This is a story of the night my mom wouldn’t forget …..
I still remember the exact temperature of that night.
It was past midnight when we left the marriage hall. The function had dragged on far longer than expected. My father was abroad on one of his long trips, so it was only my mother and me in the old scooter. She was wearing a dark maroon saree with a gold border, the kind she usually saved for family functions. A few jasmine flowers were still pinned in her hair from the evening, though most had wilted. She looked tired but composed.
The road we took was a shortcut. Half of it had no streetlights. Only one house in the middle of that stretch had a bright tube light glowing above its gate. As we approached it, two men stepped into the road and blocked the scooter. They didn’t shout. They simply stood there.
My mother slowed down and asked, “What is this? Move aside.”
One of them walked closer, looked her up and down, and said quietly, “Nice body for a mother.”
I got down, angry, ready to push him. Before I could do anything, another man came from the side, locked his arm around my neck, and pressed the cold edge of a knife against my throat. The message was clear. My mother froze.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said, voice tight. “Please. I’ll give you the jewellery. Just leave us.”
The man holding me smiled. “We don’t want jewellery.”
They forced both of us inside the house. The door shut behind us with a heavy sound. Three more men were already waiting in the front room. The air smelled of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. They dragged me into a bedroom, tied my wrists tightly to the arms of a heavy wooden chair, and bound my ankles to the legs. One of them leaned close to my ear and said, “You will watch everything. If you close your eyes, I’ll cut you.”
I nodded. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it in my throat.
They pulled my mother into the centre of the room. She was still trying to reason with them, her voice shaking. One of the men slapped her hard across the face. The sound was sharp. She stumbled. Another man grabbed the end of her saree and yanked. The fabric unwrapped and fell to the floor in a heap. She stood there in her blouse and petticoat, arms crossed over her chest, breathing fast.
“On your knees,” one of them ordered.
She hesitated. A second slap landed. She dropped to her knees. They formed a rough circle around her. Zippers opened one after another. Cocks of different sizes and shapes appeared in front of her face. One man grabbed a fistful of her hair and forced her mouth open. She gagged as he pushed in. Another man slapped his cock against her cheek while waiting for his turn. They took turns fucking her mouth, sometimes trying to force two heads past her lips at the same time. Spit ran down her chin and dripped onto her blouse. Her eyes were wet, but she didn’t scream anymore.
After several minutes they pulled her up and tore the petticoat and panties off her. She was left in only her blouse. They pushed her onto the bed. One man set a phone on a tripod and started recording. My mother saw the red light and begged them not to record. Another slap silenced her.
They spread her legs wide. Two men held her thighs open while the others took turns licking her. Then the condoms came out. The first man pushed into her with one long thrust. She cried out. He fucked her hard, the bed creaking under the force. When he got close he pulled out and another took his place. They fucked her in missionary, then flipped her onto her stomach and took her from behind. Her heavy breasts swung freely once they ripped the blouse open. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room.
At one point two of them tried to push into her pussy at the same time. She screamed, a raw broken sound, as they stretched her. Tears ran down her face and into her open mouth. They laughed and kept going. When they finally finished, they pulled out and came across her breasts, her stomach, and the thick curve of her ass. White streaks covered her dark skin. One of them wiped his cock on her hair.
Throughout the entire time, the man who had threatened me stood beside my chair, making sure my eyes stayed open. I watched every thrust, every slap, every time my mother’s body jerked. Something dark and confusing twisted in my stomach. I hated it. And yet I could not look away.
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