I still remember the night it started like it was yesterday. I was twenty-five, living back at home after college, and my mom was forty-eight, still wearing those tight sarees that hugged her thick hips and heavy tits. We were alone in the house, dad gone on a business trip, and the heat in our small apartment was brutal. She walked into the kitchen in a thin cotton blouse and petticoat, sweat making the fabric stick to her skin. I couldnt stop staring at the dark outline of her nipples.
Rohan, help me with this fan, she said, voice low and tired. I stood behind her on the stool, reaching up, and my cock brushed against her ass. She didnt move away. Instead she pushed back a little, like she was testing me. My hands dropped to her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh above her hips. She let out a shaky breath.
Beta, what are you doing? she whispered, but she didnt pull my hands off. I pressed harder, grinding my hard dick against the crack of her ass through the thin layers. She was warm and smelled like coconut oil and sweat. My fingers slid under her blouse, finding her bare tits, heavy and soft, nipples already stiff. I pinched one and she moaned, low and dirty.
She turned around fast, eyes dark. Lock the door. I did. When I came back she was on the kitchen table, saree pulled up to her waist, legs spread. No panties. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips fat and glistening. You want this, you take it like a man, she said, voice rough. I dropped my shorts and my cock sprang out, thick and leaking. She grabbed it, stroking hard, thumb rubbing the head.
I pushed two fingers into her cunt right away. She was soaked, hot, gripping me tight. Fuck, Mom, youre dripping, I growled. She spread wider, hips rocking on my hand. I finger-fucked her fast, palm slapping her clit, until she came with a sharp cry, juices running down my wrist.
Then she pulled me in by the cock and guided me straight into her. No slow tease. I slammed balls-deep in one thrust. Her pussy was tight and burning hot, sucking me in. She wrapped her legs around my waist and I started pounding, the table creaking under us. Her tits bounced out of the blouse, dark nipples begging for my mouth. I sucked one hard while I fucked her, teeth grazing, and she clawed my back.
Harder, Rohan, fuck your mother like you mean it, she hissed. I gave it to her, hips snapping, wet sounds filling the kitchen. She came again, cunt pulsing around my cock, screaming my name. I didnt last long after that. I pulled out at the last second and shot thick ropes across her stomach and saree, watching it drip down her brown skin.
We didnt stop there. That night we moved to the bedroom. She got on all fours, saree still half on, ass up, and I took her from behind, gripping her hips and watching my cock disappear into her soaked pussy. She reached back and spread her cheeks so I could see everything. I slapped her ass red and she pushed back for more. Later she rode me, tits swinging in my face, telling me how long shed wanted her sons cock. I came inside her that time, filling her deep while she ground down and milked every drop.
After that it became regular. Mornings shed wake me with her mouth, sucking me slow and sloppy until I flooded her throat. Afternoons shed bend over the washing machine and let me fuck her quick and rough. Nights were longer, dirtier. She taught me how she liked her clit rubbed while I was inside her, how to pull her hair just right, how to make her squirt on my cock. We never talked about stopping. It was just us, raw and real, her body mine to use and mine to worship.
She still wears those sarees. I still pull them up whenever I want. And every time I slide into her wet heat, she whispers the same thing: My good boy. My dirty boy.
We both know its never going to end.
