My name is Ahmed Khan. I had just turned 20 and was home for the summer after my first year at university. Life at home with Ammi had always been quiet and traditional, but this summer it became something I could never have imagined.
Ammi’s real name was Fatima. She was 43 years old but looked closer to 33. Fair skin with a natural golden glow, long thick black hair that she usually kept tied in a modest bun, deep brown eyes, full soft lips, and a body that still turned heads. Her heavy breasts, wide fertile hips, and round ass filled out her salwar kameez in ways that made me feel guilty for noticing. After Abbu passed away five years ago, it had been just the two of us. She was the perfect conservative Ammi — always covered, always praying, always reminding me about family honor and staying away from sin.
But something had shifted in the last few months.
It started with small things. Her dupatta slipping off her shoulders more often. Wearing thinner nighties around the house. Lingering hugs that pressed her soft breasts against my chest. The way she would call me “beta” in a softer, almost needy voice.
One hot July evening I came home from the mosque. The house smelled of biryani and her rose perfume. Ammi was in the kitchen wearing a light cotton nighty that clung to her curves from the humidity. No bra. Her dark nipples were clearly visible.
“Ammi, I’m home,” I said, trying to keep my eyes on her face.
She turned and smiled. “Ahmed beta, you look tired. Come sit. Ammi will take care of you.”
As she served me food, she leaned over the table and I couldn’t stop staring at her heavy swaying breasts. She caught me. Instead of scolding, she bit her lower lip.
“You’ve become such a strong, handsome man, beta,” she whispered. “Ammi has been so lonely since your father left us. My body… it aches at night.”
My heart hammered. “Ammi… what are you saying?”
She stepped closer until her body was almost touching mine. “Ammi knows you look at me, Ahmed. I see the way your eyes follow me. It’s okay, beta. Ammi wants it too. Ammi needs her son’s touch.”
I was frozen. This was haram. This was wrong. But my cock was rock hard.
She took my hand and placed it on her left breast. The softness and heat made me groan. “Feel how heavy they are for you, beta. They’ve been waiting for your hands.”
That was the breaking point.
Ammi dropped to her knees right there on the kitchen floor, pulled down my pants, and stared at my thick virgin cock with pure hunger in her eyes.
“Mashallah… so big,” she breathed. “Bigger than your Abbu’s. This cock belongs to Ammi now.”
She took me into her warm, wet mouth. The feeling of my conservative Ammi sucking my dick was overwhelming. She moaned loudly, bobbing her head, swirling her tongue, drooling down my shaft while looking up at me with loving, filthy eyes.
“Suck your Ammi’s mouth, beta. Fuck Ammi’s throat if you want.”
I held her bun and gently thrust into her mouth. She gagged but pushed deeper, tears of effort mixing with lust. I couldn’t last long. I exploded down her throat with a loud groan. Ammi swallowed every drop, then licked me clean.
“Good boy,” she purred, standing up and kissing me deeply. “Now come to Ammi’s bed. Tonight Ammi is going to make you a man.”
We barely made it to her bedroom — the same bed she once shared with my father. She stripped slowly, revealing her beautiful naked body: full heavy breasts with dark nipples, soft belly, thick thighs, and a neatly trimmed hairy pussy already glistening with wetness.
I was nervous but so hard again. Ammi pulled me on top of her.
“Be gentle at first, beta,” she whispered, guiding my cock to her entrance. “Then fuck Ammi hard like she needs.”
I pushed inside her. The feeling of my own mother’s tight, wet pussy swallowing my cock was indescribable. She moaned loudly, nails digging into my back.
“Yes, beta! Fuck Ammi! Your cock feels so good inside the pussy that made you!”
We started slow, then I lost control. I pounded her missionary style, her legs wrapped around me. Her heavy tits bounced with every thrust. She kept talking dirty in that sweet Ammi voice mixed with filth.
“Harder, my son. Breed Ammi. Fill your mother’s womb with your strong seed. I want your baby, Ahmed. Knock up your own Ammi.”
The words pushed me over the edge. I buried myself deep and came hard, pumping rope after rope of cum straight into her fertile cunt. Ammi came at the same time, her pussy clenching around me, crying out my name.
We didn’t stop that night. We fucked three more times — once with her riding me, her big ass bouncing wildly; once doggy style while I slapped her ass red; and finally slow and deep while she whispered how much she loved her son’s cock.
The Next Few Weeks – The Summer of Sin
What started that night became our daily secret. Every morning Ammi would wake me with a slow, loving blowjob, swallowing my load before making breakfast. In the shower she loved being pressed against the tiles while I took her from behind, calling her “my breeding Ammi slut.”
One afternoon she dressed in her old wedding lehenga, looking like a proper conservative bride. Then she slowly stripped for me in the living room, tears of guilt in her eyes even as her pussy dripped.
“I’m such a sinful Ammi,” she whispered. “Corrupting my own son. But I can’t stop. I need your cock every day.”
I bent her over the prayer mat and fucked her brutally while she begged for forgiveness and more cum at the same time. The mix of shame and lust was intoxicating.
We tried everything. I learned how to eat her hairy pussy until she squirted all over my face. She taught me how to fuck her tight ass, moaning how only her son could own every hole. We fucked in every room of the house — kitchen, bathroom, even on the balcony at night where the risk of being seen made it hotter.
Her dirty talk never stopped:
“Ammi ki chudai… yes beta, fuck your mother harder!” “Put a baby in me. I want everyone to see my belly grow with my son’s child.” “Even when you were in my womb I never imagined you would fuck me like this.”
By the end of July, Ammi was late. She bought a pregnancy test and we waited together in the bathroom. When it showed positive, she cried happy tears and dropped to her knees to thank me with her mouth.
The pregnancy only made us hornier. Her breasts grew bigger and more sensitive. Her belly swelled and we fucked through every trimester — gentle at first, then wild again as she craved her son’s cock even more. I loved sucking on her leaking nipples and fucking her while rubbing her growing baby bump.
Epilogue
Nine months later our beautiful baby boy was born. To the outside world it was a “miracle from a short marriage arrangement” that no one questioned too deeply. Behind closed doors, Ammi was my everything — my mother, my lover, my secret wife.
We continued our taboo relationship. She still calls me “beta” during the day when family visits. At night she becomes my eager breeding Ammi again, begging for more children.
I never imagined that one hot summer would turn my conservative Ammi into my personal cum-hungry incest slut. But I wouldn’t change a single moment.
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