Mummy’s orgasm hit like the storm outside—body bowing forward then back, breasts thrust forward into their greedy mouths, pussy clenching visibly around Sanjay’s fingers as she flooded his hand with a gush of wetness that soaked the rug beneath her, a long, keening cry tearing from her throat, her eyes locked on mine the entire time—love, lust, apology, gift—all of it poured into that gaze, her face contorting in ecstasy, brows furrowed, mouth open in a silent scream before the sound broke free.
The Mummyent she shattered, my own control snapped. I came with a choked groan, ropes of thick, hot cum striping my stomach in pulsing jets, vision whiting out as possessive triumph roared through me: they made her come, but she came looking at me, her body trembling in aftershocks, hands reaching out blindly toward me as if I were her anchor.
The game didn’t end. Mummy pulled them up gently, her body still quivering, and kissed each boy on the corner of the mouth—soft, maternal thanks, her tongue flicking out briefly to taste their lips—then crawled across the rug to me on hands and knees, breasts swaying heavy beneath her, nipples wet and red from their abuse, dragging against the fabric and sending shivers through her frame. She straddled my lap, her slick pussy lips parting over my thigh, leaving a trail of her juices, took my still-hard cock in her slick hand—fingers wrapping around the base with a firm, loving squeeze—and sank down slowly—inch by torturous inch—until I was buried to the hilt inside the velvet heat I’d dreamed of for years, her inner walls clenching around me like a fist, hot and wet and home.
Ajay and Sanjay watched, stroking themselves languidly, as she began to ride me—slow, deep rolls of her hips, like ancient Kamasutra made flesh, her hands on my shoulders for leverage, nails digging into my skin as she lifted and dropped, her breasts bouncing with each descent, nipples grazing my chest. Soul to soul, body to body—her forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling in hot, shared pants, eyes never breaking contact, the romantic intensity of it all making my heart swell even as my cock throbbed inside her. “My birthday boy,” she whispered against my lips, her voice a husky caress, “take what’s yours.” But then, as her pace quickened, hips grinding in tight circles that rubbed her clit against my pubic bone, she leaned closer, lips brushing my ear, and confessed in a breathy moan, “Vikram… he looked just like you at eighteen, beta. Your face, your eyes, your hunger. I’ve always wanted this—you were my type before I knew it.”
The revelation shattered me—jealousy from her past twisting into healing ecstasy, knowing her deepest desires had always mirrored my own, her body a cradle shaped for me. I flipped her beneath me in one savage motion, friends forgotten for a Mummyent, pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise, and fucked her with long, punishing strokes—claiming every inch they’d touched, driving deeper, harder, my hips slamming against hers with wet slaps, her pussy clenching around me like a vice, juices coating my balls as they slapped against her ass. Ajay and Sanjay took turns at her breasts again, licking, sucking, but it was my cock inside her, my rhythm, my cum that filled her when she came a second time—clenching, milking, crying out against my neck, her legs locking around my waist to pull me deeper.