I woke up tangled in my sheets, my cock throbbing with a stubborn morning erection that tented the thin cotton of my boxers. The Mumbai morning was already thick with heat, the ceiling fan whirring lazily overhead, pushing warm air around the room. Through the open window came the familiar chaos of the street below—honking scooters, vendors calling out, the distant clang of the local train. My skin felt sticky with overnight sweat, and the ache in my groin demanded attention.
I groaned and swung my legs off the bed, deciding a cold shower might tame it. In the bathroom, I stripped quickly and stepped under the spray. The water hit my shoulders first, cool enough to make me hiss, then ran down my chest and over my hard length. I closed my eyes, soaping up slowly, the scent of sandalwood soap filling the steam. My hand drifted lower, gripping myself, but I forced myself to stop. There would be time for that later—downstairs, my step-mom Priya and my step-sister Neha were probably already up.
I finished rinsing off, the water drumming against the tiles as I shut it off. Toweling dry, I felt the rough cotton drag across sensitive skin, making my cock twitch again. I pulled on a light blue shirt and jeans, the fabric clinging slightly in the humidity, then packed my laptop and notebooks into my bag. A quick glance at my desk confirmed last night's assignments were done—everything ready for today's university lectures.
My stomach growled. The faint aroma of fresh aloo paratha and chai drifted up from the kitchen, mingling with the sharper note of frying ghee. I headed downstairs, footsteps echoing on the marble steps, heart beating a little faster at the thought of seeing my step-mom Priya in her morning saree.
I descended the last few marble steps, the rich, spiced aroma of sizzling ghee and cumin pulling me toward the kitchen like a leash. The morning light poured through the wide windows, glinting off the stainless-steel counters and the brass vessels stacked beside the stove. My step-mom Priya—my gorgeous, blood-unrelated step-mom with her ripe MILF curves—was bent slightly over the tawa, flipping golden aloo parathas. Her deep red saree clung to her sweat-damp skin in the humid heat, the pallu slipping low enough to expose the heavy sway of her massive breasts, dark nipples stiff and visible through the thin blouse. The pleats of her saree had ridden up in the back, revealing the lush swell of her big, round ass, and—true to form—she wore nothing underneath. Her smooth, pink pussy lips peeked out, already glistening with arousal, the inner folds swollen and slick, dripping a thin trail of wetness down her thick thighs. My step-mom Priya had always been casually shameless about it at home, letting me see that perfect, shaved cunt whenever she felt like it, knowing exactly what it did to me.
My cock, still half-hard from the shower, surged to full attention, straining painfully against my jeans. I didn't bother hiding it. I stepped behind her, pressed my chest to her back, and wrapped my arms around her soft waist in a tight hug. "Morning, step-mom," I murmured against her ear, my voice rough. She hummed approvingly, pushing her ass back against me as I unzipped and freed my throbbing cock, letting it spring out hot and heavy against her bare skin.
The head of my dick slid instantly between her slick folds, coating itself in her dripping juices. I didn't push inside—just held her close, rocking my hips slowly, dragging my full length along her soaked slit, the veiny shaft gliding over her engorged clit again and again. Her pussy was scalding, so wet it made obscene squelching sounds with every thrust of my hips. I could feel every detail: the soft give of her puffy outer lips parting for me, the hard nub of her clit catching on my ridge, her arousal smearing hot and sticky along my cock and balls. Priya gasped softly, gripping the counter, her big tits heaving as she ground back against me in perfect rhythm. Our eyes locked in the reflection of the polished steel backsplash—hers dark and hungry, mine burning with need.
"Happy twenty-fifth birthday, beta," my step-mom Priya whispered breathlessly, her voice thick with lust, lips parted as she moaned. "Your favorite breakfast is almost ready… but this comes first."
I groaned, gripping her hips harder, rutting faster, the wet slap of my cock against her dripping cunt filling the kitchen. Her juices ran freely now, dripping down both our thighs, the scent of her arousal mixing with the spices in the air. Her clit throbbed under my shaft, and I angled myself to grind right against it, circling the swollen tip with every stroke. She shuddered violently, her big ass quivering against me, and I felt her pussy clench and pulse as she came—hot gushes of her cum coating my cock, running over my balls. The sight and feel of my step-mom Priya orgasming from nothing but my external rubbing pushed me over: I thrust hard along her slit one last time and exploded, thick ropes of cum shooting across her pink folds, painting her pussy lips and dripping down onto the floor in pearly strands.
We stayed like that for a moment, panting, my softening cock still nestled between her soaked thighs. Priya reached for a kitchen towel, calmly wiping my cum from her dripping pussy and thighs, then gently cleaning my shaft with the same cloth, her touch lingering and tender. "Go ahead, sit at the table and relax, birthday boy," she said with a wicked smile, tucking herself back into her saree as if nothing had happened. "Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."
I nodded, dazed and satisfied, and sank into the chair, the lingering scent of sex and parathas wrapping around me like a promise of more to come.
My step-mom Priya finally switched off the stove with a satisfied sigh and carried the steaming plates to the dining table, the golden aloo parathas crisp at the edges and stuffed with spicy potato filling, accompanied by fresh curd, tangy mango pickle, and two tall glasses of steaming masala chai fragrant with cardamom and ginger. She set my plate in front of me, her heavy breasts brushing against my shoulder as she leaned in, the thin blouse doing nothing to hide her stiff nipples. "Eat up, birthday boy," she purred, her voice low and teasing, before settling into the chair directly opposite me.
We dug in silently at first, the only sounds the soft clink of steel cutlery against plates and the distant Mumbai traffic filtering through the windows. But under the teakwood table, my gorgeous blood-unrelated step-mom Priya spread her thick thighs wide, her saree bunched carelessly around her waist, exposing that perfect pink pussy still glistening from our earlier session. Fresh arousal leaked steadily from her swollen folds, a thin trail of creamy wetness dripping onto the chair cushion beneath her, the musky scent rising faintly to mix with the savory aroma of ghee and spices.
She lifted one bare foot slowly, her painted toes brushing up my inner thigh until they reached my crotch. My cock had already stiffened again in my jeans; she pressed her soft sole against the bulge, rubbing in firm, deliberate circles that made me groan around a mouthful of paratha. The flaky layers melted on my tongue, the spicy filling bursting with heat, but all I could focus on was the exquisite pressure of her foot as she worked my zipper down with surprising dexterity and freed my throbbing shaft into the warm air. Her toes curled around my veiny length, stroking from base to tip, the pad of her foot grinding against my leaking cockhead while her heel teased my heavy balls. Precum smeared across her skin, making each slide slick and obscene.
Across from me, my step-mom Priya kept eating calmly with one hand—tearing off pieces of paratha, dipping them in curd, licking her fingers clean—while her other hand disappeared between her spread legs. I heard the wet squelch as two fingers plunged into her dripping cunt, pumping in and out with lewd, rhythmic sounds that echoed under the table. Her massive tits heaved with each breath, eyes locked on mine, dark and burning with raw hunger. "Mmm, tastes so good," she murmured, lips shiny with ghee, though we both knew she wasn't just talking about breakfast.
The dual assault—her foot milking my cock with expert pressure, twisting and squeezing until my balls drew up tight, while she finger-fucked herself harder, her juices dripping audibly onto the floor—built the tension unbearably. I gripped the table edge, trying not to thrust openly into her foot, the spicy chai burning my throat as I swallowed. She curled her toes tighter, smearing my precum everywhere, and plunged a third finger inside her pulsing hole, her thighs quivering.
We came together in a silent explosion: her pussy clenched visibly around her fingers, gushing a fresh flood of cum that soaked her hand and splattered the chair; my cock jerked in her grip, shooting thick ropes of hot semen across her foot and ankle, some strands landing warm on my own thigh. She milked every last drop with slow, deliberate strokes, her breath hitching as aftershocks rippled through her.
Without missing a beat, my step-mom Priya withdrew her glistening fingers, licked them clean with a wicked smile, then reached for a napkin to wipe my cum from her foot and her own dripping pussy. She tucked herself back into her saree as if nothing had happened. "My love," she said softly, voice husky with satisfaction, "come back early from university today. You know your step-mom can't live without her favorite boy's cock filling her up."
I nodded, still catching my breath, my spent cock twitching at her words. "Same here, step-mom. I'll rush back." I slung my bag over my shoulder, the taste of breakfast and her lingering scent clinging to me as I headed out the door for class.