Forbidden Lust: The son tells the story of his slut mother (True story)
The shrill morning alarm sent unruly bolts and waves into Manya’s body as she stirred, opened her deep eyes and cast a sleepy glance towards the place next to her. Her eyes met with the not so inspiring sight of her still snoring husband Desh, cuddled up like an insecure child, his breath carrying the odor of liquor and his chest heaving in monotonous regularity. The 36 year old housewife sighed and shifted her full frame slowly out of the bed to begin another day. Clad in a thin white blouse without a bra and a loosely tied petticoat which settled about six inches below her deep navel, she dragged her voluptuous body out of bed towards the bathroom, pausing for a moment to look at herself in the mirror on the way. She looked disheveled and two buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned as usual. Her brownish black aureole stared right out of her thin blouse and this morning the ends were sharp and pointed, indicative of her bodily need for a full blooded fuck. Almost involuntarily her hands went to the fleshy region between her thighs and almost expectedly she encountered wetness which began to gain in heat, the moment her fingers sought the warm folds. With an inaudible moan, she gave one loving squeeze between her inner thighs and went right into the toilet.
While peeing, she let out a shudder of relief as some of the accumulated horniness found alternate release. But only some of it. Stepping out and in the same scant attire she moved to the main door to collect the morning milk. Opening the door, she bent to pick up the milk and in the process her full breasts spilled out to form a delectable cleavage. From the corner of her eye she saw the milkman’s bicycle parked in the compound and realized that he was still around and was perhaps waiting for her daily appearance. A full minute was spent in gathering the milk during which her creamy breasts spilled nearly 80 percent out of her thin, low cut blouse. Giving this morning show was now a habit, both for her and the milkman, a strapping 25 year old guy. She got her daily starting charge from this flash and even when someone other than the usual milkman delivered the milk, they learnt to stay until Manya gathered her milk.
Turning her back to the milkman, she started closing the door, giving him a lingering view of her ample, meaty ass and a rousing rear view of her trunk, especially since the petticoat came down to well below her hips and settled almost at the beginning of her ass crack. Just before finally losing the door, she turned again towards the outside and offered another flash of her huge midriff, with its flaring curvature at the waist and the juicy, deep, inviting navel. This exercise was her morning tonic and a day was insipid without it.
The entire five feet seven inches of her full bodied, well stacked, lush form swayed with a heady grace as she made her way to the kitchen. Manya paused for a moment to peep into the room of her two sons, Deen aged 14 and Binu aged 12. Deen was curled up and content, hands between his thighs and lost in a dreamy world, while Binu was sleeping on his back, his right hand placed idly around his crotch. What caught her eye was, however the tenting in his shorts, sticking imposingly out at the ceiling. She smiled indulgently like a mother would, but a deep moistening crept up her pussy, which was already aroused by the morning show for the milkman. Turning away, she lazed into the kitchen to prepare the morning coffee and breakfast. Within an hour all hell would break loose as three males would rush through their morning routine, gulp their food and flee the house, leaving her all alone. The thought made her feel a bit empty but also filled her with an enterprise and abandonment that came from the knowledge that she would be all by herself with her voluptuous, sensuous body.