Tradition of Paankpara
Copyright© 2025 by Myra
Chapter 1
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 1 - What runs in the family.... when girls come of age, they are supposed to uphold taboo that is in fact the essence of the village culture. So the mother sends her daughter to their roots, the village of Paankpara; where the girl will get initiated and emancipated- as a complete woman.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Teenagers Coercion Consensual Lesbian Fiction Incest Mother Daughter Aunt Light Bond Polygamy/Polyamory Exhibitionism Nudism Prostitution
My name is Myra Malai. I am 19 years old and I live in the city. I had decided to take a break from the city life. We have an old acquaintance name Neelima. I call her Neelima Aunty and to spend my vacation, I have come to Nilima aunt’s house in our village, away from the city. There was a hush-hush that the village holds many secrets. It was very strange that Neelima aunt’s village which was named as “Paankpada” had mostly women and girls as its inhabitants. Men mostly stay away due to work or for other reasons.
I had the impression that life in the village would be less complex and simple but this was all about to change. First things first, we need to go shopping.
The soft, dark brown silk of the sari flowed around me as I draped it, the pleats falling just so. The matching blouse, a delicate thing with its thin straps, felt almost like a second skin. I adored how the low cut accentuated my cleavage and the swell of breasts; a hint of skin that always made me feel a little thrill. Turning in front of the mirror, I loved the way my hip-length hair cascaded down my back, framing the curve of my neck. A playful thought danced in my head, a secret little rebellion against convention – the sheer audacity of going without a bra or panty added a whisper of excitement to the day. It felt liberating, a secret held just for myself.
I was a little apprehensive that my mother would object to such a bold and revealing get up but this was short lived. Then, seeing my mother, Deepa, ready, a warm smile spread across my face. She looked radiant in her similar attire. Her sari, a shade lighter perhaps, complemented her waist-length hair, which she had left loose and flowing, just like mine. Her blouse, equally daring, showcased her graceful figure. There was a shared understanding between us, a silent acknowledgment of the bold choice we had made. It felt like a special outing, a mother-daughter adventure where we could embrace our femininity and revel in our choices. A sense of anticipation bubbled within me – the bustling mall, the vibrant colours, and the feeling of being together, two women ready to embrace the day on our own terms. “Mother, you look amazingly beautiful,” I could not help but say.
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