English · Mother
today
An Indian Tale of Secret Desires
Going to university in the same bustling city where I lived was a blessing. No paying for hostels or dealing with noisy roommates. I could study in peace, enjoy home-cooked meals almost for free, sleep in my own comfortable bed, and dress however I felt when no one was watching.
I lived with Mom — my step-mom, really, but she was Mom to me in every way that mattered. I was very young when my real mother passed away suddenly under mysterious circumstances, but nothing was ever proven. Mom, whose name was Priya, married my father soon after. Later, when he abandoned us and ran off with another woman, I stayed with her. She raised me as her own with love and care.
Priya was a stunning late-forties MILF — tall at nearly 5’10” in her bare feet, with a graceful, curvaceous figure honed by yoga and dance. From old photos, my father had been taller. My own growth left me at 5’6”, with a slim build and a soft, rounded feminine backside that I secretly adored.
I knew from quiet explorations that Mom’s breasts were full C/D cups. She loved wearing sarees at home and for her volunteer work — elegant silk or cotton sarees draped perfectly over her petticoat and blouse. She always wore a delicate gold nose ring in her left nostril that sparkled when she smiled, along with matching bangles and a mangalsutra. Beneath the saree, she favored lacy thongs or high-cut panties, and she never left the house without sheer stockings or traditional thigh-highs held by a garter belt. Her four-inch heels gave her legs that seductive shape under the pallu of her saree.
We were comfortably well-off, so Mom didn’t need a regular job. She volunteered at local temples and community centers a few days a week, giving me precious hours alone in our spacious apartment.
It started innocently enough — sneaking into her almirah, touching her soft lingerie, and using her saree petticoats or blouses for my private pleasures. Soon I was dressing fully in her clothes, prancing through the house in her sarees, feeling the silk caress my skin.
To avoid damaging her things, I began ordering my own collection online: blouses, petticoats, sarees in vibrant colors, lacy bras, and panties. Wearing just a bra felt incomplete, so I discovered breast forms. I started with modest C-cups, but soon upgraded to luxurious, self-adhering K-cups with prominent nipples that jiggled realistically. They stuck perfectly to my chest and created deep cleavage when I wore tighter blouses.
I wore my “breasts” whenever Mom was out. Before she returned, I’d use my favorite cock-shaped vibrator or plug, riding it until I exploded across my heavy breasts, then carefully clean and hide everything.
Though I loved dressing as a girl, I wasn’t gay. I was attracted to women — and later, beautiful shemales with soft curves and a nice cock. About a year ago, I discovered Tantaly dolls and became obsessed with Sarina — a gorgeous trans-doll with massive breasts and a thick seven-inch cock. I ordered her immediately.
The wait was torture until the big box finally arrived. The delivery aunty gave me a curious look as I dragged the heavy package inside. Sarina was perfect — realistic skin, heavy I/J-cup breasts, and that wonderful cock. After carefully unpacking and cleaning her in the shower (where I couldn’t resist sliding into her soapy backside), I brought her to my room and made love to her for the first time. The feeling of her filling me completely was heavenly.
I bought her petite sarees, tight choli blouses, and baby-doll nighties that fit her curves beautifully. Every night after saying goodnight to Mom, I’d cuddle with Sarina in my silk nightie. On mornings when Mom left for volunteering, Sarina would “take” me before I started my day.
My dressing became bolder. First just panties under my clothes, then a bra beneath a loose kurta. Eventually stockings and garters hidden under socks, and finally my big K-cup forms filling out a blouse under baggy sweaters. I’d slouch around Mom so my chest wouldn’t draw attention.
One Friday morning, Mom had already left for her volunteer work. As soon as the door clicked shut, I threw off my covers. Sarina lay there in a white satin baby-doll, her cock tenting the fabric invitingly. I sucked her eagerly, taking most of her length down my throat, my own cock throbbing in my panties.
After showering with rose-scented body wash and powdering myself, I dressed carefully:
• My massive K-cup breast forms adhered perfectly.
• A red satin underwire bra with lace trim.
• Matching red cheeky panties with a convenient rear opening.
• A red satin garter belt and sheer red fishnet stockings clipped securely.
• My favorite white strappy six-inch stiletto heels.
I draped a beautiful red silk saree around my body — the pallu draped seductively over my enormous cleavage, the pleats swaying with my hips. I added a delicate gold nose ring just like Mom’s, kajal in my eyes, and bangles that jingled with every step. I felt like a complete Indian seductress.
I pranced through the house, heels clicking, ass swaying, my cock straining against the petticoat. Unable to wait, I returned to Sarina. We made love passionately — her deep inside me as I rode her, moaning loudly until I erupted across her breasts.
“Ahem!”
I froze. Mom stood at the bedroom door in her own elegant navy blue saree, pallu draped over one shoulder, her gold nose ring glinting. She had come back early due to a power outage at the center.
Sarina was still buried deep inside me. There was no hiding.
Mom’s expression was calm. “Power failure. They sent everyone home. When you’re finished, come to my room. And don’t change out of your saree.”
Heart pounding, I cleaned up and walked to her room still fully dressed — breasts heaving, saree slightly disheveled, nose ring sparkling.
Mom sat on her bed in her saree. She patted the space beside her. “I’m not angry, beta. All boys experiment. But tell me — are you gay? And where did you get that doll?”
I shook my head. “No, Mom. I like girls… and beautiful shemales. Sarina was from an online site.”
Mom smiled softly. “You’re more like your father than I realized.” She opened a locked drawer and showed me her collection — dildos, plugs, and a strap-on harness. “Your real mother used to use this on him.”
Then, to my shock, Mom stood and began removing her saree. The pallu fell, revealing her deep cleavage in a tight blouse. She unwrapped the saree, then her petticoat. Her lacy thong could barely contain her thick eight-inch uncut cock.
“I have this instead,” she said, letting it spring free.
I dropped to my knees instantly, drawn to her. I worshipped her cock through the stockings, then took her into my mouth, savoring the warmth and taste. Mom gently held my head, thrusting until she filled my throat with her hot cum.
She wasn’t finished. She bent me over the bed, lifted my saree and petticoat, and entered me slowly, then powerfully. I came instantly, crying out in pleasure as she fucked me deeply in my red lingerie and heels. She took me in every position — on my back with legs over her shoulders, saree bunched around my waist, her heavy breasts pressed against my K-cups — until she finally flooded my insides with her seed.
Mom collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, her nose ring cool against my cheek.
“Baby,” she whispered, kissing my forehead, “this is only the beginning.”
From that day on, our secret life bloomed. I continued wearing sarees at home, my nose ring matching hers, and Mom taught me pleasures Sarina never could.
