After my mom and I returned home, we saw our servant waiting for us in the living room cutting some vegetables. When he saw my mom's condition, he kept staring at her with lust-filled eyes. His hungry eyes were fixed on the side of her wet blouse that was clinging to her mature body. Also, her hair was in a severe mess and I'm sure that seeing her in such a nasty state, this low-class servant had some idea as to what she had been through. My mother then quickly went to the bathroom to have another shower. I was tired after having that immense orgasm and so I went to my room and slept off.I woke up in the afternoon when it was close to 3 pm. The reason I woke up was because I heard male voices coming from our downstairs living room. I was surprised because Haria was scheduled to finish his work by 2pm and leave. But I realized later that the male voice I heard didn't belong to Haria or even my dad. It was the voice of Shyam Uncle who had been spying on my mother this morning, when she

After that failed ejaculation attempt, I was really pissed off. I wondered what caused my mother to react in such a way. What did she see out the window? I quickly straightened myself and went to the balcony. There I saw him! It was Shyam Uncle - the same perverted old man whom my mom and I had met a few days ago during that trip to the market. To recall, he was a man in his mid-fifties, with an ugly face and rugged features. His house was directly opposite to ours and the window through which he was looking was directly opposite to my mom's dressing room window. He must've seen everything! The way mom was holding those window grills - her naked tits swaying against Haria's rhythmic squeezes and strokes - was so lewd and the "kamuk" expression on her face must've been awfully sexy. I was getting hard again while imagining this old pervert jerking off to the sight of my mother's hot luscious naked body.Meanwhile Haria having released his load was now extremely worried about my mother's

My mom was in trouble. My mom seemed quite upset after that time when she fucked with the tailor and that brute, Haripada. But I also new that deep down inside pits of her womanhood, she was writhing for more male touches. The day after that incident, Haria - our new servant - arrived at our house. Our main door was unlocked and thus, he was able to enter the house. I was in my room studying, when I heard footsteps as though someone was walking up the stairs. I quickly jumped out of my bed and saw that it was our interim servant. He was wearing a light yellowish kurta and a white dhoti. He had entered the house and walked up the stairs until he reached the second floor.Meanwhile, my mother was in the bathroom taking an early shower. I could clearly hear the water pouring from inside the washroom and my mom singing a bengali song with her sweet voice, just like a koel sings in the spring. When Haria heard that, he called out, "Didi. Didi." The volume of his voice was so low that even I

I grew up in a sleepy little village of coastal India.  My name is Kamode and I was an only child of my parent.  We were not a rich family but we enjoyed a healthy lifestyle. The villagers were kind towards us and they would help us during times of distress.  We had some land for farming and we had employed a couple of people to take care of it.My dad wanted me to be educated so after the matriculation from a local school, he sent me to a city hostel.  I used to pay occasional visit to my parent but never realized that they are getting away from each other.  I was doing my graduation when I received the news that my father is marrying again.  I decided that my mother would need my support so I went immediately to my village.Although I was going to meet mom in a grim situation but it was something I was looking forward since my last visit home.  Name of my Mom was Minnoli and she was 38.  Being a house wife she was not perfect in body shape but

Although I am not comfortable in writing this story of mine still I want it to be known to everyone so that someone may learn a lesson from it.  I must admit that I have changed names, including mine.  I am Roshan, a 23 years old man belonging to the rural area of Gujarat (India).  I am an only child of my parents.  I was only two when my real father died.  My mom Malthi was 21 at that time.  After a year or so her relative pressed her to remarry.  She resisted initially but eventually she agreed.  The man she married was a widower and much older than her.  The only good thing was that he was a rich landlord.  Despite the re-marriage of my mom there were no more children and that was good news for me.  I remained an apple of my mom's eyes and got all the attention I needed when I was growing up.  My step-father treated me as his son and we were a happy looking family at least for the time being.After completing my early

When my father died, I was 25 and my mother was around 50.  I had one married sister who had a small daughter of her own.  This made mom a grandmother technically though she didn't looked like one.  Being the only son I was supposed to look after the family business and the household.  The household was actually ran by mom but I was supposed to fulfill its financial requirements.  I was in the age when I should be marrying someone but this was not in sight.  Just before his death my father talked to me about a couple of marriage proposals but since his death mother was silent on this subject.  I could understand her sorrow but it was hard to believe that after six months of the death of my father she was still mourning.  I wanted her to bring this topic up but I myself was not sure about my answer. Young girls my age doesn't interest me as I found them superficial and immature.  I had sex with only one woman in my life, who was a mature

Like many young lads my sex life started as a voyeur.  I was an only son of my parent and both of them were working people.  My parents shifted from India to Dubai when I was 11.  In Dubai I had a friend named Robinder.  We became so close that we used to spend some nights at each other homes.  The mom of my friend was a beautiful woman named Malini.  She was not very careful in her dressing.  Robinder had no problem me watching her in different stages of dress.  We would sit in the bedroom playing as innocent people while she used to come out of the bathroom after the shower.  Unknown that we were there she would wrap a towel on her body and come out. She had a beautiful smile and long legs.  When she would see us she would smile and ask us to leave.One day we were playing 'hide and seek' with couple of other friends.  I decided to cover myself in a sheet and hide under the bed.  Usually the dirty sheets are tugged under the

Here is a brief account of rather unsettling series of events that has transpired to me recently.  When I reflect upon them, I feel ashamed.  I'm a very different person now than who I used to be, and not entirely in a good way.  I am Japio Mehta, a tall and well built Indian man.  A year ago my wife died in child-birth.  Like many other Indian marriages mine was an arranged marriage but I still loved my wife.  Her sudden death was a big blow to me.  My parents came to console me attend her funeral.  I was 28 then, so my dad suggested me to remarry.  My mom Purva, however, was not amused at this suggestion.  She told my dad that he should let me get over my grief.  Frankly speaking I was not in a mood to repeat the experience so soon.Mom stayed for another week to help me settle in life again.  On the fifth day a strange incident took place.  Mom had some back pain.  She discussed it with the house maid who told mom

I am an Indian man of 22 who lives in the city of Varanasi with his mother Rukmani and Uncle Satish.  I was 11 when my father died making me a orphan and my mother a widow.  My mother at that time was only 31.  She was not much educated so pulling the life alone was not possible for her.  Her elder brother Satish was living alone too due to the fact that his wife divorced him.  A deal was struck between him and my mother that she will look after his house and he in return will take her and my care.  My uncle was kind to me as he had no children of his own.  He was a bit bitter about women in general because he felt that his wife cheated on him.  He put certain restraints over mom so most of her time was spent inside the house, either doing kitchen work or doing puja.  She used to wear white saree only but otherwise she was a beautiful woman.  She never talk dirty words and was always polite with others.  I was her obedient son and

This story is about my Ammi (mother) and me. Her name is Zeenat. My Father, Mustaq Ali got married with her at very young age. Within year my oldest brother, Imran bhai (Brother in Urdu) was born when she was only eighteen, after year later my sister, Shabnam aapa (sister in Urdu)) was born. When my mother was twenty she gave birth to me, Salim. We are typical Muslim family living here in Bombay.My father was a quiet person who has got some export business. He used to go every morning for work and would come back late at night. Initially my father and mother were enjoying their marriage life. But after having three children's he apparently lost his interest in my mother. After that he devoted his life for his business. Apparently due to his business he ignored my mother lately. My mother became quiet after that. But he still loves my mother and she respected and loved him too. They laugh and make jokes some times but not like earlier days. Even though she was always cheerful I know