Looking at his eyes, she scrapes the tender hood her clitoris with his nail. She draws the pad of his finger along her outer lips, lingering expertly to give him the silky feel of her dry outer lips. She does not lose her eye-contact with his for a second. She revels in the convulsive whimper from her son's throat and dabs the controlled digit of her son a few millimeters and her softer inner labia clasps around it.

The weather there is not wet but humid. She saws his finger along her slit to give him the feel of her texture. "How is it, baby?" she asks.

"Fuck, Sexy," Rohan groans.

"And momma is not dressed. She is naked." Diksha teases.

"How is it to touch your mother's labia?" She presses his finger firmly into her cunt until his other fingers lodge on her opening.

Rohan feels as if he is touching his mother's pussy for the first time in his life. It's in fact true to some extent. Not a moment of this depraved erotic act he doesn't forget that he is touching his mother. There is no feigning, no grudge in his heart. The most recent knowledge that she is his mother is making every moment of this intimate depravity thousand times more enjoyable. "Feel baby, feel how mother's pussy spasms around your finger. Feel how hot my cunt is for you. Feel it discretely how it is seeping wetness and drowning your finger."

Wetness wells up from inside and soaks Diksha's outer labia. She draws her son's finger out and slither it across from one lip to another, to let him know that she is completely ready to be fucked.

"Am I a wicked mother, son?" she asks, kissing his her-juice-coated finger.

Rohan's cock crosses the limit of its usual girth and length and reaches an unprecedented size during his mother's foreplay at her pussy with his finger. Diksha tightens her grip around his cock. It's hard like a hot iron rod textured with blood vessels, each one distended almost a millimeter. A large drop of pre-cum dabbles on her finger. Her pussy erupts copious juices at the extent of her son's arousal. One after another wave of hot mobile spills on her thighs, drops on the bed-sheet, and spreads across her assess. Squirming on the wet sheet, the crooked woman separates her ass-cheeks until the rose-bud of her anus touches the wetness beneath it.

Touching her juices with her anus is only a secondary objective. Her primary objective is to open her pussy slit for the forthcoming penetration by her son's cock.

Mother and son make a new spell of eye-contact and exchange the intuition that the son has never been harder and the mother has never been wetter.

"Three days, isn't it, baby?" Diksha says, holding his wiry scrotum with her left hand. She feels as if she is the richest woman of the world with her right hand filled with her son's cock and her left hand with her son's scrotum.

"My baby's balls keep filling for mommy for three days," she says.

Both mother and son look at each other hotly. Both are aware of their situation and know that none will be able to hold it much longer. "Do something naughty or talk something dirty," Diksha urges. "One naughty thing or one dirty word," she implores. "And you will be fucking mother right away."

Rohan attacks one erect nipple of his mother with his lips. She almost smashes his scrotum as he bites on her nipple.

"Attacking your mother's nipples is the sonliest act on God's earth," she reproaches. "Had you known one single naughtiness, you would have attacked mommy's ass." Her hands move like American cruise missiles to settle her son's hands on her assess. But the most creative human goddess of carnal sexuality also has certain moments of failure. Instead of her son's cockhead, his scrotum lodges on her sleek puss-lips. But there is no limit of the intellectual mother's wickedness. With her outer labia, she saws along his taut scrotum, wetting the thin skin with her oil. She withdraws as the sharp hairs on his balls cut through her softer inner labia.

"This is your just punishment, you witch," Rohan says with mock anger.

"Wait, baby, wait," Diksha says. "Mommy will reach your cockhead with her cunt gash in a moment." Supporting her weight on her hands, she raises her hips at the level of his navel where his erect cockhead reaches. She touches his seeping cockhead with her seeping labia. Rohan holds her waist and attempts to force her down along his length. She is prompt to forestall him with her one hand.

"Don't you dare, you bastard," she threats.

Rohan gives in with meek submission. She teases him several seconds by sawing on his cockhead with her opening. A few lines of her hot lava climbs down his neglected shaft, as rain water slides down along the trunk of a forest tree.

"Patience is the principal means of lovemaking," Diksha says. Her voice is soothing and indulgent.

"You have to feel it in minuscule. You have to feel how mother's wet labia momentarily grip around the raised line of your cockhead, how they scrape all the way from the opening of your cockhead to the hairy base. You have to angle in calculated ways so that mother's clitoris grazes against it. Then you have to feel how mommy's pussy walls grip and release your cock, how it spasms in ecstasy. Most of all, you must feel the spasms at the threshold of mother's climax."

Diksha is firmly speared on his son's ramrod. No prophet would remain a prophet if he saw with what agility his mother has slipped her bent knees on his either sides.

"A son must endure his mother's weight when she allows him the pleasure of penetrating her," Diksha says.

Rohan is unable to describe the feel of her elastic asses on his thighs. She's given him every feel she described, with expert movement of her pussy until his cockhead reached the closed door of her womb. She has successfully made him learn how a woman's womb opens and kisses the tip of a rightly-sized rigid cock.

"Now play with mother's pubic hair," she invites, pressing her breasts into his chest. "You play with mine. I'll play with yours."

Their fingers touch as they attempt to grope each other's pubic hairs. His mother takes a finger of his in hers and guides it to the place where her clitoris is snugly grazing at the hairy base of his cock.

"In this position, with this amount of pressure on mother's love bud, mommy gets maximum thrill, but no urge to cum instantly," she explains, snaking the pad of his finger across her clitoral hood.

Rohan loves the way his mother rolls a tuft of his pubic hair between his fingers. He reciprocates by rolling a tuft from her forest between his fingers.

"My baby's hairs are sturdy like coconut cords," Diksha reproaches.

Rohan responds by pulling several of his mother's pubic hair. Her tummy jerks in pain.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of to have sturdy pubic hair," Diksha says in submission. "Let momma see if she can make use of their sturdiness."

With sophisticated movements of her two fingers, she succeeds in tying three of her hairs with her son's one hair. She rolls the tiny knot between his fingers and grins at her son.

He looks stupidly at her grin. She draws her tummy slightly backward to make him know what she has done.

Rohan cries in pain. "You are devil, mother," he says, reciprocating her sexy grin.

"If you persevere, you can put your mother in a sexual bondage that no kinky president has ever dreamed of. How it is, son? How it is if you tie mother with your pubic hair to her pubic hair? Think there is nobody to separate us. Your cock will be inside mother's cunt when it is hard. When it is soft, it will slump and sleep at mother's breezy opening. Think we are in the deepest floor of a cruise ship in the Indian Ocean. Mother and son are frolicking in the oceanic atmosphere. You have tied mother to your pubic hair. Our ship sank. You are swimming mother toward the coast. Mommy is holding your neck. Your cock has shrunk to a one or one and half inches tiny sausage, sticking into mother's opening. Or mommy will radiate heat and son's cock will never shrink, however biting the oceanic cold is. See how many opportunities are there. And finally you could save mommy's life because mother's pubes are sealed with son's pubes through their pubic threads."

Rohan often thinks that Diksha has more imagination than any post-modern novelist. He is glad that she always proves his guess to be right.

Positioning herself firmly on her son's cock, Diksha holds Rohan's face and shoves it into her left armpit.

"You perverted boy, you showed mother the pleasure of being licked on her armpits."

At the peak of his ministration of his mother's armpit, Rohan gets the pull from the knot between their pubic cords. The incestuous couple have not thought they would face this dilemma. Rohan reprimands his mother as he suffers several sharp bites on his skin while he tries to disengage himself. His mother is in a safe position because she is sitting on his lap.

"Son, take me in your lap, keeping me speared on you. Then find some scissors and cut the knot," she suggests.

It's not a practicable solution, Rohan knows. The knot has eaten up most of the length of the hairs and none of them can move a millimeter without suffering the pull. "You devil, you witch," he curses while recovering from another attempt to disengage himself from his mother.

"It feels as if a sharp pin pricks through my skin," he says.

"It feels as if three pairs of soft baby lips kiss my skin," his mother says.

Both of them laugh together. Diksha takes the advantage of her son's distraction and pulls away.

"Fuck," her son curses.

Finally the bondage is destroyed. Rohan suffered the brunt of it, because his hair has been rooted out.

"Someday I will tear the flesh of your ass," Rohan declares, pulling at his mother's ass cheeks.

Diksha raises her hips. She is slow but steady. The soft tissues of her cunt slides upward along Rohan's cock.