02-04-2026, 01:16 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-04-2026, 02:44 PM by kamoddipaka. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Hi guys! I just started writing this fantasy fiction series with a borderline taboo, older woman/ younger man theme. This is how the story begins. Please give reactions, replies and feedback! ??
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Making Out With Mangala Akka - Pt 1 - Homecoming
She came to the door wiping her pretty face on the edge of a pastel blue cotton sari. I felt my heart in my throat, and a familiar stirring in my loins as I watched the classic swaying of her wide hips as she rounded the corner from her kitchen and walked into my line of sight. Her sari was slightly ajar and tucked into her waist, revealing a generous expanse of her luxuriously soft belly - with a happy trail that drove me crazy - but not her navel. One of her blouse-clad rocket breasts was out. The other peeked from the pallu of her saree every now and then as she came near. When Mangala akka dressed, she dressed to tease - not please. When Mangala akka was being civilised, she always left you longing for a little more. It was why I loved her so much. She knew how to use her feminine charms. She titilated. She gyrated. But she reserved the truly intimate stuff for the right time and place.
It was obvious from the thin film of sweat and the flushed look on her face that she had been in the kitchen. “Why is she cooking? She has servants now,” I started asking myself. But before I could finish my thought, Mangalam akka, or Mangala-ka as I called her spotted me in the hall and came rushing to give me hug.
I loved the way her face lit up when she saw me. Mangala akka was a dusky woman. But her big expressive eyes and bee-stung lips just made me forget everything else. The symmetry and beauty of her oval face. The dimpling of her cheeks. The small, firm chin. The delicate, yet strong lines of her jaw. The way her pretty forehead scrunched when she frowned - the look she gave me when I fell off my new bicycle in fifth grade and scbangd my knee. The way her face flushed red when she was angry. Her perfect pearly white teeth that set my heart aflutter when she laughed. It all came rushing back in a torrent of emotion - sadness, love, longing, pleasure, joy - all at once. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I stood dumbly - smiling - a stupid grin on my face as I laid eyes on my favorite person in the world after a long time.
“My, my, my! Kamu! You’re all grown up now,” she said as she held me tight laughing and crying at the same time. Gushing. The onslaught was strong. My body remembered the awkwardness I felt in the face of her unabashed affection. I started to pull away. She held me firm. “Uhuh! I haven’t seen you in 4 years, saami!,” she cooed. She kissed my face with unrestrained tenderness. She held me tight, her arms wrapping around my back for minutes. She pressed her face into my chest. I stopped pulling away. My arms wrapped around her shoulders and slid down to the small of her back, where my hands rested on the swell of her rear. I breathed. It was Mangala akka’s way of having a minute with her favorite little brother - her pet. I breathed in her fragrant freshly washed hair and the musk of her sweaty, womanly odour. I felt her bosom press against my chest. I pressed her back and held her tight. My manhood hardened.
I bent down and nuzzled the soft, curly tendrils of hair that framed her face. I breathed her in deep. I held her close. “I’ve missed you, Mangala-ka,” I whispered into her ear. I felt her smile into my chest. She let out a sigh. She pressed tighter into me, almost grinding her hip into mine. I reached further down the swell of her buttocks. I cupped a cheek from the middle and gave it a squeeze, the texture of the cool cotton sari bunching beneath my palm before yielding to the soft curves underneath. I smiled at that familiar feeling. Mangala akka’s bottom was firm, substantial. With just the right amount of give. She giggled, a short, girly laugh in her husky, androgynous voice, “He-he!”. Then my hands rose up the sides of her hips and settled on her bare love handles. “The boy still likes akka’s iduppu madippu,” she cooed. In response, I squeezed. Hard. “Ah! You’re very naughty, Kamu!” Mangala akka said with a happy mix of womanly shyness and vulnerability. “There aren’t many love handles like these in the world,” I said as I kissed my fingers and put them back on akka’s love handles, my eyes fixed on hers.
“Now, enough of groping akka’s buns and all the other things you like on my body,” Mangala akka cooed as she pulled away. “Let’s go inside. I want to get a good look at you,” she said as she grabbed my hand and began to lead the way into the house. I could not take my eyes off Mangala ka’s body, the way her sari danced off her shoulders giving me glimpses of forbidden fruit as she kept walking, talking all the while, looking back at me every now and then. She was excited and flushed. It was as if she couldn’t believe I was there. It was as if she thought if she let me go, I wouldn’t be there when she looked back. Suddenly, I wanted to cry. I grabbed her, this time awkwardly, from the back. I held her close by the shoulders. “I’m here, Mangala ka. I’m not going away anytime soon. Sh! I’m here.” I felt her body shake just a little. We stood in the hallway outside her room in silence as we stifled tears. She turned around and held my face in her arms. “I’ve missed you, raja. So much.”
She pulled away, wiping tears from her eyes. “Look at me! I’m seeing you after four years and I haven’t even given you anything to drink,” she said as she led me into the kitchen, talking. Time slowed as I watched her talk while fixing me a cup of coffee. The sides of her waist and hips teased tantalisingly as she gestured and talked. I didn’t hear a word. I just smiled, nodded and said, “uhuh,” continuously. Internally, I was thinking to myself how lucky I was to have someone like her in my life. Someone with whom I could be myself. Someone who loved without restraint.
Mangala-ka looked even more beautiful in profile. Like all South Indian homes, even this bungalow didn’t have adequate cooling in the kitchen. A thin film of perspiration was forming on Mangala-ka’s face. To me, it made her look even cuter. Even more vulnerable and real. My eyes then wandered to the swell of her chest and the curve of her fabulous rear end. I felt warm and tingly all over. I was going to be spending the next few days with that!
“Hey! Kamu, are you listening?,” Mangala-ka had her hands on her hips. She was frowning in mock anger, her hands on the flare of her waist. “That’s enough of enjoying the view of my backside! Come have coffee. There’s so much to tell you, Kamu kanna!,” she said as she led me by the hand into her room. I followed her, watching the sway of that shapely ass and her thick, lush braid.
I sat on the bed. She folded clothes and arranged things, looking at me every now and then - talking all the time while I sipped my coffee. Mangala-ka was buzzing with the excitement of having me home. It was nearly lunch time. Out the window nearest the bed, the tropical sun blazed. It was casting short, dark shadows. I could hear the sounds of buses and mopeds whizzing by out on the street on the other side of the house. I noticed Mangala-ka had a vegetable garden in the backyard now. I looked with relish at her as she hummed , “Nila kaayum neram varanam,” to herself happily, her sari ajar in all the right places. Mangala akka looked ravishing. She was glowing. “Mangala-ka, inga vaayen,” I set my coffee cup down and called to her.
Mangala-ka stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at me. As if to say, “finally!”. I held out my hand, my eyes full of longing and my voice hard with desire. She smiled. A quick, shy smile as she walked toward me in that alluring, dancey, sashay. She had her braid out front. She was swinging its tassel in one hand. Her eyes shone with mischief. The temptress. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. Because I was taking charge. It was a dance-off. Game. On.
She closed the distance between us slow enough to make my penis tent my pants. She was looking into my eyes as she took my hand. Just then a gust of wind coming through the window blew a large gap in her sari, pushing her pallu out like a sail. Her deep, oval, belly button always took my breath away, but Mangala akka’s cleavage was something else. She always wore low necked blouses to feel sexy. But the line between those creamy, supple, udders blew my mind. I felt a dizzy. Somewhere in my brain, a bunch of neurons had exploded in a supernova.
As she finally stood before me holding my hand, the air thick with the scent of jasmine from her hair, I held her by the hips, moved the saree away, bent low and buried my face in her belly. Mangala akka looked on coyly, biting on a finger nail. The hairs of her happy trail tickled my nose as I nuzzled against them. “Mmmmmm,” Mangala-ka cooed as she gripped my hair with her fingers. I cupped both ass cheeks with my palms firmly. My fingers dug as deep into the groove between her legs as they would go. I grabbed her so hard that she lost her footing for a second and fell over my shoulder before steadying herself, panting - laughing. “Kamu kanna, you missed your Mangala akka, illa?,” she said. “You look good to eat, akka,” I said as I nuzzled and kissed all around her navel and stuck my tongue in it. “Aiii! It tickles!”, she giggled. Every now and then, I would stop to admire the soft protective hood of her navel. I would look with admiration at it, then up at her. I’d see her smiling down at me and go back to admiring her navel with my face, my fingers, my tongue - with everything.
I tugged at the pallu. It dropped off her shoulder without protest. Mangala akka was every bit the goddess I remembered.
I led her by the hand to sit facing me on the bed. She sat pallu-less - the sari lying rumpled on her lap - took my hand and held it in hers as though she knew what I wanted to do. I cupped one large, pointy breast with a palm and felt it - first tentatively. Her face relaxed. She smiled. I squeezed and kneaded with my palm and fingers. It always surprised me how firm they were. It helped enormously that she wore the bustier bras I had brought her. But she didn’t need them. Not with these things. I felt a wave of pleasure wash over me and buried my face in her cleavage, kissing and nuzzling into the ravishing gap. I felt the pointy tips of her breasts again and again in my palm as I kneaded the mulae, pressing, squeezing. She moaned - at times in a shrill, girly voice - at others, in the husky androgynous voice. The sounds Mangala akka made added to the thrill I was experiencing. I was lost in worship.
“Mangala ka, show me between your legs!,” I said hoarsely. “I want to see.” She stood back up facing me. Involuntarily, as though magnetically, my face attached itself to her belly. We both smiled. Actually, she laughed. That loving, accepting laugh. I looked up at her from her belly, my breath warm against that familiar hooded navel, and watched as her hands finally reached for the pleats of her sari. As she began to undbang the cool cotton, the sight of her shifting thighs pulled me back... back to a time when that "territory" was a mystery nature had seemingly locked away...
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Making Out With Mangala Akka - Pt 1 - Homecoming
She came to the door wiping her pretty face on the edge of a pastel blue cotton sari. I felt my heart in my throat, and a familiar stirring in my loins as I watched the classic swaying of her wide hips as she rounded the corner from her kitchen and walked into my line of sight. Her sari was slightly ajar and tucked into her waist, revealing a generous expanse of her luxuriously soft belly - with a happy trail that drove me crazy - but not her navel. One of her blouse-clad rocket breasts was out. The other peeked from the pallu of her saree every now and then as she came near. When Mangala akka dressed, she dressed to tease - not please. When Mangala akka was being civilised, she always left you longing for a little more. It was why I loved her so much. She knew how to use her feminine charms. She titilated. She gyrated. But she reserved the truly intimate stuff for the right time and place.
It was obvious from the thin film of sweat and the flushed look on her face that she had been in the kitchen. “Why is she cooking? She has servants now,” I started asking myself. But before I could finish my thought, Mangalam akka, or Mangala-ka as I called her spotted me in the hall and came rushing to give me hug.
I loved the way her face lit up when she saw me. Mangala akka was a dusky woman. But her big expressive eyes and bee-stung lips just made me forget everything else. The symmetry and beauty of her oval face. The dimpling of her cheeks. The small, firm chin. The delicate, yet strong lines of her jaw. The way her pretty forehead scrunched when she frowned - the look she gave me when I fell off my new bicycle in fifth grade and scbangd my knee. The way her face flushed red when she was angry. Her perfect pearly white teeth that set my heart aflutter when she laughed. It all came rushing back in a torrent of emotion - sadness, love, longing, pleasure, joy - all at once. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. I stood dumbly - smiling - a stupid grin on my face as I laid eyes on my favorite person in the world after a long time.
“My, my, my! Kamu! You’re all grown up now,” she said as she held me tight laughing and crying at the same time. Gushing. The onslaught was strong. My body remembered the awkwardness I felt in the face of her unabashed affection. I started to pull away. She held me firm. “Uhuh! I haven’t seen you in 4 years, saami!,” she cooed. She kissed my face with unrestrained tenderness. She held me tight, her arms wrapping around my back for minutes. She pressed her face into my chest. I stopped pulling away. My arms wrapped around her shoulders and slid down to the small of her back, where my hands rested on the swell of her rear. I breathed. It was Mangala akka’s way of having a minute with her favorite little brother - her pet. I breathed in her fragrant freshly washed hair and the musk of her sweaty, womanly odour. I felt her bosom press against my chest. I pressed her back and held her tight. My manhood hardened.
I bent down and nuzzled the soft, curly tendrils of hair that framed her face. I breathed her in deep. I held her close. “I’ve missed you, Mangala-ka,” I whispered into her ear. I felt her smile into my chest. She let out a sigh. She pressed tighter into me, almost grinding her hip into mine. I reached further down the swell of her buttocks. I cupped a cheek from the middle and gave it a squeeze, the texture of the cool cotton sari bunching beneath my palm before yielding to the soft curves underneath. I smiled at that familiar feeling. Mangala akka’s bottom was firm, substantial. With just the right amount of give. She giggled, a short, girly laugh in her husky, androgynous voice, “He-he!”. Then my hands rose up the sides of her hips and settled on her bare love handles. “The boy still likes akka’s iduppu madippu,” she cooed. In response, I squeezed. Hard. “Ah! You’re very naughty, Kamu!” Mangala akka said with a happy mix of womanly shyness and vulnerability. “There aren’t many love handles like these in the world,” I said as I kissed my fingers and put them back on akka’s love handles, my eyes fixed on hers.
“Now, enough of groping akka’s buns and all the other things you like on my body,” Mangala akka cooed as she pulled away. “Let’s go inside. I want to get a good look at you,” she said as she grabbed my hand and began to lead the way into the house. I could not take my eyes off Mangala ka’s body, the way her sari danced off her shoulders giving me glimpses of forbidden fruit as she kept walking, talking all the while, looking back at me every now and then. She was excited and flushed. It was as if she couldn’t believe I was there. It was as if she thought if she let me go, I wouldn’t be there when she looked back. Suddenly, I wanted to cry. I grabbed her, this time awkwardly, from the back. I held her close by the shoulders. “I’m here, Mangala ka. I’m not going away anytime soon. Sh! I’m here.” I felt her body shake just a little. We stood in the hallway outside her room in silence as we stifled tears. She turned around and held my face in her arms. “I’ve missed you, raja. So much.”
She pulled away, wiping tears from her eyes. “Look at me! I’m seeing you after four years and I haven’t even given you anything to drink,” she said as she led me into the kitchen, talking. Time slowed as I watched her talk while fixing me a cup of coffee. The sides of her waist and hips teased tantalisingly as she gestured and talked. I didn’t hear a word. I just smiled, nodded and said, “uhuh,” continuously. Internally, I was thinking to myself how lucky I was to have someone like her in my life. Someone with whom I could be myself. Someone who loved without restraint.
Mangala-ka looked even more beautiful in profile. Like all South Indian homes, even this bungalow didn’t have adequate cooling in the kitchen. A thin film of perspiration was forming on Mangala-ka’s face. To me, it made her look even cuter. Even more vulnerable and real. My eyes then wandered to the swell of her chest and the curve of her fabulous rear end. I felt warm and tingly all over. I was going to be spending the next few days with that!
“Hey! Kamu, are you listening?,” Mangala-ka had her hands on her hips. She was frowning in mock anger, her hands on the flare of her waist. “That’s enough of enjoying the view of my backside! Come have coffee. There’s so much to tell you, Kamu kanna!,” she said as she led me by the hand into her room. I followed her, watching the sway of that shapely ass and her thick, lush braid.
I sat on the bed. She folded clothes and arranged things, looking at me every now and then - talking all the time while I sipped my coffee. Mangala-ka was buzzing with the excitement of having me home. It was nearly lunch time. Out the window nearest the bed, the tropical sun blazed. It was casting short, dark shadows. I could hear the sounds of buses and mopeds whizzing by out on the street on the other side of the house. I noticed Mangala-ka had a vegetable garden in the backyard now. I looked with relish at her as she hummed , “Nila kaayum neram varanam,” to herself happily, her sari ajar in all the right places. Mangala akka looked ravishing. She was glowing. “Mangala-ka, inga vaayen,” I set my coffee cup down and called to her.
Mangala-ka stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at me. As if to say, “finally!”. I held out my hand, my eyes full of longing and my voice hard with desire. She smiled. A quick, shy smile as she walked toward me in that alluring, dancey, sashay. She had her braid out front. She was swinging its tassel in one hand. Her eyes shone with mischief. The temptress. You could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. Because I was taking charge. It was a dance-off. Game. On.
She closed the distance between us slow enough to make my penis tent my pants. She was looking into my eyes as she took my hand. Just then a gust of wind coming through the window blew a large gap in her sari, pushing her pallu out like a sail. Her deep, oval, belly button always took my breath away, but Mangala akka’s cleavage was something else. She always wore low necked blouses to feel sexy. But the line between those creamy, supple, udders blew my mind. I felt a dizzy. Somewhere in my brain, a bunch of neurons had exploded in a supernova.
As she finally stood before me holding my hand, the air thick with the scent of jasmine from her hair, I held her by the hips, moved the saree away, bent low and buried my face in her belly. Mangala akka looked on coyly, biting on a finger nail. The hairs of her happy trail tickled my nose as I nuzzled against them. “Mmmmmm,” Mangala-ka cooed as she gripped my hair with her fingers. I cupped both ass cheeks with my palms firmly. My fingers dug as deep into the groove between her legs as they would go. I grabbed her so hard that she lost her footing for a second and fell over my shoulder before steadying herself, panting - laughing. “Kamu kanna, you missed your Mangala akka, illa?,” she said. “You look good to eat, akka,” I said as I nuzzled and kissed all around her navel and stuck my tongue in it. “Aiii! It tickles!”, she giggled. Every now and then, I would stop to admire the soft protective hood of her navel. I would look with admiration at it, then up at her. I’d see her smiling down at me and go back to admiring her navel with my face, my fingers, my tongue - with everything.
I tugged at the pallu. It dropped off her shoulder without protest. Mangala akka was every bit the goddess I remembered.
I led her by the hand to sit facing me on the bed. She sat pallu-less - the sari lying rumpled on her lap - took my hand and held it in hers as though she knew what I wanted to do. I cupped one large, pointy breast with a palm and felt it - first tentatively. Her face relaxed. She smiled. I squeezed and kneaded with my palm and fingers. It always surprised me how firm they were. It helped enormously that she wore the bustier bras I had brought her. But she didn’t need them. Not with these things. I felt a wave of pleasure wash over me and buried my face in her cleavage, kissing and nuzzling into the ravishing gap. I felt the pointy tips of her breasts again and again in my palm as I kneaded the mulae, pressing, squeezing. She moaned - at times in a shrill, girly voice - at others, in the husky androgynous voice. The sounds Mangala akka made added to the thrill I was experiencing. I was lost in worship.
“Mangala ka, show me between your legs!,” I said hoarsely. “I want to see.” She stood back up facing me. Involuntarily, as though magnetically, my face attached itself to her belly. We both smiled. Actually, she laughed. That loving, accepting laugh. I looked up at her from her belly, my breath warm against that familiar hooded navel, and watched as her hands finally reached for the pleats of her sari. As she began to undbang the cool cotton, the sight of her shifting thighs pulled me back... back to a time when that "territory" was a mystery nature had seemingly locked away...
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