My name is Rohan, 24 years old, just finished my engineering and working from home for a startup in Mumbai. We live in a 2BHK flat in Andheri East – me, my elder brother Vikram bhaiya, and his wife Priya bhabhi. Bhaiya is 32, always travelling for his export business, gone for weeks at a time. That leaves me and bhabhi alone in the flat most days.
Priya bhabhi is 28, the kind of woman who turns heads without trying. Fair skin, long black hair that she ties in a loose bun when doing household work, and a figure that’s pure fire – 36-28-38. Her boobs are heavy and round, always straining against her blouse or nighty, and her ass sways like a pendulum when she walks. She wears simple cotton sarees at home, but even those can’t hide her curves. I’ve caught myself staring too many times – the way her pallu slips and shows deep cleavage, or how her navel peeks out when she bends to pick something up.
I never thought anything would happen. She was my bhabhi, family. But this summer, when bhaiya left for a month-long trip to Dubai, things changed.
It started innocently. The Mumbai heat was brutal, AC in the living room broken, fans barely helping. Bhabhi wore loose nighties, thin cotton ones that clung to her sweaty body. I worked in shorts and vest, trying not to notice how her nipples poked through the fabric when she came out after bath.
One afternoon, I was in my room editing code, door half open. Bhabhi knocked. “Rohan, can you help? The kitchen shelf is loose.”
I went. She was on a stool, reaching up to arrange spices, nighty riding high on her thighs. From behind, I saw her creamy legs, the curve of her ass outlined perfectly. My lund twitched instantly.
I steadied the shelf while she handed me the screwdriver. Our hands brushed. She looked down at me, hair wet from recent bath, a few drops sliding down her neck into her cleavage.
“Thank you, Rohan. You’re always so helpful,” she said, voice soft.
That night, I jerked off thinking of her – imagining those boobs in my hands, that ass pressed against me.
Next day, rain started – typical Mumbai monsoon. Power cut in evening. We lit candles, sat in living room eating dinner by candlelight. Bhabhi wore a low-cut red nighty, deep neck showing half her boobs. The flame light made her skin glow.
“Rohan, you’re young, must have girlfriends na?” she teased suddenly.
I laughed nervously. “No bhabhi, busy with work.”
She leaned forward, pallu-like neckline dipping lower. “Really? A handsome boy like you? Girls must be crazy.”
My eyes went to her cleavage. She noticed but didn’t cover up. Instead, she smiled.
That night, I heard sounds from her room – soft moans. Door slightly open. I crept closer, heart pounding. Through the gap, I saw her on bed, nighty pulled up, hand between her legs, rubbing slowly. Her eyes closed, lips parted, whispering “haan… aur zor se…”
My lund was rock hard. I went back to my room and came harder than ever.
The tension built over days. She started touching me more – hand on my arm while talking, brushing against me in kitchen, bending extra low when serving food so I got full view of her boobs.
One evening, heavy rain, thunder. Power gone again. Bhabhi called me to her room. “Rohan, I’m scared of thunder. Can you sit with me till it stops?”
I went. She was on bed in a black nighty, thin straps, almost see-through. Boobs heaving with each breath.
We talked. She moved closer. “You know, Vikram is always away. I feel so lonely sometimes.”
I swallowed. “Bhabhi, you’re so beautiful. Any man would be lucky.”
She looked at me, eyes dark. “Even you?”
Before I could answer, lightning flashed. She grabbed my hand, placed it on her thigh. Skin hot, smooth.
“Rohan… touch me.”
I couldn’t hold back. My hand slid up her thigh, under nighty. She wasn’t wearing panties. My fingers found her choot – already wet, hot, shaved smooth.
She moaned. “Haan… Rohan… kitne din se soch rahi thi…”
I pushed her back on bed, nighty up to waist. Her choot glistened in candlelight – pink lips swollen, clit peeking. I dove in, tongue licking her juices. She tasted sweet-salty, pure heaven.
“Ahhh… Rohan… bohot acha lag raha hai…” Her hands in my hair, hips grinding against my face.
I sucked her clit hard, fingers sliding inside – two, then three. Her choot tight, gripping me. She came fast, body shaking, juices flooding my mouth.
Then she pulled me up, kissed me wildly, tasting herself on my tongue. Her hands yanked my shorts down. My lund sprang out – 7 inches, thick, veiny, pre-cum leaking.
“Kitna bada hai tera…” she whispered, stroking it. “Vikram ka itna bada nahi…”
She pushed me down, straddled my face first, grinding her wet choot on my mouth while leaning forward to take my lund in hers. 69 position – her boobs hanging, nipples hard. She sucked like a pro – deep throat, tongue swirling, hand pumping base.
I couldn’t last long. “Bhabhi… aa raha hai…”
She sucked harder. I exploded in her mouth – thick ropes of cum. She swallowed every drop, licking clean.
But we weren’t done.
She climbed on top, guided my still-hard lund to her choot. Slowly sank down – inch by inch. Her face pure bliss. “Pura andar… ahhh… bohot mota hai tera…”
She started riding – slow at first, boobs bouncing, then faster. I grabbed them, squeezed hard, pinched nipples. She moaned louder.
“Chod mujhe Rohan… zor se chod apni bhabhi ko…”
I flipped her over, missionary. Legs on my shoulders, pounded deep. Her choot made wet slapping sounds. She clawed my back.
“Haan… aur zor se… phad de meri choot…”
I fucked harder, bed shaking. She came again, choot squeezing my lund like vice.
Then doggy – her favourite. Ass high, I slammed from behind, watching it jiggle. Slapped her ass red. Pulled hair.
“Bol… kiski choot hai ye?”
“Teri… sirf teri… chod randi bana de mujhe…”
I reached under, rubbed her clit. She screamed, third orgasm hitting. I couldn’t hold – pulled out, came on her ass and back, hot cum dripping down.
We collapsed, sweating, breathing hard.
From that night, it became daily.
Mornings – quick blowjob while I showered, her on knees swallowing breakfast cum.
Afternoons – kitchen counter fuck, her bent over, saree up, me pounding while lunch cooked.
Evenings – slow sensual sessions on sofa, me eating her out for hours till she begged to be fucked.
We tried everything. Anal one night – slow, lots of oil, her tight gaand taking me inch by inch till I filled it with cum.
Roleplay – she as maid, me as owner, “punishing” her with spanking and rough fucking.
Outdoor – once on terrace at night, rain pouring, her against wall, legs wrapped around me.
Bhabhi became addicted. “Tera lund hi chahiye mujhe ab… Vikram ka chhota sa nahi chahiye.”
I loved making her cum – counting orgasms, sometimes five-six in one session.
Bhaiya called sometimes. She’d talk normally while I fingered her under table, or fucked her from behind while she on phone.
“Ha ji… sab thik hai…” she’d say, biting lip to not moan.
One month passed like dream.
Then bhaiya returned early.
We stopped physical, but eyes spoke everything. Stolen touches when he wasn’t looking. Night messages – “Aaj teri choot yaad aa rahi hai.”
He left again two weeks later for Bangalore.
First night he gone, bhabhi came to my room naked, dripping wet.
“Ab pura mahina hai… chod mujhe roz… bana de apni randi.”
We fucked all night – every position, every hole, till sunrise.
This became our secret life. Bhaiya travels, we fuck like animals. When he home, we behave – but tension builds, making next sessions wilder.
Sometimes guilt hits – he’s my brother. But seeing bhabhi’s satisfied smile, her glowing skin, her begging for my lund – guilt disappears.
She says, “Tu hi mera asli pati hai ab… tera hi lund meri choot ke liye bana hai.”
I agree.
This forbidden devar-bhabhi chudai continues. Hot, wild, endless.
Who knows when it ends. Maybe never.
Till then, every night in our Mumbai flat – moans, slaps, wet sounds, cum everywhere.
Pure desi incest bliss.
What did you think? Feedback welcome. Part 2 if you want more details of specific sessions.
Priya bhabhi is 28, the kind of woman who turns heads without trying. Fair skin, long black hair that she ties in a loose bun when doing household work, and a figure that’s pure fire – 36-28-38. Her boobs are heavy and round, always straining against her blouse or nighty, and her ass sways like a pendulum when she walks. She wears simple cotton sarees at home, but even those can’t hide her curves. I’ve caught myself staring too many times – the way her pallu slips and shows deep cleavage, or how her navel peeks out when she bends to pick something up.
I never thought anything would happen. She was my bhabhi, family. But this summer, when bhaiya left for a month-long trip to Dubai, things changed.
It started innocently. The Mumbai heat was brutal, AC in the living room broken, fans barely helping. Bhabhi wore loose nighties, thin cotton ones that clung to her sweaty body. I worked in shorts and vest, trying not to notice how her nipples poked through the fabric when she came out after bath.
One afternoon, I was in my room editing code, door half open. Bhabhi knocked. “Rohan, can you help? The kitchen shelf is loose.”
I went. She was on a stool, reaching up to arrange spices, nighty riding high on her thighs. From behind, I saw her creamy legs, the curve of her ass outlined perfectly. My lund twitched instantly.
I steadied the shelf while she handed me the screwdriver. Our hands brushed. She looked down at me, hair wet from recent bath, a few drops sliding down her neck into her cleavage.
“Thank you, Rohan. You’re always so helpful,” she said, voice soft.
That night, I jerked off thinking of her – imagining those boobs in my hands, that ass pressed against me.
Next day, rain started – typical Mumbai monsoon. Power cut in evening. We lit candles, sat in living room eating dinner by candlelight. Bhabhi wore a low-cut red nighty, deep neck showing half her boobs. The flame light made her skin glow.
“Rohan, you’re young, must have girlfriends na?” she teased suddenly.
I laughed nervously. “No bhabhi, busy with work.”
She leaned forward, pallu-like neckline dipping lower. “Really? A handsome boy like you? Girls must be crazy.”
My eyes went to her cleavage. She noticed but didn’t cover up. Instead, she smiled.
That night, I heard sounds from her room – soft moans. Door slightly open. I crept closer, heart pounding. Through the gap, I saw her on bed, nighty pulled up, hand between her legs, rubbing slowly. Her eyes closed, lips parted, whispering “haan… aur zor se…”
My lund was rock hard. I went back to my room and came harder than ever.
The tension built over days. She started touching me more – hand on my arm while talking, brushing against me in kitchen, bending extra low when serving food so I got full view of her boobs.
One evening, heavy rain, thunder. Power gone again. Bhabhi called me to her room. “Rohan, I’m scared of thunder. Can you sit with me till it stops?”
I went. She was on bed in a black nighty, thin straps, almost see-through. Boobs heaving with each breath.
We talked. She moved closer. “You know, Vikram is always away. I feel so lonely sometimes.”
I swallowed. “Bhabhi, you’re so beautiful. Any man would be lucky.”
She looked at me, eyes dark. “Even you?”
Before I could answer, lightning flashed. She grabbed my hand, placed it on her thigh. Skin hot, smooth.
“Rohan… touch me.”
I couldn’t hold back. My hand slid up her thigh, under nighty. She wasn’t wearing panties. My fingers found her choot – already wet, hot, shaved smooth.
She moaned. “Haan… Rohan… kitne din se soch rahi thi…”
I pushed her back on bed, nighty up to waist. Her choot glistened in candlelight – pink lips swollen, clit peeking. I dove in, tongue licking her juices. She tasted sweet-salty, pure heaven.
“Ahhh… Rohan… bohot acha lag raha hai…” Her hands in my hair, hips grinding against my face.
I sucked her clit hard, fingers sliding inside – two, then three. Her choot tight, gripping me. She came fast, body shaking, juices flooding my mouth.
Then she pulled me up, kissed me wildly, tasting herself on my tongue. Her hands yanked my shorts down. My lund sprang out – 7 inches, thick, veiny, pre-cum leaking.
“Kitna bada hai tera…” she whispered, stroking it. “Vikram ka itna bada nahi…”
She pushed me down, straddled my face first, grinding her wet choot on my mouth while leaning forward to take my lund in hers. 69 position – her boobs hanging, nipples hard. She sucked like a pro – deep throat, tongue swirling, hand pumping base.
I couldn’t last long. “Bhabhi… aa raha hai…”
She sucked harder. I exploded in her mouth – thick ropes of cum. She swallowed every drop, licking clean.
But we weren’t done.
She climbed on top, guided my still-hard lund to her choot. Slowly sank down – inch by inch. Her face pure bliss. “Pura andar… ahhh… bohot mota hai tera…”
She started riding – slow at first, boobs bouncing, then faster. I grabbed them, squeezed hard, pinched nipples. She moaned louder.
“Chod mujhe Rohan… zor se chod apni bhabhi ko…”
I flipped her over, missionary. Legs on my shoulders, pounded deep. Her choot made wet slapping sounds. She clawed my back.
“Haan… aur zor se… phad de meri choot…”
I fucked harder, bed shaking. She came again, choot squeezing my lund like vice.
Then doggy – her favourite. Ass high, I slammed from behind, watching it jiggle. Slapped her ass red. Pulled hair.
“Bol… kiski choot hai ye?”
“Teri… sirf teri… chod randi bana de mujhe…”
I reached under, rubbed her clit. She screamed, third orgasm hitting. I couldn’t hold – pulled out, came on her ass and back, hot cum dripping down.
We collapsed, sweating, breathing hard.
From that night, it became daily.
Mornings – quick blowjob while I showered, her on knees swallowing breakfast cum.
Afternoons – kitchen counter fuck, her bent over, saree up, me pounding while lunch cooked.
Evenings – slow sensual sessions on sofa, me eating her out for hours till she begged to be fucked.
We tried everything. Anal one night – slow, lots of oil, her tight gaand taking me inch by inch till I filled it with cum.
Roleplay – she as maid, me as owner, “punishing” her with spanking and rough fucking.
Outdoor – once on terrace at night, rain pouring, her against wall, legs wrapped around me.
Bhabhi became addicted. “Tera lund hi chahiye mujhe ab… Vikram ka chhota sa nahi chahiye.”
I loved making her cum – counting orgasms, sometimes five-six in one session.
Bhaiya called sometimes. She’d talk normally while I fingered her under table, or fucked her from behind while she on phone.
“Ha ji… sab thik hai…” she’d say, biting lip to not moan.
One month passed like dream.
Then bhaiya returned early.
We stopped physical, but eyes spoke everything. Stolen touches when he wasn’t looking. Night messages – “Aaj teri choot yaad aa rahi hai.”
He left again two weeks later for Bangalore.
First night he gone, bhabhi came to my room naked, dripping wet.
“Ab pura mahina hai… chod mujhe roz… bana de apni randi.”
We fucked all night – every position, every hole, till sunrise.
This became our secret life. Bhaiya travels, we fuck like animals. When he home, we behave – but tension builds, making next sessions wilder.
Sometimes guilt hits – he’s my brother. But seeing bhabhi’s satisfied smile, her glowing skin, her begging for my lund – guilt disappears.
She says, “Tu hi mera asli pati hai ab… tera hi lund meri choot ke liye bana hai.”
I agree.
This forbidden devar-bhabhi chudai continues. Hot, wild, endless.
Who knows when it ends. Maybe never.
Till then, every night in our Mumbai flat – moans, slaps, wet sounds, cum everywhere.
Pure desi incest bliss.
What did you think? Feedback welcome. Part 2 if you want more details of specific sessions.