Update 21
In walvan Suraj’s older brother married a beautiful girl from nearby village. She had perfect body, 34dd breasts and a beautiful face. Whole village stare at her covered breasts and small cleavage trying to catch glimpse. The wedding had ended just as the evening lamps were being lit. Kalpana, newly married, stepped into her new home in Walvan draped in layers of red and gold—her bridal saree heavy with embroidery, her jewelry still jingling softly with each step. The women of the house had guided her gently to the room she would now share, all offering warm smiles and playful remarks.
Kalpana came from a nearby village where traditions ran deep and matriarchal customs shaped the rhythm of everyday life. Her village practiced fraternal polyandry—where a woman could be married to more than one man, usually brothers—and care was considered a shared responsibility. Extended breastfeeding, even for older children, was not just accepted—it was expected as an act of deep familial love. Kalpana had grown up surrounded by it and carried that sense of maternal readiness with her.
As she entered, adjusting her veil, she paused—something moved in the corner.
A voice spoke from near the curtain: "If you want me to go and let you rest, you should feed me first."
Kalpana blinked, caught between amusement and familiarity. There, hiding partly behind the curtain, was her devar, her young brother-in-law, Suraj. His tone was mischievous but sincere, as if this request was completely normal.
At the door, a few older women chuckled. One whispered to the others, "It has started today itself! She hasn’t even changed, and already he’s making demands."
Kalpana didn’t flinch. She looked at the boy, then at her bridal outfit—so grand, so tight, so ceremonial. With a soft sigh, she walked over to the charpai and sat down.
The weight of her outfit made every movement deliberate. She began unfastening the ornate blouse, fingers struggling with the tight hooks beneath her heavy necklace. The gold-trimmed fabric rustled as she eased it off one shoulder. Her bangles clinked gently, and her veil slid slightly as she finally freed herself enough to reach beneath the blouse. Her fingers found the firm fullness of her breast, lifting it gently out into the open air. The contrast of soft skin against the ornate fabric was striking. Her nipple, now exposed, stood firm in the evening light, reacting to the anticipation and the cool breeze.
She patted the bedding beside her. "Come, if you’re going to demand, you better not waste my time," she teased gently.
Her devar sat near her eagerly, settling beside her. His hands, reached naturally toward her, cupping the underside of her breast with caution. Kalpana guided him, gently adjusting her posture so he could latch easily. His lips brushed her nipple once, then found their hold, and the moment he began to suckle, Kalpana’s breath hitched.
The suction was firm and warm. His tongue moved with skillful presses, pulling her nipple hoping milk to flow. She felt it build and release in rhythmic waves, the tension in her chest slowly giving way to relief. He suckled with purpose, cheeks drawing in softly with each pull, his hands resting warmly along her ribs. She cradled his head with one hand and steadied her breast with the other, her expression calm and deeply present.
From the doorway, the women peeked again and giggled louder now. One whispered, “She hasn’t even put down her wedding flowers and already she’s feeding like a mother.”
Another added, “With breasts like those, he’ll never want to leave her lap.”
Just behind them, Suhana stood in the outer doorway, leaning casually against the frame with Ramesh sneaking his hand under her blouse. Her blouse was pulled down with one hand, and her other held Ramesh steady as he suckled standing upright. His hands were under her saree, gripping her waist for balance, his lips moving in steady, confident pulls. Suhana smiled as she watched Kalpana, her own blouse undone just enough to keep Ramesh latched. Her breast rose and fell slowly with each suck, a soft sheen of milk visible on his lower lip.
The two women met eyes briefly—one initiating, the other remembering—and they shared a quiet nod of understanding.
Kalpana chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek as her devar shifted and drew deeper. Her bridal blouse now hung from one shoulder, half open, and the boy rested fully against her, nursing steadily.
"Let me care for this big boy tonight," she said looking at her husband at door. "From tomorrow, he’s mine to feed every day."
One of the women from the doorway laughed and added teasingly, “At this rate, he might grow up to be your next husband.”
Kalpana laughed aloud, gently squeezing her breast as her devar adjusted his mouth. “In my village, that wouldn’t be too strange,” she said playfully. “Who knows? He’s handsome enough.”
Her mother-in-law, standing nearby, smiled knowingly. “No, no, we don’t do that here. But… if he insists, who are we to stop affection?”
Their laughter echoed warmly through the hallway—not mocking, but celebratory. Kalpana smiled to herself, feeling a new kind of connection blossom—not just with the boy at her breast, but with the village, the family, and a tradition she had grown up with and was now proud to continue.
In walvan Suraj’s older brother married a beautiful girl from nearby village. She had perfect body, 34dd breasts and a beautiful face. Whole village stare at her covered breasts and small cleavage trying to catch glimpse. The wedding had ended just as the evening lamps were being lit. Kalpana, newly married, stepped into her new home in Walvan draped in layers of red and gold—her bridal saree heavy with embroidery, her jewelry still jingling softly with each step. The women of the house had guided her gently to the room she would now share, all offering warm smiles and playful remarks.
Kalpana came from a nearby village where traditions ran deep and matriarchal customs shaped the rhythm of everyday life. Her village practiced fraternal polyandry—where a woman could be married to more than one man, usually brothers—and care was considered a shared responsibility. Extended breastfeeding, even for older children, was not just accepted—it was expected as an act of deep familial love. Kalpana had grown up surrounded by it and carried that sense of maternal readiness with her.
As she entered, adjusting her veil, she paused—something moved in the corner.
A voice spoke from near the curtain: "If you want me to go and let you rest, you should feed me first."
Kalpana blinked, caught between amusement and familiarity. There, hiding partly behind the curtain, was her devar, her young brother-in-law, Suraj. His tone was mischievous but sincere, as if this request was completely normal.
At the door, a few older women chuckled. One whispered to the others, "It has started today itself! She hasn’t even changed, and already he’s making demands."
Kalpana didn’t flinch. She looked at the boy, then at her bridal outfit—so grand, so tight, so ceremonial. With a soft sigh, she walked over to the charpai and sat down.
The weight of her outfit made every movement deliberate. She began unfastening the ornate blouse, fingers struggling with the tight hooks beneath her heavy necklace. The gold-trimmed fabric rustled as she eased it off one shoulder. Her bangles clinked gently, and her veil slid slightly as she finally freed herself enough to reach beneath the blouse. Her fingers found the firm fullness of her breast, lifting it gently out into the open air. The contrast of soft skin against the ornate fabric was striking. Her nipple, now exposed, stood firm in the evening light, reacting to the anticipation and the cool breeze.
She patted the bedding beside her. "Come, if you’re going to demand, you better not waste my time," she teased gently.
Her devar sat near her eagerly, settling beside her. His hands, reached naturally toward her, cupping the underside of her breast with caution. Kalpana guided him, gently adjusting her posture so he could latch easily. His lips brushed her nipple once, then found their hold, and the moment he began to suckle, Kalpana’s breath hitched.
The suction was firm and warm. His tongue moved with skillful presses, pulling her nipple hoping milk to flow. She felt it build and release in rhythmic waves, the tension in her chest slowly giving way to relief. He suckled with purpose, cheeks drawing in softly with each pull, his hands resting warmly along her ribs. She cradled his head with one hand and steadied her breast with the other, her expression calm and deeply present.
From the doorway, the women peeked again and giggled louder now. One whispered, “She hasn’t even put down her wedding flowers and already she’s feeding like a mother.”
Another added, “With breasts like those, he’ll never want to leave her lap.”
Just behind them, Suhana stood in the outer doorway, leaning casually against the frame with Ramesh sneaking his hand under her blouse. Her blouse was pulled down with one hand, and her other held Ramesh steady as he suckled standing upright. His hands were under her saree, gripping her waist for balance, his lips moving in steady, confident pulls. Suhana smiled as she watched Kalpana, her own blouse undone just enough to keep Ramesh latched. Her breast rose and fell slowly with each suck, a soft sheen of milk visible on his lower lip.
The two women met eyes briefly—one initiating, the other remembering—and they shared a quiet nod of understanding.
Kalpana chuckled softly, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek as her devar shifted and drew deeper. Her bridal blouse now hung from one shoulder, half open, and the boy rested fully against her, nursing steadily.
"Let me care for this big boy tonight," she said looking at her husband at door. "From tomorrow, he’s mine to feed every day."
One of the women from the doorway laughed and added teasingly, “At this rate, he might grow up to be your next husband.”
Kalpana laughed aloud, gently squeezing her breast as her devar adjusted his mouth. “In my village, that wouldn’t be too strange,” she said playfully. “Who knows? He’s handsome enough.”
Her mother-in-law, standing nearby, smiled knowingly. “No, no, we don’t do that here. But… if he insists, who are we to stop affection?”
Their laughter echoed warmly through the hallway—not mocking, but celebratory. Kalpana smiled to herself, feeling a new kind of connection blossom—not just with the boy at her breast, but with the village, the family, and a tradition she had grown up with and was now proud to continue.
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