metal bar, the fabric of her blouse stretching taut, giving the men around her an eyeful of her deep, dark cleavage. Vikas felt a strange cocktail of emotions swirling inside him—shame, anger, and an uncomfortable arousal. He knew his mother was a strong, independent woman, but he had never seen her like this before. Her beauty, usually hidden beneath the stern, no-nonsense exterior , was laid bare for all to see, and it made him feel like a moth drawn to a flame.
As the bus lurched forward, and he caught a glimpse of the swell of her stomach, the soft curve of her belly leading to the navel that winked back at him. Her skin was a warm, golden brown, kissed by the sun, and her hips swayed with a grace that was at once seductive and maternal. Her long, black hair was pulled back into a bun, revealing a neck that was adorned with the traditional mangalsutra and a smattering of fine wrinkles that only added to her allure. She was a woman who had seen the world and yet retained an aura of vulnerability that was impossible to ignore.
The sight of her in such a compromising situation was like a punch to the gut, but it was the look on her face that truly shook him. She seemed to be in a daze, a soft smile playing on her lips as if she enjoyed the unwanted attention.
Suddenly, the teenager next to him nudged his ribs with a knowing grin. "Dude, check out that aunty," he said, jerking his head towards his mother. Vikas felt his blood boil. This was not the time for lewd comments. The boy, noticing his discomfort, leaned closer, whispering, "I'd tap that, if you know what I mean."
Vikas's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to punch the smug smile off the teen's face. He knew he couldn't cause a scene, not here, not now. His mother's secret was obviously not as well-kept as she thought. The teenager, a cocky kid with a mop of hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a week, winked at him, as if they were sharing some secret joke. "Bet she's got some moves," he leered, his eyes ogling Anasuyas retreating figure.
It was clear that he was not just watching the show but also getting off on it. "Imagine those big tits in your face," he said with a low chuckle, his voice dripping with innuendo.
Vikas's stomach turned. "Shut up," he snarled under his breath. But the teen was not one to be silenced easily. He leaned in closer, his breath reeking of paan masala and lust. "And that ass, man," he continued, his eyes glazed over with desire. "It's like it's begging to be grabbed."
The boy's words painted a vivid, unwelcome picture in Vikas's mind. He could see his mother's ample hips swaying as she walked, the fabric of her petticoat clinging to her curves, hinting at the treasure beneath. Her skin, so soft and warm from his childhood memories, was now being ogled by this stranger. It was a violation of the purest kind, and yet his traitorous mind couldn't help but wander to the dark places that his mother's newfound sexuality had opened up.
"Those thighs," the teen mused, stroking his own thigh with a greasy hand. "They're like pillars of heaven. I bet they're so tight they could strangle a man." His gaze raked over the retreating figure of Anasuya, his eyes lingering on the spot where her legs met her skirt, as if he could see through the fabric to the secrets hidden beneath. "And that pussy," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. "It must be like a warm, wet paradise."
Vikas felt his face flushing with rage. He couldn't believe the audacity of this stranger, speaking about his mother in such a way. But as the words sank in, something else began to stir inside him. The anger was giving way to a confusing mix of arousal and disgust. His mother was a respected figure in their town, and here she was, being talked about like a piece of meat in a public bus. It was wrong, but he couldn't deny the way his cock was responding to the crude descriptions.
"Look at her," the teen said, his voice barely above a murmur. "So prim and proper, but I bet she's a wildcat in bed." He licked his lips, his eyes never leaving Anasuya, "Those big, juicy melons, just waiting to be squeezed." His hand moved to his crotch, and he began to stroke himself through his pants.
Vikas felt his own arousal growing, despite the horror and anger. He knew he should stop the boy, but he was frozen in place. The teen's hand worked faster and faster, his eyes locked onto Anasuyas breasts. "I'd love to see those puppies bounce," he murmured. "I bet she's got a set of big, beautiful tits that could fill a man's hands."
With each bump of the bus, the teen's hand grew bolder, his eyes never leaving the sway of Anasuyas hips. "And that ass," he groaned. "So round and firm, like a ripe mango." His hand had made its way to his crotch, and he was now openly masturbating. "I'd bury my face between those cheeks, lick her until she screams."
Vikas felt his own hand clenching, his knuckles turning white as he fought the urge to do something—anything—to make it stop. But the words kept coming, painting a picture so vivid it was like watching a porno flick in his mind. The teen's breath grew ragged, his eyes glazed with desire. "And that pussy," he panted. "I'd tear that thing apart."
Vikas's world was spinning out of control. The sight of his mother being ogled and talked about in such a crass manner was like a punch to the gut, but the strange, forbidden feelings that were awakening inside him were even more disturbing. He watched as the teenager, emboldened by his own words, stood up from his seat, the fabric of his pants tenting outwards with the obvious bulge of his arousal. The boy's eyes remained glued to Anasuyas voluptuous figure as he stepped closer, his body language screaming of his intentions.
"Looks like she's enjoying the view," the teen smirked, nodding towards the window Anasuya was leaning against. She was indeed looking out, her eyes seemingly oblivious to the lewd stares and whispers that surrounded her. But as the boy approached, she is unbothered absent minded.
Without missing a beat, the teenager leaned against the bar behind her, his body accidentally pressing into her, his crotch nestling against her backside. Anasuya gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a sound that was half shock, half pleasure. Vikas felt his stomach churn, but his eyes remained glued to the scene unfolding before him. The teen's hand slithered down her side, coming to rest on the soft, supple flesh of her hip. He began to squeeze, his grip tightening, and Anasuyas eyes fluttered closed, a soft moan escaping her lips.
Vikas's hand clenched into a fist, his nails digging into his palm. He knew he had to do something, to stop this, but his legs refused to move. The teenager was practically dry-humping his own mother, and Anasuya seems to be unbothered
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