Harish pov
Harish felt a surge of excitement as he thought back to the woman he'd seen earlier. He remembered the way her body had looked in the park—the way her curves had filled out her dress as she walked past. He could still feel the lingering heat of her presence, the faint scent of her perfume on the air.
He stood frozen under the shade of a banyan tree at the edge of the park, pulse hammering in his throat.
It was *her*.
Mrs. Mehta—Gaurav's mother.
And she was on her knees in the shadowed corner behind the children's swing set, head bobbing slowly over one man's lap while another thrust into her from behind and a third stroked himself,
His breath hitched.
Memories crashed over him—*Deepavali night*, the puja hall dim after everyone left, incense burning low. She'd worn that red saree with gold borders, hair loose like fire down her back. One dance. One touch on her waist as they moved to the same beat—and then she followed him into the storeroom.
Hot lips.
Greedy hands.
He closed his eyes, feeling the memories play out before him like a film reel. His hand slid down into his pants as he watched, already half-hard with desire.
He couldn't believe she was here.
He couldn't believe it was really her.
He opened his eyes again, looking back at her. Was she remembering too?
She lifted her head, and for a moment their gazes locked. Even through the shadows, he could see the recognition in her eyes—the flash of surprise... and the heat.
It was only for a moment.
And then she let the man guiding her back down onto his lap, and the moment was broken.
That look—that knowing, dangerous spark—was all it took.
Harish's hand was already inside his pants, gripping himself tight. His hips jerked forward once, twice—rhythm fast and desperate as he watched her take two cocks at once, mouth and pussy stretched full.
"Fuck…" he whispered under his breath. "She's… *mine*."
It didn't matter that she was Gaurav's mother.
Didn't matter she was older.
She had given herself to him once—and now here she was again, letting strangers use her body like temple for worship.
But *he* had claimed her first.
His strokes grew rougher. Pre-cum slickened the shaft. He bit down on his lip to stay quiet as pleasure built in waves from deep in his gut—
20 seconds.
That's all it took before heat exploded through him—a silent burst behind clenched teeth—as he came hard into the cup of his palm, ropes of white spilling over fingers still pumping fast beneath fabric of jeans
He shuddered out the last pulses eyes fixed on Mrs Mehta mouth stretching wide cock sliding inch after inch down throat while other man groaned back arch push deeper deeper until body trembled empty spent pulled out dripping tip glistening wet ground mess feet grass soil life created wasted world go unaware cycle continue repeat hunger return stronger faster harder next time won't watch
Next time I join
He zipped up slowly wiped hand on shirt without care walked away shadows heart beating louder than night wind whispering trees secrets keep locked only those who dare touch fire learn burn beautiful painful worth every scar
Harish sat on a bench in the park, pretending to look at his phone. But his mind was far away, remembering the way Mrs. Mehta had looked that night in the storeroom… the heat and hunger in her eyes… the way they had come together in a rush of desire.
He could still feel her body moving against him, their hands and lips everywhere at once. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, trying to ignore the tension growing inside him.
Harish was sitting on the park bench when he noticed her walking towards him. It was Mrs. Mehta, Gaurav's mother. He tried to ignore her, but he couldn't help stealing a few glances at her. Her saree flattered her curves, and the way she walked in those heels made his heart race. He felt a surge of arousal, but he quickly silenced it. He couldn't let his feelings show.
But as Mrs Mehta got closer, he realized that she was heading straight for him. His heart beat faster as he watched her approach, wondering what she wanted. She stopped in front of the bench where he was sitting and looked down at him, a small smile on her lips.
She stopped right in front of him, close enough that he could smell the faint jasmine in her hair.
"You also want a chance?" she said—soft, knowing. Not a question. A statement.
Before Harish could answer, she unzipped her pants slowly, revealing soft skin and dark curls beneath. Then… nothing.
Her smirk deepened.
"One inch," she whispered, eyes flicking down with amusement. "And not even hard."
Harish froze—face burning. He'd *just* come minutes ago watching her with the three men. He couldn't rise again… not now.
She crouched slightly—her voice like velvet over flame:
"Poor thing... all used up just from *watching*?"
She took his limp cock into her hand—then into her mouth—one slow glide—and his breath caught in his throat despite himself.
But no reaction came.
No rise.
Only shame and fire under skin.
She pulled back after a moment, wiping her lips with the back of her hand—a goddess unperturbed by weakness—and gave him that same knowing smile…
**"Next time,"** she murmured, standing tall again,** "don't waste your load before the main course."**
Then turned away… leaving him sitting there:
small,
silent,
aching,
and utterly seen.
Harish slumped on the bench, still reeling from the encounter. His mind replayed the moment in slow motion, again and again—her voice, her touch, her smirk—and the bitter taste of failure. He was used up from watching her with other men, reduced to a limp mess in the palm of her hand.
But amid the humiliation, there was also a sliver of hope.
**"Next time,"** she had said. He clung to that promise like a lifeline, willing himself to believe *next time* would be different.
*Next time…*
Harish repeated the promise over and over in his mind, taking some consolation in those two words. Yes, he had been humiliated in front of her. Yes, he had failed to live up to his own inflated expectations of manhood.
But that she had touched him—tasted him—meant that he had made an impact. That his desire was real and true, even if it hadn't quite been enough this time.
He would do better next time.
He had to.