The Mumbai sun slipped through half-drawn curtains and painted gold stripes across tangled sheets. Priya woke first, thighs sticky, pussy deliciously sore. Arjun's heavy arm lay across her waist, his morning erection thick and hot against the cleft of her ass. She smiled, slow and wicked, and pressed back just enough to feel him twitch.
Last night had been only the beginning. After the couch they'd stumbled to her marital bed—Rajesh's side still cold—and Arjun had taken her twice more. Once on her knees, face buried in pillows while he gripped her wide hips and slammed home. Once with her riding him reverse, heavy breasts bouncing as she ground her clit against his pelvis until she squirted all over his abs. He'd stayed hard through all of it, coming only when she begged him to fill her again.
The city never slept, and tonight neither did they.
By 11:47 p.m. the flat was dark except for the blue glow of the muted television. Priya stood at the balcony door in nothing but a sheer black babydoll that ended just below her ass, nipples dark shadows against the lace. The Mumbai night pressed humid and electric against her skin—distant horns, the faint thump of a neighbor's music, the smell of sea salt drifting up from Marine Drive.
Arjun stepped behind her, bare chest to her back, cock already rigid and nudging the cleft of her ass through the thin fabric. He'd been hard on and off since dinner; she'd kept him that way with teasing fingers under the table, whispered promises, a quick suck in the hallway that left him throbbing and denied.
"Out here?" he asked, voice low, one hand sliding up to cup a heavy breast.
Priya pushed the sliding door open. The balcony was small—just enough for two plastic chairs and a potted bougainvillea—but it faced the building across the lane. Lights flickered in windows; someone might see. The thought made her pussy clench.
"Yes," she breathed. "I want the whole city to know who's fucking me."
She stepped onto the warm tiles, moonlight painting silver across her curves. Arjun followed, closing the door behind them. The babydoll fluttered in the breeze; he hooked a finger in the hem and peeled it up and off, leaving her gloriously naked. Her big tits swayed, nipples stiff from the air and anticipation.
He sat in one chair, legs spread, cock jutting proud. Priya straddled him reverse—back to his chest—so the city got the full view of her spread thighs, glistening cunt, the way his thick shaft disappeared inch by inch as she sank down.
"Fuck," Arjun hissed, hands gripping her hips. "So tight even after all day."
She started slow, rolling her hips in lazy circles, letting the head drag over every sensitive spot inside her. The chair creaked beneath them. Across the lane a curtain twitched—someone watching. Priya moaned louder, deliberately.
"Let them see," she panted. "Let them watch my son stretch his mother's chut."
Arjun's hands slid up, cupping her bouncing breasts, pinching nipples hard enough to make her gasp. She rode faster, ass slapping his thighs, the wet sounds obscene in the open air. Her pussy dripped down his balls, onto the chair. Every downward thrust took him to the hilt; every upward glide left her empty and aching for more.
He stood suddenly, still buried inside her, and bent her over the railing. Cool metal kissed her nipples; the city sprawled below like a glittering carpet. Arjun gripped her hips and fucked her hard—long, punishing strokes that made her tits swing wildly, her moans echo off the building opposite.
"Yes—yes—harder, beta—give Mummy what Papa never could—"
One hand snaked around to rub her swollen clit in tight circles. The other fisted her hair, arching her back. She came with a sharp cry, pussy spasming, squirting down her thighs. Arjun didn't stop. He pounded through it, balls slapping her clit, until she came again—harder, legs shaking, vision whiting out.
Only then did he pull out, spin her, and push her to her knees. She took him deep, gagging, tears of effort streaking her cheeks. He fucked her mouth in short, brutal thrusts until he erupted—thick ropes coating her tongue, spilling over her lips, dripping onto her heaving tits.
They stayed there a moment, panting, city lights blinking like voyeurs. Priya licked him clean, then stood on shaky legs.
"Inside," she whispered. "I want you on Papa's desk next."
Arjun grinned, scooped her up, and carried her back through the door—her legs wrapped around his waist, his cock already hardening again against her slick folds.
The night was young, and the flat had many more corners to christen.
Now the clock on the nightstand read 7:12 a.m. Rajesh would be asleep in his Singapore hotel, clueless. Priya slid out from under Arjun's arm, padded naked to the kitchen, and started coffee. The cool tile made her nipples peak. Between her legs, his dried cum crusted her inner thighs; fresh wetness already gathered at the memory.
Arjun appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but low-slung boxers, the outline of his half-hard cock obscene. Bed-tousled hair, sleepy grin.
"Morning, Ma." His voice was rough. "Smells good."
She poured two mugs, hips swaying as she walked to him. "Coffee first. Then I want breakfast on my knees."
He took the mug, set it aside, and backed her against the counter. One large hand cupped her bare breast, thumb rolling the nipple until she whimpered. The other slid between her legs, two fingers pushing easily into her soaked cunt.
"Already dripping," he murmured against her neck. "Did you dream about your son's cock?"
"Every second," she gasped, spreading wider. "Put it in me, beta. Right here."
He spun her around, bent her over the cool marble. The boxers dropped. His cock—thick, veiny, angry-red at the tip—nudged her entrance. One smooth thrust and he bottomed out, balls slapping her clit.
Priya cried out, palms flat on the counter. He gave her no time to adjust—just long, punishing strokes that made her breasts swing pendulously, nipples grazing the cold surface. The angle was perfect; every drag of his shaft rubbed her G-spot until her legs shook.
"Harder," she panted. "Fuck your mother like you own her."
Arjun growled, gripped her hips, and pounded. The kitchen filled with wet slaps, her broken moans, the creak of the counter. Coffee forgotten, mugs rattling with each thrust. She came fast, pussy clamping down, juices running down his shaft. He kept going, relentless, sweat dripping onto her back.
When he finally pulled out, she spun and dropped to her knees without being told. His cock glistened with her cream. She took him deep—gagging, drooling, cheeks hollowed—until he fisted her hair and fucked her mouth in short, filthy jabs. His balls tightened; she cupped them, urging. He came with a groan, flooding her throat. She swallowed every drop, then licked him clean.
They ate actual breakfast after—paratha and chai—naked at the table, feeding each other bites between lazy kisses. Priya's foot teased his cock under the table until he was hard again.
"Shower," she said, standing. "I want you to wash every inch of me… then dirty me up again."
The bathroom steamed within minutes. Under the rain shower, Arjun soaped her heavy breasts, kneading until she moaned. She returned the favor, hands slick over his abs, then lower, stroking his length until it stood proud. She turned, braced her hands on the tile, and arched her back.
He entered her from behind, water cascading over them. Slow this time—deep, grinding thrusts that had her toes curling. One hand snaked around to circle her clit; the other pinched a nipple. She came with a silent scream, pussy fluttering. He followed seconds later, pumping her full while the shower rinsed them clean.
They didn't bother with clothes all day. Priya wore only a thin apron while cooking lunch; Arjun took her against the fridge, her legs wrapped around his waist, apron pushed up to her neck. Later, on the living-room rug, she rode him slow and filthy, rolling her hips until he begged. She made him hold back—edging him twice—before letting him flip her and fuck her through three shuddering orgasms.
By evening they were spent, sprawled on the couch again. Some old Bollywood movie played; neither watched. Priya traced lazy circles on his chest.
"Nine days left," she whispered. "I want you in every room. On the balcony at night. In Papa's study—on his desk."
Arjun's cock stirred against her thigh. "Whatever you want, Ma."
She smiled, slid down his body, and took him into her mouth once more—slow, worshipful, promising the night was far from over.