Fantasy Breastmilk tradition of Walvan
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Update 17
The kitchen basked in the soft glow of morning sunlight, the warm light accentuating the bustling hum of the household. Manisha sat on the stool, the loosened pallu hung carefully over her shoulder. Dadaji leaned heavily between her legs, his hands gripping her waist possessively. His lips moved steadily against her nipple, drawing deliberate, almost lazy pulls, the sound rhythmic in the quiet space.
Manisha sighed softly, shifting her position to ease the pressure of his weight on her thighs. Her hand cupped the base of her breast, lifting it gently to keep him comfortable as his lips tightened momentarily before relaxing again.
Sujata entered, wiping her damp hands on the edge of her saree. She stopped in her tracks, her brows raising at the scene before her. “Still going?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Manisha gave a dry laugh, adjusting Dadaji slightly. “He wouldn’t stop even if I tried. I think he believes my breasts exist solely for his mouth.”
Sujata smirked, pouring herself a glass of water. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s not the only one who thinks that.” She leaned against the counter, her expression a mix of amusement and irritation. “Bhaiya practically wrestled my pallu away from me this morning. Said he ‘needed it.’ I told him what he really needed was patience.”
Manisha rolled her eyes, her tone sharper now. “He’s worse than our childrens. At least they have right on our body. Dadaji and Bhaiya act like they’re entitled to suck breasts whenever they feel like it. And Dadaji…” She gestured subtly toward him. “He treats my breasts like prized possessions he’s generously allowing me to keep.”
Sujata let out a low laugh, crossing her arms. “Oh, I know that feeling. Heaven forbid I even adjust myself while he’s nursing. The glares I get—it’s like I’ve insulted his honor.”
Manisha shook her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And don’t forget the little pats he gives when he’s satisfied. Like he’s rewarding me for a job well done.”
“Don’t get me started,” Sujata said, rolling her eyes. “Last week, he told me I wasn’t ‘letting down fast enough.’ As if I’m a cow he can scold me into producing more.”
Their shared laughter broke the tension momentarily, but the mood shifted as Raju’s father entered the kitchen. His arms were crossed, and his gaze immediately landed on Dadaji, still nursing contentedly.
“This,” he said abruptly, gesturing toward them, “is going to stop.”
Manisha glanced up, her irritation flaring. “What are you talking about, Bhaiya?”
“This,” he repeated, pointing at Dadaji. “He doesn’t need this anymore. You should both be focusing on Raju. He’s the one who actually needs you.”
Manisha sighed, brushing her fingers gently through Dadaji’s cheeks as his pulls slowed slightly. “Bhaiya, Dadaji likes to drink milk from us for years. It’s not something we can just stop.”
“That doesn’t mean it has to continue,” Raju’s father snapped. “Raju is fragile right now. He needs all the attention. And this?” He gestured again. “This is taking attention away from him.”
Sujata let out a sharp laugh, crossing her arms. “Don’t start, Bhaiya. Do you think we enjoy this? Between you and Dadaji, I’ve had to change my blouse twice today already and we don't even wear bras anymore. Milk stains, saliva—it’s like I’m dealing with calfs.”
Manisha adjusted her saree slightly, her fingers brushing against the faint damp spots near her blouse. “And it’s not just a mess. It’s the attitude. Dadaji actually grunted at me this morning because I had the audacity to sit down before he latched.”
Sujata snorted, shaking her head. “Typical. The moment I hesitate, he starts fondling my breasts like I will get aroused and let him suck as long as he pleases.”
At that moment, Dadaji released Manisha’s nipple with a loud pop, his half-lidded eyes turning toward Raju’s father. “Pumping?” he muttered, catching the tail end of their conversation. “Milk should be taken directly—warm and fresh. From the source.”
Manisha suppressed a laugh, shoving her nipple in his mouth. “Shh, Dadaji. Take my other breast. We’ll talk about this later.”
Raju’s father bristled, folding his arms tighter. “You’re really going to listen to him? Pumping would save time, and Raju wouldn’t have to compete for attention.”
Manisha’s voice turned sharp. “Raju isn’t competing, Bhaiya. He’s my priority, and we knows that. But let’s not pretend you’re any better. You’re far more demanding than Dadaji, and at least he doesn’t act entitled every time he latches.”
Sujata chuckled dryly, shaking her head. “Exactly. And let’s be honest, Bhaiya. If Dadaji let go for even a second, you’d swoop in like it’s feeding time at the zoo.”
Raju’s father scowled. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, please,” Sujata shot back. “You’ve been tugging at my blouse all morning. If I had a moment of peace, you’d have your mouth on me faster than you could say, ‘Save some for me.’”
Manisha stifled a laugh as Dadaji’s rhythm slowed further, his body sagging heavily against her lap. His grip on her waist loosened as he began to doze, his pulls growing softer until he finally released her nipple once more.
Dadaji leaned back slightly, his voice gravelly but firm. “There’s no replacing this.”
Manisha wiping his saliva and milk stains from her breasts, rehooked her blouse. “You’ve made your point, Dadaji. But maybe consider ours for once.”
Sujata smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we should start pumping for you too, Bhaiya. Then we’ll see how much you actually value your sister in laws and son.”
The tension in the room eased slightly as Manisha began tidying the mat. The warmth of the kitchen lingered, though the conversation left an undercurrent of irritation that promised the discussion wasn’t over yet.
The kitchen basked in the soft glow of morning sunlight, the warm light accentuating the bustling hum of the household. Manisha sat on the stool, the loosened pallu hung carefully over her shoulder. Dadaji leaned heavily between her legs, his hands gripping her waist possessively. His lips moved steadily against her nipple, drawing deliberate, almost lazy pulls, the sound rhythmic in the quiet space.
Manisha sighed softly, shifting her position to ease the pressure of his weight on her thighs. Her hand cupped the base of her breast, lifting it gently to keep him comfortable as his lips tightened momentarily before relaxing again.
Sujata entered, wiping her damp hands on the edge of her saree. She stopped in her tracks, her brows raising at the scene before her. “Still going?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Manisha gave a dry laugh, adjusting Dadaji slightly. “He wouldn’t stop even if I tried. I think he believes my breasts exist solely for his mouth.”
Sujata smirked, pouring herself a glass of water. “Oh, don’t worry. He’s not the only one who thinks that.” She leaned against the counter, her expression a mix of amusement and irritation. “Bhaiya practically wrestled my pallu away from me this morning. Said he ‘needed it.’ I told him what he really needed was patience.”
Manisha rolled her eyes, her tone sharper now. “He’s worse than our childrens. At least they have right on our body. Dadaji and Bhaiya act like they’re entitled to suck breasts whenever they feel like it. And Dadaji…” She gestured subtly toward him. “He treats my breasts like prized possessions he’s generously allowing me to keep.”
Sujata let out a low laugh, crossing her arms. “Oh, I know that feeling. Heaven forbid I even adjust myself while he’s nursing. The glares I get—it’s like I’ve insulted his honor.”
Manisha shook her head, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And don’t forget the little pats he gives when he’s satisfied. Like he’s rewarding me for a job well done.”
“Don’t get me started,” Sujata said, rolling her eyes. “Last week, he told me I wasn’t ‘letting down fast enough.’ As if I’m a cow he can scold me into producing more.”
Their shared laughter broke the tension momentarily, but the mood shifted as Raju’s father entered the kitchen. His arms were crossed, and his gaze immediately landed on Dadaji, still nursing contentedly.
“This,” he said abruptly, gesturing toward them, “is going to stop.”
Manisha glanced up, her irritation flaring. “What are you talking about, Bhaiya?”
“This,” he repeated, pointing at Dadaji. “He doesn’t need this anymore. You should both be focusing on Raju. He’s the one who actually needs you.”
Manisha sighed, brushing her fingers gently through Dadaji’s cheeks as his pulls slowed slightly. “Bhaiya, Dadaji likes to drink milk from us for years. It’s not something we can just stop.”
“That doesn’t mean it has to continue,” Raju’s father snapped. “Raju is fragile right now. He needs all the attention. And this?” He gestured again. “This is taking attention away from him.”
Sujata let out a sharp laugh, crossing her arms. “Don’t start, Bhaiya. Do you think we enjoy this? Between you and Dadaji, I’ve had to change my blouse twice today already and we don't even wear bras anymore. Milk stains, saliva—it’s like I’m dealing with calfs.”
Manisha adjusted her saree slightly, her fingers brushing against the faint damp spots near her blouse. “And it’s not just a mess. It’s the attitude. Dadaji actually grunted at me this morning because I had the audacity to sit down before he latched.”
Sujata snorted, shaking her head. “Typical. The moment I hesitate, he starts fondling my breasts like I will get aroused and let him suck as long as he pleases.”
At that moment, Dadaji released Manisha’s nipple with a loud pop, his half-lidded eyes turning toward Raju’s father. “Pumping?” he muttered, catching the tail end of their conversation. “Milk should be taken directly—warm and fresh. From the source.”
Manisha suppressed a laugh, shoving her nipple in his mouth. “Shh, Dadaji. Take my other breast. We’ll talk about this later.”
Raju’s father bristled, folding his arms tighter. “You’re really going to listen to him? Pumping would save time, and Raju wouldn’t have to compete for attention.”
Manisha’s voice turned sharp. “Raju isn’t competing, Bhaiya. He’s my priority, and we knows that. But let’s not pretend you’re any better. You’re far more demanding than Dadaji, and at least he doesn’t act entitled every time he latches.”
Sujata chuckled dryly, shaking her head. “Exactly. And let’s be honest, Bhaiya. If Dadaji let go for even a second, you’d swoop in like it’s feeding time at the zoo.”
Raju’s father scowled. “That’s not true.”
“Oh, please,” Sujata shot back. “You’ve been tugging at my blouse all morning. If I had a moment of peace, you’d have your mouth on me faster than you could say, ‘Save some for me.’”
Manisha stifled a laugh as Dadaji’s rhythm slowed further, his body sagging heavily against her lap. His grip on her waist loosened as he began to doze, his pulls growing softer until he finally released her nipple once more.
Dadaji leaned back slightly, his voice gravelly but firm. “There’s no replacing this.”
Manisha wiping his saliva and milk stains from her breasts, rehooked her blouse. “You’ve made your point, Dadaji. But maybe consider ours for once.”
Sujata smirked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we should start pumping for you too, Bhaiya. Then we’ll see how much you actually value your sister in laws and son.”
The tension in the room eased slightly as Manisha began tidying the mat. The warmth of the kitchen lingered, though the conversation left an undercurrent of irritation that promised the discussion wasn’t over yet.
Update 18
In the kitchen, Manisha stood near the stove, her pallu shoved neatly in her waist, as she glanced toward Raju entering the room. He had just finished his bath, his damp hair sticking to his forehead and his kurta fresh and slightly oversized on his tall frame.
“There’s my handsome boy,” Manisha said softly, her voice filled with affection. “Feeling fresh now?”
Raju nodded, his eyes flickering briefly toward the steaming pot on the stove, though he remained quiet.
“Before you eat,” Manisha said, shifting slightly in her seat, “come here, beta.” She unhooked her blouse, releasing her big breasts. The soft fabric slipped aside, revealing her juicy breast.
Her skin was smooth and supple, the gentle fullness of her breast accentuated by the light filtering through the room. The dark, rounded areola stood out against her warm complexion, her nipple slightly drawn, ready to offer comfort. She cradled the underside of her breast with one hand, lifting it slightly as she leaned forward toward Raju.
“Come, beta,” she coaxed gently, her tone warm and inviting. “Let me feed you. You must be hungry.”
Raju paused, his gaze lingering on her for a brief moment. His eyes flickered to her exposed chest, then to her face, as though searching for reassurance. He shifted slightly, his hands clutching the towel still draped over his shoulder.
“Not now, Chachi” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible but filled with hesitation.
Manisha tilted her head, concern flickering across her face. “Are you sure?” she asked gently, her hand adjusting slightly to better present her breast. The natural weight of it shifted in her palm, her nipple standing prominently as she leaned closer. “It’s okay, beta. You don’t have to feel shy.”
Raju shook his head, stepping back slightly, his shoulders hunched in quiet discomfort. Without another word, he turned toward the wooden kitchen table, pulling out a chair. He climbed onto it, resting his head on his crossed arms atop the smooth surface. His small sigh broke the silence, his body visibly relaxing as he settled into the warmth of the room.
Manisha watched him quietly, her hand lowering as she adjusted her blouse, covering herself again with care. Her chest rose and fell with a soft sigh, her expression tinged with a mix of understanding and worry.
“He’s not ready yet,” Sujata said softly, stepping closer to rest a hand lightly on Raju’s back. Her fingers stroked his damp hair, their touch soothing. “Give him some time. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”
Manisha nodded, her gaze lingering on Raju’s tall frame. “He’s such a sweet boy,” she murmured, brushing her hand absently over her chest, where the faint warmth of her earlier gesture still lingered. “I just want him to feel safe.”
Sujata smiled faintly, her tone reassuring. “He knows you love him, Manisha. That’s what matters most.”
The kitchen grew quieter after Raju retired to his bedroom, leaving his aunts in a thoughtful silence. Manisha sat at the table, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she stared toward the hallway. Her chest felt heavy—not just physically but with the ache of rejection.
“He still hasn’t nursed,” she said softly, her voice breaking the stillness. “Not once since morning.”
Sujata, leaning against the counter, sighed and shook her head. “He’s pulling away. It’s probably not about us—it’s just everything. He’s shy, overwhelmed… maybe even confused. But until he’s ready, we’ll have to keep him nourished another way.”
Manisha frowned, her brow furrowing. “The pump isn’t here yet. How are we supposed to—?”
“We’ll express by hand,” Sujata said, already moving to gather a clean bowl from the cupboard. She placed it on the counter with a quiet clink. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll work. We don’t have a choice.”
Manisha hesitated, glancing down at her chest. “I haven’t done this in years,” she admitted.
Sujata smirked faintly. “Neither have I, but it’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget.”
With a resigned sigh, Manisha stood and adjusted her pallu, sliding it off her shoulder and folding it neatly over a chair. She unhooked her blouse with practiced ease, baring her chest. Her full breasts, firm yet soft from the fullness of milk, seemed to glisten faintly in the warm kitchen light.
Sujata followed suit, removing her own pallu and unbuttoning her blouse. Her breasts, slightly heavier and fuller than Manisha’s, carried faint stretch marks, a testament to years of nurturing.
Manisha picked up a clean glass bowl, holding it just below her right breast. With her thumb and forefinger, she gently pressed down on the edge of her areola, pulling forward slightly. A bead of milk appeared at her nipple, glistening for a moment before falling into the bowl with a soft plink.
The sound was quiet at first, sporadic, as she adjusted her grip and rhythm. Sujata, standing beside her, began the same process, cupping her breast with one hand while squeezing lightly with the other. The milk emerged in thin streams, hitting the bottom of her bowl with a faint, rhythmic splatter.
“You have to find the right rhythm,” Sujata murmured, watching her own movements. “Not too hard, not too soft. Like this.”
Manisha nodded, mimicking her sister-in-law’s technique. Soon, the quiet kitchen was filled with the soft, steady sounds of milk expressing—the faint hiss of pressure, the gentle plink and splash as the milk collected in the bowls.
The liquid was creamy and warm, pooling steadily in thin streams. Its faint, sweet aroma mixed with the other kitchen scents, creating a uniquely comforting atmosphere.
“It’s coming faster now,” Manisha remarked, her tone neutral but focused. She shifted her grip slightly, watching the milk flow more steadily.
Sujata chuckled softly. “Told you. It’s all about rhythm.”
Their bowls slowly filled, the pale, creamy milk glistening under the light. By the time they finished, both women were slightly flushed, their breathing steady but deep from the physical effort.
“That should be enough for now,” Sujata said, holding up her bowl and examining it. “Let’s pour it into glasses before it cools.”
Manisha nodded, picking up her bowl carefully. She poured the milk into a clean glass, watching as it swirled and settled into a smooth, creamy layer. The faint warmth lingered, visible in the slight condensation forming on the inside of the glass.
As they set the glasses on the counter, the sound of footsteps announced Raju’s father entering the kitchen. He stopped, his eyes flicking toward the glasses before shifting to his sisters-in-law.
“I’m ready,” he said simply, his tone casual but expectant.
Sujata didn’t hide her irritation as she handed him a glass. “You’ll be getting it like this today,” she said firmly. “We’ve decided to express.”
Raju’s father frowned, taking the glass reluctantly. “Why? What’s wrong with the usual way?”
“The usual way as you said isn’t sustainable,” Sujata snapped, crossing her arms. “Raju hasn’t nursed all day. We need to prioritize him. You, on the other hand, can make do with this.”
Manisha, still adjusting her blouse, handed him the second glass. Her tone was sharp as she added, “It’s fresh, warm, and perfectly fine. Don’t complain unless you’d rather have nothing.”
He hesitated, holding the glass as though weighing his options. Finally, he brought it to his lips and drank slowly. His expression betrayed mild dissatisfaction, but he said nothing more.
Once he finished, he set the empty glass down with a soft clink. “This can work for sometime,” he muttered under his breath.
Sujata raised an eyebrow. “It’ll work as long as we say it will. Now, if you’re done, let us focus on what actually matters—Raju.”
Raju’s father glanced at the two women, his irritation evident, but he turned and left without another word.
Manisha sighed, her hand brushing absently over her blouse. “At least that’s one thing taken care of.”
“For now,” Sujata agreed, rinsing the bowls and glasses. “Let’s hope Raju comes around soon. He’s the one who really needs us.”
The kitchen fell into a quiet rhythm again, the faint hum of activity filling the space as the two women tidied up. Though their hearts still ached for Raju, they worked with quiet determination, ready to face whatever the next moment would bring
In the kitchen, Manisha stood near the stove, her pallu shoved neatly in her waist, as she glanced toward Raju entering the room. He had just finished his bath, his damp hair sticking to his forehead and his kurta fresh and slightly oversized on his tall frame.
“There’s my handsome boy,” Manisha said softly, her voice filled with affection. “Feeling fresh now?”
Raju nodded, his eyes flickering briefly toward the steaming pot on the stove, though he remained quiet.
“Before you eat,” Manisha said, shifting slightly in her seat, “come here, beta.” She unhooked her blouse, releasing her big breasts. The soft fabric slipped aside, revealing her juicy breast.
Her skin was smooth and supple, the gentle fullness of her breast accentuated by the light filtering through the room. The dark, rounded areola stood out against her warm complexion, her nipple slightly drawn, ready to offer comfort. She cradled the underside of her breast with one hand, lifting it slightly as she leaned forward toward Raju.
“Come, beta,” she coaxed gently, her tone warm and inviting. “Let me feed you. You must be hungry.”
Raju paused, his gaze lingering on her for a brief moment. His eyes flickered to her exposed chest, then to her face, as though searching for reassurance. He shifted slightly, his hands clutching the towel still draped over his shoulder.
“Not now, Chachi” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible but filled with hesitation.
Manisha tilted her head, concern flickering across her face. “Are you sure?” she asked gently, her hand adjusting slightly to better present her breast. The natural weight of it shifted in her palm, her nipple standing prominently as she leaned closer. “It’s okay, beta. You don’t have to feel shy.”
Raju shook his head, stepping back slightly, his shoulders hunched in quiet discomfort. Without another word, he turned toward the wooden kitchen table, pulling out a chair. He climbed onto it, resting his head on his crossed arms atop the smooth surface. His small sigh broke the silence, his body visibly relaxing as he settled into the warmth of the room.
Manisha watched him quietly, her hand lowering as she adjusted her blouse, covering herself again with care. Her chest rose and fell with a soft sigh, her expression tinged with a mix of understanding and worry.
“He’s not ready yet,” Sujata said softly, stepping closer to rest a hand lightly on Raju’s back. Her fingers stroked his damp hair, their touch soothing. “Give him some time. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”
Manisha nodded, her gaze lingering on Raju’s tall frame. “He’s such a sweet boy,” she murmured, brushing her hand absently over her chest, where the faint warmth of her earlier gesture still lingered. “I just want him to feel safe.”
Sujata smiled faintly, her tone reassuring. “He knows you love him, Manisha. That’s what matters most.”
The kitchen grew quieter after Raju retired to his bedroom, leaving his aunts in a thoughtful silence. Manisha sat at the table, her hands resting loosely in her lap as she stared toward the hallway. Her chest felt heavy—not just physically but with the ache of rejection.
“He still hasn’t nursed,” she said softly, her voice breaking the stillness. “Not once since morning.”
Sujata, leaning against the counter, sighed and shook her head. “He’s pulling away. It’s probably not about us—it’s just everything. He’s shy, overwhelmed… maybe even confused. But until he’s ready, we’ll have to keep him nourished another way.”
Manisha frowned, her brow furrowing. “The pump isn’t here yet. How are we supposed to—?”
“We’ll express by hand,” Sujata said, already moving to gather a clean bowl from the cupboard. She placed it on the counter with a quiet clink. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll work. We don’t have a choice.”
Manisha hesitated, glancing down at her chest. “I haven’t done this in years,” she admitted.
Sujata smirked faintly. “Neither have I, but it’s like riding a bicycle. You don’t forget.”
With a resigned sigh, Manisha stood and adjusted her pallu, sliding it off her shoulder and folding it neatly over a chair. She unhooked her blouse with practiced ease, baring her chest. Her full breasts, firm yet soft from the fullness of milk, seemed to glisten faintly in the warm kitchen light.
Sujata followed suit, removing her own pallu and unbuttoning her blouse. Her breasts, slightly heavier and fuller than Manisha’s, carried faint stretch marks, a testament to years of nurturing.
Manisha picked up a clean glass bowl, holding it just below her right breast. With her thumb and forefinger, she gently pressed down on the edge of her areola, pulling forward slightly. A bead of milk appeared at her nipple, glistening for a moment before falling into the bowl with a soft plink.
The sound was quiet at first, sporadic, as she adjusted her grip and rhythm. Sujata, standing beside her, began the same process, cupping her breast with one hand while squeezing lightly with the other. The milk emerged in thin streams, hitting the bottom of her bowl with a faint, rhythmic splatter.
“You have to find the right rhythm,” Sujata murmured, watching her own movements. “Not too hard, not too soft. Like this.”
Manisha nodded, mimicking her sister-in-law’s technique. Soon, the quiet kitchen was filled with the soft, steady sounds of milk expressing—the faint hiss of pressure, the gentle plink and splash as the milk collected in the bowls.
The liquid was creamy and warm, pooling steadily in thin streams. Its faint, sweet aroma mixed with the other kitchen scents, creating a uniquely comforting atmosphere.
“It’s coming faster now,” Manisha remarked, her tone neutral but focused. She shifted her grip slightly, watching the milk flow more steadily.
Sujata chuckled softly. “Told you. It’s all about rhythm.”
Their bowls slowly filled, the pale, creamy milk glistening under the light. By the time they finished, both women were slightly flushed, their breathing steady but deep from the physical effort.
“That should be enough for now,” Sujata said, holding up her bowl and examining it. “Let’s pour it into glasses before it cools.”
Manisha nodded, picking up her bowl carefully. She poured the milk into a clean glass, watching as it swirled and settled into a smooth, creamy layer. The faint warmth lingered, visible in the slight condensation forming on the inside of the glass.
As they set the glasses on the counter, the sound of footsteps announced Raju’s father entering the kitchen. He stopped, his eyes flicking toward the glasses before shifting to his sisters-in-law.
“I’m ready,” he said simply, his tone casual but expectant.
Sujata didn’t hide her irritation as she handed him a glass. “You’ll be getting it like this today,” she said firmly. “We’ve decided to express.”
Raju’s father frowned, taking the glass reluctantly. “Why? What’s wrong with the usual way?”
“The usual way as you said isn’t sustainable,” Sujata snapped, crossing her arms. “Raju hasn’t nursed all day. We need to prioritize him. You, on the other hand, can make do with this.”
Manisha, still adjusting her blouse, handed him the second glass. Her tone was sharp as she added, “It’s fresh, warm, and perfectly fine. Don’t complain unless you’d rather have nothing.”
He hesitated, holding the glass as though weighing his options. Finally, he brought it to his lips and drank slowly. His expression betrayed mild dissatisfaction, but he said nothing more.
Once he finished, he set the empty glass down with a soft clink. “This can work for sometime,” he muttered under his breath.
Sujata raised an eyebrow. “It’ll work as long as we say it will. Now, if you’re done, let us focus on what actually matters—Raju.”
Raju’s father glanced at the two women, his irritation evident, but he turned and left without another word.
Manisha sighed, her hand brushing absently over her blouse. “At least that’s one thing taken care of.”
“For now,” Sujata agreed, rinsing the bowls and glasses. “Let’s hope Raju comes around soon. He’s the one who really needs us.”
The kitchen fell into a quiet rhythm again, the faint hum of activity filling the space as the two women tidied up. Though their hearts still ached for Raju, they worked with quiet determination, ready to face whatever the next moment would bring
Update 19
Dadaji’s deliberate footsteps echoed in the hallway before he appeared in the doorway, leaning slightly on his cane. His eyes scanned the room, landing first on Sujata, who was adjusting her saree near the counter, and then on Manisha, whose blouse dipped slightly as she bent to pick up a towel.
Clearing his throat, Dadaji stepped further inside. “Sujata,” he called, his tone carrying its usual expectation.
Sujata turned, her hands resting on her hips. “Yes, Baba?”
“It’s time,” he said simply, gesturing toward her with his free hand.
Manisha, standing by the sink, glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. She exchanged a look with Sujata, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Sujata sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Baba, we need to talk,” she said firmly.
He frowned, his cane tapping lightly on the floor. “Talk about what?”
“Things are going to be different from now on,” Sujata said, gesturing toward the clean glass sitting on the counter. “You’ll be drinking your milk from a glass or bottle. We’ve decided to express it to you.”
Dadaji’s brows knitted together, his expression shifting into one of confusion and irritation. “A glass? A bottle? What nonsense is this?”
Manisha straightened, folding her arms across her chest. Her blouse shifted slightly with the movement, and she caught Dadaji’s gaze flicking toward her neckline.
Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Eyes up, Baba,” she said, her tone teasing but sharp. “My face is here.”
Sujata noticed his wandering gaze as well, narrowing her eyes. “Baba, seriously? You’re arguing about milk while ogling at your daughter in laws breasts, like a teenager. Have some decency!”
Caught, Dadaji stiffened, his grip tightening on his cane. “I wasn’t ogling,” he muttered, his tone defensive.
“Oh, please,” Manisha retorted, laughing softly. “We can practically hear you thinking about the ‘good old days.’” She adjusted her saree with to cover her cleavage. “Well, those days are over, Baba. Time to join the modern age.”
Dadaji’s face reddened slightly, though whether from embarrassment or frustration was unclear. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Sujata. “This isn’t right,” he grumbled. “Milk should be taken directly—warm and fresh. It’s how it’s always been.”
Sujata’s patience was wearing thin. She picked up the glass of milk and held it out firmly. “It will still be warm and fresh, Baba. Now you dont have o face trouble of sucking it out. You’ll drink it like this, or not at all. Your choice.”
Dadaji stared at the glass as though it were an insult, his grip tightening on his cane. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, sucking is the best part. You’ve always taken care of me properly. Why change now?”
Manisha stepped forward, her voice softening slightly but her resolve unshaken. “Baba, we’re not abandoning you. We’re still taking care of you, but Raju hasn’t nursed all day. He’s young, and he needs us more right now.”
Dadaji shook his head, muttering under his breath. “The boy takes everything.” His eyes flickered briefly toward Sujata again, lingering on the curve of her blouse.
Sujata caught the look and let out an exasperated sigh. “Baba, really? If you’re going to keep staring, maybe we should stop covering our breasts so you can do it more as you please.”
Manisha laughed, adding with a playful smirk, “Or maybe a photograph to hang in your room, since you’re clearly mourning your glory days.”
Dadaji frowned deeply, his pride clearly wounded. “You two are getting too bold,” he grumbled.
“No,” Sujata said firmly. “We’re just tired of your antics. Drink your milk from the glass or don’t drink it at all.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room, the tension palpable. Finally, Dadaji let out a heavy sigh and reached for the glass. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone tinged with resignation. “But don’t expect me to like it.”
“Good,” Sujata said, her tone brisk. “We’re not asking you to like it, Baba. Just to respect our decision.”
He drank slowly, his expression sour as he finished. When he set the empty glass on the counter, his eyes flickered briefly toward Manisha one last time.
“No, my answer is No Baba. Now on only Raju will see and drink from me,” she said, pointing a finger at him with a raised eyebrow.
Dadaji huffed, muttering something incoherent as he shuffled out of the kitchen, his cane tapping on the floor.
Manisha exhaled deeply, leaning against the counter. “Well, that was exhausting,” she murmured. “But at least he didn’t throw a full tantrum.”
Sujata smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “He’s sulking now, but he’ll get used to it. He doesn’t have a choice.”
The two women returned to their tasks, their shared exasperation fading into quiet determination.
Dadaji’s deliberate footsteps echoed in the hallway before he appeared in the doorway, leaning slightly on his cane. His eyes scanned the room, landing first on Sujata, who was adjusting her saree near the counter, and then on Manisha, whose blouse dipped slightly as she bent to pick up a towel.
Clearing his throat, Dadaji stepped further inside. “Sujata,” he called, his tone carrying its usual expectation.
Sujata turned, her hands resting on her hips. “Yes, Baba?”
“It’s time,” he said simply, gesturing toward her with his free hand.
Manisha, standing by the sink, glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. She exchanged a look with Sujata, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Sujata sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Baba, we need to talk,” she said firmly.
He frowned, his cane tapping lightly on the floor. “Talk about what?”
“Things are going to be different from now on,” Sujata said, gesturing toward the clean glass sitting on the counter. “You’ll be drinking your milk from a glass or bottle. We’ve decided to express it to you.”
Dadaji’s brows knitted together, his expression shifting into one of confusion and irritation. “A glass? A bottle? What nonsense is this?”
Manisha straightened, folding her arms across her chest. Her blouse shifted slightly with the movement, and she caught Dadaji’s gaze flicking toward her neckline.
Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Eyes up, Baba,” she said, her tone teasing but sharp. “My face is here.”
Sujata noticed his wandering gaze as well, narrowing her eyes. “Baba, seriously? You’re arguing about milk while ogling at your daughter in laws breasts, like a teenager. Have some decency!”
Caught, Dadaji stiffened, his grip tightening on his cane. “I wasn’t ogling,” he muttered, his tone defensive.
“Oh, please,” Manisha retorted, laughing softly. “We can practically hear you thinking about the ‘good old days.’” She adjusted her saree with to cover her cleavage. “Well, those days are over, Baba. Time to join the modern age.”
Dadaji’s face reddened slightly, though whether from embarrassment or frustration was unclear. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Sujata. “This isn’t right,” he grumbled. “Milk should be taken directly—warm and fresh. It’s how it’s always been.”
Sujata’s patience was wearing thin. She picked up the glass of milk and held it out firmly. “It will still be warm and fresh, Baba. Now you dont have o face trouble of sucking it out. You’ll drink it like this, or not at all. Your choice.”
Dadaji stared at the glass as though it were an insult, his grip tightening on his cane. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be, sucking is the best part. You’ve always taken care of me properly. Why change now?”
Manisha stepped forward, her voice softening slightly but her resolve unshaken. “Baba, we’re not abandoning you. We’re still taking care of you, but Raju hasn’t nursed all day. He’s young, and he needs us more right now.”
Dadaji shook his head, muttering under his breath. “The boy takes everything.” His eyes flickered briefly toward Sujata again, lingering on the curve of her blouse.
Sujata caught the look and let out an exasperated sigh. “Baba, really? If you’re going to keep staring, maybe we should stop covering our breasts so you can do it more as you please.”
Manisha laughed, adding with a playful smirk, “Or maybe a photograph to hang in your room, since you’re clearly mourning your glory days.”
Dadaji frowned deeply, his pride clearly wounded. “You two are getting too bold,” he grumbled.
“No,” Sujata said firmly. “We’re just tired of your antics. Drink your milk from the glass or don’t drink it at all.”
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the room, the tension palpable. Finally, Dadaji let out a heavy sigh and reached for the glass. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone tinged with resignation. “But don’t expect me to like it.”
“Good,” Sujata said, her tone brisk. “We’re not asking you to like it, Baba. Just to respect our decision.”
He drank slowly, his expression sour as he finished. When he set the empty glass on the counter, his eyes flickered briefly toward Manisha one last time.
“No, my answer is No Baba. Now on only Raju will see and drink from me,” she said, pointing a finger at him with a raised eyebrow.
Dadaji huffed, muttering something incoherent as he shuffled out of the kitchen, his cane tapping on the floor.
Manisha exhaled deeply, leaning against the counter. “Well, that was exhausting,” she murmured. “But at least he didn’t throw a full tantrum.”
Sujata smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “He’s sulking now, but he’ll get used to it. He doesn’t have a choice.”
The two women returned to their tasks, their shared exasperation fading into quiet determination.
Last edited:
Very nice update. We wait for next encounter with Raju. If possible pls write outdoor feeding. Nice and good going
Update 20
The warm afternoon breeze swept softly through the open kitchen window, carrying with it the faint hum of village life outside. Sujata and Manisha had just finished tidying up the house, when the sound of laughter and light chatter drifted in from the courtyard.
“Sujata!” a cheerful voice called. “Manisha! Are you both hiding in there?”
The two women exchanged a glance, their tired faces brightening slightly. Sujata adjusted herself and moved to the doorway, smiling warmly at the sight of three familiar faces entering the house.
It was their friends—Prabha, Aarti, and Gita—all dressed in beautiful sarees and exuding the kind of lively energy that seemed to fill any room they entered.
“Look at you two!” Prabha teased, placing a hand on her hip as she walked in. “Busy as ever, I’m sure.”
“Always,” Manisha replied with a dry laugh. “What brings you all here?”
Aarti grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, just thought we’d drop by and see how the queens are doing. We’ve heard some interesting stories lately.”
Gita chimed in, her tone teasing. “Yes, like how your hands—and your breasts—have become so… unoccupied.”
Manisha rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Unoccupied? You think we’re sitting here with nothing to do?”
Prabha laughed, stepping closer to Manisha and tapping her shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on. You’ve been the talk of our circle for years, always busy feeding one person or another. Now suddenly, everyone hears you’re handing out glasses of milk like tea. What’s going on?”
Sujata crossed her arms, smirking faintly. “It’s called prioritizing. Raju is here for a short stay and he needs us more right now, so we’ve had to make some adjustments.”
Aarti raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Adjustments, hmm? Ramesh bhaiya was ogling at our chest when we passed him. how is Dadaji taking it?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I hear Dadaji wasn’t exactly thrilled about trading your nipples for a glass.”
Manisha snorted, shaking her head. “Thrilled? He stared at us like we’d just stolen his inheritance. If looks could kill, we wouldn’t be standing here.”
Gita laughed, covering her mouth. “Poor Dadaji! But honestly, I can’t imagine either of you giving up control like that. Aren’t you missing it just a little?”
Prabha joined in, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Come on, admit it. You must be feeling a little… empty.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Sujata’s chest, and she added with a mock-serious tone, “Literally and figuratively.”
Sujata let out a loud laugh, shaking her head. “Empty? I feel more exhausted than anything. Expressing milk isn’t exactly a spa treatment, you know. And the mess—it’s not exactly glamorous.”
The soft hum of the ceiling fan mingling with occasional bursts of laughter. Sujata and Manisha exchanged skeptical glances as Gita, ever confident and poised, adjusted her vibrant green saree. Her slim, elegant figure and fair complexion seemed to radiate in the light, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and determination.
“I’m serious,” Gita said, her tone resolute yet playful. “Send them to my house if you’re too tired. I’ve weaned my child recently, and I still have plenty of milk. Why not use it to quench their thirst?”
Sujata crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. “Gita, do you really understand what you’re volunteering for? This isn’t some casual chore.”
Gita smirked, her braid swaying gently as she tilted her head. “Of course I do. I’ve nursed for years—I know exactly what it entails. Besides,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “it might be fun.”
Prabha and Aarti exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier laughter turning into incredulous stares.
“Fun?” Aarti exclaimed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Gita, this isn’t some village fair. You’re talking about letting strangers suck your breasts!”
Gita shrugged with nonchalant grace. “Why not? Call Bhaiya in here, and let’s see how it goes.”
Manisha arched an eyebrow, her voice dry. “You’re going to regret this. But fine, let’s see.”
Sujata sighed, muttering under her breath as she stepped toward the doorway. Moments later, Raju’s father entered the kitchen, his tall frame exuding hesitation. His gaze darted between Gita and his sisters-in-law, confusion written across his face.
“What’s going on now?” he asked cautiously.
Gita smiled warmly, motioning toward herself with a practiced elegance. “I’m stepping in to help. Sujata and Manisha need a break, so you’ll be nursing from me today.”
His brow furrowed as he hesitated, his gaze shifting toward Sujata and Manisha for confirmation.
“It’s her idea,” Sujata said with a shrug, her tone dry. “So don't hold back, you can chew her nipple as much as you want.”
Gita moved to the kitchen stool, her movements seducing and confident. She adjusted her saree with care, unhooking her blouse to reveal her smooth, fair skinned breasts. Her smaller breasts, firm and proportionate, stood out with red, prominent nipples ready to offer nourishment.
Raju’s father lingered awkwardly, his eyes flicking over her chest. “They’re… smaller than I’m used to,” he muttered under his breath, not intending to be heard.
The room went silent, tension hanging in the air before Gita raised an eyebrow and let out a soft laugh. “Smaller, maybe,” she quipped, her voice sharp but playful. “But I promise, you will enjoy sucking them. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”
Prabha and Aarti burst into laughter, while Sujata and Manisha exchanged smirks.
“Go on,” Manisha said dryly. “Let’s see if she’s right.”
Gita gestured for Raju’s father to approach. As he stepped closer, she placed her slim fingers under his chin, gently guiding him downward. Her other hand rested on the back of his head, steadying him as she positioned him in front of her.
“Relax,” she said soothingly, her voice soft yet firm. “You’ll see—it’s not about size, it’s about what I can do with them.”
With her guidance, Raju’s father leaned forward, his lips brushing against her nipple before latching fully. Gita inhaled slightly at the sensation, her fingers adjusting his position. The initial pull was strong but steady, and she quickly found a rhythm to support him.
“Take my aerola in your mouth,” she murmured, her tone calm. Her free hand returned to cradle his chin, ensuring he stayed comfortable.
Raju’s father, growing more confident, began nursing with greater enthusiasm. His hand, previously resting awkwardly at his side, moved tentatively to her free breast. Gita raised an eyebrow but didn’t pull away, her faint smile signaling her ease.
“He’s certainly enjoying Gita’s breasts more thn her milk,” Prabha remarked, her tone teasing.
Manisha smirked. “Of course he is. She’s practically letting him play with her breasts.”
Gita chuckled softly, her tone light. “Let him enjoy it. As long as he’s not trying to put his hand in my underwear, it’s fine.”
Her words were barely out when she felt his teeth graze her nipple lightly. Gita inhaled sharply but adjusted her hold, guiding him gently. “Easy there, Bhaiya use your tongue not teeths” she said, her voice soft but firm. “If you want to play with my free breast you can, I won't stop you. There’s no rush.”
As his nursing settled into a steady rhythm, the room quieted, the soft sound of suction filling the space. Gita’s expression remained composed, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. The alternating pulls and firmer tugs were surprisingly pleasant, leaving her both amused and aroused.
“He’s very good,” she remarked, her voice carrying a note of observation. “But my flow’s keeping up just fine.”
Manisha crossed her arms, her smirk widening. “Wait until he gets impatient. Then we’ll see how confident you feel.”
Gita laughed lightly, her fingers brushing against Raju’s father’s hair. “I’ll take my chances,” she replied.
After a few minutes, his movements slowed, his pulls becoming more deliberate. Gita gently pulled him back, her hand brushing his cheek as she adjusted her blouse.
“There,” she said, her tone light. “Satisfied?”
Raju’s father nodded, his expression content. “Thank you,” he muttered softly before stepping away.
As he left, the room erupted into laughter once more.
“You’re unbelievable, Gita,” Sujata said, shaking her head. “I still don’t know whether to call you brave or crazy.”
Gita grinned, adjusting her saree with practiced ease. “Maybe a little of both,” she replied. “But at least now we know—my small breasts can woo any man.”
The golden afternoon sunlight bathed the kitchen as laughter and chatter echoed softly. Gita’s confidence filled the room as she recounted her experience with Raju’s father, her playful demeanor earning a mix of shock and admiration from the other women. Prabha, however, stood apart, her face carefully veiled by her pallu. Her presence, enigmatic as ever, added a quiet mystique to the lively atmosphere.
Prabha had always been a woman of tradition. Her modesty was legendary in the village—no man outside her family had ever seen her face. She carried herself with a serene grace, her voice soft and measured, her movements deliberate. For years, she had been a figure of curiosity, her beauty spoken of in whispers but never confirmed.
Gita, pressing her areola between her fingers to release a strong stream of milk, adjusted her position. “Well, Dadaji’s next,” she said, smirking. “I suppose he’ll need to decide if he’s comfortable with me.”
Prabha’s soft voice broke the conversation. “No,” she said quietly, stepping forward. “I’ll do it.”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Even Gita, known for her boldness, looked taken aback.
“You?” Manisha asked, her tone filled with surprise.
Prabha nodded, her pallu still draped over her face. “If Dadaji needs care, I’ll provide it. It’s the least I can do.”
Sujata raised an eyebrow. “Prabha, are you sure? This isn’t something you’ve done before.”
Prabha’s voice was steady. “I’m sure. I want to experience the feeling.”
Moments later, Dadaji entered, his cane tapping softly against the floor. His sharp eyes scanned the room, pausing on Prabha. “What is this nonsense?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know who she is—how can I trust her?”
Manisha stepped forward, crossing her arms. “What does her face have to do with anything, Dadaji? You’re here to suck her breast, not to kiss her.”
Dadaji frowned deeply. “But I don’t even know what she looks like!”
Gita laughed softly, shaking her head. “Dadaji, does it matter? It’s about milk, not appearances.”
Manisha, rolling her eyes, stepped behind Prabha and tugged gently at her pallu. “Here, Dadaji. If it’s so important, take a look.”
Prabha hesitated for a moment, her fingers gripping the edge of her pallu tightly. Slowly, she allowed Manisha to lift it, revealing her face to the room.
Dadaji’s eyes widened, his usual gruffness fading as he took in her features. Her skin was luminous, her fair complexion glowing in the soft light. Her almond-shaped eyes, framed by thick lashes, held a quiet depth. Her delicate lips, slightly parted in nervousness, completed the serene beauty of her expression.
For a moment, Dadaji said nothing, his gaze fixed on her. “You…” he began, his voice softening. “You’re beautiful.”
Prabha’s cheeks flushed deeply, and she looked away, her modesty returning in full force. “It’s not about that,” she said softly. “I’m here to help.”
Manisha smirked, covering Prabha’s face with her pallu again. “There, Dadaji. Now focus. Her face doesn’t matter once you’re under the pallu, does it?”
Dadaji cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “Yes, yes,” he muttered. “Let’s get on with it.”
Prabha, her composure returning, adjusted her saree with careful precision. As she unhooked her blouse, the fabric slipped away, revealing her perfectly round, full breasts. They were firm yet soft, with a natural curve that seemed almost sculpted. Her pink nipples stood prominent, ready to offer nourishment.
The other women exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with envy. Even Gita, usually self-assured, couldn’t help but admire Prabha’s flawless proportions.
“She’s been hiding those all this time?” Gita whispered to Manisha, her tone a mix of awe and disbelief. “No wonder the village men talk about her like she’s a goddess.”
“Come, Dadaji,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.
Dadaji moved forward hesitantly, his earlier resistance fading. Prabha guided him gently, her slim fingers resting lightly on the back of his head as she brought him closer. With her other hand, she supported her breast, offering it to him.
“Relax,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “It’s all right.”
Dadaji latched slowly as if trying not to damage such beautiful breasts, his lips closing around her nipple. Prabha inhaled softly, her hand steadying his head as he began to nurse. The rhythmic pulls were slow at first, then more confident as Dadaji settled into the act.
Gita watched from the side, her expression amused. “Well, Dadaji,” she teased. “Satisfied now that you have the nipple of the most beautiful woman in the village?”
Dadaji didn’t respond, his focus entirely on nursing. Prabha’s free hand rested lightly on his shoulder, her movements composed and nurturing.
“He’s calmer now,” Manisha remarked, her voice soft.
As Dadaji tried to sneak his hand on her covered breast. The kitchen fell into a hushed silence after the slap echoed, reverberating like a clap of authority in the golden-lit space. Prabha’s serene face remained composed, her almond-shaped eyes unwavering as she gently chided, “Baba, one is enough. Behave yourself.”
Dadaji, caught completely off guard, blinked rapidly, his face turning a shade darker as embarrassment mixed with guilt. His lips moved, attempting an apology, but the words seemed to falter.
And then, with the same graceful poise she removed her wet and leaking nipple from Dadaji's mouth and leaned forward and placed a soft, warm kiss on his weathered cheek. The touch was forgiving, disarming, and utterly unexpected.
Dadaji froze, his shoulders stiffening momentarily before relaxing under the tender gesture. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard it.
“Good,” Prabha replied, her tone soft but firm. “Now open your mouth.”
Sujata, standing near the doorway, looked utterly flabbergasted. Her mouth opened as though to speak, but no words came out. She turned toward Manisha, who was equally wide-eyed.
“She slapped him *and* kissed him,” Manisha whispered, shaking her head slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“And he *apologized,*” Sujata added, her tone incredulous. “Dadaji apologizing? That’s a first.”
Gita, leaning against the counter with a sly grin, broke the silence with a soft chuckle. “Well, Dadaji,” she teased, “it seems you’ve met your match. Don’t mess with Prabha.”
As Dadaji resumed nursing, his pulls more measured and respectful, Prabha’s hands cradled him with gentle care. Her slim fingers lightly brushed his shoulder, her calm demeanor radiating both strength and forgiveness.
When Dadaji finally pulled away, visibly satiated, Prabha moved with quiet precision. She adjusted her saree, her movements deliberate, as though securing a prized treasure in a sacred vault. She cupped her full breast gently, her fingers smoothing the fabric over it with a reverence that left everyone watching in awe.
Gita leaned closer to Manisha, her voice a mix of awe and envy. “She covers herself like she’s locking away a treasure. No wonder the village men can’t stop talking about her.”
Manisha smirked, her tone dry but tinged with admiration. “It’s not just the way she does it—it’s what she has to lock away. Perfect breasts, flawless skin… she’s the ideal everyone envies.”
As Prabha tucked her pallu back into place, she glanced at Dadaji, her tone calm but carrying a hint of playful authority. “See, Dadaji? No need to be greedy.”
Dadaji, still flustered, nodded mutely. His earlier gruffness had completely evaporated, replaced by a quiet humility.
Sujata finally found her voice, stepping closer to the group. “Prabha,” she said, her tone still tinged with disbelief, “how do you do it? You just slapped him, kissed him, and now he looks like a scolded schoolboy who’s secretly grateful.”
Prabha adjusted her pallu once more, her face once again veiled, her voice soft but firm. “It’s not about punishment,” she said simply. “It’s about teaching respect. If you want care, you must show care in return.”
Gita, unable to resist, quipped with a smirk, “And here I thought I was bold. You’ve shown us all what true power looks like.”
The group fell into quiet laughter, the earlier tension replaced by a sense of camaraderie. Prabha’s actions, a perfect blend of grace and authority, left an indelible impression on everyone in the room.
As Dadaji rose to leave, he paused for a moment, glancing back at Prabha with a mixture of gratitude and awe. “Thank you,” he said softly before turning away, his cane tapping softly as he exited.
Prabha, serene as ever, resumed her place among the women, her veil drawn neatly back over her face.
The warm afternoon breeze swept softly through the open kitchen window, carrying with it the faint hum of village life outside. Sujata and Manisha had just finished tidying up the house, when the sound of laughter and light chatter drifted in from the courtyard.
“Sujata!” a cheerful voice called. “Manisha! Are you both hiding in there?”
The two women exchanged a glance, their tired faces brightening slightly. Sujata adjusted herself and moved to the doorway, smiling warmly at the sight of three familiar faces entering the house.
It was their friends—Prabha, Aarti, and Gita—all dressed in beautiful sarees and exuding the kind of lively energy that seemed to fill any room they entered.
“Look at you two!” Prabha teased, placing a hand on her hip as she walked in. “Busy as ever, I’m sure.”
“Always,” Manisha replied with a dry laugh. “What brings you all here?”
Aarti grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Oh, just thought we’d drop by and see how the queens are doing. We’ve heard some interesting stories lately.”
Gita chimed in, her tone teasing. “Yes, like how your hands—and your breasts—have become so… unoccupied.”
Manisha rolled her eyes, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Unoccupied? You think we’re sitting here with nothing to do?”
Prabha laughed, stepping closer to Manisha and tapping her shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on. You’ve been the talk of our circle for years, always busy feeding one person or another. Now suddenly, everyone hears you’re handing out glasses of milk like tea. What’s going on?”
Sujata crossed her arms, smirking faintly. “It’s called prioritizing. Raju is here for a short stay and he needs us more right now, so we’ve had to make some adjustments.”
Aarti raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Adjustments, hmm? Ramesh bhaiya was ogling at our chest when we passed him. how is Dadaji taking it?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I hear Dadaji wasn’t exactly thrilled about trading your nipples for a glass.”
Manisha snorted, shaking her head. “Thrilled? He stared at us like we’d just stolen his inheritance. If looks could kill, we wouldn’t be standing here.”
Gita laughed, covering her mouth. “Poor Dadaji! But honestly, I can’t imagine either of you giving up control like that. Aren’t you missing it just a little?”
Prabha joined in, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Come on, admit it. You must be feeling a little… empty.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Sujata’s chest, and she added with a mock-serious tone, “Literally and figuratively.”
Sujata let out a loud laugh, shaking her head. “Empty? I feel more exhausted than anything. Expressing milk isn’t exactly a spa treatment, you know. And the mess—it’s not exactly glamorous.”
The soft hum of the ceiling fan mingling with occasional bursts of laughter. Sujata and Manisha exchanged skeptical glances as Gita, ever confident and poised, adjusted her vibrant green saree. Her slim, elegant figure and fair complexion seemed to radiate in the light, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and determination.
“I’m serious,” Gita said, her tone resolute yet playful. “Send them to my house if you’re too tired. I’ve weaned my child recently, and I still have plenty of milk. Why not use it to quench their thirst?”
Sujata crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. “Gita, do you really understand what you’re volunteering for? This isn’t some casual chore.”
Gita smirked, her braid swaying gently as she tilted her head. “Of course I do. I’ve nursed for years—I know exactly what it entails. Besides,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye, “it might be fun.”
Prabha and Aarti exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier laughter turning into incredulous stares.
“Fun?” Aarti exclaimed, trying to stifle a laugh. “Gita, this isn’t some village fair. You’re talking about letting strangers suck your breasts!”
Gita shrugged with nonchalant grace. “Why not? Call Bhaiya in here, and let’s see how it goes.”
Manisha arched an eyebrow, her voice dry. “You’re going to regret this. But fine, let’s see.”
Sujata sighed, muttering under her breath as she stepped toward the doorway. Moments later, Raju’s father entered the kitchen, his tall frame exuding hesitation. His gaze darted between Gita and his sisters-in-law, confusion written across his face.
“What’s going on now?” he asked cautiously.
Gita smiled warmly, motioning toward herself with a practiced elegance. “I’m stepping in to help. Sujata and Manisha need a break, so you’ll be nursing from me today.”
His brow furrowed as he hesitated, his gaze shifting toward Sujata and Manisha for confirmation.
“It’s her idea,” Sujata said with a shrug, her tone dry. “So don't hold back, you can chew her nipple as much as you want.”
Gita moved to the kitchen stool, her movements seducing and confident. She adjusted her saree with care, unhooking her blouse to reveal her smooth, fair skinned breasts. Her smaller breasts, firm and proportionate, stood out with red, prominent nipples ready to offer nourishment.
Raju’s father lingered awkwardly, his eyes flicking over her chest. “They’re… smaller than I’m used to,” he muttered under his breath, not intending to be heard.
The room went silent, tension hanging in the air before Gita raised an eyebrow and let out a soft laugh. “Smaller, maybe,” she quipped, her voice sharp but playful. “But I promise, you will enjoy sucking them. That’s what matters, isn’t it?”
Prabha and Aarti burst into laughter, while Sujata and Manisha exchanged smirks.
“Go on,” Manisha said dryly. “Let’s see if she’s right.”
Gita gestured for Raju’s father to approach. As he stepped closer, she placed her slim fingers under his chin, gently guiding him downward. Her other hand rested on the back of his head, steadying him as she positioned him in front of her.
“Relax,” she said soothingly, her voice soft yet firm. “You’ll see—it’s not about size, it’s about what I can do with them.”
With her guidance, Raju’s father leaned forward, his lips brushing against her nipple before latching fully. Gita inhaled slightly at the sensation, her fingers adjusting his position. The initial pull was strong but steady, and she quickly found a rhythm to support him.
“Take my aerola in your mouth,” she murmured, her tone calm. Her free hand returned to cradle his chin, ensuring he stayed comfortable.
Raju’s father, growing more confident, began nursing with greater enthusiasm. His hand, previously resting awkwardly at his side, moved tentatively to her free breast. Gita raised an eyebrow but didn’t pull away, her faint smile signaling her ease.
“He’s certainly enjoying Gita’s breasts more thn her milk,” Prabha remarked, her tone teasing.
Manisha smirked. “Of course he is. She’s practically letting him play with her breasts.”
Gita chuckled softly, her tone light. “Let him enjoy it. As long as he’s not trying to put his hand in my underwear, it’s fine.”
Her words were barely out when she felt his teeth graze her nipple lightly. Gita inhaled sharply but adjusted her hold, guiding him gently. “Easy there, Bhaiya use your tongue not teeths” she said, her voice soft but firm. “If you want to play with my free breast you can, I won't stop you. There’s no rush.”
As his nursing settled into a steady rhythm, the room quieted, the soft sound of suction filling the space. Gita’s expression remained composed, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. The alternating pulls and firmer tugs were surprisingly pleasant, leaving her both amused and aroused.
“He’s very good,” she remarked, her voice carrying a note of observation. “But my flow’s keeping up just fine.”
Manisha crossed her arms, her smirk widening. “Wait until he gets impatient. Then we’ll see how confident you feel.”
Gita laughed lightly, her fingers brushing against Raju’s father’s hair. “I’ll take my chances,” she replied.
After a few minutes, his movements slowed, his pulls becoming more deliberate. Gita gently pulled him back, her hand brushing his cheek as she adjusted her blouse.
“There,” she said, her tone light. “Satisfied?”
Raju’s father nodded, his expression content. “Thank you,” he muttered softly before stepping away.
As he left, the room erupted into laughter once more.
“You’re unbelievable, Gita,” Sujata said, shaking her head. “I still don’t know whether to call you brave or crazy.”
Gita grinned, adjusting her saree with practiced ease. “Maybe a little of both,” she replied. “But at least now we know—my small breasts can woo any man.”
The golden afternoon sunlight bathed the kitchen as laughter and chatter echoed softly. Gita’s confidence filled the room as she recounted her experience with Raju’s father, her playful demeanor earning a mix of shock and admiration from the other women. Prabha, however, stood apart, her face carefully veiled by her pallu. Her presence, enigmatic as ever, added a quiet mystique to the lively atmosphere.
Prabha had always been a woman of tradition. Her modesty was legendary in the village—no man outside her family had ever seen her face. She carried herself with a serene grace, her voice soft and measured, her movements deliberate. For years, she had been a figure of curiosity, her beauty spoken of in whispers but never confirmed.
Gita, pressing her areola between her fingers to release a strong stream of milk, adjusted her position. “Well, Dadaji’s next,” she said, smirking. “I suppose he’ll need to decide if he’s comfortable with me.”
Prabha’s soft voice broke the conversation. “No,” she said quietly, stepping forward. “I’ll do it.”
The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. Even Gita, known for her boldness, looked taken aback.
“You?” Manisha asked, her tone filled with surprise.
Prabha nodded, her pallu still draped over her face. “If Dadaji needs care, I’ll provide it. It’s the least I can do.”
Sujata raised an eyebrow. “Prabha, are you sure? This isn’t something you’ve done before.”
Prabha’s voice was steady. “I’m sure. I want to experience the feeling.”
Moments later, Dadaji entered, his cane tapping softly against the floor. His sharp eyes scanned the room, pausing on Prabha. “What is this nonsense?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know who she is—how can I trust her?”
Manisha stepped forward, crossing her arms. “What does her face have to do with anything, Dadaji? You’re here to suck her breast, not to kiss her.”
Dadaji frowned deeply. “But I don’t even know what she looks like!”
Gita laughed softly, shaking her head. “Dadaji, does it matter? It’s about milk, not appearances.”
Manisha, rolling her eyes, stepped behind Prabha and tugged gently at her pallu. “Here, Dadaji. If it’s so important, take a look.”
Prabha hesitated for a moment, her fingers gripping the edge of her pallu tightly. Slowly, she allowed Manisha to lift it, revealing her face to the room.
Dadaji’s eyes widened, his usual gruffness fading as he took in her features. Her skin was luminous, her fair complexion glowing in the soft light. Her almond-shaped eyes, framed by thick lashes, held a quiet depth. Her delicate lips, slightly parted in nervousness, completed the serene beauty of her expression.
For a moment, Dadaji said nothing, his gaze fixed on her. “You…” he began, his voice softening. “You’re beautiful.”
Prabha’s cheeks flushed deeply, and she looked away, her modesty returning in full force. “It’s not about that,” she said softly. “I’m here to help.”
Manisha smirked, covering Prabha’s face with her pallu again. “There, Dadaji. Now focus. Her face doesn’t matter once you’re under the pallu, does it?”
Dadaji cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “Yes, yes,” he muttered. “Let’s get on with it.”
Prabha, her composure returning, adjusted her saree with careful precision. As she unhooked her blouse, the fabric slipped away, revealing her perfectly round, full breasts. They were firm yet soft, with a natural curve that seemed almost sculpted. Her pink nipples stood prominent, ready to offer nourishment.
The other women exchanged glances, their expressions tinged with envy. Even Gita, usually self-assured, couldn’t help but admire Prabha’s flawless proportions.
“She’s been hiding those all this time?” Gita whispered to Manisha, her tone a mix of awe and disbelief. “No wonder the village men talk about her like she’s a goddess.”
“Come, Dadaji,” she said softly, her voice gentle but firm.
Dadaji moved forward hesitantly, his earlier resistance fading. Prabha guided him gently, her slim fingers resting lightly on the back of his head as she brought him closer. With her other hand, she supported her breast, offering it to him.
“Relax,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly. “It’s all right.”
Dadaji latched slowly as if trying not to damage such beautiful breasts, his lips closing around her nipple. Prabha inhaled softly, her hand steadying his head as he began to nurse. The rhythmic pulls were slow at first, then more confident as Dadaji settled into the act.
Gita watched from the side, her expression amused. “Well, Dadaji,” she teased. “Satisfied now that you have the nipple of the most beautiful woman in the village?”
Dadaji didn’t respond, his focus entirely on nursing. Prabha’s free hand rested lightly on his shoulder, her movements composed and nurturing.
“He’s calmer now,” Manisha remarked, her voice soft.
As Dadaji tried to sneak his hand on her covered breast. The kitchen fell into a hushed silence after the slap echoed, reverberating like a clap of authority in the golden-lit space. Prabha’s serene face remained composed, her almond-shaped eyes unwavering as she gently chided, “Baba, one is enough. Behave yourself.”
Dadaji, caught completely off guard, blinked rapidly, his face turning a shade darker as embarrassment mixed with guilt. His lips moved, attempting an apology, but the words seemed to falter.
And then, with the same graceful poise she removed her wet and leaking nipple from Dadaji's mouth and leaned forward and placed a soft, warm kiss on his weathered cheek. The touch was forgiving, disarming, and utterly unexpected.
Dadaji froze, his shoulders stiffening momentarily before relaxing under the tender gesture. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard it.
“Good,” Prabha replied, her tone soft but firm. “Now open your mouth.”
Sujata, standing near the doorway, looked utterly flabbergasted. Her mouth opened as though to speak, but no words came out. She turned toward Manisha, who was equally wide-eyed.
“She slapped him *and* kissed him,” Manisha whispered, shaking her head slowly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“And he *apologized,*” Sujata added, her tone incredulous. “Dadaji apologizing? That’s a first.”
Gita, leaning against the counter with a sly grin, broke the silence with a soft chuckle. “Well, Dadaji,” she teased, “it seems you’ve met your match. Don’t mess with Prabha.”
As Dadaji resumed nursing, his pulls more measured and respectful, Prabha’s hands cradled him with gentle care. Her slim fingers lightly brushed his shoulder, her calm demeanor radiating both strength and forgiveness.
When Dadaji finally pulled away, visibly satiated, Prabha moved with quiet precision. She adjusted her saree, her movements deliberate, as though securing a prized treasure in a sacred vault. She cupped her full breast gently, her fingers smoothing the fabric over it with a reverence that left everyone watching in awe.
Gita leaned closer to Manisha, her voice a mix of awe and envy. “She covers herself like she’s locking away a treasure. No wonder the village men can’t stop talking about her.”
Manisha smirked, her tone dry but tinged with admiration. “It’s not just the way she does it—it’s what she has to lock away. Perfect breasts, flawless skin… she’s the ideal everyone envies.”
As Prabha tucked her pallu back into place, she glanced at Dadaji, her tone calm but carrying a hint of playful authority. “See, Dadaji? No need to be greedy.”
Dadaji, still flustered, nodded mutely. His earlier gruffness had completely evaporated, replaced by a quiet humility.
Sujata finally found her voice, stepping closer to the group. “Prabha,” she said, her tone still tinged with disbelief, “how do you do it? You just slapped him, kissed him, and now he looks like a scolded schoolboy who’s secretly grateful.”
Prabha adjusted her pallu once more, her face once again veiled, her voice soft but firm. “It’s not about punishment,” she said simply. “It’s about teaching respect. If you want care, you must show care in return.”
Gita, unable to resist, quipped with a smirk, “And here I thought I was bold. You’ve shown us all what true power looks like.”
The group fell into quiet laughter, the earlier tension replaced by a sense of camaraderie. Prabha’s actions, a perfect blend of grace and authority, left an indelible impression on everyone in the room.
As Dadaji rose to leave, he paused for a moment, glancing back at Prabha with a mixture of gratitude and awe. “Thank you,” he said softly before turning away, his cane tapping softly as he exited.
Prabha, serene as ever, resumed her place among the women, her veil drawn neatly back over her face.
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