Mother of Me

Chapter 25: The Marriage Trap

The day of the family marriage arrived like a heavy, inevitable storm.

The new Sangeetha stood completely naked in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The bright tube light above cast harsh shadows on her soft, feminine body. Her heavy 36C breasts hung naturally, slightly swaying with every shaky breath. The dark brown nipples were stiff from the cool morning air. Her soft belly with its faint stretch marks curved gently. Wide hips flared out into thick, smooth thighs. Between her legs, the realistic vagina with its soft outer lips and small patch of pubic hair looked disturbingly natural.

She touched her face her mother’s face with trembling fingers.

“Oh God… why did it become like this?” she whispered, voice cracking.

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I’m supposed to be an 18 year old boy… enjoying life, playing football, teasing friends, worrying about NEET… Not this. Not standing here like a 34-year-old married woman, with breasts, with a vagina, with my own mother’s body…”

She cupped her heavy breasts, feeling their weight spill over her palms. She squeezed them slightly, watching them deform and bounce back. A wave of shame and despair washed over her.

“Fuck… this is really happening.”

She had no choice but to get ready.

Selvam had chosen the outfit for her a sleeveless, deep-neck dark green silk saree**ll with a golden border and a matching sleeveless blouse. Because of the sleeveless design, she had to shave her armpits.

She lathered her underarms with shaving cream, her hands shaking. The razor glided over the soft skin, removing every trace of hair. She felt incredibly vulnerable doing such an intimate feminine task. After rinsing, she applied powder, feeling the smooth, hairless skin.

She began dressing.

First, the black padded bra, she hooked it at the back, adjusting her full breasts into the cups until they sat high and prominent, creating deep cleavage. Then the matching black panty, pulling it up slowly over her thick thighs until it cupped her vagina snugly.

The petticoat came next, tied low on her hips. Then the saree. She draped the rich green silk around her body with great care, pleating it neatly at the front. The pallu was long and heavy. She draped it over her left shoulder, making sure it covered some of her deep cleavage, but the sleeveless blouse left her fair, smooth arms completely exposed.

She sat down and did her makeup — kajal, light lipstick, blush, and a bold bindi. She tied her long hair into an elegant bun and decorated it with fresh jasmine flowers. Finally, she wore the heavy gold jewellery Selvam had given her — long jhumkas, multiple bangles, a thick necklace that rested between her breasts, and anklets.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, a stunning, traditional beauty stared back. The sleeveless blouse showed off her soft arms and the sides of her breasts. The saree clung to her curves perfectly. She looked every bit the desirable, married Tamil woman.

She hated it.

The entire family left for the marriage hall in a hired Innova car. Selvam sat in front with the driver. Pattamma, the new Sangeetha, and the new Prakash sat in the back.

At the wedding hall, the humiliation reached new heights.

Hundreds of relatives most of whom the new Sangeetha had never met were present. Selvam proudly introduced “his wife” to everyone.

“Look how beautiful my wife still is after so many years!” he boasted, keeping his hand possessively on her waist.

Unknown aunts and uncles surrounded her.

“Enna Sangeetha, you’ve maintained yourself so well!”
“Where were you hiding all these years?”
“Selvam is so lucky to have such a beautiful and loyal wife!”

Pattamma made sure to parade her around, introducing her as the “ideal daughter-in-law who waited eight years for her husband.” The new Sangeetha had to smile, adjust her pallu constantly as people stared at her cleavage and arms, and endure comments about her body, her “fertile-looking hips,” and how she should have another child soon.

She felt like a trophy on display.

The new Prakash stayed mostly with the younger crowd, trying to avoid the chaos, but even he felt the pressure of acting like a normal son.

They returned home very late almost 1:30 AM.

The new Sangeetha was completely exhausted. Her feet ached from wearing heels. Her breasts were sore from being confined in the tight blouse all day. Sweat had dried between her cleavage and under her arms.

She was too tired to change.

She simply removed her jewellery, unpinned her pallu, and collapsed onto the bed still wearing the green silk saree and sleeveless blouse.

Selvam entered the room a few minutes later.

He locked the door and lay down beside her. Without saying anything, he turned her towards him and pulled her close. His hard erection pressed firmly against her soft buttocks through the thin layers of the saree and petticoat. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, spooning her tightly.

His hands began roaming.

He slowly massaged her wet, sweaty armpits the smooth, freshly shaved skin still slightly damp. His fingers traced the sensitive area, making her shiver. He kissed the back of her neck, breathing heavily.

“You looked so sexy today in this sleeveless blouse,” he whispered, pressing his hardness harder against her ass. “All those men were staring at you… but you’re mine.”

His hand moved down, cupping one of her heavy breasts over the blouse, squeezing it possessively. He continued grinding against her from behind, his breathing getting rougher.

The new Sangeetha lay there like a statue, tears silently soaking the pillow, feeling every inch of her body being claimed.

She was trapped.

Completely.