Hello friends, my name is Bikram, and this is the deeply intimate and forbidden story of my cousin sister, Priya, and how a simple family wedding in our ancestral village turned into the most intense, passionate, and taboo experience of our lives – a fire of desire that burned through guilt, family ties, and every moral boundary we knew. I am 26 years old now, living in Kathmandu, working as a graphic designer for a tourism company. My body is lean and strong from weekend treks in the Himalayas – 5'10" height, toned muscles, sharp features with a light beard, and my cock is 7.5 inches long, thick with a slight upward curve that hits all the right spots, something Priya would later describe as "perfect for deep pleasure." My cousin Priya is 23, studying fashion design in Pokhara, a true Nepali hill beauty – porcelain fair skin that glows under the sun, long wavy black hair reaching her lower back, a curvy figure of 35C-26-37 with full, perky breasts that push against her kurtas, a narrow waist with a cute belly piercing she hides from family, and a plump, heart-shaped ass that sways mesmerizingly in her traditional dresses or tight jeans. She has those expressive doe eyes, full lips always with a playful smile, and a laugh that lights up any room.
Our families are deeply connected – typical Newari-Nepali joint family from a village near Dhulikhel. Priya is my mama's daughter, so technically my khala-ko chhori, but we grew up calling each other "cousin dai" and "bahini" with that close, teasing bond. Summers in the village were spent together – playing in the terraced fields, bathing in the river, late-night stories under the stars. As kids, it was innocent; as teens, it changed. I noticed her body developing – the way her salwar kameez clung to her growing curves during festivals. She would catch me staring and blush, but tease back – "Dai, kina herdai chau yesto?" We'd wrestle playfully, bodies pressing in ways that stirred something forbidden. I'd fantasize about her at night in the shared attic room, stroking myself quietly while she slept nearby. She confessed later that she felt the same – touching herself thinking of me, the strong cousin who protected her from village boys.
This story is from the summer wedding of our elder cousin brother in June 2025 – a grand traditional Nepali village wedding lasting a full week with janti, baraat, kanyadaan, and endless feasts. The whole extended family gathered in the old ancestral home – mud-brick walls, wooden beams, courtyard with a tulsi plant, surrounded by rice fields. Over 50 relatives, but the house had limited rooms, so many shared. My parents came from Kathmandu, Priya's from Pokhara. The groom's side preparations meant chaos – decorations, music, dancing every night. My mama (Priya's father) and mami were busy hosting, so Priya and I, being the young ones, were often paired for errands – fetching flowers from the fields, helping with mehendi, arranging the mandap.
The first day was arrival and sagun. Priya arrived with her family – wearing a simple pink kurta suruwal, but it hugged her curves perfectly, her dupatta barely containing her full breasts. When she saw me at the gate, her face lit up – that big hug, her body pressing fully against mine, soft breasts squishing my chest, her hair smelling of rhododendron oil. "Dai, kati din bhayo na bhet!" she whispered, holding longer than necessary. I felt her heartbeat fast against me, my cock stirring dangerously. That night, during the family dinner on the courtyard floor – daal bhaat tarkari, achar, chiura – we sat close, thighs touching under the low table. She fed me a bite playfully, fingers brushing my lips. Eye contact lingered, loaded with unspoken tension.
Second day was mehendi and sangeet. Girls in one room applying henna, boys outside preparing the baraat props. Priya was in a green ghagra choli – low-cut choli showing her midriff and deep cleavage, ghagra swirling around her hips. During the ladies' sangeet, traditional Nepali songs played, and she danced – hips swaying sensually to "Resham" and "Kanchhi Hey Kanchhi," her body moving with natural grace from years of learning lok dohori dance. I watched from the doorway, mesmerized as her breasts bounced slightly, sweat glistening on her collarbone. She caught my eye and winked, pulling me in to dance. Our bodies moved close – my hands on her waist guiding spins, her ass brushing my crotch repeatedly. In one slow song, she turned her back to me, grinding lightly against my growing hardness. "Dai, timi pani ramro nachchau," she whispered over her shoulder, breath hot on my neck. That night, unable to sleep in the shared room with cousins, I slipped to the rooftop terrace. Priya joined "for fresh air" – wearing a thin nightdress, no bra, nipples visible in the moonlight. We talked about life – her college crushes that never worked, my failed relationships. "Dai, sometimes I wish I could be with someone who really understands me, like family," she said, head on my shoulder. I turned, cupped her face, and kissed her – soft, tentative at first, then deep, tongues meeting hungrily for the first time. Her moan vibrated against my lips, hands clutching my shirt.
"Ahh dai, yo galat ho... hamro cousin rishta," she pulled back breathing heavy, but her eyes begged for more. We kissed again, my hands exploring her back, sliding to cup her ass – so firm and full. She pressed her breasts against me, nipples hard through the fabric. But cousins' voices from below stopped us. "Bholi," she whispered, fingers tracing my bulge before leaving.
Third day was haldi and more dances. The sexual tension was unbearable – stolen glances, brushes in crowded hallways. During haldi ceremony, yellow paste smeared on the groom, playful chaos ensued. Priya "accidentally" smeared haldi on my face, hands lingering, then down my chest. I retaliated, hands on her bare midriff, fingers dipping into her navel, smearing up toward her breasts. She gasped, body shivering. That afternoon, while others napped in the heat, we snuck to the old barn behind the house – hay stacks, dusty air, private. "Dai, I can't stop thinking about last night," she confessed, pushing me against the wall, kissing fiercely. Clothes came off slowly – her choli unbuttoned, revealing lacy bra straining against her C-cup breasts, dark pink nipples begging attention. I sucked them reverently, tongue circling, biting gently as she moaned "Dai, ahh, suck harder." Her hand freed my cock – gasping at the size "Timro lusso kati thulo cha dai, mero sapana bhanda pani ramro."
She knelt on the hay, blowjob slow and worshipful – eyes locked on mine, tongue licking from base to tip, swirling the head, taking deep until gagging slightly, saliva strings connecting. I held her hair, thrusting gently into her warm mouth. Then I laid her down, kurtas off, panties soaked. Her pussy was beautifully pink, trimmed with a landing strip. Fingers explored – rubbing clit in circles, two inside curling to hit her spot. "Finger chik bahini ko geeli puti dai, teji le ahh!" She bucked wildly, squirting for the first time, juices soaking my hand. I devoured her – tongue deep, sucking clit like a ripe mango, her thighs clamping my head as she came multiple times, crying my name softly.
Finally, the main act – positioned missionary on soft hay. Cock teasing her entrance, "Daal bhitra dai, chode timro cousin bahini lai." Slow entry – incredibly tight, warm velvet gripping every inch. She winced then sighed in pleasure as I bottomed out. Slow deep thrusts building rhythm – her breasts bouncing, nails digging my back. "Faster dai, fuck me hard, mero puti timro lagi ho!" Speed increased, hay rustling, bodies slapping. Switched to doggy – her perfect ass up, spanked lightly red, deep strokes from behind hitting cervix. "Ahh yes dai, pull my hair, own me!" Anal tease with wet finger – she pushed back moaning for more, but we saved for later. Climax – "Cum inside dai, mero safe days cha." I exploded deep, filling her with hot thick ropes, leaking out as we collapsed.
Post-orgasm cuddle in hay – sweat, hay scent, her head on my chest. Guilt hit hard – tears in her eyes "Yo incest ho dai, family le thaha payo bhane sab barbaad, tara yo feeling... I needed this." I held her, confessing my years-long fantasies. Passion overtook guilt again – second round slower, more emotional, eye contact, whispers of love beyond cousins.
The wedding week continued with more secret encounters. Fourth day janti procession – chaos allowed us to slip to the riverbank. Quick passionate fuck standing against a tree – her leg wrapped around me, saree hiked, deep thrusts muffled moans in kisses. Night feasts – under the table foot play, her toes on my bulge.
Fifth day kanyadaan ceremony emotional for family, but for us charged. After, in the attic storeroom – full exploration. 69 position – her pussy on my face grinding as she deepthroated, mutual orgasms swallowing. Cowgirl – she rode wildly, breasts bouncing in my hands, grinding clit on base. Reverse cowgirl ass view hypnotic. First anal – slow with spit and juices, pain turning ecstasy "Full bhitra dai, mero gaand pani timro, ahh cumming from ass!"
Our families are deeply connected – typical Newari-Nepali joint family from a village near Dhulikhel. Priya is my mama's daughter, so technically my khala-ko chhori, but we grew up calling each other "cousin dai" and "bahini" with that close, teasing bond. Summers in the village were spent together – playing in the terraced fields, bathing in the river, late-night stories under the stars. As kids, it was innocent; as teens, it changed. I noticed her body developing – the way her salwar kameez clung to her growing curves during festivals. She would catch me staring and blush, but tease back – "Dai, kina herdai chau yesto?" We'd wrestle playfully, bodies pressing in ways that stirred something forbidden. I'd fantasize about her at night in the shared attic room, stroking myself quietly while she slept nearby. She confessed later that she felt the same – touching herself thinking of me, the strong cousin who protected her from village boys.
This story is from the summer wedding of our elder cousin brother in June 2025 – a grand traditional Nepali village wedding lasting a full week with janti, baraat, kanyadaan, and endless feasts. The whole extended family gathered in the old ancestral home – mud-brick walls, wooden beams, courtyard with a tulsi plant, surrounded by rice fields. Over 50 relatives, but the house had limited rooms, so many shared. My parents came from Kathmandu, Priya's from Pokhara. The groom's side preparations meant chaos – decorations, music, dancing every night. My mama (Priya's father) and mami were busy hosting, so Priya and I, being the young ones, were often paired for errands – fetching flowers from the fields, helping with mehendi, arranging the mandap.
The first day was arrival and sagun. Priya arrived with her family – wearing a simple pink kurta suruwal, but it hugged her curves perfectly, her dupatta barely containing her full breasts. When she saw me at the gate, her face lit up – that big hug, her body pressing fully against mine, soft breasts squishing my chest, her hair smelling of rhododendron oil. "Dai, kati din bhayo na bhet!" she whispered, holding longer than necessary. I felt her heartbeat fast against me, my cock stirring dangerously. That night, during the family dinner on the courtyard floor – daal bhaat tarkari, achar, chiura – we sat close, thighs touching under the low table. She fed me a bite playfully, fingers brushing my lips. Eye contact lingered, loaded with unspoken tension.
Second day was mehendi and sangeet. Girls in one room applying henna, boys outside preparing the baraat props. Priya was in a green ghagra choli – low-cut choli showing her midriff and deep cleavage, ghagra swirling around her hips. During the ladies' sangeet, traditional Nepali songs played, and she danced – hips swaying sensually to "Resham" and "Kanchhi Hey Kanchhi," her body moving with natural grace from years of learning lok dohori dance. I watched from the doorway, mesmerized as her breasts bounced slightly, sweat glistening on her collarbone. She caught my eye and winked, pulling me in to dance. Our bodies moved close – my hands on her waist guiding spins, her ass brushing my crotch repeatedly. In one slow song, she turned her back to me, grinding lightly against my growing hardness. "Dai, timi pani ramro nachchau," she whispered over her shoulder, breath hot on my neck. That night, unable to sleep in the shared room with cousins, I slipped to the rooftop terrace. Priya joined "for fresh air" – wearing a thin nightdress, no bra, nipples visible in the moonlight. We talked about life – her college crushes that never worked, my failed relationships. "Dai, sometimes I wish I could be with someone who really understands me, like family," she said, head on my shoulder. I turned, cupped her face, and kissed her – soft, tentative at first, then deep, tongues meeting hungrily for the first time. Her moan vibrated against my lips, hands clutching my shirt.
"Ahh dai, yo galat ho... hamro cousin rishta," she pulled back breathing heavy, but her eyes begged for more. We kissed again, my hands exploring her back, sliding to cup her ass – so firm and full. She pressed her breasts against me, nipples hard through the fabric. But cousins' voices from below stopped us. "Bholi," she whispered, fingers tracing my bulge before leaving.
Third day was haldi and more dances. The sexual tension was unbearable – stolen glances, brushes in crowded hallways. During haldi ceremony, yellow paste smeared on the groom, playful chaos ensued. Priya "accidentally" smeared haldi on my face, hands lingering, then down my chest. I retaliated, hands on her bare midriff, fingers dipping into her navel, smearing up toward her breasts. She gasped, body shivering. That afternoon, while others napped in the heat, we snuck to the old barn behind the house – hay stacks, dusty air, private. "Dai, I can't stop thinking about last night," she confessed, pushing me against the wall, kissing fiercely. Clothes came off slowly – her choli unbuttoned, revealing lacy bra straining against her C-cup breasts, dark pink nipples begging attention. I sucked them reverently, tongue circling, biting gently as she moaned "Dai, ahh, suck harder." Her hand freed my cock – gasping at the size "Timro lusso kati thulo cha dai, mero sapana bhanda pani ramro."
She knelt on the hay, blowjob slow and worshipful – eyes locked on mine, tongue licking from base to tip, swirling the head, taking deep until gagging slightly, saliva strings connecting. I held her hair, thrusting gently into her warm mouth. Then I laid her down, kurtas off, panties soaked. Her pussy was beautifully pink, trimmed with a landing strip. Fingers explored – rubbing clit in circles, two inside curling to hit her spot. "Finger chik bahini ko geeli puti dai, teji le ahh!" She bucked wildly, squirting for the first time, juices soaking my hand. I devoured her – tongue deep, sucking clit like a ripe mango, her thighs clamping my head as she came multiple times, crying my name softly.
Finally, the main act – positioned missionary on soft hay. Cock teasing her entrance, "Daal bhitra dai, chode timro cousin bahini lai." Slow entry – incredibly tight, warm velvet gripping every inch. She winced then sighed in pleasure as I bottomed out. Slow deep thrusts building rhythm – her breasts bouncing, nails digging my back. "Faster dai, fuck me hard, mero puti timro lagi ho!" Speed increased, hay rustling, bodies slapping. Switched to doggy – her perfect ass up, spanked lightly red, deep strokes from behind hitting cervix. "Ahh yes dai, pull my hair, own me!" Anal tease with wet finger – she pushed back moaning for more, but we saved for later. Climax – "Cum inside dai, mero safe days cha." I exploded deep, filling her with hot thick ropes, leaking out as we collapsed.
Post-orgasm cuddle in hay – sweat, hay scent, her head on my chest. Guilt hit hard – tears in her eyes "Yo incest ho dai, family le thaha payo bhane sab barbaad, tara yo feeling... I needed this." I held her, confessing my years-long fantasies. Passion overtook guilt again – second round slower, more emotional, eye contact, whispers of love beyond cousins.
The wedding week continued with more secret encounters. Fourth day janti procession – chaos allowed us to slip to the riverbank. Quick passionate fuck standing against a tree – her leg wrapped around me, saree hiked, deep thrusts muffled moans in kisses. Night feasts – under the table foot play, her toes on my bulge.
Fifth day kanyadaan ceremony emotional for family, but for us charged. After, in the attic storeroom – full exploration. 69 position – her pussy on my face grinding as she deepthroated, mutual orgasms swallowing. Cowgirl – she rode wildly, breasts bouncing in my hands, grinding clit on base. Reverse cowgirl ass view hypnotic. First anal – slow with spit and juices, pain turning ecstasy "Full bhitra dai, mero gaand pani timro, ahh cumming from ass!"