The air in the room was thick with the scent of her cheap perfume and something far more primal. She was on her knees, her sari pooled around her waist, exposing the soft, plump curves of her ass. Her son stood behind her, his jeans already shoved down to his ankles, his thick, uncut dick standing at full attention, already slick with pre-cum.

“Mummy: Mane chod haju pan vadhre,” she moaned, looking back over her shoulder, her eyes glazed with pure, unadulterated lust. Her fingers were already between her own thick thighs, rubbing her swollen, wet cunt. “More, beta, I need more.”

“Son: Yes, mari randi,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He loved calling her that—his whore. His hands gripped her wide hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. He could feel the heat radiating from her pussy, could see the glistening wetness coating her inner thighs. He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “You love being my dirty little slut, don’t you?”

“Mummy: Ahh, akho gal de maja ave che chod mane haju,” she panted, pushing her ass back against him, feeling the blunt, hot head of his cock nudge against her dripping entrance. Every nerve in her body was on fire. She was a married woman, a mother, but right now, she was just a hole begging to be filled by her own son’s massive rod. The taboo of it made her pussy clench with need. “Right there, yes… fuck me right there.”

He didn’t make her