Chapter 1
Raju had always been curious about his father’s family, though his mother’s hatred for them loomed large over his childhood. She often called them “perverted” and “savage” without ever explaining why. On her deathbed, she asked Raju to visit his father’s village and meet his relatives. Months later, in May, Raju finally made the journey from Mumbai to Walwan, a remote village in Maharashtra.
Walwan was a world apart from the city—a quiet, slow-paced place where life seemed untouched by time. His family’s modest home stood at the center of this peaceful village, alive with activity when he arrived in the early morning.
Raju met his two aunts, Sujata and Manisha. Sujata, married to his uncle Sumit, was practical and no-nonsense. Manisha, married to his uncle Sanjeev, intrigued Raju—like his mother, she was a city girl, but unlike her, she had adapted to rural life. His mother had called her "loose" for embracing village life, but Raju wondered if it was a sign of strength.
The household had its tensions. His grandfather, though frail and reliant on a cane, was still lively. His father, Ramesh, now around fifty, was forgetful and subdued. Raju noticed that his aunts seemed frustrated with the older men, though they cared for them diligently.
Sumit, a local politician, and Sanjeev, who owned a vehicle showroom, were successful and respected, keeping the family financially stable. Yet the atmosphere of the house hinted at years of unspoken struggles and sacrifices.
As Raju observed the family, he remembered his mother’s bitterness and the questions that had haunted him growing up. What had caused her hatred? Was it a clash of cultures, or was there a darker secret hidden in his family’s past?
Raju resolved to stay open-minded. This visit wasn’t just about fulfilling his mother’s last wish—it was an opportunity to uncover the truth about his family and confront the shadows of their history.
Sujata Aunty was a striking woman—tall, with smooth, dark skin that glistened in the morning light. Her figure was athletic yet voluptuous, her juicy, firm breasts accentuated by the graceful drape of her saree, hinting at her natural confidence. Her thick, oiled hair was tied neatly, and her commanding presence exuded authority and elegance as she moved swiftly through the house.
Manisha Aunty, on the other hand, was a vision of delicate beauty. Fair-skinned and petite, she had the poise of a model, with soft, refined features and an alluring charm. Her saree hugged her slender frame, highlighting her shapely curves, and the faint outline of her perky figure was visible beneath the fabric. Her juicy, round buttocks swayed gently as she moved, her every gesture seemingly effortless, drawing attention without trying.
“Chalo, Baba, doodh pila deti hu,” Sujata Aunty called out firmly to her father-in-law, who was sitting nearby, watching the morning unfold. Her tone was brisk yet respectful, and the old man rose without hesitation, obedient to her authority.
Manisha Aunty turned her gaze toward Raju’s father, who sat quietly in the corner. “Bhaiya, is time,” she said in a softer, almost melodic tone. Her voice was gentle but firm, and Raju’s father nodded slowly, rising to his feet with a familiar ease, as if following an unspoken routine.
Sujata Aunty patted the space beside her on the bench, indicating that Raju’s father should sit. He lay down with ease, his head resting on her lap as she adjusted her blouse, pulling aside the fabric without a second thought. She gently guided him to latch on to her breasts, urging him, “Come on, bhaiya, drink properly.”
Raju was shocked and realized this is what his mother was talking about. When he looked at sujatha she told him that his mother used to feed their husband which made their grow strong and perform well in college. Raju didn't say anything but observed.
The sound of milk being drawn quietly filled the room, a soft rhythm as her father in law drank. Sujata Aunty’s hand rested on his head, holding him in place as he fed. When his movements became slow, she sighed in frustration. “Stop dawdling, Baba, drink quickly. You need to finish soon.”
Raju’s father, on the other hand, was sitting by Manisha Aunty. She adjusted her blouse and motioned for him to lean forward. His head rested against her chest as he latched on. She made sure he was positioned properly, pressing slightly to encourage the milk to flow more freely. “You need to drink faster. We have work to do,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, impatience creeping in as he struggled to latch properly.
She gently pressed her breast, increasing the flow. “Drink faster, or you’ll be hungry again in an hour,” she muttered under her breath.
Sujata Aunty glanced over at Manisha Aunty. “If he doesn’t hurry up, we’ll be here all morning.” She adjusted my father's head once again, making sure the milk flowed more freely. “Hurry up,” she urged him, her voice stern. She wasn’t in the mood for delays.
The men were slow, who loved to suck and play with their breasts, taking their time as always, but the women didn’t let it faze them. They were used to this. Their voices would sometimes grow sharper as the minutes passed.
“Drink, Baba, drink. Don’t waste it,” Sujata Aunty said, her tone sharp as she repositioned her FIL's head. She shifted her blouse aside, her hand moving to help press against her breast, encouraging more milk to flow faster. He was slow, and she knew that if he didn’t drink quickly, it would make the rest of the day more difficult.
Manisha Aunty mirrored sujathas actions. She sighed when my father didn’t latch properly. “Come on, bhaiya, I don’t have all day,” she muttered, irritated. She gently pushed him into position again, making sure he was drinking properly. She didn’t have time for him to linger. The house had a lot of work to get done, and she had other things waiting for her.
Raju’s grandfather, after several more moments of difficulty, finally began to drink with a steady rhythm. Sujata Aunty relaxed a little, watching him, though her eyes were still full of quiet frustration. “At least you’re getting better at this,” she muttered. Her hand remained on his head as she softly urged him to drink more.
Raju’s father, too, was getting fuller now, though he had taken longer than expected. Manisha Aunty, still keeping a watchful eye on him, sighed with relief when she felt he was done. She wiped her hands on her skirt and stood up, letting him rest for a moment before urging him to get back to his tasks.
Sujata Aunty, her patience thinning, looked at her husband who was waiting for his breakfast and adjusted her blouse again, helping dadaji finish the last of the milk. “There, you’re done now,” she said, her tone softer now, though still with an edge of impatience. She moved away to tend to other chores.
As the elderly men slowly got up, content and full, the aunts moved on to other responsibilities. The room quieted down again, but there was no time for lingering.
The day began to unfold as usual, with the women taking care of everything—feeding the men, making sure they had what they needed, and then moving on to the next task. There was no fuss, no ceremony about it. It was simply another part of the day, done out of habit, necessity, and the routine of village life.
Raju’s father, feeling full and content, smiled at Manisha Aunty. “Thanks, manisha,” he said, though his voice was a little quieter than usual.
Manisha Aunty, wiping her hands on her sari, smiled and gave Raju’s father a nod. He stood up slowly, satisfied with the meal, and wandered off to join the others outside.
Raju, standing off to the side, noticed how easy it was for the women to shift from performing such intimate act for these men to performing their daily tasks without any hesitation. There was no embarrassment in their actions, only the simple, practical nature of life here.
For them, it wasn’t about ritual or tradition—it was about ensuring these men were cared for, about feeding them when they needed it most, and moving on to the next part of the day. The women didn’t waste time, and the men did what was necessary to stay healthy, even if it was a task that most people outside of the village would never understand.
Raju had been observing his aunts all morning—how they moved effortlessly between tasks, how they cared for the men of the village, feeding them with such care and routine. The image of his aunts’ nurturing presence lingered in his mind, and a curiosity began to build inside him.
Unable to resist, he stood up and walked toward the kitchen where Manisha Aunty was grinding spices. He paused at the doorway, watching her for a moment before gathering the courage to speak.
“Aunty...” Raju began, his voice hesitant. “Can I... see your breasts?”
Manisha Aunty didn’t look up immediately, continuing to grind the spices with precision. But she knew he was there, could sense his presence as surely as she knew the rhythm of her work. After a few moments, she sighed and set the grinding stone down, her attention finally shifting to him.
“You’re curious, I know,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “But you must understand, it’s not just about breasts, Raju. It’s nourishment. It’s not just something physical. It’s a way to keep the body full, to feel grounded, to stay strong. You want to feel it, don’t you?”
Raju stood still, unsure of how to respond. His curiosity about the act of breastfeeding, of feeling the nourishment, was evident on his face. It wasn’t just the milk that intrigued him, but the closeness, the warmth, the comfort that came with it.
Manisha Aunty saw the uncertainty in his eyes and, with a slight frown, gestured for him to come closer. “Alright, come,” she said with an almost imperceptible sigh. “But drink fast. Don't start to play with my breasts with your tongue like you will do with your gf. I have work to do.”
Raju didn’t hesitate. He walked toward her, kneeling down next to her on the floor. Without any further words, Manisha Aunty removed her breast, pulling her nipple to Raju. She looked down at him with an unreadable expression before guiding him gently toward her.
“Go ahead,” she said, her voice not unkind but still tinged with the urgency of her tasks. She helped him latch on quickly, her hands steady as she positioned him, making sure he was comfortable. She didn’t linger or wait for him to settle fully; there was no time for that. Her hands quickly returned to her work, grabbing the mortar and pestle again, grinding the spices with a quick, practiced rhythm.
Raju’s lips pressed against her breast, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to melt away. The taste of the milk, warm and thick, filled his mouth. He felt arousal in his penis which manisha saw as well. But she might be used to it. He was loving the feeling of sucking boobs he will never see in his life. The flow of milk as he pressed nipple with his tongue and upper mouth was making him sleepy. He could feel the hurry in Manisha Aunty’s movements, the way she shifted between her task and him, her attention split between the work and the nourishment she was providing.
She gave him no time to linger, no opportunity to savor the moment. “Drink quickly,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent. “We don’t have time for anything slow.”
Raju tried to drink faster, but it was harder than he expected, the urgency of her voice echoing in his ears as he felt her pressing the milk out to increase the flow. Manisha Aunty’s hand moved from his head to her breast, gently pressing to help him feed more quickly.
She worked as she fed him, continuing to grind the spices, the rhythm of the mortar and pestle blending with the quiet suckling sounds. Despite her multitasking, there was a certain warmth in the act itself, a tenderness that Raju couldn’t ignore.
His stomach, already starting to feel full, didn’t stop him from drinking. The milk filled him, grounding him, nourishing him. There was no hesitation now, no doubt. His thirst and hunger were being quenched by her, in a way that was both natural and ordinary.
As soon as Raju had taken enough, Manisha Aunty pulled him away gently, not wanting to waste any more time. “There, you’re done,” she said with a finality in her tone. She quickly adjusted her blouse and returned to her work, resuming her grinding, her hands moving just as quickly as before.
Raju sat there for a moment, still processing what had just happened, the full feeling in his stomach a reminder of the connection, the nourishment he had received. But there was no time to dwell on it; his aunt’s focus was entirely on the task at hand, and the rhythm of village life continued as it always had.
Raju had always been curious about his father’s family, though his mother’s hatred for them loomed large over his childhood. She often called them “perverted” and “savage” without ever explaining why. On her deathbed, she asked Raju to visit his father’s village and meet his relatives. Months later, in May, Raju finally made the journey from Mumbai to Walwan, a remote village in Maharashtra.
Walwan was a world apart from the city—a quiet, slow-paced place where life seemed untouched by time. His family’s modest home stood at the center of this peaceful village, alive with activity when he arrived in the early morning.
Raju met his two aunts, Sujata and Manisha. Sujata, married to his uncle Sumit, was practical and no-nonsense. Manisha, married to his uncle Sanjeev, intrigued Raju—like his mother, she was a city girl, but unlike her, she had adapted to rural life. His mother had called her "loose" for embracing village life, but Raju wondered if it was a sign of strength.
The household had its tensions. His grandfather, though frail and reliant on a cane, was still lively. His father, Ramesh, now around fifty, was forgetful and subdued. Raju noticed that his aunts seemed frustrated with the older men, though they cared for them diligently.
Sumit, a local politician, and Sanjeev, who owned a vehicle showroom, were successful and respected, keeping the family financially stable. Yet the atmosphere of the house hinted at years of unspoken struggles and sacrifices.
As Raju observed the family, he remembered his mother’s bitterness and the questions that had haunted him growing up. What had caused her hatred? Was it a clash of cultures, or was there a darker secret hidden in his family’s past?
Raju resolved to stay open-minded. This visit wasn’t just about fulfilling his mother’s last wish—it was an opportunity to uncover the truth about his family and confront the shadows of their history.
Sujata Aunty was a striking woman—tall, with smooth, dark skin that glistened in the morning light. Her figure was athletic yet voluptuous, her juicy, firm breasts accentuated by the graceful drape of her saree, hinting at her natural confidence. Her thick, oiled hair was tied neatly, and her commanding presence exuded authority and elegance as she moved swiftly through the house.
Manisha Aunty, on the other hand, was a vision of delicate beauty. Fair-skinned and petite, she had the poise of a model, with soft, refined features and an alluring charm. Her saree hugged her slender frame, highlighting her shapely curves, and the faint outline of her perky figure was visible beneath the fabric. Her juicy, round buttocks swayed gently as she moved, her every gesture seemingly effortless, drawing attention without trying.
“Chalo, Baba, doodh pila deti hu,” Sujata Aunty called out firmly to her father-in-law, who was sitting nearby, watching the morning unfold. Her tone was brisk yet respectful, and the old man rose without hesitation, obedient to her authority.
Manisha Aunty turned her gaze toward Raju’s father, who sat quietly in the corner. “Bhaiya, is time,” she said in a softer, almost melodic tone. Her voice was gentle but firm, and Raju’s father nodded slowly, rising to his feet with a familiar ease, as if following an unspoken routine.
Sujata Aunty patted the space beside her on the bench, indicating that Raju’s father should sit. He lay down with ease, his head resting on her lap as she adjusted her blouse, pulling aside the fabric without a second thought. She gently guided him to latch on to her breasts, urging him, “Come on, bhaiya, drink properly.”
Raju was shocked and realized this is what his mother was talking about. When he looked at sujatha she told him that his mother used to feed their husband which made their grow strong and perform well in college. Raju didn't say anything but observed.
The sound of milk being drawn quietly filled the room, a soft rhythm as her father in law drank. Sujata Aunty’s hand rested on his head, holding him in place as he fed. When his movements became slow, she sighed in frustration. “Stop dawdling, Baba, drink quickly. You need to finish soon.”
Raju’s father, on the other hand, was sitting by Manisha Aunty. She adjusted her blouse and motioned for him to lean forward. His head rested against her chest as he latched on. She made sure he was positioned properly, pressing slightly to encourage the milk to flow more freely. “You need to drink faster. We have work to do,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, impatience creeping in as he struggled to latch properly.
She gently pressed her breast, increasing the flow. “Drink faster, or you’ll be hungry again in an hour,” she muttered under her breath.
Sujata Aunty glanced over at Manisha Aunty. “If he doesn’t hurry up, we’ll be here all morning.” She adjusted my father's head once again, making sure the milk flowed more freely. “Hurry up,” she urged him, her voice stern. She wasn’t in the mood for delays.
The men were slow, who loved to suck and play with their breasts, taking their time as always, but the women didn’t let it faze them. They were used to this. Their voices would sometimes grow sharper as the minutes passed.
“Drink, Baba, drink. Don’t waste it,” Sujata Aunty said, her tone sharp as she repositioned her FIL's head. She shifted her blouse aside, her hand moving to help press against her breast, encouraging more milk to flow faster. He was slow, and she knew that if he didn’t drink quickly, it would make the rest of the day more difficult.
Manisha Aunty mirrored sujathas actions. She sighed when my father didn’t latch properly. “Come on, bhaiya, I don’t have all day,” she muttered, irritated. She gently pushed him into position again, making sure he was drinking properly. She didn’t have time for him to linger. The house had a lot of work to get done, and she had other things waiting for her.
Raju’s grandfather, after several more moments of difficulty, finally began to drink with a steady rhythm. Sujata Aunty relaxed a little, watching him, though her eyes were still full of quiet frustration. “At least you’re getting better at this,” she muttered. Her hand remained on his head as she softly urged him to drink more.
Raju’s father, too, was getting fuller now, though he had taken longer than expected. Manisha Aunty, still keeping a watchful eye on him, sighed with relief when she felt he was done. She wiped her hands on her skirt and stood up, letting him rest for a moment before urging him to get back to his tasks.
Sujata Aunty, her patience thinning, looked at her husband who was waiting for his breakfast and adjusted her blouse again, helping dadaji finish the last of the milk. “There, you’re done now,” she said, her tone softer now, though still with an edge of impatience. She moved away to tend to other chores.
As the elderly men slowly got up, content and full, the aunts moved on to other responsibilities. The room quieted down again, but there was no time for lingering.
The day began to unfold as usual, with the women taking care of everything—feeding the men, making sure they had what they needed, and then moving on to the next task. There was no fuss, no ceremony about it. It was simply another part of the day, done out of habit, necessity, and the routine of village life.
Raju’s father, feeling full and content, smiled at Manisha Aunty. “Thanks, manisha,” he said, though his voice was a little quieter than usual.
Manisha Aunty, wiping her hands on her sari, smiled and gave Raju’s father a nod. He stood up slowly, satisfied with the meal, and wandered off to join the others outside.
Raju, standing off to the side, noticed how easy it was for the women to shift from performing such intimate act for these men to performing their daily tasks without any hesitation. There was no embarrassment in their actions, only the simple, practical nature of life here.
For them, it wasn’t about ritual or tradition—it was about ensuring these men were cared for, about feeding them when they needed it most, and moving on to the next part of the day. The women didn’t waste time, and the men did what was necessary to stay healthy, even if it was a task that most people outside of the village would never understand.
Raju had been observing his aunts all morning—how they moved effortlessly between tasks, how they cared for the men of the village, feeding them with such care and routine. The image of his aunts’ nurturing presence lingered in his mind, and a curiosity began to build inside him.
Unable to resist, he stood up and walked toward the kitchen where Manisha Aunty was grinding spices. He paused at the doorway, watching her for a moment before gathering the courage to speak.
“Aunty...” Raju began, his voice hesitant. “Can I... see your breasts?”
Manisha Aunty didn’t look up immediately, continuing to grind the spices with precision. But she knew he was there, could sense his presence as surely as she knew the rhythm of her work. After a few moments, she sighed and set the grinding stone down, her attention finally shifting to him.
“You’re curious, I know,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “But you must understand, it’s not just about breasts, Raju. It’s nourishment. It’s not just something physical. It’s a way to keep the body full, to feel grounded, to stay strong. You want to feel it, don’t you?”
Raju stood still, unsure of how to respond. His curiosity about the act of breastfeeding, of feeling the nourishment, was evident on his face. It wasn’t just the milk that intrigued him, but the closeness, the warmth, the comfort that came with it.
Manisha Aunty saw the uncertainty in his eyes and, with a slight frown, gestured for him to come closer. “Alright, come,” she said with an almost imperceptible sigh. “But drink fast. Don't start to play with my breasts with your tongue like you will do with your gf. I have work to do.”
Raju didn’t hesitate. He walked toward her, kneeling down next to her on the floor. Without any further words, Manisha Aunty removed her breast, pulling her nipple to Raju. She looked down at him with an unreadable expression before guiding him gently toward her.
“Go ahead,” she said, her voice not unkind but still tinged with the urgency of her tasks. She helped him latch on quickly, her hands steady as she positioned him, making sure he was comfortable. She didn’t linger or wait for him to settle fully; there was no time for that. Her hands quickly returned to her work, grabbing the mortar and pestle again, grinding the spices with a quick, practiced rhythm.
Raju’s lips pressed against her breast, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to melt away. The taste of the milk, warm and thick, filled his mouth. He felt arousal in his penis which manisha saw as well. But she might be used to it. He was loving the feeling of sucking boobs he will never see in his life. The flow of milk as he pressed nipple with his tongue and upper mouth was making him sleepy. He could feel the hurry in Manisha Aunty’s movements, the way she shifted between her task and him, her attention split between the work and the nourishment she was providing.
She gave him no time to linger, no opportunity to savor the moment. “Drink quickly,” she urged, her voice soft but insistent. “We don’t have time for anything slow.”
Raju tried to drink faster, but it was harder than he expected, the urgency of her voice echoing in his ears as he felt her pressing the milk out to increase the flow. Manisha Aunty’s hand moved from his head to her breast, gently pressing to help him feed more quickly.
She worked as she fed him, continuing to grind the spices, the rhythm of the mortar and pestle blending with the quiet suckling sounds. Despite her multitasking, there was a certain warmth in the act itself, a tenderness that Raju couldn’t ignore.
His stomach, already starting to feel full, didn’t stop him from drinking. The milk filled him, grounding him, nourishing him. There was no hesitation now, no doubt. His thirst and hunger were being quenched by her, in a way that was both natural and ordinary.
As soon as Raju had taken enough, Manisha Aunty pulled him away gently, not wanting to waste any more time. “There, you’re done,” she said with a finality in her tone. She quickly adjusted her blouse and returned to her work, resuming her grinding, her hands moving just as quickly as before.
Raju sat there for a moment, still processing what had just happened, the full feeling in his stomach a reminder of the connection, the nourishment he had received. But there was no time to dwell on it; his aunt’s focus was entirely on the task at hand, and the rhythm of village life continued as it always had.
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