We were inseparable. Me and Riya.

It started with the usual cheesy shit—stolen glances in coaching, late-night calls, the kind of soft love that makes you feel invincible. Then it turned nasty. Fast. We got addicted to each other’s bodies the way junkies get addicted to the needle. First time was clumsy virgin fumbling. Third time? We were already fucking like animals who had been starving for years.

But this isn’t our story.

I was nineteen. Above-average face, above-average body, above-average cock. Nothing legendary, just enough to make girls look twice. Riya was tall, petite, that perfect bubble ass that bounced when she walked, and small, soft tits that fit in my palms like they were made for them. I loved her. Truly. But there was always this quiet, hungry FOMO living under my skin—big, heavy breasts. The kind that spill out of a bra, the kind that slap against your face when you suck them, the kind that leave red marks on your chest when a woman leans over you.

I had never held a pair like that.

One morning I went to surprise her. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Riya had gone to the market with her younger sister Shree and wouldn’t be back till evening. Only her mother was home.

She opened the door still damp from her bath.

No blouse. Just a thin cotton saree clinging to wet skin and a plain black bra fighting a losing battle. Water droplets still trailed down the valley between those massive, heavy breasts. She was forty-two but looked thirty-two. Single mother body that had never gone soft. Toned waist, wide hips, and those tits—fuck—those tits that made my mouth water the second I saw them. The bra was stretched so tight the soft flesh spilled over the top, pink nipples already half-hard from the cool air.

I had never really looked at her before.

Today I couldn’t look away.

“I’m sorry, Aunty. I didn’t know she wasn’t home. I’ll come back later.”

Her voice was soft, a little tired, a little lonely.

“You can wait here, beta. I’m alone… and I’ve got nothing else to do. Keep me company.”

I sat. My eyes kept dropping. Every time she shifted, the saree slipped a little more, the bra strained a little harder. My cock was already thickening in my pants, traitorously honest.

She wanted to talk. About Riya. About how her daughter had stopped listening after her father died. About feeling ignored in her own house. I told her the truth—yes, we were together. Yes, we had fucked. She only smiled, that slow, knowing smile that made my stomach flip.

“So my Riya isn’t a virgin?” she asked, eyes flicking down to the obvious bulge between my legs. “Well done, soldier.”

Then the conversation turned.

She asked how close we were physically. I told her. Blowjobs. Sex. The works. My cock was rock-hard by then, pressing against my jeans like it wanted to tear free. She noticed. Of course she noticed.

“I’ve got this issue,” I finally admitted, voice rough.

“What?”

“It’s her boobs. They’re small. I’ve never… I’ve never held big ones. Not once. And I don’t want to cheat on her. But fuck, Aunty… I want them so badly.”

She went quiet. Then, slowly, she pulled the pallu away from her chest.

“How badly, son?”

I didn’t answer with words.

I lunged.

My hands tore the bra down. Those heavy, warm, soft breasts spilled free—pink nipples, wide areolas, the kind of weight that made my wrists ache just holding them. I crushed them in my palms, squeezed until the soft flesh overflowed between my fingers. She gasped, a broken little sound that went straight to my cock. Five years without a man’s hands on her body and she was already trembling.

I kissed her like I was trying to crawl inside her mouth. Long, wet, filthy. Tongue deep, teeth scraping, her soft moan vibrating against my lips. My hands never stopped mauling those tits—pinching, twisting, pulling the nipples until she cried out into my mouth. The pain only made her wetter; I could smell it.

I dropped my head and took as much of one breast as I could into my mouth, sucking hard, tongue lashing the stiff nipple, biting just enough to make her thighs press together. She arched, fingers in my hair, not pushing me away—holding me closer.

“Your wish is fulfilled,” she whispered, voice shaky. “Are you happy?”

I pulled my cock out instead. Thick, veined, already leaking.

“What about this, Mom?”

She stared. Swallowed.

“I don’t know… you take care of it.”

“I can’t. Please. Help me.”

When she still hesitated I twisted both nipples hard. She screamed—half pain, half pure, filthy need—and nodded.

I carried her to Riya’s bed. Laid her down. Climbed over her. My cock slapped against her cheek as I knelt above her face.

She wrapped her fingers around me first—soft, cool, careful. The contrast made my hips jerk. Precum smeared across her palm. She stroked slowly, watching my face, then leaned in and gave the head a long, wet kiss. Her tongue swirled. Then she took me deeper, inch by inch, until her soft lips stretched around the thickest part of my shaft.

She sucked like she had been starving for it.

Tongue working the underside, cheeks hollowing, hand twisting the base in perfect rhythm. Spit ran down my balls. The wet, filthy sounds filled the quiet house. I groaned, hips twitching, trying not to fuck her throat too hard—yet.

“I love thick dicks,” she murmured around me, eyes locked on mine, then took me even deeper.

She licked my balls while stroking, then swallowed me again, faster, hungrier. The heat of her mouth, the way her throat fluttered when the head nudged it—I lasted maybe two minutes before my balls drew up tight.

“Mom—fuck—I’m—”

I came hard. Thick ropes straight down her throat. She didn’t pull off. She swallowed every pulse, throat working, eyes still on me, slutty and soft at the same time. When the last spurt left me she kept my cock in her mouth, sucking gently until I was half-hard again, then pulled off with a wet pop and kissed the tip.

“I wouldn’t want you to leave with a limping dick,” she whispered, voice husky and wrecked. “Would I?”

The doorbell rang.

She froze. Panic flashed across her face. She scrambled for her bra, threw my pants at me.

“Wear it. Fast. Riya and Shree are here.”

I barely got the zipper up before the door opened.

I sat on the edge of Riya’s bed, a random book open in my lap, heart hammering, cock still sticky and half-hard against my thigh. The taste of her mother’s mouth still on my tongue. The weight of those heavy tits still burned into my palms.

Riya walked in and stopped, surprised to see me.

I smiled like nothing had happened.

But everything had.

Ending of Part 1 :

Riya stood in the doorway, smiling, completely unaware.

I smiled back.

But my cock was still wet with her mother’s spit.

My hands still burned with the heavy weight of those forbidden tits.

My mouth still tasted her.

And deep in my stomach, something dark and hungry had already decided:

This wasn’t enough.

Not even close.

I had only tasted the surface.

I still hadn’t buried myself inside her.

I still hadn’t watched those massive breasts bounce while I fucked her until she forgot her own name.

I still hadn’t made her moan “son” while she came on my cock.

And the way her eyes had looked at me when she swallowed…

She wasn’t finished either.

Riya walked closer, chatting about the market, completely blind to the fact that her mother’s lipstick was still on my dick and her mother’s cunt was still aching for the rest of me.

I looked at her and smiled again.

But in my head, only one thought remained:

Next time…

I won’t stop.

Next time I’ll take everything.

And next time, her mother won’t be the only one.

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Unlock Part 2 to find out what happens when the door closes again… and this time, no one interrupts.