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Incest "Craving Kin: A Sultry Family Affair"
- Thread starter Syamala_39
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bro why are your stories closed now for comments have you ended them
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Shyamala's mornings had become a ritual of quiet rebellion, a secret dance between the woman she had been in Chennai—poised, proper, the dutiful wife and mother—and the one awakening in the misty embrace of Kodagu. As the first tendrils of dawn crept through the curtains, she lay there for a moment, her body heavy with the night's lingering heat from Dinakaran's absentminded caresses. But her mind was already wandering to the cattle shed, to Shankaran's rugged form and the forbidden sparks that had ignited there over the past week. Waking at 4:30 AM felt less like habit now and more like anticipation, her pulse quickening as she slipped from the bed, the cool air kissing her bare skin where her nightie had fallen away in sleep.
She moved with deliberate grace, tying her hair into a bun, washing away the night's remnants, and donning her red laced bra and panty—the ones that made her feel alive, desired in a way Dinakaran's familiar touches no longer did. The lace hugged her curves like a lover's promise, her heavy breasts spilling slightly over the cups, nipples hardening against the sheer fabric. No petticoat today; just the nightie draping loosely, allowing the breeze to tease her bare thighs and the damp heat building between them. Sneaking out to the shed wasn't just about learning to milk cows anymore—it was about the thrill of exposure, the power in her gaze meeting Shankaran's hungry one.
In the dim light of the shed, the air thick with hay and animal warmth, Shyamala felt a rush of empowerment. Shankaran's langot barely contained him, his morning erection bulging obscenely, the black, hairy thickness sliding sideways as he worked. She stared openly now, no pretense of shyness, her eyes tracing the veins, the heavy balls dangling like forbidden fruit. "Careful with that langot," she'd tease, her voice low and husky, watching him flush, his cock twitching in response. It stirred something primal in her—the innocent villager, so unlike Dinakaran's predictable rhythm, his rough hands guiding hers during milking, brushing her thighs as she parted them wider than necessary, flashing her red laced panty, the sheer material clinging to her mound, curly hairs visible through the lace. She pressed her smooth flesh against his calloused fingers, trapping them there, feeling his hesitation melt into lingering touches that sent jolts straight to her core.
Her pussy melted under the panty, juices flowing as she teased him, the power intoxicating. Back in Chennai, life had been routine—hosting guests, packing boxes, stolen moments with Sudhip that blurred lines she knew she shouldn't cross but craved anyway. The hugs that turned into grinds, his young hardness pressing against her ass, his hands roaming her boobs with filial excuse. "My sweet rascal," she'd murmur, but inside, it was fire—the taboo of mother and son, the secrecy making it sweeter. And now, in Kodagu, it extended: Dinakaran with Ananya in the car, the gear shifts turning intimate; Banumathi's lustful glances at Sudhip; even Devasena's subtle brushes. Shyamala saw it all, fueled it quietly, her own arousal a constant hum.
But the shed was her private escape, where she could be the seductress, letting Shankaran voyeur her curves—bending to show her cleavage, rolling her nightie high to reveal the panty, her boobs swinging freely as she worked. His stares made her wet, her clit throbbing against the lace, imagining his rough mouth there instead of his eyes. Yet, guilt flickered—Dinakaran, loyal and unaware; the family she protected. Still, the fantasies swirled: Sudhip joining her in the shed, his cock replacing Shankaran's gaze; or all of them together, boundaries dissolving in the estate's isolation. Shyamala returned to the house each morning flushed, her panty soaked, ready to channel the heat into her day—cooking with Nalini, whose knowing smiles hinted at shared secrets, or teasing Sudhip with lingering hugs that promised more.
In this new life, Shyamala felt reborn—not just a mother, but a woman alive with desire, navigating the thin line between love and lust, her perspective shifting from duty to delicious indulgence.
It was still pitch dark outside, the November chill wrapping the estate in a thick blanket of fog, the air crisp and silent save for the distant rustle of leaves in the coffee plants. Nalini emerged from the toilet, her caramel skin flushed from the quick wash, glancing at the wall clock—ten minutes to 5 AM. She felt a quiet thrill bubbling inside her, her mind replaying yesterday's gift from Shyamala. Moving to the cupboard, she pulled out a small hand cover, unzipping it to reveal the treasures within: a pair of transparent dark blue laced bra and panties, sheer and seductive, the lace intricately woven like forbidden whispers against the skin. The gift had come with a wink from Shyamala during their backyard chat, a subtle nod to spicing things up.
Nalini held the panty up first, the delicate fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light of the lantern. She stepped into it, pulling it up her smooth, curvaceous thighs, feeling the lace hug her plump mound snugly, the transparency teasing the dark curls of her pubic hair beneath, outlining her pussy lips in a way that made her breath hitch. Next, the bra—its cups sheer and supportive, lifting her full, heavy breasts as she clasped it behind her back, her nipples perking up against the lace, visible like dark berries through the mesh. She turned to the long mirror, admiring herself with a proud smile, twisting to see her back and front. The set made her feel transformed, like Shyamala herself—glamorous, desired, her wide hips accentuated, her ass cheeks peeking subtly at the edges of the panty, the bra pushing her cleavage into a deep, inviting valley. "Maava will lose his mind tonight," she thought, imagining his rough hands tearing at the lace, his eyes widening at the surprise, his cock hardening instantly as he ravished her in ways he hadn't since their early days.
Satisfied, she dressed in the saree and blouse Shyamala had also gifted—simple yet elegant, the blouse fitting snugly over her laced bra, the saree draping her curves with a soft flow. She wrapped a towel around her wet hair like a turban and hurried to the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. The space was empty and quiet; she set to work, cleaning the stove with quick, efficient wipes, then placing a pot of milk on it to heat for the morning tea, the flame flickering to life as she stirred absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting to the sensual promise of the lace against her skin.
Meanwhile, Sudhip stepped out of the toilet in the main house, his body still humming from a restless night of dreams filled with his mother's plush form. His boxer shorts tented prominently, his morning erection refusing to subside even after peeing—the thick, veined shaft standing at a rigid 90 degrees, throbbing with unspent need, the fabric stretched taut over its length. He craved the warmth of Shyamala's body, picturing sliding his hot rod between her plump ass cheeks, feeling them envelop him like soft pillows. With a low groan, he headed to her room, but it was empty, the bed rumpled but unoccupied. Frowning, he descended the stairs, spotting a figure in the kitchen reaching for a jar on the upper shelf—the silhouette familiar in the low light, the saree draping curves he knew so well.
Without a word, Sudhip approached from behind, his heart racing with lust. Nalini—mistaken for Shyamala—stretched on her toes, her ass pushing out invitingly as she strained for the jar, the saree tightening over her wide hips. Sudhip's hands encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the ground, his strong arms hoisting her higher. In the process, his palms slid forward
instinctively, cupping her mound through the saree, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft, warm flesh between her thighs. The lace panty beneath added an unexpected silkiness, but in his haze, he attributed it to his mother's allure. He squeezed harder, his middle finger tracing the outline of her pussy lips through the fabric, feeling the faint heat and dampness seeping through, murmuring hotly into her ear, "Mom, I need you to suck my cock... it's too hard this morning, throbbing for your mouth."
Nalini gasped softly, a jolt of surprise mixing with an unwelcome spark of arousal at the bold touch, but before she could react, Sudhip lowered her slowly, his hands gliding up her body in a sensual drag. As her feet touched the floor, he pulled her back against him, his rock-hard dick—poking insistently through his boxers—nestling perfectly between her plump ass cheeks. The saree did little to barrier the heat; he ground subtly, his shaft sliding up and down the cleft, the friction making him groan low in his throat. His hands roamed upward, cupping her full breasts from behind, fingers kneading the soft orbs through the blouse and laced bra, thumbs circling her hardening nipples, pinching them gently at first, then firmer, feeling them poke against the lace like eager buds. Nalini's breath hitched, her body betraying her with a flush of warmth between her legs, the lace panty growing damp as his caresses ignited forbidden sensations—his touch so confident, so intimate, pressing and massaging her curves like he owned them.
Emboldened, Sudhip turned her face toward him for a deep liplock, his lips brushing her cheek first, then aiming for her mouth. But as their eyes met in the dim kitchen light, reality crashed in—a 1000-watt shock electrifying him. It was Nalini, her doe eyes wide with shock and confusion, the towel on her hair a dead giveaway. Sudhip's face drained of color, his hands freezing on her breasts before yanking away as if burned. "Sorrrrrryyy, akka......please sorry," he stammered, his voice breaking in mortified panic, stumbling backward, his erection still tenting obscenely as he bolted from the kitchen, leaving Nalini standing there, breathless and flushed, her body tingling from the unintended caresses.
Banumathi stirred awake in her bedroom, the soft November dawn filtering through the curtains like a gentle haze over the estate. She stretched lazily, her nightie riding up her thighs, before swinging her legs out of bed and padding down the staircase toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the cool wooden steps. The house was still quiet, the family not yet fully roused, but as she descended, a sudden commotion erupted—Sudhip barreling out of the kitchen like a man fleeing a specter, his face pale and slick with cold sweat, glancing back over his shoulder in panic. He collided straight into her, their bodies slamming together with a jolt that nearly sent them both tumbling.
Banumathi steadied herself against the railing, her arms instinctively wrapping around her brother to keep him upright. "Sudhip, enna happened? Why are you running like you saw a ghost?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, holding him tightly against her, feeling the rapid thump of his heart against her chest. Sudhip, still sweating in the chilly morning air, didn't reply immediately, his eyes darting downward toward the kitchen entrance, his body tense and trembling. Banumathi sensed the depth of his distress—something had rattled her usually composed brother deeply. Without pressing further, she gently guided him back upstairs to her bedroom, her hand on his back, leading him inside and closing the door softly behind them.
She fetched a water bottle from her nightstand, uncapping it and handing it to him. "Drink this first, calm down na," she murmured soothingly, watching as he took shaky sips. Banumathi didn't speak for a while, letting the silence wrap around them like a comforting blanket. She sat beside him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a warm, sisterly hug, pulling him close. For more than fifteen minutes, they stayed like that—her cheek resting against his head, her hands rubbing gentle circles on his back, her plush body pressed against his side, offering silent reassurance as his breathing steadied. Finally, when his tremors subsided, she pulled back slightly, cupping his face. "Now tell me, what happened down there?"
Sudhip hesitated, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but under her gentle gaze, he confessed in a whisper, "Akka, I... I mistakenly hugged Nalini akka in the kitchen. Thought it was Amma... I didn't mean to..." His voice trailed off, mortified. Banumathi's eyes softened with understanding; she pulled him into another hug, consoling him for several more minutes. "Ok, ok, it's ok, Sudhip. Mistakes happen na. I'll take care if anything comes up—don't worry, I'll talk to her if needed." She stroked his hair affectionately, her touch lingering to ease his nerves. To distract him, she suggested, "Stay with me today, come to the estate with me na? It'll be good for you." Sudhip nodded gratefully, and she smiled, heading to the bathroom for a quick bath.
The sound of water running filled the room as she showered, emerging refreshed in a towel, her skin glowing. "Your turn—take a bath here only," she said, tossing him a fresh towel. While he bathed, Banumathi slipped into his room, grabbing his clothes—a simple shirt and pants—and brought them back. They dressed earlier than usual, Banumathi in a light saree that hugged her curves, Sudhip in his casual attire. She even fetched breakfast from the kitchen discreetly, bringing it to her room so they could eat together in peace, chatting lightly about nothing important to keep his mind off the incident.
Shyamala, meanwhile, didn't notice a thing—her thoughts were consumed by the cattle shed, the teasing encounters with Shankaran that had become a secret morning ritual. As she joined him for bathing the cows, she deliberately let her nightie ride up, flashing glimpses of her red laced panty, the sheer fabric clinging to her mound, curly hairs visible through the lace. Her breasts bounced freely as she bent over, the low neckline offering Shankaran generous views of her cleavage, nipples poking against the thin material. She caught him staring, his eyes hungry, and without hesitation, she met his gaze with a knowing smile, her own eyes dropping to his langot, where his bulging dick and heavy balls slid sideways, the black thickness straining the cotton. "Careful with that langot, anna—it's slipping again," she teased softly, her voice husky, making it clear she was staring at his exposed manhood, her pussy melting with arousal inside her panty. During milking, she rolled her nightie higher on her thighs, parting them to show the laced crotch fully, and as he handed her the vessel, she pressed her smooth thighs against his hands, trapping them there for a lingering moment, the heat of her skin searing into his rough palms. The innocent villager flushed, his cock twitching visibly, while Shyamala reveled in the tease, her folds growing slick with desire.
Banumathi and Sudhip left early for the estate office, the misty paths winding through the coffee and pepper plantations. Banumathi linked her arm with her brother's, wrapping her hand around his waist as they walked, their bodies close like a couple's, her hip brushing his with each step. "See that row? Ashwin taught me how the shade trees protect the coffee—it's all about balance," she explained animatedly, pointing out details she'd learned from Ashwin and the workers. Her happy face lit up as she introduced Sudhip to the laborers they passed, "This is my brother Sudhip—he's here to learn too!" The workers nodded warmly, but Banumathi's focus remained on Sudhip, hugging him sideways, her touches lingering to reassure him, letting him lean on her without probing about the morning.
Devasena arrived later with Ashwin and Dinakaran, joining the office routine. As the group dispersed into the fields, Banumathi continued walking with Sudhip through the pepper garden, the vines twisting around tall supports like lovers entwined. Within moments, Ashwin caught up, his eyes immediately drawn to Banumathi's closeness with her brother—the way her hand rested possessively on Sudhip's waist, their fingers occasionally intertwining, bodies caressing subtly as they strolled. He fell in behind them, stalking discreetly, his gaze fixated on Banumathi's swaying ass, the panty line clearly visible through her thin saree, the fabric clinging to her plump cheeks with each hypnotic step. The sight, combined with their intimate touches—her arm around him, his hand brushing her hip like a caress—stirred a deep heat in Ashwin, his submissive urges flaring. He imagined himself serving them, a silent devotee to their forbidden bond.
The temptation grew unbearable; Ashwin veered off the path, slipping behind a large bush in a secluded spot where no workers ventured, the dense foliage shielding him completely. His heart pounded as he freed his hardening cock from his pants, the lean shaft thickening in his hand as he began to stroke slowly, his mind weaving an elaborate fantasy. In his imagination, Sudhip and Banumathi weren't in the fields but tangled in a lavish bed back at the bungalow, the sheets rumpled around their sweat-slicked bodies. Banumathi lay on her back, her saree discarded in a heap, her voluptuous breasts heaving as Sudhip hovered over her, his hands roaming possessively over her curves—kneading her soft belly, tracing the swell of her hips, his fingers dipping between her thighs to part her slick folds. "Akka... you're so wet for me," Sudhip murmured in the fantasy, his voice husky, as he lowered his head to suckle her nipple, biting gently while his cock—thick and veined like in Ashwin's envious glimpses—rubbed against her inner thigh.
Banumathi arched in ecstasy, her hands clutching his hair, pulling him closer. "Sudhip... take me, my brother... fill your akka's pussy," she moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist, guiding his hardness to her entrance. Ashwin stroked faster, picturing himself in the corner of the room, kneeling submissively on the floor, his eyes wide as he watched the siblings unite—Sudhip thrusting deep into her, their bodies slapping together rhythmically, Banumathi's moans filling the air as her breasts bounced with each powerful stroke. In the fantasy, they noticed him, Banumathi turning her head with a commanding smile. "Ashwin... serve us," she ordered, her voice dominant, beckoning him closer. He crawled forward obediently, his submissive nature thrilled, as Sudhip pulled out momentarily, his glistening cock offered to Ashwin. "Clean it for me," Sudhip commanded, and Ashwin imagined leaning in, his tongue lapping at the shaft, tasting Banumathi's juices mixed with Sudhip's pre-cum, his own cock aching untouched.
The vision intensified: Banumathi riding Sudhip reverse, her wide ass grinding down on his lap, cheeks spreading to reveal her tight hole, while Ashwin knelt behind, ordered to lick her there—his tongue tracing her puckered entrance, delving in as she moaned louder, her pussy clenching around her brother's dick. "Yes, Ashwin... worship us like the servant you are," she gasped, her hand reaching back to grip his hair, pulling him deeper into her ass while Sudhip thrust upward, their incestuous union unfolding before his eyes. Ashwin's strokes quickened in reality, his breath ragged behind the bush, pre-cum slicking his palm as he envisioned Sudhip flipping Banumathi onto all fours, pounding her from behind, her massive breasts swinging like pendulums, nipples hard and begging. Ashwin imagined himself beneath her, ordered to suckle them—his mouth latching onto one, tongue swirling the peak while his hand massaged the other, feeling her body rock with each familial thrust.
In the climax of his fantasy, Sudhip groaned, pulling out to spill his hot cum across Banumathi's ass, ropes of seed painting her cheeks, and she commanded Ashwin, "Lick it clean, servant... taste my brother's gift." Ashwin obeyed in his mind, his tongue lapping every drop, savoring the salty essence while Banumathi ground her cum-smeared ass against his face, humiliating and dominating him. The thought pushed him over the edge—Ashwin's cock erupted in his hand, thick spurts landing on the leaves, his body shuddering as he milked himself dry, the fantasy of serving the sibling lovers leaving him spent and yearning for more. Panting, he tucked himself away, slipping back onto the path unnoticed, his inner darkness fed for the moment.
Nalini lingered in the kitchen long after Sudhip's frantic apology and hasty retreat, the simmering milk on the stove bubbling softly like the turmoil in her chest. The early morning chill seeped through the open window, but it did nothing to cool the fire that had ignited between her thighs. Her dark blue laced panty—Shyamala's unexpected gift from the evening before—clung to her like a lover's whisper, the sheer fabric growing increasingly damp as her arousal refused to ebb. She pressed her palm against her mound through the saree, biting her lip to stifle a moan, her mind a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts that she dared not voice aloud. How had a simple mistake unraveled her so completely? And yet, as the incident replayed in her head, it blossomed into something darker, more intoxicating—fantasies that twisted the boundaries of her simple village life into realms of taboo desire.
She couldn't shake Sudhip's words: "Mom, I need you to suck my cock... it's too hard." Spoken in that husky, desperate tone, meant for Shyamala but landing on her ears like a secret confession. Gods, the audacity of it—a son begging his mother for such an intimate act, his voice thick with lust. Nalini had always been orthodox in her ways, her nights with Shankaran tender but predictable, a dutiful wife's release. But now, her imagination ran wild,
painting vivid scenes where Shyamala knelt before her son in the dim light of their room, her wheatish lips parting to envelop his thick, veined shaft. Nalini pictured it: Shyamala's hands cupping his balls, her tongue swirling the tip, sucking greedily as Sudhip groaned, his fingers tangled in her hair, thrusting deeper into her throat. The incestuous bond—mother and son, so wrong yet so primal—sent a shiver through Nalini, her pussy clenching emptily, juices soaking the lace further. What if it were her? The thought crept in unbidden: Sudhip mistaking her again, but this time, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she drops to her knees in the kitchen shadows, pulling down his boxers to free that rigid morning erection, her mouth watering as she takes him in, sucking him like a forbidden fruit, his young hips bucking as he calls her "Akka" in ecstasy.
The rewind in her mind focused obsessively on his touches—the way his strong, city-bred hands had cupped her pussy mound, pressing hard through the saree, fingers tracing her lips with unwitting precision. It had been electric, a younger boy's bold grip on her mature, untouched-by-strangers flesh, sending sparks straight to her core. She exhaled shakily, her hand slipping under her saree now, fingers brushing the slick lace, circling her swollen clit as she relived it. Thrilling, exclamatory—the heat of his palm searing her mound, kneading as if claiming her, making her folds part and weep with need. And his hands on her boobs... oh, those rough kneads, thumbs pinching her nipples through the bra until they ached for more. No man but Shankaran had touched her there in years, and Sudhip's youthful vigor had awakened a hunger she didn't know she harbored. In her fantasy, it escalated: Sudhip pinning her against the counter, his fingers delving under the saree, ripping the lace aside to plunge into her wet pussy, stroking her G-spot while his other hand mauled her breasts, twisting her nipples until she came on his hand, whispering "Akka, you're so tight for me."
But the fantasies deepened, veering into even darker territories inspired by the family's whispered dynamics she'd glimpsed—the hugs that lingered too long, the dances where bodies pressed with more than familial affection.
Nalini imagined adultery woven with incest: herself sneaking into Sudhip's room at night, Shankaran asleep in the quarters, her laced body offered as a secret gift. He'd wake to her straddling him, her pussy grinding against his hardness, whispering, "Let akka suck you like you wanted," before taking him deep into her mouth, her tongue savoring his youthful essence while he moaned "Mom... Akka..." in confusion and bliss. Or bolder still—joining Shyamala and Sudhip in their taboo union, a threesome where mother and servant shared the son: Shyamala guiding Nalini's head down to lick his balls while she rode him, their breasts brushing, pussies dripping in shared ecstasy. The thought made Nalini's fingers move faster, dipping into her entrance through the lace, her walls clenching around them as she pictured the forbidden blend—incestuous love amplified by her adulterous intrusion, bodies entwined in the bungalow's shadows.
She gasped as a small orgasm rippled through her, her thighs quivering, but it only fueled the fire. Deeper fantasies emerged: What if Shankaran discovered her arousal, joining in with jealous fury, fucking her while she confessed Sudhip's touches? Or imagining the whole family—Dinakaran with his daughters, Shyamala with Sudhip—inviting her into their web, a servant elevated to plaything, her glamorous curves worshipped by all. Nalini leaned against the wall, her breath ragged, fingers slick with her essence, the lace panty ruined with her arousal.
Tonight, with Shankaran, she'd channel this—surprise him in the lace, ride him wildly while her mind replayed Sudhip's words, blending husbandly duty with these forbidden dreams. But for now, she straightened her saree, the arousal a secret pulse between her legs, wondering if the city family had unlocked something irreversible in her soul.
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Slove123
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Good one ,
Shyamala's mornings had become a ritual of quiet rebellion, a secret dance between the woman she had been in Chennai—poised, proper, the dutiful wife and mother—and the one awakening in the misty embrace of Kodagu. As the first tendrils of dawn crept through the curtains, she lay there for a moment, her body heavy with the night's lingering heat from Dinakaran's absentminded caresses. But her mind was already wandering to the cattle shed, to Shankaran's rugged form and the forbidden sparks that had ignited there over the past week. Waking at 4:30 AM felt less like habit now and more like anticipation, her pulse quickening as she slipped from the bed, the cool air kissing her bare skin where her nightie had fallen away in sleep.
She moved with deliberate grace, tying her hair into a bun, washing away the night's remnants, and donning her red laced bra and panty—the ones that made her feel alive, desired in a way Dinakaran's familiar touches no longer did. The lace hugged her curves like a lover's promise, her heavy breasts spilling slightly over the cups, nipples hardening against the sheer fabric. No petticoat today; just the nightie draping loosely, allowing the breeze to tease her bare thighs and the damp heat building between them. Sneaking out to the shed wasn't just about learning to milk cows anymore—it was about the thrill of exposure, the power in her gaze meeting Shankaran's hungry one.
In the dim light of the shed, the air thick with hay and animal warmth, Shyamala felt a rush of empowerment. Shankaran's langot barely contained him, his morning erection bulging obscenely, the black, hairy thickness sliding sideways as he worked. She stared openly now, no pretense of shyness, her eyes tracing the veins, the heavy balls dangling like forbidden fruit. "Careful with that langot," she'd tease, her voice low and husky, watching him flush, his cock twitching in response. It stirred something primal in her—the innocent villager, so unlike Dinakaran's predictable rhythm, his rough hands guiding hers during milking, brushing her thighs as she parted them wider than necessary, flashing her red laced panty, the sheer material clinging to her mound, curly hairs visible through the lace. She pressed her smooth flesh against his calloused fingers, trapping them there, feeling his hesitation melt into lingering touches that sent jolts straight to her core.
Her pussy melted under the panty, juices flowing as she teased him, the power intoxicating. Back in Chennai, life had been routine—hosting guests, packing boxes, stolen moments with Sudhip that blurred lines she knew she shouldn't cross but craved anyway. The hugs that turned into grinds, his young hardness pressing against her ass, his hands roaming her boobs with filial excuse. "My sweet rascal," she'd murmur, but inside, it was fire—the taboo of mother and son, the secrecy making it sweeter. And now, in Kodagu, it extended: Dinakaran with Ananya in the car, the gear shifts turning intimate; Banumathi's lustful glances at Sudhip; even Devasena's subtle brushes. Shyamala saw it all, fueled it quietly, her own arousal a constant hum.
But the shed was her private escape, where she could be the seductress, letting Shankaran voyeur her curves—bending to show her cleavage, rolling her nightie high to reveal the panty, her boobs swinging freely as she worked. His stares made her wet, her clit throbbing against the lace, imagining his rough mouth there instead of his eyes. Yet, guilt flickered—Dinakaran, loyal and unaware; the family she protected. Still, the fantasies swirled: Sudhip joining her in the shed, his cock replacing Shankaran's gaze; or all of them together, boundaries dissolving in the estate's isolation. Shyamala returned to the house each morning flushed, her panty soaked, ready to channel the heat into her day—cooking with Nalini, whose knowing smiles hinted at shared secrets, or teasing Sudhip with lingering hugs that promised more.
In this new life, Shyamala felt reborn—not just a mother, but a woman alive with desire, navigating the thin line between love and lust, her perspective shifting from duty to delicious indulgence.
It was still pitch dark outside, the November chill wrapping the estate in a thick blanket of fog, the air crisp and silent save for the distant rustle of leaves in the coffee plants. Nalini emerged from the toilet, her caramel skin flushed from the quick wash, glancing at the wall clock—ten minutes to 5 AM. She felt a quiet thrill bubbling inside her, her mind replaying yesterday's gift from Shyamala. Moving to the cupboard, she pulled out a small hand cover, unzipping it to reveal the treasures within: a pair of transparent dark blue laced bra and panties, sheer and seductive, the lace intricately woven like forbidden whispers against the skin. The gift had come with a wink from Shyamala during their backyard chat, a subtle nod to spicing things up.
Nalini held the panty up first, the delicate fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light of the lantern. She stepped into it, pulling it up her smooth, curvaceous thighs, feeling the lace hug her plump mound snugly, the transparency teasing the dark curls of her pubic hair beneath, outlining her pussy lips in a way that made her breath hitch. Next, the bra—its cups sheer and supportive, lifting her full, heavy breasts as she clasped it behind her back, her nipples perking up against the lace, visible like dark berries through the mesh. She turned to the long mirror, admiring herself with a proud smile, twisting to see her back and front. The set made her feel transformed, like Shyamala herself—glamorous, desired, her wide hips accentuated, her ass cheeks peeking subtly at the edges of the panty, the bra pushing her cleavage into a deep, inviting valley. "Maava will lose his mind tonight," she thought, imagining his rough hands tearing at the lace, his eyes widening at the surprise, his cock hardening instantly as he ravished her in ways he hadn't since their early days.
Satisfied, she dressed in the saree and blouse Shyamala had also gifted—simple yet elegant, the blouse fitting snugly over her laced bra, the saree draping her curves with a soft flow. She wrapped a towel around her wet hair like a turban and hurried to the kitchen, her bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. The space was empty and quiet; she set to work, cleaning the stove with quick, efficient wipes, then placing a pot of milk on it to heat for the morning tea, the flame flickering to life as she stirred absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting to the sensual promise of the lace against her skin.
Meanwhile, Sudhip stepped out of the toilet in the main house, his body still humming from a restless night of dreams filled with his mother's plush form. His boxer shorts tented prominently, his morning erection refusing to subside even after peeing—the thick, veined shaft standing at a rigid 90 degrees, throbbing with unspent need, the fabric stretched taut over its length. He craved the warmth of Shyamala's body, picturing sliding his hot rod between her plump ass cheeks, feeling them envelop him like soft pillows. With a low groan, he headed to her room, but it was empty, the bed rumpled but unoccupied. Frowning, he descended the stairs, spotting a figure in the kitchen reaching for a jar on the upper shelf—the silhouette familiar in the low light, the saree draping curves he knew so well.
Without a word, Sudhip approached from behind, his heart racing with lust. Nalini—mistaken for Shyamala—stretched on her toes, her ass pushing out invitingly as she strained for the jar, the saree tightening over her wide hips. Sudhip's hands encircled her waist, lifting her effortlessly off the ground, his strong arms hoisting her higher. In the process, his palms slid forward
instinctively, cupping her mound through the saree, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft, warm flesh between her thighs. The lace panty beneath added an unexpected silkiness, but in his haze, he attributed it to his mother's allure. He squeezed harder, his middle finger tracing the outline of her pussy lips through the fabric, feeling the faint heat and dampness seeping through, murmuring hotly into her ear, "Mom, I need you to suck my cock... it's too hard this morning, throbbing for your mouth."
Nalini gasped softly, a jolt of surprise mixing with an unwelcome spark of arousal at the bold touch, but before she could react, Sudhip lowered her slowly, his hands gliding up her body in a sensual drag. As her feet touched the floor, he pulled her back against him, his rock-hard dick—poking insistently through his boxers—nestling perfectly between her plump ass cheeks. The saree did little to barrier the heat; he ground subtly, his shaft sliding up and down the cleft, the friction making him groan low in his throat. His hands roamed upward, cupping her full breasts from behind, fingers kneading the soft orbs through the blouse and laced bra, thumbs circling her hardening nipples, pinching them gently at first, then firmer, feeling them poke against the lace like eager buds. Nalini's breath hitched, her body betraying her with a flush of warmth between her legs, the lace panty growing damp as his caresses ignited forbidden sensations—his touch so confident, so intimate, pressing and massaging her curves like he owned them.
Emboldened, Sudhip turned her face toward him for a deep liplock, his lips brushing her cheek first, then aiming for her mouth. But as their eyes met in the dim kitchen light, reality crashed in—a 1000-watt shock electrifying him. It was Nalini, her doe eyes wide with shock and confusion, the towel on her hair a dead giveaway. Sudhip's face drained of color, his hands freezing on her breasts before yanking away as if burned. "Sorrrrrryyy, akka......please sorry," he stammered, his voice breaking in mortified panic, stumbling backward, his erection still tenting obscenely as he bolted from the kitchen, leaving Nalini standing there, breathless and flushed, her body tingling from the unintended caresses.
Banumathi stirred awake in her bedroom, the soft November dawn filtering through the curtains like a gentle haze over the estate. She stretched lazily, her nightie riding up her thighs, before swinging her legs out of bed and padding down the staircase toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the cool wooden steps. The house was still quiet, the family not yet fully roused, but as she descended, a sudden commotion erupted—Sudhip barreling out of the kitchen like a man fleeing a specter, his face pale and slick with cold sweat, glancing back over his shoulder in panic. He collided straight into her, their bodies slamming together with a jolt that nearly sent them both tumbling.
Banumathi steadied herself against the railing, her arms instinctively wrapping around her brother to keep him upright. "Sudhip, enna happened? Why are you running like you saw a ghost?" she asked, her voice laced with concern, holding him tightly against her, feeling the rapid thump of his heart against her chest. Sudhip, still sweating in the chilly morning air, didn't reply immediately, his eyes darting downward toward the kitchen entrance, his body tense and trembling. Banumathi sensed the depth of his distress—something had rattled her usually composed brother deeply. Without pressing further, she gently guided him back upstairs to her bedroom, her hand on his back, leading him inside and closing the door softly behind them.
She fetched a water bottle from her nightstand, uncapping it and handing it to him. "Drink this first, calm down na," she murmured soothingly, watching as he took shaky sips. Banumathi didn't speak for a while, letting the silence wrap around them like a comforting blanket. She sat beside him on the bed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders in a warm, sisterly hug, pulling him close. For more than fifteen minutes, they stayed like that—her cheek resting against his head, her hands rubbing gentle circles on his back, her plush body pressed against his side, offering silent reassurance as his breathing steadied. Finally, when his tremors subsided, she pulled back slightly, cupping his face. "Now tell me, what happened down there?"
Sudhip hesitated, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment, but under her gentle gaze, he confessed in a whisper, "Akka, I... I mistakenly hugged Nalini akka in the kitchen. Thought it was Amma... I didn't mean to..." His voice trailed off, mortified. Banumathi's eyes softened with understanding; she pulled him into another hug, consoling him for several more minutes. "Ok, ok, it's ok, Sudhip. Mistakes happen na. I'll take care if anything comes up—don't worry, I'll talk to her if needed." She stroked his hair affectionately, her touch lingering to ease his nerves. To distract him, she suggested, "Stay with me today, come to the estate with me na? It'll be good for you." Sudhip nodded gratefully, and she smiled, heading to the bathroom for a quick bath.
The sound of water running filled the room as she showered, emerging refreshed in a towel, her skin glowing. "Your turn—take a bath here only," she said, tossing him a fresh towel. While he bathed, Banumathi slipped into his room, grabbing his clothes—a simple shirt and pants—and brought them back. They dressed earlier than usual, Banumathi in a light saree that hugged her curves, Sudhip in his casual attire. She even fetched breakfast from the kitchen discreetly, bringing it to her room so they could eat together in peace, chatting lightly about nothing important to keep his mind off the incident.
Shyamala, meanwhile, didn't notice a thing—her thoughts were consumed by the cattle shed, the teasing encounters with Shankaran that had become a secret morning ritual. As she joined him for bathing the cows, she deliberately let her nightie ride up, flashing glimpses of her red laced panty, the sheer fabric clinging to her mound, curly hairs visible through the lace. Her breasts bounced freely as she bent over, the low neckline offering Shankaran generous views of her cleavage, nipples poking against the thin material. She caught him staring, his eyes hungry, and without hesitation, she met his gaze with a knowing smile, her own eyes dropping to his langot, where his bulging dick and heavy balls slid sideways, the black thickness straining the cotton. "Careful with that langot, anna—it's slipping again," she teased softly, her voice husky, making it clear she was staring at his exposed manhood, her pussy melting with arousal inside her panty. During milking, she rolled her nightie higher on her thighs, parting them to show the laced crotch fully, and as he handed her the vessel, she pressed her smooth thighs against his hands, trapping them there for a lingering moment, the heat of her skin searing into his rough palms. The innocent villager flushed, his cock twitching visibly, while Shyamala reveled in the tease, her folds growing slick with desire.
Banumathi and Sudhip left early for the estate office, the misty paths winding through the coffee and pepper plantations. Banumathi linked her arm with her brother's, wrapping her hand around his waist as they walked, their bodies close like a couple's, her hip brushing his with each step. "See that row? Ashwin taught me how the shade trees protect the coffee—it's all about balance," she explained animatedly, pointing out details she'd learned from Ashwin and the workers. Her happy face lit up as she introduced Sudhip to the laborers they passed, "This is my brother Sudhip—he's here to learn too!" The workers nodded warmly, but Banumathi's focus remained on Sudhip, hugging him sideways, her touches lingering to reassure him, letting him lean on her without probing about the morning.
Devasena arrived later with Ashwin and Dinakaran, joining the office routine. As the group dispersed into the fields, Banumathi continued walking with Sudhip through the pepper garden, the vines twisting around tall supports like lovers entwined. Within moments, Ashwin caught up, his eyes immediately drawn to Banumathi's closeness with her brother—the way her hand rested possessively on Sudhip's waist, their fingers occasionally intertwining, bodies caressing subtly as they strolled. He fell in behind them, stalking discreetly, his gaze fixated on Banumathi's swaying ass, the panty line clearly visible through her thin saree, the fabric clinging to her plump cheeks with each hypnotic step. The sight, combined with their intimate touches—her arm around him, his hand brushing her hip like a caress—stirred a deep heat in Ashwin, his submissive urges flaring. He imagined himself serving them, a silent devotee to their forbidden bond.
The temptation grew unbearable; Ashwin veered off the path, slipping behind a large bush in a secluded spot where no workers ventured, the dense foliage shielding him completely. His heart pounded as he freed his hardening cock from his pants, the lean shaft thickening in his hand as he began to stroke slowly, his mind weaving an elaborate fantasy. In his imagination, Sudhip and Banumathi weren't in the fields but tangled in a lavish bed back at the bungalow, the sheets rumpled around their sweat-slicked bodies. Banumathi lay on her back, her saree discarded in a heap, her voluptuous breasts heaving as Sudhip hovered over her, his hands roaming possessively over her curves—kneading her soft belly, tracing the swell of her hips, his fingers dipping between her thighs to part her slick folds. "Akka... you're so wet for me," Sudhip murmured in the fantasy, his voice husky, as he lowered his head to suckle her nipple, biting gently while his cock—thick and veined like in Ashwin's envious glimpses—rubbed against her inner thigh.
Banumathi arched in ecstasy, her hands clutching his hair, pulling him closer. "Sudhip... take me, my brother... fill your akka's pussy," she moaned, her legs wrapping around his waist, guiding his hardness to her entrance. Ashwin stroked faster, picturing himself in the corner of the room, kneeling submissively on the floor, his eyes wide as he watched the siblings unite—Sudhip thrusting deep into her, their bodies slapping together rhythmically, Banumathi's moans filling the air as her breasts bounced with each powerful stroke. In the fantasy, they noticed him, Banumathi turning her head with a commanding smile. "Ashwin... serve us," she ordered, her voice dominant, beckoning him closer. He crawled forward obediently, his submissive nature thrilled, as Sudhip pulled out momentarily, his glistening cock offered to Ashwin. "Clean it for me," Sudhip commanded, and Ashwin imagined leaning in, his tongue lapping at the shaft, tasting Banumathi's juices mixed with Sudhip's pre-cum, his own cock aching untouched.
The vision intensified: Banumathi riding Sudhip reverse, her wide ass grinding down on his lap, cheeks spreading to reveal her tight hole, while Ashwin knelt behind, ordered to lick her there—his tongue tracing her puckered entrance, delving in as she moaned louder, her pussy clenching around her brother's dick. "Yes, Ashwin... worship us like the servant you are," she gasped, her hand reaching back to grip his hair, pulling him deeper into her ass while Sudhip thrust upward, their incestuous union unfolding before his eyes. Ashwin's strokes quickened in reality, his breath ragged behind the bush, pre-cum slicking his palm as he envisioned Sudhip flipping Banumathi onto all fours, pounding her from behind, her massive breasts swinging like pendulums, nipples hard and begging. Ashwin imagined himself beneath her, ordered to suckle them—his mouth latching onto one, tongue swirling the peak while his hand massaged the other, feeling her body rock with each familial thrust.
In the climax of his fantasy, Sudhip groaned, pulling out to spill his hot cum across Banumathi's ass, ropes of seed painting her cheeks, and she commanded Ashwin, "Lick it clean, servant... taste my brother's gift." Ashwin obeyed in his mind, his tongue lapping every drop, savoring the salty essence while Banumathi ground her cum-smeared ass against his face, humiliating and dominating him. The thought pushed him over the edge—Ashwin's cock erupted in his hand, thick spurts landing on the leaves, his body shuddering as he milked himself dry, the fantasy of serving the sibling lovers leaving him spent and yearning for more. Panting, he tucked himself away, slipping back onto the path unnoticed, his inner darkness fed for the moment.
Nalini lingered in the kitchen long after Sudhip's frantic apology and hasty retreat, the simmering milk on the stove bubbling softly like the turmoil in her chest. The early morning chill seeped through the open window, but it did nothing to cool the fire that had ignited between her thighs. Her dark blue laced panty—Shyamala's unexpected gift from the evening before—clung to her like a lover's whisper, the sheer fabric growing increasingly damp as her arousal refused to ebb. She pressed her palm against her mound through the saree, biting her lip to stifle a moan, her mind a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts that she dared not voice aloud. How had a simple mistake unraveled her so completely? And yet, as the incident replayed in her head, it blossomed into something darker, more intoxicating—fantasies that twisted the boundaries of her simple village life into realms of taboo desire.
She couldn't shake Sudhip's words: "Mom, I need you to suck my cock... it's too hard." Spoken in that husky, desperate tone, meant for Shyamala but landing on her ears like a secret confession. Gods, the audacity of it—a son begging his mother for such an intimate act, his voice thick with lust. Nalini had always been orthodox in her ways, her nights with Shankaran tender but predictable, a dutiful wife's release. But now, her imagination ran wild,
painting vivid scenes where Shyamala knelt before her son in the dim light of their room, her wheatish lips parting to envelop his thick, veined shaft. Nalini pictured it: Shyamala's hands cupping his balls, her tongue swirling the tip, sucking greedily as Sudhip groaned, his fingers tangled in her hair, thrusting deeper into her throat. The incestuous bond—mother and son, so wrong yet so primal—sent a shiver through Nalini, her pussy clenching emptily, juices soaking the lace further. What if it were her? The thought crept in unbidden: Sudhip mistaking her again, but this time, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she drops to her knees in the kitchen shadows, pulling down his boxers to free that rigid morning erection, her mouth watering as she takes him in, sucking him like a forbidden fruit, his young hips bucking as he calls her "Akka" in ecstasy.
The rewind in her mind focused obsessively on his touches—the way his strong, city-bred hands had cupped her pussy mound, pressing hard through the saree, fingers tracing her lips with unwitting precision. It had been electric, a younger boy's bold grip on her mature, untouched-by-strangers flesh, sending sparks straight to her core. She exhaled shakily, her hand slipping under her saree now, fingers brushing the slick lace, circling her swollen clit as she relived it. Thrilling, exclamatory—the heat of his palm searing her mound, kneading as if claiming her, making her folds part and weep with need. And his hands on her boobs... oh, those rough kneads, thumbs pinching her nipples through the bra until they ached for more. No man but Shankaran had touched her there in years, and Sudhip's youthful vigor had awakened a hunger she didn't know she harbored. In her fantasy, it escalated: Sudhip pinning her against the counter, his fingers delving under the saree, ripping the lace aside to plunge into her wet pussy, stroking her G-spot while his other hand mauled her breasts, twisting her nipples until she came on his hand, whispering "Akka, you're so tight for me."
But the fantasies deepened, veering into even darker territories inspired by the family's whispered dynamics she'd glimpsed—the hugs that lingered too long, the dances where bodies pressed with more than familial affection.
Nalini imagined adultery woven with incest: herself sneaking into Sudhip's room at night, Shankaran asleep in the quarters, her laced body offered as a secret gift. He'd wake to her straddling him, her pussy grinding against his hardness, whispering, "Let akka suck you like you wanted," before taking him deep into her mouth, her tongue savoring his youthful essence while he moaned "Mom... Akka..." in confusion and bliss. Or bolder still—joining Shyamala and Sudhip in their taboo union, a threesome where mother and servant shared the son: Shyamala guiding Nalini's head down to lick his balls while she rode him, their breasts brushing, pussies dripping in shared ecstasy. The thought made Nalini's fingers move faster, dipping into her entrance through the lace, her walls clenching around them as she pictured the forbidden blend—incestuous love amplified by her adulterous intrusion, bodies entwined in the bungalow's shadows.
She gasped as a small orgasm rippled through her, her thighs quivering, but it only fueled the fire. Deeper fantasies emerged: What if Shankaran discovered her arousal, joining in with jealous fury, fucking her while she confessed Sudhip's touches? Or imagining the whole family—Dinakaran with his daughters, Shyamala with Sudhip—inviting her into their web, a servant elevated to plaything, her glamorous curves worshipped by all. Nalini leaned against the wall, her breath ragged, fingers slick with her essence, the lace panty ruined with her arousal.
Tonight, with Shankaran, she'd channel this—surprise him in the lace, ride him wildly while her mind replayed Sudhip's words, blending husbandly duty with these forbidden dreams. But for now, she straightened her saree, the arousal a secret pulse between her legs, wondering if the city family had unlocked something irreversible in her soul.
Wonderful update..equally wonderful are the super sexy photos that you add to your updates. They are very good!!
Syamala_39
Syamala_39
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Dont know if you can read Hindi...i am also writing a story (which you can find it in my signature). Do look at it. Thanks.
Syamala_39