Gunmay, an 18-year-old male lay on his bed in Igatpuri, a town about 120 miles from the seven island metropolis of Mumbai. He was more commonly known by, and responded to, his nickname Guddu (adorable small boy), derived from the small male dolls on sale in the markets called Gudda. It was just as well he had a nickname, as his real name would be translated as virtuous, and his thoughts as he lay on his bed, slowly fisting his cock to fullness, were far from virtuous.
His spit wettened hand moved up and back his thick eight-inch shaft, from its base to its wide head, and his fingers traced the veins that stood proud along its length. Precum started to form on the slit at the apex of the one-eyed monster and he strained to make sure he didn't cum quickly. He switched off his laptop which had been open at the incest section of the Indian sex stories site and once again cursed the lack of good quality Indian porn on the net. All due to the Indian Government's Section 67 of the IT Act which criminalises "publishing or transmitting obscene material in electronic form" with imprisonment of up to five years and a fine of up to Rs 10 lakh.
His mind went over the 40 or so different fantasies he had regarding his mother Meera, and he selected one he had not used for a while in his twice-daily masturbation sessions that always involved his 37-year-old mother. He stroked faster as the script in his mind started to play out. He shut his eyes and concentrated on himself about to bathe. Because the plumbing was out of action, he was having to stand and use a bucket of heated water and a sponge. In his mind's eye, his mother entered, her 34 30 36-inch body covered, as always at home, by a loose kurta top that reached below her knees. Although the front and back panels were split to the knee her baggy kurta trousers ensured she displayed no flesh.
"Don't start till I am ready," she said to her son and disrobed displaying, no flaunting, her soft, yet not sagging tits with their large almost black areolae and thick already hard stubby nipples. Guddu made a mental adjustment and miraculously her nipples became pierced with large, heavy, dark gold rings. Yes, that was better. His eyes looked down at her slit and yes, as always in his fantasies, it was starting to moisten below her thick black pubic bush. She watched intently, her tongue wetting her lips as she disrobed and stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. She began to wet the bar of soap and the sponges, rubbing them in the water until foam started to appear.
"Things will be different soon, dearest mother," said Guddu, as she started to wash his back. "I can't tell you the details yet, can't talk about it until the time is right, but we will be able to do this and extra more often." He felt positively giddy.
"We?" she asked sensuously, "we will be doing this and more regularly?" She ran her hands and soapy sponge over his skin, rubbing away the dirt and grime of his day.
"Oh, yes, we will be doing everything together, every day and night."
She nodded, as she knelt behind him so that she could wash his buttocks and his legs. "Yes, that is what I want," she said.
A treacherous thought invaded his fantasy. "You know your mother is traditional, conservative and devoted to your father Kanha. This would never happen." Guddu forced it from his mind and continued his incest fantasy number 27.
He turned around to face his mother. His penis was erect and swollen, jutting hungrily toward her face. He paused, waiting to see her reactions, and as always, her face sashayed into excited lust which she somehow controlled, and whispered "Wait until it is bursting with cum." She soaped the front of his legs and then his erect prick, as though it were just another part of him. "Yes, mother, longer and slower is better," Guddu moaned, his eyes never leaving his mother's hands. "It's always about making it better and better for us both if you know what I mean."
Her son turned around and faced his 5 ft 5-inch mother, and as she sang of the undying love in the song Tum Hi Ho, she anointed his chest with oil and then slowly sank to her knees before him. As she sang, she slid her oily hands over his stiff cock and balls until his fuck rod glistened in the light from the small window.
As she sang, his hands closed firmly around hers, and he started moving her hands slowly back and forth along his turgid length. She stroked his stiff rod under his guidance, the rhythmic wet sound of the oil under her fingers an accompaniment to her voice. One of his hands went to the top of her head, tilting her still young looking, attractive face up to look at him. She sang to her son, looking up at his face, seeing it flushed with arousal and desire in his eyes; the love he bore her, the hatred of not being together as a husband and wife. His mouth opened and his nostrils flared as her hands worked faster and faster on the erection before her, and she continued to sing of the lovers in the song and their passion, bright enough to light the sky.
And as she sang of the final doom that overtook them, he started to moan, and she stroked him harder and harder until at last, he grunted, and strings of his cum shot from the head of his swollen, glistening cock to splatter down upon her upturned face. She didn't blink or flinch as he ejaculated upon her, didn't miss a note or a word, but sang until he was finished, the song over, and his orgasm finished. Guddu groaned and she gently used her mouth to clean the cum from his cock.
As part one of his fantasy finished, in real life, Meera was lying in her room thinking. Igatpuri was a fairly small town, with a population of less than 40,000 and was far more traditional in thought and treatment of women than the big cities like Delhi or Mumbai. She had come from a village 25 kilometres from the Igatpuri and had been brought up even more conservatively. She was proud of her good character and that she was not a sex-starved, vulgar bitch, like some she had seen in the Bollywood movies at a friend's house as she did not watch them at her house. Of course, she didn't watch porn. The thought of wearing a western dress or even a midriff revealing saree made her shudder. As for the morals of the younger generation, she was revolted. How could they act like that enjoying sex, not being faithful? It was what she had been conditioned to believe.
But was that the real truth, she wondered? Lately, she had been thinking of sex most of the time, and not just quick fucks to get children. She was thinking of long, prolonged fucking where a tireless well-hung younger male ploughed her, doing his utmost to give her pleasure. She was 37 years old now and although she had born two children, she knew her 34D-30-36 body with its soft, full but non-saggy, tits and eye-catching, perfect, butter-like soft arse was still very attractive. But how long would it last before it transformed into that of an overweight flabby cow? Should she let her last years of desirability waste away?
She had naively, happily married at the age of 18 Kanhar, a minor Government official with almost no prospects of further advancement, after his proposal at the nearby Vihigaon Waterfall. They had continued to live at Igatpuri as they raised their two children: her favourite Guddu and his 19-year-old sister, the skinny plain, almost ugly, looking Prisha. She had never had eyes or thoughts of another man since her marriage, even though their unions in bed had been rare and short-lived. In fact, they had been non-existent for the last fifteen years since the time Kanhar had shown a liking for what she saw as depraved couplings. He had suggested that he wanted unusual sex. Things like watching her and a prostitute have lesbian sex before he fucked them. Since then, they had slept in separate beds.
She felt blessed because of her two children, but a little sad because her baby, Gundu, was to leave for Mumbai soon to attend the S P Jain Institute of Management and Research (better known as SPJIMR). Normally they would not have been able to afford this, but Kanhar had won a prize in an online lottery, and she had convinced him to spend it on Guddu's education. Not enough to send Guddu to Australia but enough to attend SPJIMR and a boarding house in Mumbai. Even though he could catch the train home some weekends, she would miss him.
Surprisingly she realised she had been idly toying with her love hole as she thought, and even more suprisingly she was very wet. She made the conscious decision to keep fingering her slit and clit.
Meanwhile, Guddu was continuing his fantasy. His cock, both in his fantasy and real-life was quivering and hard again. His mother, Meera, was bent at the waist gripping the washbasin as he ploughed her writhing body from behind. He gripped her full shapely arse as he drilled into her. She shrieked for deeper penetration. "Fuck me, fuck me deep, my son. Use your cock fully on your willing mother. I need it."