The ceiling fan whirred lazily above Pasindu, sprawled across the bed in a haze of half-sleep, half-regret. He’d called in sick to work, but the truth was he just couldn’t muster the energy to face the day. The house was oppressively quiet, the absence of Vishmi’s soft hums and gentle laughter making the walls feel heavier, almost suffocating. Six months into their marriage, and already their life had settled into a predictable rhythm—pleasant, yes, but lacking the spark Pasindu craved. Vishmi was lovely, with her delicate features and modest demeanor, but their nights together, though tender, lacked the fire he remembered from another time, another person. Sighing, he flipped onto his back, staring at the plain white ceiling, his thoughts drifting to the one woman who still set his blood ablaze.
The front door creaked open, breaking the silence, followed by the familiar shuffle of footsteps. “Putha, are you home?” Kusum’s voice, warm and comforting, echoed from the living room.
“Yes, Amma,” Pasindu called back, sitting up slightly, not bothering to cover his bare chest. The bed creaked as he shifted, his body heavy with restlessness.
“You’re not sick, are you?” Her voice carried from the kitchen now, accompanied by the faint clatter of pots and pans. Kusum’s weekly ritual of cleaning and cooking had begun, a habit she’d clung to since retiring, though Pasindu knew it was her way of staying close to him, even after his marriage.
“No, just… didn’t feel like work today,” he replied, rubbing his face as he stood and stretched. He padded toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorway to watch her. Kusum moved with purpose, her loose frock swaying gently, her silver earrings glinting in the light. At 56, she radiated a vitality that was impossible to ignore—her energy infectious, her laugh always on the verge of spilling over.
“Oh, you’re awake. Tea?” she asked without turning, her hands busy with fresh vegetables under the running water.
“Nah,” Pasindu said, his voice low, carrying a weight that made her pause. She glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes narrowing slightly.
“Something wrong, Putha?” she asked, her tone casual but tinged with curiosity.
Pasindu hesitated, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know how to say this, Amma.”
Kusum turned back to the sink, rinsing the vegetables with deliberate care. “What is it?”
“It doesn’t feel the same,” he admitted, frustration creeping into his voice. “Not like it was with you.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she turned off the tap. “Oh, Putha. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the day before your wedding.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. “How could I? That hotel room… you were a wild horse, Amma. Rode me like I was your toy. It still gets me hard just thinking about it.”
Kusum set the vegetables aside, her expression unreadable. “You’re remembering everything except what matters most.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Pasindu said, rolling his eyes. “The promise. No more of… us, after I got married. I remember.”
“Then why are we even talking about this?” she asked, picking up a knife and starting to chop, her movements precise but tense.
Pasindu stepped closer, his bare chest brushing against her back as he caged her against the counter, his hands resting on either side of her. “Because I want you, Amma. Like before. Every time I’m with Vishmi, I close my eyes and picture you. That’s the only way I feel anything.”
Kusum froze mid-chop, her grip tightening on the knife. “Putha, stop it. That poor girl…” Her voice was firm, but her body leaned ever so slightly into his touch, betraying her resolve.
Pasindu wasn’t listening. His breath was hot against her neck as he nuzzled closer, his hardened length pressing against her through the fabric of her frock. His hands roamed over her curves, bold and unapologetic. “Just once, Amma,” he murmured, his lips grazing her skin. “I need you.”
Kusum’s chest rose and fell faster, her voice wavering as she tried to hold her ground. “We can’t. You’re married, and I won’t let my son cheat on his wife.”
But her body told a different story, softening under his touch. Pasindu’s hands slid lower, gripping her hips as he pressed himself closer. “Amma…” His voice was thick with desire, a plea and a demand all at once.
She turned in his arms, her dark eyes locking with his. For a heartbeat, they stood frozen, the air between them crackling. Then, slowly, Kusum reached up, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “Putha…” she began, her voice trembling.
But Pasindu didn’t wait. His lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss, hungry and desperate. Kusum melted into it for a moment before pulling back, her breath ragged. “I can’t, Putha. Not like this,” she whispered, her hands trembling against his chest as she pushed him away gently.
Pasindu’s eyes burned with need. “Don’t do this to me, Amma.” He stepped back, yanking down his pants in one swift motion, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock sprang free, thick and pulsing, the tip glistening. He stood there, unashamed, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he held her gaze. “Look at me.”
Kusum’s lips parted, her eyes flicking downward before she forced herself to look away. “You think I don’t feel it? I know you want me, Baby. But how can I face Vishmi after this? You’re married. Stay loyal to her.” Her voice was firm, but her hips shifted slightly, betraying the heat pooling within her.
“Come on, Amma,” Pasindu snapped, his frustration boiling over. “Six months with her, but forever with you. And don’t talk to me about loyalty. How many men did you sleep with behind Dad’s back? Hell, you fucked me while he was in the house. Remember the bathroom? Him watching cricket, and me balls deep inside you?” His voice was raw, a mix of anger and longing.
Kusum’s breath hitched, but she forced herself to stay calm. “One minute you want me, the next you’re picking a fight. Make up your mind, Putha.”
“I’m not fighting,” he said, his tone softening as he cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “I’m desperate for you, Amma. Vishmi can’t give me what you do.”
Kusum sighed, her hands resting on his wrists, poised to push him away but lingering instead. “Talk to her, Putha. She’s your wife. You can work on your marriage.”
“Fuck this!” Pasindu snapped, stepping back abruptly. He yanked up his pants, his movements jerky with frustration. “Don’t come back here. Seeing you just makes it worse.” He stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Kusum alone, her chest heaving as she leaned against the counter.
Memories flooded her mind—stolen moments with Pasindu, the heat of his hands, the way he made her feel alive like no one else could. She closed her eyes, a soft moan escaping as she remembered him pinning her against the wall, fucking her until she screamed. Her resolve crumbled. She couldn’t let their bond die over a promise made in guilt. Straightening, determination flashed in her eyes as she walked toward the bedroom.
Pasindu lay sprawled on the bed, naked and soft with frustration. Kusum didn’t say a word. She stood beside the bed, her fingers moving deliberately as she unbuttoned her frock, letting it slide to the floor. Her bra followed, her full breasts bouncing slightly as they were freed, her nipples already hard. She slipped off her panties, stepping out of them with ease, standing in nothing but her silver earrings. Her hourglass figure was breathtaking—curves that begged to be touched, skin glowing with a sheen of sweat.
Pasindu’s eyes widened, his cock twitching back to life. Kusum picked up one of Vishmi’s hairbands from the bedside table, tying her thick hair into a loose bun, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. The sight of her—naked, confident, irresistible—had him fully erect in seconds.
She crawled onto the bed with predatory grace, her eyes locked on his as she wrapped her fingers around his cock, stroking slowly. “Remember, honey,” she whispered, her voice sultry, “I can’t fill the gaps in your marriage. You have to talk to her.”
Her words were maternal, but her actions were anything but. She leaned down, taking him into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the head before sinking lower, gagging slightly as he hit the back of her throat. She pushed further, letting him slide deeper, saliva dripping as she worked him with expert skill. Pasindu groaned, his hands tangling in her hair as she bobbed up and down, her lips stretched tight around him.
“Amma…” he gasped, his hips bucking as she took him deeper still.
She pulled back with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. With a wicked grin, she straddled his lap, her pussy hovering just above him, her wetness dripping onto his shaft. She guided him to her entrance, teasing herself with the tip before sinking down slowly, moaning as he filled her completely. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in as she began to ride him, her hips moving in swift, rhythmic circles.
“Oh, Putha…” she moaned, her voice trembling as her breasts bounced with each thrust. Her body was a machine of pleasure, grinding against him with primal need. She’d missed this—the way he stretched her, the way he hit every sensitive spot. Her juices coated him, mingling with their sweat as she rode the first wave of ecstasy, her moans growing louder, more desperate.
Pasindu’s hands gripped her ass, pulling her closer as he thrust upward, their bodies slamming together with a force that made the bed creak. He leaned up, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss, their tongues tangling as they lost themselves in each other. “Fuck… I missed this, Amma,” he murmured against her lips.
“Me too, baby,” Kusum panted, her hands roaming his chest. But Pasindu wasn’t done. With a swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him. His lips trailed from her mouth to her neck, sucking and nibbling as his hands explored her curves. He moved lower, his tongue circling her nipples before taking one into his mouth, sucking until she writhed beneath him.
He continued his descent, kissing down her stomach until he reached her thighs. Kusum’s breath hitched as his lips brushed her inner thigh, teasing her. “Putha… please…” she begged, spreading her legs wider. Pasindu’s tongue flicked out, teasing her clit, sending jolts of electricity through her. Her hands tangled in his hair as he worked her with practiced skill, alternating between gentle licks and firm pressure until she was trembling on the edge.
“Fuck me, honey!” she pleaded, tugging him up. Pasindu positioned himself at her entrance, kissing her passionately as he pushed in slowly, savoring the way she stretched around him. “Tell me, Amma,” he murmured, pausing just inside her. “How much do you want me?”
“All of you, Putha,” Kusum breathed, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Fuck me… use me, baby.”
Pasindu smirked, holding himself just above her, teasing her with the tip of his cock. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
“I want you, honey,” she pleaded, guiding him to her entrance. “Only you… just fuck me!”
“I want you here every day,” he demanded, pushing into her fully. Kusum moaned, her walls clamping around him as she nodded frantically.
“Yes, honey… whatever you say… just give it to me…” she begged, her voice breaking with need.
“Now say sorry for earlier,” Pasindu commanded.
“I’m so sorry… hon… mh…!” Kusum started, but her words were cut off as Pasindu slammed into her, the bed shaking under the force of his thrusts. She screamed with pleasure as he pounded into her, each thrust deeper, harder, their bodies moving in a punishing rhythm.
“Yes! Putha! Just like that… fuck me!” Kusum cried, her nails digging into his back as he drove her closer to the edge.
But then, a voice sliced through their haze of passion. “What the hell is this?!”
Pasindu and Kusum froze, their heads snapping toward the doorway. Vishmi stood there, wide-eyed, her face a mask of horror. The scene was unmistakable: Pasindu buried deep inside Kusum, their bodies slick with sweat, the sheets soaked with their desire. For a moment, time stood still as their eyes locked.
Then Vishmi turned and fled behind the curtain, her footsteps echoing in the silence. Pasindu’s heart pounded as he pulled out, scrambling off the bed, his legs unsteady. Kusum grabbed his wrist, her voice calm but firm. “Clean yourself first, Putha.” Her fingers trembled as she stood, still shaky from their encounter. Pasindu glanced down, Kusum’s fluids glistening on him. He wiped himself quickly, yanking up his shorts.
Kusum grabbed one of Vishmi’s housecoats, slipping it on as she followed him to the living room. Vishmi stood with her arms crossed, her face a mix of disbelief and pain. “What was that, Pasindu? You and your mother? How? Why? How long?” Her voice cracked, words tumbling out in a rush.
Kusum stepped forward, her hand extended gently. “Let’s sit, Vishmi. I’ll explain.” She guided Vishmi to the couch, her arm resting around her shoulders, rubbing soothingly. Pasindu sat across from them, gripping the edge of his seat, his knuckles white.
“We haven’t been fully open with you,” Kusum began, her voice steady but emotional. “This started long before Pasindu’s first girlfriend. It’s been going on for years.”
Vishmi’s eyes widened, her mouth opening but no words coming out. Kusum continued, “Yes, I know he’s my son. But nothing compares to being with him. I’m sure you’ve felt something similar, haven’t you?”
Vishmi swallowed hard, her gaze shifting to Pasindu. “I love you. I love being with you. But… what does she have that I don’t?”
Pasindu leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly. “Vishmi, it’s not about you lacking anything. It’s… the energy. With Amma, it’s electric, high-octane. With you, it’s… different. I’ve craved that fire, and today, I let it get the best of me. I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything to make this right.”
The room fell silent, the tension thick. Vishmi stared at the floor, her fingers twisting in her lap. Kusum adjusted the slipping housecoat, her eyes flickering between them. Then Vishmi lifted her head, her eyes wet but resolute. “Amma,” she said softly, “teach me.”
Kusum blinked, caught off guard. “Teach you?”
“Teach me how to satisfy him,” Vishmi said, her voice stronger now. “I beg you.”
For a moment, Kusum hesitated, her lips parting as if to refuse. But then her expression softened, a subtle acceptance settling in. She stood, extending a hand to Vishmi, who took it without hesitation. Turning to Pasindu, she held out her other hand. “Come, Putha.”
Pasindu took her hand, his heart pounding with a mix of guilt and anticipation. Kusum led them back to the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind them, sealing them in a space charged with unspoken possibilities.
In the bedroom, Kusum stood in the center, her presence commanding. With a sly grin, she loosened the housecoat, letting it fall to reveal her glistening body—full breasts, nipped waist, flared hips. Her silver earrings gleamed as she moved, radiating raw sensuality. Vishmi’s breath caught, her eyes wide with awe. This was what Pasindu craved—a woman who owned every inch of herself.
“You see,” Kusum said, her voice low and mischievous, “this is what he needs. Let’s teach you.” She stepped closer to Vishmi, her fingers tracing the edge of her blouse. “Let’s get you out of these.”
Vishmi nodded, trembling as Kusum undressed her, sliding off her blouse and bra with practiced ease. Kusum’s eyes roamed over Vishmi’s slender frame, her small breasts perky and inviting. “Beautiful,” she whispered, her approval sending a shiver through Vishmi.
Pasindu watched, his cock straining as Kusum turned to him, pulling down his pants in one swift motion. She knelt before him, kissing the tip of his cock before taking him into her mouth. Vishmi watched, mesmerized, as Kusum beckoned her closer. “Watch how I do it.”
Vishmi knelt beside her, her hands trembling as she reached for Pasindu. Kusum guided her, teaching her how to use her tongue, how to take him deep. The two women worked together, their mouths hot and wet, drawing groans from Pasindu as he thrust gently between their lips.
“Good girl,” Kusum purred when Vishmi took him deeper. “You’re a natural.”
They moved to the bed, Pasindu lying back as Kusum straddled him, her wetness soaking his shaft as she sank down with a moan. Vishmi climbed over his face, grinding against his mouth as he lapped at her folds. The room filled with their moans, the slick sounds of their bodies moving in sync. Kusum leaned forward, kissing Vishmi deeply, their tongues tangling as they rode Pasindu together.
“Switch,” Kusum gasped. The women moved seamlessly, Vishmi taking Pasindu’s cock while Kusum ground against his face. Vishmi’s moans echoed as she felt him inside her, deep and relentless, while Kusum’s thighs gripped his head, her pleasure building.
The intensity surged, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Vishmi came first, her orgasm crashing over her as she clenched around Pasindu. Kusum followed, her body convulsing as she screamed into the sheets. Pasindu held on, not ready to finish, craving more.
Vishmi’s breath hitched as Pasindu pulled her to her knees, positioning her in front of Kusum, who lay with her legs spread wide. Vishmi leaned down, her tongue tracing Kusum’s inner thigh before finding her core. Kusum gasped, her back arching as Vishmi’s tongue worked her over. Pasindu positioned himself behind Vishmi, thrusting into her with a groan, his hands gripping her hips as he fucked her from behind.
Kusum’s hands tangled in Vishmi’s hair, urging her on as she ground against her face. “Don’t stop,” she moaned, her body trembling. Pasindu’s thrusts grew faster, pushing Vishmi into Kusum with each movement. The room was alive with their passion—skin slapping, moans muffled, and the wet sounds of their connection.
Pasindu flipped Vishmi onto her back, driving into her with renewed intensity as Kusum watched, fingering herself to the sight of her son and his wife. “Fuck her hard, Putha,” she moaned, her fingers moving frantically. Vishmi screamed as another orgasm hit, her body...
