I was up late one night scrolling when I heard it through the thin wall between our rooms. My mother’s voice, low and husky, mixing with the tinny sound of her phone speaker. She was playing one of those Hindi audio incest stories again, the kind where a son fucks his own mother while she whispers filthy things in Hindi. I’d caught her listening before, but tonight the volume was up just enough for me to make out the words.
“Beta, meri chut mein apna lund daal do,” the actress moaned on the recording. My cock twitched instantly. I pressed my ear to the wall and heard my mom breathing heavier, the wet sound of her fingers working between her legs clear as day.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed open her door without knocking. She was on the bed, saree pulled up to her waist, legs spread wide, phone between her thighs. Her dark nipples were hard against the thin blouse. She froze when she saw me, but she didn’t stop rubbing her swollen clit.
“Arjun…” she whispered, voice thick. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I stepped closer, already pulling my cock out. “You’re listening to that shit again, Ma. The same stories where the son fucks his mother raw.”
Her eyes dropped to my thick shaft. She licked her lips. “It’s just audio… it’s not real.”
I climbed onto the bed and grabbed her wrist, moving her hand away so I could replace it with my fingers. She was dripping, hot and slick. “It’s real tonight,” I growled. I shoved two fingers inside her and she gasped, hips bucking.
The audio kept playing. “Maa, teri chut kitni tight hai,” the voice on the phone said. My mother moaned louder, her walls clenching around my fingers.
“Turn it up,” I ordered. She reached for the phone with a shaky hand and raised the volume. The dirty Hindi filled the room while I yanked her blouse open and sucked one heavy tit into my mouth. She tasted like sweat and milk and sin.
I pulled my fingers out and slapped my cock against her wet cunt. “You want this, don’t you? Just like in those stories.”
She nodded, eyes glassy. “Haan beta… mujhe apna lund chahiye. Apni maa ko chod do.”
I slammed into her in one hard thrust. She cried out, back arching. The audio kept going, the actress begging her “son” to fuck her harder, and I matched every filthy line. I pounded her deep, the wet slap of skin loud over the speaker. Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me in.
“Harder,” she begged in Hindi. “Aur zor se. Meri chut phaad de.”
I flipped her onto all fours and drove back in. Her ass jiggled with every thrust. I reached around and rubbed her clit the way the audio described, fast and rough. She came hard, screaming into the pillow, her pussy pulsing around my cock.
I didn’t stop. I kept fucking her through it, chasing my own release. When I was close I pulled out and flipped her again, straddling her chest. She opened her mouth like the good slut in those stories and I stroked my cock until thick ropes of cum painted her tongue and tits.
She swallowed what she could, then licked the rest off her fingers while the audio finally faded out. We were both breathing hard. She looked up at me, satisfied and shameless.
“Next time,” she said softly, “we don’t need the audio.”
