Village Life Pt 02 1

You'll need to read 'My Indian Village Life - Part 1' to understand what's going on here. I recommend reading it first before continuing.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the woman before me--my mother, Amutha. Her sari clung to her like a second skin, outlining every curve of her hourglass frame. Those massive breasts, firm and proud, seemed to defy the fabric, and the stretch marks on her waist glistened under the faint light, framed by that golden chain. My throat tightened. I hadn't seen her in ten years--her face a blur in my mind until now--and yet here she was, real, overwhelming. I took a step forward, my hand trembling, reaching out to touch her, to make sure she wasn't some dream conjured by the heat and the long drive.

"Ma..." I croaked, voice barely a whisper.

She smiled, soft and warm, lifting the plate--a traditional welcome, I guessed--and leaned closer. Her scent hit me, a mix of jasmine and something earthier, stirring memories I didn't know I had. My fingers brushed her arm, the softness of her skin electric against mine. I wanted to hug her, bury myself in her, feel that motherly warmth I'd forgotten. But before I could, a voice boomed from above, sharp and commanding, slicing through the moment.

"Kani! Up here, boy!"

I froze, head tilting toward the sound. It came from the upper floor of this massive house--a Chettiar mansion, sprawling and ancient, with thirty rooms my father had bragged about on the drive. Three stories of dark wood and weathered stone loomed over me, each balcony dripping with history. I glanced at Amutha, her smile faltering, and then back up. Someone was waiting.

"Go," my mother said, her voice gentle but firm, nudging me toward the wide staircase.

"Your patti wants you."

Patti. Granny. My father's mother. I hadn't seen her since I was a kid, and even then, she was a hazy figure--big, loud, unforgettable. I climbed the creaking steps, the air growing thicker with every floor. The house smelled of old wood, damp earth, and something faintly sweet, like overripe fruit. By the time I reached the top, my legs burned, and my heart thudded--not just from the climb.

There she was, sprawled across a wooden chair on the balcony, a whale of a woman draped in a white sari. Patti. Her body was a mountain of flesh, rolls cascading over each other, her hips spilling wide, her ass so massive it seemed to swallow the seat beneath her. She didn't wear a blouse--back in her day, they didn't bother, she'd once told me over a crackly phone call years ago. The sari pallu hung loose, barely clinging to her shoulder, sliding down to reveal everything. The white fabric was thin, see-through, stretched tight over her enormous chest--two sagging, pendulous breasts, each bigger than my head, swaying with every breath. Her skin, wrinkled and mottled with age, gleamed with a sheen of sweat under the afternoon sun. She was ancient--70, maybe more--her hair a wild, silver mess, but her eyes, sharp and black, pinned me where I stood.

"Kani," she rasped, voice gravelly, a grin splitting her weathered face. "Come here, boy. Look at you--all grown up and skinny as a stick. Come see your patti."

I shuffled closer, my mouth dry. Her sari shifted as she adjusted herself, the pallu slipping further, exposing the full expanse of her chest. Dark areolas, wide as saucers, stared back at me, nipples thick and hardened by age. I couldn't look away. She patted the floor beside her.

"Sit," she ordered.

Then, with a grunt, she added, "No, wait. My legs ache. Massage them for me, eh? These old bones need some love."

Massage her? My head spun. I'd never touched a body like hers--hell, I'd barely touched anyone beyond Ms. Cassie's laundry and Kamala's bold grip. But this was Patti, my granny, a relic of another time, and here she was, asking me to put my hands on her. My dick twitched, unbidden, at the thought. I nodded dumbly, kneeling beside her.

She stretched out one leg, thick and heavy, resting it on a stool. Her sari rode up, baring her calf and the start of her thigh--a landscape of flesh, soft yet firm, dotted with veins and scars from a life I couldn't imagine. I hesitated, then pressed my palms to her toes. They were rough, calloused, the skin cracked from years of barefoot walking. I rubbed gently, feeling the gnarled joints beneath my fingers, the warmth of her radiating into me. My breath hitched. This was real--her body, alive and solid under my touch, a far cry from the fantasies I'd spun alone in America.

I worked my way up, past her ankles, kneading the swollen flesh. It yielded under my hands, doughy and slick with sweat. My fingers traced every inch, marveling at the texture--smooth in places, rough in others, a map of age and endurance. My heart pounded louder, blood rushing south. She sighed, a low rumble of satisfaction, her eyes half-closed.

"Good boy," she muttered.

"Keep going."

I reached the curve of her calf, thick and meaty, the muscle buried under layers of fat. My hands shook as I pressed harder, feeling the give and resistance, the heat pouring off her. It was too much--this closeness, this body I'd only dreamed of in vague, forbidden shapes. Ms. Cassie and Kamala had primed me, but Patti was something else--untamed, raw, a force of nature. My shorts tightened, my erection straining as I moved higher, to the joint where her leg met her thigh. The sari bunched there, barely covering her, and I glimpsed the shadowy expanse beyond--dark, wrinkled skin stretching into the unknown.

My fingers brushed the start of her thigh, and I lost it. The softness, the sheer mass of her, overwhelmed me. My dick pulsed, and without warning, I came--hot and sudden, soaking my shorts. A shudder ripped through me, my hands freezing on her skin. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, just sat there trembling, cum seeping through the fabric, the smell of it mixing with her earthy musk.

Patti's eyes snapped open, sharp as ever. She glanced down, a knowing smirk curling her lips.

"What's that, boy? Finished already?" Her voice was teasing, unbothered.

She shifted, the sari slipping further, and patted her thigh--an invitation.

"Go ahead. Above the thigh. Don't stop now."

I stared, my hands still on her, the wet stain spreading. Above the thigh? My mind blanked, dizzy with shame and want, teetering on the edge of something I couldn't name.