I’m Mohamed from Egypt, I moved with my mother to India for work at a company based in Mumbai. After 1 year, I became a (somehow) friend with a group inside the company.
It was a typical day at the office when my colleagues and I started discussing our plans for the weekend. We were all feeling cooped up and stressed from work, and someone suggested that we rent a villa by the beach to spend the weekend together. The idea quickly gained traction, and soon we were all excitedly making plans.
There were seven of us in total: Arjun, Rahul, Mohan, Fatima (who is Egyptian as well), Shreya, Sunita, and me, Mohamed. We were all young professionals in our early twenties, except for me - I was 24. Arjun was one of the most influential and charismatic members of our group. He had a strong personality that commanded respect from everyone else.
As we discussed the details of our trip, I had an idea. My mother, Nahid, had been feeling lonely since we moved to a new city. She rarely got to socialize or have any fun, and I thought this would be a great opportunity for her to get out and enjoy herself. I asked my colleagues if it would be okay if I brought my mother along on the trip as she is alone here.
The room fell silent as they looked at me with a mix of surprise and pity. I could sense their hesitation - they probably thought it was weird for me to bring my mother on a weekend getaway with friends. But after a moment of awkward silence, Arjun spoke up and said it was fine with him if my mother came along.
The others nodded in agreement, although I could tell they were still unsure about it. I felt grateful to them for understanding my situation and agreeing to let my mother join us.
I went home that evening excited to tell my mother about the trip. As soon as she heard about it, her face lit up with excitement. She started asking me questions about where we would be staying and what activities we had planned.
I told her that we would be renting a villa by the beach and spending the weekend relaxing or exploring the local area. She seemed thrilled at the prospect of getting out of the city for a while and having some fun with young people.
My mother quickly got busy packing her bag while I finalized the arrangements with my colleagues. We decided that we would meet up at Rahul's house on Friday morning before heading out together.
On Friday morning, we gathered at Rahul' house as planned. My colleagues welcomed my mother warmly when she arrived with me - they chatted politely with her as they loaded their bags into two cars that Rahul had arranged for us.
In Arjun's car, Fatima set next to him, and me and mom were setting in the backseat.
We arrived at the villa after a while, the sun dipping low on the horizon as the salty breeze from the Red Sea brushed against our faces. The villa was quaint, tucked away in a quiet corner of the bustling city. But as we stepped inside, it became clear that space would be tight. The villa had one large room and two smaller ones, hardly enough for seven people, let alone eight with my mother now joining us.
As we stood in the living area, Arjun took charge, his voice calm but commanding. “Alright, Mohan and Sunita, you take the first small room. Rahul and Shreya, you’re in the second. That leaves the big room for me, Fatima, Mohamed, and... Nahid.” He glanced at my mother, his gaze lingering just a moment too long before he turned back to the group. “Any objections?”
No one spoke up. My mother, standing beside me, shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes darted between Arjun and the others, her lips pressed into a thin line. I could see the confusion in her expression, this arrangement went against everything she believed in. Sharing a room with unrelated men, especially Arjun, who had already shown her more attention than she was used to, was unthinkable for a devout Muslim woman like her. But she remained silent, perhaps out of politeness or an unwillingness to cause a scene.
As everyone dispersed to claim their spaces, I caught my mother glancing at Arjun again. This time, her gaze lingered on his broad shoulders and confident posture. Was that admiration in her eyes? I couldn’t tell, but something about the way she looked at him made my stomach twist. Arjun noticed too, of course. He flashed her a charming smile as he carried his bag into the big room, and I saw her cheeks flush faintly before she quickly turned away.
Once we were settled, my mother busied herself unpacking her things. She wore a light nightgown, a modest robe that covered her body but still hinted at the curves beneath. It wasn’t revealing by any means, but it was enough to draw attention. Arjun, lounging on one of the couches, didn’t even try to hide his interest. His eyes followed her every move, a small smirk playing on his lips.
“Nahid, ” he said, breaking the silence. “You look like you’ve done this a thousand times. Unpacking so effortlessly.”
My mother paused, caught off guard by his directness. She turned to face him, clutching her folded clothes to her chest like a shield. “Oh, It’s not my first time, ” she replied, her voice soft but firm.
Arjun leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Still, there’s something about the way you carry yourself. You make it look... elegant.”
Her cheeks flushed again, and she glanced at me briefly before looking back at him. “Thank you, ” she murmured, though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely sure how to take the compliment.
Fatima, sitting cross-legged on the floor near Arjun, watched the exchange with a knowing smile. She caught my eye and winked, as if to say, Can you believe this? But there was something else in her expression, something almost predatory. Like she was enjoying the discomfort radiating off both me and my mother.
Arjun, however, wasn’t done. “Tell me, Nahid, ” he continued, his voice smooth as silk, “do you always dress like this? Or did you pack something special for the trip?”
My mother froze, her grip tightening on her clothes. “I... I packed what I thought was appropriate, ” she stammered.
“Appropriate for what?” Arjun pressed, his smirk widening. “For the beach? For the heat? Or maybe...” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.
I felt my own face grow hot, but I said nothing. My mother shot me a pleading look, silently begging me to intervene, but I couldn’t find the words. Something about Arjun’s, his confidence, made me feel small and powerless. And deep down, I hated myself for it.
Fatima broke the tension with a soft laugh. “Arjun, stop teasing her, ” she said, but her tone was playful, not scolding. “You’re making her nervous.”
“Am I?” Arjun asked, tilting his head as if genuinely curious. He turned back to my mother. “Are you nervous, Nahid?”
She hesitated, then nodded ever so slightly. “A little, ” she admitted.
Arjun stood then, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides. He reached out, gently taking the clothes from her hands and setting them aside on the bed. “Don’t be, ” he said softly. “You’re among friends here. We’re all just trying to relax and have a good time.”
My mother swallowed hard, her eyes darting to mine once more. But whatever she saw in my expression must have disappointed her, because she quickly looked away. Instead, she focused on Arjun, who was still standing far too close.
“Is that so?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Arjun grinned. “Absolutely. In fact, I think you should let loose a little. Enjoy yourself. After all, isn’t that why you came?”
Before she could reply, Fatima chimed in again. “Arjun’s right, ” she said, rising to her feet. “We’re here to have fun. So, Nahid, why don’t get comfortable and enjoy the evening?”
My mother’s eyes widened, but before she could protest, Arjun took her hand in his, guiding her toward the couch. “Come on, ” he said, his voice warm and inviting. “Sit with us for a bit.”
She hesitated, her resistance weakening with every passing second. Finally, she allowed him to lead her to the couch, where she sat stiffly between Arjun and Fatima. I stayed rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do or say. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched the scene unfold, feeling more useless by the minute.
Arjun draped an arm casually over the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against my mother’s shoulder. She stiffened at the touch but didn’t pull away. Instead, she glanced at me again, her eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and something else, desire?
“Mohamed, ” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “aren’t you going to sit with us?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Arjun beat me to it. “He’ll join us in a minute, ” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “Right now, I want to get to know you better, Nahid.”
The way he said her name sent a shiver down my spine. It was soft, intimate, almost possessive. My mother didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, she seemed to lean into it, her body relaxing ever so slightly under his touch.
What is happening? I thought, my mind racing. Why isn’t she stopping him?
But deep down, I knew the answer. Arjun’s strength, his confidence, his sheer presence, it was intoxicating. Even I felt drawn to it, despite the unease bubbling in my chest. And my mother, who had spent years living a strict, sheltered life, was no match for his charm.
As the conversation continued, Arjun’s flirting grew bolder. He complimented her beauty, her grace, even her intelligence. Each word seemed to chip away at her defenses, leaving her more vulnerable and exposed. And through it all, Fatima watched with that same knowing smile, occasionally glancing at me as if to gauge my reaction.
But I could only stand there, paralyzed by my own inadequacy. My mother was slipping away, falling under Arjun’s spell, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
“Mohamed, ” Arjun said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Your mother is incredible. Did you know that?”
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh... yes, ” I stammered. “She’s amazing.”
Arjun chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my mother’s shoulder. “Amazing doesn’t even begin to cover it, ” he said, his voice low and husky. “She’s a treasure. And I’m glad you brought her here.”
My mother’s breath hitched at his words, and I saw his hands clench into fists in her lap. She was fighting herself, torn between her instincts and whatever desires Arjun was stirring within her. And as I watched, helpless to intervene, I realized that she might not win this battle.
“Arjun, ” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You shouldn’t, ” But he didn't react and kept looking at her until his phone rang and he went out the room to answer.
The room fell silent as Arjun stepped out, the tension lingering like a heavy fog. My mother's fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her abaya. Fatima leaned casually against the dresser, her arms crossed, her gaze sharp and calculating. She was waiting for the right moment to speak, and when she finally did, her voice was soft but deliberate.
"Auntie Nahid, " she began, her tone respectful yet probing, "we’re all here to relax, you know? It’s okay to let loose a little. You’re among friends."
My mother looked up, her brows furrowed in confusion. "I understand, Fatima, but I... I just want to make sure I’m not doing anything haram. This trip is already so different from what I’m used to."
Fatima smiled gently, moving closer to sit beside her. "Of course, Auntie. But sometimes, life gives us opportunities to try new things. To feel... free. Don’t you think?"
My mother hesitated, her eyes flicking toward me for a brief moment before returning to Fatima. "Maybe... but I don’t know if I can. I mean, look at this place. Everyone seems so... different. And you, "
She stopped herself, but Fatima jumped in, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Me? What about me?"
My mother sighed, clearly struggling with her words. "You’re a Muslim girl, Fatima. How do you... how do you share a room with a Hindu man? Isn’t that forbidden in our faith?"
Fatima chuckled softly, leaning back slightly. "I respect that! But being Muslim doesn’t mean we should deny our feelings, our realities. It’s not haram to be honest, Auntie. I’m a woman, and yes, I’m religious. I pray, I fast, I cover myself. But that doesn’t make me blind to what I see or feel."
My mom leaned forward, her voice slightly softer. "What is it you’re trying to say, Fatima?"
Fatima took a deep breath. "What I’m saying is... we all have needs, Auntie. Emotional, physical, everything. And honestly, it’s not just me. A lot of Muslim girls who are lucky to come and live in this country, especially my age, feel the same. We notice things."
My mom narrowed her eyes slightly. "What kind of things?”
Fatima replied with confident. "Like... Hindu men. They seem more confident, more... physically attractive, even stronger in their personalities. It’s hard not to compare. And when you compare with Muslim guys, they’re more, manly, more reserved, almost detached."
My mother’s cheeks flushed, and I could see the conflict in her eyes. She glanced at me again, but I couldn’t hold her gaze. I felt small, insignificant, as if my presence in the room barely registered. Fatima noticed too, and she didn’t hesitate to drive the point home.
"Take Mohamed, for example, " she said, gesturing toward me without looking. "He’s a good guy, sure, but... well, you’ve seen how he is around Arjun. Always following orders, never speaking up. He is called (Arjun’s Minion) at the office and you know? I see it in positive way. It's so natural."
I winced at the nickname, my face heating up with embarrassment. My mother turned to me, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out as nothing was not wrong. Fatima smirked, clearly enjoying my discomfort.
"See, Auntie? Even now, he doesn’t deny it. Arjun has a way of... commanding obedience. He’s a natural leader, and people like Mohamed? They naturally fall into line."
I felt like I was transparent, as Fatima had no problem talking about me in front of me. Just then, Arjun reentered the room, his phone tucked into his pocket. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the scene before settling on me. "Mohamed, " he said, his voice calm but authoritative, "get me some water."
Without a second thought, I scrambled to obey, rushing to the table where a pitcher of water sat. I poured a glass and handed it to him, my movements quick and submissive. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother watching me, her lips parted in stunned silence while Fatima looked at her like if she was saying (I told you!).
Arjun took the glass, his fingers brushing mine briefly as he did. He didn’t thank me; he simply took a sip, his gaze shifting to my mother. "So, what were you ladies talking about?" he asked, his tone light but unmistakably leading.
Fatima smiled sweetly. "Oh, just giving Auntie Nahid some... advice. Helping her adjust to the vibe of the trip."
Arjun raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly grin. "Good idea. We want everyone to feel comfortable here." He set the glass down and walked over to the gift bag he’d brought earlier. "Speaking of comfort... Auntie Nahid, I got you something."
My mother’s eyes widened as he pulled out the two bikinis, one yellow, one red, both impossibly revealing. She blinked at them, her face flushing deeply. "Arjun, I... I can’t wear these. They’re too... too much."
Arjun tilted his head, his expression softening in a way that made him seem both kind and dangerous. "Why not? no one’s going to judge you here."
Fatima chimed in, her voice coaxing. "Go on, Auntie. It’s not about what others think. It’s about you. When’s the last time you did something for yourself? Just for you?"
My mother hesitated, her hands trembling as she held the bikini. "But... isn’t it... haram? I’ve always believed..." She looked at me, her eyes pleading for some kind of reassurance, but I couldn’t give it to her. I felt paralyzed, trapped between my desire to protect her and my inability to stand up to Arjun.
"Mohamed..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
I froze, the weight of her gaze overwhelming. Then, instinctively, I looked at Arjun. His calm, expectant expression locked me in place. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. “If... If Arjun thinks this is suitable, then it’s suitable.”
I felt so weak, and that I has no dignity. The pressure in the room was palpable, and Arjun’s presence loomed large, commanding everyone’s attention. My mother seemed to sense it too. Slowly, hesitantly, and after some convincing from Fatima, she stood up, clutching the bikini to her chest.
"I’ll... I’ll try it, " she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, with a deep breath, she turned toward the bathroom, her steps faltering but determined.
As the door closed behind her, the room fell into a tense silence. Arjun leaned back, his arms crossed, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. Fatima shot him a knowing look, and I could feel their unspoken communication, a shared understanding that made my stomach churn.
The minutes dragged on, each one stretching endlessly as we waited. Fatima and Arjun called her and knocked on the door to encourage her to come out because she was very embarrassed. Finally, the bathroom door creaked open, and my mother stepped out, her movements slow and awkward.
My mother stood frozen in the doorway, her hands instinctively covering herself as best as she could. The swimsuit was nothing more than thin strips of fabric that barely clung to her body, leaving little to the imagination. Her nipples were faintly visible through the material, the whole area was hanging out, and the sides of her chubby pussy peeked out from the edges, making her modesty a lost cause. Her face flushed with embarrassment, and her eyes darted between us, searching for some semblance of reassurance, or perhaps an escape.
Fatima was the first to break the silence. "Tant Nahid, " she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "you look stunning. Really, this suits you so well." She clapped her hands together, grinning like a predator who had just found its prey. My mother’s lips parted, but no words came out. She looked at me, her eyes pleading, but I couldn’t find my voice either. Arjun stepped forward, his gaze lingering on her body with an intensity that made my stomach churn.
"She’s right, " he said smoothly, his voice low and deliberate. "You have the kind of body that... how do I put it? It vibrates at the slightest movement. Soft, curvy, and that skin, so pure, so white. It’s like you were carved by the gods themselves." He reached out, his fingers brushing against her arm as if testing her reaction. My mother flinched but didn’t pull away. Instead, she looked at him with a mix of curiosity and fear, her breath quickening.
Arjun took another step closer, his hand now resting lightly on her waist. "The suit looks amazing on you, " he murmured, "but it needs a little adjustment. Here, let me help." Before she could protest, his fingers were tugging at the straps, pulling them tighter or looser, I couldn’t tell which. His touch lingered longer than necessary, grazing her skin in ways that made her shiver. My mother’s hands dropped to her sides, helpless, as if she had already surrendered to whatever was about to happen.
"There we go, " Arjun said, stepping back with a satisfied smirk. "Perfect. Now, let’s take a picture to remember this moment." He moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close. My mother stiffened, her eyes darting to me again, but Arjun was already posing for Fatima, who had her phone out and ready. The flash went off, capturing the moment forever. Then, without warning, Arjun turned and kissed my mother on the cheek, his lips lingering just a fraction too long. The second flash caught that too.
Fatima giggled, clearly enjoying herself. "Now you, Mohamed, " she said, gesturing for me to join them. I hesitated, feeling like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings. Slowly, I moved to stand on the other side of my mother, my body rigid and my mind racing. Arjun adjusted our positions, his hand never leaving my mother’s waist, and the camera flashed again. This time, he leaned in even closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered something I couldn’t hear. My mother’s cheeks burned red, but she didn’t pull away.
The photos continued, each one pushing the boundaries further. By the fourth picture, Arjun’s hand had slipped lower, resting just above the curve of her ass. My mother’s breathing grew shallow, her body trembling under his touch, but she didn’t resist. Instead, she seemed to melt into him, her earlier tension giving way to something else entirely. I watched, powerless, as her chastity crumbled before my eyes.
Fatima lowered her phone, her grin widening. "Okay, enough pictures for now, " she said, her tone light but her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Here’s an idea. Since Tant Nahid is tired from the trip, why not let Arjun give her a massage? He’s got a certified body massage certificate, after all. It’ll help her relax completely."
My mother’s eyes widened in alarm, but before she could refuse, Arjun chimed in. "It’s a fantastic idea, " he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You’ll feel brand new afterward, I promise." He turned to me, his tone shifting abruptly. "Mohamed, go get a towel from the bathroom. Now."
I blinked, stunned by the abrupt order, but my body moved before my mind could process it. I scurried to the bathroom, my thoughts a jumbled mess. When I returned, towel in hand, my mother was hesitated but eventually she lied facedown on the bed, a sheet spread beneath her. Arjun stood over her, a bottle of Johnson’s oil in his hand. He gestured for me to come closer.
"You’ll be my assistant, " he said, his voice firm. "Stay here with the towel. You’ll hand it to me when I need it." I nodded mutely, unable to meet my mother’s eyes as they flickered toward me, filled with confusion and something else I couldn’t quite place.
Arjun poured the oil into his hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. Then, without preamble, he placed his palms on my mother’s back and began to knead. Her shoulders tensed at first, but gradually, she began to relax under his skilled hands. The room was quiet except for the sound of her soft sighs, each one sending a strange mix of shame and arousal coursing through me.
"That’s it, " Arjun murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Just let go. You’re safe with me." His hands moved lower, working the knots out of her muscles with practiced ease. My mother’s body began to respond, her hips shifting slightly as his touch grew bolder. Then, without warning, Arjun leaned down and whispered, "I’m going to remove the top part of your swimsuit. It’ll make the massage easier."
My mother froze, her breath catching in her throat. She looked at me, her eyes wide with uncertainty, but Arjun didn’t wait for a response. His fingers tugged at the strings of her swimsuit, and within seconds, the top piece fell away, leaving her back fully exposed. He resumed the massage, his hands sliding over her skin with a newfound intimacy.
I stood there, clutching the towel like a lifeline, unable to tear my eyes away. Arjun’s hands moved lower, skimming the curves of her ass and thighs. His fingers brushed dangerously close to her pussy, teasing the edges but never quite touching. My mother’s breaths grew ragged, her body betraying her growing surrender.
Then, without a word, Arjun gripped the remaining piece of her swimsuit and pulled it off in one swift motion. My mother gasped, her body now completely bare before him. Arjun’s hands returned to her ass, massaging it firmly while his fingertips occasionally grazed her most sensitive areas. My mother’s hips lifted slightly, her submission evident in every trembling muscle.
I looked at her, my own body trembling with a mix of emotions I couldn’t name. My mother’s eyes met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw it, a flicker of something dark and primal, something that made my breath hitch. Arjun’s hands moved again, and she closed her eyes, surrendering completely.
The air in the room felt heavy, charged with an electric tension that seemed to pulse with every moan and gasp escaping my mother’s lips. Her body writhed under Arjun’s skilled hands, her skin glistening with a sheen of oil as his fingers danced across her flesh, teasing and tormenting her in equal measure. My own breath was shallow, my heart racing as I watched, unable, or perhaps unwilling, to look away. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable yet so alive, stirred something deep within me, something I couldn’t quite name but couldn’t ignore either.
Arjun’s voice cut through the haze of desire like a blade, sharp and commanding. “Roll over, ” he said, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. My mother obeyed without protest. She turned onto her back, her movements fluid, almost eager. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There was no fear in her gaze now, no shame or guilt, only a raw, unfiltered hunger that mirrored my own. She smiled at me, a small, secretive smile, and I found myself smiling back, my lips curving upward almost involuntarily. This was wrong, some distant part of my mind whispered, but it was drowned out by the rush of heat flooding my veins, by the undeniable thrill coursing through me.
Arjun leaned over her, his hands moving with practiced ease as he began his work once more. He started at her shoulders, his touch firm but tender, kneading away the tension coiled in her muscles. But it didn’t take long for his intentions to shift. His fingers trailed lower, sliding down her chest, and I could see the way her breath hitched as his thumbs brushed against her nipples. They hardened instantly, pebbling beneath his touch, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. He pinched and teased, his motions deliberate, almost cruel in their precision, and my mother’s back arched off the bed, her head thrown back as a strangled moan tore from her lips.
“Ah... ah...” she gasped, her voice trembling, rising in pitch as Arjun continued to play with her sensitive flesh. Her hands gripped the edges of the bed, her body writhing helplessly beneath his ministrations. He moved lower still, his hands skimming over her stomach, tracing the curves of her hips before sliding down her thighs. Each touch was calculated, designed to draw out her pleasure, to leave her trembling and desperate. And it worked.
Her thighs parted instinctively, inviting him closer, and he didn’t hesitate. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers brushing against her most intimate place, and the effect was immediate. She jerked violently, a cry tearing from her throat as her body convulsed under his touch. “Arjun!” she cried, her voice breaking, and I could hear the note of desperation in it, the raw need that made my own body ache in response. He chuckled darkly, his fingers circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes, and her moans grew louder, more urgent, filling the room with their intensity.
Outside, I heard muffled voices, footsteps approaching the door. A knock sounded, sharp and insistent, and for a moment, panic flared in my chest. But Fatima was already moving, crossing the room with a feline grace that spoke of her confidence. She opened the door just enough to reveal the others, Rahul, Mohan, Shreya, and Sunita, their faces a mix of curiosity and amusement. “It’s okay, ” Fatima said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Arjun’s just giving Auntie Nahid a massage. You know how he gets when he rubs a woman’s body.”
There was a pause, then laughter, low and knowing, as their eyes flicked to me. I could feel their gazes like a physical weight, judgmental and taunting, but instead of shrinking under their scrutiny, I felt... something else. Something hot and feral twisted in my gut as they looked at me, their smirks widening, their laughter growing louder. Even the girls were staring at me now, their eyes gleaming with a predatory light that sent a jolt of arousal straight to my core. I should have been embarrassed, ashamed, but all I could feel was a deep, aching need to see this through, to watch as Arjun reduced my mother to nothing but a quivering, gasping mess under his hands.
Fatima closed the door, shutting them out, but their presence lingered, a reminder of just how far things had gone. Arjun didn’t stop, his fingers working faster now, driving my mother closer and closer to the edge. Her cries were almost deafening, her moans mingling with the wet sounds of his fingers sliding in and out of her pussy. Her juices drenched her thighs, soaking into what is beneath her, and Arjun glanced at me, his smirk wicked. “Now’s the time to use the towel, Mohamed, ” he said, his voice low and commanding.
I hesitated for only a moment before obeying, my hands trembling as I reached for the towel. I wiped away the evidence of her pleasure, the slick warmth coating her thighs, and I could feel her eyes on me. When I looked up, her gaze was soft, almost maternal, but there was something else there too, something dark and hungry that made my breath catch in my throat. She reached out, her fingers brushing against mine, and I froze, my heart pounding as she gave my hand a gentle squeeze. The gesture was so familiar, so comforting, and yet it sent a wave of heat crashing through me, leaving me dizzy with want.
Arjun’s hand returned to her pussy, his fingers plunging deep inside her as he rubbed her clit with his thumb, and her back arched violently, her screams echoing through the villa. “Oh God! Oh God!” she cried, her voice cracking, her body shaking as she came undone beneath his touch. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, pulsing wildly as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her, and I could only watch, transfixed, as her body convulsed, her juices gushing out in a torrent that soaked the towel that I left under her ass once more.
When it was over, she lay there, gasping for air, her chest heaving, her body limp and spent. Arjun leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear, and I saw her shudder as he murmured something too low for me to hear. Her eyes fluttered open, wide and uncertain, but there was no mistaking the flush that spread across her cheeks, the way her breath hitched as she nodded slowly.
“Do you want to rest?” Arjun asked, his voice smooth, almost soothing. “I know you’re in distress. Your body is boiling.”
She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I kiss your hand, ” she said, trembling. “I am suffering.”
He smiled, a predator baring its teeth, and leaned even closer, his breath warm against her skin. “There’s one solution, ” he purred. “I’ll fuck you.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and loaded, and I could see the impact they had on her. For a moment, she froze, her eyes widening in shock, but then... then her expression shifted. There was no outrage, no protest. Instead, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile, and she nodded again, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Yes, ” she breathed. “Please.”
Fatima’s fingers moved with a deliberate slowness as she tugged at the waistband of Arjun’s shorts. The fabric slid down over his hips, revealing the unmistakable outline of his arousal beneath his boxers. My breath hitched as she peeled them away entirely, and there it was, a monstrous cock, already swelling with the promise of what was to come. My eyes couldn’t tear away from the sheer size of it. The head alone was as thick as my entire length, a humiliating comparison that made my stomach flip. My mouth fell open involuntarily, and I felt a strange mix of awe and inadequacy.
My mother’s reaction was no less startled. Her lips parted in a silent gasp, her eyes widening as she stared at Arjun’s size. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, shock, yes, but also a raw, primal hunger. I saw her throat bob as she swallowed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her hand instinctively moved to her mouth, but it wasn’t to cover her surprise, it was to wipe away the moisture that had gathered there. She was salivating.
Arjun stepped closer to her, his smirk widening as he grabbed her wrist gently but firmly. He guided her hand to his cock, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the hot, velvety skin. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers curled around him instinctively, her grip tentative yet eager. He tilted his head, his free hand sliding down her bare thigh. His fingers found their way to her core, and she gasped audibly as he began to stroke her, his touch deliberate and testing.
“Do you want to suck it?” he asked, his voice low and commanding.
Her eyes darted to me for the briefest moment, her face flushed with a mix of shame and need. Then she nodded, her voice barely audible. “Yes.”
But Arjun pulled back, his hand leaving her core abruptly. He took a step away, his cock still in her hand, but now out of reach of her mouth. She stared at him, confusion and frustration etched across her face. The silence in the room was palpable, broken only by the sound of our shared breathing.
“That’s not how it happens, ” Arjun said, his tone firm but not unkind. He was waiting for something more from her. Something definitive.
Her chest heaved as she looked at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of lust, humiliation, and desperation. She glanced at me again, and I couldn’t read her expression. Was it a plea for permission? A silent apology? Or was it something else entirely? I stood there, frozen, my mind racing but my body unable to move.
Arjun broke the silence, his voice calm but carrying an undeniable weight. “When I fuck a woman, I need to be sure she really wants it. I need to know you understand what you’re getting into.” He paused, his gaze never leaving hers. “So, I’m giving you a choice. You can be the devout Muslim woman, loyal to your religion, and I’ll put my clothes back on. We’ll spend the rest of the trip like nothing happened. Or...”
His voice dropped to a whisper, but it was no less commanding. “You can tell me you’re a slut for me, a Muslim woman who loves Hindu cock., and you need a stud to satisfy you. What’s it going to be, Nahid?”
The tension in the room was unbearable. My mother’s face contorted with emotion, her lips trembling as she fought to find the words. And then, without hesitation, she spoke.
“I’m a slut for you, ” she said, her voice shaking but resolute. “I’m a Muslim woman who loves Hindu cock. I need a stud to fuck me.”
Arjun’s smile was almost feral, and he glanced at me, his eyes gleaming with triumph. Fatima let out a delighted laugh, clapping her hands as if this was some kind of twisted celebration. My face burned, but deep down, I couldn’t deny the thrill that coursed through me. I was humiliated, yes, but I was also... aroused.
“Now, ” Arjun said, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “there’s one more thing.” He looked directly at me, his expression unreadable. “Your son is here. He needs to be a part of this. I want him to ask me to do it”.
My mother turned to me, her eyes pleading. She didn’t speak, but her gaze said everything. She wanted this. She wanted Arjun to take her, and she wanted my permission to do it. Fatima held her phone up, her fingers poised to capture every moment.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. My voice was barely above a whisper when I finally spoke. “Please... fuck my mother. Her body needs you.”
Arjun’s smile widened, and he stepped back toward her, his cock brushing against her lips. She opened her mouth eagerly, and he slid inside, her lips wrapping around him with a hunger that was impossible to miss. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she began to suck, her movements desperate and eager. Fatima’s camera captured every detail, her laughter echoing in the background.
Arjun’s hand returned to her core, his fingers working her with a practiced ease. She moaned around his cock, her body trembling as she reached the edge of bliss. When he finally pulled away, she looked up at him, her eyes begging for more.
“Please, ” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Take me. I need you inside me.”
He positioned himself between her legs. She gasped as he pressed against her entrance, her body arching as he pushed inside. The sound she made was something between a scream and a sob, her eyes rolling back as she took all of him.
I couldn’t look away. Every thrust, every moan, every cry, it was all seared into my mind. She was utterly consumed, her body writhing beneath his. Her cries grew louder, more frantic, until she finally came undone, her body convulsing with pleasure.
Arjun didn’t stop. He kept going, driving into her with a relentless rhythm, her body unable to do anything but take it. When he finally pulled out, it was with a growl of satisfaction. He spread her arms above her head, his grip firm, and then he move to her armpit and came, his seed was a lot and heavy and landing across her armpits.
She lay there, panting, her body limp and trembling. Her eyes were half-closed, her face a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. Arjun stepped back, and his gaze landed on me.
“Your turn, ” he said, his voice calm but commanding. “That’s my gift to you. I want you to drink it. I want my milk inside you.”
The words hit me like a shockwave. My body moved on its own, drawn to her by some magnetic force. I knelt beside her, my eyes fixed on the creamy fluid glistening in her armpits. Her scent was intoxicating, a mix of sweat and something unmistakably primal. I leaned in, my tongue darting out to taste him. It was warm, salty, and strangely sweet. I swallowed it all, my mind clouded with a strange sense of fulfillment.
Fatima’s camera captured every moment, her laughter ringing in my ears. When I finally finished, my lips glistening with Arjun’s seed, I looked up to find him watching me with a satisfied smirk.
“Good boy, ” he said, his voice low and approving.
Arjun went to the bathroom to take a shower and after a few minutes I found him calling me. I went in and he asked me to scrub his body with a loofah. During that, he talked to me about how beautiful and enjoyable my mother is to fuck and that what I am doing now can be considered as a thank you from me to him for fucking my mother and making her feel comfortable and making her feel feminine and that he is a man with and that he also did me the honor of having his sperm inside my belly. Unlike before. I was smiling and I mean smiling and satisfied while this was another video that Fatima was filming.
After Fatima closed the video she said to me with a smile to get ready because tomorrow we will have a circumcision party. I did not understand and my lack of understanding was evident on my face but she said to me in the morning she will explain. But now she wants me for another matter.
We went outside together and the night air was warm as Fatima and I walked along the beach, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling the silence between us. The moon cast a soft glow over the sand, and for a moment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world. Fatima’s voice broke the quiet, her words smooth and deliberate, like she had been waiting for the perfect moment to say them.
“Happiness, ” she began, “is something people spend their whole lives searching for. But do you know the secret? It’s not about finding it out there. It’s about finding it within yourself. Understanding what you truly need.”
I glanced at her, unsure of where she was going with this. Her face was calm, almost serene, but there was a sharpness in her eyes that made me feel like she was peeling back layers of my soul without even trying. I stayed silent, letting her continue.
“I found my happiness, ” she said, her voice dropping slightly, “when I stopped worrying about what others thought. When I embraced who I really am, what I really want. And you... Mohamed... I think you’re closer to that than you realize.”
I frowned, my confusion evident. “What do you mean?”
She chuckled softly, as if she’d expected my question. “You’ve been supporting your mother in ways most people wouldn’t understand. You’ve allowed her to experience pleasure, to feel desired, to feel alive. And you’ve done it without jealousy, without anger. That’s rare. That’s beautiful.”
My chest tightened at her words. Was she serious? Was she actually praising me for... for what had happened? I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off.
“You’re a submissive, Mohamed, ” she said matter-of-factly. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, it’s something to be proud of. You’ve found joy in serving, in making others happy. But you’re still holding back. You’re still afraid, of your religion, of society, of what people will think. And that fear is holding you back from true happiness.”
I stared at her, my mind racing. Was she right? Was I afraid? I thought about the way I’d felt watching Arjun with my mother, the mix of emotions that had swirled inside me. There had been... something. Something I couldn’t quite name. But Fatima seemed to know exactly what it was.
“Take me, for example, ” she said, her tone almost teasing now. “I’ve embraced my desires, my truths. I’m not ashamed of who I am or what I want. And because of that, I’ve found a happiness that most people can only dream of. You can have that too, Mohamed. But you have to let go of the fear.”
I nodded slowly, her words sinking in. She was right. I had felt something, a strange, almost euphoric peace, when I’d seen my mother with Arjun. And it wasn’t just about her. It was about me, too. About the way I’d felt in that moment, the way I’d surrendered. Was that the key? Was that what I needed to do, completely surrender?
Fatima smiled, as if she could read my mind. “I’m going to be honest with you, ” she said, her voice lowering. “I’m brainwashing you right now. But is that a bad thing? Is it harmful to you? No. It’s helping you. I’m guiding you to your truth, to your happiness. And I’ll keep guiding you, as long as you need it.”
I nodded again, more firmly this time. I felt like a blank slate, my mind open and ready to be filled with whatever she wanted to give me. She gestured for me to sit on a nearby chair, and I obeyed without hesitation. She sat across from me, her eyes locked on mine.
“Close your eyes, ” she said softly. “Imagine your mind is completely empty. No thoughts, no worries, no decisions. Just peace. Just... nothing.”
I did as she said, closing my eyes and letting my mind drift. It was strange, how easy it was to let go, to just... be. I felt the tension in my body melt away, replaced by a calm I hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.
“Now, ” she continued, her voice almost a whisper, “imagine that Arjun is in control of your mind. Not you, him. What would that feel like? What would it be like to have him guide you, to make all the decisions for you? Wouldn’t that be better? Easier?”
I could feel myself nodding, the idea taking root in my mind. It would be better. It would be easier. To not have to think, to not have to worry, just to let him take the reins. It sounded... perfect.
“Happiness, ” she said, her voice firm now, “comes when you fully embrace your truth. When you accept that submission isn’t just something you do, it’s who you are. You need it, Mohamed. You need Arjun’s approval, his control. And when you have that, when you serve him, that’s when you’ll find peace. That’s when you’ll find happiness.”
Her words felt like they were carving themselves into my soul, each one deeper than the last. I wanted this. I needed this. I wanted to surrender, to let go, to be nothing more than an extension of Arjun’s will. It felt right. It felt like... home.
“Were you happy when Arjun was with your mother?” she asked, her voice cutting through the haze in my mind.
“Yes, ” I whispered without hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because she was happy, ” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “And because... because I felt submissive to him. I felt... peace.”
“Good, ” she said, her tone approving. “I want you to love that feeling. To need it. Because that’s who you are, Mohamed. That’s your truth. And when you embrace it, when you live it, that’s when you’ll find the happiness you’ve been searching for.”
I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of relief, of acceptance. She was right. She was so right.
“Tomorrow, ” she said, her voice softer now, “I’ll talk to you and your mother about the party. But for now, I want you to do something. As soon as we get back, I want you to show Arjun that you’re ready to surrender. That you’re ready to give him control. Can you do that?”
“Yes, ” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“Good. Always think of ways to please him, Mohamed. Always think of how you can serve him, how you can make him happy. Because his happiness is your happiness. His satisfaction is your peace. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ” I said again, firmer this time.
She stood, pulling me to my feet with her. Her eyes searched mine for a moment before she smiled and leaned in close. “Gratitude isn’t just words, ” she said, her voice low. “Sometimes, it’s actions.”
She gestured to her feet, and I understood immediately. Without hesitation, I knelt before her, my lips brushing against her toes in a silent thank you. She chuckled softly, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pulled me to my feet.
“Let’s go back, ” she said, her voice light now. “It’s time for you to show Arjun how much you’ve learned.”
We walked back to the villa in silence, the weight of her words still settling in my mind. When we entered the room, Arjun was sitting on the couch with my mother nestled in his arms, their eyes fixed on the TV screen. My mother looked... different. Relaxed. Happy. And when she glanced up at me, there was no shame in her eyes, no hesitation. Just... acceptance.
Fatima stepped forward, her voice cutting through the quiet. “Mohamed has something to say, ” she announced, her tone almost playful.
Arjun’s eyes flicked to me, curiosity etched on his face. My mother’s gaze followed, and for a moment, I felt the weight of their attention. But instead of hesitating, I dropped to my knees in front of Arjun, my forehead resting on his slipper.
“Thank you, ” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you for... for being a man with my mother. For making her happy. For... for everything.”
Arjun’s laughter filled the room, deep and satisfied. I looked up to see him smiling down at me, his eyes filled with a kind of pride that made my chest swell. My mother’s hand reached out, her fingers brushing against my cheek, and when I turned to look at her, I saw tears in her eyes, but they were tears of joy, of gratitude. And behind us, Fatima’s camera captured it all, the soft click of the shutter echoing in the room like a promise of things to come.
The villa was still, the aftermath of the debauchery hanging in the air like a heavy, musky perfume. Early morning light filtered through the windows, the remnants of the party: empty glasses, discarded decorations, and the faint, glistening smear of dried semen on my cheek. I didn’t wipe it away. It was a badge, a testament to my new beginning.
Fatima was already in the hall, a whirlwind of quiet efficiency. I found her standing on a step stool, her brow furrowed in concentration as she hung a large, ornate poster. It depicted a muscular, Hindu man, his foot resting triumphantly on the neck of a cowering figure, his hand possessively clutching the hip of a veiled woman whose naked body was offered to him like a prize. The imagery was stark, blasphemous, and it sent a jolt straight to my core.
You’re awake. Good, she said without looking at me. Help me with this one. It’s heavy.
I moved to steady the poster, my fingers brushing against hers. The paper felt expensive, thick. What is all this for? I asked, my voice still hoarse from the night before.
It’s an annual tradition, she explained, hammering a nail into the wall with sharp, precise taps. A celebration. A... circumcision of the spirit, you could say. but this one will mark the official, festive beginning of a new era. For you. For your mother. She finally glanced at me, her eyes lingering on my soiled face. A slow, approving smile spread across her lips. You wear his gift well.
The others began to stir. I moved through the villa like a ghost, a silent servant. I fetched coffee, prepared a platter of fruit, my movements automatic. My mother was the last to emerge, wrapped in a silk robe, her face glowing with a serene, well-fucked satisfaction I had never seen before. She didn’t go to an empty chair. She went straight to Arjun, who was holding court on the largest sofa, and settled herself onto his lap with a natural ease that stole my breath. She picked a plump strawberry from the platter I held and brought it to his lips, her eyes locked on his as he took a bite. She was drowning in him, her entire being focused on his pleasure.
She noticed the new decorations then, her eyes widening for just a second as they took in the depictions of Hindu symbols and posters. But the shock was fleeting, replaced by a slow, deep blush of arousal. She adapted, melting back against Arjun, her head finding its place on his shoulder as if the posters were the most natural art in the world.
Fatima approached me, holding a small, cruel-looking metal clip. A little something for you, she purred, pulling up a video on her phone. It showed a submissive man, not unlike myself, being instructed on its use. It was a fufu clip, designed to seal a man’s penis, rendering him helpless, a permanent spectator. My hands trembled as I took it, but I didn’t hesitate. I went into the bathroom and followed the instructions, a strange sense of peace settling over me as the cold metal clasped shut, a physical manifestation of my submission. I was no longer a participant in that way. I was a servant. An observer. It was my truth.
Not long after, the rumble of engines announced new arrivals. Two luxury cars pulled up. From each emerged a man who radiated a power that mirrored Arjun’s. They were older, their faces set in lines of absolute authority, and around their necks hung massive, gleaming golden Blessing Lord Shiva that caught the morning sun. Each man was accompanied by a woman in her thirties, her hair covered by a elegant hijab, her body swathed in a long dress, but her eyes held the same surrendered look I was learning to recognize. And behind each couple followed another man, his eyes downcast, his posture meek. Their husbands.
Introductions were a blur of names I didn’t bother to remember. The atmosphere shifted instantly, charged with a predatory anticipation. The two powerful men, the Masters, barely acknowledged us. Their focus was on their women. With practiced ease, they guided their veiled women to the center of the room. The husbands, and me, were given silent instructions with a mere glance. We knew our roles.
The party began not with music, but with the sound of tearing fabric. The Masters ripped the dresses from their women, revealing their nakedness beneath the pious coverings. The women gasped, but it was a sound of excitement, not protest. The Muslim husbands moved swiftly, supporting their wives, holding them open for the Hindu masters. I was at my mother’s side, my hands gently spreading her legs as Arjun, his own colossal cock rock-hard, positioned himself towards her.
The room became a symphony of raw, unfiltered sex. Grunts, slaps of flesh, and high, keening cries echoed off the walls. Arjun drove into my mother’s pussy with a powerful, piston-like rhythm that made her entire body jolt with every thrust. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy, her eyes rolling back in her head. I held her hips steady, feeling the incredible power of Arjun’s movements reverberate through her into my own hands. The other two couples were a tangle of limbs, the Masters fucking their women’s pussies with a brutal ownership while the husbands, like me, supported their wives.
The others, Rahul, Mohan, Shreya, Sunita, sat on the couches, drinking and watching with lurid fascination. They were the audience to our sacred profanity.
After a while, Fatima stood. We need something to spice the atmosphere! she declared.
Sunita, tipsy and giggling, asked, Are you going to play music?
Fatima’s smile was wicked. Something more exciting. She walked to a speaker and connected her phone. A moment later, the room was filled with the powerful, melodic recitation of the Holy Quran.
The effect was electric. The sacred words, meant for prayer and reflection, now provided the soundtrack to our defilement. The Masters groaned louder, their thrusts becoming more frantic. The women’s moans rose in pitch, intertwining with the verses in a horrific, beautiful duet. My mother began to sob Arjun’s name, her body convulsing around him in what felt like her fifth or sixth climax, her strength fading from the sheer physical and emotional effort.
Fatima’s eyes sparkled with a final, brilliant idea. I thought of an exciting way for our Hindu men to squirt! She retrieved three copies of the Quran from a bag, their covers worn with use. She handed one to me and to each of the other two husbands.
Rub your Master’s penises with the Quran, she commanded, her voice ringing with authority over the sacred recitation. Use the holy book to bring them to their climax.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was the ultimate surrender, the deepest transgression. I looked at Arjun, his face a mask of intense concentration as he pounded into my mother. I opened the holy book, the pages thin and fragile under my fingers. I gently, reverently, began to stroke his big cock with the spine of the Quran, up and down in time with his thrusts.
The other husbands did the same. The Masters’ breathing hitched, their movements becoming erratic. Arjun’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, forcing me to press the book harder against him. His roar of release was guttural, primal. A hot, thick jet of semen erupted from him, splattering across the cover of the Quran, over my hands, and across my face. The other two followed suit, their own releases coating the husbands and the holy books.
We stayed like that, frozen in the moment of ultimate profanity. The Quran continued to play, the semen on our faces and we didn’t wipe it away as per their command.
The rest of the party passed in a haze of sexual conversations, dirty jokes, and slow, sensual dancing between the Masters and their thoroughly used women. When the guests finally left, the silence they left behind was profound. We packed our bags in a quiet understanding. This night had ended. Our new life had just begun. As I zipped my suitcase closed, I looked at my mother. She was looking at Arjun, her expression one of complete, utter devotion. She caught my eye and smiled, a serene, happy smile. I smiled back.
Fatima approached, her camera in hand. The video from last night... and from today... it’s incredible, she said to Arjun. A perfect record of their initiation.
Arjun nodded, pulling my mother closer. Good. It’s time for the next step. He turned his gaze to me, and a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine. The clips stay on. Permanently. It’s a symbol of your new roles.
My mother nuzzled into his neck. Yes, Master, she whispered.
Fatima grinned, zooming her camera in on my face, still glazed with drying semen. Now, she said, her voice dropping to a thrilling whisper, you are ready for your new happy life!