Bengali Mom Becomes A Whore

I am a guy living in Mumbai, we moved here when we were very young. This story is about my mother, and for better or for worse I felt like sharing it. She got married when she was very young and had me when she was 19.

Now that I am 18 myself she is 37 years old and is still a typical Bengali bombshell. We moved here in search of better opportunities, and it was good for a few years until my dad became an alcoholic. After that, he contributed little to the household.

My childhood was not spent in abject poverty but things were generally hard to come by. In due time, however, situations improved. Where we lived was not a slum, but it wasn’t much better. My mom always got looks and catcalls when she went out, I used to get angry but eventually realized that pushing back was futile.

My mom used to handle it splendidly. She knew well how to diffuse a situation.
At school and college, I was a loner. I wasn’t good at sports or studies! Typical mediocrity. I had few friends, and most of them were pretty superficial. They were friends who would not invite me for an activity but if I was in the vicinity they would not mind making me a part of it.

That went on until one day, a guy called Mushtaq befriended me. He was a bit old to be studying alongside me but that didn’t bother me. I’d put his age at around 20 although he claimed he was 18. I had great fun with him, and it wasn’t long before he had become a regular visitor to my house.

I heard that his dad was the local bigwig/goon whichever way you like to view it. He always had cash, and he was not a stingy person. He spent liberally on himself, and his friends including me. The first time he came to my place, my mother seemed quite startled.

I believed at the time that it was because I introduced so few people to her as friends. He introduced himself, and she reciprocated. Him coming and going became a regular feature. I wasn’t blind however, he and many of my friends in his circle had complimented my mom in front of me.

Some compliments were very explicit. They also told me about how hot she was. Although it seems counter-intuitive, I stopped getting angry after the first few times. They were my only friends, you couldn’t stay mad at them for long. I used to visit his place too, and his mom and dad were always good to me. His mom was a bit conservative though.

As days went on, his interactions with my mom became more and more touchy-feely. I felt the terms of the relationship changed when one day he asked my mom whether he could call her by the first name.

“Can I call you Ishani? Anirudh (me) won’t mind, it’s just that you are too young to be called aunty!”

“You can call me whatever you like dear!” My mom told him, smiling coyly.

Since then he used to be quite bold with her. It built up slowly, but surely. Slowly enough to not attract any malice from me, but quickly enough to make me realize that something was up. I guess I was an idiot because I just refused to see it.

He and 4 of his friends used to frequent my place during cricket matches. “Why don’t you come sit with us Ishani,” he used to invite her to sit with us on the couch to enjoy the game. My mom was never a huge sports fan but she never said no.

She always sat beside him, and during a dramatic moment he used to touch her thighs, pull at her sari or put his arm around her shoulders ‘in the heat of the moment’. He also asked her to cook up snacks for us, it started off as requests, later his tone changed to that of command.

“Ishani, get us some pakodas,” he would state, and mom would hurry to obey him. My mom had a job, a late-night shift at a BPO that catered to international clients (or something like that, she never bothered to explain much more than that and I never bothered to dig deeper).

Amazingly, whenever Mushtaq and gang would come over, she’d have the day off. Her office was very liberal apparently and gave her numerous leaves. She was the one who brought in the money and father was never home. So it didn’t bother me. It is strange how money and a sense of security make you blind to the deeper stuff.

I never suspected anything, or even if I did, I never acted upon my suspicions. Times were good, better than I had at any point of my life, why bother to disrupt it? Then one day, I was scheduled to go for an interview at Pune. I started out from home but once I reached I was called and told that it was canceled.

I was coming back late in the evening. As I made my way to the flat, I noticed his shoes outside, and moaning sounds from inside. My fears were substantiated. I knew what was happening, but couldn’t bring myself to go in. I left for the day and called my mom that I was coming home. It took quite a few rings before she picked up.

When I came there was no one, my sweet mom was just as sweet. It was as if nothing had happened. But now I decided to dig deeper. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I even found out the truth, but I needed the truth. I bought a small spy cam off Amazon and placed it in my place.

And again concocted a story about leaving for another interview. After I came back, I retreated to my room and turned on the footage. Mushtaq came in, with his shoes on followed by my mom. The voice quality was bad, but it seemed like he was quite in control.

He sat on the sofa and lifted his feet, and my mom sunk to her knees, untying his shoelaces and taking off his socks. I am ashamed to say this but watching it was kind of arousing. I was angry and aroused at the same time. As my mom took off his shoes he played with locks of her hair.

She then went to the kitchen as she turned he slapped her ass. Mushtaq turned on the TV, and a few minutes later she came with some snacks. Mushtaq had removed clothes and was seated completely naked when she came back. He motioned something upon seeing which my mom tied her hair back into a bun.

She got on her knees on the floor and pressed her face in his cock. He enjoyed her like this for 15 minutes before going into the bedroom. By now he had removed her blouse, and her sari was on the floor. She was only wearing her petticoat. I didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t know who to talk to. Dad mostly stayed out, visited brothels and stuff, we never bothered with him. And Mushtaq was my only other friend. My mind was in constant turmoil for a few days, and I didn’t talk with anyone. My mom got concerned and called up Mushtaq to speak to me.

He took me out for a movie and later we went over to my place to drink. My mom didn’t mind us drinking, mostly I guess because years of alcohol abuse by my father had normalized that to her. She was in her usual mode, making snacks for us. We bantered on random topics for a while before I felt it was time to bring up the issue.

I don’t know what made me choose that particular time but I guess I had no other choice. My mom froze when I said I know what is going on between them. Mushtaq was surprised too, but not panicky. “You had to find out eventually,” he said, his voice was normal.

He told me that we would always be friends, but it was what it was, and that my mom was just one of his ‘girls’. I didn’t get when he said that she was ‘one of his girls’.

He asked me whether I was comfortable with my life. When I said yes, he told me that it was because of him and his family that we are living the way we were. He said that my mom was one of his employees. My mom tried to cut him in between, but he slid his hand around her waist and pinched her navel.

“It’s time your son knew dear,” he said, before walking away. There was a lot of explaining that my mom did after he left. She told me how hard it was for her when dad turned out the way he was. That she had me to provide for, and that Mushtaq helped her.

I was wondering how he, a guy a few years older than me could help her. “They are very connected and dangerous people,” she said. Mushtaq called me the next day. The initial shock and heartburn had receded to an extent. He told me that he wanted to show me everything and that I shouldn’t get mad.

I didn’t know what to say, a part of me wanted to forget this ever happened and move on with life. The other part wanted to see this through to the end. He took me to a dance bar that his family owned, apparently his father owned a number of them across Mumbai. He had never told me about this before.

As he entered all the employees started calling him ‘Malik’. We went and sat at a corner booth. After a pint of beer the show started, the music was loud. Eventually, he pointed to the next show for which 4 girls came out wearing Saris. One of them was my mom.

Mushtaq told me that she was informed that I would be coming today. And he also told me that here she will not be my mother but a ‘girl’ for the bar, and I shouldn’t interfere with that. She danced very well, letting her hips jiggle. Notes started pouring in as she gently went from table to table.

A few of them slid some money into her blouse. She bent over at a few tables where the men grabbed and slapped her ass. She jiggled her tits obscenely at each table. A bartender then approached him with a piece of paper. He brought me with him inside after the show into the girl’s changing rooms.

All the girls were sitting there including my mom. I meekly followed him as he approached each girl. All the girls referred to him as ‘Maalik’ too. He went to my mom, she noticed me but didn’t acknowledge me. She was already told, so I guess she was prepared for it.

“Ishani, go to private room 4, the guy has paid,” he told her slapping her ass from behind. “Ji Maalik, abhi jaati hoon,” she said, rather enthusiastically.

“Koi complaint nahi aana chahiye, poora paisa diya hai wo,” he said, grabbing her hand.“Kabhi aati hai kya?” the other girls giggled.

Mushtaq asked me whether I wanted to see more. I was completely aghast and horny at the same time. I asked him to show me more. A few minutes later he took me with him to private room 4. Once inside I saw my mom crouched behind him, as he lay on the bed.

Mother was in just a petticoat and bra. She was giving him a back massage.nside was an old man, probably in the late 50s. “Kaise ho Akhlaq ji,” he said before going in. He was an old and big customer it seemed. As Mushtaq and he talked my mom didn’t flinch, she kept on rubbing oil on his back.

I was introduced as a new employee as well. “Last time jo randi thi, wo maza nahi de payi,” he said to Mushtaq, “Standards gir rahe hai yahaan ka.”

“Ye waali majboot randi hai,” Mushtaq went and slapped my mom’s ass, “Chaliye aap iski gaand bhi maar sakte ho ajke liye,” he looked at my mom, “Samjhi na?”

“Ji Maalik,” she said with her eyes lowered.

We left the place. I slept late that day. When I woke up at 1 pm or so in the afternoon, I heard noises in the kitchen. Mom was back and had prepared lunch. I came out and sat at the table. I noticed the unease with which she was walking and sitting. That guy must’ve taken her ass bad.

We started eating in silence. None of us talked. Finally, I broke the silence, “Its ok mom, I love you.”

She smiled at me, relief in her face. I accepted the new roles in our house. Mushtaq didn’t need to hide it, now he came home every day and mom addressed her as ‘Malik’ always. He even made her give him blowjobs from time to time in front of me and spent nights in her bedroom.

Now it’s normal for me. I love her unconditionally. She may be Mushtaq’s randi, but she is also my mother, and she can be both.

You can reach out to me with questions or suggestions at [email protected]