This is a print version of story FOR HER HUSBANDS SAKE by sexaddict66 from


8.15 pm, The Bungalow

"That was exquisite," said Prem, smiling approvingly at the panting duo that lay, arms entwined, chests, bellies and pubic regions still in copious contact, on his lavish queen-sized bed. The male was a good-looking athletic young man of 18. More than his body, his youthful face was a dead giveaway that he was significantly younger than the female. This is not to say that the woman looked over the hill -- far from it. Had she looked like most other 41 year-old women, she would not have found herself f***ed to make this choice. If you could call it a choice....


The woman was, to put not too fine a point on it, a beauty. In her youth she had made more than a few hearts and cocks flutter with her angelic features, large, innocent dark brown eyes and fair complexion. Almost never had a blemish crossed her flawless light brown Indian skin. She was irresistible and had known it almost as long as she had been alive. Known it since she had known that men cherish beauty in a woman, and very little else. Seen it, felt it, in the naked hunger in the eyes of boys and men who had clumsily tried to woo her. Known it in the reproachful gazes middle-aged wives gave their husbands when they caught them staring at her lush, youthful breasts - breasts that she exposed as much as she could without inviting the wrath of her protective Indian parents.

Her father, bless his soul, used to get particularly distraught when she strutted around in her short skirts, leaving her calves, knees, even a hint of her thighs exposed to the servants. "My c***d, you are a beautiful girl, and that is the greatest gift a woman can be born with in this world. But if you're not careful, your beauty could become a curse, and your father knows this," her mother used to tell her, explaining her husband's distress at his daughter's attire when she went out with her 'friend' to the movies, or visited her tutor's house with her blouse cut a little too low. Her father's fears would been justified on both these occasions, though -- for his daughter, classic Indian beauty, had an appetite for sex that Indian women are simply forbidden to...

She had a protective father; that was for sure. But even in his eyes, in those rare moments when he dropped his guard a little and saw his daughter revealed in front of him as not his little girl, but a woman, she had seen that same fire. And then she had known...

Her father was a good man, and had tried to make up for these lapses by turning to Lord Krishna, losing himself in his meditations, trying to erase those wicked, forbidden thoughts about his daughter that grew even more frequent as she matured and became a mother at 23, and went from exquisite adolescent beauty to voluptuous young mother, the pride of her successful business executive husband and the envy of his friends.

Her husband Raj Chopra knew that he had struck gold when he managed to hit it off with Aarti, the most popular girl in college, widely hailed as the finest piece of ass to have adorned the classrooms of that venerated institution; the girl who hardly seemed to have the time to study, yet always finished near the top of her class. There is an unfortunate tendency in Indian society to attribute whatever academic and professional success women enjoy to their looks, yet in this case the male chauvinist pigs would have been dead right, as the satisfied cocks of several professors would surely have attested, had cocks been endowed with the ability to express gratitude for the expert attentions of young female students.

Anyway, Aarti had never been particularly interested in a career, knowing that she would never need one to support herself. This is not to say that she married her husband just for financial security. She was crazy about her husband. He was her companion and her lover. She loved him and adored his cock and his fucking, and she adored even more the beautiful boy that had resulted, and who had grown to be strapping young lad of 18.

The approach of middle age had not inhibited Aarti as a sexual being, and she took good care of herself and her gorgeous figure. Married or not, being attractive to the male gaze was a part of herself she was going to hold on to as long as she could.

Although her husband's long business trips f***ed her to look outside marriage from time to time to satisfy her voracious sexual appetite, she was always discreet: The young lads of 18 and 20 who delightedly attended to this stunning MILF did not need to be told twice that if they shot their mouths off about their sexual exploits, Aarti's pussy would be forever closed to them.


Aarti would have been the first to admit she was not a saint, but if she had been informed that evening of just what she would be doing less than a couple of hours later, she would have said that karma was being pretty fucking harsh on her.


6 pm, The Chopra Residence

Aarti was bored. Her husband, Raj, had not responded on his cell phone when she had called to ask when he would be back. Work had been particularly taxing on Raj lately, and they hadn't been having much sex. Even when they did, Raj had been too tired to really satisfy his wife.

When their son was asl**p in the next room and Aarti reached across and slipped her hand down her husband's shorts, caressing his dick, Raj would either turn away, saying, "Not tonight, jaan," or let out what sounded like a sigh of resignation, lie on top of his wife of 19 years, slip off her nightdress, and slide into her. Just when Aarti was getting worked up, her heart rate accelerating, her hips beginning to get into the rhythm of her husband's thrusts, her husband would tense up, back arched, and deposit his semen into his partner. And then he would roll off without a word. No lingering post-sex cuddling, no looking deep into her eyes and telling her how much he loved his jaan. It had been ages since her pussy had been treated to the attentions of her husband's tongue.

These past few weeks, it was almost as though she had become a sl**ping bag for her husband. sl**ping bags. Where was it she had read that most Indian men treated their wives like sl**ping bags? It seemed her marriage was fast turning into an Indian cliché.

She didn't really blame her husband though. She knew her husband would never be unfaithful to her, and Lord Krishna knew his job had been a killer lately. With their son, Vikram, due to graduate from school in four months, the pressure to save up enough money and get Vikram a good education, maybe even send him to the United States, was definitely on.

Vikram. If there was one thing Aarti loved even more than sex or her husband, it was her son, her beta. At 18, he was physically near his peak, and took after his father in his built. He stood 5 feet 10 inches tall, and carried his athletic physique with the confidence of a boy who knew he looked good. He had inherited his mother's angelic face and his dreamy brown eyes had made more than one young woman go week in the knees. He had never had a steady girlfriend, though he had made out on a number of occasions and even received oral sex from a classmate once. But he hadn't 'gone all the way' yet.

"Umm, I've done... you know... stuff, but I... haven't done it yet," had been his embarrassed reply when Aarti had pressed him on the subject. Vikram and Aarti were close, always had been, but like most sons, Vikram was a tad shy when it came to discussing sexual matters with his mother. Aarti thought it was adorable how her son's cheeks went all red whenever she broached the subject of intercourse, and she derived a peculiar guilty pleasure watching her beloved boy squirm in front of his mommy.

In some of her more unguarded ruminations, she had found herself wondering if there might not be more to Vikram's embarrassment than the modesty of a son. She had on more than one occasion caught her son staring at her. He would leer at her generous bust and her perfectly rounded calves after kissing his mother good morning when she was in the kitchen, still in her nightgown, and quickly turn his gaze away when Aarti looked directly at him. However, she had never reprimanded him.

It was always refreshing to be reminded she was beautiful, even if the reminder came in the form of a sizeable bulge in her offspring's shorts. Besides, like most Indian mothers, Aarti was fairly intimate with her son, and it seemed inevitable that her son's raging adolescent hormones would occasionally let this emotional intimacy spill over into his sexual thoughts.


Aarti happened to be thinking about her son at that moment, half-lying on her bed in pajama bottoms and a tank top and flipping through the pages of an inane Bollywood magazine, when her cell phone rang.

It was Raj. Expecting he was calling to inform he would be working late yet again, she sighed, reached out and answered the phone.

"Hi, honey."

"This is not your husband, bitch."

"Hey, who is this?"

"Shut up and listen. We have your husband. If you want to see him alive, listen very carefully to me."

Aarti gasped. She calmed herself with a deep breath.

"Go on," she said, unable to keep her voice from quivering.

"Firstly, no police business, you understand? It's pointless, and will fuck things up for me, for you and especially your darling husband. Now, take down this address." The voice dictated an address on the outskirts of the city.

"I want you and your son here by --"

"My son? Why-"

"Don't interrupt me, you cunt. I was saying, I want you and your son at that address in one and a half hours. Don't be late. Also, there is to be a dress code for our little rendezvous. You are to wear that red halter top and mini-skirt your husband so loves --"

"But how do you-"

"Next time you interrupt, I swear I'll carve your husband's balls out. Your husband told me. I asked. Wear a black tank top, the mini-skirt, and stiletto sandals. Also, a black bra and panties. Your son will wear faded jeans, blue t-shirt and sneakers. He can wear whatever underwear he likes. No jewellery, watches, wallets or cell phones, both of you. Understood?"

"Yes. But why-"

"Consider it one of the many whims of your husband's a*****or. I'm sending you a photo of your husband, in case you doubt me. It's an hour and a half's drive from your place." He hung up.

Aarti sat up straight on the bed, her back unusually straight and her mouth half open in a bewildered gasp. Too many thoughts were running through her mind, threatening to overwhelm her. She tried to calm herself using her usual method - thinking happy thoughts. Unfortunately, her happy thoughts involved her f****y and thinking of her wedding day only brought thoughts of her husband, bound and helpless in her mind's eye: her husband being tortured and killed, the chopped up pieces of his body being delivered to her by mail...

She slapped herself hard, bringing herself back to reality. She checked her cell phone. True to his word, the bastard had sent a photo of her husband. He wasn't bound or gagged, and did not appear to be in any physical discomfort. Two masked men with guns flanked him on both sides though, in what appeared to be a fairly large, well-lit room.

Whoever this guy was, he meant business. But what did he want from her? He didn't ask for any money - Just her presence and her son's presence in specified attire at a certain place at a certain time. Maybe they would get further instructions once they reached the address.

Or maybe there was another explanation. One in which her own extraordinary attractiveness and her son's good locks were of salience. Aarti was not naïve, and she knew that people had fetishes...

For an instant, an image of her naked son pumping his dick into her, her legs wrapped around his ass, her breasts crushed against his broad chest, his eyes boring deep into his eyes, his boyish features twisted with indescribable ecstasy as he fucked his mother missionary style, flashed through her mind. For a second, her whole body seemed to be on fire, and then it was gone. She felt giddy, and could feel the beginning of sweat forming on her forehead. What the fuck was wrong with her?


Vikram was a good boy, but like all teenage boys, he had a dick that demanded attention. And giving his dick proper attention was exactly what he was doing when his mother received that fateful call. Blissfully unaware of happenings in the room adjacent to hers, he was sitting in front of his laptop, erect cock in hand.

Though he had enjoyed making out with girls his age, he had never attempted to complete intercourse with them. He wanted his first experience to be memorable and somehow none of the girls he had fooled around with, gorgeous though they might have appeared to most, had made the cut. When he finally had sex he wanted it to be with an alluring, voluptuous woman. Someone not merely attractive but exquisitely beautiful. Someone like his mother...

He was usually capable of shutting off these sinful thoughts when they came to him. Sometimes, though, he would allow the fantasy to take over, and log on to one of the many porn sites offering the sight of 40-somethings debasing themselves in front of the camera with a dude half their age. He would open one of these videos, usually one with an Indian MILF. As the scene unfolded, his cock would grow stiff, and he would wrap his palm around it and start to masturbate. He allowed his imagination to take over, imagining that the curvaceous woman of forty on his screen was not some unknown chick fucking for money but his beloved mother. At this point his penis would become even larger and he would come close to the brink.

It was exactly at this point that he heard his mother knock on his door. Had it been even a second later, he would have reached the point of no return and been f***ed to clean up in a hurry. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary. He hurriedly closed the porn site that had been open on his screen, gathered his sizeable penis inside his underwear and walked to the door.

"Hi, mom."

"Beta, something's come up."

Vikram looked up at his mother's face and immediately knew something was wrong. Worry was writ large on her face. Her brows were furrowed, her forehead was sweaty, and her stricken expression conveyed that bad news was coming.

"It's about your father. He's been k**napped."


"Yes, it's true. And your k**napper wants the two of us to meet him in two hours' time."

"Let's call the police! They will take care of him."

"I don't think that's a good idea. The man sounded like he meant business, and he sent a photo." She showed her son the picture of his father the man had sent.

He looked up. "What does he want from us? Money?"

"Maybe. Or... yeah, it's got to be money."

"But it doesn't make sense! I mean, we're well off and everything, but we're hardly the richest people in the city."

"I know, beta. Now is not the time to think of these matters. It's one and a half hour's drive to the place at rush hour, which leaves us fifteen minutes to get going. He also said that you are to wear a blue t-shirt, faded jeans and sneakers."

"What the hell for? Do you have to wear the same clothes too?"

" He told me to wear something else. Anyway, get dressed. I'll go and get ready too."

With that she left him staring bewildered after her.


7.30 pm, The Bungalow

The Corolla pulled up the driveway of the house the mother-son duo had been instructed to arrive at. The house in question was a spacious bungalow in one of the more deserted parts of the outskirts of the city. The street was a cul-de-sac, and none of the 4 or 5 other houses there appeared to be inhabited. Just the sort of place, in other words, where activities of an i*****l nature could be conducted without interference.

The driver killed the engine, and a pair of shapely legs, clad in a very fetching miniskirt, leg muscles accentuated by the stilettos, emerged from the driver's side. The driver's torso was covered in a tight-fitting, low-cut halter top that finished several inches above her belly and exposed a good part of her. Simultaneously, this strikingly attractive woman's very handsome son dressed in typically boyish clothes came out from the other side. Inside the bungalow, Prem smiled. They looked perfect, and the anxiety on the woman's face gave him a hard-on. He gave a signal and the front door was opened.

"Welcome, dears," Prem positively gushed, proffering Aarti a handshake . "Where's my husband?" Aarti ignored the outstretched hand.

"All in good time, love. Please come in first."

A short, scruffy-looking man with a pistol shoved under his belt came forward and frisked mother and son. He took his time with Aarti, running his hands down her calves, slipping them under her skirt to massage her thighs, even squeezing her fleshy breasts, before appreciatively squeezing her arms.

"All good, sir," he said, his leering still gaze fixed on Aarti.

"Great." Prem led them into a spacious living room and gestured them to sit on a sofa.

"Your husband is in this house. Don't bother, he can't hear us from here," stopping Aarti with her mouth still half-open.

"Now, I want the two of you to do me a favour," Prem went on.

"Meaning?" asked Vikram.

"I think your mother has a pretty good idea, and so do you, I fancy."

Vikram gulped. Like his mother, he was no fool, and his apprehension had been building ever since he had seen his mother step out of her room in the kind of outfit street whores usually wore. When he had asked her why she thought his father's a*****or wanted her dressed like that, she had merely shrugged, but her eyes had betrayed her fear.

Prem continued. "I want the two of you to perform. Sex, that is. I want you, mother and son, to fuck each other's brains out while I watch."

"What! Are you crazy? You expect me to ... have sex... with my own son?"

"Spare me the outrage. You know you have to do what I tell you, or your husband never sees the light of day again. Besides, you might enjoy it."

Vikram cast his eyes downward, his lips trembling. Next to him, his mother cut a similarly bleak figure.

"Come on, you two. It's not like you have any other option. You're going to fuck no matter what, so you might as well try to enjoy it a little. Follow me."

Both mother and son, along with the armed man who had frisked them, followed Prem into a bedroom. Vikram and Aarti both bore stricken looks on their faces. The armed man, on the other hand was grinning from ear to ear, and staring at the sluttily dressed 41 year-old had caused a tent to form in his trousers. Aarti recoiled at the prospect of being naked with her son under the lecherous gaze of these creeps.

In front of them was the bed they were to commit the unholy act on. Queen-size, with white sheets and a lush pillow, it was the kind of bed that honeymooning couples used for their nightly frolics. That's exactly why Prem had chosen it for the night's main event.

"I'm guessing I'll have to choreograph you two lovebirds a little bit at the start. After that, unless you want my assistant here to join in the fun, I want you two to get into it in all earnest. Understood?"

Vikram looked extremely nervous, like he might cry at any moment. A reassuring glance from his mother made him nod his head and bite his lip.

Aarti nodded at Prem's instructions. She had been dreading this moment, but right now she felt strangely calm. She knew that this was not her fault; there was nothing she could have done to avoid this moment, and now that she was in this situation, she found herself accepting her fate with composure. She could do worse than her son when it came to finding a sexual partner, a small voice in a dark corner of her mind told her. What she was really worried about was how Vikram would pull through. Would he be damaged for life and become like one of those serial r****ts whom you later found out were abused when they were young? Her son might be an adult, but he was a virgin. And here he was, about to have sex for the first time - with his mother.
"Vikram, take your jeans and underwear off. And your socks and shoes too," rang out Prem's command.

Vikram complied.

"Ha! Who would have thought? You're already beginning to have an erection! Now sit on the bed."

His face red, he lowered his ass to the bed, his penis, already almost 6 inches long at a half-erection, jutting out between his legs.

Prem turned his attention to Aarti. "Take your top off and undo your hair. Give your son a blowjob. When he comes, I want you to swallow. And Vikram, make sure you play with your mother's tits."

This demand was met with compliance. She unclasped her hairpin and reached behind her neck to undo the halter top, which she discarded at her feet. Revealed in their semi-nude glory were firm, ample breasts which resided above her ever-so-slightly curved belly -- the body of a ravishing woman who was also a loving wife and nurturing mother.

Seeing his mom's tits covered only by her bra now had got Vikram aroused, much to his chagrin, and so when Aarti held her son's cock tenderly in her hands, it was already stretched to its length of 7 inches.

Aarti knelt on the carpeted floor by the bed, and kicked off her stilettos to make herself comfortable. Gingerly, she brought her head down to her son's organ and flicked its head. Vikram's whole body stiffened as if electrified, as his respected parent ran her outstretched tongue expertly down his shaft all the way to his balls. She sucked his balls devotedly, like a baby at its mother's teat, before withdrawing abruptly. For a moment the cock in her hand twitched, as if startled at the sudden loss of contact with the maternal tongue.

A whimper of satisfaction escape Vikram's lips as his mother kissed his foreskin and lovingly licked off the pre-cum that had gathered at the tip. She wrapped her mouth around his distended penis, taking it all the way in till her lips touched its base. She held this position for a while and let her tongue gently massage the sensitive skin. Then she withdrew slowly, her boy's cock emerging gently from her mouth like a popsicle.

Meanwhile, Vikram was following his orders as he gently moved his mother's silky hair aside to give his hands unfettered access to the mound that had provided him nourishment as an infant. Moving his hands up and down her generous bosom, he cupped each breast in his palm, feeling its smoothness, and squeezed gently.

Aarti let out a sigh of satisfaction as she repeated her cycle of motion, increasing the tempo of her mouth while her son started moving her hips in rhythm to his mother's movements. Vikram's head was thrown back, his face a mask of ecstasy as his mother continued to pleasure him like an experienced whore. Aarti's hands, which were previously on his hips, began to move and gently caress his thighs before moving up to his crotch and teasing his balls. Vikram's hands continued to be active and he playfully moved his fingers all over his mother's ample breasts and over her bra.

Every few moments, Aarti would take her mouth off his cock and look up at him. Vikram happened to look down at one of these moments and their eyes met. He was suddenly conscious of just how shocking this was, a mother tending lovingly to her 18 year old's erection, and a thrill ran through him, reaching even his cock and making it throb in protest.

"Oh yes, Mom," he whispered, softly enough that only she could hear him. The pleasure was becoming unbearable. Aarti slowed down her movements a little bit. She continued to bob her head up and down, working her tongue to make sure that no part of her progeny's penis felt unattended to, and kept moving her hands, occasionally clutching Vikram's pubic hair, sometimes rubbing her palms gently over his belly. She was pretty good at oral sex, and the fact that she was sucking off her son's cock in front of her husband's captors did nothing to diminish her fellatio abilities. She was sickened, sure, at what she was doing, but she couldn't deny the fact that she was enjoying taking care of her son's seven inches. He was a good one inch bigger than his father, and much more responsive too.

His breathing was becoming labored now, and he was letting out guttural noises with increasing frequency. He was becoming more adventurous with his hands, and reached under his mother's bra to gain access to her nipples. Aarti's nipples became stiff. God, her son was good with his hands. For a guy who was fucking his mother's mouth against either of their wishes, he was doing remarkably well. So was she. Her breasts, her thighs, her belly, her cunt, were screaming for attention. She nursed Vikram's cock even more earnestly, bringing him close to the edge.

"Mom, please stop ... I'm going to cum," he gasped. He let out a groan expressing his helplessness. His hands sharply became more frenzied, first squeezing Aarti's breasts hard and then moving up to her shoulder and neck and finally her face. He brought his hand to the back of his mother's head, pushing it further down his cock to push his testicles right in to her gaping mouth, almost making her gag. Aarti felt her son's cock twitch in her mouth as orgasm began to take control of his body.

"Ohhh, mom...fuck...yeah," disjointed words came from Vikram's mouth as wave after wave of exquisite pleasure rolled through his body, converging at his cock and issuing forth as the hot wetness of his semen. In the throes of orgasm now, Vikram held his mother's head in place with his left hand, playing all the while with her soft hair, and used his right hand to ravage her upper body. His right hand ran frantically over Aarti's naked shoulders and back, gathering lumps of flesh like sand and squeezing hard as he climaxed. He lost count of how many times he spurted his hot seed into the welcoming mouth of his mother, who dutifully swallowed every milliliter of the precious fluid.

She let Vikram's cock slowly go back to normal size in her mouth before taking her mouth away. She looked up at her son, running her tongue over her lips to scoop up the little bit of semen that had leaked out. The corners of Vikram's mouth were upturned in a faint smile, still revelling in the aftermath of the orgasm his mother had given him.

"Great going, you two," said Prem, "But we're not finished yet. Aarti, your son is only 18. I know you can make him hard again. Get up on the bed and make out with your son."

Aarti didn't need to be told twice. She pushed her son back on the bed, resting his head on the pillow, and straddled his upper body with her legs; her knees were planted firmly on either side of his chest. Her son's arms instinctively wrapped around her, running up and down her back and underneath the clasp of her bra. Vikram adroitly removed his mother's bra and gasped at the sight of her breasts hanging freely, her dark brown nipples erect. Her hands lightly gripping her son's shoulders, Aarti gently brought her face down to meet his. Her nose gently brushed against his before their lips met. Aarti led their kiss, first brushing her lips against her son's a few times and then gradually easing his mouth open so they could explore each other.

Vikram's heart raced as he lay on his back with his lips locked with his mother's. Tentatively, he moved his tongue forward, and found his mother's tongue waiting for the contact. For a while, the two of them let their tongues roam over each other, before moving on to the insides of each other's mouth. The duo continued their passionate kissing, taking turns to such each other's tongue, running their tongue over each other's teeth and inner cheeks, each delighting in the taste of the other. Mother and son complemented their mouth-fucking with the motion of their hands. Vikram traversed his mother's bare back with his hands, gently tracing her spine with his finger and eliciting an involuntary shudder. He brought his hands inwards to fondle the sides of Aarti's hanging breasts and crept slowly towards her stiff nipples, which he pinched, causing her to let out a moan.

Next he turned his attention to her legs, caressing the back of her thighs till he reached the junction as which her legs were bent. He let his fingers rest for a while in the warmth created by the flesh there before tracing her calf muscles with his fingers. He moved back up, this time slipping his hand under the mini-skirt and feeling Aarti's ass through her panties. He moved his hand back down, bunching up his mother's skirts around her ass and squeezed. Aarti moaned, partly in pressure and partly in pain, sucking even harder on her son's tongue.

Aarti disengaged her mouth from his and gently kissed his nose, peppering her son's face affectionately with kisses as she moved down to his lips, chin and neck. Abruptly she moved her face down to the bottom of his t-shirt, which she rolled up to his nipples. She looked down at her son's penis and was pleased to see it was starting to stir back to life. She kissed its head lightly and showered her attention on her son's athletic torso, expertly massaging it using her tongue and lips. When she reached the bottom of her son's rolled-up t-shirt, she rolled it up even further, making her son stretch his arms behind him so she could take off his only remaining piece of clothing.

There they lay, the soon-to-be-fucking mother-son couple, oblivious to all but each other and their gratification. Prem nodded in satisfaction at the topless mother atop her naked son. Mother and son couples were always the best. You would think that forcing a mother and son to fuck each other would result in painfully awkward sex, but this almost never happened. All the mother-son couples he had had screw on this very bed had made for excellent viewing. There was not a son in the world who hadn't ever thought of bedding his mother, and once you gave them the chance, there was no holding back.

But what really got him off was the sight of a mother transforming her nurturing instinct into unbridled lust for the person who had once stayed in her womb. When a mother and son fucked, you could see two people who loved each other unconditionally expressing this love by using their bodies to pleasure one another. This pair though, was exceptionally sexy even by those standards. They were both good-looking and possessed a prodigious sexual energy that made the sight in front of Prem incredibly erotic.

"Okay, enough frolicking. Now for the real deal," was his elegant command, "Time to fuck."

Not that they needed his permission.

Aarti was startled as her son suddenly sat up and roughly pushed her down on her back, staring at her hungrily. Enough of the gently motherly guidance, he thought. It was time to be a man and take charge. Looking at his mother lying underneath him waiting to be fucked by her son, drove him wild. This might be his first time but he knew what he was going to do. His first time with his mother was going to be a good old-fashioned missionary fuck, with Aarti squirming underneath his heaving weight. Making out with his mother had restored his cock to full size, and he impatiently reached down to remove his mother's remaining clothes. Aarti helped her son undo her mini-skirt, which he pulled roughly down her legs and flung at the wall. Her panties received similar treatment, and there she lay on her back, her pussy already moist with anticipation, her skin tingling pleasurably all over.

Without preamble, Vikram brought his face down to his mother's crotch, drinking in the sight of his mother's moist pubic hair and running his tongue lightly up and down her slit.

"Put it inside me, beta," Aarti pleaded, not even bothering to keep the observers from hearing her, "Mommy needs your tongue inside her."

They were by now both in their own little private paradise, and Prem doubted that he could have made them stop even if they wanted to. Prem and his assistant might not even have been there, for all the effect their presence was having on these two. Instead of his tongue, Vikram first inserted his index finger in her vagina, probing the inside of her pussy, relishing the feel of her pussy muscles fucking his finger. He withdrew his finger and licked his mother's cunt juices off it.

"You taste good, mom."

Vikram dived and hungrily feasted on his mother's pussy. Aarti's legs moved convulsively and lifted off the bed to caress her son's back and shoulders while he nursed her pleasure spot, tantalizingly moving his fingers over her hips and belly, stopping just short of her breasts. She felt a flush of pride at the skill with which her son was using his lips and tongue to bring off his mother. Her pelvis convulsed under her son as he playfully flicked her clitoris with his tongue, his thumb nursing her swollen labia. She could feel herself reaching her peak as Vikram sucked harder. Her bare legs wrapped around her son's back, she dug in her heels, spurring her son to fuck her with his mouth. Vikram felt his mother's nether muscles involuntarily convulse as a powerful orgasm overwhelmed her body.

Aarti was in heaven. Her pussy muscles clenched and unclenched over her son's tongue, and the familiar pleasure permeated every inch of her body. She let out a loud, throaty moan as she reached her crescendo. Her face scrunched up in pleasure, legs spread wide as she lay on the bed, she was the picture of a sensuous woman. Once the climax subsided, she lay heaving, her face flushed and her breathing shallow. Her heart raced with love and lust as she grinned at her smug son, who had been watching his mother's orgasm-ridden body with endless fascination. She patted her son's head and ruffled his hair in an expression of gratitude -- the same expression that Vikram was used to receiving at the end of a job well done. She brought her hands under her son's armpits and pulled him up so that they were face to face. She spread her legs to welcome her son's body.

Vikram grabbed hold of her tits, roughly crushed his lips against his mother's and inserted his tongue into her welcoming mouth. Aarti reached down and wrapped her fingers around her son's cock to bring it to full readiness for penetration. Vikram's hips bucked slightly as he slowly fucked his mother's hand.

"Oooh...I love you so much," Aarti cooed, her head thrown back to allow her son to nuzzle her neck. Her shoulder braced slightly as her sweet son kissed her gently at the base of the neck. He moved down to the twin protrusions of flesh that he had so contentedly sucked on as a baby, and gently encircled her areolas with the tip of his tongue. He took his mother's right nipple between his lips and flicked the tip with his tongue, sending ripples of pleasure down her chest. He attended to the left breast with this hand, gathering up as much of the fleshy knob he could in his hand and kneading it like dough. He interchanged breasts and repeated the same technique. He moved down and rubbed his face against Aarti's belly, feeling the warm flesh move rhythmically against his lowered cheek.

"Make love to me, my son," Aarti exhorted, bringing her mouth close to her son's ear. Vikram looked deep into her dark eyes. "Yes, mom. I'm ready for it too."

With this he grabbed hold of his mother's knees and spread them apart, splaying his mother's legs to allow him to reach the treasure within him. Aarti guided his stiff cock to the entrance of her slobbering pussy, rubbing its head gently up and down her slit. She closed her eyes and embraced her son with her legs as her only c***d entered her.

He couldn't believe how tight, how right his mother's vagina felt around his cock as he buried himself deep inside her, holding his position to savour the moment. He felt his mother sigh softly from the movement of her abdomen against his. Aarti's nipples rubbed lightly across his chest as he started to move inside his mother, fucking her with slow, deep strokes, pushing inside her until his balls slapped rudely against her ass. His mother held him in her arms, her fingers clawing into his back, and rubbed the back of his legs with her feet. She slowly moved her legs upwards, stopping once she had lodged her heels against his ass. She lost herself in the rhythm of her son's soulful fucking, using her hands and toes to playfully tickle his back and ass as mother and son moved their pelvic regions together in a symphony of lovemaking.

Meanwhile, Vikram was experiencing the most sublime sensations he had ever felt. He caressed his mother's hair to expose her forehead and bestowed it with a kiss expressing the deepest tenderness. A wordless gaze passed between Aarti and Vikram, and they both increased the tempo of their fucking.

Prem had long stopped giving the couple instructions. He, too, was lost in the intensity of the union he was witnessing. Besides, it wasn't as if the interlocked pair on the bed, their bodies as one as they ascended towards the crescendo of their i****tuous coupling, needed to be directed.

Vikram knelt on the bed and reached behind him to grab hold of Aarti's legs above her ankles. He lifted them up so that they pointed straight up in the air, and pushed them down further and also increased the angle between them, testing the limits of his mother's flexibility.

They must have continued fucking like this for at least another fifteen minutes. Aarti was wriggling in delight beneath her son, gripping on to his cock for dear life with her pussy as he penetrated her deep and hard. Vikram had an entranced expression on his face as he made his lovely mother his fuck-toy, turning his head sideways every now and then to taste the skin of her perfect legs. He had already cum once, so he was able to enjoy the feel of his penis in the vagina that had given him birth eighteen years ago for a much longer period. The room was utterly silent except for the sound of their passion complemented by the slurpy sound of his penis as it slid in and out of his mother's well-lubricated birth canal and the sound of his balls slamming powerfully against his mother's ass at the end of each stroke.

"Your pussy feels so good, mom," moaned Vikram, panting.

He began to pant faster, and his face contorted as he inched inexorably towards his climax. He felt his mother's pussy muscles twitch and grip and release his penis uncontrollably as her body flew over the point of no return. This was too much for his eighteen-year old cock, which exploded in orgasm, spurting his seed deep into the recesses of his mother's body.

"I love you, mom... oh... I'm coming," he whispered.

"I love you too, beta. You're making your mother so happy."

The room reverberated with the sound of pleasurable agony, as mother and son groaned under the torrent of pleasure brought to them by their simultaneous orgasms.

His load spent, Vikram's lowered his mother's legs first to his shoulder and then brought them down to rest on the bed. For a while, mother and son both lay entwined in the position they were introduced in at the beginning of this story.

"That was exquisite," said Prem. He meant it. "Better get dressed now."

Aarti and Vikram ignored him for a while, lost in each other's gaze as mother cradled her son in her arms.

Suddenly, they both got up and gathered their discarded clothes, which were strewn all around the room. Once they were dressed, all four wordlessly marched back to the living room.

"You got what you wanted, pervert. Now give my back my husband," said Aarti, fixing Prem with an angry gaze.

"I see," said Prem, "I'm the pervert, though you're the one who just fucked your son. Interesting. Anyway, you won't get your husband just yet. Go home and I'll have him delivered to your house by midnight. I suspect he'll put two and two together if he sees you two like this."

"Is this really why you went to all this trouble for? Just to see a mother have sex with her son?" Aarti inquired.

"Well, that's not all. I was considerate enough to capture your exertions in that bedroom there on camera."

"It's okay," Prem went on, noticing the expressions of mortification that were fixed to both faces, "I'm only going to distribute the video to some select clients. Clients who are particular about what they want and willing to pay. And discreet. As long as you don't try to track me down or go to the police, you'll be fine. If, on the other hand, you set out to seek vengeance, that video will be sent to every one of your friends and relatives, starting with your husband. Before being leaked on the internet, that is."

Aarti nodded dumbly. There was nothing she could say.


In the car, neither of them said a word. Vikram kept staring ahead, though intermittently he stole a furtive glance at his mother's body and impassive face. He was partly ashamed at his enjoyment at what they had done, but also curious if they would have sex again. He knew his mother had liked it, too, and now that they had crossed the line, why come back?

Aarti had a lot to think about, too. What would she tell her husband? She would make up some story about a ransom. But where did she get the money from? A secret account whose existence she had never divulged to her husband, she supposed. Her husband would have to believe her. He would have to. What choice did he have?

"Your beauty could become a curse..." her mother's words came back to her. But surely, even her mother could not have been picturing her daughter and grandson being f***ed to make love when she had uttered those words.

Aarti knew she had just been through an ordeal, but what really pinched her was that she had actually enjoyed it. With her own son. And he had too. What kind of mother was capable of enjoying a carnal union with her own son, and capable of raising a son who enjoyed ravishing his own mother? For all her promiscuity, a small but long-forgotten part of the traditional Indian girl her parent s had tried to raise still resided inside her. And that voice was threatening to rise up inside her, tormenting her for her enjoyment at the sin she had participated in tonight.

But as soon as she managed to silence that voice, another, more compelling voice spoke -- one that answered only to her heart. And that voice was telling her to do things that shocked her. She sighed. She and her son would have to talk. Not tonight, though. Tomorrow, when she had sent her husband off to the hospital to check if he was okay after his ordeal, she and her son would be alone. And then they would talk...

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