My name is Vikrant, and at 24, I thought I knew everything about desire—until my bhabhi, Neha, turned my world upside down. It all happened two years ago when I was living in Delhi, pursuing my master's in computer science. My elder brother, Sumit, was 30, married to Neha for three years. They lived in a spacious 3BHK flat in Greater Kailash, and since I was job-hunting after college, Bhaiya insisted I stay with them to save money. "Family hai, Vikrant. Ghar mein reh, comfortable rahega," he said.
Neha Bhabhi was 28, a homemaker with a body that could make any man weak. She was 5'6", with fair skin that glowed like milk, long wavy black hair down to her waist, and a figure that screamed sin—36D-28-40. Her boobs were heavy and perfectly round, always straining against her kurtis or sarees, and her ass... oh god, that gaand was a masterpiece—plump, firm, jiggling with every step she took. She had these full lips, kajal-lined eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a smile that hid secrets. Bhaiya was a workaholic manager, often traveling for weeks on client meetings. That left Bhabhi and me alone in the flat most of the time.
At first, everything was normal. I'd come home from classes, and Bhabhi would serve dinner, chatting about daily stuff. But I started noticing things. The way her dupatta would slip, revealing her deep cleavage when she bent to serve food. How she'd wear tight leggings at home, outlining her thick thighs and that curvy ass. Or how she'd hug me a little longer than necessary when saying goodnight. I'd lie in my room at night, my lund hard as rock, stroking furiously while imagining peeling off her clothes and burying my face in those massive tits.
The tension built slowly. One weekend, Bhaiya left for a 15-day trip to Bangalore. "Neha, Vikrant ka khayal rakhna. Beta, Bhabhi ko bore mat hone dena," he joked before leaving. That first night alone, Bhabhi knocked on my door around 10 PM. She was in a thin black nighty that hugged her curves, the material semi-transparent under the light. "Vikrant, neend nahi aa rahi. Movie dekhenge saath mein?" she asked innocently.
We sat on the couch in the living room, watching some romantic Bollywood flick on Netflix. She sat close—too close—her thigh pressing against mine. Halfway through, she rested her head on my shoulder. "Tumhara Bhaiya itne din bahar rehte hain, akela lagta hai ghar mein," she sighed, her hand casually on my thigh. My heart pounded. I could smell her jasmine perfume mixed with her natural scent. My cock started swelling in my shorts.
"Bhabhi... aap akeli feel karti hain?" I asked hesitantly.
She looked up at me, her eyes locking onto mine. "Haan, Vikrant. Bohot akeli. Tum samajhte ho na?" Her hand slid higher, brushing my growing bulge. I froze, but didn't pull away. She smiled softly. "Dekha, tum bhi excited ho gaye. It's natural, beta. Hum dono young hain, needs hote hain."
Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed me—soft at first, then deeper, her tongue exploring my mouth. It was electric. My first real kiss with a woman. I kissed back hungrily, my hands instinctively going to her waist, pulling her closer. She moaned into my mouth, "Mmm... good boy. Bhabhi ko kiss karo properly."
We made out like teenagers for what felt like hours—lips sucking, tongues dancing, hands roaming. I cupped her heavy boobs over the nighty, feeling their weight and softness. Her nipples hardened instantly, poking through the fabric. "Dabaao zor se... haan, like that," she whispered, grinding her pussy against my thigh. I could feel the heat radiating from her chut.
She broke the kiss and stood up, pulling me to her bedroom—Bhaiya's bedroom. "Yahan comfortable hoga," she said, switching on the dim bedside lamp. Then, slowly, she slipped the nighty off her shoulders. No bra, no panties. She stood naked before me—those magnificent 36D boobs with dark pink nipples, a trimmed chut with puffy lips already glistening, and that juicy ass begging to be grabbed.
I stared, mouth open. "Bhabhi... aap kitni beautiful ho..."
She laughed softly. "Ab dekhna mat, touch karo." She took my hands and placed them on her boobs. They were heaven—so full, overflowing my palms, skin silky smooth. I squeezed gently, then harder, rolling her nipples between my fingers. She arched her back, moaning, "Aahh Vikrant... pinch karo... harder!"
I leaned down and took one nipple in my mouth, sucking greedily like a baby. The taste was salty-sweet, her milk ducts perhaps from some old fantasy. She held my head, pressing me closer. "Chooso Bhabhi ke boobs... bite karo lightly... oh yes!" While I sucked one, I kneaded the other, feeling her body tremble.
Her hand went to my shorts, pulling them down. My 7-inch lund sprang free, veiny and throbbing, pre-cum dripping. "Wah devar ji, kitna mota aur lamba hai! Tumhare Bhaiya ka toh chhota sa hai," she said, wrapping her soft hand around it and stroking slowly. The sensation was mind-blowing—her grip firm, thumb circling the head.
She pushed me onto the bed and knelt between my legs. "Ab Bhabhi tujhe swarg dikhayegi." She licked the tip, tasting my pre-cum, then took me deep into her warm mouth. Oh fuck, the feeling—her lips stretched around my girth, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. She bobbed up and down, taking me to the hilt, gagging slightly but not stopping. Saliva dripped down my balls, which she fondled gently. "Glug glug... mmm your lund tastes so good," she murmured.
I was in ecstasy, hips bucking. "Bhabhi... bahut acha... suck harder!" She did, deep-throating me until I exploded—thick ropes of cum shooting down her throat. She swallowed every drop, licking her lips. "First load for Bhabhi. Abhi bohot baki hai."
Now it was my turn. I flipped her onto the bed, spreading her legs. Her chut was beautiful—pink inner lips peeking out, clit swollen, juices flowing. I dove in, licking from her asshole to clit in long strokes. She tasted tangy and sweet, her aroma intoxicating. "Haan Vikrant... lick Bhabhi ki chut... tongue andar daal!" I obliged, fucking her hole with my tongue while rubbing her clit. She bucked wildly, hands pulling my hair. "Finger daal... do fingers... curl them... aahh I'm cumming!" Her body convulsed, squirting juices on my face as she orgasmed hard.
Desperate for more, she pulled me up. "Ab daal de apna lund. Chod Bhabhi ko zor se!" I rubbed my cockhead on her slit, teasing, then pushed in. Her chut was scorching hot, incredibly tight, walls gripping me like velvet. "Ohhh devar ji... kitna bada hai... stretch kar raha hai meri chut!" I went slow at first, savoring every inch, then built speed—thrusting deep, our bodies slapping together.
We fucked missionary style, her legs wrapped around me, nails raking my back. Her boobs bounced hypnotically; I sucked them while pounding. "Faster... haan... phaad de Bhabhi ki chut... make me your randi!" she screamed. The room filled with wet sounds—puch puch—and her moans.
After her second orgasm, she pushed me off and got on top. Cowgirl position—her favorite. She straddled me, guiding my lund in, then rode like a pro. Up and down, grinding her clit on my pelvis, boobs jiggling in my face. I grabbed them, sucking nipples as she bounced. "Ride kar Bhabhi... haan zor se... your chut feels so good!" She went wild, rotating her hips, milking my cock. "I'm cumming again... fill me devar ji!"
But I wanted more control. I flipped her onto all fours—doggy style. Her ass looked incredible, cheeks spread, chut dripping. I slapped it hard—thwack thwack—watching it jiggle red. "Gaand maaro Bhabhi ki!" I entered from behind, gripping her hips and pounding relentlessly. Balls slapping her clit, my lund hitting her G-spot. "Haan... deeper... fuck me like a bitch!" she begged.
We went at it for hours—switching positions, resting only to kiss and fondle. She came five times that night—once from fingering while I licked her ass, another from 69 where we devoured each other. I came thrice: once in her mouth, once deep in her chut (no condom—she was on pills), and finally on her boobs, watching her rub my cum into her skin.
Exhausted, we collapsed, her head on my chest. "Vikrant, yeh hamara secret rahega. Jab tak Bhaiya nahi aate, tu roz Bhabhi ko chodega," she whispered, kissing my neck.
And that's exactly what happened. For the next 14 days, our flat became a den of lust. Mornings: She'd wake me with a blowjob, swallowing my morning load. Afternoons: Quickies in the kitchen—she'd bend over the counter in her apron, me fucking her from behind while lunch cooked. Evenings: Long sessions in the shower, soapy tits sliding over my body, anal for the first time (she guided me in slowly, her tight gaand gripping me until I filled it).
One night, we got adventurous. She dressed in a sexy red lace lingerie set she'd hidden from Bhaiya. "Tonight, roleplay karte hain. Tu mera devar nahi, mera lover hai." We fucked on the balcony under the stars—her riding me reverse cowgirl, ass bouncing as Delhi traffic hummed below. The risk made it hotter; she muffled her screams in a pillow.
She taught me everything—how to eat pussy properly (focus on clit, use fingers), how to last longer (edging), even kinks like light spanking and dirty talk. "Bol na, Bhabhi ki chut kitni tight hai... haan, I'm your personal randi!"
Emotionally, it deepened too. We'd cuddle after, her confessing how Bhaiya neglected her needs, how my passion made her feel alive. "Tu mera asli pati hai ab," she'd say. I felt guilty at times, but the lust overpowered it.
Bhaiya returned, and we had to stop the overt stuff—but stolen moments continued. Quick handjobs in the bathroom, fingering her under the dinner table while Bhaiya watched TV oblivious.
Even now, whenever Bhaiya travels (which is often), Bhabhi texts: "Aa ja devar ji, Bhabhi wait kar rahi hai." Those forbidden nights with Neha Bhabhi were the best of my life—raw, passionate, endless pleasure. She turned me from a boy into a man who knows how to satisfy a woman completely.
Neha Bhabhi was 28, a homemaker with a body that could make any man weak. She was 5'6", with fair skin that glowed like milk, long wavy black hair down to her waist, and a figure that screamed sin—36D-28-40. Her boobs were heavy and perfectly round, always straining against her kurtis or sarees, and her ass... oh god, that gaand was a masterpiece—plump, firm, jiggling with every step she took. She had these full lips, kajal-lined eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a smile that hid secrets. Bhaiya was a workaholic manager, often traveling for weeks on client meetings. That left Bhabhi and me alone in the flat most of the time.
At first, everything was normal. I'd come home from classes, and Bhabhi would serve dinner, chatting about daily stuff. But I started noticing things. The way her dupatta would slip, revealing her deep cleavage when she bent to serve food. How she'd wear tight leggings at home, outlining her thick thighs and that curvy ass. Or how she'd hug me a little longer than necessary when saying goodnight. I'd lie in my room at night, my lund hard as rock, stroking furiously while imagining peeling off her clothes and burying my face in those massive tits.
The tension built slowly. One weekend, Bhaiya left for a 15-day trip to Bangalore. "Neha, Vikrant ka khayal rakhna. Beta, Bhabhi ko bore mat hone dena," he joked before leaving. That first night alone, Bhabhi knocked on my door around 10 PM. She was in a thin black nighty that hugged her curves, the material semi-transparent under the light. "Vikrant, neend nahi aa rahi. Movie dekhenge saath mein?" she asked innocently.
We sat on the couch in the living room, watching some romantic Bollywood flick on Netflix. She sat close—too close—her thigh pressing against mine. Halfway through, she rested her head on my shoulder. "Tumhara Bhaiya itne din bahar rehte hain, akela lagta hai ghar mein," she sighed, her hand casually on my thigh. My heart pounded. I could smell her jasmine perfume mixed with her natural scent. My cock started swelling in my shorts.
"Bhabhi... aap akeli feel karti hain?" I asked hesitantly.
She looked up at me, her eyes locking onto mine. "Haan, Vikrant. Bohot akeli. Tum samajhte ho na?" Her hand slid higher, brushing my growing bulge. I froze, but didn't pull away. She smiled softly. "Dekha, tum bhi excited ho gaye. It's natural, beta. Hum dono young hain, needs hote hain."
Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed me—soft at first, then deeper, her tongue exploring my mouth. It was electric. My first real kiss with a woman. I kissed back hungrily, my hands instinctively going to her waist, pulling her closer. She moaned into my mouth, "Mmm... good boy. Bhabhi ko kiss karo properly."
We made out like teenagers for what felt like hours—lips sucking, tongues dancing, hands roaming. I cupped her heavy boobs over the nighty, feeling their weight and softness. Her nipples hardened instantly, poking through the fabric. "Dabaao zor se... haan, like that," she whispered, grinding her pussy against my thigh. I could feel the heat radiating from her chut.
She broke the kiss and stood up, pulling me to her bedroom—Bhaiya's bedroom. "Yahan comfortable hoga," she said, switching on the dim bedside lamp. Then, slowly, she slipped the nighty off her shoulders. No bra, no panties. She stood naked before me—those magnificent 36D boobs with dark pink nipples, a trimmed chut with puffy lips already glistening, and that juicy ass begging to be grabbed.
I stared, mouth open. "Bhabhi... aap kitni beautiful ho..."
She laughed softly. "Ab dekhna mat, touch karo." She took my hands and placed them on her boobs. They were heaven—so full, overflowing my palms, skin silky smooth. I squeezed gently, then harder, rolling her nipples between my fingers. She arched her back, moaning, "Aahh Vikrant... pinch karo... harder!"
I leaned down and took one nipple in my mouth, sucking greedily like a baby. The taste was salty-sweet, her milk ducts perhaps from some old fantasy. She held my head, pressing me closer. "Chooso Bhabhi ke boobs... bite karo lightly... oh yes!" While I sucked one, I kneaded the other, feeling her body tremble.
Her hand went to my shorts, pulling them down. My 7-inch lund sprang free, veiny and throbbing, pre-cum dripping. "Wah devar ji, kitna mota aur lamba hai! Tumhare Bhaiya ka toh chhota sa hai," she said, wrapping her soft hand around it and stroking slowly. The sensation was mind-blowing—her grip firm, thumb circling the head.
She pushed me onto the bed and knelt between my legs. "Ab Bhabhi tujhe swarg dikhayegi." She licked the tip, tasting my pre-cum, then took me deep into her warm mouth. Oh fuck, the feeling—her lips stretched around my girth, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. She bobbed up and down, taking me to the hilt, gagging slightly but not stopping. Saliva dripped down my balls, which she fondled gently. "Glug glug... mmm your lund tastes so good," she murmured.
I was in ecstasy, hips bucking. "Bhabhi... bahut acha... suck harder!" She did, deep-throating me until I exploded—thick ropes of cum shooting down her throat. She swallowed every drop, licking her lips. "First load for Bhabhi. Abhi bohot baki hai."
Now it was my turn. I flipped her onto the bed, spreading her legs. Her chut was beautiful—pink inner lips peeking out, clit swollen, juices flowing. I dove in, licking from her asshole to clit in long strokes. She tasted tangy and sweet, her aroma intoxicating. "Haan Vikrant... lick Bhabhi ki chut... tongue andar daal!" I obliged, fucking her hole with my tongue while rubbing her clit. She bucked wildly, hands pulling my hair. "Finger daal... do fingers... curl them... aahh I'm cumming!" Her body convulsed, squirting juices on my face as she orgasmed hard.
Desperate for more, she pulled me up. "Ab daal de apna lund. Chod Bhabhi ko zor se!" I rubbed my cockhead on her slit, teasing, then pushed in. Her chut was scorching hot, incredibly tight, walls gripping me like velvet. "Ohhh devar ji... kitna bada hai... stretch kar raha hai meri chut!" I went slow at first, savoring every inch, then built speed—thrusting deep, our bodies slapping together.
We fucked missionary style, her legs wrapped around me, nails raking my back. Her boobs bounced hypnotically; I sucked them while pounding. "Faster... haan... phaad de Bhabhi ki chut... make me your randi!" she screamed. The room filled with wet sounds—puch puch—and her moans.
After her second orgasm, she pushed me off and got on top. Cowgirl position—her favorite. She straddled me, guiding my lund in, then rode like a pro. Up and down, grinding her clit on my pelvis, boobs jiggling in my face. I grabbed them, sucking nipples as she bounced. "Ride kar Bhabhi... haan zor se... your chut feels so good!" She went wild, rotating her hips, milking my cock. "I'm cumming again... fill me devar ji!"
But I wanted more control. I flipped her onto all fours—doggy style. Her ass looked incredible, cheeks spread, chut dripping. I slapped it hard—thwack thwack—watching it jiggle red. "Gaand maaro Bhabhi ki!" I entered from behind, gripping her hips and pounding relentlessly. Balls slapping her clit, my lund hitting her G-spot. "Haan... deeper... fuck me like a bitch!" she begged.
We went at it for hours—switching positions, resting only to kiss and fondle. She came five times that night—once from fingering while I licked her ass, another from 69 where we devoured each other. I came thrice: once in her mouth, once deep in her chut (no condom—she was on pills), and finally on her boobs, watching her rub my cum into her skin.
Exhausted, we collapsed, her head on my chest. "Vikrant, yeh hamara secret rahega. Jab tak Bhaiya nahi aate, tu roz Bhabhi ko chodega," she whispered, kissing my neck.
And that's exactly what happened. For the next 14 days, our flat became a den of lust. Mornings: She'd wake me with a blowjob, swallowing my morning load. Afternoons: Quickies in the kitchen—she'd bend over the counter in her apron, me fucking her from behind while lunch cooked. Evenings: Long sessions in the shower, soapy tits sliding over my body, anal for the first time (she guided me in slowly, her tight gaand gripping me until I filled it).
One night, we got adventurous. She dressed in a sexy red lace lingerie set she'd hidden from Bhaiya. "Tonight, roleplay karte hain. Tu mera devar nahi, mera lover hai." We fucked on the balcony under the stars—her riding me reverse cowgirl, ass bouncing as Delhi traffic hummed below. The risk made it hotter; she muffled her screams in a pillow.
She taught me everything—how to eat pussy properly (focus on clit, use fingers), how to last longer (edging), even kinks like light spanking and dirty talk. "Bol na, Bhabhi ki chut kitni tight hai... haan, I'm your personal randi!"
Emotionally, it deepened too. We'd cuddle after, her confessing how Bhaiya neglected her needs, how my passion made her feel alive. "Tu mera asli pati hai ab," she'd say. I felt guilty at times, but the lust overpowered it.
Bhaiya returned, and we had to stop the overt stuff—but stolen moments continued. Quick handjobs in the bathroom, fingering her under the dinner table while Bhaiya watched TV oblivious.
Even now, whenever Bhaiya travels (which is often), Bhabhi texts: "Aa ja devar ji, Bhabhi wait kar rahi hai." Those forbidden nights with Neha Bhabhi were the best of my life—raw, passionate, endless pleasure. She turned me from a boy into a man who knows how to satisfy a woman completely.