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Incest ❣️❣️👅👅Mom's Mouth, Sis's Throat: Son's Load👅👅💋💋 (Completed)
- Thread starter Syamala_39
- Start date
- 12,689
awesome!!! just a small request, please do make the font size a bit bigger...
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### Chapter 5: Horny for My Son's Cock
The afternoon sun slanted through the half-drawn curtains like a judgmental eye, casting elongated shadows across the living room floor where I'd collapsed after Amar's claiming. My body was a canvas of his conquest—saree rumpled and stained with pearly streaks that cooled sticky against my skin, blouse torn open to bare my heaving breasts, nipples still peaked and glistening from where his thumbs had roughed them into submission. Cum painted me in abstract patterns: ropes dried flaky on my cheeks, a glossy trail snaking from my chin to pool in the valley between my tits, the salty tang lingering on my tongue like a brand. I knelt there, knees grinding into the worn rug, thighs slick with my own unspent arousal—pussy lips swollen and weeping, clenching around the void he'd left, aching for the stretch only he could give. The house was silent, save for the distant honk of a lorry on the main road and the erratic thud of my heart, but inside me, a storm raged: shame's afterburn clashing with a triumphant, slutty glow. I'd confessed, begged, and he'd taken my mouth like it was his right—throat-fucked his Amma until I gagged and teared, then tit-fucked her udders until he erupted like a geyser, marking me as his property. And god, I wanted more. Needed it. The hollowness between my legs screamed for invasion, for that 9-inch monster to split me wide and fill the womb that birthed it.
I stirred finally, limbs heavy as lead, gathering the shreds of my dignity to stumble to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink was merciless: lips bee-stung and shiny, eyes smudged with kohl-streaked tears, hair a wild halo framing my flushed face. Cum flaked from my lashes as I blinked, scooping a finger through the mess on my chest to suck it clean—salty, thick, his essence sliding down my throat like forbidden communion. The shower beckoned, hot water cascading over my curves in punishing streams that did little to wash away the heat coiling low in my belly. Soaping my breasts, thumbs circling the abused nipples, I whimpered at the spark it sent straight to my core; between my thighs, fingers delved unbidden, parting slick folds to plunge into the sopping heat, but it was futile—shallow echoes of what I craved. "Amar... kanna, come fuck Amma properly," I murmured to the steam-fogged glass, hips bucking against my hand until a weak climax rippled through me, more tease than release, leaving me hungrier, trembling against the tiles.
By evening, the house refilled like a pot simmering back to boil. Jyothi breezed in first, backpack slung over one shoulder, chattering about her fest rehearsals with Mukundh—his hands on her waist during a dance routine, the way he'd whispered something that made her giggle and blush. I nodded absently from the kitchen, stirring sambar with wooden spoon in hand, but my mind wandered to her phone's gallery, those filthy pics Amar had shown me: her fingers buried in her own pussy, begging for her brother's cock. Did she know about us yet? Would she watch, join, her tongue lapping where mine had? The thought sent a fresh gush down my thighs, hidden by the saree's folds. My husband returned next, tie loosened, briefcase thudding to the floor as he pecked my cheek—his touch clinical, stirring nothing but pity. Dinner was a farce: laughter over curd rice, Amar's foot brushing mine under the table in deliberate accident, his eyes locking on mine with a promise that made my fork clatter. "Pass the pickle, Amma," he said innocently, but the double entendre hung heavy, my cheeks burning as I complied, imagining him pickling my holes with his seed.
Night cloaked the house in conspiratorial dark, the ceiling fan's whir a white noise to my racing pulse. My husband snored beside me, oblivious as ever, his back a wall between us. But sleep evaded me, body thrumming like a temple drum, every nerve alight with the memory of Amar's grip on my throat, the slap of his balls against my chin. Past midnight, when the clock's glow read 1:12, I slipped from the sheets—nightie whispering against my skin, no panties beneath, the air cool on my bare mound. The hallway was a gauntlet of shadows, each creak a risk, but the pull to his door was inexorable, a moth to his flame. It stood ajar, as if expecting me, the faint blue glow of his phone screen illuminating his form sprawled on the bed: shirtless, sheets tangled low on his hips, one hand idly stroking the outline of his semi-hard cock through his shorts.
He didn't startle as I entered, eyes flicking up from whatever depraved chat with Jyothi he was scrolling—probably another nude of her, fingered and waiting. "Couldn't stay away, huh, Amma? Horny for your son's cock already?" His voice was sleep-rough, laced with amusement that curled my toes, but the hunger in his gaze mirrored mine. I crossed the threshold, door clicking shut behind me like a vow, and knelt at the bed's edge without a word—eyes locked on that bulge, mouth watering anew. "Yes, kanna... Amma's pussy aches for it. Touched myself in the shower thinking of you, but it's not enough. Need you inside me—properly this time." He chuckled low, tossing the phone aside to sit up, the sheet falling away to reveal his full glory: shorts shoved down, cock springing free, already thickening to its full 9-inch glory, veined and curving upward, head flaring like a challenge.
"Strip, slut. Show Anna what he's claiming tonight." The command brooked no argument, and I obeyed with trembling hands—nightie peeled over my head in one fluid motion, baring my curves to his devouring stare: heavy breasts swaying free, nipples dusky and erect; belly soft with the mark of motherhood, flaring to wide hips and the dark thatch framing my swollen sex, lips parted and glistening in the lamplight. Naked, vulnerable, I crawled onto the bed at his gesture, knees bracketing his thighs as he lay back, hands roaming my skin like a proprietor's—palming my tits, thumbs rolling the peaks until I arched with a gasp, then trailing down to cup my ass, spreading the cheeks to expose me fully. "So wet already... dripping for your boy. Spread for me—let Amma's son taste that forbidden honey."
I did, shifting to straddle his chest, pussy hovering above his face as his hands guided my descent. The first lap of his tongue was electric—a broad, flat stroke from my dripping entrance to the throbbing clit that made my thighs quake, his hum vibrating through my core like thunder. "Fuck... tastes like sin, Amma—sweet and salty, all for me." He devoured me then, no mercy: tongue spearing deep into my clenching walls, curling to scoop my nectar, then retreating to suckle my nub with wet pops that had me grinding down, smothering him in my folds. Fingers joined the assault—two thick digits plunging knuckle-deep, stretching my channel with scissoring twists that hit that spongy ridge inside, making stars burst behind my eyes. "Yes—finger your Amma's pussy, kanna! Make it gush for you!" I begged, hands fisting the headboard, hips bucking in frantic circles as his thumb circled my back entrance—teasing the virgin pucker, slick with my own cream, dipping shallowly to breach the tight ring.
The dual invasion shattered me: pussy stuffed with his fingers, curling relentlessly; ass clenching around the probing tip, the burn blooming into illicit pleasure that had me keening, body coiling tight. "Gonna cum... oh god, Anna, drink Amma's squirt!" The orgasm hit like a cyclone—walls spasming around his digits, a hot flood erupting from my depths to soak his chin, his open mouth gulping greedily as I convulsed, thighs clamping his ears, tears pricking from the intensity. He didn't stop, lapping through the waves until I sagged, oversensitive and whimpering, his face emerging glazed and triumphant, lips shiny with my release.
But he wasn't done—far from it. Flipping me onto my back with effortless strength, he loomed over me, cock bobbing heavy between us, a bead of precum dangling from the slit like temptation incarnate. "Ride me, whore. Take your son's cock in that greedy maternal cunt—show me how bad you need it." I scrambled up, legs splaying wide as I positioned over him, grasping his shaft—god, so hot, so thick in my palm—and rubbing the head through my slick lips, coating him in the remnants of my climax. The breach was exquisite agony: tip nudging my entrance, stretching the puffy folds white-knuckled as I sank down inch by girthy inch, inner walls yielding to the invasion with wet suction. "Fuuuck... so big, kanna—splitting Amma open, just like you were meant to!" Halfway, then more, until I bottomed out—cervix kissed by his flare, balls snug against my ass, the fullness overwhelming, every vein dragging against my sensitive flesh.
I rode him like salvation—hips slamming down in piston drops, breasts bouncing wildly to slap my chest, the lewd schlick of our union filling the room like a profane mantra. His hands mauled me: one spanking my ass with sharp cracks that reddened the cheeks, the other pinching my clit between thrusts, rolling it until I sobbed with overstimulation. "Ride harder, you incest slut—milk Anna's dick with that birth canal, make it yours forever!" He thrust up to meet me, pace brutal, pubic bone grinding my nub with each hilt that sparked lightning up my spine. Climax built swift, cresting in a wail—"Cumming on your cock, kanna!"—pussy convulsing in vise-like ripples, squirting around his pistoning length to drench his abs, but he held me down, forcing me to grind through it, chasing his own edge.
"Turn around—ass to me. Time to claim that virgin hole." The words were a growl, and I complied, dismounting with a wet pop that left me gaping and drooling his precum. Reverse cowgirl now, I reached back to guide him—head nudging my pucker, slick with our mingled juices, the tight ring resisting before yielding with a pop that tore a scream from my throat. "Slow... oh god, it's too big—burns so good!" Inch by torturous inch, he speared my ass, the stretch a fiery bloom that bordered pain, walls clenching desperately around the girth as he bottomed out, balls slapping my pussy lips. The fullness was unholy—deeper than any dream, every nerve alight as he held still, letting me adjust, fingers delving to rub my clit in soothing circles.
Then the rut began: shallow pulls out, then slams home, building to a frenzy that had the bedframe thudding against the wall, my ass rippling with each impact, the obscene squelch of lube-slicked invasion echoing. "Take it, Amma—your son's cock owning this tight ass, turning you into his anal whore!" Pain melted to ecstasy, the angle hitting new depths that had my pussy fluttering untouched, juices dripping down to ease his thrusts. I bounced back to meet him, one hand fisting the sheets, the other mauling my breast—climax ripping through me unbidden, ass clamping his length in spasms that milked him deeper, a fresh squirt arcing from my untouched cunt to splatter his thighs.
He roared then, hips snapping erratically—"Gonna fill your guts, slut!"—and erupted, hot jets flooding my bowels in thick, endless pulses that overflowed, trickling down my crack to mix with my cream. We collapsed in a sweaty tangle, his cock softening inside me, plugging his seed as aftershocks rippled through us. But even spent, he wasn't done—pulling free with a wet schlorp, cum bubbling from my gaping hole, he guided my head down. "Clean your Anna, Amma. Taste our mess." I did, eagerly—lips wrapping the soiled shaft, tongue lapping ass and pussy from his skin, sucking him clean until he twitched back to half-mast.
Rounds blurred after that: missionary on the floor, his weight pinning me as he pounded my pussy to another squirting oblivion, cum creampieing deep; doggy against the wall, ass claimed again while fingers fucked my cunt, dual orgasms leaving me boneless. By dawn's gray light, I lay draped over him, body a roadmap of bites and handprints, his seed leaking from every hole. "You're mine now, Amma—my personal slut, whenever I want." I nodded into his chest, sated and owned, the taboo's thrill a drug I'd never quit. But as sleep tugged, a whisper nagged: Jyothi would return soon. How long before she joined the feast? The family web tightened, and I hungered for its sticky embrace.
The afternoon sun slanted through the half-drawn curtains like a judgmental eye, casting elongated shadows across the living room floor where I'd collapsed after Amar's claiming. My body was a canvas of his conquest—saree rumpled and stained with pearly streaks that cooled sticky against my skin, blouse torn open to bare my heaving breasts, nipples still peaked and glistening from where his thumbs had roughed them into submission. Cum painted me in abstract patterns: ropes dried flaky on my cheeks, a glossy trail snaking from my chin to pool in the valley between my tits, the salty tang lingering on my tongue like a brand. I knelt there, knees grinding into the worn rug, thighs slick with my own unspent arousal—pussy lips swollen and weeping, clenching around the void he'd left, aching for the stretch only he could give. The house was silent, save for the distant honk of a lorry on the main road and the erratic thud of my heart, but inside me, a storm raged: shame's afterburn clashing with a triumphant, slutty glow. I'd confessed, begged, and he'd taken my mouth like it was his right—throat-fucked his Amma until I gagged and teared, then tit-fucked her udders until he erupted like a geyser, marking me as his property. And god, I wanted more. Needed it. The hollowness between my legs screamed for invasion, for that 9-inch monster to split me wide and fill the womb that birthed it.
I stirred finally, limbs heavy as lead, gathering the shreds of my dignity to stumble to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink was merciless: lips bee-stung and shiny, eyes smudged with kohl-streaked tears, hair a wild halo framing my flushed face. Cum flaked from my lashes as I blinked, scooping a finger through the mess on my chest to suck it clean—salty, thick, his essence sliding down my throat like forbidden communion. The shower beckoned, hot water cascading over my curves in punishing streams that did little to wash away the heat coiling low in my belly. Soaping my breasts, thumbs circling the abused nipples, I whimpered at the spark it sent straight to my core; between my thighs, fingers delved unbidden, parting slick folds to plunge into the sopping heat, but it was futile—shallow echoes of what I craved. "Amar... kanna, come fuck Amma properly," I murmured to the steam-fogged glass, hips bucking against my hand until a weak climax rippled through me, more tease than release, leaving me hungrier, trembling against the tiles.
By evening, the house refilled like a pot simmering back to boil. Jyothi breezed in first, backpack slung over one shoulder, chattering about her fest rehearsals with Mukundh—his hands on her waist during a dance routine, the way he'd whispered something that made her giggle and blush. I nodded absently from the kitchen, stirring sambar with wooden spoon in hand, but my mind wandered to her phone's gallery, those filthy pics Amar had shown me: her fingers buried in her own pussy, begging for her brother's cock. Did she know about us yet? Would she watch, join, her tongue lapping where mine had? The thought sent a fresh gush down my thighs, hidden by the saree's folds. My husband returned next, tie loosened, briefcase thudding to the floor as he pecked my cheek—his touch clinical, stirring nothing but pity. Dinner was a farce: laughter over curd rice, Amar's foot brushing mine under the table in deliberate accident, his eyes locking on mine with a promise that made my fork clatter. "Pass the pickle, Amma," he said innocently, but the double entendre hung heavy, my cheeks burning as I complied, imagining him pickling my holes with his seed.
Night cloaked the house in conspiratorial dark, the ceiling fan's whir a white noise to my racing pulse. My husband snored beside me, oblivious as ever, his back a wall between us. But sleep evaded me, body thrumming like a temple drum, every nerve alight with the memory of Amar's grip on my throat, the slap of his balls against my chin. Past midnight, when the clock's glow read 1:12, I slipped from the sheets—nightie whispering against my skin, no panties beneath, the air cool on my bare mound. The hallway was a gauntlet of shadows, each creak a risk, but the pull to his door was inexorable, a moth to his flame. It stood ajar, as if expecting me, the faint blue glow of his phone screen illuminating his form sprawled on the bed: shirtless, sheets tangled low on his hips, one hand idly stroking the outline of his semi-hard cock through his shorts.
He didn't startle as I entered, eyes flicking up from whatever depraved chat with Jyothi he was scrolling—probably another nude of her, fingered and waiting. "Couldn't stay away, huh, Amma? Horny for your son's cock already?" His voice was sleep-rough, laced with amusement that curled my toes, but the hunger in his gaze mirrored mine. I crossed the threshold, door clicking shut behind me like a vow, and knelt at the bed's edge without a word—eyes locked on that bulge, mouth watering anew. "Yes, kanna... Amma's pussy aches for it. Touched myself in the shower thinking of you, but it's not enough. Need you inside me—properly this time." He chuckled low, tossing the phone aside to sit up, the sheet falling away to reveal his full glory: shorts shoved down, cock springing free, already thickening to its full 9-inch glory, veined and curving upward, head flaring like a challenge.
"Strip, slut. Show Anna what he's claiming tonight." The command brooked no argument, and I obeyed with trembling hands—nightie peeled over my head in one fluid motion, baring my curves to his devouring stare: heavy breasts swaying free, nipples dusky and erect; belly soft with the mark of motherhood, flaring to wide hips and the dark thatch framing my swollen sex, lips parted and glistening in the lamplight. Naked, vulnerable, I crawled onto the bed at his gesture, knees bracketing his thighs as he lay back, hands roaming my skin like a proprietor's—palming my tits, thumbs rolling the peaks until I arched with a gasp, then trailing down to cup my ass, spreading the cheeks to expose me fully. "So wet already... dripping for your boy. Spread for me—let Amma's son taste that forbidden honey."
I did, shifting to straddle his chest, pussy hovering above his face as his hands guided my descent. The first lap of his tongue was electric—a broad, flat stroke from my dripping entrance to the throbbing clit that made my thighs quake, his hum vibrating through my core like thunder. "Fuck... tastes like sin, Amma—sweet and salty, all for me." He devoured me then, no mercy: tongue spearing deep into my clenching walls, curling to scoop my nectar, then retreating to suckle my nub with wet pops that had me grinding down, smothering him in my folds. Fingers joined the assault—two thick digits plunging knuckle-deep, stretching my channel with scissoring twists that hit that spongy ridge inside, making stars burst behind my eyes. "Yes—finger your Amma's pussy, kanna! Make it gush for you!" I begged, hands fisting the headboard, hips bucking in frantic circles as his thumb circled my back entrance—teasing the virgin pucker, slick with my own cream, dipping shallowly to breach the tight ring.
The dual invasion shattered me: pussy stuffed with his fingers, curling relentlessly; ass clenching around the probing tip, the burn blooming into illicit pleasure that had me keening, body coiling tight. "Gonna cum... oh god, Anna, drink Amma's squirt!" The orgasm hit like a cyclone—walls spasming around his digits, a hot flood erupting from my depths to soak his chin, his open mouth gulping greedily as I convulsed, thighs clamping his ears, tears pricking from the intensity. He didn't stop, lapping through the waves until I sagged, oversensitive and whimpering, his face emerging glazed and triumphant, lips shiny with my release.
But he wasn't done—far from it. Flipping me onto my back with effortless strength, he loomed over me, cock bobbing heavy between us, a bead of precum dangling from the slit like temptation incarnate. "Ride me, whore. Take your son's cock in that greedy maternal cunt—show me how bad you need it." I scrambled up, legs splaying wide as I positioned over him, grasping his shaft—god, so hot, so thick in my palm—and rubbing the head through my slick lips, coating him in the remnants of my climax. The breach was exquisite agony: tip nudging my entrance, stretching the puffy folds white-knuckled as I sank down inch by girthy inch, inner walls yielding to the invasion with wet suction. "Fuuuck... so big, kanna—splitting Amma open, just like you were meant to!" Halfway, then more, until I bottomed out—cervix kissed by his flare, balls snug against my ass, the fullness overwhelming, every vein dragging against my sensitive flesh.
I rode him like salvation—hips slamming down in piston drops, breasts bouncing wildly to slap my chest, the lewd schlick of our union filling the room like a profane mantra. His hands mauled me: one spanking my ass with sharp cracks that reddened the cheeks, the other pinching my clit between thrusts, rolling it until I sobbed with overstimulation. "Ride harder, you incest slut—milk Anna's dick with that birth canal, make it yours forever!" He thrust up to meet me, pace brutal, pubic bone grinding my nub with each hilt that sparked lightning up my spine. Climax built swift, cresting in a wail—"Cumming on your cock, kanna!"—pussy convulsing in vise-like ripples, squirting around his pistoning length to drench his abs, but he held me down, forcing me to grind through it, chasing his own edge.
"Turn around—ass to me. Time to claim that virgin hole." The words were a growl, and I complied, dismounting with a wet pop that left me gaping and drooling his precum. Reverse cowgirl now, I reached back to guide him—head nudging my pucker, slick with our mingled juices, the tight ring resisting before yielding with a pop that tore a scream from my throat. "Slow... oh god, it's too big—burns so good!" Inch by torturous inch, he speared my ass, the stretch a fiery bloom that bordered pain, walls clenching desperately around the girth as he bottomed out, balls slapping my pussy lips. The fullness was unholy—deeper than any dream, every nerve alight as he held still, letting me adjust, fingers delving to rub my clit in soothing circles.
Then the rut began: shallow pulls out, then slams home, building to a frenzy that had the bedframe thudding against the wall, my ass rippling with each impact, the obscene squelch of lube-slicked invasion echoing. "Take it, Amma—your son's cock owning this tight ass, turning you into his anal whore!" Pain melted to ecstasy, the angle hitting new depths that had my pussy fluttering untouched, juices dripping down to ease his thrusts. I bounced back to meet him, one hand fisting the sheets, the other mauling my breast—climax ripping through me unbidden, ass clamping his length in spasms that milked him deeper, a fresh squirt arcing from my untouched cunt to splatter his thighs.
He roared then, hips snapping erratically—"Gonna fill your guts, slut!"—and erupted, hot jets flooding my bowels in thick, endless pulses that overflowed, trickling down my crack to mix with my cream. We collapsed in a sweaty tangle, his cock softening inside me, plugging his seed as aftershocks rippled through us. But even spent, he wasn't done—pulling free with a wet schlorp, cum bubbling from my gaping hole, he guided my head down. "Clean your Anna, Amma. Taste our mess." I did, eagerly—lips wrapping the soiled shaft, tongue lapping ass and pussy from his skin, sucking him clean until he twitched back to half-mast.
Rounds blurred after that: missionary on the floor, his weight pinning me as he pounded my pussy to another squirting oblivion, cum creampieing deep; doggy against the wall, ass claimed again while fingers fucked my cunt, dual orgasms leaving me boneless. By dawn's gray light, I lay draped over him, body a roadmap of bites and handprints, his seed leaking from every hole. "You're mine now, Amma—my personal slut, whenever I want." I nodded into his chest, sated and owned, the taboo's thrill a drug I'd never quit. But as sleep tugged, a whisper nagged: Jyothi would return soon. How long before she joined the feast? The family web tightened, and I hungered for its sticky embrace.
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### Chapter 6: How It Started Between My Son & Daughter
The days blurred into a haze of stolen breaths and hidden bruises, each one a testament to the new rhythm we'd carved in the shadows of our home. Mornings dawned with the sizzle of dosas on the tawa, steam rising like unspoken promises as I moved through the kitchen, my body still humming from Amar's nocturnal claims—thighs sticky with dried remnants of his seed, nipples chafed raw from his teeth, the faint ache in my ass a delicious reminder of how thoroughly he'd stretched and filled me. My husband shoveled breakfast with mechanical efficiency, eyes on his phone, oblivious to the way my saree clung a fraction too damply to my curves, or how Amar's gaze lingered on the sway of my hips as I served the chutney, a secret smirk playing at his lips. Jyothi, my mirror in mischief, chattered about her college sketches and that boy Mukundh—her "ongoing" distraction, with his quick hands and lingering hugs during art critiques—her laughter light, but her eyes flicking to Amar with that twin knowing, as if she sensed the shift in the air, the thickening scent of sin that now permeated our walls.
By midday, the house emptied like clockwork: husband to his endless sales pitches, Jyothi to her campus chaos, leaving Amar and me alone in the humid cocoon of our kitchen. The ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead, stirring the air thick with the aroma of cooling sambar and my growing arousal— a low throb that had started the moment I felt his presence behind me, his broad frame crowding the counter as I chopped onions, tears pricking my eyes not just from the sting, but from the heat building between my thighs. "Amma," he murmured, voice a gravelly caress against my ear, his hands sliding around my waist, fingers splaying possessively over the soft swell of my belly, dipping lower to trace the edge of my petticoat. "Missed this all morning. Jyothi's out, Appa's gone... time to feed your Anna properly."
I should have swatted him away, played the shocked mother for the sake of some crumbling decorum, but my body betrayed me instantly—arching back into his chest, a soft whimper escaping as his palm cupped my mound through the saree, fingers pressing just enough to feel the damp heat soaking my panties. "Kanna... not here, the neighbors might hear," I breathed, but it was feeble, my knife clattering to the board as his other hand yanked my blouse open, spilling my heavy breasts free, nipples hardening to peaks under the cool air and his rough pinch. He chuckled low, the vibration rumbling through me like thunder, his mouth latching onto the curve of my neck—sucking a mark that would bloom purple by evening—while his fingers delved deeper, parting the saree's pleats to shove my panties aside, two digits plunging into my slick channel with a wet schlick that made my knees buckle.
"Fuck the neighbors, Amma. This pussy's mine now—dripping for your son's fingers like the slut you are." He curled them inside me, stroking that spongy ridge with expert twists that had my hips bucking, free hand fisting his wrist not to stop him, but to urge deeper, harder. The counter dug into my belly as he spun me half-around, hoisting me up to perch on the edge—saree hiked high, legs splaying wide like an invitation, my glistening folds exposed to his devouring gaze. But he didn't take me there; instead, he dropped to his knees, burying his face between my thighs with a growl, tongue lancing out to lap from my entrance to clit in broad, greedy strokes that smeared my cream across his chin. "Taste so good... better than Jyothi's, even. Spread wider, whore—let Anna eat his Amma's cunt until she squirts on the tiles."
I obeyed, heels digging into his shoulders, fingers threading his hair to grind against his mouth—his tongue spearing deep, curling to scoop my nectar, then flicking mercilessly at my swollen nub, suction pulling obscene pops that echoed off the tiles. Fingers rejoined—three now, stretching my walls with scissoring thrusts, thumb circling my clit in tandem until the coil snapped, my body seizing in a wail, hot gush flooding his mouth as he drank greedily, humming vibrations that prolonged the spasms until I sagged, boneless and panting, juices trickling down his throat.
Rising with a triumphant grin, face shiny with my release, he freed his cock— that magnificent 9-inch beast, rigid and curving, veins throbbing like live wires, head flared and weeping precum. "Not done yet, Amma. Turn around—bend over the sink. Time to fuck you while I tell you how it all started with your precious Jyothi." The words were a spark to dry tinder, curiosity mingling with the fresh ache as I complied, ass presented high, cheeks spread by my own trembling hands to bare my dripping sex and the puckered ring above, still tender from last night's claiming. He didn't enter immediately; instead, he nestled his length between my globes, sliding the hot shaft along my crack, head bumping my holes teasingly—dipping shallow into my pussy, then my ass, coating himself in my slick before pulling back. "Beg for it, slut. Want Anna's story? Earn it with this greedy hole."
"Please, kanna... fuck Amma's pussy—stretch me wide while you talk. Tell me how you took your sister first." Satisfied, he notched at my entrance, slamming home in one brutal thrust that buried all 9 inches to the hilt, balls slapping my clit with a wet smack that tore a scream from my throat. The fullness was divine—walls yielding to his girth, every vein dragging against my sensitive inner flesh, cervix kissed with bruising force as he held still, grinding deep. "Good girl... now listen close. It started months back, during one of those video calls Jyothi does with her 'friends'—Mukundh, that skinny bastard from her art class. She'd lost her virginity to him a week earlier, all giggly about it over dinner, but I saw the way she squirmed, still sore and craving more."
He began to move then—slow, deliberate pulls out to the tip, then savage reentries that jolted me forward against the sink, dishes rattling in the drainer like applause. His hands gripped my hips, bruising crescents into the flesh as he pounded a rhythm that matched his tale, voice roughened by lust. "One night, she's in her room on call with him—door cracked, thinking I'm asleep. I peek in, see her on the bed, salwar shoved down, fingers buried in that tight little pussy, circling her clit while he jerks off on screen. 'Show me how wet you are, baby,' he says, and she does—spreading wide, dipping two fingers deep, pulling them out shiny to suck clean. Fuck, Amma... watching my twin finger-fuck herself like that? My cock was rock-hard, leaking through my shorts."
The image seared—Jyothi, my lithe girl, legs akimbo on her pink sheets, knuckles-deep in her own slick heat, moans muffled into the phone as Mukundh groaned instructions. Amar's thrusts quickened, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of his balls against my ass punctuating each word, his free hand snaking around to pinch my swinging breasts, rolling the nipples until I keened. "Couldn't stay hidden. Waited till she hung up, all flushed and unsatisfied—Mukundh's a quick shot, apparently. Knocked on her door, cock already out, stroking slow. 'Anna? What—' But her eyes dropped to it, widening like she'd seen god. 'Need help with that?' she whispered, dropping to her knees before I could speak, wrapping those soft lips around the head, sucking like she'd been starving."
He yanked my hair then, arching my back to deepen the angle, cock spearing impossibly further, grinding against my depths with each plunge that had my toes curling, pussy fluttering in warning. "First time she took me deep, gagging but greedy—tongue swirling the underside, humming till I bucked. Swallowed every drop when I came, Amma... looked up with cum-glazed lips and said, 'Your turn to taste sister.' Pushed me back, straddled my face—her pussy dripping from her fingering, clit swollen and begging. Ate her out for hours, tongue-fucking that virgin-tight hole till she squirted down my throat, screaming 'Anna!' like a prayer."
The story wove through his grunts, painting vivid strokes: Jyothi's thighs clamping his ears, her juices flooding his mouth; him flipping her, sliding into her slick heat for the first time—slow, then savage, her nails raking his back as she begged for harder, deeper, their twin bodies syncing in rhythmic frenzy. My own climax built in echo—walls clenching his pistoning length, clit throbbing untouched as his fingers dipped lower, rubbing furious circles that sparked lightning. "Fuck... just like that, kanna—tell me how you claimed her ass too!" He laughed breathlessly, pace faltering to erratic slams, balls drawing tight. "Later... after she came twice on my cock, creampie leaking out. Bent her over the desk, lubed with her own cum—pushed in slow, her ring stretching white around me, whimpering 'Too big, Anna!' but pushing back greedy. Fucked her raw till she squirted again, milking me dry inside."
The coil snapped then—for both of us. "Cumming... oh god, fill Amma while you fuck your sister in my head!" I wailed, body convulsing, pussy spasming in violent waves around him, hot squirt arcing to splatter the floor tiles as he roared, hips grinding deep—"Take it, slut—brother's seed for his whore Amma!"—erupting in thick jets that flooded my depths, overflowing to trickle down my thighs in creamy rivulets. We shuddered together, locked in the aftershocks, his cock twitching inside me as he painted the picture's end: them collapsing in a sweaty heap, whispering promises of more, the addiction sealed in shared taboo.
But as he pulled free with a wet pop, cum bubbling from my gaping folds, a shadow fell across the kitchen doorway. There stood my mother—visiting unannounced from her village home, sari crisp and eyes wide in the afternoon light, her gasp slicing the air like a knife. "Shyamala? What in the world—" Amar and I froze, exposed and dripping, the story's heat turning to ice in an instant. She clutched her chest, face draining of color, but didn't scream—yet. The web tightened further, ensnaring the elder generation, and in that suspended horror, a twisted thrill flickered: would she join, or shatter us all?
The days blurred into a haze of stolen breaths and hidden bruises, each one a testament to the new rhythm we'd carved in the shadows of our home. Mornings dawned with the sizzle of dosas on the tawa, steam rising like unspoken promises as I moved through the kitchen, my body still humming from Amar's nocturnal claims—thighs sticky with dried remnants of his seed, nipples chafed raw from his teeth, the faint ache in my ass a delicious reminder of how thoroughly he'd stretched and filled me. My husband shoveled breakfast with mechanical efficiency, eyes on his phone, oblivious to the way my saree clung a fraction too damply to my curves, or how Amar's gaze lingered on the sway of my hips as I served the chutney, a secret smirk playing at his lips. Jyothi, my mirror in mischief, chattered about her college sketches and that boy Mukundh—her "ongoing" distraction, with his quick hands and lingering hugs during art critiques—her laughter light, but her eyes flicking to Amar with that twin knowing, as if she sensed the shift in the air, the thickening scent of sin that now permeated our walls.
By midday, the house emptied like clockwork: husband to his endless sales pitches, Jyothi to her campus chaos, leaving Amar and me alone in the humid cocoon of our kitchen. The ceiling fan whirred lazily overhead, stirring the air thick with the aroma of cooling sambar and my growing arousal— a low throb that had started the moment I felt his presence behind me, his broad frame crowding the counter as I chopped onions, tears pricking my eyes not just from the sting, but from the heat building between my thighs. "Amma," he murmured, voice a gravelly caress against my ear, his hands sliding around my waist, fingers splaying possessively over the soft swell of my belly, dipping lower to trace the edge of my petticoat. "Missed this all morning. Jyothi's out, Appa's gone... time to feed your Anna properly."
I should have swatted him away, played the shocked mother for the sake of some crumbling decorum, but my body betrayed me instantly—arching back into his chest, a soft whimper escaping as his palm cupped my mound through the saree, fingers pressing just enough to feel the damp heat soaking my panties. "Kanna... not here, the neighbors might hear," I breathed, but it was feeble, my knife clattering to the board as his other hand yanked my blouse open, spilling my heavy breasts free, nipples hardening to peaks under the cool air and his rough pinch. He chuckled low, the vibration rumbling through me like thunder, his mouth latching onto the curve of my neck—sucking a mark that would bloom purple by evening—while his fingers delved deeper, parting the saree's pleats to shove my panties aside, two digits plunging into my slick channel with a wet schlick that made my knees buckle.
"Fuck the neighbors, Amma. This pussy's mine now—dripping for your son's fingers like the slut you are." He curled them inside me, stroking that spongy ridge with expert twists that had my hips bucking, free hand fisting his wrist not to stop him, but to urge deeper, harder. The counter dug into my belly as he spun me half-around, hoisting me up to perch on the edge—saree hiked high, legs splaying wide like an invitation, my glistening folds exposed to his devouring gaze. But he didn't take me there; instead, he dropped to his knees, burying his face between my thighs with a growl, tongue lancing out to lap from my entrance to clit in broad, greedy strokes that smeared my cream across his chin. "Taste so good... better than Jyothi's, even. Spread wider, whore—let Anna eat his Amma's cunt until she squirts on the tiles."
I obeyed, heels digging into his shoulders, fingers threading his hair to grind against his mouth—his tongue spearing deep, curling to scoop my nectar, then flicking mercilessly at my swollen nub, suction pulling obscene pops that echoed off the tiles. Fingers rejoined—three now, stretching my walls with scissoring thrusts, thumb circling my clit in tandem until the coil snapped, my body seizing in a wail, hot gush flooding his mouth as he drank greedily, humming vibrations that prolonged the spasms until I sagged, boneless and panting, juices trickling down his throat.
Rising with a triumphant grin, face shiny with my release, he freed his cock— that magnificent 9-inch beast, rigid and curving, veins throbbing like live wires, head flared and weeping precum. "Not done yet, Amma. Turn around—bend over the sink. Time to fuck you while I tell you how it all started with your precious Jyothi." The words were a spark to dry tinder, curiosity mingling with the fresh ache as I complied, ass presented high, cheeks spread by my own trembling hands to bare my dripping sex and the puckered ring above, still tender from last night's claiming. He didn't enter immediately; instead, he nestled his length between my globes, sliding the hot shaft along my crack, head bumping my holes teasingly—dipping shallow into my pussy, then my ass, coating himself in my slick before pulling back. "Beg for it, slut. Want Anna's story? Earn it with this greedy hole."
"Please, kanna... fuck Amma's pussy—stretch me wide while you talk. Tell me how you took your sister first." Satisfied, he notched at my entrance, slamming home in one brutal thrust that buried all 9 inches to the hilt, balls slapping my clit with a wet smack that tore a scream from my throat. The fullness was divine—walls yielding to his girth, every vein dragging against my sensitive inner flesh, cervix kissed with bruising force as he held still, grinding deep. "Good girl... now listen close. It started months back, during one of those video calls Jyothi does with her 'friends'—Mukundh, that skinny bastard from her art class. She'd lost her virginity to him a week earlier, all giggly about it over dinner, but I saw the way she squirmed, still sore and craving more."
He began to move then—slow, deliberate pulls out to the tip, then savage reentries that jolted me forward against the sink, dishes rattling in the drainer like applause. His hands gripped my hips, bruising crescents into the flesh as he pounded a rhythm that matched his tale, voice roughened by lust. "One night, she's in her room on call with him—door cracked, thinking I'm asleep. I peek in, see her on the bed, salwar shoved down, fingers buried in that tight little pussy, circling her clit while he jerks off on screen. 'Show me how wet you are, baby,' he says, and she does—spreading wide, dipping two fingers deep, pulling them out shiny to suck clean. Fuck, Amma... watching my twin finger-fuck herself like that? My cock was rock-hard, leaking through my shorts."
The image seared—Jyothi, my lithe girl, legs akimbo on her pink sheets, knuckles-deep in her own slick heat, moans muffled into the phone as Mukundh groaned instructions. Amar's thrusts quickened, hips snapping harder, the wet slap of his balls against my ass punctuating each word, his free hand snaking around to pinch my swinging breasts, rolling the nipples until I keened. "Couldn't stay hidden. Waited till she hung up, all flushed and unsatisfied—Mukundh's a quick shot, apparently. Knocked on her door, cock already out, stroking slow. 'Anna? What—' But her eyes dropped to it, widening like she'd seen god. 'Need help with that?' she whispered, dropping to her knees before I could speak, wrapping those soft lips around the head, sucking like she'd been starving."
He yanked my hair then, arching my back to deepen the angle, cock spearing impossibly further, grinding against my depths with each plunge that had my toes curling, pussy fluttering in warning. "First time she took me deep, gagging but greedy—tongue swirling the underside, humming till I bucked. Swallowed every drop when I came, Amma... looked up with cum-glazed lips and said, 'Your turn to taste sister.' Pushed me back, straddled my face—her pussy dripping from her fingering, clit swollen and begging. Ate her out for hours, tongue-fucking that virgin-tight hole till she squirted down my throat, screaming 'Anna!' like a prayer."
The story wove through his grunts, painting vivid strokes: Jyothi's thighs clamping his ears, her juices flooding his mouth; him flipping her, sliding into her slick heat for the first time—slow, then savage, her nails raking his back as she begged for harder, deeper, their twin bodies syncing in rhythmic frenzy. My own climax built in echo—walls clenching his pistoning length, clit throbbing untouched as his fingers dipped lower, rubbing furious circles that sparked lightning. "Fuck... just like that, kanna—tell me how you claimed her ass too!" He laughed breathlessly, pace faltering to erratic slams, balls drawing tight. "Later... after she came twice on my cock, creampie leaking out. Bent her over the desk, lubed with her own cum—pushed in slow, her ring stretching white around me, whimpering 'Too big, Anna!' but pushing back greedy. Fucked her raw till she squirted again, milking me dry inside."
The coil snapped then—for both of us. "Cumming... oh god, fill Amma while you fuck your sister in my head!" I wailed, body convulsing, pussy spasming in violent waves around him, hot squirt arcing to splatter the floor tiles as he roared, hips grinding deep—"Take it, slut—brother's seed for his whore Amma!"—erupting in thick jets that flooded my depths, overflowing to trickle down my thighs in creamy rivulets. We shuddered together, locked in the aftershocks, his cock twitching inside me as he painted the picture's end: them collapsing in a sweaty heap, whispering promises of more, the addiction sealed in shared taboo.
But as he pulled free with a wet pop, cum bubbling from my gaping folds, a shadow fell across the kitchen doorway. There stood my mother—visiting unannounced from her village home, sari crisp and eyes wide in the afternoon light, her gasp slicing the air like a knife. "Shyamala? What in the world—" Amar and I froze, exposed and dripping, the story's heat turning to ice in an instant. She clutched her chest, face draining of color, but didn't scream—yet. The web tightened further, ensnaring the elder generation, and in that suspended horror, a twisted thrill flickered: would she join, or shatter us all?