The house smelled of cumin and cardamom when I got home from the gym.
Mom was in the kitchen, her back to me, wearing that thin cotton sari she always wore around the house. The pallu had slipped off one shoulder, and the low blouse showed the smooth brown skin of her back. She was forty-five, but her body still looked tight from years of yoga and cooking.
"Arjun, beta, you're back," she said without turning. Her voice was soft, the same voice that used to sing me to sleep.
I walked up behind her and put my hands on her waist. She didn't pull away. Instead she leaned back against me, pressing her round ass against my crotch. My cock was already hard. It had been this way for months now.
"Mom," I said, my voice low. "I can't stop thinking about last night."
She turned in my arms. Her eyes were dark, heavy with the same hunger I felt. "We shouldn't," she whispered, but her hand was already sliding down to squeeze my dick through my shorts. "Your father is at work for another three hours."
I kissed her hard, tongue pushing into her mouth. She tasted like the chai she'd been drinking. Her fingers fumbled with my shorts and pulled my cock out. It was thick and veined, the head already wet. She stroked it slowly, her small hand barely wrapping around it.
"Lock the door," she said.
I did. When I came back she had dropped the sari. She stood there in just the blouse and petticoat, nipples poking hard against the thin fabric. I ripped the blouse open. Her tits spilled out, heavy and dark-nippled. I sucked one into my mouth while my hand went under her petticoat. She wasn't wearing panties. My fingers found her wet cunt, already dripping.
"Fuck, Mom, you're soaked," I growled.
She moaned and spread her legs. I pushed two fingers inside her. She was tight and hot, gripping me as I pumped in and out. Her hips rocked against my hand. "Arjun… beta… more."
I lifted her onto the kitchen counter. The petticoat bunched around her waist. I dropped to my knees and buried my face between her thighs. Her pussy tasted salty and sweet. I licked her clit in fast circles while my fingers fucked her. She grabbed my hair and ground against my mouth, moaning in Hindi mixed with English.
"Yes, eat your mother's cunt… oh god, don't stop…"
She came hard, thighs shaking, juices running down my chin. Before she could catch her breath I stood up and shoved my cock inside her. She was so wet I slid in deep on the first thrust. Her walls clenched around me.
"Harder," she begged. "Fuck me like you own me."
I pounded her on the counter, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the kitchen. Her tits bounced with every thrust. I reached down and rubbed her clit with my thumb. She came again, screaming my name, her pussy milking my cock.
I pulled out and spun her around, bending her over the counter. I slammed back into her from behind, grabbing her hips. Her ass jiggled every time I drove deep. I reached around and pinched her nipples.
"You're mine now," I said, voice rough. "This pussy belongs to your son."
"Yes," she gasped. "It's yours. Fill me up."
I fucked her faster, balls slapping against her. When I felt my orgasm building I buried myself to the hilt and exploded. Thick ropes of cum pumped into her cunt. She pushed back against me, taking every drop.
We stayed like that for a minute, breathing hard. Then I pulled out and watched my cum drip down her thighs. She turned, kissed me slow and deep, and smiled.
"Shower with me before your father comes home," she said. "And tonight, after he sleeps, come to my room again."
I nodded, already getting hard again at the thought. This was our secret now, real and raw, and neither of us wanted it to end.
