The night the police knocked on the door was the night Taraji Henson's world split in two. At thirty-six, she was a celebrated actress, a woman who commanded screens and red carpets with an undeniable presence. But in that moment, holding the hand of her nine-year-old son, Ayush, none of that mattered. The news that William—her husband, Ayush's father—had been murdered stripped away the glamour and left behind a raw, aching void.
From that moment on, Taraji made a silent, iron-clad vow. She would not break. For Ayush, she had to be the foundation that the tragedy tried to shatter.
Raising a boy to become a man without his father was a daunting task, one that Taraji approached with a fierce, protective love. The industry buzzed with offers of dates and sympathy from eligible bachelors, but Taraji turned them all away. She never remarried. She didn't bring boyfriends around. She effectively closed the door on her own romantic life to ensure that her focus remained singular and undivided. There was no confusion in the house, no rotating cast of father figures. It was just Taraji and Ayush against the world.
The years passed in a blur of school runs, script readings, and the quiet, humbling labor of single parenthood. Taraji watched with a mixture of pride and melancholy as the little boy who used to cling to her leg began to tower over her. By the time Ayush hit his growth spurts, the house started to feel smaller. He grew fast, shooting up past her height until he stood at a staggering 6.5 feet.
He wasn't just tall; he was becoming immense. His shoulders broadened, his chest filled out, and his arms thickened with corded muscle that seemed to appear overnight. Taraji, a striking woman in her own right, often found herself craning her neck to look her son in the eye. The boy who had lost his father was transforming into a physical specimen of a man, broad and powerful, with a strength that dominated any room he walked into.
Despite his imposing size, Ayush remained devoted to his mother. He was her shadow, her protector in a world that had already been cruel to them. Taraji had succeeded in shielding him from the hardness of the streets, channeling his energy into discipline and respect, but there was no denying the raw, masculine energy that radiated from him now.
Taraji had always known that Ayush was destined to be big, but as his eighteenth birthday approached, the reality of his sheer magnitude began to dominate the quiet rhythm of their lives. The house, once a sanctuary of their grief and healing, now felt occupied by a physical force that was impossible to ignore.
The dining table was set with an elegance that Taraji reserved for the most exclusive Hollywood galas, but tonight, the guest of honor was the only person who truly mattered to her. She had spent all day preparing Ayush's favorite meal, the aroma of spices and baked goods filling the home that had been their fortress for nearly a decade.
At 18, Ayush sat at the head of the table, his large frame making the wooden chair look like a toy. His presence was overwhelming; his broad shoulders cast a shadow over the table, and his muscles strained against the fabric of his dress shirt. Taraji watched him, her heart swelling with a mixture of maternal pride and the lingering ache of William's absence. She missed having a man in the house, but looking at Ayush, she realized she didn't need to look elsewhere anymore. He had become the man of the house in every physical sense.
"Mom," Ayush said, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that vibrated through the room. He reached across the table, his large hand engulfing hers. "I know how hard you've worked. I know you sacrificed everything—your career, your personal life—to make sure I had what I needed. To make sure I was safe."
He paused, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. With his free hand, he reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a thick, heavy envelope. He slid it across the polished mahogany until it rested in front of her.
Taraji looked at it, confused. "Ayush, what is this?"
"Open it," he commanded gently.
Taraji's fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal. She expected a handwritten letter, perhaps a card, but what she pulled out made her breath catch in her throat. It was a portfolio statement, thick and densely packed with numbers. As her eyes scanned the page, the zeros seemed to multiply, blurring together in a way that defied reality.
"Ayush?" she whispered, her voice rising an octave. "What... what is this? These numbers... this can't be right."
Ayush leaned back, the chair creaking under his massive weight, a calm, confident smile playing on his lips. "It's right, Mom. Every cent. I started investing the allowance you and Dad left me when I was twelve. I studied the markets every night while you were on set. I compounded the interest, reinvested the dividends, and made some aggressive plays on tech and real estate."
"I didn't want to tell you until I knew for sure that you would never have to worry about a bill again," Ayush continued, his voice steady and assured. "That account has enough liquidity to buy this house five times over. You don't have to take roles you don't want anymore. You don't have to answer to directors or producers."
He squeezed her hand tighter, his grip possessive and warm. "You can retire, Mom. Today. Right now. I'm going to handle everything. You're done working. You're done struggling. It's my turn to take care of you."
Taraji stared at the papers, her vision blurring as tears welled up and spilled over, tracking hot paths down her cheeks. The sheer magnitude of what he was saying washed over her. The exhaustion of the last nine years—the grueling hours on set, the lonely nights in hotel rooms, the constant anxiety about providing for a son with growing needs—seemed to evaporate in an instant. He had done this in silence, building an empire while she thought he was just playing video games or doing homework.
Taraji let out a wet, shuddering sob, her composure finally shattering under the weight of his generosity. She shot up from her chair, the screech of wood against the floor echoing in the large room, and threw her arms around Ayush's neck.
"My baby," she wept, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled of sandalwood and expensive cologne, a scent that was distinctly masculine and overwhelming. "Look at you. Your father would be so proud. You are a good man, Ayush. You are a good, good man."
Ayush wrapped his arms around her waist, his massive hands easily spanning her lower back, pulling her flush against his hard, muscular torso. He didn't embrace her like a son comforting a mother; he held her with the firmness of a man claiming his prize. He rested his chin on top of her head, his eyes darkening with a predatory glint as he felt her soft body melt into his.
Taraji lingered in the embrace for a long moment, her tears soaking the collar of his shirt, before she reluctantly pulled away. She laughed softly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to regain her composure.
"I'm sorry," she sniffled, looking up at him with a radiant, teary smile. "I just... I never imagined this day would come so soon. I feel like I can finally breathe."
Ayush nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. He pushed back from the table, the chair groaning in relief as his weight lifted from it. "There's more, Mom," he said, standing to his full, intimidating height. His broad frame cast a long shadow across the dining room, the soft light making his muscles ripple beneath his skin. "I have one more surprise."
Taraji raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. "Oh?"
Ayush extended his hand to her, his palm open and waiting. "Come with me. There's something I want to show you."
Curiosity mingled with the lingering warmth in Taraji's chest as she placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and calloused, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine. She allowed herself to be led out of the dining room, through the familiar hallways of the house that had been both her prison and her sanctuary, and out the front door into the balmy evening air.
A sleek, black SUV waited at the curb, its engine purring with quiet power. Ayush walked Taraji to the passenger side, opening the door for her with a chivalry that made her heart swell.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she settled into the plush leather seat.
Ayush didn't answer. He just smiled enigmatically as he closed the door, the sound of it final and deliberate. He walked around the hood of the car, his long strides eating up the distance, and slid into the driver's seat. The interior seemed to shrink with his massive presence, the car becoming his domain.
Ayush navigated the streets with confident ease, his large hands gripping the steering wheel in a way that made Taraji feel oddly secure. They left the bustling city behind, the skyline fading into the distance as they wound their way up into the hills.
The further they climbed, the quieter the world became. The houses grew fewer and further between, the lights of civilization dimming as the darkness of the hillside enveloped them. Ayush finally pulled off onto a private drive, the iron gates sliding open with a whisper.
The house that came into view was unassuming in its elegance. It wasn't the gaudy mansion she had expected of new money; instead, it was a sprawling, modern home that seemed to grow organically from the landscape. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the moonlight, and the sound of water burbled softly in the night.
"Ayush," Taraji breathed, her fingers clutching the edge of her seat. "What is this?"
Ayush parked the car and turned to her, his face lit only by the dim glow of the dashboard. His eyes were pools of darkness, and for a moment, he looked like a stranger—something ancient and powerful masquerading as her son.
"This, Mom," he said slowly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek, his touch electric against her skin, "is our new home."
Taraji felt her heart stumble in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. "Our... new home?"
Ayush nodded, a predatory smile playing on his full lips. He opened his car door, stepping out into the night before moving to open hers.
"Come," he said, extending a hand to help her out. "Let me show you what your son has bought for you."
The house was even more breathtaking inside. It was sparsely furnished but with impeccable taste, every piece of furniture and art screaming of money well spent. Ayush guided her from room to room, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back, his presence overwhelming in the vast, open spaces.
"And this," Ayush said finally, pushing open a set of double doors that led to the master suite, "is your bedroom."
Taraji stepped inside, her eyes widening as she took in the sheer scale of the room. It was larger than their entire apartment had been, with windows that looked out over the glittering city below. In the center of the room sat an enormous bed, the largest Taraji had ever seen.
"This bed," Ayush said from behind her, his breath hot against her neck, "is a custom design. It's ten feet long and eight feet wide. I had it made special for us."
Taraji turned to look at him, confusion mingling with the growing sense of unease in her chest. "For... us?"
Ayush nodded, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He towered over her, a giant of a man who had grown up in the shadow of her grief.
"Since the night Dad died, we've never slept apart," he said softly, reaching up to cup her face with one massive hand. "Why would we start now, Mom?"
The months that followed were a whirlwind of adjustment and discovery. Ayush's gift—the money, the new house, the security—allowed Taraji to step back from a career that had consumed her since before she could remember. For the first time in her life, she felt free of the relentless grind, the constant need to prove herself in an industry that devoured talent like candy.
But with that freedom came a new kind of responsibility. Ayush was insistent—relentless, even—in his determination to care for her. He took over the management of the household finances, ensuring that she never had to worry about bills or budgets. He hired a staff of professionals—chefs, cleaners, even a personal assistant—to cater to her every need. Taraji found herself with more free time than she knew what to do with.
At first, she filled the hours with projects around the house. She redecorated, taking full advantage of the blank canvas that Ayush had provided.
She spent hours in the sprawling kitchen, relearning recipes she hadn't touched since her youth. She even started a small garden, finding a peace in the simple act of nurturing life that she hadn't known she needed.
But as the weeks turned into months, Taraji began to feel a growing sense of restlessness. The house was beautiful, the staff attentive, but something felt off. She couldn't quite put her finger on it until one evening, as she was sipping a glass of wine on the terrace overlooking the city, Ayush approached her.
He moved with the silent grace of a predator, his large frame casting a long shadow in the fading light. Taraji looked up at him, a smile playing on her lips as she gestured to the seat beside her.
"You've been so busy lately," she said, a note of gentle chiding in her voice. "I feel like I hardly see you."
Ayush settled into the chair, his large body making the wrought iron creak in protest. He reached for the bottle of wine, refilling her glass before pouring one for himself.
"I know, Mom," he replied, his deep voice carrying over the sound of the breeze. "I'm sorry. There have been a lot of things to take care of."
Taraji studied his face, noticing the lines of tension around his eyes, the way his broad shoulders seemed to carry the weight of the world. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm, feeling the muscle tense under her touch.
"You don't have to do everything yourself, you know," she said softly. "I may not be working, but I'm not helpless. I can help you with whatever it is that's keeping you so busy."
Ayush turned to look at her, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made the breath catch in her throat.
"You're right," he said finally, setting down his glass. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box, placing it on the table between them. "That's why I wanted to talk to you about this."
Taraji stared at the box, a shiver running down her spine. It was small, unassuming, but somehow, she knew that whatever was inside would change everything.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ayush leaned forward, his massive frame blocking out the last rays of the sun. "It's something that will help you. Something that will make you feel better. But you have to trust me."
Taraji hesitated, her fingers hovering over the box. A part of her wanted to snatch it away, to hide from whatever truth it held, but another part—a part that had been growing stronger since the night Ayush revealed his plan—wanted to surrender. To let him take care of her in ways she didn't fully understand.
Slowly, she reached out and picked up the box. It was heavier than she expected, the weight substantial in her palm. With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid.
Inside was a small vial of liquid, crystal clear and glowing in the fading light. Next to it lay a syringe, the needle glinting dangerously.
Taraji looked up at Ayush, confusion mingling with fear in her eyes. "What is this?" she asked again, her voice stronger now. "Ayush, you're scaring me."
Ayush reached out, his large hand engulfing hers, the box and its contents still resting in her palm.
"It's medicine, Mom," he explained softly. "Medicine that will make you young again. It will take away your pains, your worries. It will make you feel like you're eighteen again."
Taraji stared at him, her mind reeling. She wanted to laugh, to tell him he was being ridiculous, but the sincerity in his eyes stopped her.
"Ayush," she said slowly, "this isn't possible. This is... this is science fiction."
Ayush shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening. "It's not, Mom. I promise you, it's real. I've done my research. I've tested it. It works."
Taraji felt a wave of dizziness wash over her, the world tilting on its axis. She looked back down at the vial, at the promise it held, and felt a spark of desperate hope ignite within her chest.
"But how?" she whispered, her resistance crumbling. "How can this be real?"
Ayush leaned closer, his breath hot against her cheek. "Because I made it real, Mom. For you. I found the best scientists, the best labs. I spent millions to make sure it was perfect, safe. All for you."
Taraji closed her eyes, the weight of his words settling over her like a blanket. She had spent years taking care of him, sacrificing her youth, her beauty, for his well-being. And now, he was offering her a chance to reclaim it all.
With shaking hands, Taraji reached for the syringe. Ayush's hand closed around hers, guiding her, steadying her.
"Let me," he whispered, his voice low and intimate.
Taraji nodded, surrendering to his care. She watched as he expertly filled the syringe, his large fingers moving with surprising dexterity.
"Where?" she asked, her pulse racing.
Ayush smiled, a tender, almost reverent expression crossing his face. "Your neck, Mom. It has to go directly into your bloodstream."
Taraji swallowed hard, turning her head to expose her neck. She felt the cool press of the syringe against her skin, and then a sharp pinch as the needle slid home.
There was no immediate effect, no sudden transformation. But as the liquid coursed through her veins, Taraji felt a warmth begin to spread through her body. It started in her chest, a tingling sensation that radiated outward, filling her with a lightness she hadn't felt in years.
She opened her eyes to find Ayush watching her, his gaze intense and hungry. His large hand cupped her face, turning her to look at him fully.
"How do you feel, Mom?" he asked, his thumb brushing over her cheek.
Taraji tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. She swallowed, trying again.
"I... I feel," she began, her words breathless. "I feel young. I feel... different."
Ayush's smile grew, predatory and possessive. "Good," he murmured. "That means it's working."
Taraji's hand flew to her chest as she felt a sudden fullness there, her breasts swelling against the fabric of her dress. She gasped, looking down to see her cleavage deepening, the buttons of her top straining.
"Ayush!" she exclaimed, panic edging into her voice. "What's happening to me?"
Ayush's large hand covered hers, pressing it against her newly swollen breast. "You're becoming young again, Mom. You're becoming the woman you were meant to be."
Taraji felt tears well up in her eyes as the transformation continued. Her hips flared, her waist cinching in, her body reshaping itself into that of a young woman. The dress that had fit her comfortably just moments before now felt tight, restrictive.
"I don't understand," she whispered, looking up at Ayush with confusion and fear in her eyes.
Ayush leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. "You're eighteen again, Mom. A virgin. Just like you were when you met Dad."
Taraji shuddered, the implications of his words sending a shiver down her spine. "But... but I have you. I'm your mother."
Ayush pulled back, meeting her gaze with an intensity that took her breath away. "You were a mother, Mom. But now, you're free. You're young, beautiful. You can have anything, anyone you want."
Taraji felt the room spin around her, her new, young body trembling with a mix of fear and something else—something hotter, more primal.
She stood up suddenly, the dress now too tight, too constricting. "Ayush," she said, her voice trembling. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me this second chance."
Ayush stood too, his imposing frame towering over her new, smaller body. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face as he looked her up and down, taking in her youthful transformation.
Taraji, caught up in the moment, in the overwhelming gratitude she felt, stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. "I don't know what to say," she mumbled into his chest, the words muffled by his broad torso.
Ayush's arms came around her, one hand sliding down to the small of her back while the other moved lower, cupping her newly curved ass. Taraji gasped at the intimate touch, her body responding in ways she didn't expect.
"Ayush?" she whispered uncertainly, pulling back slightly to look up at him. But before she could say another word, Ayush moved swiftly, his massive hands gripping her under the thighs and lifting her into the air as if she weighed nothing.
Taraji yelped in surprise, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he held her up, her back pressed against the wall. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she stared into his eyes, wide with shock and something else—something she refused to name.
"Ayush, what are you doing?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady even as her heart raced in her chest.
Ayush's grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. He leaned in close, his lips barely brushing against hers as he spoke.
"I'm showing you how strong you've made me, Mom," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "I'm showing you what you've done for me."
Taraji felt a tremor run through her body at his words, at the feel of his massive strength holding her aloft. No man had ever lifted her like this before, had ever made her feel so small, so delicate.
"Ayush," she breathed, her arms tightening around his neck. "You're so strong."
Ayush's smile was both proud and predatory as he adjusted his grip on her, one hand now sliding up to support her lower back while the other remained firmly under her thigh, keeping her pressed against him.
"Of course I am," he said, his voice low and rumbling in his chest. "I've been working out every day. I've been preparing for this moment."
Taraji's breath hitched as she felt something hard and insistent pressing against her core through the thin fabric of her dress. Her eyes widened as she realized what it was—Ayush's cock, huge and throbbing even through his pants.
As the days passed, Taraji grew accustomed to her new body and the luxurious life that Ayush had provided for her. But there was one thing that she couldn't ignore—the dresses Ayush had bought for her were too small.
"Ayush," Taraji said, frowning as she struggled to zip up the back of yet another dress that seemed to have shrunk overnight. "These dresses don't fit anymore. I don't understand what's happening."
Ayush, who was lounging on the bed watching her, smiled lazily. "They don't fit because your body is changing, Mom. Your tits are getting bigger, your ass is getting rounder. You need new clothes."
Taraji paused, one hand on the partially zipped dress, the other on her hip. She stared at Ayush in the full-length mirror, her reflection showing off the curves that were indeed becoming more pronounced by the day.
"But… but how?" she asked, confusion and a touch of fear in her voice. "Is this because of the… medicine you gave me?"
Ayush shrugged, standing up from the bed and walking over to her. He placed his large hands on her shoulders, meeting her gaze in the mirror.
"Maybe," he said casually. "Or maybe you're just becoming the woman you were always meant to be."
Taraji shivered at his touch, her skin prickling with awareness. She looked at their reflections—her small, curvy frame dwarfed by Ayush's massive build. He was a giant of a man, standing at least a foot taller than her and easily three times her weight. His muscles rippled under his tight t-shirt as he moved his hands down her arms.
"Ayush," she whispered, her voice shaky. "I… I don't know if I can afford new clothes. Not like the ones you've been buying me."
Ayush chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Mom, you don't have to worry about money anymore. That's what I'm here for, remember?"
He turned her around to face him, his large hands spanning her waist. Taraji had to tilt her head back to look up at him, her neck craning.
"But… but it's too much," she protested weakly. "You've already done so much for me."
Ayush shook his head, bending down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "It's never too much for you, Mom. You deserve the best, and that's what you're going to get."
The next day, Ayush took Taraji shopping. Not to the usual stores she frequented, but to high-end boutiques where the sales associates fawned over them and the clothes had price tags that made Taraji's head spin.
Ayush was relentless, piling dress after dress, outfit after outfit, into Taraji's arms. He ignored her protests, pushing her into dressing rooms and demanding she model each piece for him.
As Taraji twirled in front of the mirror, showing off a particularly flattering red dress, Ayush sat on a plush chair outside the dressing room, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't quite name.
"Do you like it?" she asked, smoothing the fabric down over her curves.
Ayush nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving her body. "I like it," he rumbled. "But I think we can do better."
By the time they left the store, Taraji's arms were laden with bags, and her mind was reeling from the amount of money Ayush had just spent. But what truly caught her off guard was when they returned home and Ayush presented her with yet another gift—a box filled with the most exquisite lingerie she had ever seen.
"For me?" she asked incredulously, holding up a sheer, lace concoction that was more string than fabric.
Ayush nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Of course for you, Mom. Who else would I buy this for?"
Taraji felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she looked from the lingerie to Ayush and back again. "I… I've never worn anything like this before," she admitted shyly.
Ayush stepped closer, his large frame looming over her. He reached out, brushing the back of his fingers against her heated cheek. "That's why I bought it for you," he murmured. "I want to see you in it."
Taraji's breath caught in her throat at his words, at the intensity of his gaze. "Ayush," she breathed. "I…"
Ayush's finger pressed against her lips, silencing her. "Since dad died, I'm the man of the house, Mom," he said softly. "And as my mother, you need to obey me."
Taraji nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. "Okay," she whispered.
"Good," Ayush smiled. "Now, go get ready. I want to see how you look in that lingerie. And then in the swimsuits. And the underwears with the sexy bras."
Taraji felt a shiver run down her spine at his words. She nodded again, clutching the box of lingerie to her chest, and hurried to her bedroom.
Outside in the living room, Ayush put on some sexy jazz music and dimmed the lights. He set up a camera in the corner of the room and sat down in an armchair with a glass of whiskey, waiting for the show to begin.
Taraji emerged from her bedroom, clad in the sheer, lacy lingerie. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she made her way to the living room. When she entered, she found Ayush waiting for her, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Come here, Mom," he said, his voice deep and commanding.
Taraji obeyed, her steps hesitant as she approached him. She stopped a few feet away, suddenly feeling very exposed in the see-through fabric.
Ayush didn't move from his seat, but his gaze traveled up and down her body, taking in every curve, every dip. Taraji felt a flush creep up her chest to her cheeks under his scrutiny.
"You look beautiful, Mom," Ayush murmured finally. He took a sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact with her. "Turn around. Let me see all of you."
Taraji did as she was told, slowly turning on the spot. She could feel Ayush's eyes on her, could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical touch. When she faced him again, she found him still seated, but there was a new tension in his body, a coiled energy that hadn't been there before.
"Come closer," Ayush commanded, setting his glass down on the table beside him.
Taraji stepped forward until she was standing right in front of him. Ayush reached out, his large hands grasping her hips and pulling her even closer. Taraji gasped as she felt herself being drawn into his lap, her legs spread over his thick thighs.
"Now, Mom," Ayush said, his breath hot against her ear. "I want you to dance for me. Just like the girls at the club."
Taraji's eyes widened in shock. "Ayush, I can't—"
"You can," he interrupted firmly. "And you will. Remember, I'm the man of this house now. You have to obey me."
Taraji bit her lip, her heart racing. She looked into Ayush's eyes and saw the determination there, the unyielding demand. She knew that she couldn't refuse him, not when he was looking at her like that.
"Okay," she whispered finally. "I'll try."
Ayush smiled, his hands sliding up from her hips to her waist. "That's my girl," he murmured approvingly.
The music changed, shifting to something slower, sultrier. Taraji felt Ayush's hands on her body, guiding her movements. At first, she was stiff, unsure. But as the music played on, as Ayush's touch grew more confident, more demanding, she began to loosen up.
She moved her hips in time with the beat, letting Ayush's hands lead her. She felt his breath hitch as she ground down onto his lap, felt the hardness growing beneath her. Emboldened by his reaction, she let her own desires take over, losing herself in the music and the moment.
As she danced, Taraji caught glimpses of herself in the mirrors that lined the walls. She barely recognized the woman staring back at her—young, sexy, desirable. It was a side of herself she had forgotten existed, a side that Ayush was bringing back to life.
After Taraji finished dancing, Ayush clapped his hands together, a smile of approval on his face. "Good job, Mom. Now, go change into something else. I want to see what else you've got."
Taraji nodded, a slight blush still coloring her cheeks. She made her way back to her room, the lingering heat from Ayush's gaze warming her skin.
As she browsed through the box of lingerie he had bought her, Taraji found a particularly daring piece. It was a sheer bodysuit that would cover only her nipples and the vertical line of her pussy, leaving everything else on display.
She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the delicate fabric. It was more revealing than anything she had ever worn before. But then she thought of Ayush's words, of his desire to see her in these things, and she steeled herself.
Taking a deep breath, Taraji stripped off the lingerie she was currently wearing and slipped into the new piece. The fabric was cool against her skin, and she could feel her nipples hardening in response to the slight chill.
She adjusted the bodysuit, making sure it was situated properly. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. The outfit left little to the imagination, showcasing her curves and the thatch of dark hair between her legs.
Taraji took a moment to gather her courage before she opened the bedroom door and stepped back into the living room. Ayush was waiting for her, his whiskey glass refilled and a look of anticipation on his face.
As soon as she entered the room, Ayush's eyes snapped to her, widening as he took in her new outfit. Taraji felt a surge of confidence at his obvious appreciation, standing a little straighter under his gaze.
"Holy shit, Mom," Ayush breathed, setting his glass down with a thunk. "You look… wow."
Taraji smiled, a mix of shyness and pride in her expression. "Do you like it?" she asked softly.
Ayush nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "I more than like it," he said, his voice a little hoarse. "Come here, Mom. Let me get a closer look."
Taraji moved towards him, her steps measured as she approached his chair. As she drew near, Ayush reached out, his large hand grasping her wrist and pulling her down onto his lap.
Taraji gasped as she landed, her barely-covered ass pressing against the hardness in Ayush's pants. She could feel the thick length of his cock straining against the fabric, and a thrill of excitement shot through her.
Ayush's hands were on her almost immediately, one sliding up her thigh while the other cupped her breast through the sheer fabric of the bodysuit. Taraji arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips.
"You're so beautiful, Mom," Ayush muttered, his lips brushing against her neck. "So perfect. I knew you had a great body under those old clothes."
Taraji shivered at the compliment, at the feeling of his lips on her skin.
"Ayush," she breathed, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. "We shouldn't—"
"Shh," Ayush hushed her, his hand moving from her breast to cover her mouth. "It's okay, Mom. This is right. You belong to me now."
Taraji's eyes widened, shock and a trace of fear flooding through her. She tried to pull away, but Ayush's grip on her was too strong.
"What do you mean?" she mumbled against his palm.
Ayush smiled, but it was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I mean that you're mine now, Mom. My mother, my wife, the mother of my future babies."
Taraji's heart was racing, panic setting in. She struggled against Ayush's hold, but he was too strong, too determined.
"Ayush, please," she begged. "Let me go. This isn't right."
But Ayush just shook his head, his grip on her tightening. "No, Mom. I've been waiting for this moment for years. Ever since Dad died, I knew that you would be mine eventually. And now that I'm 18 and can take care of you financially, it's finally happening."
Taraji felt tears spring to her eyes, fear and confusion warring within her. She didn't understand how this had escalated so quickly, how her life had changed so drastically in just a few short weeks.
"Ayush, I don't—"
But before she could finish, Ayush leaned in, pressing his lips against hers in a kiss that was both passionate and possessive. Taraji froze in shock, her mind reeling as she processed what was happening.
As Ayush deepened the kiss, Taraji felt her resistance crumbling. She had always cared for Ayush, had always wanted the best for him. And if this was what he truly wanted, what he needed, then maybe… just maybe… she could give it to him.
After all, he was her son. And she would do anything to make him happy.
Ayush's lips were demanding as they moved against Taraji's, his tongue delving into her mouth with a hunger that she hadn't anticipated. She gasped into the kiss, her hands instinctively coming up to push against his chest, but the solid wall of muscle beneath her palms only served to remind her of just how much stronger he was than her.
"Ayush," she breathed against his lips, trying to pull back. But he wouldn't let her, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair while the other gripped her hip, holding her firmly in place on his lap.
"Ayush, wait," she tried again, but his response was to deepen the kiss even further, swallowing her protests before they could fully form.
Taraji felt a flutter of panic in her chest, but as she opened her mouth to voice another objection, Ayush took advantage of the momentary lapse. His tongue swept in, tasting her, exploring her, and despite herself, Taraji found her own tongue moving to meet his, a soft moan catching in her throat.
No one had kissed her like this in years. No one had touched her with such raw desire, such unbridled need. And as much as she knew she should push him away, a part of her—a part that she had long ignored—craved this attention, this passion.
Ayush's hand tightened in her hair, pulling her head back to give him better access to her mouth. Taraji gasped, her lips parting further, and Ayush took full advantage, his tongue delving deep, tasting every inch of her. His other hand moved from her hip to her throat, not squeezing, but resting there in a clear show of dominance.
The weight of his palm on her neck sent a shiver down Taraji's spine. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the reminder of how easily he could overpower her if he chose to. But instead of fear, she felt a rush of heat pool low in her belly, a desire she hadn't felt in years awakening with a vengeance.
"Ayush," she whispered again, but this time there was no protest in her voice, only a breathless need that matched the hunger in his kiss.
Ayush pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his own dark with lust. "You want this, Mom," he growled, more statement than question. "I've seen the way you look at me, the way your body responds to my touch. You want me as much as I want you."
Taraji's breath hitched at his words, the truth of them hitting her like a punch to the gut. She had tried to deny it, to push these feelings deep down where they couldn't see the light of day. But now, with Ayush's hard body beneath her, his taste still on her lips, she couldn't hide from the desire that had been simmering just below the surface for weeks.
"Ayush," she started, but he cut her off with another kiss, this one gentler but no less demanding.
"Shh, Mom," he murmured against her lips. "Just feel. Let yourself feel what you've been denying for so long."
And as his lips moved back to hers, Taraji found herself giving in, surrendering to the desire that had been building between them. She melted into the kiss, her arms winding around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair.
Ayush groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her entire body. His hands roamed over her, relearning the curves he had only recently been reintroduced to. Taraji arched into his touches, her own hands exploring the broad expanse of his shoulders, the defined muscles of his back beneath his shirt.
"Ayush," she moaned as his lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. "We can't... this is wrong."
But even as she spoke the words, her fingers were working at the buttons of his shirt, pushing it open to reveal the sculpted chest beneath. Ayush didn't respond, didn't acknowledge her feeble protest.
He simply continued his exploration of her body, his teeth nipping at her collarbone, his tongue soothing the slight pain. Taraji's head fell back, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. She couldn't deny how good this felt, how alive she felt in his arms.
"Ayush," she tried again, her fingers curling into the hair on his chest. But the word ended on a moan as his hand slid down her back, gripping the swell of her ass through the sheer lingerie.
"I know, Mom," he murmured, lifting her slightly to grind his erection against her core. Even through the layers of their clothing, Taraji could feel his length, his heat. "I know this is wrong. But it feels so right, doesn't it?"
Taraji didn't answer, couldn't answer. She was lost in the sensations, in the way Ayush's body moved against hers, in the heat that pooled between her legs. She rocked her hips, seeking more friction, more of the delicious heat that was building inside her.
Ayush seemed to sense her need, his hands moving to grip her thighs, lifting her up and then pulling her down onto his length in a slow, torturous rhythm. Taraji clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she met his thrusts, her barely-covered pussy rubbing against the hard bulge in his pants.
"Ayush," she whimpered, her head falling forward to rest on his shoulder. "Oh God, Ayush."
"It's okay, Mom," he soothed, one hand moving to the nape of her neck, holding her close. "Just let go. Let yourself feel good."
Taraji nodded against his skin, inhaling the scent of him—masculine and musky, with just a hint of the cologne he had started wearing recently. She turned her head, pressing her lips to the pulse point in his neck, tasting the salt of his skin.
"Ayush," she murmured, her tongue darting out to trace patterns on his heated flesh. "You taste so good."
Ayush groaned, his hips jerking upward, driving his hardness more firmly against her core. "Fuck, Mom. You have no idea what you're doing to me."
Taraji smiled against his neck, a rush of feminine power surging through her. She might feel guilty about this later, might question her morals and her sanity. But in this moment, all she could focus on was the pleasure, the desire, the need that burned hot between them.
She allowed her lips to explore more of his skin, trailing kisses across his collarbone, down to his small, brown nipples. She circled one with her tongue, feeling it harden under her touch, before closing her lips around it and sucking gently.
"Ayush!" she moaned, grinding her pussy down on his thick cock.
He moaned, gripping her ass with both hands. She could feel his fingernails digging into her flesh and she loved it. She loved how much she was turning him on, how much he needed her.
"Mom, you're so sexy," he groaned. "And that ass… I can't wait to fuck it."
Taraji's eyes widened and she looked up at him. "Ayush…"
"Not tonight," he whispered, reading her expression. "But soon. Once we get married, I'm gonna fuck you so hard, your newly virgin pussy is gonna be torn and leaking blood. I can't wait."
Taraji looked down. Her face was bright red with a mix of shame and arousal. No man had ever spoken like this to her. Not even her husband.
"And before we get married," he continued, "I'm gonna show you how a man can love a good woman. I'm gonna teach you…"
He stood up, easily holding Taraji with one arm, and walked to her bedroom.
He sat down on her bed with her on his lap, and pulled out his phone.
"You're gonna breastfeed me," he said. "Like a good mother would do to her baby boy."
Taraji was shocked. She had never breastfed anyone other than her own children before. The thought of letting Ayush do this was terrifying to her.
"Please, Ayush…" she started, but he shushed her.
"I wanna taste your milk. Please, Mommy?"
His eyes were pleading with her, and she felt her resolve crumble. She had never been able to deny her children anything.
"Okay," she said softly. "Let's do this."
Ayush smiled and set his phone up on a nearby chair. He pressed a button and it started recording.
"My beautiful mommy Taraji," he said for the benefit of the camera. "She's gonna give me her milk. Just like how a good mommy would do for her son."
Taraji felt a blush spread across her face as she heard his words. This was so wrong, so taboo, and yet she couldn't bring herself to stop it.
Ayush turned to look at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Are you ready, Mommy?"
he asked.
Taraji nodded, her heart racing with anticipation and fear.
Ayush smiled and reached for the delicate lace of her bra. He unhooked it slowly, savoring the moment, and Taraji felt her breasts spill free. The cool air hit her nipples, making them harden even more than they already were.
Ayush looked down at her breasts, his eyes widening with lust. "Beautiful," he breathed. "So beautiful, Mommy."
Taraji felt a surge of pride at his words. She had always been proud of her breasts, and to hear her own son compliment them like this sent a thrill through her.
Ayush reached for her breasts, cupping them in his large hands. Taraji gasped at the contact, her body tingling with awareness. She looked down, watching as he kneaded and massaged her soft flesh.
"So soft," he murmured. "Like warm dough."
He pinched her nipples between his fingers, rolling them gently. Taraji moaned, arching her back to give him better access. Her nipples were so sensitive, and his touch sent bolts of pleasure straight to her core.
"Harder," she whispered. "Please, Ayush, harder."
She felt herself getting wet, her panties growing damp with her arousal.
Ayush obliged, pinching and pulling on her nipples with more force. Taraji cried out, her breasts jiggling with each tug. The pain and pleasure mixed together, creating a heady sensation that left her breathless.
Ayush leaned down, his mouth closing over one of her nipples. He sucked hard, his tongue lashing against the sensitive bud. Taraji's hands flew to his head, her fingers tangling in his hair as she held him close.
"Oh God," she cried out. "Ayush, that feels so good!"
Ayush moaned against her breast, the vibration sending shockwaves through her body. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, sucking and licking and nibbling until Taraji was a writhing mess beneath him.
He began to pinch, bite and grope them even harder. His lips started to hurt her and she tried to pull away. But Ayush held her tight. He didn't let her move an inch.
Taraji began to cry, but Ayush kept on going.
"Ayush… it hurts," she cried, but he didn't stop. He kept on pinching, biting, and groping her.
And she could feel how her nipples began to slowly drip with beads of milk.
"Please… you're hurting me," Taraji cried. Her breasts were throbbing with pain, her nipples raw and sensitive from Ayush's ministrations. She tried to push him away, but he held her fast, his mouth still latched onto her breast.
Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, Ayush pulled back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You're ready now, Mommy," he said, his voice husky with desire.
Taraji looked down at her breasts in shock. Her nipples were hard and swollen, tiny beads of milk forming at the tips. But now, here she was, her body responding to her son's touch in ways she had never thought possible.
"Ayush…" she whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and arousal.
Ayush just smiled, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "It's okay, Mommy," he soothed. "This is natural. This is what mothers do for their children."
Taraji felt a tear roll down her cheek as she looked at her son. He was right. This was natural. But it was also so very wrong.
Ayush's hands moved to her waist, lifting her slightly. He positioned himself beneath her, his mouth level with her breasts. Taraji felt her heart race as she realized what he was about to do.
"Please…" she whispered, but it was too late.
Ayush's mouth closed over her nipple, sucking hard. Taraji cried out, a jolt of electricity shooting straight to her core. She felt her milk let down, a warm tingling sensation radiating from her breasts.
Ayush moaned, his tongue swirling around her nipple as he drank her milk. Taraji watched in shock and awe as her son nursed from her breast, his eyes closed in bliss.
"Ayush!" Taraji cried, her hands flying to his head. But instead of pushing him away, she found herself threading her fingers through his hair, holding him close. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left her breathless.
She could see that Ayush was clearly enjoying himself. His eyes were closed, a look of pure bliss on his face as he drank from her. But then, she saw how his hand moved to the bulge in his pants and how he started to stroke himself.
Taraji's heart raced as she watched Ayush pleasure himself while he nursed. She had never seen a man so turned on by her body before, and it sent a rush of desire through her.
Ayush moaned, sucking harder on her nipple. Taraji felt another gush of milk release, her body responding to his desire.
"More," she encouraged. "Take all of me, Ayush. All of my milk."
Ayush obeyed, sucking greedily at her breast. Taraji arched her back, pressing herself closer to him. She had never felt like this before, never felt such a deep connection to another person.
As Ayush drank from her, Taraji felt a sense of peace wash over her. This was right, she realized. This was where she was meant to be.
"Ayush," she breathed. "My baby. Drink all you want. Drink until you're full."
Ayush pulled back, looking up at her with eyes shining with lust. He released her nipple with a pop, a thin stream of milk connecting his lips to her breast.
"Thank you, Mommy," he murmured, his voice husky. "Your milk is delicious."
Taraji blushed, feeling a rush of pleasure at his words. No one had ever called her milk delicious before.
"You're welcome," she replied softly. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."
Ayush smiled, his eyes never leaving hers. "I did," he said. "Very much."
Taraji felt her heart flutter at the intensity of his gaze. She had never seen him look at her like this before, with such hunger and desire in his eyes. It both thrilled and terrified her.
"But before our wedding, you need to do this anytime I want. Can you promise me that, Mommy?" he asked.
Taraji hesitated, unsure of what to say. This was all so new to her, so unexpected. She looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But all she saw was pure desire and need.
"Ayush, I…" she started, but before she could continue, he cut her off.
"Mom," he said firmly. "Can you promise me to do this whenever I want?"
Taraji bit her lip, her mind racing. She knew that this was wrong, that she should put a stop to it now. But as she looked into Ayush's eyes, she felt her resolve crumbling.
"Yes," she whispered. "I promise. I'll give you my milk whenever you want it."
Ayush let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing. "Thank you, Mom," he said softly. "That means so much to me. Now, I need to show you something."
Taraji frowned, confused. "What is it?"
Ayush just smiled and got up. He walked over to a nearby drawer and started rummaging through it. After a few moments, he turned back to her, holding two small objects in his hand.
"What are those?" Taraji asked, feeling a sense of trepidation building inside her.
"These," Ayush said, holding up the objects for her to see, "are a wedding ring, and a choker."
Taraji gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the beautiful diamond ring and the delicate silver choker. Both were exquisite, obviously expensive.
"Ayush," Taraji breathed. "They're beautiful. But I… I don't understand."
Ayush stepped forward, placing the ring and choker in her palm. Taraji looked down at them, feeling a sense of wonder and confusion.
"From now on, you will always wear this choker around your neck. I want to see it on you whenever we're together. I also want to see this wedding ring on your ring finger."
Taraji looked up at Ayush, her heart pounding in her chest. "I don't understand," she repeated. "Why?"
Ayush's expression softened, and he reached out to gently caress her cheek. "Because I love you, Mom," he said simply. "And I want everyone to know that you're mine."
Taraji felt tears spring to her eyes as she looked at the ring and choker in her hand. She had never expected Ayush to say something like this to her.
"Ayush," she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. "I… I don't know what to say."
Ayush leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You don't have to say anything, Mom," he murmured. "Just wear the choker and ring. That's all I ask."
Taraji nodded, feeling a sense of love and gratitude towards her son that she had never felt before. "I will," she promised. "I'll wear them always."
Ayush smiled, relief evident on his face. "Thank you," he said softly. "Now, let's go back to bed. You need your rest for tomorrow's busy day."
Taraji nodded, allowing Ayush to lead her back to her bed. As they lay down together, Taraji felt a sense of contentment wash over her.
Tomorrow would be a new beginning, she realized. A beginning of a new life with her son by her side. And she couldn't wait to see what the future held for them.
The next day, Ayush and Taraji had a nice breakfast together. They talked and laughed, enjoying each other's company.
After breakfast, Ayush left for work, and Taraji went back to bed to relax for a while. She was feeling tired, but happy.
She closed her eyes, thinking about everything that had happened the night before. She couldn't believe how much her life had changed in just one night.
As she lay there, she felt a sense of gratitude towards Ayush. He had helped her when she needed it most, and now, he was giving her a chance to start a new life.
She smiled to herself, feeling a sense of excitement for the future. She knew that things wouldn't be easy, but she was ready for whatever came her way.
As she drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of Ayush and the life they would build together. She dreamed of a bright future, full of love, happiness, and fulfillment. And she knew that no matter what, she would always cherish the love they shared.
When evening came, Ayush came home from work and found his mother in the kitchen, preparing dinner. She was wearing a skimpy underwear with no bra, and her ass looked so good that he couldn't help but stare.
"Hi, Mom," he greeted her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. He gently groped her boobs.
Taraji smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "Hi, Ayush," she replied. "How was work?"
Ayush kissed the side of her neck. "It was fine," he said. "I missed you, though."
Taraji blushed. "I missed you too," she admitted.
Ayush hugged her tightly, nuzzling his face into her neck. "I'm so glad to be home with you, Mom," he murmured.
Taraji turned around in his arms, looking up at him with love in her eyes. "I'm glad too, Ayush," she said softly.
Ayush smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. "You look beautiful tonight," he said.
Taraji blushed again, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. No one had ever told her that she looked beautiful before, not even her late husband.
"Thank you," she said shyly.
Ayush kissed her forehead. "Come on, let's eat," he said.
They sat down at the dining table. She served his plate, then her own. As she sat down across from him, he looked at her and said, "You can eat later. Right now, get on all fours on the table and face me."
Taraji looked at him with confusion. "What?"
Ayush sighed. "You are my mom. You have to do whatever I say. Now do as you're told."
Taraji reluctantly stood up and climbed onto the table. She got on all fours, facing her son.
Ayush stood up and walked over to her. He placed a jug under her boobs and said, "Now start giving me milk."
Taraji was confused. How was she supposed to give him milk? But then he took her boobs into his hands and started squeezing and pinching them.
He did it hard. She screamed in pain as she felt drops of milk fall into the jug.
He kept going. He squeezed and pinched and groped and pulled her boobs as hard as he could, until she was crying from the pain.
But then, slowly, a thin streak of milk started flowing from her nipples, and Ayush grinned as he watched the white liquid drip into the jug below.
"Ayush! Please stop!" she cried.
But he didn't. He kept going, pinching her nipples harder than before and aiming the flow of milk into the jug.
"Please!" she begged. "It hurts!"
Ayush grinned, enjoying the sight of his mother's milk flowing into the jug. "That's it, Mom. Good girl. Keep going."
Taraji sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she felt the milk flow from her breasts. She could feel the liquid dripping down her chest, and she knew that it was staining her dress. But she couldn't stop it.
"Please," she begged again. "Stop."
Ayush finally relented, releasing her breasts from his grip. Taraji collapsed onto the table, gasping for breath. Her breasts were sore and throbbing, and she could feel the milk still leaking from her nipples.
Ayush sat down and started eating his dinner, drinking the breastmilk in the jug too. Taraji lay on the table, still crying softly.
After a few minutes, Ayush got up and walked over to Taraji. He cupped her face gently and said, "Mom, you have to be strong. You are going to be my wife soon, and I need a strong black woman to be my partner."
Taraji sniffled, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I'll try to be stronger."
Ayush kissed her forehead, then helped her off the table. "Good girl," he said. "Now, go wash your face and come eat your dinner."
Taraji nodded and walked away. As she went to the bathroom, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that the ordeal was over. She knew that she had disappointed her son, but she also knew that she would try her best to be stronger for him.
When she returned to the dining room, Ayush was waiting for her with a warm smile. "Come on, Mom, let's eat," he said, pulling out a chair for her.
Taraji sat down, feeling a little shy after what had just happened. But as they ate their dinner together, she began to feel more comfortable. They talked and laughed like they used to, and for a moment, she forgot about the pain and humiliation she had just endured.
But as the meal came to an end, Ayush looked at her with a serious expression. "Mom, I want you to remember that you are my wife now, and you will do whatever I tell you to do."
Taraji nodded, feeling her heart pound in her chest. She knew that there would be more challenges ahead, but she was determined to be the strong black wife that her son needed.
"Yes, Ayush," she said. "I understand."
The next day was the day of their wedding. Ayush and Tara were getting married in a private ceremony, with only the two of them and the priest in attendance.
Tara was wearing a beautiful white wedding dress, with a pair of sexy red lingerie underneath. Her choker was shining around her neck, and her breasts were straining against the fabric of her dress.
Ayush couldn't take his eyes off her as she walked down the aisle towards him. He grinned, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. He was finally going to marry the love of his life, and he couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life with her.
Tara smiled back at him, her eyes shining with love and happiness. She reached his side and took his hand, feeling a sense of joy and contentment wash over her. She had found her soulmate, and now they were finally going to be together forever.
The ceremony was short but sweet, and when the priest pronounced them husband and wife, they shared a passionate kiss.
After the wedding,
He brought her back to their home. They went straight to their bedroom. He had decorated it with large mirrors around the room. There were cameras set up in each corner to record their honeymoon. And beside the bed was a box of ultra huge condoms.
Tara gasped as she took in the scene before her. She looked at Ayush with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.
"Ayush, what's all this?" she asked.
Ayush grinned and took her hand, leading her to the bed. "We're going to make a video of our wedding night," he said. "And I want you to see yourself in all those mirrors. You are the most beautiful black woman in the world."
Tara blushed and looked away, feeling shy. "Ayush, you don't have to do all this," she said.
Ayush chuckled and pulled her onto the bed with him. "But I want to," he said. He began to caress her body through her clothes. "I want to show the world how beautiful you are, and how much I love you. And I want to capture this moment forever."
Tara looked up at him, feeling her heart flutter. No one had ever made her feel so special before.
"Ayush…" she whispered.
But Ayush just smiled and kissed her gently. "Don't worry, my love," he said. "We'll take it slow. For now, just enjoy the moment."
Tara nodded, feeling a sense of relief. She trusted Ayush, and she knew that he would never hurt her. She laid back on the bed, watching as Ayush stood up and walked to the mini bar.
"What would you like to drink, my beautiful wife?" he asked, turning to look at her.
Tara bit her lip, feeling a sense of nervousness building up inside her. She had never been in a situation like this before, and she didn't know what to expect. But then, she remembered Ayush's words, and she relaxed.
"Whatever you're having," she said with a smile.
Ayush nodded and started mixing their drinks. As he did, he said, "Mommy, I want you to slowly take off your white wedding gown. I want you to seduce me with your sexy red lingerie."
Tara blushed. She slowly took off her white wedding gown, revealing her sexy red lace lingerie underneath.
Ayush turned to look at her, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of her in her lingerie. She looked absolutely stunning, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest.
"Wow," he breathed. "You look amazing, Mom."
Tara smiled, feeling a sense of confidence building up inside her. "Thank you," she said.
Ayush walked back to the bed, handing her a glass of champagne. "Here you go," he said. "To us."
Tara took the glass and clinked it against his. "To us," she echoed.
They both took a sip of their drinks, and Ayush sat down on the bed next to her. He put down his glass and took hers from her hand, placing it on the bedside table.
"Ayush," Tara said. "I know that I am your mother, but tonight I am also your wife. Please do not call me mommy."
Ayush nodded. "Yes, my love."
They sat there in silence for a moment, sipping their champagne and enjoying each other's presence. Tara could feel Ayush's eyes on her, and she knew that he was admiring her body.
She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of anticipation building up inside her. This was it, she thought to herself. This was the moment she had been waiting for.
Ayush put down his glass and leaned in to kiss her. Tara closed her eyes, feeling his lips on hers. The kiss was soft and gentle at first, but then it became more passionate. Ayush's tongue was in her mouth, and she could feel his hands on her body.
Tara moaned softly, feeling a sense of pleasure wash over her. Ayush's hands were everywhere, caressing her skin and making her feel like she was on fire.
"Ayush," she breathed. "Please. I need you."
Ayush pulled away from the kiss, looking into her eyes. "I need you too, baby," he said. "But we have to take it slow. We have all night."
Tara nodded, knowing that he was right. They had all the time in the world, and she wanted to savor every moment of it.
Ayush leaned in to kiss her again, but this time it was slower and more passionate. Tara wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, and it made her want him even more.
As they kissed, Ayush's hands moved down to her breasts. He started to massage them gently, and Tara moaned into his mouth. His touch was electrifying, and she couldn't get enough of it.
"Ayush," she gasped. "That feels so good."
Ayush smiled against her lips. "Good," he murmured. He continued to massage her breasts, and Tara could feel her nipples getting harder. He pinched and pulled at them, and she cried out in pleasure.
"Ayush!" she moaned. "Oh god, please don't stop."
Ayush chuckled. "I'm not going to stop, baby," he said. He started to kiss down her neck, making her shiver with pleasure. "I'm just getting started."
Tara closed her eyes, enjoying the sensations that Ayush was giving her. His mouth was hot against her skin, and his hands were still on her breasts. She felt like she was in heaven.
He began removing her red underwear, and when he saw her pussy, his eyes lit up. It was a small pussy, but it was covered in the thickest black bush of pubic hair he had ever seen. The hairs were curly and the thickest at the top, and at the bottom, they became thinner and formed a perfect triangular shape. Tara's clit was hiding inside this thick bush, and Ayush had to part the hairs to find it.
Tara felt shy. How could she show her unshaven pussy to her son? He was seeing his mother naked for the first time in her life, and she was feeling a bit awkward. But as Ayush continued to stare at her pussy, she began to relax. She realized that she was being silly, and that this was something to be enjoyed.
Ayush smiled as he looked at her. "Mom," he said. "18 years ago you gave birth to me from this pussy. And today, this pussy will be fucked by me, bled by me and torn by me, and then it will be bred by me to give birth to my children."
Tara began to shiver. She was filled with fear and lust, and her whole body was shaking.
"Ayush," she moaned, looking down at him. "Please. Don't do this. You're my son. We shouldn't be doing this."
Ayush looked up at her, his eyes filled with lust. "But Mom, we're already married," he said, spreading her legs even further apart. "You're my wife now."
Tara whimpered, feeling Ayush's fingers on her clit. He was rubbing it gently, and she could feel herself getting wetter.