My name is Vikram. I’m 20, doing my B.Tech final year in Pune, still a complete virgin—zero girlfriends, zero experience, just late-night porn and guilty fantasies. My elder brother Varun got married two years ago to Sneha bhabhi, and fuck, from day one she’s been the center of every dirty thought I’ve had.
Sneha bhabhi is 28, a bombshell—curly black hair to her waist, fair skin that glows, killer 36DD boobs that strain against every blouse, a tiny waist, and an ass so round and juicy it makes my mouth water. She’s flirty by nature, always teasing me with double-meaning jokes, bending low when serving food so I get an eyeful of cleavage, or hugging me a little too long at family functions. I’d jerk off thinking about her voice calling me “devar ji” while imagining those full lips wrapped around my cock.
This year, the family planned a week-long trip to Shimla—escape the Pune heat, enjoy the snow. Bhaiya, bhabhi, Mom-Dad, and me. We booked two cottages at a hillside resort. But when we arrived, heavy snowfall had closed roads, tourists were stuck, and the resort overbooked. Only one honeymoon cottage left—with a single king bed, fireplace, and jacuzzi. Parents took the bigger family suite that became available last minute. That left bhabhi and me.
“Arre, bhabhi-devar hain, koi sharam nahi,” Mom laughed. Bhaiya was cool with it—he trusted us completely. Bhabhi just smirked at me, eyes twinkling. “Haan ji, Vikram adjust kar lega apni bhabhi ke saath.”
My cock twitched just hearing that.
The cottage was pure romance—dim lights, wooden beams, huge bed with red satin sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows showing swirling snow. First night, we were awkward. Bhabhi changed in the bathroom and came out in a thin silk nightie—short, low-cut, nipples poking through the fabric. I nearly choked. I wore boxers and a t-shirt, trying to hide my instant hard-on.
We lay on opposite sides, fireplace crackling. Sleep was impossible.
“Devar ji,” she whispered after an hour, “soye nahi abhi tak?”
“Nahi bhabhi… thand lag rahi hai.”
She laughed softly. “Aao na paas, garam ho jaayenge dono.”
I scooted closer, heart hammering. She turned toward me, one leg sliding over mine. Her thigh pressed against my erection. She didn’t move away.
“Bhabhi…” I croaked.
“Shh… kitna tight ho gaya hai tera yeh,” she murmured, hand drifting down to cup my bulge through boxers. “Itna bada? Teri bhabhi ko pata nahi tha.”
I groaned. “Bhabhi please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya? Sirf hum dono hain yahan. Tera bhaiya ko kabhi pata nahi chalega.” Her fingers squeezed. “Bata, kitni baar meri bra-panty soongh ke muth maara hai tune?”
I froze, ashamed. She knew? She laughed low. “Main jaanti hoon sab, devar ji. Terrace pe chhup ke mujhe nahate dekhne ki koshish karta tha na? Ab sach bata—virgin hai na tu?”
“Haan bhabhi…” My voice broke.
She pushed me onto my back, straddled my waist. The nightie rode up, no panties—her wet pussy rubbed directly on my stomach. “Aaj teri bhabhi tujhe mard banayegi. Apni geeli chut mein tera lund legi.”
She yanked my boxers down. My 8-inch cock sprang out, thick and veiny. Her eyes widened. “Arre waah… tera bhaiya se bada aur mota hai. Yeh toh meri chut phaad dega.”
She stroked it slow, twisting at the head. Pre-cum leaked. “Kitna garam hai… taste karun?”
Before I could answer, she slid down and took me in her mouth—hot, wet, sloppy. She sucked hard, cheeks hollow, tongue swirling the underside. “Mmm… devar ka lund… kitna tasty hai… pura muh bhar diya.”
I lasted thirty seconds. “Bhabhi… nikalne wala hai…”
She sucked harder. “Mere muh mein hi daal de… pi jaayegi teri bhabhi tera ras.”
I exploded—thick ropes shooting down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, then licked me clean.
“Now my turn,” she purred, climbing up to straddle my face. Her pussy was shaved smooth, pink lips glistening. “Chat apni bhabhi ki chut, devar. Zor zor se choos mera ras.”
I dove in—salty-sweet, addictive. Long licks from ass to clit, then sucking her swollen nub. She ground down hard. “Haan… wahi… apni jeebh andar daal… fuck kar mujhe tongue se… ahh Vikram… kitna acha choosta hai tu!”
She came fast, flooding my mouth, thighs clamping my head as she screamed into a pillow.
Then she positioned herself over my cock—already rock hard again. “Ready? Ab teri bhabhi tujhe apni chut ka mazaa dilayegi.”
She sank down slow—tight, scorching heat gripping every inch. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai… meri chut bhar di tune… ahh devar… chod ab mujhe!”
I grabbed her hips and thrust up. She rode hard, boobs bouncing wildly. “Haan… zor se… pel apni bhabhi ko… bana de mujhe randi apni!”
We fucked like animals—her nails raking my chest, my hands slapping her ass red. She leaned down, biting my ear. “Bata… kitne din se meri chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha? Ab maar… bhar de apne virye se!”
“Andar daalun bhabhi?” I gasped.
“Haan… creampie de apni bhabhi ko… bhar de meri bachchedani!”
I erupted inside her—pulse after pulse. She came again, pussy milking me dry, screaming “Haan… garam ras… feel ho raha hai andar!”
That was just round one.
We barely slept. Second round in the jacuzzi—water sloshing as she bent over the edge, me pounding her from behind. “Zor se thok… devar ka lund pel raha hai… meri gaand maar dal!”
I fingered her ass while fucking her pussy. She begged for more. Later, with lube from her makeup bag, I took her virgin ass—slow at first, then deep strokes as she cried out, “Phad di tune meri gaand… ab roz gaand marunga tera!”
Mornings: She’d wake me with blowjobs under the blanket before parents called for breakfast. “Subah subah lund khada kar deti hun main… ab jaldi se muh mein le le.”
Afternoons: While family went sightseeing, we stayed back “tired.” She’d ride reverse cowgirl in front of the fireplace, ass bouncing, dirty talking nonstop. “Dekh kaise teri bhabhi ki moti gaand hil rahi hai… pakad ke thok!”
One stormy night, power out, only candles. We oiled each other—slow, slippery massage turning filthy. She tied my hands with her dupatta, edged me for an hour, licking my cock but stopping before I came. “Abhi nahi… pehle bol—main teri kiski hun?”
“Teri bhabhi ki chut aur gaand dono meri hain!”
Only then did she untie me and let me fuck her senseless—missionary, doggy, standing against the window with snow falling outside.
Between rounds, emotions surfaced. She confessed missing passion with bhaiya—he’s always busy, sex is routine. “Tu mujhe aisa feel karata hai jaise main phir se 20 ki hun… wild, wanted.”
I admitted my obsession. “Bhabhi, main sirf aapke liye jee raha tha… aapki bra soongh ke, aapke naam se muth maar ke.”
She cried once, after a slow, intimate session where I made love to her missionary, kissing deeply. “Yeh bhabhi devar taboo passion… humein barbaad kar sakta hai.”
“Par main rok nahi sakta,” I whispered.
“Main bhi nahi. Tu mera hai ab.”
The trip ended, but our secret continued.
Back in Pune, bhaiya travels often for work. I “help” at their place—cooking, errands. Really, it’s hours of raw sex when he’s away.
Mornings before college: quick doggy in the kitchen, her bent over the counter, nightie hiked up. “Jaldi pel devar… tera bhaiya office jaane wala hai!”
Nights: Full marathons when bhaiya is outstation—she sneaks me into their bed, we fuck where he sleeps. “Yahan chod mujhe… jahan tera bhaiya sota hai… uski biwi ko usi ke bistar pe thok!”
Once, during Ganpati, relatives everywhere, we locked ourselves in the store room. She sucked me off while I fingered her to orgasm, swallowing my load so no evidence.
It’s been eight months. Guilt hits sometimes—bhaiya is good to us both. But the fire is too strong.
Bhabhi says I’ve ruined her for anyone else. “Tera lund ek baar andar gaya na… ab kisi aur se satisfy nahi hoti.”
I’m not virgin anymore. I’m confident, addicted, hers completely.
We steal weekends in Lonavala—motels, no questions. Last time, she wore a sheer red saree, nothing underneath. We role-played—she the strict bhabhi punishing naughty devar with spanking, then riding me till we both collapsed.
Sneha bhabhi is 28, a bombshell—curly black hair to her waist, fair skin that glows, killer 36DD boobs that strain against every blouse, a tiny waist, and an ass so round and juicy it makes my mouth water. She’s flirty by nature, always teasing me with double-meaning jokes, bending low when serving food so I get an eyeful of cleavage, or hugging me a little too long at family functions. I’d jerk off thinking about her voice calling me “devar ji” while imagining those full lips wrapped around my cock.
This year, the family planned a week-long trip to Shimla—escape the Pune heat, enjoy the snow. Bhaiya, bhabhi, Mom-Dad, and me. We booked two cottages at a hillside resort. But when we arrived, heavy snowfall had closed roads, tourists were stuck, and the resort overbooked. Only one honeymoon cottage left—with a single king bed, fireplace, and jacuzzi. Parents took the bigger family suite that became available last minute. That left bhabhi and me.
“Arre, bhabhi-devar hain, koi sharam nahi,” Mom laughed. Bhaiya was cool with it—he trusted us completely. Bhabhi just smirked at me, eyes twinkling. “Haan ji, Vikram adjust kar lega apni bhabhi ke saath.”
My cock twitched just hearing that.
The cottage was pure romance—dim lights, wooden beams, huge bed with red satin sheets, floor-to-ceiling windows showing swirling snow. First night, we were awkward. Bhabhi changed in the bathroom and came out in a thin silk nightie—short, low-cut, nipples poking through the fabric. I nearly choked. I wore boxers and a t-shirt, trying to hide my instant hard-on.
We lay on opposite sides, fireplace crackling. Sleep was impossible.
“Devar ji,” she whispered after an hour, “soye nahi abhi tak?”
“Nahi bhabhi… thand lag rahi hai.”
She laughed softly. “Aao na paas, garam ho jaayenge dono.”
I scooted closer, heart hammering. She turned toward me, one leg sliding over mine. Her thigh pressed against my erection. She didn’t move away.
“Bhabhi…” I croaked.
“Shh… kitna tight ho gaya hai tera yeh,” she murmured, hand drifting down to cup my bulge through boxers. “Itna bada? Teri bhabhi ko pata nahi tha.”
I groaned. “Bhabhi please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya? Sirf hum dono hain yahan. Tera bhaiya ko kabhi pata nahi chalega.” Her fingers squeezed. “Bata, kitni baar meri bra-panty soongh ke muth maara hai tune?”
I froze, ashamed. She knew? She laughed low. “Main jaanti hoon sab, devar ji. Terrace pe chhup ke mujhe nahate dekhne ki koshish karta tha na? Ab sach bata—virgin hai na tu?”
“Haan bhabhi…” My voice broke.
She pushed me onto my back, straddled my waist. The nightie rode up, no panties—her wet pussy rubbed directly on my stomach. “Aaj teri bhabhi tujhe mard banayegi. Apni geeli chut mein tera lund legi.”
She yanked my boxers down. My 8-inch cock sprang out, thick and veiny. Her eyes widened. “Arre waah… tera bhaiya se bada aur mota hai. Yeh toh meri chut phaad dega.”
She stroked it slow, twisting at the head. Pre-cum leaked. “Kitna garam hai… taste karun?”
Before I could answer, she slid down and took me in her mouth—hot, wet, sloppy. She sucked hard, cheeks hollow, tongue swirling the underside. “Mmm… devar ka lund… kitna tasty hai… pura muh bhar diya.”
I lasted thirty seconds. “Bhabhi… nikalne wala hai…”
She sucked harder. “Mere muh mein hi daal de… pi jaayegi teri bhabhi tera ras.”
I exploded—thick ropes shooting down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, then licked me clean.
“Now my turn,” she purred, climbing up to straddle my face. Her pussy was shaved smooth, pink lips glistening. “Chat apni bhabhi ki chut, devar. Zor zor se choos mera ras.”
I dove in—salty-sweet, addictive. Long licks from ass to clit, then sucking her swollen nub. She ground down hard. “Haan… wahi… apni jeebh andar daal… fuck kar mujhe tongue se… ahh Vikram… kitna acha choosta hai tu!”
She came fast, flooding my mouth, thighs clamping my head as she screamed into a pillow.
Then she positioned herself over my cock—already rock hard again. “Ready? Ab teri bhabhi tujhe apni chut ka mazaa dilayegi.”
She sank down slow—tight, scorching heat gripping every inch. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai… meri chut bhar di tune… ahh devar… chod ab mujhe!”
I grabbed her hips and thrust up. She rode hard, boobs bouncing wildly. “Haan… zor se… pel apni bhabhi ko… bana de mujhe randi apni!”
We fucked like animals—her nails raking my chest, my hands slapping her ass red. She leaned down, biting my ear. “Bata… kitne din se meri chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha? Ab maar… bhar de apne virye se!”
“Andar daalun bhabhi?” I gasped.
“Haan… creampie de apni bhabhi ko… bhar de meri bachchedani!”
I erupted inside her—pulse after pulse. She came again, pussy milking me dry, screaming “Haan… garam ras… feel ho raha hai andar!”
That was just round one.
We barely slept. Second round in the jacuzzi—water sloshing as she bent over the edge, me pounding her from behind. “Zor se thok… devar ka lund pel raha hai… meri gaand maar dal!”
I fingered her ass while fucking her pussy. She begged for more. Later, with lube from her makeup bag, I took her virgin ass—slow at first, then deep strokes as she cried out, “Phad di tune meri gaand… ab roz gaand marunga tera!”
Mornings: She’d wake me with blowjobs under the blanket before parents called for breakfast. “Subah subah lund khada kar deti hun main… ab jaldi se muh mein le le.”
Afternoons: While family went sightseeing, we stayed back “tired.” She’d ride reverse cowgirl in front of the fireplace, ass bouncing, dirty talking nonstop. “Dekh kaise teri bhabhi ki moti gaand hil rahi hai… pakad ke thok!”
One stormy night, power out, only candles. We oiled each other—slow, slippery massage turning filthy. She tied my hands with her dupatta, edged me for an hour, licking my cock but stopping before I came. “Abhi nahi… pehle bol—main teri kiski hun?”
“Teri bhabhi ki chut aur gaand dono meri hain!”
Only then did she untie me and let me fuck her senseless—missionary, doggy, standing against the window with snow falling outside.
Between rounds, emotions surfaced. She confessed missing passion with bhaiya—he’s always busy, sex is routine. “Tu mujhe aisa feel karata hai jaise main phir se 20 ki hun… wild, wanted.”
I admitted my obsession. “Bhabhi, main sirf aapke liye jee raha tha… aapki bra soongh ke, aapke naam se muth maar ke.”
She cried once, after a slow, intimate session where I made love to her missionary, kissing deeply. “Yeh bhabhi devar taboo passion… humein barbaad kar sakta hai.”
“Par main rok nahi sakta,” I whispered.
“Main bhi nahi. Tu mera hai ab.”
The trip ended, but our secret continued.
Back in Pune, bhaiya travels often for work. I “help” at their place—cooking, errands. Really, it’s hours of raw sex when he’s away.
Mornings before college: quick doggy in the kitchen, her bent over the counter, nightie hiked up. “Jaldi pel devar… tera bhaiya office jaane wala hai!”
Nights: Full marathons when bhaiya is outstation—she sneaks me into their bed, we fuck where he sleeps. “Yahan chod mujhe… jahan tera bhaiya sota hai… uski biwi ko usi ke bistar pe thok!”
Once, during Ganpati, relatives everywhere, we locked ourselves in the store room. She sucked me off while I fingered her to orgasm, swallowing my load so no evidence.
It’s been eight months. Guilt hits sometimes—bhaiya is good to us both. But the fire is too strong.
Bhabhi says I’ve ruined her for anyone else. “Tera lund ek baar andar gaya na… ab kisi aur se satisfy nahi hoti.”
I’m not virgin anymore. I’m confident, addicted, hers completely.
We steal weekends in Lonavala—motels, no questions. Last time, she wore a sheer red saree, nothing underneath. We role-played—she the strict bhabhi punishing naughty devar with spanking, then riding me till we both collapsed.