She was waiting in the kitchen when he came home from the gym, sweat still clinging to his chest. Meena, forty-two, Marathi housewife with heavy breasts that strained against her thin cotton blouse, turned from the stove. Her son, Rahul, nineteen and built from cricket and weights, dropped his bag.
"Mom, I'm starving," he said.
She didn't answer with food. Instead she untied her saree pallu and let it fall. Her blouse was damp from the heat, nipples dark and hard through the fabric. "Come here," she told him, voice low and rough. "Lock the door."
Rahul didn't hesitate. He crossed the room, grabbed her hips, and pulled her against his hardening cock. "You've been teasing me for weeks," he muttered, hands already yanking her blouse open. Buttons popped. Her breasts spilled out, full and warm. He sucked one nipple hard, teeth scraping.
Meena moaned, fingers in his hair. "Your father is gone for two days. I need this thick cock inside me now." She shoved her hand down his shorts and wrapped her fingers around his shaft, stroking fast. He was already leaking.
They didn't make it to the bedroom. Rahul spun her around, bent her over the kitchen table, and hiked her saree up to her waist. No panties. Her ass was round, pussy already glistening. He slapped one cheek, then lined up and shoved in deep in one thrust.
"Fuck, Mom, you're so wet," he growled, pounding into her. The table creaked. Her tits swung against the wood. Meena pushed back, meeting every stroke, juices running down her thighs.
"Harder, beta. Fill your mother's cunt." She reached back and spread herself wider for him. Rahul gripped her waist and fucked her like he hated her, balls slapping, the wet sound of their fucking loud in the quiet house.
He pulled out, spun her, and lifted her onto the table. Legs over his shoulders, he slammed back in. Meena's head fell back, mouth open, moaning his name. He leaned down and sucked her nipples again while he drove into her, thumb rubbing her clit.
She came first, pussy clamping around him, squirting a little onto the table. Rahul didn't stop. He kept fucking her through it until his own orgasm hit, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her. He stayed buried, grinding, making sure every drop stayed in.
They didn't talk much after. Meena slid off the table, cum leaking down her leg, and got on her knees. She licked him clean, tasting both of them, then stood and kissed him with tongue, sharing the mess.
"Shower," she said. "Then round two on your bed."
By midnight the sheets were soaked. Rahul had her on all fours, then riding him, then pinned with her ankles by her ears while he emptied another load into her. Meena talked dirty the whole time, telling him how much better his cock was than his father's, how she wanted him to breed her, how she'd been fingering herself thinking about this for months.
They slept tangled, his cum still inside her. When the sun came up she woke him with her mouth, swallowing the first load of the day before climbing on top again.
The two days stretched into every room of the house. Kitchen, bathroom, living room floor. Raw, fast, no romance, just mother and son using each other until they were sore and satisfied. When his father texted he was coming home, Meena smiled, kissed Rahul's cock one last time, and told him, "Next week he's away again. Be ready."
