Ajay and Sanjay toweled off shamelessly in their soaked boxers, cocks still thick and obvious. I stood rigid, towel forgotten in my hand, jealousy a living coal in my gut.
The bottle spun again—Sanjay’s turn to dare. It pointed squarely at me.
“Truth or dare, birthday boy?” he asked, voice thick with whiskey and triumph.
I couldn’t speak. Mummy’s eyes found mine across the circle, soft, curious, a little wild from the rain and rum. Something in her gaze pushed me over.
“Dare,” I rasped.
Sanjay’s grin was pure wolf. “Sit right there and don’t move. Ajay and I are going to kiss Aunty’s neck and breasts—blindfolded again, so she guesses who’s who. You just watch. No touching yourself, no interfering.”
Mummy’s breath caught, a small, startled sound. For a heartbeat I thought she’d refuse. Instead she looked at me—really looked—searching my face for permission or protest. I gave her nothing but burning silence.
Slowly, she nodded.
The blindfold went back on—my own T-shirt this time, soft cotton pulled over her eyes. She knelt in the center of the rug, towel loosened just enough to bare her shoulders and the upper swells of her breasts. The room smelled of rain, whiskey, and the sharp, unmistakable scent of arousal.
Ajay went first.
He knelt behind her, hands settling lightly on her hips. His mouth found the curve where neck met shoulder—slow, open-mouthed kisses, tongue tracing wet trails along her skin. She shivered, head falling back, a soft “oh” escaping her lips. His hands slid up, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts through the towel, then tugging it lower inch by inch until her nipples spilled free—dark, tight, glistening from rain and saliva as he sucked one into his mouth with a low groan.
Mummy’s back arched; her fingers dug into the rug. “K-Ajay,” she whispered, voice trembling.
Sanjay took his turn without waiting.
He moved in front, cupping her face, tilting it toward him. His lips started at her throat—nipping, sucking, leaving faint red marks—then trailed down to her other breast. He was rougher, teeth grazing the nipple before his tongue soothed it, hand kneading the heavy flesh while his free palm slid down her belly, stopping just above the towel’s edge. Mummy’s hips rolled involuntarily; a low, needy moan spilled from her throat, raw and unmistakable.
I sat frozen, cock throbbing so hard it hurt, pre-cum soaking through my boxers in a dark stain. Jealousy was a living thing—claws in my chest, acid in my veins—watching their mouths on her body, her skin marked by their teeth, her moans for them. Every sound she made was a knife: betrayal, arousal, possession stolen. Dark fantasies detonated behind my eyes—waiting until they finished, then dragging her away, bending her over the sofa, fucking her brutally from behind while she sobbed my name, reclaiming every inch they’d touched, filling her with my cum until she forgot their mouths entirely.
They pulled back at last, breathing hard. Mummy’s chest heaved; her nipples were swollen, glistening with their saliva, faint bite marks blooming red. The blindfold came off. Her eyes were glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep crimson. She looked straight at me—guilt, desire, and something like apology flickering there.