The women stood in a line around the dining table.
"Let's begin the fun," said Dadaji, as he went straight to my mother.
Lal Krishna Chauhan, a pillar of the local business community, proceeded to kneel down in front of mother and lifted up her saree. I was greeted to a brief glimpse of mother's starched white panties before he delved underneath with lust on his face. My penis hardened as my mother Smita bucked her hips and almost lost her balance as her father in law began ministering to her. I could see his head moving around underneath the fabric of the saree. Her hands were holding onto his shoulders for support and she seemed lost to the fact that her own son was a witness to her fevered reaction.
The others had paired up in a similar fashion with the men performing cunnilingus on the robed women while they struggled to stand and maintain their balance. My father, Brijmohan Chauhan was servicing his sister Sarmistha while Debadutta was with Sulochana Taiji. Dadiji was being attended to by her son Ujjwal. Only Anjali stood apart, sitting on the arm of the sofa, soaking in the scene, lips slightly apart. Soon moans and squeals began to permeate the room. Someone had turned off the air conditioner.
My mother's face was flush as dadaji began burrowing deeper and deeper. By now she had her legs parted wide and was almost half squatting as Dadaji proceeded mercilessly notwithstanding her squeals and hoarse moans. Her panty lay on the floor next to his kneeling form .This was not the mother I knew. She was a women transformed.
There was unadulterated joy on her face as she began thrusting her pelvis against her sasurji's tongue. Her face was marked with perspiration and her pants grew hoarser as she struggled to maintain her distinctly inelegant posture. I wondered if it was the same calm, serene woman who would drop me to school every morning, was there for me whenever I was in trouble, was happily married to her husband and until now had given no indication that she was in way, a sexual being. She was the good Indian mother and wife with no needs of her own. In a weird perverted way, I was proud of her. I looked down and saw the tent over my towel.
Now it was a matter of waiting for the inevitable orgasms to gush, as the men energetically tongued their partners. Predictably my mother was the first to break as she backed into the wall and her thighs clenched tightly around Dadaji's head. She let out a long moan as Dadji administered the
coup de grace
by thrusting his hand between her legs and rubbing hard. Dadaji emerged out from between my mother's thighs, his fair face flushed and his bald pate sweaty, but that was nothing compared to the state he had left my mother in. She wobbled a bit and heaved and almost sheepishly, retrieved her panties. Then by the corner wall, she put it on. As she pulled it up, I caught a glimpse of her milky white thighs. And unlike what I had expected, they were not in the least bit flabby. She was a bit full around her waist, but no one could call her overweight. She adjusted her saree and with a bit of nonchalance surveyed the scene in front of her. She was just in time to see her husband of twenty years bringing Sarmistha buaji to climax. Soon Sulochana taiji succumbed. Perhaps surprisingly, Dadiji held out the longest.
