Farzana stirred her tea in the cramped kitchen of their semi-detached house on the outskirts of Manchester, the kind of place where the neighbors’ arguments echoed through thin walls like a bad radio signal. At 35, she had settled into the rhythm of her life as a British Pakistani wife and mother, her long dark hair tied back in a practical ponytail, brown eyes scanning the rain-streaked window. Mohsin, her husband of twelve years, was upstairs packing for work, his movements as predictable as the Manchester drizzle. Their arranged marriage from when she was barely out of her teens had been a duty, not a spark. Sex with him was a quick fumble under the covers, over before she could even catch her breath. She never complained. That’s what good wives did, right? But lately, the restlessness gnawed at her, a quiet itch she couldn’t scratch.
The phone rang, shattering the morning quiet. Mohsin answered, his voice booming in Urdu. It was his sister from London, pleading about her son Imran needing a place to crash while sorting university paperwork in Manchester. “No problem, Baji,” Mohsin said, glancing at Farzana with a nod. “Our house is big enough; he can take the spare room.” Farzana smiled politely, though inwardly she sighed. Another mouth to feed for a week. She hadn’t seen Imran since he was a scrawny kid, maybe eight or ten years ago, at a family wedding. Now he was 21, apparently all grown up.
Imran arrived that afternoon, lugging a duffel bag through the front door just as the rain picked up. Farzana opened it wider, and there he stood, 6’2″ of athletic build, short dark hair damp from the weather, brown eyes meeting hers with an easy grin. He was no kid anymore; the broad shoulders and confident stance made her pause, a flicker of surprise warming her cheeks. “Aunty Farzana,” he said, pulling her into a quick hug that smelled of fresh soap and rain. “It’s been forever.” She nodded, busying herself with his bag, but couldn’t shake the way his presence filled the hallway.
The next morning, Mohsin left early for his shift at the factory, kissing Farzana’s forehead like it was a checkbox on his list. The house settled into quiet, broken only by the hiss of the shower upstairs. Imran was in there, getting ready for whatever errands his paperwork demanded. Farzana was folding laundry in the utility room when she realized there were no clean towels. They’d been washed yesterday, still piled in the dryer. She grabbed a fresh one, the soft cotton warm in her hands, and climbed the stairs. The bathroom door was ajar, steam curling out like an invitation she hadn’t planned.
“Beta,” she called softly, tapping the frame. “There’s no towel in there. Is it okay if I bring one in?” Imran’s voice echoed from behind the curtain, relaxed and unsuspecting. “Yeah, that’s great, Aunty. Just put it on the rail.”
She slipped inside, the air thick with humidity and the faint scent of his body wash. The shower ran steadily, the plastic curtain drawn tight. As she reached to hang the towel, a draft from the open door nudged the edge of the curtain aside—just an inch, but enough. Farzana’s eyes locked on it before she could look away: Imran’s cock, hanging heavy and thick, even soft, at least eight inches long and girthy, which made her breath hitch. She clapped a hand over her mouth, heat flooding her face as she snapped her gaze away. The towel hooked neatly, and she bolted out, heart pounding like she’d run a marathon.
All day, the image haunted her. She tried to focus on chores like scrubbing counters, prepping dinner, but every quiet moment brought it back: that thick shaft, veined and promising. She scolded herself in the mirror, splashing cold water on her face. “Stop it, Farzana. You’re married, a mother. He’s Mohsin’s nephew, for God’s sake. You’re his aunty.” But the words felt hollow, her body betraying her with a persistent ache between her legs.
That night, in bed with Mohsin, the routine played out as always. He rolled toward her, hand fumbling under her nightie, entering her with the same mechanical thrusts. It was over in minutes, him grunting and rolling away to snore. But for Farzana, it was different this time. As Mohsin moved inside her, her mind replayed the shower glimpse of Imran’s cock, so much bigger, so much more alive. She bit her lip, her hips arching involuntarily, a small climax rippling through her that Mohsin never noticed. Guilt twisted in her gut afterward, but so did satisfaction, sharp and forbidden.
A couple of days passed in a blur of awkward politeness. Imran was out most of the time, charming her with small talk about his studies when he was home. Farzana kept her distance, but the tension built like storm clouds. Then Mohsin announced he had to go to Birmingham for two nights for business with suppliers. “I’ll be back Thursday,” he said, pecking her cheek. The house felt emptier without him, but charged, too.
That evening, after a simple dinner of chicken curry and rice, Imran stretched and yawned. “I’m knackered, Aunty. Heading to bed early.” Farzana cleared the plates, her mind wandering to that damn shower image again. She showered herself later, fingers lingering a beat too long on her skin, but she stopped short, frustrated.
Upstairs, she changed into her cotton pajamas, the fabric loose against her 5’3″ frame. Bed called, but first, the loo. On her way back, padding past the spare room, the door was cracked open. Light spilled out, and she froze. Imran lay on the bed, naked as the day he was born, phone propped on his chest. His hand worked his cock. Now fully hard, that eight-inch monster throbbing in his grip, thick veins pulsing as he stroked slowly. The screen glowed with porn, moans faint from the speakers. Farzana’s pulse raced; she should walk away, but her feet rooted. He’d grown into this. Strong thighs, defined abs, that dick she couldn’t unsee now in full, glorious motion.
He didn’t notice her at first, eyes glued to the phone, fist pumping steadily. A drop of pre-cum glistened at the tip, and Farzana’s mouth went dry. This was her chance, no Mohsin, no interruptions. She needed it, that cock filling her, stretching her in ways her husband never had. Heart hammering, she pushed the door wider and stepped in.
Imran jolted, yanking the blanket over himself, phone tumbling to the floor. “Aunty! Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t.” His face flushed red, scrambling to sit up.
Farzana closed the door behind her, voice steady despite the fire in her veins. “Calm down, beta. I’m not angry.” She approached the bed, eyes locked on the bulge under the blanket. “I saw you in the shower the other day. No towel. I couldn’t help it.”
His eyes widened. “Aunty, please, this is…”
She reached out, pulling the blanket away before he could protest. His cock sprang free, hard and twitching, the head swollen and slick. Farzana wrapped her hand around it, the heat searing her palm, the thickness barely fitting her grip. She started stroking, slow and firm, feeling it pulse. “I need this monster cock, beta,” she whispered, her voice husky. “Aunty’s pussy needs filling. Your uncle… he doesn’t satisfy me. Not like this.”
Imran groaned, hips bucking into her hand. “Aunty, we can’t fuck, that feels…” But his resistance crumbled, hands gripping the sheets as she pumped him faster, thumb circling the tip.
Farzana leaned in, capturing his mouth in a kiss that was deep and urgent, her tongue sliding against his. He tasted like mint and surprise, kissing back tentatively at first, then hungrily, hands coming up to her waist. She broke away, shedding her pajama top, her full breasts spilling free. Imran’s eyes darkened, and he cupped them, thumbs brushing her nipples until they hardened into peaks. “God, Aunty, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, pinching gently, making her gasp.
She pushed him back, climbing onto the bed, straddling his thighs. Her pants came off next, revealing her shaved pussy smooth and glistening, a secret she’d kept for years, hoping for excitement that never came. Imran’s gaze dropped, breath catching. “Aunty… you’re so wet.”
“Been thinking about you all week, beta,” she said, grinding against his cock, coating it with her slickness. She kissed him again, harder, nipping his lip as his hands roamed her tits, squeezing and tugging her nipples until she moaned into his mouth.
Imran flipped her onto her back with surprising strength, his athletic build making it easy. He trailed kisses down her neck, sucking marks into her skin, then latched onto a nipple, tongue flicking while he sucked hard. Farzana arched, fingers in his short hair. “Yes, beta, just like that. Suck Aunty’s tits.” He switched to the other, rolling the wet one between his fingers, the dual sensation shooting straight to her core.
Lower he went, kissing her stomach, her hips. Farzana spread her legs, guiding his head. “Lick me, beta. Taste Aunty’s pussy.” Imran dove in, tongue flat and broad against her shaved folds, lapping from entrance to clit. She was soaked, her juices smearing his chin as he sucked her clit, two fingers sliding inside her tight heat. “Fuck, you taste amazing,” he growled, curling his fingers to hit that spot that made her thighs quake.
Farzana bucked against his face, the pleasure building fast with years of pent-up need uncoiling. “Don’t stop, beta, oh God, yes!” Her orgasm hit like a wave, pussy clenching around his fingers, a gush of wetness flooding his mouth. He licked her through it, relentless, until she pulled him up, breathless.
“Your turn,” she panted, pushing him onto his back. She kissed down his chest, nipping at his abs, then took his cock in hand. It throbbed, pre-cum leaking steadily. Farzana swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the salt, then swallowed him down, halfway at first, her jaw stretching around the girth. Imran hissed, hands fisting her hair. “Aunty, fuck, your mouth…”
She bobbed, sucking hard, one hand stroking what she couldn’t take, the other fondling his balls. He was huge, filling her throat, making her gag a little, but she pushed on, loving the control. “Like that, beta? Aunty sucking your big dick?” She popped off to say it, then dove back, hollowing her cheeks until he was thrusting shallowly.
“Can’t take much more,” Imran warned, voice strained. Farzana pulled away, climbing up to straddle him. She positioned his cock at her entrance, shaved pussy lips parting around the head. “I want you inside me, beta. Fill Aunty up.”
She sank down slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching her walls. It burned so good, fuller than Mohsin ever made her feel. “Oh fuck, you’re so big,” she moaned, bottoming out, his cock buried to the hilt. They both stilled, adjusting, then she started riding with slow rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against his base.
Imran gripped her ass, thrusting up to meet her. “Aunty, your pussy’s so tight, gripping me like a vice.” He sat up, capturing a nipple in his mouth again, sucking as she bounced, tits jiggling. The room filled with wet slaps and their gasps, the bed creaking under them.
Farzana leaned back, hands on his thighs for leverage, giving him a view of his cock disappearing into her slick, shaved pussy. “Harder, beta fuck Aunty like you mean it.” He did, pounding up into her, one hand sneaking to rub her clit. The pressure built again, her second orgasm crashing over her, walls fluttering around him. “Yes! Cumming on your cock, beta!”
Imran flipped her onto all fours, slamming back in from behind. His hands roamed, one pinching her swinging tits, the other spanking her ass lightly. “You like that, Aunty? Taking my dick deep?” He reached around, fingers on her clit, driving her wild.
“Fuck yes! Don’t stop!” Farzana pushed back, meeting every thrust, the angle hitting her G-spot perfectly. Sweat slicked their skin, the air thick with sex. Imran’s pace faltered, groans turning desperate. “Gonna cum, Aunty, where?”
“Inside me, beta. Fill Aunty’s pussy.” That pushed him over the edge. He roared, burying deep, hot spurts flooding her as he came, triggering her third climax. They collapsed together, his cock still twitching inside her, cum leaking out around it.
They lay tangled, breaths syncing. Farzana traced his chest, a soft smile playing on her lips. “That was… incredible, beta.” Imran kissed her. “Yeah, Aunty. No regrets?”
“None.” She nuzzled closer, the weight of her marriage fading for the first time in years.