Incest Mom’s Alibi (COMPLETED) - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Mom’s Alibi

By Novelist Casanova 

Our village sat past the last paddy field and the small temple tank, at the far edge of coconut and palmyra country in Tamil Nadu. Red-tiled roofs, lime-washed mud walls that had gone dull in the heat, a well in almost every backyard, wood smoke in the evenings, and the smell of wet earth after even a short rain. The highway ran two kilometres away. Between that highway and our street there was a belt of forest — not deep jungle, only old trees, thorny scrub, and a footpath everyone used when they did not want the long walk on the tar road. That path was how we always came home.
I had finished my LLB.
The revaluation results for the last three papers — BSA, CPC and IPR-2 — had come back as passed. All three. The degree was complete. I boarded the city bus in Madras with the printout folded in my shirt pocket and sat the whole journey with that paper pressing against my chest, as if the bus itself might take it back if I did not hold it. By late afternoon the bus pulled into our town. Heat sat on the platform. Dust, diesel, other buses leaving, the usual noise of a small town that was not yet the village.
I stepped down with my bag.
The four of them were already waiting near the tea stall — Murugan, Selvam, Kumar and Ravi — the same four who had been with me since college, the ones who still lived in the village and came into town only for work or for me. They saw me before I fully put my foot on the ground and started coming toward me, already smiling in that way that made my throat tight.

“Tell properly. Result came or you are making a face for nothing?” Murugan asked, stopping right in front of me.
“Passed. All three papers. BSA, CPC, IPR-2. Degree finished. I am not a student anymore,” I said, and I heard my own voice come out fuller than I expected, because the words had been sitting in my mouth since morning.
They pulled me into a rough hug, slapping my back hard enough that the bag slipped on my shoulder. Selvam took the bag from me without asking, the way he always did when he decided I should not carry anything that day. Kumar kept repeating advocate as if he was trying the word on his tongue to see if it fitted me. Ravi only laughed and pointed across the road at the small restaurant with the faded board and the steel tables inside.
“First you will sit and eat with us. After that we will take you inside the forest path and leave you at your house. Your amma will be waiting with something sweet, I know that much,” Ravi said.
We went in. The ceiling fan turned slowly. The smell of sambar and fried fish filled the place. I told the man behind the counter to bring whatever they wanted — full meals, omelette, cold drinks, extra appalam — and I sat there watching them eat as if this treat was the real certificate. They ate like they had been waiting for this day for months. Murugan kept lifting his glass and looking at me.
“Your father in Dubai will hear this and he will smile, da. Your amma does not care about paper names. She will only understand that her son finished and came home. She will make payasam tonight itself, you watch,” Murugan said.
“She doesn’t know BSA or CPC or IPR-2. She only knows I went, I studied, and now I have come back. That is enough for her,” I said, and while I said it I could already see her standing in the kitchen doorway in her cotton saree, looking at me the way she looked when I returned from Madras.
They laughed, not loudly, just that village-friend laugh that sits in the chest. We stayed almost an hour. I paid. Outside the sun had dropped a little. The town noise was still there, but the road toward the village had already gone quieter, as if the place itself knew we were leaving it behind.
We started walking.
First the shops, then the last bus stop, then the turn where the tar road went one way and the forest path went the other. We took the forest path the way we always did. Trees closed over us. The ground was uneven, dry leaves, dust, the smell of something green mixed with the day’s heat that had not fully left. Cicadas had already started. Far behind us a lorry horn sounded on the highway and then faded, and after that there was only our walking.
Kumar walked ahead kicking a stone. Selvam carried my bag on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Murugan and Ravi stayed on either side of me, close enough that I could hear them breathing.
“Two full months you will stay now or what? Or you will run back to Madras in ten days like last time?” Selvam asked, glancing at me.
“I came straight from the result. I will stay with Amma. Appa is still in Dubai. There is no reason to go back immediately,” I said.
The path narrowed. On both sides the scrub grew thick enough that the fields disappeared. Only trees, a thin strip of sky, and the sound of our feet. I could already picture the house — the front yard, the well, kitchen smoke rising, and my mother standing there in her cotton saree the way she always stood when someone came from town. Twenty more minutes inside the forest and I would see her.
The forest took us in properly after that last turn.
The town noise died behind the trees. Light came down in broken patches. The path was only wide enough for two people if they walked carefully. Thorny scrub brushed my trousers. Dry leaves shifted under our feet. Somewhere to the left a bird went up in a sudden clap of wings and then the place became quiet again, as if the forest itself had leaned in to listen.
Selvam still had my bag on his shoulder. Kumar walked a little ahead, kicking the same stone until it disappeared into the bushes. Murugan and Ravi stayed close on either side of me. For a few minutes nobody spoke. Only walking, only the cicadas, only the far-off sound of one more lorry on the highway that we could no longer see.
Then Kumar laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that starts before the sentence is ready.
“Town girls are there, da, but they walk like they are doing a favour. Our village is different. You come back after months and you notice it more. Some women here, even after marriage, even after children, they still look like that. Tall, heavy in the chest, wide in the hips, face like that… you tell me I am wrong,” Kumar said, not turning around.
Murugan made a small sound in his throat, half agreement, half warning.
“Talk softly. Path has ears. But he is not fully wrong. There are four or five in our village who still make a man look twice when they walk to the tank or stand at the well. Full body. That kind of face. You know who I mean. Don’t act as if you studied law and forgot how to see,” Murugan said.
My stomach tightened for no reason I wanted to name yet. I kept walking. The printout in my pocket suddenly felt childish, like a college paper, not a degree.
Ravi glanced at me sideways, smiling in that slow way he had when he was about to put a name in the air.
“You stay in Madras and you forget. We see them every day. One or two, if they tie the saree a certain way and walk to the shop, even the old men look. I am not saying anything dirty. I am saying the village still has that. Your house side also,” Ravi said, and then he let the last words hang.
Selvam shifted the bag on his shoulder. He did not laugh immediately. When he spoke his voice was lower, as if he already knew the line he was crossing.
“Don’t bring house names on the path, da. But since you started… Sudha Aunty still looks like that. I am saying it only because we are four of us and he is here after so long. Tall. That face. Heavy breasts sitting in the blouse like that. Wide hips when she walks to the well. Thick thighs under the saree. She stands in the yard and it is not an old woman’s body. That is all. After that keep your mouth,” Selvam said.
The name landed in my chest.
Sudha.
My mom.
I did not stop walking. My face did not change in a way they could use. Inside, something turned. Not a full thought. Only a heat that started low and moved up, as if the forest air had become thicker. I saw her without wanting to see her — standing near our well, taller than most village women, that full face, large eyes, full mouth, long dark hair tied back, the cotton saree pulled across a heavy chest and those wide hips, the blouse stretched, the petticoat sitting low, the walk that made the saree move over thick thighs. The same body I had been hugging a little longer these last visits, telling myself it was only son and mother.
Kumar finally turned his head, grinning, not noticing what had gone still in me.
“See, even Selvam said it. We are not talking like rowdies. We are talking like men who live here. Sudha Aunty is still one of the village beauties. You go home and look properly today. Degree finished, eyes also should finish sleeping,” Kumar said.
“Enough. Path is not the tea stall. Leave it,” I said, and I heard how tight my own voice had become.
They laughed, not loudly, the kind of laugh that says they had already put the words out and could not take them back. Murugan touched my shoulder once, a friend’s touch, and then let his hand fall.
“He is coming home after passing and we started this talk. All right. All right. Village is another ten minutes. Your mom will be at the door. Keep your face normal,” Murugan said.
I kept my face normal.
Inside, the stirring did not stop. The trees went on. The path went on. Every step toward the house was now a step toward her — toward that tall body, that face, those heavy breasts and wide hips I had always seen and had never allowed myself to see this way. The name they had spoken was walking with me. I wanted the talk to end. I also wanted to reach home faster than before, to see her standing there in the yard, and to check with my own eyes whether they had only been talking or whether something in me had already been waiting for those words.


The forest thinned the way it always did just before our street.
First the last stretch of scrub, then the temple tank on the right, then the row of red-tiled houses and the smell of kitchen smoke. Dogs barked once and went quiet. A television was playing somewhere behind a half-open door. Our village had taken us back.
The four of them stopped at the corner where their lanes split from mine.
Murugan put his hand on my shoulder and kept it there longer than a joke needed.
“We walked you till here. Now you go. We are proud, da. Not small proud. You sat in Madras, you wrote those papers again, BSA, CPC, IPR-2, and you came back with the degree. Your house will sleep well tonight. We will tell the whole street tomorrow. Go,” Murugan said.
Selvam lowered my bag into my hand as if he was giving me something heavier than books.
“If your mom asks who ate with you in town, tell her we did. And tell her we said her son did not waste the years. That is enough from us,” Selvam said.
Kumar and Ravi both nodded, still smiling, already turning toward their own houses.
“Go and show your face at the door. Sudha Aunty will be waiting. We will come tomorrow,” Ravi said.
They left. Their voices faded between the houses. I walked the last thirty steps alone.
Our front yard. The well. The old bucket. The tulsi. And then the door opened.
My mom came out.

Red saree. Red blouse. The red saree was pulled across her tall body the way it always sat on her — tight over those heavy breasts, gathered at the waist, falling over wide hips and thick thighs. The red blouse was stretched across her chest. The petticoat string sat low, the way she had learned from her mother, so the red saree started below her navel. Long dark hair tied back. That full face, large eyes, full mouth. She stood in the doorway and for one second the friends’ words and this body became the same thing, and heat went straight down my stomach. I was hard before I reached the step.
She saw me and her whole face opened.
“Rajesh. You came. Come inside, come inside. Why are you standing there like a guest?” my mom said, already stepping back so I could enter.
I went in. The house smelled of rice and something sweet she had started. I put the bag down. She was still close, the red saree moving when she turned.
“Mom. The revaluation came. BSA, CPC, IPR-2. All three passed. I finished LLB. I came straight,” I said.
She made a small sound, not words first, only that happy broken breath village mothers make when the thing they prayed for actually stands in the room. Then she came to me and wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled my face into her shoulder, hugging me hard, her heavy breasts pressed against my chest through the red blouse and the red saree, her tall body flush against mine.
“I knew. I told your father also. I knew you would finish. I did not study those papers but I sat and waited. You did it. My son did it,” my mom said, still holding my neck, still not letting go.
The hug was meant as a mother’s hug. Inside me it was not. I was fully horny the moment her body hit mine. I put my arms around her and hugged her back, tighter than a son should, and I brought my hands down over the red saree, down the curve of her waist, and I grabbed her ass with both hands over the red saree. I felt the shape of her panties underneath, the line of them, her ass cheeks filling my palms. I squeezed once, then again, feeling her panties through the red saree while I kept my mouth moving on her.
I kissed her forehead, her cheek, the side of her face, then her neck, saying it against her skin so it would sound like gratitude.
“Thank you, Mom. Thank you. It was possible only because of you. You stayed here, you sent money when Appa delayed, you told me to write again when I failed those three. Without your support I would not be standing here with the degree. Thank you, Mom,” I said, and I kissed her neck again, and my hands stayed on her ass, gripping her over the red saree, rubbing the shape of her panties through the red saree.
She did not suspect me.
She only held my neck tighter and laughed that wet happy laugh against my shoulder, her tall body still pressed to mine, heavy breasts moving with her breath inside the red blouse.
“Enough kissing, kanna. You came home, that is enough. I will make payasam. Leave the bag. Wash your face. You are talking like you won a court case already,” my mom said, still not pushing my hands away, still not reading what my hands were doing on her ass.
I let her go only when she loosened her arms. My palms came off the red saree slowly. The heat did not go. She turned toward the kitchen in that red saree, wide hips moving, and I stood in the front room with the degree in my pocket and the feel of her panties still in my hands.


That hug in the red saree did not end in the front room.
It stayed in my hands and in my cock for the next seven days.
I was horny in the morning when she stood at the stove. I was horny in the afternoon when she walked to the well. I was more horny at night when she sat on the cot in her saree and asked me whether I had eaten. Every hour in that house made it worse. The degree was finished. Appa was in Dubai. There was only my mom and that tall body and the memory of her panties under my palms.
I started using love as the door.
Whenever she passed me I would call her and pull her in and kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the sides of her face, sometimes her neck, telling her the same thing in different words so it would sound like a son who had come home after passing.
“I love you, Mom. I love you more than the degree. I sat in Madras and I thought of you only. Let me hold you for one minute,” I said, and while I said it my hands were already going down over her saree.
I grabbed her ass every now and then.
Not once. Again and again. In the front room. Near the door. When she bent to pick the vessel. My palms would settle on her ass over the saree, squeeze those wide cheeks, feel the shape of her panties underneath, and stay there. She would jump a little, not in fear, only that small body-jump women make when someone touches a place they are not used to being held, and she would move her ass in my hands as if she was trying to shake the feeling off.
“Aiyo, Rajesh, it is ticklish. Why are you holding me there? Leave, leave. It is tickling,” my mom said, moving her ass, not pulling my wrists away hard, only twisting that tall body inside the saree.
“Please, Mom. One second. I missed you. I love you. Let me,” I said.
When I said please she let me.

She would stop twisting and stand there with her face half turned, still calling it ticklish, still not suspecting that my cock was hard against my trousers while I held her ass and rubbed her panties through the saree. I kissed her face through all of it — cheek, jaw, the corner of her mouth — so the grabbing would hide inside the thank you.
The kitchen became easier.
She would be at the stove in her saree and blouse, petticoat tied low, stirring, not looking behind. I would come from the front room without making a story of it, put both hands on her waist from behind over the saree, and pull that tall body back against me. Then I would take my hands up, over the blouse, and grab her breasts from behind. Her breasts filled my hands over the blouse. I felt her bra under the blouse, the weight of those heavy breasts, and I squeezed.
She did not suspect me.
She only made a small sound and kept stirring, as if a son holding his mother in the kitchen was the most ordinary thing in a house where the father was in Dubai.
“Rajesh, I am cooking. Your hands are on me. The stove is hot. What are you doing?” my mom said, not turning fully, her breasts still in my hands over the blouse.
“Nothing, Mom. I love you. You stood in this kitchen for three years while I wrote those papers. Let me stand like this for one minute. Please, Mom,” I said, and I kissed the side of her neck and kept my hands on her breasts over the blouse, squeezing again, feeling her bra and the heavy shape of her.
“Ticklish. Your father is not here and you have become like this after coming home. All right. One minute. Then leave. Payasam will burn,” my mom said, and she let me.
She let me hold her ass in the front room. She let me grab her breasts in the kitchen over the blouse. She moved her ass and called it ticklish and she never once looked at my face as if she had understood what was sitting in my trousers. For one full week I walked behind her in that house more horny than the day before, kissing her face, saying I love you, saying please, and taking whatever her body gave me because she still thought it was only her son who had passed and come home.


That hug in the red saree did not end in the front room.
It stayed in my hands and in my cock for the next seven days.
I was horny in the morning when she stood at the stove. I was horny in the afternoon when she walked to the well. I was more horny at night when she sat on the cot in her saree and asked me whether I had eaten. Every hour in that house made it worse. The degree was finished. There was only my mom and that tall body and the memory of her panties under my palms.

I started using love as the door.
Whenever she passed me I would call her and pull her in and kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the sides of her face, sometimes her neck, letting the words come out slowly so they would sound like a son who had come home after passing and did not know how else to put the feeling down.
“I love you, Mom. I love you more than the degree, more than Madras, more than those three papers I wrote again. I sat there and I thought of you only. Let me hold you for one minute. Please don’t move away so fast,” I said, and while I said it my hands were already going down over her saree.
I grabbed her ass every now and then.

Not once. Again and again. In the front room. Near the door. When she bent to pick the vessel. My palms would settle on her ass over the saree, squeeze those wide cheeks, feel the shape of her panties underneath, and stay there. She would jump a little, not in fear, only that small body-jump a woman makes when someone touches a place she is not used to being held, and she would move her ass in my hands as if she was trying to shake the feeling off without fully leaving the hug.

“Aiyo, Rajesh, it is ticklish, why are you holding me there like that, leave it, I can’t stand still if you keep your hands there, it is tickling and you are kissing my face at the same time,” my mom said, moving her ass, not pulling my wrists away hard, only twisting that tall body inside the saree as if the tickle and the love were the same thing.

“Please, Mom. One second only. I missed you every day I was away. I love you. Let me. If you say it is ticklish I will hold you softer, but don’t push me off, I just came home and I don’t want to stop touching you yet,” I said.
When I said please she let me.
She would stop twisting and stand there with her face half turned, still calling it ticklish, still not suspecting that my cock was hard against my trousers while I held her ass and rubbed her panties through the saree. I kissed her face through all of it — cheek, jaw, the corner of her mouth — so the grabbing would hide inside the thank you and the I love you.

The kitchen became easier.
She would be at the stove in her saree and blouse, petticoat tied low, stirring, not looking behind. I would come from the front room without making a story of it, put both hands on her waist from behind over the saree, and pull that tall body back against me. Then I would take my hands up, over the blouse, and grab her breasts from behind. Her breasts filled my hands over the blouse. I felt her bra under the blouse, the weight of those heavy breasts, and I squeezed, staying there as if this too could pass for a son who did not know how to keep his happiness in his mouth.
She did not suspect me.
She only made a small sound and kept stirring, as if being held in the kitchen was the most ordinary thing in a house that had been waiting for this return.
“Rajesh, I am cooking, your hands are on me and the stove is hot, what are you doing standing behind me like this, I can’t even turn, you came home and you have become so clinging,” my mom said, not turning fully, her breasts still in my hands over the blouse.

“Nothing, Mom. I love you. You stood in this kitchen while I wrote those papers and failed and wrote them again. Let me stand like this for one minute. Please, Mom. I am not asking for anything else. Only this. Your waist, your body, one minute, then I will leave you to the stove,” I said, and I kissed the side of her neck and kept my hands on her breasts over the blouse, squeezing again, feeling her bra and the heavy shape of her.
“It is ticklish when you hold me like that from behind, and you are talking so much while your hands are there, all right, one minute, only one minute, then leave, or the payasam will burn and you will still be standing here holding me,” my mom said, and she let me.
She let me hold her ass in the front room. She let me grab her breasts in the kitchen over the blouse. She moved her ass and called it ticklish and she never once looked at my face as if she had understood what was sitting in my trousers. For one full week I walked behind her in that house more horny than the day before, kissing her face, saying I love you, saying please, and taking whatever her body gave me because she still thought it was only her son who had passed and come home.

By the end of that week my hands were no longer enough.
I had held her ass over the saree until I knew the shape of her panties by heart. I had stood behind her in the kitchen and held her breasts over the blouse until her bra and the weight of her were familiar in my palms. Every time she called it ticklish and every time she said one minute, something in me only grew. I started looking at her mouth without meaning to look at it that way — that full mouth I had been kissing around, forehead and cheek and jaw and neck, and never taking.
It happened in the front room in the late afternoon. She had just come from the kitchen. Saree. Blouse. Petticoat still tied low. A little sweat at her temple. I called her the way I had been calling her all week, pulled her in by the waist, and kissed her face first because that was the only language I thought I had. Then I kissed the corner of her mouth. Then, before I could stop myself, I put my mouth on her lips.
She jerked her face to the side at once.

“Rajesh, what is this, not on the lips, you can’t kiss me there, that is not how a son kisses his mother, leave my mouth, I am telling you properly, hold me if you want, kiss my cheek, kiss my forehead the way you have been doing these days, but don’t put your mouth on my lips like that, it is confusing me and I don’t like that confusion,” my mom said, turning her face, her hands coming up to my chest, not pushing with full force, only trying to make a line where there had been no line until now.

I did not let her go. I kept one hand on her waist over the saree and the other on her back, and I spoke against her cheek in that rushing way a boy speaks when he is afraid he has done something wrong and still cannot take his body away.
“Mom, listen to me once, please don’t be angry with me, I am not trying to do anything bad, I swear I am not, I passed because of you and I came home because of you and when I say I love you I don’t know where to put all of it, the cheek is not feeling like enough now and the neck is not feeling like enough now and I only thought if I kiss you on the lips you will understand how much I mean it, it is only love, Mom, please don’t make it into something else in your head, I will feel dirty if you look at me like I planned this, I didn’t plan this, it just came, please, one time, if you say no after that I will never do it again,” I said.
She kept her face turned. Her breathing had changed. Her heavy breasts were rising against my chest through the blouse. She was still in my arms. She had not walked out of the room.

“It does not sit on me like only love when you hold my ass the way you have been holding it and then you come to my mouth, I am your mother, Rajesh, people outside this house will not understand this even if you keep saying love, love, love, if anyone sees what will I say, I am asking you to hear me, kiss my face as much as you want, I have not stopped you all week, only don’t take my lips, that one thing feels different and I don’t know how to explain it to you,” my mom said, and her voice had that shake in it that was not anger yet, only a woman trying to protect a line she could no longer see clearly.
I kissed the side of her face again, slower, almost clumsy, and I let my hand stay on her ass over the saree while I spoke, not grabbing hard this time, only keeping her there because I was afraid that if I opened my arms she would go to the kitchen and the chance would close.

“No one is seeing us, Mom, it is only this house, I am showing you love, that is all I know how to do, you let me hold you in the kitchen and you let me hold you here and you said it was ticklish and you still stood, this is the same thing in my head, only closer, I love you, I don’t have another way to say it, I am not thinking like a man in the town, I am thinking like your son who came home and cannot stop, please give me your lips for one minute, if it feels wrong you can stop me, I will stop the same second, I am asking you, I am not telling you, please, Mom,” I said.

She was quiet for a few seconds. The kind of quiet in which a woman is checking the room, checking her own body, checking whether the boy holding her is still the boy she has been feeding and waiting for. Then she let her face come back, not fully offering her mouth, only stopping the turn, her large eyes on my face, her full lips slightly parted because she had been talking and had not yet closed them.
“You keep saying only love and you keep looking at me with that face as if you will cry if I say no, all right, only love, one minute, if I tell you to stop you will stop, don’t make this into a habit in the middle of the house, and don’t tell anyone, not even as a joke, come, do it and then leave it,” my mom said.
I took her lips.

I kissed her slowly first, the way an innocent boy kisses when he thinks love and hunger are the same word, and then I stayed on her mouth because I did not know how to come back from it, feeling that full mouth under mine, her tall body still against me, my hand still on her ass over the saree, her breasts pressed to my chest through the blouse. She did not kiss me back at once. She stood and received it, breathing through her nose, one hand on my shoulder as if she needed a place to hold while her son did something she had refused two minutes ago.
When I drew back a little she did not wipe her mouth. She only looked at me with that same un-suspecting face, flushed now, trying to put the kiss back into the box called love, and I looked at her like a boy who had been allowed something he did not fully understand and already wanted again.

“Enough, you showed it, don’t stand there looking at me like that, I said one minute and you took it, go and sit now, I have work in the kitchen and if I stay here you will start talking again and I will not know what to answer,” my mom said.

I let her go. She walked toward the kitchen in her saree, wide hips moving, and I stood in the front room with the taste of her lips in my mouth, more innocent in my own head than I had any right to be, already knowing I would ask again and already telling myself it would still only be love.
After she gave me her lips that afternoon, the house changed without anyone naming the change.

I did not leap. I did not become a different man overnight. I became a son who had been allowed one extra thing and did not know how to put it back. So I started doing all of it as if it belonged to the ordinary day — the hug when she came out of the kitchen, the kiss on her cheek when she asked if I had eaten, the kiss on her neck when she stood near the door, and then, when my chest got tight, the kiss on her lips again, short enough that I could still tell myself it was only love.
She let the pattern grow because I kept speaking to her like a boy who was afraid of being misunderstood.

In the morning I would find her at the stove in her saree and blouse, petticoat tied low, and I would come behind her only to hold her waist first, then turn her a little, then bury my face in her neck and stay there.

“Mom, don’t move, I am not asking for anything new, I only want to stand like this and kiss you here, your neck smells like the house, I missed this when I was in Madras, let me, I will leave you to the work in one minute,” I said, and I kissed her neck slowly, then her cheek, then, when she did not turn her face away hard, I took her lips for a few seconds and left them, as if even I believed I had only passed through.
She would make that small sound in her throat and keep one hand on the vessel so the work would not look abandoned.

“You have made this a habit in seven days, Rajesh, first it was the hug, then my ass and you said it was love, then my lips and you said it was love, now you come into the kitchen and kiss my neck like this while I am cooking, I don’t know what to call it, I only know you look like you will feel hurt if I push you, so I am standing, finish and go,” my mom said.
I finished and I did not go far.

To Be Continued...!

[novelistcasanova]

I finished and I did not go far.

In the afternoon, if she walked from one room to the other, I would stop her in the front room, put both arms around her tall body, grab her ass over the saree the way she now expected, and kiss her face in a line — forehead, cheek, the other cheek, the side of her neck — before I asked for her mouth again.
“See, Mom, this is normal now, you are not jumping like the first day, you yourself are standing and letting me, I love you, that is the only sentence I have, if I don’t kiss you I feel restless in this house, please give me your lips once and then you can go, I am not trying to be clever, I don’t even know how to be clever with you,” I said.
She would look at me with those large eyes, flushed, still trying to keep me inside the word son.
“You talk as if you are innocent and your hands are not innocent, you are holding my ass and you are asking for my mouth in the same breath, all right, all right, people in this house are only two, if you keep it inside these walls I will not make a big fight, kiss and leave my saree, I have to go to the well,” my mom said.
I kissed her.
Not like the first frightened time. Like something the house had already accepted. Her full mouth under mine, her heavy breasts against my chest through the blouse, my palms on her ass over the saree, the shape of her panties under my hands. She received it better now. Sometimes her lips moved a little, not as a lover, only as a woman who had stopped treating the kiss like an accident. Then she would pull back, touch her blouse as if to set herself in order, and walk away with that tall walk, wide hips moving, leaving me hard and telling myself I had only shown love again.
By the fourth or fifth day of that new week it was no longer an event.
If she sat on the cot I sat close and kissed her cheek while talking about nothing. If she stood at the door I kissed her neck and she clicked her tongue and still lifted her face a little. If I said please she gave me her lips for a short while and then told me to drink water, as if water could put the heat back where it belonged. Hugging her had become normal. Kissing her cheeks had become normal. Kissing her neck had become normal. Even kissing her mouth had become a thing we did inside the house without calling anyone, without locking the door too obviously, without saying the word that was sitting under all of it.

I remained naive in my own mouth.
Every time I touched her I heard myself explaining. Every time I took her lips I heard myself promising it was only love. My body knew. My words refused to know. And my mom, still not suspecting the full thing, moved through her saree and her blouse and her petticoat as if her son had simply come home too full of feeling and did not yet have another place to put it.


By then the wanting had a clear name in my head, even if my mouth still did not know how to use it.
I wanted to make love to my mom.
Not only hold her ass over the saree. Not only take her breasts over the blouse. Not only taste her whole mouth on the cot. I wanted to take her saree off. I wanted to take her blouse off. I wanted her bra and her panties off. I wanted to lie on her tall body and go inside her and finish inside her. I would lie on the cot at night after she had gone to sleep and the thought would run so strong that I almost got up and went to her. Then the other thought would come, the clueless one: I did not know how. I did not know what sentence would make a mother open her legs for her son. I did not know how to move from please-Mom-it-is-only-love to I want to fuck you. So I stayed hungry and I stayed innocent on the surface, waiting for a door I could not see.
That door began on an ordinary morning.
“Get ready, Rajesh, we are going to town, I have a few things to buy and you are coming with me, don’t sit in the house the whole day looking at me, wear a proper shirt, the morning bus will not wait,” my mom said.
She was already dressed.

Yellow chiffon saree. Yellow blouse. The yellow chiffon saree sat on her tall body in a way that made the whole doorway look different — light, clinging when she moved, pulled tight across those heavy breasts, gathered at her waist, falling over wide hips and thick thighs. The yellow blouse was stretched. The petticoat string was low. Long dark hair. That full face. Large eyes. Full mouth. She looked stunning. She looked hot. She looked so sexy that the plan about town shopping went thin in my head and the other plan came back, shameless: today, somehow, I should make love to her.
I did not know how.
We took the town bus. She sat beside me and the yellow chiffon saree kept touching my trousers when the bus turned. I looked at her and my mind kept saying it, like a drum: I am going to enjoy making love to my mom, I am going to take this yellow chiffon saree off her, I am going to see her bra and her panties, I am going to go inside her. Then the cluelessness would follow at once. How. With what words. At what minute. I had no method. Only hunger.
Town was loud. We got down and walked through the market.
Men looked at her.
Not one man. Many. A shopkeeper near the textile board stopped mid-sentence. Two boys near the tea stall turned fully. An older man selling flowers let his eyes go down the yellow chiffon saree over her ass and then up again to the yellow blouse. She walked as if she did not notice. I noticed everything. Possessiveness and lust sat together in me. I wanted to cover her. I also wanted every one of those men to be wrong, because she was coming home with me, and I was the one who would take that saree off, if I ever found out how.

“Why are you walking so close and looking at everyone’s face, Rajesh, I brought you to help me carry things, not to stare at the market, what happened to you after we got down,” my mom said, adjusting the yellow chiffon saree at her shoulder.
“Nothing happened, Mom, people are looking at you, that is what happened, you came in this yellow chiffon saree and this yellow blouse and the whole road is turning, I don’t like it and I also can’t stop looking at you myself, I keep thinking things I should not think in the market, I don’t know how to put them in words, that is why I am walking like this,” I said.
She clicked her tongue and went into a shop. I followed with the bag. We bought what she had come to buy. I heard the shop talk only in pieces. Inside me I was already making love to her — on the cot, in the kitchen, against the door — and I was still the same clueless boy who would not know what to do if she suddenly asked what I wanted.
By late afternoon we took the bus back.
The bus dropped us at the edge where the tar road met the forest path, the same place my friends and I always turned inward toward the village. We got down. The highway was in front of us. The forest was on the other side. To reach the path we had to cross.
“Hold my hand and walk fast, Rajesh, these vehicles don’t wait for village people, once we cross we will take the forest path and we will be home before dark,” my mom said.
I took her hand. The yellow chiffon saree moved against my leg. We stepped onto the road.
A lorry was coming from one side. From the other side a Baleno came fast, too fast for the gap that was left. The Baleno swerved to avoid hitting us.
The sound that followed was not a horn.
It was metal folding into metal.
The Baleno hit the lorry.
The crash went through the highway and through my bones and through my mom’s hand in mine. People started shouting from both directions. The yellow chiffon saree stood out in the middle of the dust like a bright mistake. I pulled her back toward the forest edge, still not understanding that this was the door I had been waiting for, only knowing the road behind us had become a wreck and my mom was shaking in that yellow blouse, and I still did not know how I was going to make love to her.


For a few seconds after the sound, nothing in me worked except my hand on my mom.
The Baleno was no longer a car. It had gone under the lorry’s front and folded there, glass everywhere, one door hanging, the smell of petrol and hot metal already in the air. The lorry had jackknifed a little and stopped across the highway. Horns started behind both vehicles. People began running from the tea stall side, from the forest edge, from a van that had braked hard.
“Rajesh, what happened, I can’t look, don’t leave my hand, don’t leave my hand,” my mom said, the yellow chiffon saree shaking on her tall body, the yellow blouse rising and falling too fast.
I did not leave her hand. I also could not stay turned away. Something in me, the same part that had wanted a door, made me pull her two steps closer to the wreck so I would know what we were standing next to.
All three inside the Baleno were dead.

There was no question of saving them. The front of the car had come into the cabin. The man in the driving seat had taken the steering into his chest. His head was thrown back at a wrong angle, blood down his shirt, one arm jammed against the broken window. Beside him the woman had gone forward into the dash. Her face was cut open by glass, her body folded, a gold chain still on her neck as if the jewellery had not understood the crash. On the rear seat an old woman had been thrown sideways. Her head had hit the door pillar. Blood had run into her white hair. One eye was open and empty. The yellow chiffon saree at the edge of my vision felt obscene next to that stillness.
My mom made a sound and turned her face into my shoulder.
“Don’t make me see, Rajesh, I don’t want to see dead people on the road, we were only crossing, we were only going home, why did this happen in front of us,” my mom said.
People surrounded the vehicles. Someone shouted to call the security officer. Someone else shouted that the lorry driver was climbing down. I kept my mom at the side and I went close enough, the way a man goes close when he wants the facts before the facts belong to the security officer.
The man’s driving licence was in a black wallet that had fallen near the brake, half out of his pocket. I picked it up because no one else had picked it up yet. The plastic was smeared. The name was still readable. Santosh. Address in Bangalore. I looked at the woman next. Her bag had opened on the floor mat. Another card. Lydia. Same Bangalore address. Husband and wife.

The old woman had no card in her hand. What she had was a tattoo on the back of her left hand, dark, old, a name in English letters that had sat on her skin longer than this journey. Kasi. I read it twice to be sure. Santosh. Lydia. Kasi. Three people from Bangalore. Three bodies in a Baleno that had swerved to miss my mom and me and had gone into the lorry instead.
I put the licence back near the man’s hand so it would look as if it had never left the wreck. My fingers were shaking. My mind, traitor that it was, still held the other picture underneath this one: my mom in the yellow chiffon saree, my hunger, my cluelessness about how to make love to her. The accident had not killed that picture. It had only put blood next to it.
“Mom, listen to me, there are three people, they are all gone, the man is Santosh, the woman sitting beside him is Lydia, the old woman behind is Kasi, they are from Bangalore, I saw the licence and I saw the name on the old woman’s hand, don’t go near the car, there is nothing to do for them,” I said.
She clutched the yellow blouse at her chest and kept her face against me.
“Why are you saying names as if we should remember them, I don’t want their names, I want to leave this road, people are looking, the security officer will come, Rajesh, I am frightened, I have never stood next to a death like this,” my mom said.
Around us the talk had already started to change shape. Not only poor things and call an ambulance. Other sentences. Who was crossing. Who made the Baleno turn. A man pointed at the forest path. Another man pointed at us. The lorry driver was wiping his face with his towel, eyes moving from the wreck to my mom’s yellow chiffon saree as if he was already searching for a place to put the blame.
I felt her body shaking against mine. I also felt, with a clarity that frightened me more than the blood, that the road had given me something I had not known how to take in the house. Not yet. Only the beginning of it. Three people from Bangalore were dead in the Baleno. Their names were Santosh, Lydia and Kasi. And my mom, stunning and terrified in that yellow chiffon saree, was still holding my hand as if I was the only safe thing left on the highway.
The lorry driver’s towel came down from his face and his finger went up.
He pointed at my mom.
Not at the Baleno. Not at the lorry. At her. At the yellow chiffon saree standing in the dust, at the yellow blouse, at the tall body that the whole market had already looked at. The words that came with the finger were the kind of words a frightened man throws when he needs someone else to carry the crash.
People turned.
That was enough.
I did not wait for the sentence to become a crowd sentence. I pulled my mom by the waist, hard, off the tar, into the first trees, onto the forest path we always used to reach the village. Branches slapped the yellow chiffon saree. She stumbled and I did not let her fall. Behind us someone shouted. I did not look back. I took her into the forest and I took her home.

She was panicked the whole way.
Her hand in mine was wet. Her breath could not find a rhythm. The yellow blouse kept rising as if she had been running even when we were only walking fast. Twice she stopped and looked behind, large eyes wide, full mouth open, and I had to pull her again.
“Rajesh, he pointed at me, you saw it, he pointed at me as if I killed those three people, the security officer will come to the village, they will come to our house, they will take me, I have not seen a station in my life, I don’t know court, I don’t know jail, why did we stand there, why did you read their names, I want to go home, I want to lock the door, I am frightened, I am so frightened,” my mom said, the words falling over each other, her tall body shaking inside the yellow chiffon saree.
The fear in her voice should have made me only a son.
It did not.
It made me horny.
I hated that it did and I could not stop it. Every time she said security officer, jail, court, her breasts moved in the yellow blouse and my cock answered. Every time she clutched my shirt and said they would take her, I saw her on our cot instead, yellow chiffon saree pulled up, that same panic in her face while I finally did the thing I had not known how to do. The crash had given her terror. The terror had given her to me in a new way. I walked her through the forest with one hand on her waist over the yellow chiffon saree, feeling her body jump at every sound, and I was hard the entire path.
“Mom, don’t stop, don’t look back, I am taking you home, nobody is going to snatch you from this path, hold me and walk, if you fall I will carry you, listen to my voice only, not to the road,” I said, and I heard my own tone, soft, almost innocent, while my palm on her waist was not innocent at all.
We came out at the temple tank and then at our street. I took her straight inside and shut the door. She stood in the front room as if the house itself might open and give her to the security officer. The yellow chiffon saree was dusty at the hem. The yellow blouse was damp at the chest. She wrapped her own arms around her body and then, when that was not enough, she came to me and held my neck the way she had held me the day I told her I had passed.
This hug was not celebration.
This hug was panic.
“They will come, Rajesh, I keep seeing that man’s finger, I keep seeing the three people in that car, Santosh, Lydia, Kasi, you said those names and now they are sitting in my head, if the security officer ask why we ran I will not know what to say, I am an uneducated woman, they will twist my words, don’t leave me in this house tonight, don’t go anywhere, I am scared, I am so scared I can feel it in my stomach,” my mom said, pressing her heavy breasts against me through the yellow blouse, her face against my neck.
I put both arms around her and held her taller body closer than a son should hold a frightened mother. One hand went down over the yellow chiffon saree and settled on her ass, not as a question this time, as if I was only keeping her from falling apart. I felt her panties under the yellow chiffon saree. She was trembling. That trembling went straight into my cock.
“I am not leaving you, Mom, I am here, you are in our house, you are with me, I finished LLB, I know how these things are spoken about, don’t think jail already, don’t think court already, hold me, shake if you want, I can take it, I want you to stay against me until your breath comes back,” I said.
She stayed against me.
Her fear kept pouring out of her mouth in broken circles — security officer, finger, Baleno, lorry, names, village talk — and with every circle she pressed closer. I kissed her hair, then her temple, then the side of her neck, telling myself I was calming her. I was also taking the heat her panic had made. I wanted to make love to her now more than I had wanted it in the town bus. The cluelessness was still there. Only now it had a shape: if I could turn this fear into a reason, she might let me. I did not say that. I only held her ass over the yellow chiffon saree, felt her shaking, and stayed hard in the front room while my mom, stunning and terrified, clung to my neck as if I was the last safe place left after the highway.

I did not take my arms off her.
If I let her go she would walk to the kitchen and lock herself inside her fear, and the chance the highway had thrown at me would close. So I kept her tall body against mine in the front room, one hand on her ass over the yellow chiffon saree, the other on her back, and I spoke into her hair the way I had been speaking for weeks, only the words were no longer only love.
“Mom, listen to me properly once, don’t shake your head before I finish, that man pointed at you in front of a whole road, people heard it, the security officer will not come asking who swerved and who braked, they will come asking who was standing on the highway in a yellow chiffon saree when a Baleno went under a lorry, three people from Bangalore are dead, Santosh, Lydia, Kasi, that is not a small case, that is a case that can sit on a woman for years,” I said.
She tried to pull her face up and I let her only enough to see her large eyes.
“Why are you talking like this, Rajesh, you said you would calm me and now you are putting jail in my mouth, I did not drive that car, I did not hit anyone, we were only crossing, I am frightened and you are making it worse,” my mom said, her breasts pressing into me through the yellow blouse with every broken breath.
“I am not making it worse, I am telling you what a station will do with an uneducated village woman when a lorry driver has already chosen her finger-first, they will take you, they will ask the same question twenty times, they will write a statement you cannot read properly, they will talk about court, they will talk about remand, I finished LLB, I know these words, BSA and CPC are not only paper names, they are the rooms they will put you in, and I am not going to stand outside those rooms while they take my mom,” I said.
Her body went still in a different way. Panic was still there. Under it something else had started — the listening that comes when a frightened woman realises the boy holding her may be the only person who understands the language of the danger.
I kissed her temple, then her cheek, then the side of her neck, and I kept my palm on her ass over the yellow chiffon saree so the talking and the touching would stay one thing.
“There is one way to save you, Mom. Only one way I can see tonight. If they ask where you were when the Baleno hit the lorry, we should not say we were on the road. We should say you were here, in this house, with me. Not sitting. Not cooking. Making love. If a security officerman or a court later asks why your name came on the highway, we will say it is village talk, it is a driver’s lie, because at that time my mom was with her son, she was making love, she could not have been on the tar. That is an alibi. That is a story with a body in it. Without a body it is only words. I can say I know the law. The law still wants something it can hold,” I said.
She jerked as if I had put my hand inside the yellow blouse.
“Making love, what are you saying, Rajesh, I am your mother, you stood in this house for weeks kissing me and holding me and saying it was love and now you are using three dead people to ask for that, no, no, I will not do that, find another way, you studied, you find another sentence, don’t put me on the cot and call it saving me,” my mom said, pushing at my chest, not strong enough to leave the circle of my arms.
I did not become cruel. I became closer. I took her face in my hands and I looked at her the way a naive son looks when he has only one idea and believes it because he needs it.
“Mom, I don’t have another sentence tonight. I have you shaking in this yellow chiffon saree and I have a highway full of people who saw that finger and I have three names that will be in tomorrow’s talk. If you go as you are, you go as a woman who ran from the spot. If you stay here and make love to me, you become a woman who was never there. I will be with you. I will not hurt you. I have wanted you, I will not lie about that now, I have wanted to make love to you and I did not know how, and this is the how that the day has given us. Please don’t call it only dirty. Call it the door. Please, Mom. I am asking you to let me save you the only way I know,” I said.
Tears sat in her eyes and did not fall at once. Her full mouth was trembling. The yellow blouse rose and fell against my chest. She kept shaking her head and she kept not walking away.
“You have mixed fear and want so much I cannot separate them, you are my son, if I say yes what do I become, if I say no what happens to me tomorrow when they knock, I don’t know court, I don’t know jail, I only know I am terrified and you are holding my ass and talking about making love as if that is medicine,” my mom said.
“It is medicine tonight, Mom. That is how I am asking you to see it. You let me kiss your mouth. You let me taste your mouth. You let me hold your breasts over the blouse. This is the same line, only the last step, and the last step is what will stand if they ask. I will go slow. I will stop if you tell me to stop in the middle. I will not take you like a stranger on the road. I will make love to you. Please say yes. Please don’t send me to find a law that will not reach this village before morning,” I said.
She closed her eyes. The house was quiet except her breathing and the far sound of a dog. When she opened her eyes again the refusal was no longer complete. It was a woman cornered by security officer in her head and by her son in her arms.
“If I do this, it is because I am frightened, Rajesh, not because I have become someone else, you hear that first, I am saying it because jail is sitting on my chest and you are the only person who says you know the way out, I don’t know if I can go through with it, don’t tear my yellow chiffon saree, don’t shout, if I cry you will not get angry,” my mom said.
I kissed her lips, once, and I felt the yes inside the fear.
“You can cry, Mom. You can shake. I will not get angry. I will make love to you. That is all I am going to do. After that, if anyone asks, we will have the truth we need for this house,” I said.
She did not say the word yes again. She only stayed in my arms in the yellow chiffon saree, panicked, cornered, still my mom, and I held her ass and her back and knew that the cluelessness had found its method. The next thing in the room would not be talk.

[novelistcasanova]

I did not give the fear time to become another no.

She was still against me in the front room, tall body shaking inside the yellow chiffon saree, yellow blouse damp at the chest, and if I loosened my arms she would walk to the kitchen and lock the night back into panic. So I kept one hand on her ass over the yellow chiffon saree, feeling the shape of her panties, and with the other hand I took my phone from my pocket.

I switched the video camera on.
The red light came alive like a small wound in the dark of the room. I placed the phone on the table, propped it so the lens faced the cot, the same cot where I had kissed her whole mouth after she said nineteen, the same cot that would now have to hold the alibi. The light watched us. It watched the yellow chiffon saree. It watched my hand on her ass.
She saw it and her whole body tightened.
“Rajesh, why is that light on, you did not say recording when you were talking about making love, I thought you meant only your body and my body in this house, if that phone is watching me I will not be able to stand, I will not be able to look at you, switch it off, I am already shaking from the highway and now you have put an eye in the room,” my mom said, turning her face into my neck, heavy breasts pressing into me through the yellow blouse.
I kissed her hair, then her temple, and I did not switch it off.
“Mom, listen to me, the phone is the alibi, if they come tomorrow and ask where you were when the Baleno hit the lorry we cannot only speak, speech is weak in a station, a video is a body in a room, it will show you were here with me, making love, not on the tar, not in that yellow chiffon saree in front of a pointing finger, keep your eyes on me, not on the light, the light is for them, I am for you, I will take you to the cot, I will go slow, please walk with me,” I said.

She looked at the red light once more, large eyes wet, full mouth trembling, and then she looked at me as if I was both the danger and the door. I walked her backward across the front room. The yellow chiffon saree moved against my legs. Her panties were a warm shape under my palm the whole way. When the back of her legs met the cot she sat down hard, as if her knees had decided before her mind.
I stood between her thighs.
For one second I only looked at her — yellow chiffon saree, yellow blouse, that full face, those heavy breasts, those wide hips — and the thought I had carried from town came back clean: I am going to enjoy making love to my mom. Then I bent and I took her mouth.

I kissed her the way I had kissed her after the shop and after nineteen, not on the outside of her lips, inside, tasting her entire mouth, while both my hands went down over the yellow chiffon saree and grabbed her ass. I squeezed those wide cheeks and I felt her panties clearly now, the line of them, the heat of her through them, and I pulled her to the edge of the cot so my hard cock pressed against her pussy through my trousers and through the yellow chiffon saree and the petticoat and her panties.
She made a frightened sound into my mouth.
I did not stop kissing her. I rubbed my cock against her over all of that, slow, so she would feel exactly what was coming, and I spoke against her lips between the kisses, keeping the words long so they would sound like care and not like a theft.
“Feel that, Mom, that is me, I am hard because you are in this yellow chiffon saree on our cot and because you said you would let me save you, I can feel your panties under my hands, I can feel your ass filling my palms the way it filled them all week, only tonight I am not going to leave it at holding, I am going to make love to you in front of that light, please don’t look at the phone, look at me, hold my neck, if you hold my neck I will know you are still here and not back on the highway,” I said.
She held my neck.
Her fingers were trembling. Her breasts rose and fell inside the yellow blouse. When I kissed her again she opened her mouth for my tongue, not like a lover who had planned the night, like a frightened woman who had no other place to put her mouth. I kept grabbing her ass over the yellow chiffon saree, kept rubbing my cock against the bunched yellow chiffon saree and the petticoat, kept feeling her panties, and the red light on the table took the first picture of us that the security officer would never be able to call a crossing on the highway.

I left her mouth only to kiss her cheek, her jaw, the side of her neck, then the skin above the yellow blouse, and I heard my own breathing go rough.
“Rajesh, the cot is behind me and the light is on and your hands are on my ass as if the week in this house was only practice, I am scared, I am so scared, don’t pull the yellow chiffon saree yet, stay like this one more minute, kiss me, talk to me, if you go silent I will hear the lorry again,” my mom said.
“I will not go silent, Mom, I will kiss you and I will talk to you and then I will take the yellow blouse and the bra and the yellow chiffon saree and the petticoat and the panties, one by one, and I will make love to you, that minute you are asking for is here, take it in my mouth,” I said.
I kissed her again, deep, and I held her ass over the yellow chiffon saree as if the alibi had already begun.

I gave her the minute she asked for, and I used every second of it on her mouth.
I kissed her forehead first, then both cheeks, then that full mouth again, tasting her entire mouth until her breath came into mine in broken pulls. My hands stayed on her ass over the yellow chiffon saree. I did not pull the yellow chiffon saree yet. I only held her there on the edge of the cot, my cock pressed against her pussy through my trousers and through the yellow chiffon saree, and I kissed the side of her neck the way I had made normal in the house, only tonight the kiss had weight.
She held my neck and shook.
“You said you would talk, Rajesh, so talk, if your mouth goes only to my neck I start seeing the Baleno again, tell me you are here, tell me the door is shut, tell me that light is not a security officerman,” my mom said, her heavy breasts rising against me through the yellow blouse.
“I am here, Mom, the door is shut, the light is only my phone, no security officerman is in this room, only me, I am going to kiss you lower now, I am going to open this yellow blouse, I need your breasts in my hands, please don’t stop my fingers when they come to the hooks, I will not tear anything, I will go one thing at a time,” I said.
I pulled the yellow chiffon saree off her shoulder.
I put my mouth on her shoulder. Then I kissed down to the start of the yellow blouse, to the upper swell of her breast where the yellow blouse began to strain. She made a small sound and her fingers tightened in my hair. I brought both hands from her ass to the front of the yellow blouse and I opened it.
The yellow blouse came apart.
The white bra was there.
Heavy breasts sitting in the white bra, the exact weight I had been squeezing over the blouse all week, only now I could see the white bra itself, the way it held her, the way her breasts rose out of it when she breathed. I stopped for a second and only looked, because looking was part of making love to her, and because the red light on the table was looking too.
“Don’t stare at my white bra like that, Rajesh, I wear it to go to town, not to sit on this cot with a phone watching, you opened the yellow blouse, that is enough for one minute, if you keep looking I will cover my breasts,” my mom said, one hand coming up as if to close the yellow blouse again.
I caught that hand and kissed her palm, then I put both of my hands on her breasts over the white bra.
I squeezed.
Her breasts filled my palms over the white bra, hot, heavy, moving when she tried to sit straighter. I squeezed again, thumbs rubbing over the white bra where her nipples were already tight underneath, and I bent and kissed the upper swell of her breast above the white bra, then the inner curve of that breast where it left the white bra.
“Mom, I have held these breasts over the blouse for days and I still was not ready for how they look in this white bra, I am going to pull the white bra down, I want your nipples in my mouth, please lift a little, please don’t cover your breasts, this is still me making love to you, this is still the alibi, let me see you,” I said.
She shut her large eyes, flushed, and she lifted a little.
I pulled the white bra down.
Her breasts came out, full, falling free of the white bra, dark nipples tight, and the yellow blouse hung open on either side like it had given up. I swore under my breath and I took one nipple into my mouth and sucked. She gasped so sharply that her whole tall body jumped on the cot. I sucked again, then took the other nipple, licking, pulling, pressing her breasts together so I could put my face between her breasts while the white bra sat bunched under them and the yellow chiffon saree stayed around her waist.
“Rajesh, that is my breast in your mouth, I can’t keep the highway in my head when you do that, it is going down into my stomach, aiyo, your tongue on my nipple, wait, don’t wait, I don’t know what I am telling you, just don’t bite my nipple and don’t go silent,” my mom said.
I did not go silent. I spoke against her wet nipple, my hands still full of her breasts, my cock still hard against her pussy through the yellow chiffon saree between her thighs.
“I am not silent, Mom, I am here, I am sucking your nipple, I am going to keep my mouth on these breasts until you stop shaking from the road and start shaking from me, after that I will put my hand under the yellow chiffon saree, not yet, first this, first your nipples, first this white bra out of my way,” I said.
I sucked her nipple again, slower, and she held my head to her breasts as if the fear and the pleasure had caught the same handful of my hair.
I kept my mouth on her nipple until the shake in her body changed shape.
It was still fear. It was no longer only fear. Her fingers in my hair had stopped trying to decide and had started holding me to her breast. I sucked her nipple slower, then left it wet and took the other nipple, and while I did that I let one hand slide from her breast down over her stomach, over the yellow chiffon saree, down to her thigh, and then under the yellow chiffon saree.
Under the yellow chiffon saree I found the petticoat.
Under the petticoat I found her panties.
I did not pull anything up yet. I only put my palm on her pussy over her panties and held it there, feeling the heat, feeling that she was already damp. She jerked on the cot and her thighs tried to close on my hand. I kissed the inner swell of her breast and kept my hand where it was.
“Rajesh, that is my pussy under your palm, you did not say your hand would go there so soon, the yellow chiffon saree is still on me, my panties are still on me, if you rub I will make a sound and the phone will take that sound,” my mom said, her voice breaking against my hair.
“The phone is supposed to take it, Mom, that is why the light is on, I can feel how warm your pussy is over your panties, I am going to rub you now, please open your thighs a little, I am not taking the panties off in this minute, I am only touching you the way I touched your ass all week, only closer,” I said.
She opened her thighs a little.
I rubbed her pussy over her panties.
Slow at first, two fingers finding the line of her slit through her panties, pressing, sliding up to her clit over her panties, circling there until her dampness came through and my fingers slipped easier. Her heavy breasts moved each time her stomach tightened. The white bra stayed bunched under her breasts. The yellow blouse hung open. I sucked her nipple again and rubbed her clit over her panties at the same time, and her tall body lifted off the cot as if the highway had finally let go of one inch of her.
“Aiyo, that place, Rajesh, you keep finding that place over my panties, I can’t sit still, my thighs are shaking, this is not how a son calms his mother, this is something else and I know it and I am still letting your hand stay,” my mom said.
I lifted my mouth from her nipple only enough to speak against the wet tip of it.
“It is something else, Mom, it is me making love to you, your panties are wet now, that wet is not the forest and it is not the Baleno, that wet is your pussy answering my fingers, I am going to keep rubbing you like this until you hold my wrist instead of pushing it, then I will lift the yellow chiffon saree,” I said.
I rubbed her harder over her panties.
Her clit was a tight point under the panties. I used two fingers on it and my palm on the rest of her pussy, pressing the panties into her, feeling the shape of her lips through them. She held my wrist. She did not push it away. She held it as if she needed to know exactly where my hand was while her head fell back and her full mouth opened.
I kissed her open mouth and tasted her again, and my fingers kept moving on her pussy over her panties under the yellow chiffon saree.
“Rajesh, if you keep rubbing I will wet my panties fully, I can already feel it, don’t lift the yellow chiffon saree yet, one more minute like this, your mouth on my mouth, your hand there, I am frightened and I am wet and I don’t want you to see my face if I make the next sound,” my mom said.
“Make the sound, Mom, I want it, I want your wet panties in my hand, after this minute I am going to lift the yellow chiffon saree and I am going to take these panties down, look at me while I rub you, don’t hide in my neck,” I said.
She looked at me.
Large eyes wet. Cheeks flushed. Yellow blouse open. White bra pulled down. My hand working her pussy over her panties under the yellow chiffon saree. The red light on the table took that look. I rubbed her clit again, slower, meaner, and she made the sound she had been holding, a broken moan into my mouth, and I knew the yellow chiffon saree could not stay down much longer.
I gave her the minute, and then I used the end of it.
I kissed her mouth once more, my fingers still rubbing her pussy over her panties, and I told her to lift her hips. She looked at the red light, then at me, then she lifted. I brought the yellow chiffon saree up her thighs and bunched it at her waist.
The white petticoat was there.
I bunched the white petticoat up with the yellow chiffon saree. Her thighs were open on the cot. Between them her panties were finally visible — maroon panties, dark at the centre where my fingers had been working her, stuck a little to her pussy. I stopped rubbing and only looked, because I had felt those panties through the yellow chiffon saree for a week and I had not seen them on her like this.
“Don’t look at my maroon panties like that, Rajesh, you made them wet and now you are staring, I told you I would close my thighs, if you keep your eyes there I will, this is my pussy under maroon panties on our own cot,” my mom said, trying to bring her knees in.
I put my hands on her inner thighs and kept them open.
“Keep your thighs open, Mom, I waited through the town and the bus and the highway to see this, your maroon panties are wet because of my hand, I am going to take them down now, lift once more, please, I want your pussy bare on this cot,” I said.
She lifted once more, smaller this time, as if her body was doing what her mouth still wanted to argue with.
I hooked the maroon panties at her hips and pulled them down.
The maroon panties came off her pussy, down her thick thighs, off one foot. I left them hanging on the other ankle. Her pussy was in front of me, dark, wet, the lips open from the rubbing, her clit swollen, a thin shine of wetness already running down toward her ass. I put two fingers on her pussy lips and opened her a little so I could see inside that wetness.
She made a sound that was shame and heat together.
“Rajesh, that is my pussy you are opening with your fingers, my maroon panties are on my ankle, my yellow chiffon saree is at my waist, my white petticoat is at my waist, I have never sat on this cot like this, if you stare I will cover my pussy with my hand,” my mom said.
I kissed her inner thigh, then the other inner thigh, and I did not let her cover herself.
“Don’t cover your pussy, Mom, I need to see it, I have wanted this pussy every day since they said Sudha Aunty on the forest path, I am going to put my mouth on you now, I am going to taste you the way I tasted your mouth, then I am going to put my cock in you, that is making love, that is the alibi, look at me while I go down,” I said.
She looked at me with those large eyes, yellow blouse open, white bra pulled down under her heavy breasts, yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat packed around her waist, maroon panties on one ankle, her pussy wet and open between her thighs.
I bent my head between her thighs and I put my mouth on her pussy.
The first lick went from the bottom of her pussy to her clit.
She tasted wet and hot, a little of the day’s sweat still on her inner thighs, and the rest of it was only her. I flattened my tongue and licked her again, slower, opening her pussy lips with my thumbs so I could drag my tongue through the middle. Then I took her clit into my mouth and sucked.
Her tall body lifted off the cot.
“Rajesh… that is my clit in your mouth, I can’t… ahh… the phone is watching and you are drinking me, I am going to make a sound, I don’t want to make a sound, don’t stop, if you stop the highway will come back into my head, keep your mouth on my pussy,” my mom said, one hand in my hair, the other twisting the yellow chiffon saree at her waist.
I did not stop.
I sucked her clit and I pushed my tongue lower and inside her pussy, fucking her with my tongue in short strokes, then coming back up to her clit because that was the place that made her thighs close around my head. I held her wide hips and kept her pussy on my mouth. The yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat stayed bunched at her waist. Her breasts were out above the white bra. The maroon panties hung from her ankle and brushed my shoulder when her leg shook.
I licked her as if I had been hungry for this exact pussy since the forest path, because I had.
“Mom, you are wet on my tongue, your pussy is opening for my mouth, I can feel you shaking on my face, I am going to keep eating you until your thighs lock, don’t pull my hair off, pull it closer if you have to,” I said, speaking against her clit, then sucking it again before she could answer.
She pulled my hair closer.
Her full mouth opened and the sound she had been holding came out, broken, high, nothing like the ticklish laugh from the kitchen week. I slid one finger into her pussy while I sucked her clit and her inner walls closed on my finger at once. I added a second finger, slow, turning them, licking her clit through it, and I felt her wetness run down to my palm and onto my chin.
“Your fingers are inside my pussy, Rajesh, and your mouth is on my clit at the same time, I can’t keep my hips down, I am going to push my pussy into your mouth, I hate that I am going to do that, don’t take your fingers out, don’t take your tongue off,” my mom said.
I fucked her pussy with my fingers and I kept my mouth on her clit.
Her thick thighs started shaking on my shoulders. Her breasts moved each time her stomach clenched. I looked up once along her body — yellow blouse open, white bra pulled down, yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat at her waist, her full face thrown back — and then I put my eyes back on her pussy and I ate her harder. I wanted her to forget Santosh, Lydia, Kasi for whole seconds. I wanted her pussy to be the only highway left in the room.
She pushed her pussy into my mouth.
I stayed there and took it, tongue and fingers together, until her wetness was all over my mouth and her moan had no more argument in it, only heat. Then I kissed her pussy once, right on the open slit, and I stood up.
I opened my trousers.
I took my cock out.
Her large eyes came down to it, wet, frightened, hungry in a way she would not name, maroon panties still on her ankle, her pussy shining where my mouth had been.
“That is you, Rajesh, that is what you are going to put in me, I can still feel your tongue on my clit and now I am looking at your cock, come here, kiss my mouth first so I can taste what you tasted, then do it, if you stand there only showing it I will close my thighs,” my mom said.
I stepped between her thighs with my cock in my hand, and I bent down and I kissed her whole mouth so she would taste her own pussy on my tongue.
I kissed her whole mouth until she had tasted herself, and I kept kissing her while I brought the head of my cock down between her thighs.
I rubbed it on her pussy.
Not in. Along. The head of my cock slid through her wet pussy lips, up to her clit, down again to her opening, coating myself in what my mouth had left there. I tapped her clit with it. I pressed at her opening and held still, only the head kissing her pussy, not entering yet. She stopped breathing for a second and her hands found my back.
“That is you there, Rajesh, that is the head of your cock on my pussy, once you push I cannot take this night back, I am frightened of the security officer and I am frightened of this, if it hurts you will stop, you promised me on your mouth, look at my face,” my mom said.
I looked at her face.
Large eyes wet. Full mouth open and shining from the kiss. Yellow blouse open. White bra pulled down under her heavy breasts. Yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat packed at her waist. Maroon panties on her ankle. My cock laid on her pussy like the last sentence before the alibi became a body.
“I am looking at you, Mom, I will stop if you tell me to stop, I will not stop if you only cry, because you are going to cry, I am going to put the head in now, hold my back, I want your breasts against my chest when I enter your pussy,” I said.
I pushed.
The head of my cock opened her pussy and went in.
She was tight around that first inch, wet enough to take me, narrow enough that I felt every bit of her close on the head. I stayed there, only the head inside her pussy, my forehead against her forehead, and I let her feel the stretch without giving her the rest yet.
“The head is inside me, Rajesh, I can feel it opening my pussy, don’t give me all of it in one push, my stomach already jumped, talk to me, if you go silent I will think only of the stretch,” my mom said.
“I am not silent, Mom, that is only the head of my cock, your pussy is holding it, you are wet from my mouth and still this tight, I am going to give you more now, inch by inch, keep your thighs open, keep looking at me, this is me making love to you, this is the start of what the phone came here to see,” I said.
I pushed another inch.
Her pussy took it with a small wet sound. Her nails dug into my back. I kissed her mouth and I kept the head and those next inches inside her, rubbing her clit with my body, not slamming, feeding myself into my mom while the red light on the table watched the yellow chiffon saree shake at her waist.
She did not tell me to stop.
She pulled me by the back, and her pussy opened another inch around my cock, and I knew the rest of me was going in.
I gave her the rest of my cock the way I had promised, inch by inch.
Each push opened her pussy a little more. She was wet from my mouth and still tight enough that I felt her inner walls slide along my cock and then grip. I kissed her mouth through it, then the side of her neck, then her mouth again, and I kept talking so the stretch would have my voice on it.
“That is more of me, Mom, your pussy is taking it, don’t close your thighs, hold my back, I can feel you shaking around my cock, I am not slamming, I am going in, there is only a little left,” I said.
She made a sound into my shoulder when the last of it went in.
My hips met her thighs. I was fully inside my mom.
I stayed there.

[novelistcasanova]

I did not thrust. I let her pussy feel the whole of my cock, root to head, buried in her, her wetness already smeared against my stomach. Her heavy breasts were under my chest, nipples still wet from my mouth, the white bra bunched beneath them. The yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat were packed around her waist. The maroon panties hung off her ankle against my calf. The red light on the table took the still second in which a son was all the way inside his mother and neither of them had yet started to move.


“You are inside me, Rajesh, you are fully inside my pussy, I can feel your cock in my stomach, don’t move yet, let me get used, I thought jail was the biggest thing tonight and now this is bigger, you are so deep I can feel you when I breathe,” my mom said.
I kissed her full mouth and I kept my cock still inside her, only flexing once so she would feel it swell.
“I am inside you, Mom, this is us making love, this is the thing I said I would enjoy and I did not know how, I know now, your pussy is holding my whole cock, I can feel you tightening and loosening as if you can’t decide, I am going to fuck you slowly first, tell me when I can move,” I said.
She was quiet for a few breaths, large eyes on my face, her pussy pulsing around me in small frightened pulls. Then her hands on my back tightened, not pushing me off, drawing me in.
“Move, Rajesh, slowly, if you pull all the way out I will feel empty and the fear will come back, keep it inside my pussy, just move, I am asking you to make love to me now, that is what I am hearing in my own mouth,” my mom said.
I pulled back only halfway and I pushed back in to the root.
Her pussy took the stroke with a wet sound. I did it again. Slow. Root to halfway and back. The cot answered. Her breasts moved under my chest. I kissed her while I began to fuck her, and I felt her inner walls drag along my cock as if they were learning my shape in real time.
“That is it, Mom, that is my cock moving in your pussy, you are wet enough now, I am going to keep this slow until your hips start answering, then I am going to go harder, stay with me, stay on this cot, don’t go back to the highway,” I said.
Her hips made a small answering lift on the next stroke, almost nothing, enough. I stayed fully inside her on that stroke and I held her ass, and I began to make love to my mom in earnest.
Slow did not stay slow for long.
I pulled halfway out of her pussy and I pushed back to the root, again and again, until the wet sound of her taking my cock filled the front room louder than her fear. I held her thick thighs open and I watched what the phone was watching — her heavy breasts moving above the white bra, her full mouth falling open, the yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat shaking at her waist, the maroon panties swinging on her ankle each time my hips met hers.
Her pussy got wetter around me.
The tightness did not leave. It only grew slicker, dragging along my cock on the way out and swallowing me on the way in. I kissed her mouth while I fucked her, tasting her, then I left her mouth so I could look at her face when I went deep.
“That is my cock in your pussy, Mom, you feel how wet you have become, that is not only fear now, your pussy is holding me and letting me in at the same time, I am going to go faster, hold my back, if the cot moves let it move,” I said.
“Faster is already coming out of my mouth and I don’t want faster to come out of my mouth, Rajesh, you are hitting a place inside my pussy, keep hitting that place, hold my ass, hold it the way you held it all week over the yellow chiffon saree, only now your hands are on my ass with nothing in between,” my mom said.
I grabbed her ass with both hands.
I lifted her hips a little off the cot and I drove into her pussy deeper, shorter now, rooting against that place she had named. She cried out. Her breasts bounced. Her inner walls clenched on my cock as if she was trying to keep me at that depth. I fucked her like that until the cot knocked the wall and the yellow chiffon saree slipped further up her waist.
I did not slow down.
I put one hand back on her breast, squeezed it, pinched her wet nipple, and I kept my other hand under her ass so every thrust went into the centre of her pussy. She wrapped one leg around me. The maroon panties on her ankle brushed my calf. Her large eyes stayed on my face and then broke away and then came back, as if she could not decide whether looking made it more her son or less.
“Look at me, Mom, don’t go to the ceiling, I want your eyes while I fuck your pussy, the light is on, this is the alibi, this is also me enjoying you the way I said I would, your pussy is so wet I can hear it every time I go in,” I said.
“I am looking, Rajesh, I am looking and I can feel you in my stomach, don’t pull out, if you pull all the way out I will feel the room again, keep your cock in my pussy and keep talking, when you go silent I hear the lorry, when you fuck me I hear only this,” my mom said.
I kept my cock in her pussy.
I fucked her faster.

Sweat sat between her breasts. Her moans had no more ticklish left in them. They were the moans of a woman being taken on her own cot, yellow blouse open, white bra pulled down, yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat packed around her waist, maroon panties on her ankle, her son’s cock stroking that same place inside her until her hips began to lift and meet me.
I met them.
I slammed in to the root and I held her ass and I kissed her whole mouth, and I knew I would not finish her on her back only. I wanted her from behind. I wanted to see her ass and her pussy take me. I wanted the phone to have that too.
I pulled out only far enough to tell her to turn, my cock shining with her wetness, her pussy open and empty for the one second before I put her on her knees.
I pulled out of her pussy and the sound she made was the sound of a woman who had just been full.
“Don’t leave me empty, Rajesh, I told you, if you take it out the room comes back, turn me if you have to turn me, but put it back in my pussy,” my mom said.
I turned her onto her knees on the cot.
The yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat stayed packed at her waist. I pushed them forward so I could see her. Her ass was in front of me, wide, full, the cheeks I had been grabbing over the yellow chiffon saree for a week. Below them her pussy was open, wet, shining from my cock. The maroon panties hung from one ankle. Her heavy breasts hung toward the cot, the white bra still pulled down under them, the yellow blouse still open on her arms.
I looked for one hungry second.
Then I took her hips and I pushed my cock back into her pussy from behind.
She was tighter this way.
The angle went deeper. Her inner walls closed around me in a long pull as I fed myself in to the root, my hips meeting her ass. She moaned into the cot at once, a low “ahh… ahh, Rajesh…” that broke when I bottomed out.
“You are in me again, Rajesh, from behind it is deeper, ahh, I can feel your cock in a new place, hold my hips, don’t start hard at once, let me find the cot with my hands,” my mom said, already gripping the edge.
I held her hips.
I began to fuck her.

Slow first, watching my cock slide out of her pussy wet and disappear again between her ass cheeks. She moaned on every inward stroke — “mmnh… ahh… ahh…” — the sound muffled into the cot, then louder when I went deeper. Then I went faster. The cot rocked. Her breasts swung. I reached under and grabbed them, one in each hand, and I used her breasts to pull her back onto my cock while I thrust.
She pushed back once.
Not a long push. A body decision. Her ass came into my hips and her pussy took me to the root without my having to ask, and the moan that came out of her was no longer careful.
“Ahh—ahh—Rajesh—don’t tell the village, don’t tell your friends, if you tell anyone I will die, ahh, fuck me if that is what will keep the security officer out of this house, mmnh, just don’t leave my pussy in the middle, I am shaking and I am wet and I hate that I am pushing back,” my mom said.
“I will not leave you in the middle, Mom, I will not tell anyone, this is our house and this phone, I can feel your pussy closing on my cock every time I go in, I have wanted this since they said Sudha Aunty on the forest path, I am going to fill you, stay on your knees,” I said.
I fucked her harder.
My hips slapped her ass. Her pussy made a wet sound on every stroke. She moaned without leaving gaps now — “ahh, ahh, ahh, Rajesh, ahh—” — each one punched out of her when my cock hit that place inside her. I kissed her back between her shoulders, then I lifted my mouth and watched her, tall body folded on our cot, yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat at her waist, maroon panties on her ankle, my cock driving into her pussy while she moaned into the cot.
I reached one hand down and found her clit while I kept fucking her from behind.
The moment my fingers rubbed that tight point in time with my cock, her whole body jerked and the moan broke into something raw.
“Ahh—ahh—that is my clit—Rajesh—your fingers and your cock—ahh, I can’t—mmnh—ahh—ahh—I am going—don’t ask me—don’t make me say it—ahh—” my mom said.
I kept both.

I fucked her through the shaking, rooting deep, rubbing her clit in tight circles, pulling her back by her breast and her hip. Her pussy started fluttering on my cock, then gripping, then gripping harder. Her moans went high and helpless.
“Ahh—ahh—Rajesh I am coming—ahh—ahh—ahh—my pussy—don’t stop—ahh—coming—coming—ahh—ahh—ahh—” my mom said.
She came on my cock.
Her pussy clenched in waves, squeezing my shaft, soaking me, her ass shaking against my hips, her breasts heavy in my hand. She moaned through the whole of it, loud, broken, “ahh, ahh, mmnh, Rajesh, ahh,” until the sound turned wet and small and she dropped her face onto the cot, still pulsing around me.
I did not come yet.
I fucked her through the last of her climax, slower, deep, feeling every squeeze, and I kissed her back while she trembled.
“That was you coming on my cock, Mom, I felt your pussy pull me, I felt you wet me, I am still inside you, I am not finished, I want your face when I fill you,” I said.
She could only moan “ahh… stay… stay in my pussy…” when I pulled out long enough to turn her onto her back again, her pussy wet and open and still twitching, my cock dripping her, and I went between her thighs to finish inside my mom.
I turned her onto her back because I wanted her face.
Her pussy was still twitching from the climax I had just pulled out of her. I put her thick thighs around my waist, the maroon panties slack on her ankle against my calf, and I pushed my cock into her in one stroke, all the way to the root. She was so wet now that I slid in easy, and still her pussy gripped me as if the coming had not loosened her at all.
She moaned into my mouth.
“Ahh—you are in me again—Rajesh—ahh—my pussy is still coming a little—don’t pull out this time—look at me—ahh—” my mom said.
I looked at her.
Large eyes wet. Full mouth open. Yellow blouse open on her arms. White bra pulled down under her heavy breasts. Yellow chiffon saree and white petticoat packed at her waist. I kissed her whole mouth and I began to fuck her in short deep thrusts, rubbing her clit with my body each time I bottomed out. Her breasts moved under my chest. Her moans broke against my tongue.
“Ahh—ahh—that deep—Rajesh—I can feel you swelling—ahh—mmnh—keep your cock in my pussy—if you take it out I will feel empty—ahh—” my mom said.
“I am not taking it out, Mom, I am going to come inside your pussy, I am close, I have been close since you came on your knees, take it, this is the alibi, this is the love, this is me making love to you, look at me while I fill you,” I said.
I slammed in to the root.
Again. Again. Her pussy made a wet sound on every thrust. She held my back and her nails went in. The cot knocked the wall. The red light on the table took her face when her mouth fell open and the moans started running together.
“Ahh—ahh—Rajesh I can feel it—you are going to come—ahh—come inside me—if you are going to do this then do it fully—don’t pull out—ahh—ahh—fill my pussy—ahh—” my mom said.
Her pussy clenched on me again, a smaller wave after the first climax, squeezing the head of my cock.

That finished me.
I drove in once more, buried to the root, and I came inside my mom.
I came in long pulses, flooding her pussy, groaning into her mouth, holding her ass so I could stay as deep as the cot would let me. She moaned through it with me — “ahh—ahh—I can feel you coming—ahh—it is hot—Rajesh—ahh—stay—stay inside—” — and her pussy kept pulling at my cock as if it wanted every drop.
I gave her every drop.
I stayed buried in her until the last jerk left me, my cock still twitching in her wet pussy, our wetness already leaking around my shaft onto the white petticoat. I did not switch the phone off. I kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her full mouth, still inside her, and I spoke against her lips.

“You are home, Mom. You are not on the highway. You were here. You were making love to me when the Baleno hit the lorry. That light took it. I came inside you. That is the whole of it,” I said.
She cried, and she moaned one last small “ahh…” when my cock flexed in her pussy, and she held my neck and she did not push me out.
I stayed inside her until my cock softened enough that her pussy began to let me go on its own.
Even then I did not pull out at once. I kissed her full mouth, slow now, and I felt our wetness leak around my cock onto the white petticoat. She made a small sound each time I flexed — not the loud ahh of the climax, only the leftover of it, the body still answering after the fear and the coming had spent themselves on the same cot.
“You are still in my pussy, Rajesh, I can feel you leaking out of me, don’t move yet, if you leave my body I will have to remember the highway, stay like this, hold my ass, kiss my mouth, let the light watch if it must watch,” my mom said.
I held her ass. I kissed her mouth. I put one hand between us and rubbed her clit with two wet fingers, not to start again, only to draw the last tremor out of her. She came a little once more, a short clench on my softening cock, a broken “ahh… ahh, Rajesh…” against my lips, her heavy breasts pressed to my chest, the yellow chiffon saree and the white petticoat still packed at her waist, the maroon panties still on her ankle, the white bra still pulled down.
That was the last climax the night asked of her.
After that I switched the phone off.
The red light died. The room became only a room. I pulled out of her pussy slowly and she winced and held my neck, and I saw my cum leave her and sit shining on her pussy lips and on the white petticoat. I did not wipe it away at once. I looked, because the boy who had not known how was gone, and the man who had just come inside his mom needed to see what he had done.

Then I pulled the maroon panties up her thick thighs and settled them over her wet pussy, feeling the heat of my own cum through them. I drew the white petticoat down. I drew the yellow chiffon saree down over the white petticoat. I lifted the white bra over her breasts and I closed the yellow blouse. She let me dress her as if her arms no longer belonged to the woman who had walked to town that morning.
“If anyone knocks, we were here, Rajesh. That is all I know how to say. Don’t make me watch that video tonight. Don’t talk about Santosh and Lydia and Kasi in my ear. Hold me. I am your mom and I am also the woman you just came inside, and I don’t have a third name for myself yet,” my mom said.
I held her on the cot.
Outside, the village sounded the way it had always sounded — a dog, a far door, the hush that comes after the last bus. Inside, nothing was the same. I had the degree on my hand in a gold-less fist. I had the recording in the phone. I had my cum in her pussy under the maroon panties and the yellow chiffon saree. She slept in pieces against my chest, waking to hold my neck, sleeping again, her tall body still smelling of town dust and sex.
Morning came anyway.
She stood at the stove in the same yellow chiffon saree, hair tied, full face quieter, and for anyone passing the yard she was only a village mother making coffee for her son who had finished LLB. I came behind her and put my hand on her hip over the yellow chiffon saree, longer than a son’s hand should stay. She did not call it ticklish. She did not move her ass away. She let the hand stay, and she did not look at the door.
“The highway is still there, Rajesh. The village will talk. If they come, you will speak. Until then this house is this house. Don’t grab me in the yard. Inside, I already know what your hands are,” my mom said.
I kissed the side of her neck, once, and I left the kiss there like a mark only we could read.
That was the end of it.

The End 

Regards 
Novelist Casanova 

[ananth1986]

Another hot story ,but this time incesst.
Too hot and explained how to get mother
Thank you

[novelistcasanova]

Another hot story ,but this time incesst.
Too hot and explained how to get mother
Thank you

Thank you 

[tweeny_fory]

love;y story bhai
enjoyed it

[Herotic]

Thank you sir for this amazing story... i requested and its here...