[Praju69]

PRAJU DISCOVERS

Praju had always been the quiet type, buried in his books and video games, navigating the awkward limbo of high college with minimal drama. At 16, he was more focused on acing his exams and sneaking peeks at girls in his class than paying attention to the adults around him. But one rainy afternoon, when college let out early due to a storm warning, everything changed.

He trudged home soaked, eager to dry off and raid the kitchen for snacks. The house seemed unusually quiet as he slipped in through the back door—his dad was away on another business trip, and he assumed his mom was out running errands. Yashu, that cool cousin staying with them, was probably at the gym or something. Praju kicked off his muddy shoes and headed upstairs to change, but a muffled sound from his parents' bedroom stopped him cold. Laughter? No, something breathier, more rhythmic. Curiosity piqued, he crept closer, the door slightly ajar—just enough for a sliver of view.

What he saw through the crack made his heart pound and his face burn. There was his mom, Usha, on all fours on the bed, her voluptuous body naked and glistening with sweat, her full breasts swaying with each thrust. And behind her, gripping her hips with those muscular hands, was Yashu—shirtless, his powerful frame driving into her with relentless force. Praju's eyes widened at the sight of Yashu's massive cock sliding in and out of his aunt's ass, the room filled with her moans: "Yes, Yashu... harder... fill me up!" Yashu growled back, "You love this big dick in your tight ass, don't you, Aunty? Crave it like a slut." Usha's response was a whimpering yes, her body arching as she pushed back against him.

Praju froze, a mix of shock, confusion, and an unwelcome stir of arousal hitting him like a truck. This was his mom—the woman who packed his lunches and nagged him about homework—lost in ecstasy with his cousin? He knew he should back away, pretend he saw nothing, but his feet wouldn't move. As Yashu picked up the pace, slapping her ass cheek lightly and making her cry out, Praju's hand instinctively went to his crotch, adjusting the sudden hardness there. Guilt flooded him immediately—what the hell was wrong with him? This was betrayal, a secret that could shatter their family. But the raw passion, the way his mom surrendered so completely, it was hypnotic.

Finally, as Usha climaxed with a muffled scream, her body shuddering, Praju snapped out of it and retreated silently to his room, his mind racing. He didn't confront them—how could he? Instead, he lay on his bed, headphones on to drown out any further sounds, pretending to study while replaying the scene in his head. Part of him was horrified, angry at Yashu for corrupting his perfect family. But another part, the curious teenager awakening to his own desires, wondered what it would be like to have that kind of power, that kind of secret. From that day on, Praju watched them more closely, his accidental discovery planting seeds of his own internal turmoil, forever altering the innocence of his home.

[Praju69]

[Praju69]

Praju couldn't shake the image from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. That rainy afternoon replayed like a forbidden video loop in his head—his mother's voluptuous body arched in surrender, Yashu's muscular form dominating her from behind, the raw sounds of their passion echoing through the cracked door. He spent the rest of the day holed up in his room, headphones blasting music to drown out any potential aftermath noises from downstairs. His homework lay untouched on the desk; how could he focus on algebra when his world had just tilted off its axis?
Dinner that evening was torture. Usha bustled around the kitchen as usual, her cheeks flushed—Praju now wondered if it was from cooking or something else. "How was college, beta?" she asked with her warm smile, serving him extra rice like always. Yashu sat across the table, casual as ever, cracking jokes about the weather. Praju mumbled responses, avoiding eye contact, his stomach churning. Did they know he'd seen? No, they couldn't— he'd been careful. But every time Yashu glanced at him, Praju felt a paranoid prickle, like his cousin could read his thoughts. "You okay, little bro? You look like you saw a ghost," Yashu teased, and Praju nearly choked on his food.
That night, sleep evaded him. He tossed in bed, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over him. Shock was the first wave—his mom, the pillar of their family, cheating on Dad with Yashu? It felt like a betrayal not just to Kumara, but to him too. Anger simmered next, directed at Yashu mostly—that smug fuck boy cousin who'd waltzed into their home and turned everything upside down. Praju fantasized about confronting him, punching that handsome face, telling him to get out. But fear held him back; what if it blew up the family? Dad would be devastated, and Praju wasn't ready to be the one who shattered the illusion.
Yet, woven through the anger and fear was something darker, more confusing: arousal. At 16, Praju was no stranger to porn—he'd snuck views on his phone late at night—but seeing it live, involving his own mom, stirred a twisted curiosity. Usha's moans, the way her body moved with abandon, her pleas for more... it made him hard just thinking about it, and he hated himself for it. In the privacy of his room, he gave in once, jerking off furiously to the memory, guilt flooding him as he came. "This is fucked up," he whispered to himself afterward, burying his face in the pillow. Was he a pervert now? Did this make him complicit?
The days that followed were a haze of avoidance. Praju spent more time at college, joining extra study groups to stay out later. He watched his mom and Yashu like a hawk, noticing the subtle signs he'd missed before: lingering touches when they thought he wasn't looking, Usha's quick blushes, Yashu's knowing smirks. One evening, when Kumara called home, Praju overheard Usha on the phone, her voice sweet and normal, lying effortlessly about her day. It made him resent her a little, but also pity her—caught in whatever web Yashu had spun.
Eventually, the internal pressure built too high. Praju started journaling his thoughts in a hidden notebook, pouring out the confusion: "I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to tell Dad, but what if it ruins everything? And why do I keep thinking about it... like that?" He even considered talking to a friend, but the shame was too great. Instead, he distanced himself emotionally, becoming quieter at home, his once-close bond with Usha straining under unspoken tension.
In the aftermath, Praju's innocence cracked irreparably. The discovery didn't just expose a family secret; it awakened his own desires and doubts, turning the high college kid into someone grappling with adult complexities far too soon. He vowed to stay silent—for now—but the seed of resentment toward Yashu grew, and deep down, he wondered if he'd ever look at his mother the same way again.

[Praju69]

[Praju69]

Praju's resolve had been building like a storm cloud over the past few days, the weight of his secret pressing down until he couldn't breathe. He replayed the scene endlessly—his mother's voluptuous form writhing under Yashu, her moans of ecstasy that now haunted his dreams and twisted his gut. At college, he zoned out in classes, his friends asking if he was okay, but he brushed them off. Home felt like a minefield; every shared meal, every casual conversation laced with unspoken lies. Yashu, that smug bastard, acted like nothing was wrong, flexing his muscles in the living room or shooting Praju those brotherly winks that now felt mocking. Enough was enough. Praju decided it was time to confront him, to spit out the poison before it consumed him.

It happened one evening when Usha was out shopping for groceries, and Kumara was still away on his trip. Praju found Yashu in the backyard, lounging on a chair with his phone, scrolling through what Praju assumed were messages from his conquests. The sight of him—handsome, muscular, that big-dick confidence radiating off him—ignited Praju's fury. He marched over, his heart pounding, fists clenched at his sides.

"Yashu," Praju said, his voice low but trembling with rage. "We need to talk. Now."

Yashu looked up, arching an eyebrow, that trademark grin spreading across his face. "What's up, little bro? You look like you're about to explode. Girl troubles?"

Praju's face flushed red, a mix of anger and the unwelcome memory of his own arousal from that day. "Don't call me that. And cut the bullshit. I saw you. With Mom. In the bedroom, during the storm. You were... fucking her. In the ass, like some animal. How could you? She's married to Dad, and you're... you're family!"

The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, Praju's voice cracking on the last part. He expected denial, maybe shock, but Yashu just chuckled softly, setting his phone aside and leaning forward, his muscular arms resting on his knees. Those piercing eyes locked onto Praju's, assessing him like prey.

"Wow, kid. You really spied on us? That's... interesting." Yashu's tone was casual, almost amused, but there was a calculating edge beneath it. He stood up slowly, towering over Praju with his broad shoulders and chiseled build, closing the distance just enough to make the teenager feel small. "So, what now? You gonna tell your dad? Run to Mommy and cry about it?"

Praju stepped back instinctively, but held his ground. "I should. You're ruining everything. Dad trusts you, and Mom... she's not like that. You manipulated her, didn't you? With your stupid plans and seduction crap. You're just a fuck boy who can't keep it in his pants!"

Yashu's grin faded into something darker, more predatory. He placed a heavy hand on Praju's shoulder, squeezing just hard enough to assert dominance. "Listen, Praju. Yeah, I planned it. Your aunt—my hot, voluptuous Aunty Usha—she's been craving something real for years. Your dad's a good guy, but he's boring. She needed a stud like me, with a big dick that makes her beg and suck like a pro. And guess what? She loves it. Craves it. That day you saw? She was the one pushing back, moaning for more in her tight ass."

Praju shoved Yashu's hand away, his eyes wide with disgust and a flicker of that confusing arousal stirring again. "Shut up! You're lying. She'd never—"

"Oh, but she did," Yashu interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper, leaning in close. "And you watched, didn't you? Long enough to get a good look. Tell me, little bro, did it turn you on? Seeing your mom like that, all slutty and satisfied? Bet you've been jerking off to it ever since."

Praju's punch came out of nowhere, a wild swing fueled by humiliation and rage, connecting weakly with Yashu's jaw. Yashu barely flinched, his muscular frame absorbing it like nothing. He grabbed Praju's wrist in a vise grip, twisting just enough to make the boy wince. "Easy there, tiger. You hit like a kid. But I get it—you're pissed, confused. Hormones raging at your age. Here's the deal: You keep your mouth shut, and maybe I'll teach you a thing or two. How to be a real man, not some high college loser peeking through doors."

"Let go!" Praju yanked free, rubbing his wrist, tears of frustration burning his eyes. "I hate you. Stay away from her, or I'll tell everyone."

Yashu laughed again, straightening up. "Go ahead. But think about it—who's gonna believe you over me? And your mom? She'd deny it to protect you, but deep down, she'd resent you for ruining her fun. Face it, Praju, this is adult stuff. You stumbled into it, but now you're in it. Keep quiet, and life goes on. Or blow it up, and watch your perfect family crumble."

Praju stormed back inside, slamming the door, his mind a chaos of defeat and lingering threats. The confrontation hadn't gone as planned—Yashu had turned it around, planting doubts like seeds. That night, as he heard faint sounds from his parents' room again, Praju buried his head under the pillow, vowing silently to find a way to expose Yashu without destroying everything. But deep down, the encounter had only deepened his turmoil, Yashu's words echoing like a challenge he wasn't sure he could ignore.

[Praju69]

Usha's world had once been a neatly woven tapestry of domestic bliss—mornings spent packing Praju's lunch with his favorite parathas, afternoons tending to the household while Kumara called from his office with updates on his day, evenings filled with family dinners and quiet contentment. At 38, she prided herself on being the devoted wife and mother, her voluptuous figure a symbol of her nurturing role rather than the object of forbidden desires. But Yashu's arrival had unraveled it all, thread by thread, leaving her tangled in a web of guilt, ecstasy, and self-doubt that she couldn't escape.

From my perspective—oh, how I wish I could turn back time—it started with those innocent glances. Yashu, so young and vibrant at 25, with his handsome face and muscular build that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves. When he moved in, I saw him as family, nothing more. A nephew needing guidance. But his compliments... "Aunty, you're glowing today," he'd say, his eyes tracing my curves in a way that made my saree feel too tight. I told myself it was harmless flattery, a boost to my ego after years of Kumara's affectionate but routine attentions. Our sex life had become predictable—quick and functional, like checking off a chore. Yashu awakened something dormant, a fire I didn't know still smoldered.

The first touch was electric, accidental or not. His hand brushing my waist in the kitchen sent shivers down my spine. I pulled away, scolding myself: *You're married, Usha. Happily. Think of Kumara, of Praju.* But the loneliness crept in during Kumara's trips, and Yashu's presence filled the void. Movie night was my undoing. Sitting close, his thigh against mine, the screen's passion mirroring the heat building inside me. When he kissed my neck, I froze, my mind screaming no while my body arched yes. *This is wrong,* I thought, even as I came undone under his fingers, waves of pleasure crashing over the walls of my resolve. Guilt hit like a tidal wave afterward—how could I betray Kumara, the man who'd built this life with me? Yet, the craving lingered, a secret itch I couldn't scratch alone.

As days turned to stolen moments, I found myself justifying it. *It's just physical,* I'd whisper to my reflection, ignoring the mirror's accusatory stare. Yashu's big dick—God, the size of it, the way it filled me completely—became an obsession. Sucking him in the kitchen, on my knees like some wanton woman, tasting his saltiness as he guided my head... it was degrading, exhilarating. I craved the power he held over me, the way he made me beg. Anal was a boundary I never imagined crossing; it hurt at first, stretching me in ways that blurred pain and pleasure, but his whispers—"You love it, Aunty, your tight ass milking my cock"—turned me into someone I didn't recognize. Orgasms that shattered me, leaving me breathless and addicted.

But the conflict? It's a constant storm. Every time Kumara calls, his voice full of love, I die a little inside. *What if he finds out? What about Praju?* My son, so innocent, buried in his books—he's been quieter lately, avoiding my eyes. Does he suspect? The thought terrifies me. I'd do anything to protect him from this mess I've created. Yashu plans it all so meticulously, masking his seduction as care, but I see the predator now. Yet, I can't stop. The desire overrides the shame; I sneak glances at him, my body aching for his touch even as my heart aches for my family.

In quiet moments, alone in bed with Kumara snoring beside me, I pray for strength to end it. *This isn't you, Usha,* I tell myself. But then Yashu texts, a simple "Miss your lips," and the cycle begins anew. I'm torn—loyal wife versus insatiable lover—wondering if I'll ever reclaim the woman I was, or if Yashu's hold has reshaped me forever. The happiness of my marriage feels like a distant memory, overshadowed by this dark, thrilling secret that both destroys and defines me now.

[Praju69]

The confrontation had left Praju shaken, but Yashu wasn't one to let loose ends dangle. He saw the teenager's mix of rage, confusion, and that barely concealed flicker of arousal from their backyard clash. It was an opportunity—Yashu thrived on turning weakness into submission. Over the next few days, he watched Praju like a hawk: the way the boy avoided eye contact with Usha, the late-night pacing in his room, the quick glances when Yashu and Usha shared a knowing smile across the dinner table.
One evening, with Kumara still away and the house quiet, Yashu decided to push. He texted Praju: "Come to the master bedroom at 10. We need to finish our talk. Don't make me come get you." Praju stared at the message, heart racing. Part of him wanted to ignore it, lock his door, pretend none of this existed. But curiosity—and something darker—won out. At 10 sharp, he slipped down the hallway, the door to his parents' room cracked open, soft light spilling out.
Inside, Usha sat on the edge of the bed in a sheer nightie that clung to her voluptuous curves, her full breasts barely contained, nipples visible through the fabric. Yashu stood behind her, shirtless, his muscular chest gleaming, one hand possessively on her shoulder. Usha's eyes widened when she saw Praju, a flash of panic crossing her face before Yashu leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She bit her lip, nodded slowly, cheeks flushing deep red.
"Praju... beta," Usha started, voice trembling. "I... we didn't want you to find out like this. But Yashu says... you already know."
Praju stood frozen in the doorway, unable to look away from his mother's exposed form, the way her thighs pressed together nervously. "Mom... what is this?"
Yashu smirked, stepping forward. "This is reality, little bro. Your mom craves what I give her—my big dick stretching her pussy, her ass, making her cum like your dad never could. And tonight? You're gonna watch. Properly. No peeking through cracks. Sit." He pointed to the armchair in the corner.
Praju's legs moved on autopilot, sinking into the chair as humiliation burned through him. Usha looked torn, guilt etching her features. "Praju, you don't have to—"
"He does," Yashu cut in, voice firm. "He spied once. Now he sees it all. And maybe... he learns why you can't stop." He pulled Usha to her feet, turning her so she faced Praju. Slowly, he lifted her nightie over her head, exposing her naked body—heavy breasts swaying, soft belly, thick thighs, the dark patch between her legs already glistening.
Usha covered herself instinctively, but Yashu pulled her hands away. "No hiding, Aunty. Show your son what a needy slut you are for me." He cupped her breasts from behind, thumbs circling her nipples until they hardened. Usha moaned softly, eyes locking with Praju's—shame and desire warring in her gaze.
Praju shifted uncomfortably, his own cock twitching traitorously in his shorts. "This is sick," he muttered, but he didn't look away.
Yashu chuckled, unzipping his pants to free his thick, veined cock—already hard and massive. "Sick? Or hot? Look at her, Praju. Your mom's dripping just thinking about this." He guided Usha to her knees, her full lips parting as she took him in, sucking eagerly, eyes flicking to Praju with a mix of apology and lust. Slurping sounds filled the room as she worked him deep, gagging slightly on his size.
"See that?" Yashu said to Praju, hand in Usha's hair. "She craves sucking my cock. Begs for it. Your dad? She probably fakes it for him." Usha whimpered around his shaft, humiliated but aroused, her hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit.
Praju's breathing grew ragged. He hated how hard he was getting, how the sight of his mom worshipping Yashu's dick made his pulse race. Yashu pulled out, strings of saliva connecting them, then bent Usha over the bed facing Praju.
"Watch close, kid." Yashu lubed himself, teasing Usha's ass before pushing in slowly. Usha gasped, arching back. "Oh god... Yashu... it's so big..." She locked eyes with Praju again. "I'm sorry, beta... but I need this... he fucks me like no one else..."
Yashu thrust deeper, building rhythm, slapping her ass lightly. "Tell him, Aunty. Tell your son why you're my slut now."
Usha's voice broke between moans. "Because... your father... he can't... satisfy me like this. Yashu's cock... it owns me... I cum so hard... I'm sorry, Praju... but watching you watch... it makes it hotter..."
Praju gripped the chair arms, torn between horror and throbbing need. Yashu pounded harder, making Usha's breasts bounce wildly. "Look at him, Aunty. See how hard he is? Your boy's a natural cuck—just like his dad would be if he knew."
Usha came first, crying out Yashu's name as her body shook, ass clenching around him. Yashu followed, pulling out to cum across her back in thick ropes, marking her. He turned to Praju, smirking. "Your turn to clean up? Or just watch your mom glow from a real man's load?"
Praju stayed silent, face burning, cock straining painfully. Usha crawled to the bed's edge, reaching out tentatively. "Praju... please don't hate me..."
But Yashu stepped between them. "He doesn't hate you. He wants this too—deep down. Next time, maybe he'll join. For now... he knows his place."
Praju fled to his room soon after, the door slamming behind him. Alone, he stripped and stroked furiously to the memory—his mom's moans, Yashu's dominance, the humiliation that somehow felt electric. The family dynamic had shifted forever; Praju was no longer just the innocent son. He was the cuck in training, caught in Yashu's web alongside his mother. And part of him—god help him—craved the next chapter.
The air in the master bedroom felt thick, heavy with the scent of sex and shame. Usha knelt on the bed, still trembling from her orgasm, Yashu's thick cum streaking across the small of her back in glistening white ropes. Her voluptuous body glistened with sweat, breasts heaving, thighs slick from her own arousal. Praju sat rigid in the armchair, shorts tented obscenely, face a mask of burning humiliation and unwilling fascination.

Yashu zipped himself up casually, as if he'd just finished a workout, then turned to Usha with a cruel smile. "Look at your boy, Aunty. He's rock hard watching his own mother get railed like a cheap whore. Tell him how much you loved it."

Usha's eyes darted to Praju, wide with sudden panic. The post-climax haze shattered. Reality crashed in like cold water. Her son—her sweet, studious Praju—had seen everything. Not just glimpsed, but witnessed her begging, moaning, coming apart on another man's cock. Her stomach lurched.

"No... no, beta, this isn't—" She scrambled off the bed, yanking the crumpled bedsheet around her nakedness like a shield. Her voice cracked, high and desperate. "This was a mistake. A terrible mistake. I love your father. I love our family. I would never—"

Yashu laughed, low and mocking. He stepped behind her, yanking the sheet away with one hard tug. She yelped, arms flying to cover her breasts and mound, but it was useless—Praju had already seen every inch of her.

"Stop lying to the kid," Yashu said, voice dripping contempt. He grabbed a fistful of her long hair, forcing her head up so she had to face Praju directly. "You weren't making a mistake ten minutes ago when you were screaming 'fuck my ass harder, Yashu, stretch me like my husband never could.' You weren't mistaken when you came so hard your juices ran down your thighs while your son watched."

Usha's knees buckled. She sank to the floor, sheet forgotten, sobbing now—raw, ugly sobs. "Praju, please... listen to me. I—I got weak. Your father is away so much, and I... I felt lonely. But this isn't me. I'm still your mother. I'm still faithful to Kumara. I swear on everything, this stops tonight. I'll end it. I'll tell Yashu to leave. We'll pretend this never happened. You don't have to carry this. Please, beta, forgive me..."

Her words tumbled out in a frantic prayer, hands clasped as if begging a god. But even as she spoke, her eyes kept flicking downward—to Yashu's crotch, to the thick outline still visible through his pants. Her nipples were stiff peaks, betraying her. A fresh trickle of wetness slid down her inner thigh.

Yashu noticed. Of course he did.

He crouched beside her, voice silky. "You hear that, Praju? Your mom's promising to be a good, faithful wife again. She's going to stop sucking my cock, stop spreading her legs, stop begging me to fill her ass with cum. She's going to go back to missionary with lights off once a month—if your dad even remembers how."

He reached between Usha's thighs without warning, two thick fingers sliding easily into her soaked cunt. She gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily before she could stop herself.

"Look how wet she still is," Yashu said to Praju, holding up glistening fingers. "She's dripping while she swears fidelity. Pathetic."

Usha whimpered, trying to close her legs, but Yashu forced them apart with his knee. "No, no, let him see. Let your son see what a liar his mother is."

Praju's face was scarlet, breathing shallow. His erection strained painfully against his shorts; he hated it, hated himself, but he couldn't look away.

Usha broke again, voice fracturing. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I don't know why I can't stop wanting it... wanting him..." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she stared at Praju. "I hate myself for this. I hate that you saw me like an animal. But when he touches me... when that big cock stretches me... I lose my mind. I become someone else. Someone filthy. Please don't tell your father. Please don't hate me. I'll fix this. I'll be good. I'll be faithful. I promise..."

Yashu stood, smirking down at her crumpled form. "You want to prove you're faithful right now, Aunty? Crawl over to your son and tell him—while looking him in the eye—that you're going to stop being my cum-dump. Say it loud. Convince him."

Usha hesitated only a second. Then, trembling, she crawled across the carpet on hands and knees, heavy breasts swaying, ass still marked red from Yashu's earlier slaps. She stopped in front of Praju's chair, inches from his knees, and lifted her tear-streaked face.

"Praju... my sweet boy... I swear to you on my life... this ends tonight. I will never let Yashu touch me again. I will be the mother you deserve. The wife your father deserves. I was weak, but I'm strong now. I promise. I promise..."

Her voice shook so badly the words barely held together. But even as she spoke them, her eyes drifted—unconsciously, helplessly—to Yashu's zipper. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Yashu stepped up behind her again, unzipping slowly. The thick head of his cock sprang free, already hardening again.

"Last chance to prove you're faithful, Usha," he said softly. "Open your mouth and suck your son's forgiveness out of the air... or open it for me. Choose."

Usha froze. Her whole body quivered. She looked up at Praju one final time—pleading, broken—then her gaze dropped to Yashu's throbbing length.

A low, animal whimper escaped her throat.

She leaned forward.

Not toward Praju.

Toward Yashu.

Her lips parted, and she took him back into her mouth with a defeated moan, eyes squeezing shut as fresh tears fell.

Praju watched, gutted, cock throbbing harder than ever, as his mother—still whispering broken promises of fidelity between sloppy, desperate sucks—sank even deeper into the humiliation she'd sworn to escape.

Yashu stroked her hair almost tenderly. "That's my good slut. Tell your boy you're sorry... with your mouth full."

Usha could only mumble around his cock, the words garbled, meaningless.

The faithful wife was gone.

Only the craving remained.

[Praju69]

Waiting for next update

Soon

[Praju69]

Usha’s mouth stretched around Yashu’s thick cock again, lips trembling as she took him deeper, tears streaming unchecked down her flushed cheeks. The wet, choking sounds she made were obscene in the quiet room—each sloppy suck a fresh stab of betrayal aimed straight at her own heart. She hated the way her tongue curled instinctively around his shaft, hated how her throat relaxed to let him in, hated most of all how her cunt clenched emptily every time he groaned above her.

Praju watched from the chair, knuckles white on the armrests, chest heaving like he’d run miles. His erection throbbed painfully against the confines of his shorts, a traitor organ that refused to shrink even as disgust and heartbreak tore through him. He wanted to scream, to lunge, to make it all stop—but his body stayed frozen, pinned by the unbearable sight of his mother reduced to this: a sobbing, cock-hungry shell of the woman who used to kiss his forehead and call him her everything.

Usha pulled off with a wet gasp, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to the glistening head. She looked up at Praju—really looked—and the raw anguish in her eyes nearly broke him.

“Praju…” Her voice was wrecked, barely more than a rasp. “I’m so sorry… I’m so, so sorry… I never wanted you to see this. I never wanted you to know what a disgusting, weak, filthy woman your mother really is.”

She pressed her forehead to the carpet between his feet, shoulders shaking with violent sobs.

“I keep telling myself I’ll stop. Every single time he finishes inside me I swear this is the last time. I go to sleep promising Kumara—your father—that I’ll be faithful tomorrow. I wake up wet between my legs thinking about Yashu’s cock splitting me open. I hate myself so much I can’t breathe sometimes. But then he touches me… and I melt. I forget who I’m supposed to be. I forget you. I forget everything except how good it feels to be used like this.”

She lifted her head, mascara-streaked face contorted in self-loathing.

“Look at me, beta. Look at what I’ve become.” She spread her knees wider on the floor, exposing the slick mess between her thighs—her swollen folds still pulsing, dripping down onto the carpet. “I came so hard with your eyes on me. Harder than I ever have with your father. I felt you watching and it made me cum like a whore. What kind of mother does that? What kind of monster gets off on her own son seeing her like this?”

Praju’s throat worked convulsively. A tear slipped down his cheek—he hadn’t even realized he was crying.

“Mom… please…”

Yashu stepped forward, fisting Usha’s hair and yanking her head back sharply. She whimpered, but didn’t fight.

“Tell him the rest,” Yashu ordered, voice low and merciless. “Tell your boy exactly why you can’t stop. Say it so he understands how broken you are.”

Usha’s lips quivered. Fresh tears spilled.

“Because… because your father’s cock never made me feel full. Never made me scream. Never made me beg. Yashu does. He fucks me raw, he stretches my ass until I cry, he cums so deep I can feel it for days… and I need it. I crave it like air. I’d rather burn in hell than give it up. Even now—right now—with you sitting there crying—I’m still aching for him to fill me again. I’m disgusting. I’m worthless. I don’t deserve to be your mother.”

She broke completely then, collapsing forward, face pressed to Praju’s knee, sobbing so hard her whole body convulsed.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I love you so much and I ruined everything… I ruined us… please don’t hate me… please don’t tell your father… I’ll do anything… I’ll stop… I swear I’ll stop this time…”

But even as the words poured out in a desperate litany, her hips rocked subtly backward—searching, needy, toward Yashu standing behind her.

Yashu laughed softly, darkly.

“Listen to her, Praju. She’s promising to stop while her cunt drips for my dick. That’s how far gone she is.”

He knelt behind Usha, lined himself up, and pushed back into her soaked pussy in one brutal thrust.

Usha’s scream was half agony, half ecstasy. Her nails dug into Praju’s thighs as her body jerked forward with the force of it.

“No—no—no—” she gasped, even as her hips slammed back to meet him. “I can’t… I shouldn’t… Praju, look away… please look away…”

But Praju couldn’t. He stared, transfixed, as Yashu fucked his mother right in front of him—hard, punishing strokes that made her heavy breasts slap together, made her voice fracture into broken whimpers.

“Tell him you love it,” Yashu growled, spanking her ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. “Tell your son you love getting fucked while he watches.”

Usha’s head thrashed. “I—I love it… oh god forgive me… I love it… I love his big cock ruining me… I love being his slut… I’m sorry Praju… I’m so sorry… but I can’t stop cumming for him…”

Her body seized, another shattering orgasm ripping through her. She screamed Yashu’s name—loud, broken, shameless—while staring straight into her son’s tear-filled eyes.

Praju broke then too. A choked sob tore from his throat. His hips bucked involuntarily against nothing, and a wet spot bloomed across the front of his shorts as he came untouched—humiliation and heartbreak and twisted arousal crashing together in one unbearable wave.

Usha saw it happen. Her eyes widened in horror.

“Praju… no… oh god no…”

She reached for him with shaking hands, but Yashu pinned her wrists behind her back, still buried deep inside her, still thrusting lazily through her aftershocks.

“Let him feel it,” Yashu murmured. “Let him feel exactly what you’ve done to your own son.”

Usha’s face crumpled into pure devastation. She stopped fighting. She simply hung there, impaled and defeated, tears falling endlessly as the last fragile pieces of her identity as a good mother dissolved in front of the boy she loved most in the world.

There was no coming back from this.

Only deeper ruin.

And the sick, magnetic pull that kept dragging them all further down.

[Praju69]

Praju sat motionless in the armchair long after Yashu had carried his mother—still trembling, still leaking cum down her thighs—into the attached bathroom to "clean her up." The door clicked shut, muffling the low murmur of Yashu's voice and Usha's broken, hiccuping sobs. The room smelled of sweat, sex, and shame. Praju's shorts were cold and sticky against his skin where he'd come untouched, the wet patch a humiliating brand he couldn't hide from himself.

His mind was a screaming void.

*That's my mom.*

The thought hit like a physical blow every few seconds, fresh each time. The woman who'd bandaged his scbangd knees, who'd stayed up all night when he had dengue in eighth grade, who'd cried happy tears at his first college prize—she'd just screamed another man's name while staring into his eyes. She'd begged for cock in her ass while promising to be faithful. She'd crawled across the floor on her knees, tits swinging, and taken Yashu back into her mouth even as she sobbed apologies to him.

Praju's stomach heaved. He clamped a hand over his mouth, fighting the urge to vomit right there on the carpet.

*Why didn't I run? Why didn't I scream? Why did I just... sit there?*

Worse—far worse—was the memory of his own body betraying him. The way his dick had throbbed harder every time Usha said "I'm sorry" while her hips bucked back onto Yashu. The way he'd spurted in his shorts the exact moment she screamed Yashu's name and locked eyes with him. He'd come from watching his mother be destroyed. From watching her destroy herself. From watching her choose cock over him, over Dad, over everything she'd ever claimed to value.

*I'm as sick as she is.*

He dug his nails into his palms until crescent moons of blood welled up. The pain was distant, almost welcome. Anything to drown out the loop in his head:

Mom's voice cracking: "I love his big cock ruining me."
Her eyes pleading with him while her mouth stretched around Yashu.
The wet slap of flesh as Yashu fucked her like she was nothing.
Her final, shattered orgasm while staring straight at him—like she needed his witness to make it real.

Praju's chest felt caved in. Breathing hurt. He wanted to hate her—god, he tried. He pictured her face when Dad came home, imagined telling him everything, watching the light die in his father's eyes. He pictured Usha on her knees again, this time begging Dad for forgiveness instead of Yashu for more. The fantasy should have felt righteous. Instead it just made him feel smaller. Because deep down he knew: even if he told, even if the family exploded, part of him would still remember how she'd looked when she came—radiant, alive, beautiful in a way he'd never seen before. And that memory would live in him forever, twisted and wrong.

*Do I hate her... or do I hate that I want to see it again?*

The bathroom door opened. Usha emerged first—wrapped in a towel now, hair wet, face scrubbed pink but eyes swollen and red. She looked twenty years older. When she saw Praju still sitting there, something inside her visibly shattered again. She froze, one hand clutching the towel to her chest like armor.

"Praju..." Her voice was a ghost. "Beta, please say something. Yell at me. Hit me. Anything. Just... don't look at me like I'm a stranger."

Praju lifted his head slowly. His eyes were dry now, cried out. Empty.

"You said you'd stop," he whispered. "You said it right to my face. And then you chose him anyway."

Usha flinched like he'd slapped her. She took a step toward him—then stopped, as if touching him would contaminate him further.

"I... I tried," she choked out. "I swear I tried. But when he... when it's inside me... I can't think. I can't remember who I'm supposed to be. I'm so sorry. I'm so—"

"Stop saying sorry." Praju's voice cracked like thin ice. "It doesn't mean anything anymore."

He stood up on shaking legs. The wet spot on his shorts was impossible to ignore. Usha's gaze dropped to it for a split second—then jerked away, horrified. She covered her mouth with her hand.

Praju laughed once, a broken, ugly sound.

"Yeah. That's what I did while you were getting fucked in front of me. I came in my pants like some pervert. So maybe I'm just as broken as you are."

Usha crumpled against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the floor, towel gaping open but she didn't care anymore.

"I did this to you," she whispered. "I turned my own son into... this. I should die for what I've done."

Praju stared at her—really stared. The woman on the floor wasn't his mother anymore. She was a stranger wearing his mother's face, hollowed out by lust and guilt. And yet some tiny, vicious part of him still wanted to protect her. Still loved her. Still ached for the version of her that didn't exist anymore.

He walked past her without another word.

In the hallway he paused, back to the bedroom door.

"Don't come to my room tonight," he said quietly. "Don't try to explain. Don't try to hug me. Just... stay away."

He didn't wait for her answer.

Back in his own bed, Praju curled into a ball under the covers, still in his stained shorts because changing felt like admitting it was real. Tears came again—silent this time, soaking the pillow.

He didn't know what he felt most:

Hatred for Yashu.
Pity for his mother.
Disgust for himself.
Or the sick, magnetic dread that tomorrow—or the next day, or the day after—he'd find himself back in that armchair, watching again.

Because some part of him already knew: the ruin wasn't finished with them yet.

And he wasn't sure he wanted it to be.

[Praju69]

It will finish pranju it will make him losse conffidence yash is bad brother runied him i request yash met with accident or pranju hit on yash balls and make him permanent disable his dick is only one use and then pranju fuck yadh mother sister and wife

What's your thoughts on this guys ?

[Praju69]

Add pic and gif to make it more sexy

Sure

[Praju69]

update??

Soon

[Praju69]

when will you update?

Very soon

[Praju69]

Really awesome. Please use ai clips based on the story. For ai reference check deepak_bull story.

If you think, can u continue this story -"son helps neighbour to get mom" please.

Like what suggest me

[Praju69]

Guys do you want me to continue further let me know

[Praju69]

If I get more than 10 comments I'll continue

[Praju69]

[Praju69]

update?

Soon

[Praju69]

We want justice for pranju yash shoud get same medicen

Like what ?