19-04-2026, 04:15 AM
No matter how much I tried to contact Arjun, he was busy with his dad whose health was getting worse. Venkatesh Jayanna’s condition deteriorated rapidly in the Chennai hospital—massive paralysis from the neck down, legs completely useless, arms limp and unresponsive, spine irreparably damaged. He lay motionless on the bed, body locked in constant agony, moaning in pain day and night, dignity stripped away. Bedsores formed on his back, hips, and heels from immobility, festering into deep ulcers that oozed pus and required daily cleaning. Infections spread—urinary tract, lungs, skin—fever raging, breathing labored through oxygen tubes, kidneys failing slowly from lack of movement, constant painkillers barely dulling the torment. He could not swallow properly, food delivered through a tube in his nose, saliva pooling in his mouth, choking him occasionally. He could not speak clearly, voice reduced to weak, slurred whispers between cries of pain. His family suffered too—Arjun drained every rupee on bills, borrowing money from relatives, selling family land, working odd jobs at night to pay for medicines and ICU stays. Arjun hardly slept, hardly ate, eyes red from crying and exhaustion. He would have been better off dead than living like this—trapped in a useless body, in constant pain, helpless and humiliated—but Arjun refused to give up, staying by his side, trying to save him, unable to leave even for a moment.
Arjun had no time, no energy to talk to me. My calls went unanswered or cut short. When I texted repeatedly, desperate for any word, he sometimes replied angrily: "Sudha... stop calling. My dad is dying here. I cannot deal with this right now. Leave me alone."
The night before the engagement to Rajesh, I could not bear it anymore. I called Arjun again, heart pounding, tears already in my eyes. This time he answered, voice hoarse and furious.
"What do you want, Sudha?" he snapped. "I told you I cannot talk. My dad is suffering. He is in constant pain, cannot move, cannot eat properly, cannot even breathe without help. He is dying slowly. I am here with him. I do not have time for this."
I sobbed, voice breaking. "Arjun... the engagement to Rajesh is tomorrow. My parents have fixed everything. I cannot say no to my dad. He will force me. Please... talk to me... help me..."
Arjun’s voice turned cold and angry. "Help you? How? My dad is dying, Sudha! He is paralyzed, in agony, begging for death sometimes because the pain is so bad. I am the only one here. I cannot leave him to come to you. And honestly... I am no longer interested in you. You keep calling, keep pushing when I am suffering. My dad is important. He is dying. You are worried about marriage? Go marry Rajesh. I do not care anymore."
I gasped, anger rising through my tears. "How can you say that? I love you! I am scared! My dad will force me! You are giving up on us?"
Arjun yelled back. "I am not giving up! I am dealing with my dad dying! You do not understand! Go marry your rich man. I cannot do this anymore!"
I screamed into the phone, tears streaming. "Fine! If you do not care, then I do not care either! Goodbye, Arjun!"
I hung up the call, sobbing uncontrollably, heart shattered. Arjun—the man I loved, the man who had saved my life, who had stood by me—was gone. Angry. Done. And tomorrow I was to be engaged to Rajesh. I curled on the bed, crying into my pillow, feeling completely alone, completely broken.
That same night, the preparations and hospitality for Rajesh’s family side began in full swing for the next day’s engagement. Our farmhouse was transformed into a traditional Tamil cultural engagement venue. All relatives from my side and Rajesh’s side were attending. The open courtyard was decorated with banana trees, mango leaves, marigold garlands, and kolam designs in front of the entrance. A large pandal was set up with white and gold cloth, lights strung across the top. Tables were arranged for the guests, with fresh jasmine flowers and betel leaves ready for the ceremony. The Tamil engagement rituals were planned—exchange of rings, offering of betel nuts and fruits, applying turmeric and kumkum on each other’s foreheads, and the formal announcement of the alliance.
My dad was desperate to get me married to Rajesh. He believed Rajesh was perfect for me. "Rajesh is successful beyond imagination,"** he told my mom earlier that evening. "He has a law firm in Chennai with branches in Bangalore and Hyderabad. He handles cases worth crores—corporate disputes, property empires, high-profile clients. He lives in a big bungalow in Anna Nagar, drives a Mercedes, travels by flight, eats in five-star hotels. Sudha will live like a queen—silk sarees, gold jewelry, servants, luxury cars, foreign trips. She will never have to worry about money or status. Our family will rise. Rajesh will help with the rice mill—new machines, more land, bigger deals. He is the best match we can get for Sudha."
My dad treated all the relatives of Rajesh with utmost respect. He got down to their level, serving them personally. He arranged local delicacies—idli, dosa, vada, sambar, rasam, pongal, payasam, fresh coconut water, and village-style chicken curry cooked in large pots over firewood. He even brought out local alcohol—arrack and toddy—for the men, serving it in steel tumblers with respect, pouring it himself, making sure every guest felt honored. He greeted Rajesh’s uncles and cousins with folded hands, called them "sir," offered them betel leaves and nuts, and spoke highly of Rajesh to them. "Your nephew is a great man. He will take care of Sudha like a queen. We are lucky to have this alliance." He bowed slightly when Rajesh’s mom arrived, touched her feet, and led her to the best seat under the pandal.
Though Rajesh’s uncles were getting drunk on local toddy and arrack, my dad was busy entertaining them with local village dancers. Five women in bright silk sarees and heavy jewelry danced traditional Tamil folk dances—kummi and kolattam—swaying their hips, twirling, clapping hands, feet stamping in rhythm to the nadaswaram and drums in our farmhouse courtyard. The uncles watched the dancers, but their eyes were all over my mom and her two sisters who were busy making all the flower arrangements around the house.
My mom wore a pink silk saree with gold border, boobs full and round, pushing hard over the black blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse, ass cheeks round and firm under the saree, hips swaying as she bent to place jasmine garlands on the pandal pillars. Her two sisters were equally hot—one in a green silk saree, boobs heavy and bouncing slightly as she arranged marigold strings, nipples visible over the blouse, ass cheeks jiggling when she moved; the other in a maroon silk saree, boobs pushing against the blouse, nipples hard over the blouse, ass cheeks round and prominent as she tied banana leaves for decorations. All three had wide hips, thick thighs, smooth navels peeking over low saree waists, mangalsutra resting between deep cleavage.
Rajesh’s uncles stared openly, eyes fixed on my mom’s boobs bouncing as she reached up, on her sister’s ass cheeks jiggling as she bent, on the third sister’s hips swaying while tying flowers. They whispered among themselves, licking lips, hands tightening on their tumblers, cocks stirring under their dhotis as they watched the three hot women work. Their lust was obvious—eyes dark, breathing heavier, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, imagining what was under those silk sarees, pussy lips hidden beneath, ass cheeks spreading when they bent, boobs jiggling freely without bras underneath.
My dad treated the guests with utmost respect, getting down to their level, serving local delicacies— fresh coconut water, and village-style chicken curry cooked in large pots over firewood. He poured local alcohol—arrack and toddy—for the men in steel tumblers, refilling their glasses himself, laughing at their jokes, calling them "sir," offering betel leaves and nuts, making sure every guest felt honored and welcomed.
Rajesh’s uncles were getting drunk on toddy and arrack, their faces flushed red, voices louder with every refill. They grew bolder, staggering behind the house where my mom and her two sisters were decorating the pillars with flowers—jasmine garlands wrapped around wooden beams, marigold strings tied in loops, banana leaves pinned with rose petals, mango leaves hanging in bunches, all traditional Tamil Nadu decorations for the engagement.
The uncles approached them under the pretense of helping. One uncle stood behind my mom, hands grabbing her ass cheeks over the saree while reaching for a garland. "Madam... your ass cheeks are so soft and round... let me hold them while you tie this..." he whispered, squeezing her ass cheeks hard, fingers digging in.
My mom’s sisters hated it—faces tight, bodies stiffening, anger flashing in their eyes, trying to step away politely—but they controlled themselves, staying silent, letting the old men touch them. They did not flirt back, did not smile, did not encourage—just endured, lips pressed tight, breathing shallow, fists clenched at their sides, anger simmering but held in check.
My mom quickly whispered to them, voice low and urgent. "Do not react... they are Rajesh’s uncles. We cannot upset them. We cannot cancel the wedding. Sudha’s future depends on this alliance. Rajesh is rich, powerful, perfect for her. If we offend them, everything will be ruined. Just stay calm. I will handle it."
My mom was desperate to get me married to Rajesh. She saw him as the ultimate prize—filthy rich, handsome, connected. She imagined me living in luxury in Chennai—big house, servants, cars, silk sarees every day, gold jewelry, foreign trips, no more middle-class struggles. She saw financial help for Dad’s rice mill, new machines, more land, respect in the village. She would do anything to make it happen—even flirt back and let these drunk uncles grope her if it kept the alliance intact.
Then one uncle—drunk and impatient—leaned close to my mom’s ear, voice low and threatening. "If you keep moving away... I can tell my nephew Rajesh to cancel this wedding. One word from me and it is over. Your daughter will lose everything. Better to be nice to us... cooperate."
My mom froze. Her sisters looked at her in panic, eyes pleading for help. My mom swallowed hard, then forced a small smile, stepping forward to save her sisters. "Sir... please do not be angry. My sisters’ husbands are criminals... very dangerous men. If they find out you touched them, they will kill you. They are violent. Please... do not touch them. They are scared. You can kiss me instead... I am safe... my husband is not here... let me make you happy..."
The uncles paused, eyes shifting to my mom, interest sparking. My mom stepped forward confidently, voice soft and tempting. "Come... kiss me... I will make it worth your time... forget them... focus on me..."
The ugliest uncle—the one already most horny, eyes dark with lust, breathing heavy, cock visibly hard under his dhoti—grinned and stepped toward my mom. She met him halfway, hands gently touching his shoulders, leaning in slowly. Their lips met—my mom kissing him nicely, desperately, to tempt him and keep his attention only on her.
She pressed her lips softly at first, then opened her mouth wider, tongue sliding out to trace his lips, teasing the seam before slipping inside, swirling slowly against his tongue. She sucked his lower lip gently, nibbling lightly, then deepened the kiss, tongue thrusting deeper into his mouth, tasting the toddy on his breath, moaning softly into the kiss to make it feel real. Her boobs pushed against his chest over the saree, nipples hard over the blouse, rubbing against him as she leaned in more. Her hands slid up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him harder, tongue dancing with his, lips sliding wetly, desperately, making wet sucking sounds, her breath coming in soft gasps against his mouth.
The uncle groaned into the kiss, hands moving to her ass cheeks, squeezing hard over the saree, but his attention was now completely on my mom—eyes closed, body leaning into her, lost in the desperate, tempting kiss. My mom kept kissing him passionately, tongue exploring his mouth, lips sucking and pulling, body pressing closer, boobs crushing against him, all to distract him, to keep him focused only on her, to protect her sisters and save the wedding alliance.
My mom’s sisters stood silent, faces tight with controlled anger, bodies stiff, letting the other uncles grope them—hands on boobs, fingers on navels and thighs—but not reacting, not flirting back, just enduring for the wedding, for me, for the alliance.
The ugliest uncle pulled back from the kiss, lips wet and swollen, eyes glazed with lust, breathing heavy. My mom looked up at him, voice soft and desperate to keep him pleased. "Sir... did you like the kiss? Did my lips feel good on yours?"
He nodded slowly, grinning wide, tongue licking his lips. "Yes... very good... your mouth is sweet... I want more..."
My mom smiled, stepping closer again, hands sliding up his chest. "Then take more... my lips are yours tonight... kiss me again... as much as you want..."
Before he could move, another uncle—drunk and eager—turned toward one of my mom’s sisters, reaching for her face, trying to pull her in for a kiss. "Come here... I want your lips too... give me a taste..."
My mom’s sister flinched, eyes wide with panic, body tensing. My mom immediately stepped between them, voice firm but sweet, desperate to protect her sister and save the wedding. "No... not her... she is scared. Her husband is dangerous. Please... take my lips instead. Kiss me... I will make it good for you... focus on me..."
The uncle paused, eyes shifting back to my mom. She moved quickly toward him, hands gently cupping his face, pulling him in. Their lips met again—my mom kissing him desperately, temptingly, to keep his attention only on her.
She pressed her lips hard against his, opening her mouth wide immediately, tongue thrusting deep inside, swirling aggressively against his tongue, tasting the arrack and sweat. She sucked his tongue hard, pulling it into her mouth, moaning softly into the kiss, the sound low and needy. Her lips slid wetly over his, sucking and nibbling, tongue dancing fast and deep, exploring every corner of his mouth. She tilted her head, deepening the kiss further, lips sealing tight, making loud, wet sucking sounds, her breath hot and fast against his face. Her boobs crushed against his chest over the saree, nipples hard over the blouse, rubbing against him with every movement. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers gripping tight, pulling his head closer, kissing him harder, tongue thrusting in and out, desperate and hungry, body pressing fully against him.
The uncle groaned loudly into her mouth, hands grabbing her ass cheeks over the saree, squeezing hard, pulling her tighter against him. His attention was completely on my mom—eyes closed, body leaning into her, lost in the desperate, tempting kiss. My mom kept kissing him passionately, tongue exploring deep, lips sucking and pulling, moaning softly, boobs crushing against him, all to distract him, to keep him focused only on her, to protect her sisters and save the wedding alliance.
My mom pulled back slightly from the first kiss, lips wet and swollen, breath coming in soft pants. She looked up at the ugly uncle, voice low and seductive, desperate to keep his attention and please him. "Sir... did my lips feel good on yours? Did you enjoy tasting me?"
He nodded slowly, grinning wide, tongue licking his lips, eyes glazed with lust. "Yes... too good... your mouth is hot... wet... I want it again... deeper..."
My mom smiled, stepping closer again, hands sliding up his chest. "Then take it deeper, sir... my lips are yours tonight... kiss me as hard as you want..."
Before he could move, another uncle—drunk and eager—turned toward my mom’s younger sister, reaching for her face, trying to pull her in for a kiss. "Come here... I want your lips now... open up for me..."
My mom’s younger sister flinched, eyes wide with panic, body tensing. My mom immediately stepped between them, voice firm but sweet, desperate to protect her sister and save the wedding. "No... not her... she is terrified. Her husband is dangerous. Please... take my lips instead. Kiss me... I will give you everything you want... focus on me..."
The uncle paused, eyes shifting back to my mom. She moved quickly toward him, hands gently cupping his face, pulling him in. Their lips met again—my mom kissing him desperately, temptingly, to make him forget her sister completely.
She started slow this time, lips brushing his lightly, teasing with soft pecks along his mouth, letting him feel the warmth before pressing fully. Then she angled her head, mouth opening wide, tongue flicking out to trace the outline of his lips in slow, wet circles, teasing the seam without entering yet. She nibbled his upper lip gently, tugging it between her teeth, then sucked it softly, releasing with a small pop. She moaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating against his mouth, before sliding her tongue inside—slow at first, gliding along his tongue in long, deliberate strokes, tasting the arrack and sweat. She swirled her tongue around his, coaxing it to play, then sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, lips sealing tight, creating wet, rhythmic suction. Her tongue thrust in and out, fucking his mouth slowly, then faster, desperate and hungry, making loud, sloppy sucking sounds. Her breath came in hot gasps against his lips, tongue dancing wildly, exploring every corner, lips sliding wetly, desperately, pulling and sucking, body pressing fully against him, boobs crushing against his chest over the saree, nipples hard over the blouse, rubbing with every movement. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers gripping tight, pulling his head closer, kissing him harder, tongue thrusting deep, desperate to tempt him, to consume him, to make him forget her sister existed.
The uncle groaned loudly into her mouth, hands grabbing her ass cheeks over the saree, squeezing hard, pulling her tighter against him. His attention was completely on my mom—eyes closed, body leaning into her, lost in the desperate, tempting kiss.
My mom pulled back from the kiss, lips wet and swollen, breath coming in soft pants. She looked at her sisters, eyes sharp, giving them a quick, smart hand signal—two fingers pointing toward the side path, then a subtle wave of her palm telling them to leave immediately while she stayed. Her sisters understood instantly, nodding once, faces still tight with anger but relieved. They slipped away quietly through the shadows behind the house, disappearing toward the front yard without a sound.
My mom turned back to the three old men, stepping closer, voice low and seductive, desperate to convince them she was worth it and keep them from following her sisters or canceling the wedding. "Sirs... look at me. My sisters are gone. You do not need them. I am all you want. I will give you everything... all the pleasure you desire. Let me show you inside the pumpset room... through the back path... where no one will see. I will make you feel so good... you will forget everyone else..."
She swayed her hips slowly, letting the saree cling to her ass cheeks, boobs pushing hard over the blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse. She ran her hands down her sides, tracing her hips and thighs, teasing them with the movement. "See how my body moves for you... how it waits for your touch... come with me to the pumpset room... I will let you explore everything... feel how warm I am... how ready..."
The ugliest uncle licked his lips, eyes dark. "You talk big, madam... but can you really satisfy three of us? We are very hungry tonight..."
My mom smiled, voice husky and tempting. "Oh, I can satisfy all three of you... I will be your secret tonight... my body is yours... whatever you want... I will moan for you... I will make you feel things you have never felt... just do not cancel the wedding... please... take me inside..."
The second uncle stepped closer, breathing heavy. "Prove it... what makes you so special?"
My mom ran her hands up to her boobs, squeezing them over the blouse, nipples pressing harder against the fabric. "This body... it is full and eager... it wants your hands... your mouth... I will let you taste me... I will arch for you... beg you to take more..."
The third uncle groaned softly, cock stirring under his dhoti. "And lower? Is it ready for us?"
My mom swayed her hips again, hands sliding down to her thighs, lifting the saree slightly to show more of her thighs. "Lower... it is warm and waiting... I will spread for you... let you discover how wet I get... I will moan your names... beg you to go deeper..."
The uncles stared, cocks throbbing, breathing heavy, completely tempted. The ugliest one nodded. "Lead the way... show us what you can do..."
My mom turned slightly, swaying her hips, ass cheeks jiggling under the saree as she walked toward the back path leading to the pumpset room. She opened the door slowly, stepping inside the small, dim room—old pump motor humming quietly, smell of oil and earth, no windows, no one around. She turned back to them, voice husky. "Come... the pumpset room is empty... no one will disturb us... I will drop to my knees... take you in my mouth... one by one... taste you deep... swallow everything... then bend over for you... spread for you... let you take me hard... deep... all three of you... I will scream your names... I will be your dirty little secret... just do not cancel the wedding... please... take me inside..."
The uncles stared, cocks throbbing, breathing heavy, completely tempted. They followed her inside the pumpset room through the back path, eyes fixed on her swaying hips, ass cheeks jiggling, boobs bouncing over the blouse, lost in the promise of her desperate, teasing offer.
Arjun had no time, no energy to talk to me. My calls went unanswered or cut short. When I texted repeatedly, desperate for any word, he sometimes replied angrily: "Sudha... stop calling. My dad is dying here. I cannot deal with this right now. Leave me alone."
The night before the engagement to Rajesh, I could not bear it anymore. I called Arjun again, heart pounding, tears already in my eyes. This time he answered, voice hoarse and furious.
"What do you want, Sudha?" he snapped. "I told you I cannot talk. My dad is suffering. He is in constant pain, cannot move, cannot eat properly, cannot even breathe without help. He is dying slowly. I am here with him. I do not have time for this."
I sobbed, voice breaking. "Arjun... the engagement to Rajesh is tomorrow. My parents have fixed everything. I cannot say no to my dad. He will force me. Please... talk to me... help me..."
Arjun’s voice turned cold and angry. "Help you? How? My dad is dying, Sudha! He is paralyzed, in agony, begging for death sometimes because the pain is so bad. I am the only one here. I cannot leave him to come to you. And honestly... I am no longer interested in you. You keep calling, keep pushing when I am suffering. My dad is important. He is dying. You are worried about marriage? Go marry Rajesh. I do not care anymore."
I gasped, anger rising through my tears. "How can you say that? I love you! I am scared! My dad will force me! You are giving up on us?"
Arjun yelled back. "I am not giving up! I am dealing with my dad dying! You do not understand! Go marry your rich man. I cannot do this anymore!"
I screamed into the phone, tears streaming. "Fine! If you do not care, then I do not care either! Goodbye, Arjun!"
I hung up the call, sobbing uncontrollably, heart shattered. Arjun—the man I loved, the man who had saved my life, who had stood by me—was gone. Angry. Done. And tomorrow I was to be engaged to Rajesh. I curled on the bed, crying into my pillow, feeling completely alone, completely broken.
That same night, the preparations and hospitality for Rajesh’s family side began in full swing for the next day’s engagement. Our farmhouse was transformed into a traditional Tamil cultural engagement venue. All relatives from my side and Rajesh’s side were attending. The open courtyard was decorated with banana trees, mango leaves, marigold garlands, and kolam designs in front of the entrance. A large pandal was set up with white and gold cloth, lights strung across the top. Tables were arranged for the guests, with fresh jasmine flowers and betel leaves ready for the ceremony. The Tamil engagement rituals were planned—exchange of rings, offering of betel nuts and fruits, applying turmeric and kumkum on each other’s foreheads, and the formal announcement of the alliance.
My dad was desperate to get me married to Rajesh. He believed Rajesh was perfect for me. "Rajesh is successful beyond imagination,"** he told my mom earlier that evening. "He has a law firm in Chennai with branches in Bangalore and Hyderabad. He handles cases worth crores—corporate disputes, property empires, high-profile clients. He lives in a big bungalow in Anna Nagar, drives a Mercedes, travels by flight, eats in five-star hotels. Sudha will live like a queen—silk sarees, gold jewelry, servants, luxury cars, foreign trips. She will never have to worry about money or status. Our family will rise. Rajesh will help with the rice mill—new machines, more land, bigger deals. He is the best match we can get for Sudha."
My dad treated all the relatives of Rajesh with utmost respect. He got down to their level, serving them personally. He arranged local delicacies—idli, dosa, vada, sambar, rasam, pongal, payasam, fresh coconut water, and village-style chicken curry cooked in large pots over firewood. He even brought out local alcohol—arrack and toddy—for the men, serving it in steel tumblers with respect, pouring it himself, making sure every guest felt honored. He greeted Rajesh’s uncles and cousins with folded hands, called them "sir," offered them betel leaves and nuts, and spoke highly of Rajesh to them. "Your nephew is a great man. He will take care of Sudha like a queen. We are lucky to have this alliance." He bowed slightly when Rajesh’s mom arrived, touched her feet, and led her to the best seat under the pandal.
Though Rajesh’s uncles were getting drunk on local toddy and arrack, my dad was busy entertaining them with local village dancers. Five women in bright silk sarees and heavy jewelry danced traditional Tamil folk dances—kummi and kolattam—swaying their hips, twirling, clapping hands, feet stamping in rhythm to the nadaswaram and drums in our farmhouse courtyard. The uncles watched the dancers, but their eyes were all over my mom and her two sisters who were busy making all the flower arrangements around the house.
My mom wore a pink silk saree with gold border, boobs full and round, pushing hard over the black blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse, ass cheeks round and firm under the saree, hips swaying as she bent to place jasmine garlands on the pandal pillars. Her two sisters were equally hot—one in a green silk saree, boobs heavy and bouncing slightly as she arranged marigold strings, nipples visible over the blouse, ass cheeks jiggling when she moved; the other in a maroon silk saree, boobs pushing against the blouse, nipples hard over the blouse, ass cheeks round and prominent as she tied banana leaves for decorations. All three had wide hips, thick thighs, smooth navels peeking over low saree waists, mangalsutra resting between deep cleavage.
Rajesh’s uncles stared openly, eyes fixed on my mom’s boobs bouncing as she reached up, on her sister’s ass cheeks jiggling as she bent, on the third sister’s hips swaying while tying flowers. They whispered among themselves, licking lips, hands tightening on their tumblers, cocks stirring under their dhotis as they watched the three hot women work. Their lust was obvious—eyes dark, breathing heavier, shifting uncomfortably in their seats, imagining what was under those silk sarees, pussy lips hidden beneath, ass cheeks spreading when they bent, boobs jiggling freely without bras underneath.
My dad treated the guests with utmost respect, getting down to their level, serving local delicacies— fresh coconut water, and village-style chicken curry cooked in large pots over firewood. He poured local alcohol—arrack and toddy—for the men in steel tumblers, refilling their glasses himself, laughing at their jokes, calling them "sir," offering betel leaves and nuts, making sure every guest felt honored and welcomed.
Rajesh’s uncles were getting drunk on toddy and arrack, their faces flushed red, voices louder with every refill. They grew bolder, staggering behind the house where my mom and her two sisters were decorating the pillars with flowers—jasmine garlands wrapped around wooden beams, marigold strings tied in loops, banana leaves pinned with rose petals, mango leaves hanging in bunches, all traditional Tamil Nadu decorations for the engagement.
The uncles approached them under the pretense of helping. One uncle stood behind my mom, hands grabbing her ass cheeks over the saree while reaching for a garland. "Madam... your ass cheeks are so soft and round... let me hold them while you tie this..." he whispered, squeezing her ass cheeks hard, fingers digging in.
My mom’s sisters hated it—faces tight, bodies stiffening, anger flashing in their eyes, trying to step away politely—but they controlled themselves, staying silent, letting the old men touch them. They did not flirt back, did not smile, did not encourage—just endured, lips pressed tight, breathing shallow, fists clenched at their sides, anger simmering but held in check.
My mom quickly whispered to them, voice low and urgent. "Do not react... they are Rajesh’s uncles. We cannot upset them. We cannot cancel the wedding. Sudha’s future depends on this alliance. Rajesh is rich, powerful, perfect for her. If we offend them, everything will be ruined. Just stay calm. I will handle it."
My mom was desperate to get me married to Rajesh. She saw him as the ultimate prize—filthy rich, handsome, connected. She imagined me living in luxury in Chennai—big house, servants, cars, silk sarees every day, gold jewelry, foreign trips, no more middle-class struggles. She saw financial help for Dad’s rice mill, new machines, more land, respect in the village. She would do anything to make it happen—even flirt back and let these drunk uncles grope her if it kept the alliance intact.
Then one uncle—drunk and impatient—leaned close to my mom’s ear, voice low and threatening. "If you keep moving away... I can tell my nephew Rajesh to cancel this wedding. One word from me and it is over. Your daughter will lose everything. Better to be nice to us... cooperate."
My mom froze. Her sisters looked at her in panic, eyes pleading for help. My mom swallowed hard, then forced a small smile, stepping forward to save her sisters. "Sir... please do not be angry. My sisters’ husbands are criminals... very dangerous men. If they find out you touched them, they will kill you. They are violent. Please... do not touch them. They are scared. You can kiss me instead... I am safe... my husband is not here... let me make you happy..."
The uncles paused, eyes shifting to my mom, interest sparking. My mom stepped forward confidently, voice soft and tempting. "Come... kiss me... I will make it worth your time... forget them... focus on me..."
The ugliest uncle—the one already most horny, eyes dark with lust, breathing heavy, cock visibly hard under his dhoti—grinned and stepped toward my mom. She met him halfway, hands gently touching his shoulders, leaning in slowly. Their lips met—my mom kissing him nicely, desperately, to tempt him and keep his attention only on her.
She pressed her lips softly at first, then opened her mouth wider, tongue sliding out to trace his lips, teasing the seam before slipping inside, swirling slowly against his tongue. She sucked his lower lip gently, nibbling lightly, then deepened the kiss, tongue thrusting deeper into his mouth, tasting the toddy on his breath, moaning softly into the kiss to make it feel real. Her boobs pushed against his chest over the saree, nipples hard over the blouse, rubbing against him as she leaned in more. Her hands slid up to his neck, fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him harder, tongue dancing with his, lips sliding wetly, desperately, making wet sucking sounds, her breath coming in soft gasps against his mouth.
The uncle groaned into the kiss, hands moving to her ass cheeks, squeezing hard over the saree, but his attention was now completely on my mom—eyes closed, body leaning into her, lost in the desperate, tempting kiss. My mom kept kissing him passionately, tongue exploring his mouth, lips sucking and pulling, body pressing closer, boobs crushing against him, all to distract him, to keep him focused only on her, to protect her sisters and save the wedding alliance.
My mom’s sisters stood silent, faces tight with controlled anger, bodies stiff, letting the other uncles grope them—hands on boobs, fingers on navels and thighs—but not reacting, not flirting back, just enduring for the wedding, for me, for the alliance.
The ugliest uncle pulled back from the kiss, lips wet and swollen, eyes glazed with lust, breathing heavy. My mom looked up at him, voice soft and desperate to keep him pleased. "Sir... did you like the kiss? Did my lips feel good on yours?"
He nodded slowly, grinning wide, tongue licking his lips. "Yes... very good... your mouth is sweet... I want more..."
My mom smiled, stepping closer again, hands sliding up his chest. "Then take more... my lips are yours tonight... kiss me again... as much as you want..."
Before he could move, another uncle—drunk and eager—turned toward one of my mom’s sisters, reaching for her face, trying to pull her in for a kiss. "Come here... I want your lips too... give me a taste..."
My mom’s sister flinched, eyes wide with panic, body tensing. My mom immediately stepped between them, voice firm but sweet, desperate to protect her sister and save the wedding. "No... not her... she is scared. Her husband is dangerous. Please... take my lips instead. Kiss me... I will make it good for you... focus on me..."
The uncle paused, eyes shifting back to my mom. She moved quickly toward him, hands gently cupping his face, pulling him in. Their lips met again—my mom kissing him desperately, temptingly, to keep his attention only on her.
She pressed her lips hard against his, opening her mouth wide immediately, tongue thrusting deep inside, swirling aggressively against his tongue, tasting the arrack and sweat. She sucked his tongue hard, pulling it into her mouth, moaning softly into the kiss, the sound low and needy. Her lips slid wetly over his, sucking and nibbling, tongue dancing fast and deep, exploring every corner of his mouth. She tilted her head, deepening the kiss further, lips sealing tight, making loud, wet sucking sounds, her breath hot and fast against his face. Her boobs crushed against his chest over the saree, nipples hard over the blouse, rubbing against him with every movement. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers gripping tight, pulling his head closer, kissing him harder, tongue thrusting in and out, desperate and hungry, body pressing fully against him.
The uncle groaned loudly into her mouth, hands grabbing her ass cheeks over the saree, squeezing hard, pulling her tighter against him. His attention was completely on my mom—eyes closed, body leaning into her, lost in the desperate, tempting kiss. My mom kept kissing him passionately, tongue exploring deep, lips sucking and pulling, moaning softly, boobs crushing against him, all to distract him, to keep him focused only on her, to protect her sisters and save the wedding alliance.
My mom pulled back slightly from the first kiss, lips wet and swollen, breath coming in soft pants. She looked up at the ugly uncle, voice low and seductive, desperate to keep his attention and please him. "Sir... did my lips feel good on yours? Did you enjoy tasting me?"
He nodded slowly, grinning wide, tongue licking his lips, eyes glazed with lust. "Yes... too good... your mouth is hot... wet... I want it again... deeper..."
My mom smiled, stepping closer again, hands sliding up his chest. "Then take it deeper, sir... my lips are yours tonight... kiss me as hard as you want..."
Before he could move, another uncle—drunk and eager—turned toward my mom’s younger sister, reaching for her face, trying to pull her in for a kiss. "Come here... I want your lips now... open up for me..."
My mom’s younger sister flinched, eyes wide with panic, body tensing. My mom immediately stepped between them, voice firm but sweet, desperate to protect her sister and save the wedding. "No... not her... she is terrified. Her husband is dangerous. Please... take my lips instead. Kiss me... I will give you everything you want... focus on me..."
The uncle paused, eyes shifting back to my mom. She moved quickly toward him, hands gently cupping his face, pulling him in. Their lips met again—my mom kissing him desperately, temptingly, to make him forget her sister completely.
She started slow this time, lips brushing his lightly, teasing with soft pecks along his mouth, letting him feel the warmth before pressing fully. Then she angled her head, mouth opening wide, tongue flicking out to trace the outline of his lips in slow, wet circles, teasing the seam without entering yet. She nibbled his upper lip gently, tugging it between her teeth, then sucked it softly, releasing with a small pop. She moaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating against his mouth, before sliding her tongue inside—slow at first, gliding along his tongue in long, deliberate strokes, tasting the arrack and sweat. She swirled her tongue around his, coaxing it to play, then sucked his tongue deep into her mouth, lips sealing tight, creating wet, rhythmic suction. Her tongue thrust in and out, fucking his mouth slowly, then faster, desperate and hungry, making loud, sloppy sucking sounds. Her breath came in hot gasps against his lips, tongue dancing wildly, exploring every corner, lips sliding wetly, desperately, pulling and sucking, body pressing fully against him, boobs crushing against his chest over the saree, nipples hard over the blouse, rubbing with every movement. Her hands slid into his hair, fingers gripping tight, pulling his head closer, kissing him harder, tongue thrusting deep, desperate to tempt him, to consume him, to make him forget her sister existed.
The uncle groaned loudly into her mouth, hands grabbing her ass cheeks over the saree, squeezing hard, pulling her tighter against him. His attention was completely on my mom—eyes closed, body leaning into her, lost in the desperate, tempting kiss.
My mom pulled back from the kiss, lips wet and swollen, breath coming in soft pants. She looked at her sisters, eyes sharp, giving them a quick, smart hand signal—two fingers pointing toward the side path, then a subtle wave of her palm telling them to leave immediately while she stayed. Her sisters understood instantly, nodding once, faces still tight with anger but relieved. They slipped away quietly through the shadows behind the house, disappearing toward the front yard without a sound.
My mom turned back to the three old men, stepping closer, voice low and seductive, desperate to convince them she was worth it and keep them from following her sisters or canceling the wedding. "Sirs... look at me. My sisters are gone. You do not need them. I am all you want. I will give you everything... all the pleasure you desire. Let me show you inside the pumpset room... through the back path... where no one will see. I will make you feel so good... you will forget everyone else..."
She swayed her hips slowly, letting the saree cling to her ass cheeks, boobs pushing hard over the blouse, nipples poking hard over the blouse. She ran her hands down her sides, tracing her hips and thighs, teasing them with the movement. "See how my body moves for you... how it waits for your touch... come with me to the pumpset room... I will let you explore everything... feel how warm I am... how ready..."
The ugliest uncle licked his lips, eyes dark. "You talk big, madam... but can you really satisfy three of us? We are very hungry tonight..."
My mom smiled, voice husky and tempting. "Oh, I can satisfy all three of you... I will be your secret tonight... my body is yours... whatever you want... I will moan for you... I will make you feel things you have never felt... just do not cancel the wedding... please... take me inside..."
The second uncle stepped closer, breathing heavy. "Prove it... what makes you so special?"
My mom ran her hands up to her boobs, squeezing them over the blouse, nipples pressing harder against the fabric. "This body... it is full and eager... it wants your hands... your mouth... I will let you taste me... I will arch for you... beg you to take more..."
The third uncle groaned softly, cock stirring under his dhoti. "And lower? Is it ready for us?"
My mom swayed her hips again, hands sliding down to her thighs, lifting the saree slightly to show more of her thighs. "Lower... it is warm and waiting... I will spread for you... let you discover how wet I get... I will moan your names... beg you to go deeper..."
The uncles stared, cocks throbbing, breathing heavy, completely tempted. The ugliest one nodded. "Lead the way... show us what you can do..."
My mom turned slightly, swaying her hips, ass cheeks jiggling under the saree as she walked toward the back path leading to the pumpset room. She opened the door slowly, stepping inside the small, dim room—old pump motor humming quietly, smell of oil and earth, no windows, no one around. She turned back to them, voice husky. "Come... the pumpset room is empty... no one will disturb us... I will drop to my knees... take you in my mouth... one by one... taste you deep... swallow everything... then bend over for you... spread for you... let you take me hard... deep... all three of you... I will scream your names... I will be your dirty little secret... just do not cancel the wedding... please... take me inside..."
The uncles stared, cocks throbbing, breathing heavy, completely tempted. They followed her inside the pumpset room through the back path, eyes fixed on her swaying hips, ass cheeks jiggling, boobs bouncing over the blouse, lost in the promise of her desperate, teasing offer.
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