Diya had a big house, a big yard, and a big garden all sitting on a huge tract of land. It was locked in a gated community that only held the wealthy and the affluent, and, most of the time, both. It was a suburb in Georgia, not too far from Atlanta, and there was not a single ounce of debt left on it. Truth be told, calling it a mansion would have been more apt and it was all hers.
Because Diya had no one to share it with.
Diya Rai was a forty-year-old, Indian woman who had, once upon a time, a husband and children to take care of. She had been a diligent housewife…except, of course, when she wasn’t. She had been a great mother…except, of course, when she failed. But she had struggled, and she had tried her best, even when that wasn’t enough.
And now she was alone.
Both of her sons were back in India, making a life for themselves. Their father had made his fortune here, in the United States, but they much preferred the beat of life from where they had come from. Leaving the business here to her, for all that it needed managing.
As for her husband? He had died a few years ago, and his body had been taken back to his hometown in India. And despite their relationship, it was a burial that she had not been able to bring herself to attend. Her husband’s family, after all, no longer had a use for her. And her own family did not want to take care of a widow. Even if Diya did not need to be taken care of.
So since he had selfishly died, she had decided to selfishly stay.
At the very least, she wouldn’t have to meet his many mistresses and bastards.
Better here, alone, where she had some control of her life than having to live back with her family, alone, as she was pushed out of the picture for being a widow.
And yet, it was ironic that it was her failures, her sins, and mistakes, that had come back at this point in her life and opened another door for her.
“Oh? Got nothing to say?” Diya asked as she pushed a sweet eighteen-year-old girl against the wall of her home. Diya’s brown fingers were pushing into the open zipper of the girl’s shorts, pressing the girl’s clit against her crotch. And the girl? She was leaning against the wall of Diya’s living room.
There were rich carpets covering the ground, furniture, imported from India at great expense, crowding the great room, and expensive tables with all sorts of gold and silver pots and plates adorning it all. But all of that was paltry and poor compared to the beauty of the blonde tan girl squirming in her arms. The smell of a dozen spices pervaded the air, but it was unnoticeable compared to the smell of the excitement coming from the liquids that Diya was squelching in her grasp.
“W-why the living room?” the young thing gasped as Diya pushed further, “W-why not your bedroom?”
“Silly girl,” Diya purred as she leaned up to smell the girl’s neck, “The bed is for my spouse. You’d have to marry me first~”
Yes, Diya had no one to share her house with, no one to occupy her life, except for the harvest of her most deplorable sins coming back.
Kate, the girl she was fingering, was practically someone Diya had helped raised. She had been friends with her mother once upon a time and, given the early divorce of Kate’s parents, had been a pillar in her life. And why wouldn’t Diya do it? She was, after all, the reason why her parents had divorced.
“I-I wouldn’t mind!” Kate moaned as she looked at Diya with her heart in her eyes. Diya snorted and inserted her fingers inside her pussy as far as Kate’s panties would allow.
“Then who would I pay to suck my dick?” Diya asked as the young girl moaned.
“Speaking of,” Diya coyly said as she pulled away from the heavily aroused girl to pull her skirt up, “It’s about time, I’d say.”
Kate’s eyes followed Diya’s hands as they lifted the folds of said skirt above her waist, a foot-long, inch-thick brown pole suddenly materializing out of them. Kate kneeled in front of Diya and very carefully reached out for her dong. She brought her large glans to her nose and took a long whiff.
“Smells spicy,” Kate smiled at Diya, causing the milf to roll her eyes. The casual racism from the young thing was cute, but she had been overplaying the aroma since they had started this.
“Just suck,” Diya ordered her and the girl obeyed, putting her lips around her cock slit and smooching it in a kiss.
A part of Diya had always felt bad about this. Guilty even. Because, indeed, she was the reason Kate’s parents had divorced and why her life had never been what it should have been.
Diya was, after all, the woman who had knocked up her mother and allowed Kate to be born with enough of her features to make it obvious that she wasn’t her “father’s”.
At five feet and eleven inches of height, the girl had inherited the tall genes from her mother’s family, but the slight brown shade of her skin? That wasn’t because of a tan. She had gotten that from Diya. Her breasts were C cups, something she had gotten from her mother, but her hips and ass? That was all Diya.
They were wide, they were big, and, along with her ultra-short jeans, made her look like a slut. Partly, that was how she chose to dress, but some of it wasn’t her fault; It was impossible for women like them to walk without seductively swaying their hips.
The yellow shade of blond that she had was exactly like her mother’s though, all the way from her head. To down to her crotch.
Their sharp noses were almost the same though. As were their luscious lips. The shape of the eyes belonged to her mother, but the light brown? That was Diya again. But Kate still looked so characteristically white that, unless someone knew what they were looking for, they would not be able to make the connection.
Like Kate.
As far as Diya’s bastard was concerned, Diya was just a really nice older Indian woman who had been there all her life. One who, at the point of Kate’s life when she was looking for someone to take care of her like her “father” once had, had shown up with dollars in her fist and a cock inside her pants.
The almost white girl took a deep breath and then, very slowly, spread her lips over Diya’s glans and started sucking up her cock.
At five feet and six inches in height, Diya was not the most stereotypical of sugar daddies. Or sugar mommies in her case. She was stereotypically Indian, with her dark brown skin, big light brown eyes, and sharp nose. Her hair was black and straight. Her eyebrows were bushy but trimmed light. A bindi crowned her forehead, of course, and she wore a traditional sari in reds and whites.
But all of that hid an absolute knock-out body. She had mammaries thick and large enough to fit XL bras. Her hips were massive enough that she needed the place of two people to sit down and her ass was so huge that she could safely bury a head between her cheeks. Thankfully, as it had been decades since she had last given birth, her stomach was completely flat.
That was what had convinced her dead husband to marry her in the first place.
The problem was, above her tight pussy she was also packing a male sausage that extended a foot in length while being wide enough to make it impossible for anyone to get their fingers around it. Include her enormous testicles as well, and it concisely explained what had led her husband to get mistresses and make his bastards on the side.
He had been many things, but having a wife who beat him in male size and girth had managed to make him insecure.
Kate’s mother had learned to like them though and, well, here their daughter was: Unknowingly sucking on her futa father’s cock.
“That’s right,” Diya moaned, “Deep throat me, you slut. Let me get my money’s worth!”
Kate pushed her face until she had Diya’s cock in her throat and still she pushed beyond. They had been at this for a few months now, and the half-white girl had gotten used to almost dislocating her jaw and the bulging of her throat.
“Milk me!” Diya yelled into her empty house as her testicles started clench and the pressure in her cock got too much to bare.
Kate finished forcing her cock deep into her esophagus, managing to kiss the base of Diya’s crotch, by the time her unknown father burst her first load directly into her stomach.
“Vava, sweet girl,” Diya groaned as she shot load after load down her throat, “You have a tight throat! You have such a good mouth!”
Kate held her position of being stuck to Diya’s crotch, even going as far as clamping her fingers around the milf’s huge nut sack. All so that she could squeeze the last bit of sperm from her balls.
Diya came for almost a minute, slowly filling Kate’s stomach until it started to bulge.
There were tears coming down Kate’s eyes even as her face reddened from lack of breath. This had worried Diya once when they had begun, but her little girl was very good at following through with her end of the deal.
And then, Diya was done.
“Go on, rest,” Diya encouraged her secretly incestuous little lover as the girl slowly pulled a semen and saliva-glazed meat pole out of her mouth.
“T-that good enough?” Kate asked as Diya’s cock head left her lips. Her voice was raw, and she stopped to burp, but Diya could see it.
The desire, no, the need to please.
“Worth a couple of grand and more,” Diya caressed her little girl’s cheeks with the affection she had been too afraid to show her most of her life.
The semen-glazed smile she gave her made it worth though.
They had been doing this for six months now, and Diya was still trying to decide how she would take her virginity. Oh, there was no doubt that she would at some point. Nor that she would burden her with her own grandchild; as far as Diya was concerned, she had bought her after all.
“Well, that also tasted spicy,” the girl said and Diya lightly slapped her head on the cheek. All it did, though, was make her giggle.
“But that’s not why I came, though,” Kate said as she got up. Semen was running from the corner of her mouth down to her neck and her tight shirt was starting to soak a bit. Her zipper was still open, showing how wet her panties were, and she was breathing hard.
But she looked serious and so Diya chose to take her seriously, “What do you need, vava?”
“Dad-” she said and rolled her eyes as she said it, “-is having a Fourth of July cookout. He is inviting others and, well, I sort of wanted to…introduce you to my family.”
Ah, so that was her play.
“What are you going to introduce me as?” Diya casually asked. The girl, at least, had the shame to look away.
“My girlfriend,” She said.
“Your girlfriend?” Diya raised an eyebrow.
“I-is that a no?” Kate nervously asked.
Diya just sighed and stepped into the girl’s personal space. Pulling her head deep into her bust, the Indian milf hugged her unknown daughter as hard as she could, “It’s a yes, of course. You are my little girl, why wouldn’t I?”
It was, technically speaking, a ploy to make their relationship more serious. To upgrade it from a purely transactional money and sex one to an actual relationship. But as devious as it was, had Kate asked her to introduce Diya as her fiancee? Diya would have said yes.
And if she had reached for the sky and asked to introduce her as her wife? Well, they would have had to elope before the fourth of July, but Diya would have accepted either way. Her husband and sons were gone, but she would fill her house up with family either way.
Except, hm, a Fourth of July with Kate’s family? Now wasn’t that interesting?
Angela was the woman who Diya had once sort of forced, sort of seduced, and sort of coerced into having a relationship with her. She was Kate’s mother and there was not a day that Diya didn’t think of her. Diya had impregnated her at a time when Diya was in conflict with her own husband, but she had genuinely become attached to her.
She had to let her go after Angela’s infidelity came to light, but she had wished she could have simply scooped her up and brought them into her house. She couldn’t of course, and now Angela was married again to the man that had divorced her.
They had reunited a few years ago, but the man wasn’t shy about showing his hatred for their little girl.
But if Diya had a reason to be there? Well…why wouldn’t she pick up where she left?
—-------------
“And, so, um,” Kate nervously said as Diya sat next to her, “You guys know her, but, um…we are dating.”
There was a stark silence after she said that.
They were all on the patio of a suburban home, with a large plastic table and plastic chairs holding a good nine people there. Next to Diya, Kate was dressed up as conservatively as she had ever been, with a long skirt covering both her upper body and her legs. It was a striped dress that outlined her curves and her assets rather well.
Diya herself was in her most expensive Sari, one with gold trims and various purples and reds marking the layers of her robe.
On the opposite side of them was a balding, fat, white man who had been handsome once upon a time. Kevin had a face that was accustomed to glaring but was now, instead, simply looking on with disdain.
To his side and looking shocked sat one of the most beautiful women Diya had ever known. Diya had once called Angela a friend, a lover, something of a willing victim, and now? Her girlfriend’s mom. Who happened to also be her daughter.
There were other people there, friends of the white man, but they were all sensing the intense awkwardness and drama that was about to unfold. So they chose to keep quiet. Which was good, because they honestly didn’t matter.
“So,” Kevin said as he looked at the product of his wife’s infidelity, “You are telling me you are a queer too? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“Kevin!” Angela at long last, managed to say something.
“But you, Diya,” Kevin almost spat on the ground, “You bore Arjun some children. But I guess it figures his wife would be gay.”
“KEVIN!” Angela seemed about to die from embarrassment.
