“Private truth,” she whispered, hand cupping my cheek, rum-sweet breath warm against my lips. “I need to tell you something, beta.” Her eyes searched mine, vulnerable, shining. “Tonight… feeling your eyes, their eyes… I feel desired again. Truly seen. It’s been years since I felt this alive.” Her thumb brushed my lower lip, an unconscious gesture that sent lightning through me. “Thank you for making your mother feel beautiful on your birthday.”
I wanted to crush her against the counter, claim her mouth, mark her as mine alone. Instead I whispered, hoarse, “You’re everything, Mummy,” and she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead before leading me back to the circle—her hand brushing the small of my back possessively.
The final dare came from Ajay, voice thick: “Aunty… it’s pouring outside. Dare you to strip the saree and go skinny-dipping in the rain with us. Just to the backyard—ten seconds, then back in.”
Mummy stilled. We all did. Rain roared like applause.
She looked at me—really looked—something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. Then she stood, fingers going to the saree pin at her shoulder.
“One dare left in me,” she said softly.
She unpinned the pallu, let the red silk slide from her body in a slow, liquid cascade, pooling at her feet. Blouse and petticoat followed—buttons undone one by one, fabric whispering to the floor—until she stood in nothing but black lace bra and matching panties, skin glowing in the lamplight, rain shadows dancing over her curves.
The three of us stared, breathless.
She stepped past us toward the back door, hips swaying, and opened it to the downpour. Cool rain-scented wind rushed in. Without looking back, she unhooked her bra, let it fall, then shimmied out of her panties—naked, magnificent, water already beading on her skin as she stepped onto the wet grass.
We followed like pilgrims.
Rain lashed us instantly—cold needles on hot skin. She spun once, arms wide, head back, breasts thrusting upward, nipples tight and dark, water streaming down her belly into the dark curls between her thighs. We circled her instinctively—three young bodies in soaked boxers, cocks rigid and obvious. Hands reached out—tentative at first: Ajay’s palm grazing her waist, Sanjay’s fingers brushing her hip, my own hand finding the small of her back, possessive, trembling.
She didn’t stop us. A soft moan escaped her lips—rain, rum, or touch, impossible to tell—as fingertips traced rain-slick skin: the curve of her breast, the swell of her ass, the sensitive inner thigh. Ten seconds stretched into thirty, forty—softcore caresses in the downpour, bodies glistening, breaths ragged. Jealousy clawed my chest even as arousal drowned me; watching their hands on her body while mine claimed the most intimate places felt like exquisite torture.
Finally she laughed—breathless, free—and ran back inside, naked and dripping, leaving us to follow, cocks aching, hearts pounding, the night no longer innocent at all.
We stumbled back inside, dripping and shivering, the rain still hammering the roof like a frantic heartbeat. Towels appeared—Mummy’s doing, fetched from the linen cupboard while we stood naked and half-naked in the doorway, water pooling at our feet. She wrapped one around her torso first, knotting it high above her breasts, but the thin cotton went translucent instantly, clinging to every curve: nipples dark and erect, the shadowed cleft between her thighs, the lush swell of her ass visible as she turned.