Ashok Fucks Mom Again! – Episode 5

This story is sequel of the the series ‘Ashok Fucks Mom Again!,’ and you are reading eposide 5 of the series.

The car lurched forward. My eyes snapped open. My skin was damp with sweat, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts. “Sorry, slept away. Saw a bad dream,” I muttered, rubbing my face as I tried to steady my breathing. “How far are we?”

Dad kept his eyes on the road, his expression calm. “Not far now,” he said, his voice even, unaware of the turmoil still twisting in my stomach. Dad had come to pick me up from the University campus. I was lost in an absolutely weird nightmare.

I hesitated, then asked, “How is Ashok? Where is he?”

Dad sighed, his hands tightening slightly on the steering wheel. “He’s waiting at home with Mom. Actually, he helped a lot. He waited in a long queue to get your admission, Saajan. He was told no many times, but he still didn’t budge.”

I frowned, staring ahead. “Why would he do that? He’s not family.”

Dad let out a small chuckle. “Ashok has always been more than just an employee, Saajan. He’s been my right hand in business, sacrificing so much to keep things running when I couldn’t. He’s loyal, hardworking, and has never once let me down. Without him, I don’t know how I would have managed all these years.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “But why?”

Dad shook his head. “He never married. Said he didn’t need to. Maybe work was his family. Maybe we were.” His voice softened. “He’s been there for us in ways you don’t even realise. Always watching out for your mom and you.”

My heart melted a little. I started thinking—should I tell Dad about his affair with Mom? Or was I being too harsh? The dream was too much to digest.
Was the dream telling me something?

The image of Ashok pulling Mom down, bare in his arms, was fresh in my mind.  Its weight sat heavy in my chest, refusing to fade.

We reached the parking area. As the car slowed, that last part of the dream came flooding back. Dad entered the house, confused and silent, while Ashok and Mom were making out naked in the bedroom. That moment, raw and shocking, flashed through my head like a lightning strike.

We entered the lift just as a delivery guy stepped in with us. He smiled politely, a man in his late twenties with a slight Malayali accent. Dad made small talk with him—something about the traffic and the heat.

It wasn’t until the delivery guy got off our floor and walked toward our door that I realised: the delivery was for us. At the entrance, my eyes immediately fell on Ashok’s shoes—the same ones from my dream. I said nothing.

Mom opened the door, smiling, dressed in a soft, flowing maxi. She looked radiant, freshly showered, a little too perfect. Ashok was on the sofa, sipping tea. He looked up and greeted us warmly. I nodded, trying not to stare too long.

Dad took the bag from the delivery guy, opening it curiously. “Seems like we brought your order!” he said with a slight grin, pulling out containers. Then something else caught his eye. A small packet. He paused. “You ordered groceries too?”

As Mom looked briefly at Ashok, something clicked in my mind. The order wasn’t hers. It was his. Dad held up a packet of sanitary pads. He turned to Mom. “You’re on your period?”

Mom blinked, caught off guard. Her eyes flicked quickly to Ashok. He didn’t speak—just gave the tiniest nod.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice steadying. “It started this morning.”

Dad sighed, mildly annoyed. “So no fun tonight, huh?” He chuckled, shaking his head, placing the bag aside. Then he leaned in and hugged her, pulling her close.

He gave Ashok a side hug, too, friendly, familiar, before walking over to the sofa and sitting down.

“Ashok, Saajan—go unpack the food,” he said, waving his hand. “I want a moment with my wife.”

We lingered for a second, unsure. He looked back at us. “Come on, what are you looking at? Go. Unpack.”

We got the cue. We moved to the kitchen, but my mind stayed at the door.
Why did Mom lie? Why did she order pads? Was it just an excuse? Ashok walked ahead of me, his pace a little stiff. Something about his expression felt unsettled, like he was holding something back.

As we moved toward the kitchen, I thought I heard faint whispers and the soft sound of lips brushing skin. I turned instinctively toward the hallway. From where I stood, I could make out Dad on the sofa, holding Mom close. Her shoulders were bare now.

He had eased her dress down gently, his hand brushing aside the strap of her bra. He kissed her skin with quiet hunger. His mouth moved lower, lips tracing her collarbone, then finding her breast. He kissed her gently, and his lips lingered around her nipple.

Mom seemed caught in the moment, her hands resting on his arms. Trying to hold on, to balance between surrender and resistance. Then, she softly kissed his cheek and slowly rose from the sofa. Dad followed her toward the hallway.  She adjusted the top of her maxi, buttoning it quickly.

He caught her by the waist and leaned in again. This time, he pounced on her lips and kissed. Just then, Ashok re-entered the room from the kitchen. His gaze landed on them. He didn’t say a word.

But something in his eyes dimmed. A quiet disappointment that barely showed but somehow felt louder than anything else in the room.

For the rest of the evening, Dad stayed close to Mom. He kept touching her boobs, whispering things that made her smile. At dinner, he fed her small bites from his plate. It was clear—he was horny and couldn’t contain his enthusiasm of sleeping with his wife that night.

Ashok barely spoke. He sat at the dining table, gripping his whiskey glass. He didn’t look at anyone, especially not Mom. After dinner, he went to the bar room and kept drinking, smoking one cigarette after another.

I went to my room, focusing on my notes for my presentation the next day. I tried to block out everything else. Around midnight, I heard a soft knock. The door creaked open. Ashok stood there, smelling of whiskey and smoke. He swayed slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Wanted to use the loo. The tap in the bar isn’t working.” I nodded. He stepped in but didn’t move right away. He looked at me, his eyes tired. Then he asked, “Are you not missing your mom?” I didn’t answer. He took a step closer. “Come with me. Silently.”

A strange feeling crept over me. But I followed him, leaving my books scattered on the bed. The house was quiet, except for the hum of the fridge. Instead of heading back to the bar room, Ashok walked toward Dad’s bedroom. My breath caught as I realised where he was going.

He stopped outside their door, hesitating for just a second before pushing it open. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow from a bedside lamp casting shadows across the walls. Mom lay there, wrapped in soft sheets, her body barely covered by a bra and underwear.

Beside her, her dad slept soundly, oblivious. Ashok pulled the sheets back inch by inch, revealing bare skin. His fingers brushed the waistband of her panties, but there was a challenge—her anklets. The tiny silver bells threatened to betray him.

Slowly, carefully, he worked them down, pausing each time the metal jingled. Finally, they slid off, pooling at her ankles. He kneeled to smell her crotch, partly shaved, dark pink and untouched by Dad. The period trick had worked. His mouth made a small bite on the clitoris and sucked a bit of her juice.

She stirred, murmuring in half-sleep, but he was already moving. He bent forward, one strong arm wrapping around her waist, the other gripping her thighs. In one smooth motion, he lifted her onto his shoulder. Her belly pressed against him, full breasts brushing his back.

Her head hung down behind him, hair spilling in wild waves. His hands secured her beneath the curve of her ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her thighs. The shift in position made her cheeks part slightly, revealing the darker skin. A faint trace of hair framed the intimate space.

She was chubby there, plush and perfect in his grasp.  With careful, steady steps, he carried her through the hallway to my room. “Not again! Not in my room,” said my mind. He laid her down amidst the disorder. Her body sinking into the soft mattress, my notes and pages rustling beneath her.

His body hovered over hers as his tongue claimed her, deep and unrelenting. His teeth tugging at her lips, nipping, teasing. His hands weren’t gentle. They roamed over her body, cupping, kneading, and squeezing. He found her breasts, fingers digging into the soft flesh.

He pulled down the old-fashioned bra, exposing her fully to him. She stirred more, her breath shifting, a soft moan escaping as her body started to respond. He was shirtless, his muscled chest pressed against her. His lungi hung loosely at his waist.

He kissed down her neck, biting and marking her, his fingers gripping her with an almost possessive hunger. When he finally pulled back, his eyes burned into hers. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, her perky brown breasts rising and falling in rapid breaths.

Without a word, he untied his lungi, letting it slide down, his boxers following. His fingers found her jaw, tilting her face upward. “Open,” he murmured, voice thick with need. She hesitated, but there was no time to second-guess.

His other hand moved downward, fingers brushing over his taut skin before curling around the thick length of his dick. He drew it out, already glistening, heavy with his leaking piss. I had always secretly watched Mom feeding on Ashok’s piss.

But this time, I was just in the same room, witnessing everything. Mom whispered a bit in Ashok’s ears to ask me to leave. Ashok’s long, thick tool had already leaked, and he barely cared if I watched. The first warm beads had landed on her chest, streaking her skin in thin rivulets.

She exhaled, hollowing her cheeks, as he pressed his shaft on her tongue. There was something musky about his piss that she couldn’t stop herself. The gush of yellow liquid was too fierce. She wasn’t prepared to relish her favourite drink in the middle of the night.

She sputtered, some of the pee escaping, trickling down her chin. It dripped onto my notes beneath her, staining the open pages, the ink blurring as the liquid soaked in. The bed grew damp, a dark patch spreading across the sheets.

Ashok finally eased back, releasing her jaw, and she jerked upright, coughing, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. He chuckled, brushing his lips against hers, voice low and teasing. “I couldn’t wait till evening to steal you away from your husband.”

She barely said anything, but smiled. “If you two are gonna keep doing this, at least let me buy some condoms so I don’t end up with a sibling.” I had to intervene. “ And yeah, you guys destroyed my notes.” Ashok laughed, tossing a pillow at me. “Smart kid. Go get them. And take your time.”

With a groan, I rolled my eyes and left. But by the time I returned, they were already lost in each other again. The sight that greeted me was raw and undeniable. Ashok had already towered on mom, his cock sliding in and out. The cum already oozing out of her pussy and dripping on the bed sheets.

He was sweating, his belly wobbling as he fucked, while mom’s thighs quivered, giving in as always. As Ashok saw me, he paused. He leaned in, his thick moustache brushing Mom’s face. His tongue shoved into her mouth, wet and rough, forcing her lips apart.

She choked a little, swallowing his saliva as he kissed her deep, messy. His teeth caught her nose, biting quick and sharp, then her lip, nipping till it swelled red. She whimpered, face scrunching, but took it. Dad was obviously a gentle kisser, but Mom was never so easy with him as she was with Ashok.

I had passed out in my chair, waking up groggy at 6 a.m. The room was tidied—bed made, notes stacked. There was no sign of the mess Ashok and Mom had left. They were gone. I stumbled into the hallway, ears pricking at low murmurs from Dad’s room.

Peeking in, I saw Dad sprawled on the bed, still out cold, his chest rising slowly. A half-empty whiskey glass sat on the side table. The sharp smell of it lingered, just as the one Ashok had been chugging last night. Did they slip him something to keep him under?

Mom stood near the bed, fully dressed in her maxi, her braid messy, eyes wide and scared. Ashok loomed over her, his hairy chest bare, a freshly draped towel loose around his thick waist. “Come here, Revaaa,” he rasped, voice thick with want, grabbing her wrist.

She flinched, glancing at Dad, but Ashok didn’t care. His rough lips crashed into hers—smack—wet and loud, his moustache scraping her skin. “Ashok, no, chetta… he’s right there,” she whispered, panicked, her eyes darting to Dad’s sleeping form.

Each kiss she gave back was quick, nervous, her bangles clinking softly. She pushed at his hairy shoulders. But Ashok growled low, “He won’t wake, shhhh,” and shoved her down onto the bed, right beside Dad. Her maxi bunched as she hit the mattress, her chubby thighs trembling.

He yanked the fabric up to her waist, the petticoat tangling with it. Baring her sweaty hips and that half-shaved pussy, still slick from last night. His towel dropped in a heap, his dark, hairy cock swinging free, already hard and leaking.

“Gonna fuck you quiet,” he muttered, climbing over her, his pot belly brushing her stomach. He pinned her wrists above her head, hairy thighs forcing hers apart. She bit her lip, stifling a whimper. Her eyes locked on Dad’s face—peaceful, clueless, inches away.

Ashok thrust in hard, no warning, his cock sinking deep. His hairy ass flexed with each pump, slow and deliberate. Her pussy gripping him tight, her clit swollen and red under the pressure. “Ummff,” he hissed, breathing hot on her neck, kissing her again—mwah—messy, his saliva streaking her chin.

Mom’s breath hitched, a choked “Ayyo…” slipping out, her body rocking under him, torn between fear and giving in. Her anklets jingled faintly, muffled by the sheets, her nails digging into his dark, hairy buttocks. I stood frozen. Then, Dad stirred.

A low groan rumbled from his throat, his arm twitching, shifting toward Mom. Her eyes went wide, terror flashing as Ashok kept thrusting, oblivious, his cock buried deep. “Ashok, stop—he’s moving!” she gasped, voice a desperate whisper.

Dad’s head lolled, eyes still shut, but his hand slid closer, brushing her arm. What the hell happens now?

Wait for the next episode. Write to me at [email protected].