Priya Sharma was 42, but the mirror still lied to her every morning. Full, heavy breasts that strained every blouse, a round ass that made men stare on the streets of Bandra, and between her thighs a pussy that stayed slick no matter how many cold showers she took. Her husband Rajesh earned well, travelled more, and when he was home his tiny cock barely tickled her before he rolled over and snored. Five minutes, maybe seven if she was lucky. Never enough. Never close.
For years she told herself it was normal. Indian wives endured. They cooked, they smiled, they wore sindoor and waited. But the ache never left her body. It only grew worse when she looked at her son.
Arjun was twenty-one now, home from university for the holidays. Tall, broad-shouldered from the gym, with the same dark eyes as his father but none of the softness. Priya noticed things she shouldn't: the way his basketball shorts clung to thick thighs, the heavy outline that swung when he walked to the bathroom in the mornings, the low grunt he made when he thought no one was listening while showering.
She started wearing thinner nighties. Started "forgetting" to latch her bedroom door. Started lingering when she handed him coffee, letting her heavy breasts brush his arm.
Rajesh left for Singapore on a Thursday. Ten days. The moment the Uber disappeared around the corner, Priya felt it flood her—hot, shameless want. Her nipples stiffened against her cotton saree. Her pussy gave a slow, greedy pulse.
That night she cooked Arjun's favourites: butter chicken, soft naan, cold beer from the fridge. She wore a crimson sleeveless blouse that barely contained her tits and a saree tied low, the swell of her hips on full display.
They ate on the couch, some Netflix show neither of them watched. When Arjun stretched, his t-shirt rode up and showed the deep V disappearing into his track pants. Priya's mouth went dry.
"University girls treating you well?" she asked, voice husky.
He laughed, embarrassed. "Ma, please."
"I'm serious. A boy like you… must have them lining up." She shifted closer, letting the pallu slip just enough for the edge of her black lace bra to show. "Do they know how to take care of a man properly?"
Arjun's eyes flicked down, then away. "I… manage."
Priya set her plate aside. Reached over and rested her hand high on his thigh. "Your father never managed. Five minutes and it's over. Leaves me aching every single night." Her fingers traced a small circle. "I wonder… if my son is different."
The remote slipped from his hand. "Ma…"
"Shh." She leaned in, breasts pressing soft and warm against his arm. "I've heard you in the shower, beta. That thick, beautiful lund of yours… you stroke it for so long. I stand outside the door and touch myself listening. My pussy gets so wet thinking about it inside me."
Arjun's breath stuttered. His cock thickened visibly against the soft fabric, long and obscene. Priya licked her lips.
"Look at you," she whispered. "Already so hard for Mummy."
She slid off the couch, knelt between his legs, and tugged his shorts down. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, easily nine inches and heavy in her hand. The head glistened. She moaned at the weight of it.
"Rajesh's little finger never filled me like this." She stroked him slowly, watching his abs clench. "I want my son's big Lund stretching his mother's chut. I want you to fuck me until I can't walk."
Arjun groaned, hips jerking into her grip. "Ma… we shouldn't—"
"But we will." She stood, untied her saree and let it pool at her feet. No petticoat. Just black lace panties soaked through, clinging to swollen lips. She peeled them down slowly, showing him the neat trim of hair, the glistening pink folds dripping with need.
She climbed onto his lap, knees sinking into the couch on either side of his hips. Her heavy breasts spilled out as she yanked the blouse open. Dark nipples stiff and begging.
"Touch them," she ordered softly.
His big hands cupped her tits, thumbs flicking the nipples. Priya rolled her hips, dragging her slick pussy along the length of his cock, coating him.
"Feel how wet Mummy is for you?" She reached between them, guided the fat head to her entrance, and sank down an inch. They both gasped. He was thick—so much thicker than Rajesh. She took another inch, walls fluttering greedily.
"Slowly, beta… let Mummy adjust to her son's big cock."
She worked herself down, inch by burning inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside her. Her head fell back, a low moan tearing from her throat. Full. Finally, blessedly full.
Arjun's hands gripped her wide hips. "Ma… you're so tight… so hot inside…"
She started to ride him—slow, filthy circles at first, then lifting and dropping, her ass slapping against his thighs. Each downward thrust took him deep, nudging her cervix, making her shudder.
"Yes… yes… fuck your mother… give me what your father never could…"
He surged up, mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard while she bounced. Her pussy made wet, obscene sounds, juices dripping down his balls. She clenched around him deliberately, milking his cock.
Minutes stretched. Ten. Fifteen. Arjun's stamina was everything she'd dreamed. Sweat slicked their bodies. She came first—hard, sudden, pussy spasming around his thickness as she screamed his name. He didn't stop. Just flipped her onto her back on the couch, hooked her legs over his shoulders, and pounded into her with long, brutal strokes.
Priya clawed at his back. "Again… make me come again on my son's big dick…"
He did. Twice more—once when he rubbed her clit in tight circles, once when he growled filthy things in her ear about breeding his own mother. When he finally came, it was with a roar, cock pulsing, flooding her womb with thick ropes of cum.
They stayed locked together, panting. His cock still half-hard inside her, plugging every drop.
Priya kissed his sweaty forehead. "Ten days," she whispered. "Ten days of this bed, the shower, the kitchen counter… every corner of this flat. You're going to fuck me until I forget your father ever existed."
Arjun smiled against her breast, already hardening again.
"Yes, Mummy."