A Story by Rohith125 & Jerusha Anne Joy
Mother of Me ---- The Trailer>>>
The bathroom door opened with a soft click, letting out a cloud of warm steam into the bedroom.
A woman stepped out, wrapped only in a white towel that barely reached mid thigh. Water droplets glistened on her fair skin. The gold mangalsutra was clearly visible, lodged deep between her heavy, wet cleavage, threads resting against the soft upper swells of her breasts.
She walked slowly towards the full length mirror, her anklets making soft, feminine sounds with every step.
She stopped in front of her reflection.
With slightly trembling hands, she undid the towel and let it fall to the floor.
The mirror showed everything.
Starting from the bottom:
Her feet were soft and delicate, toenails painted deep red. Two thin gold toe rings shone on both her second toes. Her ankles were smooth, adorned with thin gold anklets with tiny bells.
Her legs were thick and womanly smooth, fair thighs that rubbed gently against each other, leading up to wide, fertile hips and a plump, rounded backside that jiggled slightly with the smallest movement. The curve of her huge buttocks was prominent from the side, soft and heavy.
Turning slightly, she faced the mirror fully.
Between her thick thighs lay her most intimate secret, a perfectly formed vagina. The outer lips were plump and soft, with a delicate pinkish-brown hue. A small, sensitive clit peeked out slightly from the top of her slit. A neatly trimmed triangle of soft black pubic hair rested just above it. The opening looked inviting, slightly moist from the bath. A single drop of water slid down from her pubic mound and disappeared between her folds.
Above that, her stomach was soft with a gentle pouch, bearing faint silvery stretch marks, memories of childbirth from many years ago. Her waist was surprisingly thin compared to her wide hips, with a slight layer of feminine fat.
Then came her breasts.
Full, heavy, and beautifully rounded 36C breasts hung proudly on her chest. They swayed heavily as she moved. Dark brown areolas with slightly erect nipples pointed outward. The black mangalsutra disappeared deep into the warm valley between them.
Her arms were soft, with slight dark hair visible in her smooth armpits as she raised her hands to squeeze the water from her long black hair. Her fingers were elegant, with red nail polish and two gold rings on each hand.
Finally, her face.
Plump, naturally pink lips. Soft, rounded cheeks. Large, expressive doe like eyes with long lashes. Perfectly shaped eyebrows. Small gold jhumkas in her earlobes, along with two tiny studs on the upper cartilage.
She gathered her long, wet hair and lifted it, exposing the smooth nape of her neck.
She reached for her clothes.
First, she picked up a bright red padded bra. The tag inside clearly read “Poomer – 36C”. She slipped her arms through the straps, hooked it at the back, and adjusted her heavy breasts into the cups. They settled with a soft bounce, creating deep, inviting cleavage.
Next came a lacy black panty. She stepped into it slowly, pulling the delicate fabric up her thick thighs until it cupped her vagina snugly. The lace settled between her buttocks, the front panel pressing lightly against her clit.
Then a bright red petticoat. She tied it tightly around her wide hips, the knot sitting low, just below her soft belly.
She picked up a navy blue blouse and wore it, hooking the front hooks one by one. The blouse was tight, squeezing her breasts together and pushing them upward. The deep neckline showed generous cleavage.
Finally, she draped a rich navy blue cotton saree. She pleated it carefully, tucked it into the petticoat, and wrapped the pallu around her, pinning it securely over her left shoulder. The saree clung beautifully to her curvy figure accentuating her breasts, waist, and hips.
She added more jewellery multiple glass bangles, a thin gold chain with a small heart shaped pendant containing a family photo, and fresh kumkum in her parting.
Sitting in front of the mirror, she applied kajal, a touch of mascara, soft blush, and finally a deep red lipstick on her plump lips.
She looked at her reflection for a long moment.
Then, in a soft, unmistakably feminine voice, she whispered:
“I’m Prakash Satyamoorthy…”
She paused, eyes glistening with shame and strange arousal.
“…No. I’m Sangeetha Satyamoorthy.”
Suddenly, strong hands grabbed her from behind.
Selvam pushed her onto the bed, pinning both her wrists above her head with one powerful hand. He climbed on top of her, his heavy body pressing her soft, saree-clad figure into the mattress.
He kissed her deeply ,a hungry, wet French kiss, his tongue invading her mouth. He smelled her face, her neck, then buried his face into her armpit, inhaling her feminine scent deeply. His other hand slid down her body, over her breasts, her belly, and finally went under her saree, pushing past the petticoat and panty until his fingers reached her warm, bare vagina.
He cupped her possessively, one finger slowly tracing her wet slit.
Just as his finger began to push inside
“Amma! Food is ready!”
The voice of her son echoed from the hall.
Selvam froze. He looked down at the beautiful, terrified woman beneath him, breathing heavily.
He smirked, kissed her lips once more, and whispered:
“Later.”
>>>------ I'm not my son anymore...
