Fantasy Another story of Walvan [Breastmilk]
- Thread starter RajuWalvan
- Start date
- 16,666
Update 30
Aarti sat on the floor near the window, folding the last of the laundry into a neat pile. The sunlight slipped in through the bamboo curtain, painting soft golden stripes across the cool floor. Her house had always been the closest to Suraj’s—and in recent days, that closeness had become a burden.
Since Kalpana had refused to feed him, Suraj had made Aarti’s home his regular stop. He didn’t ask. He didn’t knock. He would come in at all hours—mid-morning, during chores, even when she was resting. Whether she was grinding grain or stretching wet clothes onto the line, he would show up, cupping her breasts or sometimes latching on without removing her blouse.
In the beginning, she thought it was temporary. That he was just adjusting. But his visits became more frequent, more bold. He fed long, sometimes twice a day, sometimes more. Never asking, always demanding. And Aarti, despite her growing frustration, couldn’t find the heart to turn him away.
But it wasn’t just about her. Guddu—her nephew, the one who had once clung to her every evening for comfort—had started pulling away. He would linger near the doorway, watching silently while Suraj fed. Sometimes he’d mumble that he wasn’t hungry, other times he just shook his head and walked away. Aarti had noticed it more with each passing day—the way Guddu hesitated to come near, the way he turned his face when she tried to bring him close. He had stopped receiving milk altogether. Her breasts, often emptied fully by Suraj, left nothing behind for Guddu. On the rare occasions he did come close, he would settle beside her and dry nurse—his mouth soft, suckling more out of habit than nourishment.
That afternoon, as she swept the back room, Suraj arrived again. He didn’t speak. Just walked in, wiped his face on his sleeve, and sat on the cot like he owned the space. Aarti didn’t hide her irritation.
"Suraj, you were here just an hour ago," she said, pausing with the broom in hand.
He said nothing. Instead, he stood and walked over, bold as ever. This time, before she could even respond, he slipped his hands under her saree pallu and pulled at her blouse hooks. She caught her breath in surprise, but didn’t stop him. Her blouse came loose, sliding open, and her breast spilled free into his waiting hands.
He latched without pause, his mouth wrapping around her nipple, pulling steadily with deep, slow draws. One hand cupped her breast firmly while the other moved to the side, holding her in place as he suckled. Aarti leaned back against the wall, her body already familiar with the rhythm.
Suraj was more playful now. He stayed longer, shifted positions to press his cheek against her skin, and even brushed his fingers across the top of her breast when he paused to breathe. He would squeeze gently at the base, coaxing more milk, and always drew every last drop. Her breast would soften completely under his attention—emptied thoroughly, leaving nothing behind.
She glanced toward the doorway. Guddu stood there again. Watching, quiet. His eyes didn’t move. He had seen this too often now. And each time, he left with less. Less interest. Less closeness. Less of her.
Aarti’s thoughts drifted. She remembered when she first began feeding Guddu—how loving he had been. How soft she was at first. But it had become something gentle between them. His hands had been soft, never demanding. He had made her feel needed, tenderly.
Now, all of that had changed. Suraj’s presence was heavy, entitled. She gave because he came. He came because she always gave.
When he finally let go, he rested his head on her lap, playing with the edge of her saree, not ready to leave. She quietly adjusted her blouse, re-hooked it, and rested a hand on his head.
She looked at Guddu. He had already turned away.
The room was quiet. But in her chest, something weighed heavy. Something had to change.
Aarti sat on the floor near the window, folding the last of the laundry into a neat pile. The sunlight slipped in through the bamboo curtain, painting soft golden stripes across the cool floor. Her house had always been the closest to Suraj’s—and in recent days, that closeness had become a burden.
Since Kalpana had refused to feed him, Suraj had made Aarti’s home his regular stop. He didn’t ask. He didn’t knock. He would come in at all hours—mid-morning, during chores, even when she was resting. Whether she was grinding grain or stretching wet clothes onto the line, he would show up, cupping her breasts or sometimes latching on without removing her blouse.
In the beginning, she thought it was temporary. That he was just adjusting. But his visits became more frequent, more bold. He fed long, sometimes twice a day, sometimes more. Never asking, always demanding. And Aarti, despite her growing frustration, couldn’t find the heart to turn him away.
But it wasn’t just about her. Guddu—her nephew, the one who had once clung to her every evening for comfort—had started pulling away. He would linger near the doorway, watching silently while Suraj fed. Sometimes he’d mumble that he wasn’t hungry, other times he just shook his head and walked away. Aarti had noticed it more with each passing day—the way Guddu hesitated to come near, the way he turned his face when she tried to bring him close. He had stopped receiving milk altogether. Her breasts, often emptied fully by Suraj, left nothing behind for Guddu. On the rare occasions he did come close, he would settle beside her and dry nurse—his mouth soft, suckling more out of habit than nourishment.
That afternoon, as she swept the back room, Suraj arrived again. He didn’t speak. Just walked in, wiped his face on his sleeve, and sat on the cot like he owned the space. Aarti didn’t hide her irritation.
"Suraj, you were here just an hour ago," she said, pausing with the broom in hand.
He said nothing. Instead, he stood and walked over, bold as ever. This time, before she could even respond, he slipped his hands under her saree pallu and pulled at her blouse hooks. She caught her breath in surprise, but didn’t stop him. Her blouse came loose, sliding open, and her breast spilled free into his waiting hands.
He latched without pause, his mouth wrapping around her nipple, pulling steadily with deep, slow draws. One hand cupped her breast firmly while the other moved to the side, holding her in place as he suckled. Aarti leaned back against the wall, her body already familiar with the rhythm.
Suraj was more playful now. He stayed longer, shifted positions to press his cheek against her skin, and even brushed his fingers across the top of her breast when he paused to breathe. He would squeeze gently at the base, coaxing more milk, and always drew every last drop. Her breast would soften completely under his attention—emptied thoroughly, leaving nothing behind.
She glanced toward the doorway. Guddu stood there again. Watching, quiet. His eyes didn’t move. He had seen this too often now. And each time, he left with less. Less interest. Less closeness. Less of her.
Aarti’s thoughts drifted. She remembered when she first began feeding Guddu—how loving he had been. How soft she was at first. But it had become something gentle between them. His hands had been soft, never demanding. He had made her feel needed, tenderly.
Now, all of that had changed. Suraj’s presence was heavy, entitled. She gave because he came. He came because she always gave.
When he finally let go, he rested his head on her lap, playing with the edge of her saree, not ready to leave. She quietly adjusted her blouse, re-hooked it, and rested a hand on his head.
She looked at Guddu. He had already turned away.
The room was quiet. But in her chest, something weighed heavy. Something had to change.
Update 31
The afternoon heat clung heavily to the mud walls of the courtyard as Aarti stormed into Kalpana’s home, her brows furrowed and mouth tight. Kalpana, seated on the edge of the cot, looked up, surprised by the sudden entrance.
“You need to explain yourself,” Aarti said exposing her bruised breasts.
Kalpana blinked. “What happened?”
“You happened!” Aarti snapped. “Ever since you stopped feeding Suraj, he’s at my house every day, tugging at me like I belong to him. And what’s worse—Guddu won’t even come near me anymore. You’ve made a mess of this, Kalpana.”
Kalpana stood slowly, confused and defensive. “I didn’t ask him to run to you.”
“No, but you spoiled him, called him your husband, gave him whatever he wanted. And then suddenly stopped. And now Guddu—my Guddu—has to sit in corners watching Suraj feed from me until there’s nothing left. He’s jealous, quiet, withdrawn.”
Kalpana’s face softened. The guilt settled between her shoulders.
“I was just trying to draw a line. But maybe... I drew it in the wrong place.”
Aarti folded her arms. “Then do something right for once.”
Kalpana was silent for a moment. Then an idea came over her—clear, purposeful.
“Where are they now?”
“In the courtyard. All of them.”
Kalpana didn’t wait. She stepped out, calling for the boys. Suraj, Guddu, and Ramesh turned toward her. Guddu’s face was cautious, unsure. Kalpana walked straight to him and took his hand.
“You’re upset, aren’t you?” she asked gently. Guddu looked away, but nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Kalpana said. “Come here.”
Kalpana sat beneath the old neem tree, her back straight, eyes calm, but every motion tender with purpose. As she loosened her blouse with elegance, Guddu stood still before her, unsure if he was truly welcome. The courtyard had gone completely silent. Even the birds seemed to pause.
Kalpana didn’t speak right away. She only smiled—a soft, mothering curve to her lips—and reached forward to hold cheek with her thumbs to land a wet kiss on his mouth. The gesture, gentle and deliberate, settled the boy. She continued kissing him sucking his lips. With a reassuring nod, she drew him close.
Her hand slid behind his head, fingers weaving into his hair with the ease of someone who had done this many times before. When her breast was exposed, soft and full in the dappled light, she brought him in slowly. Guddu opened his mouth, and Kalpana guided him patiently, waiting until he latched just right—until her nipple settled into the warmth of his mouth.
She exhaled, there was no milk, her nipple released some sour watery substance, but guddu was not sucking for milk. Her hand cradled the base of his skull, her thumb brushing gently across his temple. She bent her head slightly, resting her cheek near his crown, almost humming without sound. She wasn’t just feeding him—she was "giving" herself fully to him, present in body and spirit.
From the edge of the courtyard, Suraj watched.
He’d seen Kalpana feed before. He had been in that position, tucked against her, her fingers threading through his hair, her blouse falling lazily to the side. But this was different. She wasn’t just feeding Guddu—she was "caring" for him.
When Guddu paused to breathe, Kalpana shifted slightly, cupping his cheek in her palm and whispering something low only he could hear. Her fingers lightly caressed the edge of his ear, her gaze soft and steady.
Suraj’s jaw tightened. His arms crossed. His foot scuffed against the ground.
Ramesh noticed, nudging him lightly, but Suraj didn’t look away. Not once.
Kalpana leaned back just enough to let Guddu adjust. She smiled at him again—truly smiled—and gently wiped a drop of milk from the corner of his lips with the edge of her saree. The same saree that now draped across his head like a canopy, shielding him in closeness.
Then came the final cue—Guddu’s hand reaching around her waist, and Kalpana drawing him in closer, placing a protective hand over his fingers as she continued to feed.
Suraj turned his head.
He couldn’t explain the feeling exactly. Not hunger. Not need. But something that burned low and quiet—a kind of ache. She had never wiped milk from his lips like that. Never whispered to him during feeding. He had received care—but this looked like "belonging".
Kalpana looked up once, briefly, and met Suraj’s eyes. Her expression didn’t falter—but there was a quiet message there: not rejection, not apology—just a quiet assertion of who is incharge.
The afternoon heat clung heavily to the mud walls of the courtyard as Aarti stormed into Kalpana’s home, her brows furrowed and mouth tight. Kalpana, seated on the edge of the cot, looked up, surprised by the sudden entrance.
“You need to explain yourself,” Aarti said exposing her bruised breasts.
Kalpana blinked. “What happened?”
“You happened!” Aarti snapped. “Ever since you stopped feeding Suraj, he’s at my house every day, tugging at me like I belong to him. And what’s worse—Guddu won’t even come near me anymore. You’ve made a mess of this, Kalpana.”
Kalpana stood slowly, confused and defensive. “I didn’t ask him to run to you.”
“No, but you spoiled him, called him your husband, gave him whatever he wanted. And then suddenly stopped. And now Guddu—my Guddu—has to sit in corners watching Suraj feed from me until there’s nothing left. He’s jealous, quiet, withdrawn.”
Kalpana’s face softened. The guilt settled between her shoulders.
“I was just trying to draw a line. But maybe... I drew it in the wrong place.”
Aarti folded her arms. “Then do something right for once.”
Kalpana was silent for a moment. Then an idea came over her—clear, purposeful.
“Where are they now?”
“In the courtyard. All of them.”
Kalpana didn’t wait. She stepped out, calling for the boys. Suraj, Guddu, and Ramesh turned toward her. Guddu’s face was cautious, unsure. Kalpana walked straight to him and took his hand.
“You’re upset, aren’t you?” she asked gently. Guddu looked away, but nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Kalpana said. “Come here.”
Kalpana sat beneath the old neem tree, her back straight, eyes calm, but every motion tender with purpose. As she loosened her blouse with elegance, Guddu stood still before her, unsure if he was truly welcome. The courtyard had gone completely silent. Even the birds seemed to pause.
Kalpana didn’t speak right away. She only smiled—a soft, mothering curve to her lips—and reached forward to hold cheek with her thumbs to land a wet kiss on his mouth. The gesture, gentle and deliberate, settled the boy. She continued kissing him sucking his lips. With a reassuring nod, she drew him close.
Her hand slid behind his head, fingers weaving into his hair with the ease of someone who had done this many times before. When her breast was exposed, soft and full in the dappled light, she brought him in slowly. Guddu opened his mouth, and Kalpana guided him patiently, waiting until he latched just right—until her nipple settled into the warmth of his mouth.
She exhaled, there was no milk, her nipple released some sour watery substance, but guddu was not sucking for milk. Her hand cradled the base of his skull, her thumb brushing gently across his temple. She bent her head slightly, resting her cheek near his crown, almost humming without sound. She wasn’t just feeding him—she was "giving" herself fully to him, present in body and spirit.
From the edge of the courtyard, Suraj watched.
He’d seen Kalpana feed before. He had been in that position, tucked against her, her fingers threading through his hair, her blouse falling lazily to the side. But this was different. She wasn’t just feeding Guddu—she was "caring" for him.
When Guddu paused to breathe, Kalpana shifted slightly, cupping his cheek in her palm and whispering something low only he could hear. Her fingers lightly caressed the edge of his ear, her gaze soft and steady.
Suraj’s jaw tightened. His arms crossed. His foot scuffed against the ground.
Ramesh noticed, nudging him lightly, but Suraj didn’t look away. Not once.
Kalpana leaned back just enough to let Guddu adjust. She smiled at him again—truly smiled—and gently wiped a drop of milk from the corner of his lips with the edge of her saree. The same saree that now draped across his head like a canopy, shielding him in closeness.
Then came the final cue—Guddu’s hand reaching around her waist, and Kalpana drawing him in closer, placing a protective hand over his fingers as she continued to feed.
Suraj turned his head.
He couldn’t explain the feeling exactly. Not hunger. Not need. But something that burned low and quiet—a kind of ache. She had never wiped milk from his lips like that. Never whispered to him during feeding. He had received care—but this looked like "belonging".
Kalpana looked up once, briefly, and met Suraj’s eyes. Her expression didn’t falter—but there was a quiet message there: not rejection, not apology—just a quiet assertion of who is incharge.
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Update 32
Suraj remained standing under the neem tree longer than anyone noticed. His eyes didn’t leave Kalpana, not even as Guddu suckled slowly, rhythmically, her arm curled around him in quiet protection. She wiped a trace of milk from his lips, adjusted her saree over his head, and whispered something—so soft it didn’t reach anyone else.
It was the kind of attention Suraj knew too well. And now, it wasn’t his.
He looked away, jaw tightening just slightly. The ache in his chest wasn’t hunger—it was something heavier. A silent understanding that the bond had changed.
Kalpana met his gaze once—gentle, steady, and final. “You’ve lost your chance,” she said quietly, almost as if she knew what he couldn’t say. “And stealing milk from your friends...”
She wasn’t cruel. But she was clear.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t ask to stay. Suraj simply turned and walked away, the dust rising behind his quiet steps. He didn’t look back. And Kalpana, with Guddu nestled close against her, didn’t call him either.
That was the last time Suraj came to her for comfort.
With Suraj’s visits no longer casting long shadows over Aarti’s veranda or Kalpana’s courtyard, the rhythm of the day became gentler, more even.
Ramesh spent more time between Suhana and Meena’s homes. He was no longer shy in choosing where to rest his head. Suhana, standing at the stove one morning, let her blouse fall loose with ease as he stepped in, wrapping his arms around her waist. She didn’t pause. She shifted just enough to let him nurse quietly at her side, her hand stirring a pot while his mouth drew comfort slowly from her breast.
Later that day, Ramesh crawled into Meena’s lap without a word. She looked down, brushed his hair aside, and adjusted her blouse. Her breast, smaller but warm, slipped easily into his mouth. She smiled as he suckled—not hungrily, but as if checking to make sure she was his.
Amit had become more comfortable too. With Meena’s gentle guidance, he had learned to rest longer, draw slower. She had begun to notice his little quirks—the way he liked to hold the edge of her saree, the way he pressed his cheek against the curve of her breast even after feeding.
Guddu, now the center of Kalpana’s care, had blossomed again. He no longer watched others feed in silence. He came eagerly, but respectfully. Kalpana had found her balance. She was firm, yes—but now that she had chosen, she called Guddu her husband. Her breasts started producing milk.
For the boys, there would always be a hand to guide them, a breast to offer peace, and a woman who saw their need before they ever had to speak it.
Suraj remained standing under the neem tree longer than anyone noticed. His eyes didn’t leave Kalpana, not even as Guddu suckled slowly, rhythmically, her arm curled around him in quiet protection. She wiped a trace of milk from his lips, adjusted her saree over his head, and whispered something—so soft it didn’t reach anyone else.
It was the kind of attention Suraj knew too well. And now, it wasn’t his.
He looked away, jaw tightening just slightly. The ache in his chest wasn’t hunger—it was something heavier. A silent understanding that the bond had changed.
Kalpana met his gaze once—gentle, steady, and final. “You’ve lost your chance,” she said quietly, almost as if she knew what he couldn’t say. “And stealing milk from your friends...”
She wasn’t cruel. But she was clear.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t ask to stay. Suraj simply turned and walked away, the dust rising behind his quiet steps. He didn’t look back. And Kalpana, with Guddu nestled close against her, didn’t call him either.
That was the last time Suraj came to her for comfort.
With Suraj’s visits no longer casting long shadows over Aarti’s veranda or Kalpana’s courtyard, the rhythm of the day became gentler, more even.
Ramesh spent more time between Suhana and Meena’s homes. He was no longer shy in choosing where to rest his head. Suhana, standing at the stove one morning, let her blouse fall loose with ease as he stepped in, wrapping his arms around her waist. She didn’t pause. She shifted just enough to let him nurse quietly at her side, her hand stirring a pot while his mouth drew comfort slowly from her breast.
Later that day, Ramesh crawled into Meena’s lap without a word. She looked down, brushed his hair aside, and adjusted her blouse. Her breast, smaller but warm, slipped easily into his mouth. She smiled as he suckled—not hungrily, but as if checking to make sure she was his.
Amit had become more comfortable too. With Meena’s gentle guidance, he had learned to rest longer, draw slower. She had begun to notice his little quirks—the way he liked to hold the edge of her saree, the way he pressed his cheek against the curve of her breast even after feeding.
Guddu, now the center of Kalpana’s care, had blossomed again. He no longer watched others feed in silence. He came eagerly, but respectfully. Kalpana had found her balance. She was firm, yes—but now that she had chosen, she called Guddu her husband. Her breasts started producing milk.
For the boys, there would always be a hand to guide them, a breast to offer peace, and a woman who saw their need before they ever had to speak it.
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Dear writer,
The story is good but how come suddenly kalpana got breast milk. It's a bit illogical. I think you can do better.
And what about some new ideas, I think you can give the ideas a real meaning through your story telling, so just wanna pushing some dirty ideas to you, to influence your dark side because the story need some more explicit contents, so here are they:
Like tribal festival or breastfeeding campaign where breastfeeding exhibitionism will be portrayed more.
Or more explicit content like: woman forced to sell their milk or fucked while breastfeeding their child or child birth during sex or in public while having anal or Motherly affection in a more taboo way. Etc.
Reply if either you think I helpful or you think I am a lunatic. Others hit a like or reply if you like the ideas or agree with me.
Thank you,
titsucker
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