When dawn finally crept through the curtains, we lay tangled on the rug—four bodies spent, marked, glistening with sweat and cum, breaths syncing in exhausted harmony. Mummy’s head rested on my chest, fingers tracing lazy circles through the mess on my stomach, her body still twitching with aftershocks. She looked up at me, eyes soft, sated, a little awed.
“Happy birthday, beta,” she murmured. “Best one yet.”
Dawn filtered through the half-drawn curtains in pale gold ribbons, painting the master bedroom in soft, unforgiving light. We had migrated here sometime in the delirious small hours—four sweat-slicked, cum-drenched bodies collapsing onto the king-sized bed that had once belonged solely to my parents. The same mattress where Papa had fucked Mummy on their wedding night, where she had moaned his name in the dark, where nine months later I had been conceived in frantic, hopeful thrusts. Now it bore the stains of our debauchery: crumpled sheets twisted with dried semen and her slick, the faint musk of pussy and ass and mouths still thick in the air, pillows scattered like casualties.
Mummy—Savitri—lay in the center, a ruined goddess. Her naked body sprawled across the middle of the bed, legs parted in exhausted invitation, breasts rising and falling in slow, deep breaths, nipples still puffy and red from hours of sucking and biting. Cum glazed her skin in obscene streaks: across her belly, dried in silvery trails down her thighs, crusted in the dark curls of her pussy and the tender cleft of her ass. Ajay was curled against her left side, face nestled between her breasts, one arm slung possessively over her waist; Sanjay mirrored him on the right, mouth slack against her shoulder, hand cupping the heavy underside of her right breast. I lay behind her, spooning her back, my softening cock still half-buried in the warm, swollen heat of her pussy, cum leaking slowly around where we remained joined. My arm draped over her hip, fingers idly tracing the slick mess on her lower belly—our mess, theirs, mine.
We slept like the dead, limbs entangled, breaths syncing in the quiet.
The phone rang at 8:17 a.m.—Papa’s ringtone, cheerful and oblivious, slicing through the haze like a blade.
Mummy stirred first, a soft, drowsy sound escaping her throat. She reached blindly for the bedside table, knocking over an empty whiskey glass before her fingers closed around the phone. The screen lit her face: Ramesh calling. Her eyes fluttered open, met mine over her shoulder—sleepy, sated, a flicker of wicked mischief sparking there.
She answered on the third ring, voice husky with sleep and sex, but steady enough to pass for morning grogginess.
“Hello, jaan… yes, we’re all fine.” She shifted slightly, pressing back against me, and I felt my cock—traitor that it was—begin to harden again inside her cum-filled cunt. “The party was wonderful. Ankit had such a good time.”
Ajay and Sanjay stirred at the sound of her voice, eyes cracking open, realizing what was happening. Grins spread slow and filthy across their faces. Without a word, they moved in.