The next day, Sonia’s behavior spiraled further. In the kitchen, while feeding Arjun and Nia their breakfast—mashed bananas and milk, their small hands sticky—she beckoned the milkman, a burly man in his mid-30s, inside. With her sheer camisole soaked, milk dripping from her breasts, she fucked him against the counter, his cock pounding her pussy, cum erupting over her clit, milk spraying the tiles. Arjun giggled, “Mommy’s playing!” Nia added, “She’s always shiny!” Mrs. Patel stormed in, her gasp sharp. “Sonia, in front of the children!” Sonia smirked, wiping cum from her thigh. “They don’t understand, Ma. It’s just life.” Mrs. Patel’s face flushed red, but she retreated, muttering, “You’re lost.”
That afternoon, in the backyard, with Arjun and Nia chasing butterflies nearby, Sonia fucked two gardeners—late 20s, their hands rough from work. One took her pussy, the other her mouth, their cocks relentless, cum drenching her clit and face, each slipping ₹1000 into her camisole. Mrs. Patel watched from the window, her scream piercing the air. “Sonia, stop this madness!” Sonia stood, cum dripping, and laughed. “Ma, I’m free. This is my choice.” Arjun ran up, “Mommy’s sparkly!” Nia echoed, “She’s always like this, Grandma!” Mrs. Patel’s hands trembled, her voice breaking. “You’re destroying this family.”
The breaking point came that evening. In the master bedroom, the air thick with the scent of incense, Sonia crossed a line. She fucked her father, Mr. Patel, and Rohan together—her father’s cock in her pussy, tentative at first then urgent, Rohan’s in her ass alongside the plug, their cum flooding her in a chaotic rush, milk spraying the sheets. She moaned, lost in the depravity, her body a vessel of unrestrained lust. The door creaked open, and Mrs. Patel’s scream shattered the moment. “Sonia! With your own father!” Sonia stood, cum dripping from both holes, her voice steady. “Ma, it’s consensual. We’re adults.” Mr. Patel, shamefaced, stammered, “It was a moment of weakness.” Rohan, defiant, added, “She’s our whore, and we love her.” Mrs. Patel collapsed into a chair, sobbing. “You’ve ruined us.”
The fallout was raw, electric. Mrs. Patel’s tears stained her saree, her voice hoarse. “How could you, Sonia? Your father? In my house?” Sonia knelt beside her, cum and milk smearing the floor. “Ma, I’m not sorry for who I am. But I’ll hear you out.” Mr. Patel slunk away, his head bowed, while Rohan watched, unyielding. The room pulsed with their fractured bonds.