Update 20
The morning sun hadn’t yet warmed the courtyard tiles when Manisha leaned in, her voice lowered with a hint of mischief.
“Gita,” she murmured, “why don’t we let Sujata fuck Bablu today? She’s been asking, and honestly… you’ve earned a little break.”
I froze, hands deep in dough, the words settling uncomfortably. Sujata? She was kind, yes. Attentive. But she was also particular—strict, even—especially when it came to how she believed feeding should be done. I had heard her speak about posture, rhythm, the importance of ‘discipline in suckling’ as she once put it. She didn’t just feed—she trained.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly, unsure. “He’s adjusting to me. What if he doesn’t perform?”
Manisha gave me a knowing smile. “She won’t replace you, Gita. Just guide him in her way. You can be there. Watch. Learn, even.”
I hesitated, then nodded. My heart was conflicted, but curiosity tugged stronger than reluctance.
That afternoon, we walked to their house. Bablu clung to my hand tightly, his steps slower than usual. Sujata greeted us with a firm smile, already setting the mood of control.
“So,” she said, adjusting her saree sharply, “you’ve brought him for training, not just milk.”
I raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. “He’s just… curious.”
“He’s undisciplined,” she replied smoothly. “Playful. That’s lovely. But he must also learn how to drink properly. Boys like him—if you let them treat breasts like toys—they never learn to respect them.”
I swallowed. This was exactly what I’d expected from her. But part of me was intrigued.
Sujata had always carried herself with quiet authority. Even in the way she draped her saree or managed her household, there was a calm command that set her apart. Deep down I knew she has sex with her father-in-law. So when she sat on the mat and motioned Bablu forward, I could already sense this would feel different.
“Sit properly, Bablu,” she said gently but firmly, pulling him between her thick legs. She adjusted his posture with care, tucking his knees, straightening his back, and holding his penis between her fingers to guide him before she even began baring herself.
I watched, sitting off to the side near Manisha, as Sujata opened her blouse with slow, practiced fingers. Her breast was round and full, but she didn’t offer it immediately. Instead, she waited for Bablu to look at her—not the way children glance at food, but truly look, with intention.
“You don’t grab,” she told him calmly. “You receive. You wait for it.”
Bablu nodded, a little unsure, and I saw his hands twitch, wanting to reach. Sujata gently pushed them back.
“Let your hands rest on my thighs. Just like that.” She inserted his penis in her vagina.
Then she cupped her breast and offered it to his mouth, not forcefully, but with quiet control. He latched on, and she held the base firmly with one hand, guiding the rhythm herself.
Manisha nudged me lightly. “See? She feeds like a queen training her cub.”
I smiled, but my chest tightened with something else—curiosity, a touch of jealousy, maybe even admiration.
Sujata’s voice stayed calm as she continued, “You don’t just suck. You listen to the body. You let the warmth teach you.”
Bablu responded well. I could see it in how he settled, how his shoulders dropped and his lips softened around her nipple. Sujata stroked his hair rhythmically, murmuring instruction when he humped faster.
Manisha leaned closer and whispered, “She trained Raju like this too. Said it helps them understand patience.”
I nodded slowly, absorbing it all. My style had always been more instinctive—emotion-driven, reactive. With Bablu, I let myself go soft, let the moment guide me. But Sujata was showing me something else. A language of control, of structure. And Bablu, surprisingly, wasn’t resisting it. He was adjusting, even thriving in her hands.
When he pushed his sperms in her and looked up, Sujata didn’t rush. She touched his cheek, letting a drop of milk trail down his chin.
“Next time, you ask before cumming,” she said, lifting her other breast. “I lead. You follow.”
I felt my breath catch. Not because I disagreed—but because I never thought to ask that of him.
Later, when he had finished and lay curled against her thigh, Sujata looked up at me.
“He’s a good one. But he’s young. If you don’t guide him, he’ll grow hungry without knowing what he’s hungry for.”
Her words stayed with me, even as we shared tea after. I watched Bablu sleeping peacefully beside her, milk still glistening at the corner of his mouth, and wondered—what did I want to teach him? What kind of giver did I want to be?
