Adultery Mom, Holi and Bhaang! Part 1 by Scorpion555

[Scorpion555]

Mom, Holi and Bhaang! Part 1 by Scorpion555

"Mom, can you pass me the remote?" I called out from the sofa, my eyes glued to the TV. It was a typical Sunday afternoon, the kind where the air had the smell of oil and spices from the kitchen, hinting at the feast she had been preparing since morning. She emerged from the kitchen, her kameez slightly askew, a smudge of turmeric on her cheek, and a look of exasperation that was almost comical. She was a force of nature in our tiny apartment, a whirlwind of energy and love, despite her stern exterior.

"Beta, how many times do I have to tell you? Holi is tomorrow! You need to go out and buy the colors!" she scolded, her voice a mix of annoyance and concern. She was right; I had completely forgotten about the festival. It wasn't my favorite, with its mess of water balloons and colored powder, but it was her favorite, and that was all that mattered.

"Okay, okay, I'll go right now," I replied, not bothering to hide my reluctance. I knew she'd be upset if I didn't participate in the festivities. She had always been obsessed with the vibrant colors and joy that Holi brought to our otherwise monotonous lives. And as much as I didn't like the chaos, I couldn't bear to disappoint her.

"And wear your old clothes!" she shouted after me as I headed for the door. "You know how it gets!"

The streets of Mumbai were already buzzing with anticipation for the Holi festival. The air was thick with the smell of wada pav frying at the local stalls, and the sound of laughter and chatter filled the air. As a Scorpio, I've always felt a strange connection to the intensity of this celebration, much like the fiery passion that my mom exuded. Our matching scorpion tattoos were a silent testament to our shared nature, a secret bond that we both cherished.

As I made my way through the crowded market, the vibrant colors of the festival stalls assaulted my eyes. The bright blues, greens, and pinks of the gulal powder were a stark contrast to the dusty gray of the city. The thought of the chaos that would ensue the next day made my stomach churn, but I couldn't help but smile at the excitement in the air. I picked out a few packets of color, knowing my mom would want to throw the first handful at me when I got back.

When I returned home, she was busy in the kitchen, her salwar hitched up slightly to avoid the mess. Her thin cotton kameez clung to her body, revealing the curves that she often tried to hide under her usual modest attire. I couldn't help but notice the way her ass swayed as she moved around the kitchen, the polka dots of her innerwear peeking through the fabric. She was a beautiful woman, even if she didn't realize it herself.

The next day, the celebration began early. Our apartment complex was a sea of color and laughter. As we stepped out, mom's excitement was palpable, and even I felt a twinge of excitement. We were bombarded with water balloons and handfuls of gulal, and she squealed with delight as the colors painted her wheatish brown skin. Her eyes, those hypnotic brown orbs, gleamed with joy, and I found myself smiling genuinely for the first time in a while.

But as the day went on, the crowd grew rowdier. The thin fabric of her kameez became transparent with the wetness, and the cotton of her polka dot panties clung to her in a way that was unmistakable. Men's eyes lingered on her, and I felt a strange mix of pride and protectiveness. She was my mom, and yet, she was so much more than that. She was a woman, desirable and fierce, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of arousal at the thought of others admiring her.

Then someone in the crowd offered us a cup of thandai, a sweet milk-based drink that was rumored to be spiked with bhaang. She took a sip, her eyes widening slightly, and handed it to me. "It's delicious, beta," she said with a knowing smile. I took a tentative sip and felt the warmth spread through me. Before long, we were both laughing uncontrollably, the chaos of the festival only adding to the intoxicating feeling.

The world around us grew hazier as the bhaang took effect. The colors of the gulal became more vivid, the laughter more infectious, and the touch of the strangers' hands as they playfully smudged color on our faces seemed more intimate. Mom's kameez clung to her body like a second skin, her nipples clearly outlined against the fabric, and I caught the occasional glimpse of the brown lace of her bra. She didn't seem to notice or care, lost in the moment.

As we danced and played, the crowd grew denser, and the playful banter turned more vulgar. A group of men, their eyes glazed with lust and bhaang, began to circle us. They made lewd comments in Hindi, their hands grabbing at her, trying to cop a feel. I tried to shield her, but the more I pushed them away, the more they seemed to close in, their touches becoming bolder, more insistent.

Mom's eyes grew wide with fear, and she grabbed onto me, her breath coming in short gasps. Her kameez was now almost transparent, and I could see the dark circles of her areolas and the slight swell of her breasts. "Beta, help me," she whispered, her voice trembling. But the bhaang had clouded my judgment, and instead of fighting them off, I found myself getting turned on by the situation. My cock grew hard in my pants, and I could feel my own inhibitions slipping away.

The men, sensing our vulnerability, pushed us into a secluded corner. They formed a semi-circle around us, blocking us from the rest of the festival-goers. One of them, a burly man with a grin that showed off his yellowed teeth, stepped closer. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made her blush furiously, her cheeks staining a darker shade of red than the color smeared on her face. "Mrs. Scorpio," he slurred, "you and your son are quite the pair."

"What do you mean?" I snapped, trying to sound tougher than I felt.

He laughed, his breath reeking of bhaang. "Your mother, she's got the fire of a scorpion, isn't she?" He reached out and pinched her ass, his eyes never leaving hers. "And you, with that matching tattoo, you must know how to handle that sting."

Mom's eyes grew darker, and she opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. Instead, she took a step back, her hand flying to her bottom as if to protect herself from another squeeze. "What are you talking about?" she managed to say, her voice a mix of anger and fear.

The man leaned in further, his face just inches from hers. "We know about your... habits. How you like to show off your body to strangers, let them touch you." His hand reached out and grazed the fabric covering her breasts. "How about we see if you're as wild as they say?"

Mom's eyes narrowed, and she spat out a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush. But her words only seemed to egg them on. They began to circle closer, their hands reaching out to touch her, to pull at her kameez. One of them managed to get a grip on the fabric, and with a harsh tug, it ripped open, exposing her to the world.

Her bra, now soaked, was no match for the eager hands that reached for her breasts. They were squeezed and pinched, the men's laughter ringing in my ears. Her nipples, brown and erect, stood out against the stark white of her lace. The polka dots on her panties had turned into a blur, and I could see the wetness seeping through the fabric. She was mortified, her dignity in tatters, but she remained defiant, her eyes blazing with anger.

One of them, a young man with a mischievous glint in his eyes, reached down and yanked her salwar, pulling it down to her ankles. She stumbled, but before she could regain her balance, another grabbed her from behind, his hands on her hips. Her panties followed, and she was left standing there, half-stripped, her bare ass exposed to the leering men.

"Look at this, she's got the ass of a porn star!" another one exclaimed, his hand coming down hard on her left cheek. The sound of the slap echoed through the alley, and she yelped in pain and humiliation. But she didn't go down; she stood tall, her fists clenched, ready to fight.

The interrogation grew more intense, their questions more vulgar. They wanted to know about her sexual appetite, her fantasies, and her relationship with me. She spat at them, her voice filled with rage. "I'm a married woman! How dare you speak to me like this?"

But they didn't care about her protests. They were like animals, smelling the scent of fear and arousal on her. They continued to touch her, to grope her, their hands exploring her body with no regard for her modesty. And through it all, she held onto me, her nails digging into my arm.

Their leader, the one who had called us out, stepped closer. He was tall, with a cocky swagger that made me want to punch him. "You're a fine piece, Mrs. Scorpio," he said, his hand reaching down to cup her between her legs. "But what about your son? Does he enjoy watching?"

Mom's grip on me tightened, and she turned to me, her eyes pleading. But the bhaang had taken hold of me too, and I was as powerless to stop them as she was. "Answer them," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Just get us out of here."

The men chuckled, enjoying her discomfort. "Looks like she's worried about you," he said, his hand moving to her ass and giving it a firm squeeze. "But don't worry, we'll take good care of her." And with that, he bent her over, her breasts hanging out of her torn kameez, and slapped her ass again. "Now, let's see if she's as tight as she looks."

I felt a wave of panic wash over me. I had to do something, but my body was a traitor, responding to the scene unfolding before me. I knew I shouldn't be turned on, but I couldn't deny the throb in my pants as I watched them manhandle her. I tried to speak, to tell them to stop, but the words caught in my throat.

The leader looked at me, his grin growing wider. "You like watching, don't you, beta?" he taunted. "Or maybe you'd like a taste?" He grabbed a handful of my mom's hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to look at me. "Go on, tell us. What does a good son do when his mother is in need?"

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. I didn't know what to say, what to do. But as the crowd closed in around us, and the reality of our situation set in, I realized that we had no choice but to play along. "Leave her alone," I said, trying to sound firm, but the tremble in my voice gave me away. "I'll do whatever you want, just don't touch her."

The leader chuckled, his grip on mom's hair tightening. "Oh, we're going to touch her alright," he said, leaning in so close that I could feel his breath on my face. "But if you're a good boy, we might let you have a turn."

Mom's eyes widened, and she looked at me with a mix of fear and desperation. "Beta," she whispered, "please."

The men took this as a cue to start their vile interrogation again, their questions more personal, more intrusive. "Does she let you fuck her, son?" one of them jeered. "Does she make you eat her pussy?" They laughed, enjoying every moment of our humiliation.

"No!" I shouted, my fists clenching. But the truth was, the thought of it made my cock throb even harder. I had always had a strange fascination with my mom's body, something that I had never dared to act on. And now, here we were, in this twisted situation where my darkest fantasies were playing out before my eyes.

They continued to probe, their lewd suggestions painting a picture that was both repulsive and, inexplicably, arousing. Mom's face was a mask of horror, but she remained silent, her eyes locked on mine. It was as if she was willing me to save us, to do something, anything to stop this.

And then, in a moment of clarity, I knew what I had to do. "Okay," I said, my voice shaking. "I'll do it." The men's laughter died down, and they all looked at me expectantly. "I'll tell you everything you want to know," I continued, "but please, just let us go."

The leader's eyes narrowed, considering my proposal. "Everything?" he asked, his voice low and menacing.

I nodded, feeling a cold sweat break out on my forehead. "Everything."

He released mom's hair, and she straightened up slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Fine," he said. "But if you're lying, we'll make sure you both regret it."

The interrogation began in earnest, their questions delving into the most intimate parts of our lives. I stumbled over my words, trying to find the right balance between the truth and what they wanted to hear. I told them about the nights I had snuck into her room to watch her masturbate, my eyes glued to the way her hand moved between her legs. I described the way her body would shake with pleasure, her moans filling the room.

Mom's face was a picture of shock and disgust, but she remained silent, letting me take the brunt of their vulgar inquiries. And as I spoke, the men grew more excited, their eyes raking over her body, their hands reaching out to touch her again. They groped her breasts, her ass, their fingers slipping between her legs to feel her wetness.

One of the men leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Your mom's got a tight little cunt, doesn't she?" His breath was hot and rancid, and I felt bile rise in my throat. But I nodded, playing along, hoping that the more I revealed, the quicker they would let us go.

The leader's hand was now on my mom's thigh, his thumb stroking the soft, warm skin of her inner thigh. "Tell us," he said, his voice a low growl, "does she let you fuck her?"

I gritted my teeth, trying to think of a way to get us out of this without admitting the truth. "No," I said, feeling thick on my tongue. "We're just... we're just really close."

The men laughed, not believing a word I said. The leader's hand moved upwards, inching closer to the juncture of her legs. "Don't lie to us, beta," he said, his voice a sneer. "We can see how much you enjoy watching. And we know that scorpions are known for their wild nature. Maybe your mom's been teaching you some tricks."

The tension in the air grew thick, and I could feel the bhaang's effect wearing off, leaving me with a sickening realization of what was happening. The men were enjoying every moment of our degradation, their eyes gleaming with malice. And yet, my own body was betraying me, my cock straining against my pants at the thought of what they were suggesting.

Mom's breath was coming in quick gasps now, her chest heaving with fear. "Please," she whispered, her eyes never leaving mine. "Please, make them stop."

But the men were relentless, their hands moving over her body with the confidence of those who knew they could take what they wanted. And as they touched her, she began to squirm, her body responding in a way that was both disturbing and undeniable.

"Looks like she's enjoying it," one of them said, his hand reaching for her pussy. "Maybe we should give her what she wants."

The leader leaned in, his hand moving to her throat. "Tell us, beta," he hissed. "Does your mom like to get fucked by big black cocks?"

I felt a surge of rage, the question crossing a line that I hadn't anticipated. "No!" I shouted, pushing him away. "Leave her alone!"

But it was too late. The men had had enough of our protests, and with a snarl, they grabbed hold of both of us, their grip like steel. They dragged us deeper into the alley, away from the safety of the festival crowd, and into a nightmare that I had never imagined.

The walls closed in around us, the shadows growing darker, and the sound of their laughter echoed off the damp bricks. My heart hammered in my chest as I watched them strip her completely, their eyes feasting on every inch of her naked body. And as they began to undress themselves, revealing their swollen members, I knew that we were in for a long and terrifying night.

Mom's eyes glazed over with the potent effects of the bhaang, and she began to sway on her feet. They forced another cup into her hand, and she downed it without protest. Her inhibitions were melting away, and the arousal was clear in her dilated pupils and flushed cheeks. The men leered at her, their hands grabbing at her breasts, their fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass.

The leader took a step closer, his hand moving to the bulge in his pants. "See what you've done, beta?" he sneered. "You've made your mom a whore for us."

Mom's eyes snapped to his, a spark of anger igniting in her gaze. "I'm no whore!" she spat, her voice thick with the effects of the drink. But even as she said the words, she couldn't deny the way her body was responding to their touch. Her nipples were hard, her pussy wet and swollen, and she could feel the heat between her legs growing more intense with every passing second.

One of them, a man with a scruffy beard, stepped forward and cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "Look at her," he said, his voice dripping with lust. "She's begging for it."

And with that, they descended upon her, their hands everywhere. They pushed her to her knees, and she felt the cold cobblestone against her skin. The leader stepped in front of her, his cock standing tall and proud. "Open your mouth, Mrs. Scorpio," he said, his voice low and commanding.

With a tremble, she did as she was told. The taste of him was foreign, but she couldn't deny the way her body reacted. She felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, the kind that came from knowing you were about to do something you shouldn't, something that would change everything.

As she took him in her mouth, she looked up at me, her eyes pleading. But instead of the revulsion she expected to see, she saw something else. Something that made her stomach turn and her pussy clench around the emptiness inside her. I was watching her, my own cock in my hand, stroking it in time with her movements.

The men laughed, their hands all over her, pulling at her hair and slapping her ass as she sucked them off. And through it all, she kept her eyes on me, willing me to stop them, to save her. But I was as lost in the moment as she was, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Their touch grew rougher, their grips more demanding. They pushed her onto her back, her legs spread wide, the cool night air hitting her exposed pussy. They took turns, each one more brutal than the last, their cocks plunging into her, filling her up and leaving her feeling used and degraded. And with each thrust, she felt a part of herself slipping away, replaced by something darker, something that thrilled her despite her fear.

The world spun around her, the colors of the festival a distant memory. The only thing that remained was the feel of them inside her, the sound of their grunts and her own muffled moans. And as she looked into the eyes of the man who was fucking her, she realized that she was no longer the woman she had been. She was a creature of desire, a vessel for their lust, and she could feel the power of it surging through her veins.

Mom's body trembled with each thrust, her cries of protest now replaced by whimpers of pleasure. The bhaang had claimed her, stripping away her defenses and leaving her vulnerable to the dark desires that lurked within. And as the first of them came inside her, she knew that she was forever changed.

The night grew longer, the men more insatiable. They took turns, using her body in every way they could think of. And through it all, she remained a silent witness to her own degradation, her eyes never leaving mine.

They forced her to drink more of the spiked thandai, and with each sip, she grew more pliant, more willing to submit to their demands. Her inhibitions slipped away like the fabric of her kameez, leaving her naked and exposed before them. And as she grew more intoxicated, she also grew more aroused. Her breath grew ragged, her moans louder, and her hips began to move in time with their thrusts.