Hi, my name is Vikram Singh, and this is my true experience that happened last summer when I was 22, studying engineering in Mumbai. I come from a middle-class Punjabi family, nothing fancy, just your typical joint family setup with lots of relatives scattered around. My dad had to send me to stay with my bua in Delhi for a couple of weeks because our house was getting renovated, and honestly, I wasn't complaining. My bua, Ritu aunty, was my dad's younger sister, around 42, but she looked way younger – curvy figure, fair skin, long black hair that she often tied in a loose bun, and those deep brown eyes that always seemed to hold a secret smile. Her husband, my fufa ji, worked in Dubai and came home only once a year, so she managed the house alone with her daughter, my cousin Simran, who was 20 and studying commerce in a local college. Simran was a stunner too – slim, with wavy hair, sharp features, and a playful attitude that made her the center of attention at family gatherings. We were close as kids, but as we grew up, there was this unspoken tension, like we both knew we were checking each other out but never admitted it.
The Delhi house was a typical two-story flat in a bustling colony, with creaky fans, mosquito nets over the beds, and that constant hum of traffic outside. It was humid as hell in July, the kind of sticky heat that makes your clothes cling to your skin and turns every nap into a sweaty ordeal. I arrived on a Friday evening, lugging my backpack, and bua greeted me at the door with a warm hug. "Arre Vikram beta, kitna bada ho gaya hai tu! Come in, come in," she said, her soft arms wrapping around me a bit longer than usual. I could smell her jasmine-scented soap mixed with a faint sweat from the day's chores, and her dupatta slipped a little, giving me a quick glimpse of her deep cleavage in that simple cotton salwar kameez. My heart skipped – damn, she was stacked, probably 36D, with those full, round breasts straining against the fabric. I pushed the thought away, feeling guilty. She's my bua, for god's sake.
Simran was out with friends, so bua and I had dinner alone – aloo paratha and curd, simple but delicious. We chatted about college, my studies, her daily routine. "Tera fufa toh wahan Dubai mein busy rehta hai, ghar pe akeli hoon main," she sighed, her eyes lingering on mine. There was a sadness there, but also something else – a spark? I nodded, trying not to stare at how her lips moved when she spoke, full and pink. After dinner, she showed me to the guest room upstairs, but the AC was broken, so she suggested I sleep in the living room with the cooler. "Nahi bua, main manage kar lunga," I said, but she insisted, "Arre beta, garmi mein so nahi payega. Simran ke room mein extra bed hai, but wo late aayegi. Tu mere room mein so jaa aaj, king size bed hai, comfortable rahega." My mind raced – sharing a bed with bua? But I agreed, pretending it was no big deal.
That night, after showering, I lay on one side of the bed in my shorts and t-shirt, the fan whirring overhead. Bua came in wearing a thin nighty, semi-transparent in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. I could make out the outline of her bra and panties underneath, her hips swaying as she walked. "Sone se pehle paani piyega?" she asked, bending over to place a glass on the side table. Her nighty gaped open slightly, revealing the creamy tops of her breasts, the lace of her black bra peeking out. My cock twitched in my shorts – shit, this was wrong, but I couldn't look away. She caught me staring and smiled softly, "Kya dekh raha hai beta? Thak gaya hoga travel se." I mumbled something about being fine, and she slid into bed beside me, her body heat radiating even in the cool air from the fan.
We talked in whispers – about family, old memories, how lonely she felt sometimes. Her hand brushed mine accidentally as she adjusted the sheet, and she didn't pull away. Instead, she let it linger, her fingers tracing light circles on my palm. "Tu itna handsome ho gaya hai, Vikram. Ladkiyan toh marti hongi tere pe," she teased, her voice husky. I laughed nervously, feeling my face heat up. Inside, my mind was a storm – her touch was electric, sending jolts straight to my groin. I could smell her again, that mix of soap and feminine musk, intensified by the heat. My cock was half-hard now, throbbing against my shorts. She shifted closer, her thigh pressing against mine under the sheet. "Garmi lag rahi hai na? Nighty utaar du?" she joked, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. I swallowed hard, "Nahi bua, theek hai." But my voice cracked, betraying me.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of bua in the kitchen. Simran was back, chatting with her mom over tea. "Bhaiya, good morning!" Simran said, hugging me sideways. She was in a tank top and shorts, her perky breasts – maybe 34C – bouncing slightly, nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric. Damn, she was hot, with that toned body from yoga classes she mentioned. The day passed normally – we went shopping in the local market, bua bargaining for veggies, her saree pallu fluttering in the breeze, occasionally slipping to show her blouse-clad midriff, soft and inviting. I helped carry bags, our hands brushing, and each time, she'd smile that knowing smile. Back home, during lunch, Simran teased me about my "city boy" looks, her foot accidentally grazing my leg under the table. Or was it accidental? Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
That afternoon, bua complained of a headache. "Beta, zara sar daba de na," she said, lying on the bed. I sat beside her, my hands on her forehead, massaging gently. She moaned softly, "Ahh, kitna achha lag raha hai Vikram. Zor se daba." Her voice was breathy, and as I moved to her shoulders, her saree pallu fell away completely, exposing her blouse, the hooks straining over her massive breasts. I could see the outline of her nipples, hard and poking through. My hands trembled as I kneaded her soft skin, feeling the warmth, the slight sweat making it slick. "Niche bhi, gale pe," she guided, arching her back slightly. My fingers dipped lower, brushing the tops of her breasts. She didn't stop me. Instead, she sighed, "Tu kitna caring hai beta. Meri toh koi fikar nahi karta." Guilt mixed with lust – this was my bua, but her body was so tempting, curves in all the right places, that forbidden thrill making my cock rock hard in my jeans.
Simran walked in then, but didn't seem surprised. "Mom, you okay?" she asked, sitting on the other side. Bua nodded, "Haan beti, Vikram daba raha hai. Tu bhi join kar, back massage de." Simran laughed, her hands on bua's back, but her eyes met mine over bua's shoulder, a sly wink. The room felt charged, the air thick with unspoken desire. That evening, we watched TV together, bua in the middle on the couch. Her hand rested on my thigh, inching higher as the movie played – some romantic drama. Simran was on her phone, but I noticed her glancing at us. When bua got up to make tea, Simran leaned over, whispering, "Bhaiya, mom ko pasand aa raha hai tera company. Careful, warna kuch ho jayega." Her breath was hot on my ear, her breast brushing my arm. I felt a surge of arousal – was she jealous? Teasing? Or something more?
Night came, and again, I shared the bed with bua, Simran in her room. The power went out, typical Delhi summer blackout, leaving us in darkness with only a candle flickering. Sweat beaded on our skins, making everything sticky. Bua fanned herself, her nighty clinging to her curves. "Garmi se mar jaungi main," she complained, pulling the nighty up to her thighs, exposing her smooth legs. I offered to fan her, sitting close. My hand accidentally brushed her inner thigh, soft and warm. She gasped but didn't move away. Instead, she placed her hand on mine, guiding it higher. "Beta, yahan daba," she whispered, her voice trembling. My fingers touched the edge of her panties, damp with sweat – or was it arousal? I could smell her now, a musky, feminine scent that made my head spin.
"Vikram, tu samajh raha hai na? Main akeli hoon itne saalon se," she confessed, her eyes locking with mine in the candlelight. Guilt flooded me – this was incest, taboo – but the thrill was intoxicating. My cock throbbed painfully, pre-cum leaking into my boxers. I leaned in, our lips meeting in a hesitant kiss. Her mouth was soft, tasting of mint from toothpaste, her tongue shy at first then eager, dancing with mine. We kissed deeper, her hands pulling me closer, my body pressing against her soft curves. I cupped her breast through the nighty, feeling the weight, the nipple hardening under my palm. "Ahh beta, dheere," she moaned, but arched into my touch.
The buildup had been torture – days of glances, touches, that simmering tension. Now, it was unleashing. I slipped my hand under her nighty, unhooking her bra with trembling fingers. The straps slid down, revealing her magnificent breasts – full, round, with dark pink nipples erect and begging. I squeezed one, rolling the nipple between my fingers, making her gasp. "Vikram, choos le inhe," she urged in Hindi, her voice husky with need. I lowered my mouth, sucking on her nipple, tasting the salty sweat, swirling my tongue around the areola. She moaned louder, "Haan beta, aur zor se... ahhh." Her hand found my cock, stroking through my shorts, feeling its length – about 7 inches, thick and veiny, throbbing in her grip.
We stripped slowly – I pulled her nighty over her head, exposing her naked body, curves glistening in sweat. Her panties were soaked, the fabric clinging to her pussy lips. I hooked my fingers in the waistband, sliding them down her thighs, revealing her shaved mound, wet and inviting, the scent of her arousal filling the room. She tugged at my shorts, my cock springing free, hard and dripping pre-cum. "Kitna bada hai tera, beta," she whispered, stroking it slowly, her hand slick with my fluids.
I positioned myself between her legs, rubbing my cock against her wet slit, teasing her clit. She bucked her hips, "Andar daal na, Vikram... chodo mujhe." I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tight warmth envelop me. She was so wet, but still gripped me like a vice. "Ahhh... haan beta, zor se," she cried, her nails digging into my back. I thrust deeper, building a rhythm, our bodies slapping together in the humid night. Sweat poured off us, mixing with her juices, the bed creaking under us. I pounded her missionary style, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, nipples brushing my chest. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me deeper, her moans echoing – "Chodo mujhe... bua ko pel do... ahhh yes!"
We changed positions – she on top, riding me, her hips grinding, breasts swaying in my face. I sucked them again, biting lightly, making her scream in pleasure. Her pussy clenched around my cock, milking me, as she came first – body shaking, juices flooding, "Main aa rahi hoon... ahhh Vikram!" I flipped her doggy style, grabbing her ass, slamming in hard, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room. Her scent was overpowering, musky and sweet, driving me wild. I felt my orgasm building, thrusting faster, until I exploded inside her, filling her with hot cum, creampie dripping out as she collapsed, moaning.
But just as we caught our breath, the door creaked open. Simran stood there, eyes wide, but not shocked – aroused? "Mom? Bhaiya?" she whispered, her nightdress half-open, hand between her legs like she'd been touching herself. Bua gasped, but I saw the spark in her eyes. "Beti, tu... aa ja," bua said softly, beckoning. Simran hesitated, then stepped in, closing the door. "Main sab sun rahi thi... mujhe bhi chahiye," she confessed, her voice trembling with lust.
The taboo intensified – now with my cousin too. Simran stripped quickly, her young body toned and firm, perky breasts with light brown nipples, pussy trimmed neatly. She climbed on the bed, kissing me first, her lips eager, tongue exploring. Bua watched, fingering herself, then joined, kissing Simran's neck. It was surreal – aunt and daughter, both mine. I lay back as Simran straddled my face, her wet pussy grinding on my tongue. I licked her clit, tasting her sweetness, tangy and fresh, while bua sucked my cock back to hardness, her mouth warm and skilled, tongue swirling the head, lapping up the mix of our cum.
Simran moaned, "Bhaiya, chooso meri choot... ahhh mom, dekho kitna achha lag raha." Bua smiled, "Haan beti, ab turn mera." We switched – bua riding my cock again, Simran on my face. Their moans blended, bodies writhing in sync. I thrust up into bua, feeling her walls pulse, while tonguing Simran's folds, her juices dripping down my chin. Simran came hard, shaking, squirting a little on my face, "Ahhh bhaiya... yes!" Bua followed, clenching around me, another orgasm ripping through her.
Then, the ultimate – both on all fours, asses up. I took turns, fucking bua first, then Simran, their pussies tight and wet, scents mingling in the air. Simran's was tighter, younger, gripping me fiercely. "Chodo mujhe bhaiya... zor se pel," she begged. Bua encouraged, "Haan beta, dono ko satisfy kar." I pounded them relentlessly, switching back and forth, their moans a chorus – "Ahhh... haan... chodo... aur zor se!" Sweat slicked our bodies, the room reeking of sex, taboo passion fueling us.
Finally, I pulled out, cumming on their faces and breasts, hot ropes splattering, them licking it off each other in a forbidden kiss. We collapsed in a heap, bodies entangled, hearts racing. The guilt lingered, but the thrill was addictive. That night changed us – secret glances the next day hinted at more to come, our family bonds twisted into something deeper, more primal.
The Delhi house was a typical two-story flat in a bustling colony, with creaky fans, mosquito nets over the beds, and that constant hum of traffic outside. It was humid as hell in July, the kind of sticky heat that makes your clothes cling to your skin and turns every nap into a sweaty ordeal. I arrived on a Friday evening, lugging my backpack, and bua greeted me at the door with a warm hug. "Arre Vikram beta, kitna bada ho gaya hai tu! Come in, come in," she said, her soft arms wrapping around me a bit longer than usual. I could smell her jasmine-scented soap mixed with a faint sweat from the day's chores, and her dupatta slipped a little, giving me a quick glimpse of her deep cleavage in that simple cotton salwar kameez. My heart skipped – damn, she was stacked, probably 36D, with those full, round breasts straining against the fabric. I pushed the thought away, feeling guilty. She's my bua, for god's sake.
Simran was out with friends, so bua and I had dinner alone – aloo paratha and curd, simple but delicious. We chatted about college, my studies, her daily routine. "Tera fufa toh wahan Dubai mein busy rehta hai, ghar pe akeli hoon main," she sighed, her eyes lingering on mine. There was a sadness there, but also something else – a spark? I nodded, trying not to stare at how her lips moved when she spoke, full and pink. After dinner, she showed me to the guest room upstairs, but the AC was broken, so she suggested I sleep in the living room with the cooler. "Nahi bua, main manage kar lunga," I said, but she insisted, "Arre beta, garmi mein so nahi payega. Simran ke room mein extra bed hai, but wo late aayegi. Tu mere room mein so jaa aaj, king size bed hai, comfortable rahega." My mind raced – sharing a bed with bua? But I agreed, pretending it was no big deal.
That night, after showering, I lay on one side of the bed in my shorts and t-shirt, the fan whirring overhead. Bua came in wearing a thin nighty, semi-transparent in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. I could make out the outline of her bra and panties underneath, her hips swaying as she walked. "Sone se pehle paani piyega?" she asked, bending over to place a glass on the side table. Her nighty gaped open slightly, revealing the creamy tops of her breasts, the lace of her black bra peeking out. My cock twitched in my shorts – shit, this was wrong, but I couldn't look away. She caught me staring and smiled softly, "Kya dekh raha hai beta? Thak gaya hoga travel se." I mumbled something about being fine, and she slid into bed beside me, her body heat radiating even in the cool air from the fan.
We talked in whispers – about family, old memories, how lonely she felt sometimes. Her hand brushed mine accidentally as she adjusted the sheet, and she didn't pull away. Instead, she let it linger, her fingers tracing light circles on my palm. "Tu itna handsome ho gaya hai, Vikram. Ladkiyan toh marti hongi tere pe," she teased, her voice husky. I laughed nervously, feeling my face heat up. Inside, my mind was a storm – her touch was electric, sending jolts straight to my groin. I could smell her again, that mix of soap and feminine musk, intensified by the heat. My cock was half-hard now, throbbing against my shorts. She shifted closer, her thigh pressing against mine under the sheet. "Garmi lag rahi hai na? Nighty utaar du?" she joked, but there was a playful glint in her eyes. I swallowed hard, "Nahi bua, theek hai." But my voice cracked, betraying me.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of bua in the kitchen. Simran was back, chatting with her mom over tea. "Bhaiya, good morning!" Simran said, hugging me sideways. She was in a tank top and shorts, her perky breasts – maybe 34C – bouncing slightly, nipples faintly visible through the thin fabric. Damn, she was hot, with that toned body from yoga classes she mentioned. The day passed normally – we went shopping in the local market, bua bargaining for veggies, her saree pallu fluttering in the breeze, occasionally slipping to show her blouse-clad midriff, soft and inviting. I helped carry bags, our hands brushing, and each time, she'd smile that knowing smile. Back home, during lunch, Simran teased me about my "city boy" looks, her foot accidentally grazing my leg under the table. Or was it accidental? Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
That afternoon, bua complained of a headache. "Beta, zara sar daba de na," she said, lying on the bed. I sat beside her, my hands on her forehead, massaging gently. She moaned softly, "Ahh, kitna achha lag raha hai Vikram. Zor se daba." Her voice was breathy, and as I moved to her shoulders, her saree pallu fell away completely, exposing her blouse, the hooks straining over her massive breasts. I could see the outline of her nipples, hard and poking through. My hands trembled as I kneaded her soft skin, feeling the warmth, the slight sweat making it slick. "Niche bhi, gale pe," she guided, arching her back slightly. My fingers dipped lower, brushing the tops of her breasts. She didn't stop me. Instead, she sighed, "Tu kitna caring hai beta. Meri toh koi fikar nahi karta." Guilt mixed with lust – this was my bua, but her body was so tempting, curves in all the right places, that forbidden thrill making my cock rock hard in my jeans.
Simran walked in then, but didn't seem surprised. "Mom, you okay?" she asked, sitting on the other side. Bua nodded, "Haan beti, Vikram daba raha hai. Tu bhi join kar, back massage de." Simran laughed, her hands on bua's back, but her eyes met mine over bua's shoulder, a sly wink. The room felt charged, the air thick with unspoken desire. That evening, we watched TV together, bua in the middle on the couch. Her hand rested on my thigh, inching higher as the movie played – some romantic drama. Simran was on her phone, but I noticed her glancing at us. When bua got up to make tea, Simran leaned over, whispering, "Bhaiya, mom ko pasand aa raha hai tera company. Careful, warna kuch ho jayega." Her breath was hot on my ear, her breast brushing my arm. I felt a surge of arousal – was she jealous? Teasing? Or something more?
Night came, and again, I shared the bed with bua, Simran in her room. The power went out, typical Delhi summer blackout, leaving us in darkness with only a candle flickering. Sweat beaded on our skins, making everything sticky. Bua fanned herself, her nighty clinging to her curves. "Garmi se mar jaungi main," she complained, pulling the nighty up to her thighs, exposing her smooth legs. I offered to fan her, sitting close. My hand accidentally brushed her inner thigh, soft and warm. She gasped but didn't move away. Instead, she placed her hand on mine, guiding it higher. "Beta, yahan daba," she whispered, her voice trembling. My fingers touched the edge of her panties, damp with sweat – or was it arousal? I could smell her now, a musky, feminine scent that made my head spin.
"Vikram, tu samajh raha hai na? Main akeli hoon itne saalon se," she confessed, her eyes locking with mine in the candlelight. Guilt flooded me – this was incest, taboo – but the thrill was intoxicating. My cock throbbed painfully, pre-cum leaking into my boxers. I leaned in, our lips meeting in a hesitant kiss. Her mouth was soft, tasting of mint from toothpaste, her tongue shy at first then eager, dancing with mine. We kissed deeper, her hands pulling me closer, my body pressing against her soft curves. I cupped her breast through the nighty, feeling the weight, the nipple hardening under my palm. "Ahh beta, dheere," she moaned, but arched into my touch.
The buildup had been torture – days of glances, touches, that simmering tension. Now, it was unleashing. I slipped my hand under her nighty, unhooking her bra with trembling fingers. The straps slid down, revealing her magnificent breasts – full, round, with dark pink nipples erect and begging. I squeezed one, rolling the nipple between my fingers, making her gasp. "Vikram, choos le inhe," she urged in Hindi, her voice husky with need. I lowered my mouth, sucking on her nipple, tasting the salty sweat, swirling my tongue around the areola. She moaned louder, "Haan beta, aur zor se... ahhh." Her hand found my cock, stroking through my shorts, feeling its length – about 7 inches, thick and veiny, throbbing in her grip.
We stripped slowly – I pulled her nighty over her head, exposing her naked body, curves glistening in sweat. Her panties were soaked, the fabric clinging to her pussy lips. I hooked my fingers in the waistband, sliding them down her thighs, revealing her shaved mound, wet and inviting, the scent of her arousal filling the room. She tugged at my shorts, my cock springing free, hard and dripping pre-cum. "Kitna bada hai tera, beta," she whispered, stroking it slowly, her hand slick with my fluids.
I positioned myself between her legs, rubbing my cock against her wet slit, teasing her clit. She bucked her hips, "Andar daal na, Vikram... chodo mujhe." I pushed in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her tight warmth envelop me. She was so wet, but still gripped me like a vice. "Ahhh... haan beta, zor se," she cried, her nails digging into my back. I thrust deeper, building a rhythm, our bodies slapping together in the humid night. Sweat poured off us, mixing with her juices, the bed creaking under us. I pounded her missionary style, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, nipples brushing my chest. She wrapped her legs around me, pulling me deeper, her moans echoing – "Chodo mujhe... bua ko pel do... ahhh yes!"
We changed positions – she on top, riding me, her hips grinding, breasts swaying in my face. I sucked them again, biting lightly, making her scream in pleasure. Her pussy clenched around my cock, milking me, as she came first – body shaking, juices flooding, "Main aa rahi hoon... ahhh Vikram!" I flipped her doggy style, grabbing her ass, slamming in hard, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room. Her scent was overpowering, musky and sweet, driving me wild. I felt my orgasm building, thrusting faster, until I exploded inside her, filling her with hot cum, creampie dripping out as she collapsed, moaning.
But just as we caught our breath, the door creaked open. Simran stood there, eyes wide, but not shocked – aroused? "Mom? Bhaiya?" she whispered, her nightdress half-open, hand between her legs like she'd been touching herself. Bua gasped, but I saw the spark in her eyes. "Beti, tu... aa ja," bua said softly, beckoning. Simran hesitated, then stepped in, closing the door. "Main sab sun rahi thi... mujhe bhi chahiye," she confessed, her voice trembling with lust.
The taboo intensified – now with my cousin too. Simran stripped quickly, her young body toned and firm, perky breasts with light brown nipples, pussy trimmed neatly. She climbed on the bed, kissing me first, her lips eager, tongue exploring. Bua watched, fingering herself, then joined, kissing Simran's neck. It was surreal – aunt and daughter, both mine. I lay back as Simran straddled my face, her wet pussy grinding on my tongue. I licked her clit, tasting her sweetness, tangy and fresh, while bua sucked my cock back to hardness, her mouth warm and skilled, tongue swirling the head, lapping up the mix of our cum.
Simran moaned, "Bhaiya, chooso meri choot... ahhh mom, dekho kitna achha lag raha." Bua smiled, "Haan beti, ab turn mera." We switched – bua riding my cock again, Simran on my face. Their moans blended, bodies writhing in sync. I thrust up into bua, feeling her walls pulse, while tonguing Simran's folds, her juices dripping down my chin. Simran came hard, shaking, squirting a little on my face, "Ahhh bhaiya... yes!" Bua followed, clenching around me, another orgasm ripping through her.
Then, the ultimate – both on all fours, asses up. I took turns, fucking bua first, then Simran, their pussies tight and wet, scents mingling in the air. Simran's was tighter, younger, gripping me fiercely. "Chodo mujhe bhaiya... zor se pel," she begged. Bua encouraged, "Haan beta, dono ko satisfy kar." I pounded them relentlessly, switching back and forth, their moans a chorus – "Ahhh... haan... chodo... aur zor se!" Sweat slicked our bodies, the room reeking of sex, taboo passion fueling us.
Finally, I pulled out, cumming on their faces and breasts, hot ropes splattering, them licking it off each other in a forbidden kiss. We collapsed in a heap, bodies entangled, hearts racing. The guilt lingered, but the thrill was addictive. That night changed us – secret glances the next day hinted at more to come, our family bonds twisted into something deeper, more primal.