This story uses the formal and respectful Hindi terms for mother and father, maataaji and pitaaji, as well as beta, for their eighteen year old son, to add an Indian element to my writing due to the awe-inspiring influence of my Indian Dom. I am his submissive and submitting this story by his command and for his pleasure. Please comment, constructive criticism is welcomed so that I continue to improve my writing.
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Kneeling beside the bath she sponged her eighteen year old son's back in small circular motions leaving swirls of white bubbles across his dark skin. He carried the same colour as his Indian father, a beautiful rich chocolate brown, her pale caucasian genetics fortunately having not diluted the pigment one iota. Dunking the sponge between his legs she was reminded how uncomfortable she felt being in the presence of her naked son now he was in his late teens. He was as tall as his father and equally handsome, though more athletic as his father had been when he was younger. The boy's uncut penis bobbed about in the water rising through the bubbles as her motion created ripples. Her stomach lurched at the sight, it was no longer a boy's penis but a young man's. Swallowing hard she averted her eyes as she tried to disassociate her emotions from the task at hand.
Under different circumstances she would have insisted that a teenage boy bathe himself, but these weren't ordinary circumstances. She abided by his father's wishes, that she would continue to bathe him as she had when he was a babe in arms until otherwise instructed. She couldn't even surreptitiously avoid the more intimate cleansing, or suggest to Amit that he could wash himself, as his father frequently stood at the door behind her to talk to their son about his day. Occasionally he would even ask if Maataaji had cleaned him thoroughly, emphasising to Amit the necessary diligence of ones hygiene and health. Other times Pitaa would address her directly, expressing what a handsome young man Beta had become, making her look at him as she washed his genitalia.
This wasn't about Amit though. This was about the control that the proud Indian father had over his otherwise extroverted English rose. Pushing her beyond her boundaries at his leisure, he scrutinised her behaviour, enjoying how she ricocheted between the shame of humiliation and the pleasure of arousal when he suggested particular scenarios to her. The conflicting emotions she experienced magnified as he relentlessly sort her subsequent thoughts. The very nature of pushing boundaries invariably created de-sensitivity necessitating greater creativity to keep the intensity fuelled. But bathing their son naturally became more and more intense as time progressed.
The boy had often come into the bathroom when she assisted his father. When the boy was younger Pitaaji would pick Amit up and sit him on his lap while she scrubbed his back, praising Maataaji for her endeavours. He purposely made sure she washed both of them but required much more intimate attention from her when the boy wasn't around. He would stand with his feet spread, his back to her, and have her wash him slowly and purposefully, finishing with her mouth caressing between his buttocks, her tongue probing deep into his tight ring. After he would have her kneel at his feet, his fingers roughly tangled in her hair, forcing her to look up at him, to acknowledge how little she had aroused him, until she begged to please him and suck his cock.
Soaping the sponge she rubbed the Amit's thighs, delaying the inevitable. Pitaaji stood close behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, massaging it gently as she tensed and performed her duty.
"You must relax Maataaji or you may do the boy an injury being so stiff."
She knew he chose his words carefully, hearing the smile in his voice. She glanced up, to her peril, the back of her hand sliding against the Amit's testes. The colour rose up her neck and face, burning furiously as she mumbled her apologies and rinsed the soap off his legs.
"What are you doing Maataaji? Trying to excite him! I'm sure Amit would rather do that in the privacy of his room."
They both laughed as she pulled the plug and Amit stood and faced her waiting for the towel. Struggling to keep her eyes cast down and reach for the towel, Pitaaji held her in place so she could not move her face from being so close to her son's genitalia. His hand circled the nape of her neck applying gentle pressure.
"Maataaji, you were a little hasty in emptying the bath. You have not finished washing him thoroughly, has she Beta?"
"No Pitaaji." Amit's tone betrayed no interest in the exchange between his parents, the mounting sexual tension in his mother.
Their son had no reason to feel shame or embarrassment in front of his Maataaji as this was how it had always been with no exception. During every bath time Maataaji ensured he was thoroughly clean and healthy. Sometimes she would remind him in a matter-of-fact tone the signs he must look for in case of infection and discomfort. He viewed his mother's attention to the intimate areas of his body as a medical interest. In fact he was so comfortable in her presence that he had frequently asked Maataaji questions of a sexual nature when Pitaaji was absent. But Amit had noticed over time how embarrassed she became, averting her eyes and her cheeks burning a radiant pink. He would see relief in her expression when he asked something that she genuinely couldn't answer, and would suggest he left his further queries until his Pitaaji returned.
Maataaji felt her pulse race as she realised her folly. She now had no choice except to look up at her Beta's penis and prepare to wash it, gently pulling the foreskin back to clean it thoroughly. Her hands shook as she ran the water and sponged under his testes, between his legs and buttocks. With immense self-awareness she held his penis and stroked the sponge along it's length. She could feel it swelling and becoming firm in her palm.
"Have you learnt how to control your erection Beta?"
"Sometimes Pitaaji. And sometimes I have absolutely no control and it can be very embarrassing in public."
"What do you do then?"
"I go and find a private place and relieve it Pitaaji."
Like father like son, Maataa thought, Amit's erection now fully realised in her hand. Her thought processes lead her to imagine Pitaaji disappearing frequently to jerk off, as she had had the pleasure to witness on many occasions. She adored his cock, a darker brown, almost black, in comparison to his skin tone. As she thought about him stroking himself in front of her, the dark head protruding from his foreskin as he pulled it back, rubbing his fingertip through the pre-cum oozing out of the elliptical slit, she unconsciously licked her lips, her breathing quickening as she opened her mouth. She was brought back to her senses as Pitaaji tightened his grip and pulled on her hair.
"Maataaji, are you wanting to suck on Beta's cock?"
In her daydream she had unwittingly started stroking her son's cock. To her horror she realised that her pussy was moist and her body was alive with tingling electricity from her hyper-sensitive nipples down to her wet throbbing cunt. Her shame was not great enough to counter her arousal and her chest heaved as she considered what Pitaaji would now expect of her. Almost as an out-of-body experience she watched her hand stroking up and down Amit's dark shaft, a droplet of pre-cum forming. She could no longer distinguish her feelings for her son from those for the father, except that up until now, her eighteen year old son was untouched and as pure as the driven snow in her eyes.
