Erotica Story of Gita
- Thread starter RajuWalvan
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Manju143
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Great updates. Really great story writing. Just don't ignore the old people.
The story should include the old people of the village.
Update 8
Breastfeeding had become a part of my daily rhythm. The boys, would come to me without hesitation, seeking milk and comfort. Even Bhaiya, with his gaze and teasing comments, had become a regular presence, pressing against me as he drank. I had grown used to it, embraced it even. My skin glowed, my energy felt boundless, and in many ways, I felt more fulfilled than ever before.
But one afternoon, as I sat on the veranda, my mother-in-law’s sharp voice cut through the peace.
“You’ve got no shame feeding every boy in the village, but you won’t give your own sasurji what he needs? You think it’s respectable to have strange mouths on you but not your own family?” Her tone was biting, her eyes filled with judgment.
I stiffened. The idea had never crossed my mind. My father-in-law was frail, barely able to move, let alone speak.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” I muttered, my stomach twisting.
“Then maybe your husband should know how his wife prefers to parade herself naked for others but denies her own home,” she sneered. “You are shameless whore.”
I swallowed hard. There was no refusing her.
That evening, I made my way to my father-in-law’s room. He lay motionless on the cot, his thin chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His skin was ashen, his lips dry and darkened, a stark contrast to his pale, wrinkled face. His once-strong frame had withered, leaving only weakness behind.
Slowly, I sat beside him, my hands trembling as I cradled his head onto my lap. My heart pounded as I reached up, unfastening the hooks of my blouse with shaky fingers. The blouse slipped from my shoulders, and I hesitated before unclasping my bra. My breasts, though smaller than some of the other women’s, were full and firm, their fairness stark against the dim light. My dark, round areolae stood pronounced, a single bead of milk forming at the tip of my nipple.
Bringing it close to his lips, I let the scent reach him. His face twitched, his brows furrowing as if to refuse. But he was weak—too weak to push me away. His lips, dry and thin, parted slightly, hesitant. The first touch of my nipple against his mouth sent a shiver down my spine. A moment later, he latched on, though his latch was loose, his toothless gums pressing against my skin. His tongue, dry and slow, attempted to pull the milk from me. His suction was weak, nothing like the eager mouths I had grown used to.
I exhaled, adjusting my position so that he was fully supported. One hand cradled his head, my fingers brushing through his sparse hair, while the other gently held my breast, guiding him. His lips, at first slack, gradually became firmer, and with effort, he began to draw from me. A slow rhythm formed, his sunken cheeks hollowing as he drank. I could feel his tongue lapping against my nipple, wet and unfamiliar, his saliva warm against my skin.
As I watched him, I thought of Bhaiya, of Ramesh and Guddu, the way their hands clung to me, their eager suckling. This was different—less about hunger, more about sustenance, about duty. I thought of Leela, how she had taken to feeding Dadaji without hesitation. She was built like a goddess, her large, fair breasts generous and overflowing. Would my sasurji have protested if it were her instead? The thought made me smirk bitterly.
What would my husband think? Would he be disgusted, or would he understand? Did it even matter? My mother-in-law had decided for me.
His suckling became steadier, his frail body relaxing against me. His lips, once lifeless, now clung to my skin, drawing from me with slow determination. I shifted slightly, feeling his breath against my bare chest. His tongue flicked against my nipple with each pull, sending strange sensations through me. The wetness, the warmth—it was intimate in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
A strange warmth spread through me—not discomfort, not shame, but something else entirely. I had given in. And for now, I let myself accept it.
Breastfeeding had become a part of my daily rhythm. The boys, would come to me without hesitation, seeking milk and comfort. Even Bhaiya, with his gaze and teasing comments, had become a regular presence, pressing against me as he drank. I had grown used to it, embraced it even. My skin glowed, my energy felt boundless, and in many ways, I felt more fulfilled than ever before.
But one afternoon, as I sat on the veranda, my mother-in-law’s sharp voice cut through the peace.
“You’ve got no shame feeding every boy in the village, but you won’t give your own sasurji what he needs? You think it’s respectable to have strange mouths on you but not your own family?” Her tone was biting, her eyes filled with judgment.
I stiffened. The idea had never crossed my mind. My father-in-law was frail, barely able to move, let alone speak.
“I… I don’t know if I can,” I muttered, my stomach twisting.
“Then maybe your husband should know how his wife prefers to parade herself naked for others but denies her own home,” she sneered. “You are shameless whore.”
I swallowed hard. There was no refusing her.
That evening, I made my way to my father-in-law’s room. He lay motionless on the cot, his thin chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His skin was ashen, his lips dry and darkened, a stark contrast to his pale, wrinkled face. His once-strong frame had withered, leaving only weakness behind.
Slowly, I sat beside him, my hands trembling as I cradled his head onto my lap. My heart pounded as I reached up, unfastening the hooks of my blouse with shaky fingers. The blouse slipped from my shoulders, and I hesitated before unclasping my bra. My breasts, though smaller than some of the other women’s, were full and firm, their fairness stark against the dim light. My dark, round areolae stood pronounced, a single bead of milk forming at the tip of my nipple.
Bringing it close to his lips, I let the scent reach him. His face twitched, his brows furrowing as if to refuse. But he was weak—too weak to push me away. His lips, dry and thin, parted slightly, hesitant. The first touch of my nipple against his mouth sent a shiver down my spine. A moment later, he latched on, though his latch was loose, his toothless gums pressing against my skin. His tongue, dry and slow, attempted to pull the milk from me. His suction was weak, nothing like the eager mouths I had grown used to.
I exhaled, adjusting my position so that he was fully supported. One hand cradled his head, my fingers brushing through his sparse hair, while the other gently held my breast, guiding him. His lips, at first slack, gradually became firmer, and with effort, he began to draw from me. A slow rhythm formed, his sunken cheeks hollowing as he drank. I could feel his tongue lapping against my nipple, wet and unfamiliar, his saliva warm against my skin.
As I watched him, I thought of Bhaiya, of Ramesh and Guddu, the way their hands clung to me, their eager suckling. This was different—less about hunger, more about sustenance, about duty. I thought of Leela, how she had taken to feeding Dadaji without hesitation. She was built like a goddess, her large, fair breasts generous and overflowing. Would my sasurji have protested if it were her instead? The thought made me smirk bitterly.
What would my husband think? Would he be disgusted, or would he understand? Did it even matter? My mother-in-law had decided for me.
His suckling became steadier, his frail body relaxing against me. His lips, once lifeless, now clung to my skin, drawing from me with slow determination. I shifted slightly, feeling his breath against my bare chest. His tongue flicked against my nipple with each pull, sending strange sensations through me. The wetness, the warmth—it was intimate in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
A strange warmth spread through me—not discomfort, not shame, but something else entirely. I had given in. And for now, I let myself accept it.
Manju143
Member
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The story is nice.
I enjoyed reading the story because I got to read what was supposed to be read in the story.
Waiting for the next episode.
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Hey bro, please don't spoil a great story by introducing old men and grandpas' ..write a separate story for that if you have to. Keep Gita with Ramesh and Guddu and others in neighbourhood. That is what makes the story so interesting don't deviate. thanks again.
Update 9
One afternoon, my sister Radha arrived at my home with her teen son. It had been a long time since we last met, and I was happy to see her. We sat in the main room, catching up on family matters and our daily routines, while her son played nearby.
As the day went on, my usual routine approached. Ramesh and Guddu had already arrived, as they often did around this time, waiting. Bhaiya, too, had made his way over, his presence now a regular part of my life. Without delay, I settled into my spot, adjusting my blouse and massaging my breasts preparing myself to feed them. I guided Ramesh to latch, feeling the pull as his mouth sealed around my nipple. Guddu followed, his hands held my breast as he suckled with eagerness. Bhaiya watched silently, waiting for his turn.
Radha’s conversation trailed off as she watched in stunned silence. Her eyes darted from one child to the next, her face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Gita… what are you doing?" she finally asked, her voice hushed yet urgent.
I remained calm, meeting her gaze. "It’s nothing unusual here, Radha. The children need comfort, and I provide it," I explained while adjusting my hold, making sure both boys were latched properly. Ramesh suckled deeply, his tongue working against my nipple, while Guddu’s teeth occasionally grazed my skin. I felt the warm trickle of milk flow steadily, their eager gulps filling the quiet room. Bhaiya, still waiting, shifted closer, his eyes locked on me.
Radha shook her head, unable to look away. "But… so many? And Bhaiya too? How did this even start?"
I sighed, shifting slightly as Guddu adjusted his position. "It happened gradually. At first, I wasn’t sure, but over time, I understood that it’s about more than just milk. It’s about closeness, about being part of this life. It’s what’s expected here."
Radha remained silent, struggling to reconcile what she was witnessing with the sister she once knew. Her son, who had been watching with wide eyes, suddenly spoke up. "Maa, can I try too?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
Radha gasped, turning to him in shock. "No! You can’t!"
He pouted, looking at me. "But she feeds so many… why not me?"
I hesitated, glancing at Radha, but before I could respond, the evening turned to night, and my mother-in-law called me into the room, her voice firm and expectant. I stepped in without hesitation, knowing what was required of me. Radha, still unsettled by what she had seen earlier, followed out of curiosity.
What she saw next left her completely speechless. There, in the dimly lit room, my frail father-in-law lay propped against the pillows, waiting. His lips, pale and dry, barely moved as he breathed. I moved to his side, unfastening my blouse and sliding it open, exposing the soft curve of my breast. A small drop of milk formed at my nipple, glistening in the low light. Cradling his head onto my lap, I brushed the drop against his lips. His nostrils flared slightly, recognition dawning in his eyes.
Slowly, his mouth opened, and I guided him to latch. His toothless gums pressed against me, his suction slow but persistent. I fought against the discomfort, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation as his warm breath ghosted over my skin. His lips, darker from age, sealed around my nipple, his slow sucks drawing milk gradually.
The room remained in near darkness, the only sound the faint suction as he fed. My blouse had fallen open further, and in that moment, I remembered Radha’s son’s earlier request. Without overthinking, I turned slightly, my garment slipping enough to expose the other side. I heard soft breathing, then the slight pressure of a new mouth. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver through me before he latched on with the eagerness of a teen discovering something new.
Radha, unaware of what had just happened in the darkened room, remained in stunned silence. She had already been overwhelmed by the sight of me feeding my father-in-law, unable to comprehend how I had accepted this way of life so completely.
She could say nothing, her mind struggling to process the sight before her. The sister she thought she knew had changed, fully embracing a way of life she never could have imagined.
One afternoon, my sister Radha arrived at my home with her teen son. It had been a long time since we last met, and I was happy to see her. We sat in the main room, catching up on family matters and our daily routines, while her son played nearby.
As the day went on, my usual routine approached. Ramesh and Guddu had already arrived, as they often did around this time, waiting. Bhaiya, too, had made his way over, his presence now a regular part of my life. Without delay, I settled into my spot, adjusting my blouse and massaging my breasts preparing myself to feed them. I guided Ramesh to latch, feeling the pull as his mouth sealed around my nipple. Guddu followed, his hands held my breast as he suckled with eagerness. Bhaiya watched silently, waiting for his turn.
Radha’s conversation trailed off as she watched in stunned silence. Her eyes darted from one child to the next, her face a mixture of confusion and disbelief. "Gita… what are you doing?" she finally asked, her voice hushed yet urgent.
I remained calm, meeting her gaze. "It’s nothing unusual here, Radha. The children need comfort, and I provide it," I explained while adjusting my hold, making sure both boys were latched properly. Ramesh suckled deeply, his tongue working against my nipple, while Guddu’s teeth occasionally grazed my skin. I felt the warm trickle of milk flow steadily, their eager gulps filling the quiet room. Bhaiya, still waiting, shifted closer, his eyes locked on me.
Radha shook her head, unable to look away. "But… so many? And Bhaiya too? How did this even start?"
I sighed, shifting slightly as Guddu adjusted his position. "It happened gradually. At first, I wasn’t sure, but over time, I understood that it’s about more than just milk. It’s about closeness, about being part of this life. It’s what’s expected here."
Radha remained silent, struggling to reconcile what she was witnessing with the sister she once knew. Her son, who had been watching with wide eyes, suddenly spoke up. "Maa, can I try too?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity.
Radha gasped, turning to him in shock. "No! You can’t!"
He pouted, looking at me. "But she feeds so many… why not me?"
I hesitated, glancing at Radha, but before I could respond, the evening turned to night, and my mother-in-law called me into the room, her voice firm and expectant. I stepped in without hesitation, knowing what was required of me. Radha, still unsettled by what she had seen earlier, followed out of curiosity.
What she saw next left her completely speechless. There, in the dimly lit room, my frail father-in-law lay propped against the pillows, waiting. His lips, pale and dry, barely moved as he breathed. I moved to his side, unfastening my blouse and sliding it open, exposing the soft curve of my breast. A small drop of milk formed at my nipple, glistening in the low light. Cradling his head onto my lap, I brushed the drop against his lips. His nostrils flared slightly, recognition dawning in his eyes.
Slowly, his mouth opened, and I guided him to latch. His toothless gums pressed against me, his suction slow but persistent. I fought against the discomfort, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation as his warm breath ghosted over my skin. His lips, darker from age, sealed around my nipple, his slow sucks drawing milk gradually.
The room remained in near darkness, the only sound the faint suction as he fed. My blouse had fallen open further, and in that moment, I remembered Radha’s son’s earlier request. Without overthinking, I turned slightly, my garment slipping enough to expose the other side. I heard soft breathing, then the slight pressure of a new mouth. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver through me before he latched on with the eagerness of a teen discovering something new.
Radha, unaware of what had just happened in the darkened room, remained in stunned silence. She had already been overwhelmed by the sight of me feeding my father-in-law, unable to comprehend how I had accepted this way of life so completely.
She could say nothing, her mind struggling to process the sight before her. The sister she thought she knew had changed, fully embracing a way of life she never could have imagined.
Manju143
Member
- 120
- 46
- 28
Very well written.
What is the age of her father-in-law?
If you can include another old man or friend of your father-in-law in the story, do so.
Thank you very much for reading what I expected in the story.
In the story, show Geeta breastfeeding and taking care of her in-laws in the same way she breastfeeds and takes care of her in-laws' friend.
Very well written. Waiting for the next part.
if you want add old man in this story( we dont read this story) and please contniue as wish and then dont any old man or adult men in other story .
Adding old men in story make it non interested , like other writers story(like seema chachi add old men in all story) make it wrost ..
and good luck..
Update 10
The next night, things unfolded in an even more complex way. After dinner, Radha’s son became clingy again and didn’t want to sleep alone. My mother-in-law noticed and asked me to let him sleep beside me. At the same time, my father-in-law was placed on the other side, following what had become a quiet routine.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow from the courtyard. The fan hummed overhead as I lay down, sandwiched between the two of them. My blouse was still buttoned, and for a moment, I tried to keep things that way. But Radha’s son turned toward me, his hand creeping under the blouse. He whispered, “Masi, can I have some milk? I can’t sleep unless I suck your breast.”
His voice was so soft, so innocent, I didn’t know how to say no. Without replying, I gently turned my back slightly toward my sasurji and unhooked my blouse. I lifted my bra, exposing my breast in the dark. I touched his lips with my nipple, letting a drop of milk wet his mouth. He exhaled and latched on eagerly.
His lips were warm, and I could feel his tongue on my nipples as he began suckling. The milk came steadily, and I adjusted his position, letting his cheek rest against the soft breast. My hand lightly cradled the back of his head, and I whispered, pretending to speak to my sasurji, “Bas chup rahiye... aapko sab kuch mil jaayega.”
Radha’s son paused and looked up, confused but smiling. “Masi, your milk is sweet. No one else has breasts like yours... they’re perfect and soft and smell like you.”
I laughed quietly, keeping my tone calm, “Shhh, don’t say all that. Just drink quietly.” He grinned and resumed sucking, his small hand pressing my side gently.
On the other side, I could sense my sasurji stirring. He moved weakly, his hand trembling against the mattress. I didn’t turn toward him. I stayed where I was, letting the boy feed. My mother-in-law peeked in through the curtain. “Phir se doodh maang raha hai... pareshaan kar raha hai bechari ko,” she muttered, mistaking his movements for a needy plea.
But I stayed firm. Just Radha’s son tonight. As he finished, his lips still around my nipple, he whispered, “Masi, can I sleep like this? Holding your breast in my mouth?”
I nodded gently, brushing his hair back. “Just sleep now, baby.”
Behind me, my sasurji shifted and sighed, realizing that tonight, he would not be fed. I felt a pang of guilt but closed my eyes.
That night, in the dark, the only one suckling was Radha’s son—wrapped around me, milk-drunk and satisfied.
The next night, things unfolded in an even more complex way. After dinner, Radha’s son became clingy again and didn’t want to sleep alone. My mother-in-law noticed and asked me to let him sleep beside me. At the same time, my father-in-law was placed on the other side, following what had become a quiet routine.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow from the courtyard. The fan hummed overhead as I lay down, sandwiched between the two of them. My blouse was still buttoned, and for a moment, I tried to keep things that way. But Radha’s son turned toward me, his hand creeping under the blouse. He whispered, “Masi, can I have some milk? I can’t sleep unless I suck your breast.”
His voice was so soft, so innocent, I didn’t know how to say no. Without replying, I gently turned my back slightly toward my sasurji and unhooked my blouse. I lifted my bra, exposing my breast in the dark. I touched his lips with my nipple, letting a drop of milk wet his mouth. He exhaled and latched on eagerly.
His lips were warm, and I could feel his tongue on my nipples as he began suckling. The milk came steadily, and I adjusted his position, letting his cheek rest against the soft breast. My hand lightly cradled the back of his head, and I whispered, pretending to speak to my sasurji, “Bas chup rahiye... aapko sab kuch mil jaayega.”
Radha’s son paused and looked up, confused but smiling. “Masi, your milk is sweet. No one else has breasts like yours... they’re perfect and soft and smell like you.”
I laughed quietly, keeping my tone calm, “Shhh, don’t say all that. Just drink quietly.” He grinned and resumed sucking, his small hand pressing my side gently.
On the other side, I could sense my sasurji stirring. He moved weakly, his hand trembling against the mattress. I didn’t turn toward him. I stayed where I was, letting the boy feed. My mother-in-law peeked in through the curtain. “Phir se doodh maang raha hai... pareshaan kar raha hai bechari ko,” she muttered, mistaking his movements for a needy plea.
But I stayed firm. Just Radha’s son tonight. As he finished, his lips still around my nipple, he whispered, “Masi, can I sleep like this? Holding your breast in my mouth?”
I nodded gently, brushing his hair back. “Just sleep now, baby.”
Behind me, my sasurji shifted and sighed, realizing that tonight, he would not be fed. I felt a pang of guilt but closed my eyes.
That night, in the dark, the only one suckling was Radha’s son—wrapped around me, milk-drunk and satisfied.