Indian Mother-Daughter Love

I slipped the key quietly in the lock and deftly opened the door. The entrance passage of the hallway was already suffused with the first rays of the morning sun. The sounds of the Indian morning were rising from the street below. Not that I needed any reminding that I’d been out all night. What had begun as a dinner party thrown by my American boss Belinda had developed into rather more than that.

This itself was not a surprise either. Or rather, let me put it another way. It was, of course, Belinda who had first awoken me to the intensity of my attraction to women. Her frank admission that she was bisexual had lit a fuse which had exploded in such an unexpected and explosive way. It had led to my mother and I becoming lesbian lovers - each of us avowing a love and passion for the other. Instead of occupying the same house as repressed and isolated individuals, we had come together as a couple, kissing and hugging on the sofa during the evenings and exploring each others luscious bodies by night. I had never been happier, more fulfilled; and neither, by her own accounts, had my mother.

It was thus with some apprehension that I told my mother that Belinda had invited me to her flat for dinner. Her husband, she said, would be visiting for a few days and she wanted to take the opportunity to introduce us and, she hoped, get to know me rather better.

The possibilities of the situation were obvious. Belinda had made no secret to me of her bisexual tendencies. It was, of course, her own willingness to speak so openly of her desire for women that had ignited my own latent lesbian tendencies. She had entered my fantasies at that stage and had never wholly left them - fulfilled though I was in my mother’s love.

Neither had she done anything to disguise the fact that she found me attractive. Rarely did a day go by when she did not compliment me on my figure or my choice of clothes. When we were together in her office I often found her gaze lingering on my ample bust or my legs. I was deeply flattered and did nothing to shield from her my charms. Quite frankly, it turned me on to be the subject of this sophisticated American’s attention. Her own fine features and tight body were enough to keep me aroused in her presence. I knew that if she made a move on me I would give her all she wanted. What I didn’t know was how my mother would take such a development. Would it hurt her to hear that I fancied another woman? Could she accept that her baby might make it with a younger and western woman? I needed answers to these questions before I could respond to Belinda’s invitation - before I contemplated taking an irrevocable step. I certainly had no wish to damage my loving relationship with my mother.

I broached the subject that evening as my mother and I relaxed on the sofa after one of her typically full and delicious meals. My mother always perspired as she cooked for me in the sultry Indian evening and I loved the heightened aroma of her body - rich with the mixed scent of spices, oils, perfume and sweat. She delighted in opening her curvaceous body to me, slipping of her silvakamiz and reclining against the arm of the sofa in only a bra and panties. Wearing only a loose T-shirt, I had slipped into her arms and squeezed her gently, our lips meeting in lazy kisses interspersed with occasional conversation and mutual caresses. So we spent many an evening until I, wanting more, would whisper in my mother’s ear - ‘Please mummy, take me to bed…’

Thus secure in my mother’s arms I mentioned Belinda’s invitation to dinner and asked if she would mind if I accepted. I needn't have worried. Smiling, she pressed my face to her bare shoulder.

‘Of course I don’t mind, my dear. When your boss asks you to dinner you simply must accept. There’s no question about it.’

‘But mother, you know about Belinda? You know she’s into women as well as men. And you know that she flirts with me at work. Are you sure you don’t mind - what if she makes a pass at me?’

‘Mmmm, I wasn’t born yesterday you know. I can quite imagine what Belinda might have on her mind. But tell me, darling, what if she did make a move on you, how would you respond? Would you welcome that? Be honest.’

Avoiding my mother’s gave I pressed my face deeper into her bare neck.

‘Well, ehh, yes, mother, yes, I think I would…’

I was blushing, acutely embarrassed to be speaking of my feelings for another woman whilst lying in my mother’s arms. Here I was with my lover, a woman who satisfied my desires ten-times over, admitting that I would welcome the attentions of a woman 25 years her junior. I felt my mother's hand begin to caress my back and slide down to my bare arse.

‘So tell me about Belinda, baby. How does she turn you on? What does she do to you? You know you must tell mummy everything….’

I told my mother what happened each day at work. How Belinda focused her attentions upon me, how she praised my clothes, admired my appearance. I told her how her eyes lingered on my full bust and how she complimented me on my womanly curves. I described the scent of her perfume, the expensive cut of her suits, and the way she rarely missed an opportunity to slip her arms around me as we discussed paperwork or a homepage. And I related the innuendo of her conversation - the way she spoke of her appreciation of the beauty of Indian women, of her openly expressed bisexuality.

As I spoke I noticed my mother breathing more deeply, her heavy breasts rising and falling with a steady rhythm. Her hand had tightened its hold upon my arse. I raised my own hand now and placed it on her left breast. She sighed. I leaned forward and kissed my mother’s full lips, still pungent from the taste of the meal. As always we expressed our love though soft full kisses, each finding warmth and comfort in the taste of the other. Only when I lifted my lips from hers did my mother whisper to me.

‘One moment, darling. Do you mind if I get a little more comfortable?’

Leaning forward on the sofa my mother reached around and unhooked her bra, sliding it over the full flesh of her heavy breasts. Unsupported now they spread out and hung low on her reclining body, the large dark nipples, firm and prominent, pointing downwards in that way that always aroused my desire. Her hair was still tied up in a bun from the cooking, giving me an unhindered view of her invitingly soft upper body. Leaning back against the arm of the sofa my mother took a breast in each hand and began to caress her nipples.

‘That’s better. Now darling, tell me some more about you and this cute American.’

I began to understand the situation. As ever, my mother had the capacity to surprise me. Just as it had been she who had initiated our sexual relationship, so it was she who, rather than getting jealous at my mentioning of a woman’s lesbian desire for me, was actually getting turned on by it. And to tell the truth, I was also finding my juices stirring at the thought.

I lifted off the baggy white T-shirt I was wearing to reveal the tight black lacy bra that was enclosing my own full breasts. I slid forward now into my mother’s waiting arms. I let my tongue trail over her ample flesh. God she tasted and smelt so good! I loved her heady aroma at the end of a hot and humid day, when I could lick the juices that had oozed from her pores, relish the salty taste of her sweat, breathe deep on the scent of her perfume, and sample the heady atmosphere of garam masala that still clung about her - testimony to the food she so lovingly prepared for me. Her daughter and lover.

My mother understood my desires and hugged me to her, enveloping me in her soft arms, surrounding me in her fertile femininity. My own hair was open and lay plastered against her moist body, my mother loving to run her fingers through my thick dark locks. It was my turn to groan as I kissed my way across her chest and down towards her hardening nipple.

‘Ummm, that’s it baby, feed from mummy, take what you need girl. But tell me honey about Belinda, tell me what she does to you - I need to know…’

‘Yes, mummy, yes, she turns me on. I feel so good when she flirts with me. It gets me excited. It gets me hot. And I flirt back. I let my hand touch her body. I hold her gaze. I stroke my hair and lick my lips when know she's looking at me. I make sure she gets a good look at my breasts - and my arse when I bend over. Oh mummy, she makes my pussy nice and wet - just as you like, mummy, just as you like your daughter’s hot cunt….

My mother’s breathing was getting still heavier and she had lifted her arms up above her hair, exposing her underarms to my gaze. I was pleased to see that she hadn't shaved for a few days and there was a covering of dark hair on her erotic armpits. I licked my way up, the pungency of sweat getting all the stronger until my tongue hit her erotic zone and she moaned, pressing me deeper with her right hand on the back of my head. As I kissed and licked her yielding soft flesh I continued to turn her on with the dirty talk she loved.

‘Belinda’s had lots of women, mummy. She told me of her lesbian desires. She’s got a man, but she wants women too. She needs women. She loves to seduce them, mummy, she loves to seduce married women, she teaches them the joys of lesbian love - she fucks them while their husbands watch. She takes them while their husbands look on. Oh mummy, she tells me everything - she knows it gets me hot mummy. She knows instinctively I'm a lesbian. And mummy, the things she says about Indian women….’

Sitting back on my knees I lifted up my T-shirt and pulled it over my head. I was naked now and lifted my hands to my thick hair to toss it back over my shoulders, giving my mother a good view of my own heavy DD-cup breasts. Our passionate embrace in the humid air of summer had caused my own skin to be covered by a film of moisture. Every inch of me felt aroused and alive - responding to my mother’s sensual presence, but also the thoughts of Belinda. Speaking out loud my secret desires was turning me on as much as my mother. We had found yet another common bond.

Opening my firm thighs and moving forward at the same time I was able to straddle my mother above her hips, my horny cunt coming to rest on the soft flesh of my mother’s generous stomach. It was a position I loved, enjoying the undulating texture of my mother's well-endowed body. My mother placed her hands on both of my thighs and helped be rock my pussy against her tummy. The juice oozing from my pussy mingled with her own perspiration to lubricate my movements and I was able to raise my hands to my breasts, caressing and massaging them and teasing my nipples as my mother ate me up with her eyes.

‘That’s it, darling, stroke your gorgeous breasts and rub your pussy against mummy’s tummy. Mmm that feels good baby - I can feel your juices on my skin. Am I nice and soft for you - like a mummy should be for her daughter? That’s it girl, rub harder, use me baby, use my body for your needs - that’s what I'm here for. Whenever you want me. Whoever else you see and love, I'll always be here for you as you want me…. Now tell me about those Indian women, darling, tell me what Belinda said to you…’

‘Oh mummy, yes, I'll tell you….oh the things she said. She said she is intoxicated by the beauty of Indian women, she can't get enough of seeing us up close. She said that she loves our large flashing eyes, our smooth wheaten skin, our luscious black hair, our gorgeous clothes, and our elegance. Ohhh’

I was continuing to gyrate my pussy against my mother’s stomach. My juices were flowing freely now - my mum loves my soppy wet cunt, the way I cream for her when we’re together. I was creaming now as I humped her ripe, full body - the smell of my arousal adding yet another aphrodisiac to the already steamy night air. Gently my mother slid her hand towards the thick black hair of my cunt, clammy now with my feminine excretions. Knowingly she eased her middle finger against my cunt flesh, seeking out my clit. I took in breath sharply and intensified my movements, my well-toned stomach muscles allowing me to shift and ride my mother’s body.

I loved watching my mother's feminine fingers explore my pussy; I loved the dark red nail polish she always used and the gold of the rings that looked so good against the backdrop of her dark skin. Those rings had been part of her wedding dowry. What, I wondered, would her husband’s family think if they knew that they were now rubbing up against his daughter’s greedy cunt!

‘Oh mummy, yes, yes, I'm loving this mummy - your so good to your naughty little slut….Oh darling, Belinda said she can sense the fire of Indian women, our erotic desires. She thinks we’re insatiable mummy, that our cunts are hot and demanding, and that Indian men can't satisfy us. They neglect us and don’t know our needs and that we have secret lesbian desires, desires we can't act on but which dominate our thoughts when we are in bed at night and our husbands are sleeping. Oh mummy, she’s right isn't she, she’s right? You know, mummy, don’t you - how you were with dad but wanted another woman….didn’t you mum….arghhh?’

Two fingers were now sliding up my cunt while my mother’s thumb massaged and manipulated my swollen and extended clit. My cunt was burning now and I could hardly bear the extra sensation. I leant back now on my arms, my tits thrusting forward from my body, rippling to the motion of my hips as I humped against my mother’s fingers, all the while supported by her soft yielding belly. I knew that it was only a matter of time before I presented mummy with the first of my orgasms, a gift of my devotion.

‘Come on honey, give it to me. Give it to mummy - release yourself, share your desire. Yes baby its true, I stored up my lesbian desires, they simmered and simmered and grew hotter and hotter. But I couldn’t tell anyone. I had to please myself, secretly, silently, when my man was out. This is what I wanted, what I always wanted. Now give it to me baby, cum for mummy, make this lesbian happy…’

I couldn’t have refused her if I’d tried. Thrusting hard and fast against my mother's loving finger I gave her all I had and let my orgasm break over me, over her. My head fell back and I was looking at the ceiling, my thick hair cascading onto the sofa. I yelled as I broke and my curvaceous form shook as I gave my self up to my release. My mother knew how to bring me off completely with her fingers and squealed with delight as I climaxed against her hand. And she had every reason to: for the first time I had squirted pussy juice during an orgasm!

‘Oh my god, oh my god - your squirting baby - once, twice, go on, onto mummy’s tummy. My randy baby, my hot little girl. Squirting onto mummy's fat tummy, covering me in your juice, that’s so good. Oh you’re beautiful, honey, beautiful. I love you so much….I'm so happy…’

I rolled back onto the sofa, my legs stretched either side of my lover’s full thighs. I was panting for breath, relishing the after-glow of an intense release. I wanted my mother to hold me now, to comfort me in my arms as she always did after I had had an intense orgasm.

‘Come to me mummy and kiss me please. Your Sema needs you.’

Swinging her legs off the side of the sofa my mother rose slowly to her feet and stood before me naked but for the flimsy panties that were now damp and clinging to the contours of her pussy. Deftly she eased the fabric over her ample hips and allowed the panties to slide down to the floor. She placed her right hand on her pussy while I watched, gently stroking it, ministering to the desire which radiated from her womanhood. With her left hand she made a circular motion over her plump round stomach, massaging my juices into her skin as a final act of possession.

Only slowly did she allow her hand to drift up to the full distended orb that was her left breast. My mother’s breasts are, like mine, very sensitive and she closed her eyes and groaned as she massaged the weight of her flesh, her big dark nipple which had suckled me as a baby hardening against the smooth palm of her hand. I loved to watch my mother pleasure herself. Long years of practice in a frigid marriage had made her the mistress of this art and I spent long periods as we lay together in bed watching my mother pleasure herself with her hands, bringing herself to orgasm after orgasm.

This evening though I was hungry for more and shifting from the sofa I positioned myself behind her, placing a hand on either of her shoulders and pressing my stomach against her fat arse.

I kissed the back of her neck, exposed to me as her hair was still tied up from the cooking. As my lips trailed over her skin I allowed my hands to rove over her delicious body, enjoying the luxury of her curves, the ample expression of her absolute femininity. One hand pressed her waist firmly, while the other smoothed over her generous hips. Mummy, who was pleasuring her heavy sagging breasts with her own hands, groaned and allowed her head to roll back on her shoulders. I sought the exposed side of her neck with my tongue and lips till I found her right ear. I teased the ear lobe with my tongue before pressing it deeper into her ear. Again mummy groaned and reached her right hand back to clasp my head and keep me close. I whispered in her ear.

‘Mummy dearest, would you like me to release your hair now? Its tired of being all tied and bound up. It wants to hang free and I want to see it and run my fingers through it and enjoy its fullness. Shall I untie your gorgeous hair, my darling?

This was one of our favourite erotic rituals. My mother has beautiful hair: thick, black and long - the streaks of grey only adding to its allure. Previous to our becoming lovers she had often worn it open during the day. But since that date she kept it religiously tied up in a bun while was out at work. It was, she said, a symbol of her love for me. When she had first married she would only let her hair down when she came before my father in the privacy of their bedroom. Her rich and beguiling locks were not for the gaze of the men of the markets and streets. After my father had left this imperative had been lost and my mother had been much less rigorous in these matters. But since we had commenced our physical relationship my mother had reverted to her traditional ways. And it had became one of the precious moments in our love making when she would stand before me naked and slowly unclip her hair and toss it loose to cascade over her seductive body. Only it wasn’t a man she was releasing it for but a woman; not her husband but her daughter. The eroticism of the act was amazing and it always stirred my juices.

‘Yes, baby, release mummy’s hair - free me for your gaze, your touch…’

Gently I slipped the clips and pins from her bunched hair. One strand fell loose and curled, then another. All the while I continued to kiss and nibble at my darling's soft neck. I delayed the moment of release as long as possible until, with a final move, her hair fell loose over her body and over me. I inhaled its fragrance and relished its softness. There was no end to the sensual delights my mother gave me. She filled my erotic being to its limit - and beyond.

I was kissing my mother passionately now, my lust building again after my orgasm. I was kissing her hair, her neck, her shoulders and her back, licking and tasting and relishing very inch of her. My hands were groping the front of her body - my right exploring the weight and texture of her right boob, my left rhythmically circling her distended stomach. Her own hands were far from idle as she stroked her thick and fleshy pussy lips whilst gyrating her arse against me. She was burning with desire and her moans and sighs and sobs testified to her pleasure. Id rarely known her so turned on. I knew the reason - and gave her more of what she wanted….