The Masala Moment

It all came to be because the house was full. Children were visiting with their own toddlers and his father had come to visit them. And because the house was full Deepu couldn't get enough of his wife Paromita. And because he couldn't get enough he was like an untamed bull.

And that led to the brash decision to fuck on the kitchen floor. The rest of what followed was not known to him.

She was sitting on the kitchen floor, grinding masala for tomorrow's hilsa fish curry and it was late night. As it is with Bengali households dinner ended late. One by one all the family members went to bed and the lady of the house, after clearing the dishes and putting away things was getting a lead on next day's intended menu.

She sat on the floor, her saree pulled up naturally and was using the heavy grinding stone on the slab below to make the masala paste for tomorrow. A day in advance not only saved time but also somehow made the mix more pungent and potent.

She would wake her husband early to go get the fish fresh from the first catch. As he came by she opened her mouth to say just that. But he had come not to be told an early morning errand. He had come to see what his Paru was doing. And there she was, dress pulled up and by accident so far up that he could practically see the deep dark recesses where he loved to linger.

"What?" she asked.

"You are looking sexy," he commented. She knew that remark and its implications. She looked down. Yes, her pallo had slipped and her enormous cleavage was on display. She gingerly held one edge of her saree to pull it up without getting the turmeric on it and smiled at him impishly. "Brat!" she said.

He nodded lower, at her thighs. Soft, plump thighs which he liked to kiss and nibble on his way up to paradise.

She shook her head. There was still work to be done. Not one to help much but wanted it all. Just another day in just another Indian family.

He came and sat next to her and slipped his hand around her bare torso. "Its been days," he whispered feverishly.

"The house is full," she replied, going vigorously at the masala causing her breasts to jiggle. He eyed her thirstily.

"But now every one is asleep," he said letting his hand fall on her bare thigh. It was a test to see if she protested. She was busy but he interpreted that as 'not a no'.

"Come, lets fuck," he said, abandoning all shyness for that was the only way this would work.

"Issh!" she said. He slipped his hand further up and gave her a squeeze. He knew that spot and it hit her – she tingled, paused and looked at him. She kissed him open mouthed and went back to her masala grinding. He put his hand on her breast and turned toward her, pressing his hard cock against her thigh.

"Now look at that," she joked. He rubbed himself harder. "Come on," he said hoarsely, desperately.

While they were into their 50s, Deepu and Paru's sex life was doing just fine. Paru remained bogged down by housework and opportunities were few and far between. But when he wanted it, he became daring and they did quite a few adventurous things to find their privacy. The bath, the terrace, the garage and even their car backseat – all had found favor to fuck when his need was at a peak.

Today, it seemed was the turn of the kitchen. The kitchen had never happened before because it was an open plan kitchen and was the riskiest. But today it seemed the only option because of the full house.

She looked at him with some sympathy. He didn't hassle her much but when he wanted, he really wanted the fuck. And then nothing had ever stopped him. She could see that lust in his eyes and it stirred her loins, too.

She smeared the masala on her hands on the edge of the flat stone she was using. Then she reached for her kitchen cloth and wiped her hands as best as she could. Turning to Deepu she whispered, "We have to as quiet as we can," a gleam of excitement shone through.

Deepu nodded. He lifted his hips and slid out of his pajamas. His cock leaped out of its lair as he did so. Paru involuntarily licked her lips and hoisting herself on to his legs wiggled up pulling up her saree and the petticoat within. She wore no panties, as was often the case with many Indian housewives around the house. If she wore a bra it was only because there were so many people in the house and the thin cotton fabric of her blouses were insufficient to hide her large brown areolas and nipples at the center.

She slid on to him and when near, reached between to push his cock down with just two of her fingers to align it to her cunt. She winced, unprepared as she was with the lack of foreplay. There was no time and she knew she would juice up in no time at all. Holding him down with those two fingers delicately she inched forward, a picture of concentration.

He too looked down as his cock disappeared into her bushy pubis and then he felt her tight and dry. She wiggled her hips and a moistness lubricated the head. His cock added its own drops of precum and she wiggled and hoisted her on some more. He was now well snagged into her love canal.

She now put her arms around his shoulders and hoisted herself well so that she could slide down on his waiting cock. She sank down on him and they both sighed contently as he embedded in her fully. With practiced ease, they made rowing movements which caused her to slide down and up fluidly and soon a soppy wetness enveloped his cock.

"Paru! I want to feel more of you," he whispered into her lips.

"How?" she asked fucking him smoothly to achieve a quick end minimizing the risk of discovery.

"Remove your petticoat. I want to feel your skin on mine," he moaned, as she pleasured him well.

"Look at you!" she teased. "Like a newly wed on his first fuck!"

"Each time I see you I feel like that," he replied with urgency thrusting harder up into her. She brought her heels on to his back and squeezed the cock, grinding on him.

And then she leaned back giving herself space to unwind the garment and proceeded to lift the petticoat over her head and cast it aside. Her stomach bore all the marks of two pregnancies and years of benign neglect. But Deepu loved that softness against his own belly. He closed the gap ever more and Paru lurched forward back onto him.

A few fucks later it was the turn of the blouse. Hunching his back Deepu tried to suck on her breasts. Large, heavy mammaries they sagged as much from the feeding of her own babies as they did from years of Deepu suckling on them. Thick nipples, a large dark areola around them and the sheer volume of flesh excited her husband no end.

"Remove this!" he begged her.

"Deepu," she said in an alarmed whisper. "I will have no way to cover myself in time if anyone came here."

"We are on the floor, somewhat covered by the work shelf," he said, tugging at the fabric even as he lipped the breasts searching for her nipple.

"Only somewhat," she hissed. Once again she leaned back, glancing down to see his cock still embedded the visible pillar coated with a whitish mix of fluids. She rapidly undid the hooks and her breasts sagged in their weight now unsupported by the blouse panels. She reached behind and undid the bra clasp letting them fall under their weight only to be caught mid-fall by a grateful and hungry Deepu.

She loved his teasing lips each time and holding his head she luxuriated in his ministrations and fed him for a few moments like he was her child.

And then it was time again to focus on fuck and finish. She put her arms around his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him and began a rhythmic fucking that had the desired effect on him.

As he neared his crisis his eyes were squeezed shut and his face screwed up in concentration as his mind focused on the center of his universe on the head of his cock. A little more and they would normally have stopped to tongue, suck, bite and lick allowing the orgasm to recede and continued to fuck for much longer.

But not tonight. Tonight was one of those quick fuck-to-a-finish.

She let him lean back on his hands. She raised her hips placing her feet on the ground behind him. Squatting, her pussy lips gaped open on his cock. With a flexibility belying her physique she pumped down on his cock in fluid continuous strokes.

It was then that she observed some movement on the stairway beyond. Right on the top stood Deepu's dad, her father-in-law, watching. The unusual silence had attracted his attention. He knew his daughter-in-law had not finished her duties. But suddenly the sounds of grinding stones, vessels and other households sounds dropped away and he could only hear some possible scuffling sounds.

Deepu was groaning as he was nearing a crescendo. Paru herself was fluidly reaching her own release. She had no choice but to continue and she wondered about how much eh could see from the top of the stairs.

While if they had lain down and fucked they might have got away, because she had hoisted herself and was on her haunches, squatting down and thrusting in a fucking motion she was a lot higher.

Baba could see his daughter-in-law leaning forward, her breasts jiggling as she fucked his son. And she seemed to be seething in pleasure. Deepu was leaning back eyes closed in his own world and he did not notice his wife's eyes focusing on the stairs, where his father stood.

Nothing was left to her Baba's imagination as she fucked Deepu to a smooth finish. Her husband spurted into her, lurching forward to hug, hold and clutch in the throes of his orgasm. Paru's legs once again swept around his hip and she pummeled his ass as she often did to extract every drop of his cum.

"Moni maa!" he groaned, smiling and thrusting. There! That name again! Paru never asked but occasionally in his intensity, eyes closed he called out to this person. It might have been a lover, a woman he had fantasized about but going by the phrase, probably a woman that he lost his virginity to way back. Whatever.

Meanwhile her eyes were intently locked with his, Paru and her Baba, Deepu's dad. In her release she let herself go, hugging him tight and after watching the two of them collapse, her father-in-law withdrew back up the stairs.

Next Morning

"My son is very lucky," said the old man, striking up a deliberate conversation with his daughter-in-law.

"How so?" asked Paru matter-of-factly as she intently sliced the fish.

"What were you doing last night?" asked Baba.

"Grinding masala," said Paru ignoring the import of the question.

"Grinding, eh?" murmured the old man. He saw his daughter-in-law in a new light. She appeared intensely sexy to him suddenly.

Paru slapped down the fish on the counter vehemently. She knew how to put an end to this. "Nothing that a man and wife do not do Baba!" she said, looking him in the eye. She brushed past him and went to the fridge to bring out the mustard masala mix she had prepared the previous night.

Feeling put down, the old man silently left. Laying the fish slices into the turmeric and salt mix and giving it some time before she proceeded to fry it, Paru turned to the washing basket. As she took out what she recognized her father-in-law's clothes she spotted the sticky residue of drying cum on his dhoti.

She shook her head, flushed red and put the clothes in to the washing machine and washing her hands a bit more carefully, got back to the fish preparation.

The gravy of mustard, turmeric and red chilly paste was reaching a simmer. She had added two sliced green chillies and now was ready to add the fried fish to the gravy. Fish and fuck, her husband's two favorites. She could do nothing about the other two "f"'s he loved – football and fights. Feed him and fuck him and she could get anything from him, she ruminated.

Her sensuous fingers were rinsing the rice for the steamed rice to go with fish curry when he reappeared in the kitchen.

"I need oil to massage on some of my drying skin," he murmured gently, still smarting from his daughter-in-law's stinging rebuke.

"Oh yes, Baba!" said Paru spontaneously. She quickly warmed a small bowl of oil and handed it to him. Suddenly she found herself wondering about whether it was drying skin or something else.

Their fingers touched briefly and Paru felt he had lingered on more than necessary.

Lunch was had and as Paru continued with her housework she found one more dhoti in Baba's clothes basket, one more semi dried wad of cum. What was going on?

And then she started to notice the long, oddly timed times he spent in the bathroom several times since that night. Over the next several times of day and night it was unmistakable. The old man had been masturbating vigorously and she quite sure it was all to do with the indiscretion of she and her husband.

It was worse than confirmed when she chanced upon him with his room door ajar. There were scuffling sounds and grunts and then a loud whisper 'Paru'. She made bold enough to take a peek and yes, there he was, hands in his lap, head thrown back and seemingly in the throes of a release. She made her quiet exit.

Next Day

He again came for that cup of warmed oil. "The skin is getting coarse," he said.

"What do you do all the time and putting so many clothes for wash?" she asked, her back to him.

"What a single, old widower does," he replied, pleased with his sharp if delayed riposte.

She felt suddenly remorseful. She had been cold to him these last couple of days after the kitchen incident. But even that had been their fault not his. When she turned to demonstrate sympathy he was already gone. Quietly.

She made a point of searching out his clothes and sure enough, in the dhoti, the stains of oil and large deposit of cum were there.

Next Day

"Oil", he said, simply. Communication had dwindled to monosyllables. It was not borne out of any negative emotions on either part. He had started fantasizing about Paru as a lover. His erections had become fiercer and his cumming more copious.

Torn between guilt and desire the old man had withdrawn into himself. He found that his physical abilities were in fact undiminished and his desires much like before. He felt safe, masturbating as he had been for decades now.

It avoided the complications of a woman and the need to explain relationships to his family – as if he had no needs. But what had been adequate in the past proved inadequate to satiate him. In the last few bouts he had achingly called out to Paru, needing the intimate touch and holding of a woman.

She was busy but that was not the real reason for her delayed response to him. The real reason was that she was in two minds. The woman in her was bursting in sympathy. Yes he had been a widower for simply decades. And in their society there was no space to accommodate these bodily needs, be it a man or a woman.

Any relationship after the spouse died was frowned upon in their genteel classes. And if any one found a way it was discreet enough to not disturb the status quo at least outwardly.

What happened next was predictable for sure and even Paru knew that the step she was about to take could only reach one logical conclusion.

"I will get it to the bath, you go," she said. She wanted to provide a human touch of comfort to the old man, that's all. Deep in her mind she very well knew that that was not going to be the end of it. But that is the nature of human tendency – to go forth adventurously.

She knocked on the bathroom door and Baba opened the door with just a small gap as is usual to take the odd forgotten object like a towel or soap.

Boldly Paru pushed it wider. By the time Baba realized what was happening and leaned to block her the door was wide enough for her to push herself partly through. She looked down which was a tactical ploy to let him know that once she had seen him nude there was no point in shutting the door on her.

Not only was he nude but he was erect too. Not only was he erect too, he was large. Paru gasped. He was beautifully endowed and this she felt made the tragedy of his state of need was even more acute.

He looked down at himself and his face went red. He had not shown himself like this to a woman since his wife died.

Paru gently pressed the door father and Baba gave up. She entered and locked the door, fingers on her lips indicating to him to keep quiet.

"I don't see any dry skin," she said impishly looking at this broad chest. Quickly she knelt down and took the oil in both her hands. Gently she cupped his scrotum in her open palms and the oil soaked his balls. Then both hands closed on his shaft and gently spread the oil over his massive cock.

It was a beautiful specimen indeed and Paru felt cheated that having married his son the genes had not flowed through in this department. Her hands went around and she twirled and swirled with magical fingers as the oil was massaged into him.

"Where else?" she asked innocently looking up at Baba. The old man had his hand on his daughter-in-law's head and his own head was thrown back in the pleasure of being touched by someone else.

"Just there," he whispered. He did not ask her to continue. He did not move forward to her mouth which was tantalizingly close. He did nothing. He just stayed put.

His reply was supposed to mean that nothing further was needed. Paru interpreted it as that being the only point of focus. By this time her mind was in a whirl as between her legs the sluice gates had opened. She was wet and hungry from the idea of lodging this cock in to her cunt.

Two children and incessant fucking later she had a wide open pussy and while Deepu was satisfying in himself, the idea of a being bludgeoned by a large, well endowed man who clearly was very, very virile was tempting.

That the man was her father-in-law offered itself as a solution rather than a problem. She felt more certain about discretion if she kept it to him. But she was not thinking that much right now. Right now, looming in front of her, inches away from her face was the heftiest cock she had ever seen and she was not entirely sure about what to do and how to do it.

He was going to masturbate anyway. "Might as well help him with it," she thought and put one hand around his cock. She held his ass with her other hand and was now sideways to his hips.

This allowed her to move her hand rapidly as if she was wielding a pestle. She knew how rapid and smooth she would have to be make him cum quickly. She did not have much time. Soon someone would be looking for her and she could not possible emerge from the same bathroom from which her father-in-law might follow her out.

Her hand moved smoothly over the thick shaft and her eyes remained fixated on what was clearly becoming an object of desire for her. As she fisted down the bulbous head bulged and she imagined that deep in her cunt and shivered.

"Sorry baba," she whispered. "I should not have been so insensitive."

Insensitive? Here was his sexy, sumptuous daughter-in-law doing something he could not have dreamt of asking of her!

"Oh, no!" he sighed, rocking into the hand in rhythm.

"Achcha, now cum," she said to him matter-of-factly. "We don't have enough time."

"Enough time? Enough for what," asked the father-in-law. How he wished he was between her legs and not just in her hand.

"Just cum!" she said, squeezing his ass as if milking it.

"I can think of something if we had more time," ventured Baba.

He looked down and their eyes met. Paru moved her hand rapidly on his cock. This was quickly turning into a race between what she was willing to do and what she and the old man wanted to do. But this was an awkward time of day for her to go missing. She knew there were other times when this might still work. But not right now, when tea and snacks were imminent.

"Cum. Finish," she urged him, her hand moving in a blur. "I am always there."

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