Usha and her MotherUsha and her Mother


Another mother-daughter fantasy. Never gets stale for me. All situations are made up. The story contains graphic descriptions of sex, which is consensual. All characters are 18 years or older. Comments are welcome.


My family hailed from a tiny village nestled in the windward side of some of the most beautiful hills of South India, but over the years had migrated to a small city nearby for obvious reasons. As a teenager, I wanted to get out and see the world. While some of my friends pursued higher studies and others went into businesses, I joined the army. And for the next thirty-five years or so had the opportunity to live in different parts of the country.

But the tug of the native land was ever present and was subconsciously pulling me back. So it was with relief that as an empty nester in my mid-fifties I gave up military life, took voluntary retirement and decided to go back to the place I was raised and schooled in. The small city where I grew up was now a bustling, thriving commercial and arts center and there was no dearth of business opportunities and I wanted to explore these.

Fortunately, I had kept in touch with my parents’ family, my uncles, aunts and cousins and other relatives throughout the years I was away and they provided advice and helped me settle down. The daughter of one of my cousins (twice removed probably, as I was not too close to them) had recently built a house and was looking for a tenant for the upper floor. This was a perfect match for us, and I moved in as a tenant. The plan was that my wife, who was a nurse in Chennai and did not share my interest in settling down in a small city, would visit as and when time permitted.

I must confess that business was just one of the many reasons I wanted to come away. There were rumors about my wife’s promiscuity, her many affairs with doctors and others, and i wanted to get away from it all.

But really who was I to judge?

The life in the military had provided me numerous chances for sex outside of marriage and I had gleefully grabbed them with both hands, before and during the many years our marriage, and had continued even until a few months ago. My liaisons were frequent and plenty and in varied places and with so many different women and girls. I was blinded to my wife’s circumstances as I focussed on keeping my family life secure and protected from my other secret life.


The house was owned by my distant niece Usha and her husband Suresh. Her mother Jaya, and her father, Mohan, also lived in the same house. Usha had a small child who was about a year old. The upper floor of the house was nothing out of the ordinary and was sufficient for me. Along with the rent we agreed that they would do my laundry, clean my house and provide me with one meal a day, which was usually dinner.

Jaya and Usha, mother and daughter, were these everyday normal women you came across in these small towns. Nether was a stunning beauty, or had a great figure, or was provocative or sexy. But this was what appealed to me. A lifetime spent in social circles where everything was made up or artificial, with people doled up with makeup and deodorants and perfumes, made me long for what was natural, simple and pure. And I saw that in both these women.

Jaya was a little shy but opened up once I got to know her better, which took me a couple of weeks. She called me ‘anna’, which meant elder brother, which in a sense I was. It was clear that Jaya had a lifetime of hard work. She had a nice figure, and was not plump and fat in the middle like most other women. She had aged gracefully and had a pleasant demeanor. Seeing her and Mohan together one would almost be surprised to learn they were husband and wife. Such was the apparent difference in their appearance and physique. Jaya appeared to be much younger than her husband.

Her daughter Usha was confident and outspoken and gave no indication of being intimidated by me or my background. She called me ‘mama’, which meant uncle in our language. She was around twenty or twenty one, about five or six years younger than my youngest son. She seemed to have that small girl-like innocence in her even though she was now married and had a child. She was of medium height. Her skin was the color of light copper. She had long, silky, smooth, shiny hair that was blacker than any black I had seen. Like her mother, she was slim and fit and her dress molded to her body and showed of her curves. I found it difficult to tear my eyes off her. I took every opportunity to be next to her and talk to her and make her laugh.

It could definitely have been a pervert in me or I might have just been desperate to be with a woman. Or both. But I was getting aroused every time I saw Usha. It was pathetic on my part, I knew. But what could I do?

I just wanted to be in her company and around her, to ogle her and see her from every angle.

I hadn’t fucked a girl like Usha before. Yes, there were girls as young as her, mostly well educated, city-slickers like me out to have Nişantaşı Escort fun, or whores and prostitutes fucking for money. There were plenty like that. But someone like Usha, man, so innocent, so homely, so uninitiated, so pure- no, none like that. Oh How I wanted to fuck her. The things I would do to her!! I would have to patiently seduce her. Why not? Had I not done this with women before?

I went to work with the usual tools available to men. Gifts of fruits, flowers, sweets, books, DVDs, CDs followed in quick succession. Our conversations became longer and topics varied. She grew more comfortable with me as the days passed. I impressed her by helping her father and mother, cleaning the yard, clearing debris and the like, giving her every opportunity to observe me in my elements. On the day of the week that her favorite magazine went on sale, I would see her waiting expectantly for me to get it for her on my way back from the office. Quite suddenly we were able to touch each other without reservation. Just a pat on the head, or a slight touch of my fingers on her hand that went unrebuked. She returned these with the same casualness. And I started noticing her noticing me as I went about my day and work. She would linger near me after giving me the usual tea and snacks at the end of the day, trying to make some conversation or expecting me to tell a joke and laugh with me. Our eye contact grew longer and longer, our talk more candid and frank.

She was not oblivious to what I was doing. She most certainly knew I was checking her out, and ogling her. She caught me looking at her on many occasions, and I deliberately allowed myself to be caught. I was sure she had this experience with other men. I had noticed many of them giving her the once over. A few of her husband’s friends really flirted with her when they came to visit, and I particularly noticed a couple of them surreptitiously looking at her magnificent behind as she walked away. And if I was not mistaken, she deliberately strutted in front of them showing, but also not showing, her wares. And there were the workers who came to repair the wall in their house, and other vendors and boys from the stores who came often on some pretext or another. I could not help but notice how blatantly they were ogling her and her embarrassment at having to approach them to talk or give them coffee or tea. They openly leered at her and tried to talk to her.

But I guessed she was confused about me and what I was doing. I was much older and seemingly happily married – my wife had already spent a couple of weekends with me, coming down from Chennai and to Usha it would have seemed that I was happy and content. But nothing in her attitude towards me showed that she cared how old I was or how I looked or that we were related in some way.

I, of course, made sure that a line was not crossed. I never gave the chance for anyone to be suspicious of my intentions, dishonorable as they were. Her husband and father had no clue what I was aiming for as I also included them in my favors. A couple of bottles of fine rum were enough to blind them to my actions. But I knew Jaya kept a wary eye on me and my interactions with Usha.


The water pump, Usha told me one Saturday morning, was broken and wanted my help in fixing it. I readily agreed to take a look, as it was a Saturday and I had nothing else to do until later that evening.

As usual, she wore her sari a little low on her waist, which exposed her deep dark navel. Her belly was almost flat except for a slight bulge that reminded one and all that she was a mother. Her breasts were big and full and round and pushed against her blouse, and strained the standard white bra as they held her globes. On occasion, her distended nipples poked through the material of her bra and blouse. I imagined my lips on each of her nipples, feeling their hardness through her blouse, sucking them till they hurt her and causing her to scream. Fuck!

She kept a steady conversation with me which I tried to follow with not much success. It was difficult to concentrate. As she bent this way and that, I was able to see the deep valley of her cleavage and her tits jiggling tightly in their confinement. I feasted on every inch of her body, covered and uncovered. I was fucking her in all possible positions in my mind, right there on the garden floor. Fuck! Again!

There was a thin layer of sweat on the supple tops of her boobs, in her cleavage, and on the soft layer of fat around her waist where her sari pinched her body, and under her armpits that, on her, for some reason appeared erotic and sensual to me, whereas any notion of sweat on my wife’s body or on any of my colleagues, friends or co-workers was abhorrent to me. But I wanted to hold her in my hands and lick the sweat off every part of her body.

As I inhaled near her, I got the aroma of a heady mix of sandalwood cream she had spread on herself, a lingering hint of the flowers I had seen her wear the night before and Pendik Escort the fresh sweat on her. Her body glowed as the slanting, warm, early morning sunlight bathed the yard.

I was working in my sleeveless vest. I was hoping she’d see my physique and be impressed at how fit and muscular and active I was even a fifty-five. She would have of course seen many half-naked men in her life before, some even better looking and more fit than I, but I was hopeful. She did give me some sideways glances now and then, and once she almost tripped on something in the yard and reached out and held my arm.

She had the hem of her sari and her petticoat along with it pulled up and tucked into her waist which exposed one of her legs. I feasted on her shapely calves and ran my eyes up her hairless, smooth, silky, copper colored legs. And up to her rounded knees and up her fleshy, tight, thick, thighs as they disappeared under her clothes.

Her clothes tightened on her ass as she squatted. She leaned forward to adjust the soil around some plants and I could see her ass cheeks clearly outlined. There was no hint of a panty line. I wasn’t sure if she had one on. What did she have under there, if at all, I wondered?

I confess I have had a deep panty fetish since I could remember college. I fantasized about panties, imagining them on the women and girls I encountered in my daily life – friends of my wife, wives and daughters of my colleagues, women and girls I saw on the road and in shops and in everyday places. I couldn’t not help it. But I never acted on my impulses. It was strictly ‘look but mustn’t touch’.

I had of course seen her’s and her mother’s undergarments hanging out to dry on their clothes line yesterday, as I had done everyday since I came here. Was it the dark brown or the patterned blue one today? I asked myself. She would definitely be sweating down there. Her sweat would have made a deep line on the front of her panties, following the line of her cunt. Oh fuck! What would I not give to get a hold of her sweaty, smelly underpants right after she finished the work on the garden. I knew they only wore the standard issue white bras so what was under her blouse, holding up her heavy, milky, motherly tits was no mystery. I wanted to bury my face in each of her round, delicious tits and suck the milk off her.

Later that afternoon I saw Usha giving an oil massage to her husband. He was sitting on a chair in the backyard, half naked, bare bodies with only his shorts on, and she was rubbing hot oil on him. The thick pot belly was incongruous on his thin, stick-like frame, his bald pate shining in the hot son. Perhaps this was the day of the month he took an oil massage. I way her hands roam all over his back, shoulders, chest and thighs. But that sonofabitch was ordering her around. “Hey, do it here! Scratch my back! Press harder! Can’t you do something without me having to tell you! Hmmm!! What a wife I have!”

I went down and walked over to them,and said, “Wow! Suresh. Your lucky day! Hot oil massage, eh?”

Usha looked at me and blushed. But Suresh said, “Sir! Yes, good to have a wife to do all this for you. Next time madam is here ask her to give you one, ha ha!”

“My wife me a massage? Ha,” I laughed. “That will be the day. Hell would have to freeze over before that happens!” We had a giggle, but I saw Usha look at me and her eyes softened.

The next day was Sunday and as usual the men of the house were away. I was standing on the porch when Usha hurried upstairs with something in her hand. When she was close to me I realized it was the same cup that she used to hold hot oil while giving her husband a massage the previous day.

“Hey, mama,” she whispered. “Have you never had an oil massage from your wife?”

I shook my head. She extended her hand, “Come. I Want. Quickly!”

I sat on the top stairs without a word, not knowing what else to do. She reached down and grabbed my T-Shirt and pulled it over my head. I had sweatpants on, and she said, “You need to take that off too, mama, if you need a proper massage.”

Dumb-founded, I stood up and removed my sweatpants and now I only had my inner boxer shorts on. She was quiet for a few seconds and I saw that she was looking over my body. Her eyes lingered on my chest, and slowly down my muscled abs, down my shorts and hairy thighs and legs. When she realized that I was noticing what she was doing, she raised her eyes quickly to mine, and in a fraction of a second she looked away and got busy with the oil in the cup.

She took her time massaging my upper body. Before she started, she once again picked up the hem of her sari and petticoat and tucked them inside her waist. Her legs were exposed up to her thick, smooth thighs. She bent this way and that. The bangles on her wrists jingled with the motions of her hands over my back and arms. Her face was close to mine as she rubbed oil into my chest. I recalled that her husband hardly had any hair on his chest. But I was hairy all Rus Escort over, and by now my chest hairs were also greying. I looked at her face and saw it was flushed. She has minuscule droplets of sweat on her top lip, and on her brow. She wiped the sweat off with the back of her hand, and as she raised her arm I couldn’t help but notice that she had sweaty armpits, and that I could not see the usual band of her bra. But her tits were still tight and firm in her blouse, unencumbered by the confines of a bra.

She hurried when she reached my thighs and legs, and did not spend much time there. I looked down when she was rubbing oil between my toes and she provided unfettered views down her blouse. The tops of her supple tits bounced slightly as she moved. The valley of her cleavage was deep. Her nipples were protruding slightly through her blouse. I tried my best to hide my growing erection. I knew she was aware of the effect this was having on both of us. She was deriving some sort of pleasure from this also, I was sure. Why else would she offer to do this to me?

Damn! I burned her images in my memory and recalled them as I masturbated to my heart’s content that night. I also started making plans on how I could bed her.


I came home later than usual that evening, having spent some time with my colleagues at a party. I heard Suresh, Usha’s husband, talking in a very loud voice. As I went up the steps I realized that his voice seemed threatening and uncontrolled and incoherent, almost like someone who was drunk. Then I heard what seemed like blows falling on a body, and then women’s voices, shouting, protesting, complaining and loud. I decided to take a look.

As I entered Usha’s house, everything became clear. Suresh was indeed drunk. And he was physically abusing Usha!

Usha was on the floor clutching her sari to her chest and wailing. Her mother, Jaya, was holding the screaming baby with one hand and trying to stop Suresh with another. Both women were weeping and wailing!!

And as I watched, the sonofabitch Suresh, pushed aside Jaya with one hand so forcefully that she tripped and fell in a crash on the ground but somehow protected the baby from the fall. This caused another round of howling from all three. But Suresh was not done, yet. He raised his hand and brought it down on Usha’s back. The ‘whack’ sound it made echoed in the small room. Usha moaned and writhed in pain and shock. The next blow from Suresh was a slap right on her cheek that made her spin around and slam her face on the wall. She crumpled in a heap to the floor and groaned. All this happened in a few seconds, but I had enough.

I did not care what the women did that caused Suresh to act this way. This was no way to treat any woman. I crossed the room in two long strides, and caught Suresh’s hand as he readied himself to whack Usha once more.

“Let me go you, you bastard! Fuck you…you whore son!” he stammered at me, trying to wrest his hands from mine.

I slapped him hard. I body-slammed against the wall. He screamed, “You fucking asshole, motherfucker! Cocksucker! You.. yooo…” I did not let him finish. I picked him up and he trashed and flailed his arms and legs, but I did not let go. I dragged him to the bedroom kicking and screaming, and slammed him on to the bed. He tried to get up but I slapped him. Hard. Once. Then again. I said, “Fucking asshole! That’s no way to treat a woman, you son of a bitch! Don’t you get up now! Sleep it off. And don’t touch those women! If you do, I’ll break your arms, you mother fucker!” I went out and locked the door from outside.

I made my way back to Jaya and Usha. Both of them were huddled on the floor clutching each other and the baby. Their bodies shook with sobs. They had their faces turned away from me in shame and embarrassment. Usha’s clothes were torn. Suresh had ripped one side of her blouse away. And she was not wearing any bra and she hid her body from me with her hands.

“Don’t worry,” I said to the women. “He is drunk. He will not bother you anymore tonight. If he does, just call me. He should be OK by the morning. I will talk some sense into him then. Now fix yourselves.”

As I turned to go, Usha raised her tear stained face to me and our eyes locked for a few seconds.


I did not expect Usha to bring my dinner that evening after what had happened, but I was surprised to see her at the top of the stairs with the usual plate of food and water bottle. I was just getting changed to go out, and I was bare chested and only in my shorts. She gave a start when she saw me like that. She stared at my body but did not say anything.

“Oh Usha! You shouldn’t have done.. I could have. I can go out and eat. Why did you bother?” I said, as I reached her and took the food from her.

I turned and looked at her. She had tried to freshen up as much as she could but her face was still streaked with tears. She tried to speak, but words didn’t come out of her mouth, and she hung her head for a while, then said, still looking down, “Thank You for what you did, mama. Nobody knows it, but Suresh has always been like this. He doesn’t get drunk very often, but when he does he really becomes violent. At least now he knows you are here know..another man that can stand up to him. I think you taught him a lesson and he won’t do it again.” And she lifted her eyes to mine.

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