Disha: Lactating mom(Kamadhenu cow) - Exploited by Elders - Gold Grade Scene 10*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 2

The Innova came to a smooth halt under the grand porch of the ITC hotel. The air outside was warmer now, the sun climbing higher. Inside the car, I quickly adjusted my saree. I buttoned my blouse, but in the rush, I left the top two hooks open. It felt too suffocating to close them all the way with my heavy chest still feeling so full.

I stepped out first, holding Vivaan close to me. The sudden movement made my breasts bounce slightly against the fabric. The doorman, a tall man in a uniform with big mustache, reached out to open the glass door. He didn't look at my face or the baby. His eyes were fixed lower, staring directly at the deep curve of my cleavage visible through the loose hooks. I didn't pull the pallu to cover it. I just smiled, shifted Vivaan to my other hip, and walked past him, feeling his gaze burning into my back.
The lobby was cool and smelled of expensive flowers. Our group was loud, a mix of excitement and travel fatigue. I walked straight to the reception desk.

"Yes, ma'am, what can I do for you?" the lady behind the desk asked, her smile polite and professional.
"Please give us our keys," I said, my voice cheerful. "The booking is under the groom's family name."
I told her the names. She typed on her computer, then looked up. Her eyes softened when she saw Vivaan.
"How old is he?" she asked.
"Six months," I replied proudly.
The rest of the family walked in behind me, Rajat, Papa ji, Mummy ji, and Sumit. We had arrived early, around 10:00 AM. The Mehndi ceremony wasn't until 11:00, which gave us exactly an hour to freshen up and change.

"Two rooms," the receptionist said, handing over the key cards.
We took the elevator up. The rooms were on the third floor, facing the pool. They were beautiful, large, airy, with thick carpets and massive windows. Rajat, Vivaan, and I took one room, while Papa ji, Mummy ji, and Sumit took the connecting room next door.

I put Vivaan on the center of the big, fluffy bed. He cooed, kicking his legs. I felt sticky from the travel and the leaking milk.

"I need a quick bath," I told Rajat, who was already busy opening the suitcases.
"Go ahead," he said. "I'll watch him."

I walked into the bathroom. It was luxurious, with marble floors and a huge rain shower. But the design was modern and bold. The wall separating the bathroom from the bedroom was made of clear glass. There was an electronic blind that could be lowered for privacy, but in my rush to get clean, I didn't press the button.

I stripped off my saree, the heavy blouse, and the damp nursing bra. I stepped under the shower and turned it on. The water was hot and soothing. I closed my eyes, washing the travel dust and the milk from my skin. My body felt voluptuous and heavy, glistening under the bright bathroom lights.
Suddenly, I heard the click of the room door opening.

I turned around, water dripping from my hair down to my breasts.
It was Papa ji. He had walked in from the next room, probably looking for Rajat or a Vivaan. He stopped dead in his tracks.

I had forgotten the curtain. I was standing there, fully naked, framed by the clear glass.
Papa ji didn't turn around. He didn't apologize and run out. He stood there, just a few feet away on the other side of the glass, staring. His eyes traveled over my wet skin, my full breasts, my slim waist, and wide hips. I saw his throat move as he swallowed.

I knew he was enjoying it.

For a second, the only sound was the rushing water. I didn't scream. I didn't try to cover myself with my hands. He was family. He was my father-in-law. In my bubbly, carefree mind, it didn't seem like a crime. It just felt... open.

He looked for one long moment more, his gaze heavy and intense, before he slowly backed out and closed the door.

I finished my shower, dried myself, and walked out wrapped in a towel. Rajat was playing with Vivaan, oblivious. I didn't mention it.

By 11:00 AM, we were ready. The Mehndi ceremony was outdoors on the main lawn. It was a sea of yellow and mustard. Marigolds hung from every tree, and Bollywood songs thumped from big speakers.
I wore a bright yellow lehenga with a sleeveless choli. The neck was deep, designed to show off jewelry, but today it showed off my assets.

We walked into the venue, and immediately, I felt the shift. It wasn't just Papa ji anymore. It was everyone.

Rajat’s cousins were there. Seven of them. Men ranging from twenty-five to forty-eight. They were standing in a group, laughing and drinking thandai. When they saw me, the laughter died down a little. Seven pairs of eyes locked onto me.

I smiled and waved. "Hello, Bhaiya!" I greeted the eldest, Rakesh.
He looked at me, his eyes lingering on my chest before meeting my face. "Hello, Disha. You look... very healthy."

We mingled. There were games, a tug of war between the bride's side and the groom's side. I joined in, laughing loudly, pulling on the rope. The physical effort made my chest heave, and I could feel the sweat trickling down my neck. Every time I pulled, I felt eyes on me. We won, and I jumped up and down, hugging Sumit and Rajat, not caring about how much I was bouncing.

Then, the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers.
"And now! We need a special Bhabhi to apply the shagun Mehndi to our handsome groom, Amit!"
The crowd cheered. Someone pushed me forward. "Go, Disha! You go!"

I walked up the ramp to the small stage where Amit was sitting on a decorated swing. He was wearing a yellow kurta, looking shy.
I stood in front of him. To apply the mehndi, I had to bend down.
I leaned forward.

My deep neckline fell open. Because of gravity, my heavy breasts surged forward, filling the view. Amit was sitting lower than me. He had a direct, unobstructed view down my blouse.
I saw his eyes widen. He stopped blinking. He looked deep inside, staring at the pale curves that were just inches from his face.

I didn't pull back. I didn't adjust my saree. I smiled at him, knowing exactly what he was seeing. I had to show him. It was a wedding, after all. Everyone should be happy.
I dipped my finger into the silver bowl of henna paste.
"Ready, Amit?" I teased.

He couldn't speak. He just nodded, his face turning pink.
I applied a dot of Mehndi gently on his palm. Then, I reached up and put a small dot on his cheek. The crowd roared with approval.

"More! More!" the announcer yelled. "Give him some love!"
I looked at Amit. He was blushing furiously, but his eyes were still glued to my chest.
I dipped my hand into the bowl again, taking a larger scoop of the cold, green paste.
I reached out, but instead of his face, I slid my hand inside the loose collar of his kurta.
I pressed my palm against his hairy chest, right over his heart. I rubbed the cold Mehndi into his warm skin, moving my hand in a slow circle.

"For good luck," I whispered, leaning in closer so my chest almost brushed his nose.
Amit let out a shaky breath. The crowd went wild, whistling and clapping. The announcer shouted into the microphone, "Oh my god! Look at Disha Bhabhi go! That is how you start a party!"

I stood up slowly, wiping my hand on a tissue, flashing a dazzling smile at the crowd of people watching me. I felt hot, exposed, and the center of everything. And in the front row, I saw Papa ji, clapping slowly, a small, knowing smile on his face.