My name is Karan. I’m 19, second-year engineering student in Jaipur, still a complete virgin. No girlfriend, no kiss, nothing—just endless porn and shameful fantasies about one woman: my chachi, Ritu.
Chachi is 35, married to my father’s younger brother for 12 years. She’s a walking wet dream—long silky hair, dusky skin that glows golden in the sun, sharp kajal-lined eyes, and a body that should be illegal. 38DD boobs that bounce when she walks, a slim waist from Pilates, and an ass so thick and round it makes my mouth dry every time she bends over in a saree. She’s always been extra touchy with me—long hugs where her tits press into my chest, playful slaps on my thigh, whispering “mera handsome bhatija” in my ear at family functions. I’ve jerked off to her for years—stealing her blouses from the laundry, sniffing her panties when visiting, imagining those juicy lips wrapped around my cock while she calls me “beta.”
This summer, the family planned a big Ranthambore trip—tiger safaris, jungle resort, quality time. Papa, Mummy, Chacha, Chachi, and me. We booked luxury tents at a high-end resort. But when we arrived, monsoon delays had flooded some areas, and half the tents were unusable. The manager apologised profusely: only two tents available instead of three. Parents took one, Chacha insisted on “roughing it” in a smaller staff tent for “adventure.” That left Chachi and me sharing the deluxe safari tent—a massive king bed draped in mosquito nets, private deck overlooking the jungle, open-air bathroom with a stone shower.
Chachi just laughed. “Arre, bhai-bhatija jaisa hi toh hai. Karan adjust kar lega apni chachi ke saath, na beta?” She winked at me. My cock twitched instantly.
First night, the jungle sounds were insane—crickets, distant tiger roars, wind rustling leaves. We did the evening safari, spotted a tiger, everyone excited. Back at the tent, Chachi changed first in the bathroom. She came out in a thin cotton nightie—short, almost see-through, deep neck showing miles of cleavage, nipples poking hard. No bra. I nearly dropped my phone.
I changed quickly, came out in boxers and vest, trying to hide my semi. We lay on opposite sides of the huge bed, lantern flickering, fan spinning lazily.
Sleep was impossible. Heat, tension, her perfume filling the tent.
“Beta,” she whispered after an hour, “so raha hai?”
“Nahi chachi… garmi hai.”
She giggled softly. “Paas aa ja na. Chachi ke saath sona toh bachpan mein bhi karta tha.”
I scooted closer. She turned toward me, one leg casually thrown over mine. Her soft thigh pressed right against my now rock-hard cock. She felt it. Didn’t move.
“Karan… yeh kya ho raha hai?” she murmured, but her hand slid down to cup my bulge. “Itna bada aur sakht? Teri chachi ko pata nahi tha tu itna bada ho gaya hai.”
I groaned. “Chachi please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya, beta? Jungle mein hai hum, koi nahi dekh raha.” She squeezed hard. “Bata na… kitni baar chachi ke boobs dekh ke muth maara hai? Haan? Teri chachi ki moti gaand ko saree mein hilte dekh ke lund hilaya hai na?”
I was shaking. “Haan chachi… roz… aapki bra soongh ke… aapke naam se… sorry…”
She laughed low, dirty. “Sorry kyun? Aaj teri chachi tujhe asli mazaa degi.” She yanked my boxers down. My 8.5-inch cock sprang out, thick, veiny, head already leaking. Her eyes went wide. “Arre waah… tera chacha se double mota aur lamba. Yeh toh meri chut aur gaand dono phaad dega.”
She stroked slow, twisting at the head. “Kitna garam hai… pre-cum nikal raha hai… taste karun apne bhatije ka lund?”
She didn’t wait—slid down and took me deep in one go. Hot, wet mouth, expert suction, tongue swirling like a pro. She bobbed fast, gagging halfway, saliva dripping. “Mmm… bhatije ka lund… kitna tasty… pura muh bhar diya… chachi ki throat fuck kar raha hai tu!”
I lasted seconds. “Chachi… nikalne wala hai…”
She sucked harder. “Mere muh mein daal de… chachi pi legi tera pura garam maal… har boond!”
I exploded—thick ropes shooting down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, eyes locked on mine. Then licked me clean, sucking the head till I whimpered.
“Now beta ka turn,” she purred, pulling her nightie off. Naked underneath—massive tits with dark brown nipples, shaved pussy already glistening. “Choos apni chachi ke bade bade boobs… zor zor se kaat.”
I attacked—sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other, kneading those heavy melons. She arched, moaning loud. “Haan Karan… kaat dal… chachi ke boobs ko noch le… kitne din se taras rahi thi aise choosne ko!”
I moved down, kissing her stomach, then buried my face in her pussy. Salty-sweet, dripping. I licked long strokes, sucked her fat clit, shoved two fingers inside. She guided me. “Haan… wahi… jeebh andar daal… chachi ki chut chat zor zor se… ahh mera raja… kitna acha choosta hai tu!”
She came hard—hips bucking, juices flooding my mouth, screaming into the pillow. “Haan beta… pi le chachi ka ras… sara!”
Then she pushed me back, straddled my cock. “Ab asli mazaa. Ab chachi tere lund ko apni geeli chut mein legi.”
She sank down slow—tight, scorching, velvet grip. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai… meri chut phaad di tune… ahh Karan… ab chod apni chachi ko!”
I grabbed her hips and thrust up. She rode like a pornstar—fast, hard, tits bouncing wildly in my face. I sucked them as she slammed down. “Haan… zor se… pel de chachi ko… bana de mujhe apni randi… bata, kitne din se chachi ki chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha?”
“Roz chachi… aapki gaand dekhte hi lund khada ho jata tha… ab chod raha hun aapko sach mein!”
She leaned down, biting my ear. “Chod… zor zor se thok… meri bachchedani tak pahuncha de apna lund… haan… aise!”
We switched—doggy, her ass high, me pounding deep, watching it ripple. I slapped it hard. “Chachi ki moti gaand… kitni juicy… maar raha hun aapki gaand!”
“Haan beta… zor se thapad maar… gaand laal kar de… aur zor se pel!”
“Andar daalun chachi?” I gasped.
“Haan… creampie de apni chachi ko… bhar de meri chut apne garam virye se… andar tak!”
I roared, exploding inside—pulse after pulse flooding her. She came again, pussy clenching, milking me dry. “Feel ho raha hai beta ka ras… kitna garam… ahh mera bhatija kitna powerful hai!”
We collapsed, sweaty, panting. But she wasn’t done.
Round two: Open-air shower under the stars. Water cascading over us, she bent over the stone wall, jungle dark around us. I fucked her from behind, hands full of soapy tits. “Chachi ki chut pani mein kitni slippery… thok raha hun aapko jungle mein… koi tiger dekh le toh?”
She laughed breathlessly. “Dekhe toh dekhe… bolenge waah kya jodi hai… zor se pel beta… chachi ki gaand mein bhi daal aaj!”
I fingered her ass with soap, then pushed in slow. Tight, forbidden heat. “Phad di tune chachi ki gaand… ab roz gaand marunga tera!”
She pushed back. “Haan… maar… apni chachi ki gaand phod de… kitna mazaa aa raha hai… andar daal gaand mein bhi!”
I filled her ass with cum, her screams echoing in the night.
Round three: Back in bed, slow missionary. Eye contact, deep strokes. “Dheere dheere chod chachi ko… feel kar meri chut ka garam… bata kitna pyar karta hai mujhse?”
“Boht chachi… aap meri sabkuch ho… aapke bina nahi jee sakta.”
She cried softly after, holding me. “Yeh chachi bhatija taboo passion… humein barbaad kar sakta hai. Par rok nahi sakti main.”
The five-day trip was pure filth.
Mornings: Wake-up sex—her riding reverse cowgirl on the deck at dawn, birds chirping, me slapping her ass. “Subah subah chachi ki gaand hil rahi hai… dekh kaise bounce kar rahi hai meri moti gaand!”
Afternoons: While family did safari, we stayed back “tired.” Marathon 69 in the tent—her deepthroating me while I ate her ass and pussy. “Chachi ka gaand chat… jeebh andar daal… haan… ab mera muh bhar de apne lund se!”
One night after bonfire, family asleep, we sneaked to the pool. Naked swimming turned fucking—she wrapped legs around me in water, I pounded deep. “Paani mein chod raha hai mujhe… kitna wild hai mera bhatija… andar daal phir se!”
We tried everything: Oiled body massage turning slippery titfuck—“Chachi ke boobs mein chod apna lund… kitna garam hai… ab muh mein le!” Then anal doggy on the rug.
Role-play: She dressed as strict chachi punishing “naughty bhatija” with spanking, then riding me till we collapsed.
Between rounds, raw confessions.
She admitted sex with chacha is boring—twice a month, lights off. “Tu mujhe aisa chodta hai jaise main randi hun… wild, wanted. Tera lund meri chut ka addict bana diya.”
I confessed everything—stealing her panties since 16, peeking when she bathed at our house, fantasizing breeding her.
One emotional night after I fucked her slow, whispering love, she held me tight. “Beta… agar chacha ko pata chal gaya?”
“Never chachi. Yeh humara secret rahega. Main aapke lund ka gulam ban gaya hun.”
Back home in Jaipur, secrecy mastered.
Chacha travels for business. I “study” at their place—really hours of raw sex.
Kitchen: Her bent over counter in apron only, me pounding doggy. “Jaldi pel beta… chacha office se aa jayenge… andar daal de!”
Guest room nights when chacha away: Full marathons—triple penetration with fingers, toys she bought, me filling every hole.
Once during family dinner at our house, we sneaked to bathroom. Quick blowjob—her on knees, swallowing my load. “Chupke se muh mein daal de… sab bahar hain!”
Diwali: Relatives everywhere, we locked in store room. I took her ass against shelves, her lehenga bunched. “Chachi ki gaand mein Diwali ka patakha fod raha hun… chillao mat!”
It’s been seven months. Guilt sometimes—chacha treats me like son. But addiction stronger.
Chachi says I’ve ruined her. “Tera lund ek baar andar gaya na… ab chacha se satisfy nahi hoti. Sirf tera mota lund chahiye.”
I’m confident now—girls flirt, I ignore. Only chachi satisfies.
We steal weekends—hotels in Pushkar, “temple visit” excuse. Last time she wore transparent saree, nothing underneath. We fucked nonstop—balcony, bathtub, floor.
Future uncertain—chacha wants kids, family pressures. But this chachi-bhatija forbidden lust?
It’s everything.
She texts nightly: “Beta, chachi ki chut geeli hai… kab aa raha hai pelne?”
I reply: “Aaj raat, chachi. Aapki chut aur gaand dono bhar dunga apne maal se… zor zor se chodunga.”
This is our dirty, wild secret.
And we’re never stopping.
Chachi is 35, married to my father’s younger brother for 12 years. She’s a walking wet dream—long silky hair, dusky skin that glows golden in the sun, sharp kajal-lined eyes, and a body that should be illegal. 38DD boobs that bounce when she walks, a slim waist from Pilates, and an ass so thick and round it makes my mouth dry every time she bends over in a saree. She’s always been extra touchy with me—long hugs where her tits press into my chest, playful slaps on my thigh, whispering “mera handsome bhatija” in my ear at family functions. I’ve jerked off to her for years—stealing her blouses from the laundry, sniffing her panties when visiting, imagining those juicy lips wrapped around my cock while she calls me “beta.”
This summer, the family planned a big Ranthambore trip—tiger safaris, jungle resort, quality time. Papa, Mummy, Chacha, Chachi, and me. We booked luxury tents at a high-end resort. But when we arrived, monsoon delays had flooded some areas, and half the tents were unusable. The manager apologised profusely: only two tents available instead of three. Parents took one, Chacha insisted on “roughing it” in a smaller staff tent for “adventure.” That left Chachi and me sharing the deluxe safari tent—a massive king bed draped in mosquito nets, private deck overlooking the jungle, open-air bathroom with a stone shower.
Chachi just laughed. “Arre, bhai-bhatija jaisa hi toh hai. Karan adjust kar lega apni chachi ke saath, na beta?” She winked at me. My cock twitched instantly.
First night, the jungle sounds were insane—crickets, distant tiger roars, wind rustling leaves. We did the evening safari, spotted a tiger, everyone excited. Back at the tent, Chachi changed first in the bathroom. She came out in a thin cotton nightie—short, almost see-through, deep neck showing miles of cleavage, nipples poking hard. No bra. I nearly dropped my phone.
I changed quickly, came out in boxers and vest, trying to hide my semi. We lay on opposite sides of the huge bed, lantern flickering, fan spinning lazily.
Sleep was impossible. Heat, tension, her perfume filling the tent.
“Beta,” she whispered after an hour, “so raha hai?”
“Nahi chachi… garmi hai.”
She giggled softly. “Paas aa ja na. Chachi ke saath sona toh bachpan mein bhi karta tha.”
I scooted closer. She turned toward me, one leg casually thrown over mine. Her soft thigh pressed right against my now rock-hard cock. She felt it. Didn’t move.
“Karan… yeh kya ho raha hai?” she murmured, but her hand slid down to cup my bulge. “Itna bada aur sakht? Teri chachi ko pata nahi tha tu itna bada ho gaya hai.”
I groaned. “Chachi please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya, beta? Jungle mein hai hum, koi nahi dekh raha.” She squeezed hard. “Bata na… kitni baar chachi ke boobs dekh ke muth maara hai? Haan? Teri chachi ki moti gaand ko saree mein hilte dekh ke lund hilaya hai na?”
I was shaking. “Haan chachi… roz… aapki bra soongh ke… aapke naam se… sorry…”
She laughed low, dirty. “Sorry kyun? Aaj teri chachi tujhe asli mazaa degi.” She yanked my boxers down. My 8.5-inch cock sprang out, thick, veiny, head already leaking. Her eyes went wide. “Arre waah… tera chacha se double mota aur lamba. Yeh toh meri chut aur gaand dono phaad dega.”
She stroked slow, twisting at the head. “Kitna garam hai… pre-cum nikal raha hai… taste karun apne bhatije ka lund?”
She didn’t wait—slid down and took me deep in one go. Hot, wet mouth, expert suction, tongue swirling like a pro. She bobbed fast, gagging halfway, saliva dripping. “Mmm… bhatije ka lund… kitna tasty… pura muh bhar diya… chachi ki throat fuck kar raha hai tu!”
I lasted seconds. “Chachi… nikalne wala hai…”
She sucked harder. “Mere muh mein daal de… chachi pi legi tera pura garam maal… har boond!”
I exploded—thick ropes shooting down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, eyes locked on mine. Then licked me clean, sucking the head till I whimpered.
“Now beta ka turn,” she purred, pulling her nightie off. Naked underneath—massive tits with dark brown nipples, shaved pussy already glistening. “Choos apni chachi ke bade bade boobs… zor zor se kaat.”
I attacked—sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other, kneading those heavy melons. She arched, moaning loud. “Haan Karan… kaat dal… chachi ke boobs ko noch le… kitne din se taras rahi thi aise choosne ko!”
I moved down, kissing her stomach, then buried my face in her pussy. Salty-sweet, dripping. I licked long strokes, sucked her fat clit, shoved two fingers inside. She guided me. “Haan… wahi… jeebh andar daal… chachi ki chut chat zor zor se… ahh mera raja… kitna acha choosta hai tu!”
She came hard—hips bucking, juices flooding my mouth, screaming into the pillow. “Haan beta… pi le chachi ka ras… sara!”
Then she pushed me back, straddled my cock. “Ab asli mazaa. Ab chachi tere lund ko apni geeli chut mein legi.”
She sank down slow—tight, scorching, velvet grip. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai… meri chut phaad di tune… ahh Karan… ab chod apni chachi ko!”
I grabbed her hips and thrust up. She rode like a pornstar—fast, hard, tits bouncing wildly in my face. I sucked them as she slammed down. “Haan… zor se… pel de chachi ko… bana de mujhe apni randi… bata, kitne din se chachi ki chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha?”
“Roz chachi… aapki gaand dekhte hi lund khada ho jata tha… ab chod raha hun aapko sach mein!”
She leaned down, biting my ear. “Chod… zor zor se thok… meri bachchedani tak pahuncha de apna lund… haan… aise!”
We switched—doggy, her ass high, me pounding deep, watching it ripple. I slapped it hard. “Chachi ki moti gaand… kitni juicy… maar raha hun aapki gaand!”
“Haan beta… zor se thapad maar… gaand laal kar de… aur zor se pel!”
“Andar daalun chachi?” I gasped.
“Haan… creampie de apni chachi ko… bhar de meri chut apne garam virye se… andar tak!”
I roared, exploding inside—pulse after pulse flooding her. She came again, pussy clenching, milking me dry. “Feel ho raha hai beta ka ras… kitna garam… ahh mera bhatija kitna powerful hai!”
We collapsed, sweaty, panting. But she wasn’t done.
Round two: Open-air shower under the stars. Water cascading over us, she bent over the stone wall, jungle dark around us. I fucked her from behind, hands full of soapy tits. “Chachi ki chut pani mein kitni slippery… thok raha hun aapko jungle mein… koi tiger dekh le toh?”
She laughed breathlessly. “Dekhe toh dekhe… bolenge waah kya jodi hai… zor se pel beta… chachi ki gaand mein bhi daal aaj!”
I fingered her ass with soap, then pushed in slow. Tight, forbidden heat. “Phad di tune chachi ki gaand… ab roz gaand marunga tera!”
She pushed back. “Haan… maar… apni chachi ki gaand phod de… kitna mazaa aa raha hai… andar daal gaand mein bhi!”
I filled her ass with cum, her screams echoing in the night.
Round three: Back in bed, slow missionary. Eye contact, deep strokes. “Dheere dheere chod chachi ko… feel kar meri chut ka garam… bata kitna pyar karta hai mujhse?”
“Boht chachi… aap meri sabkuch ho… aapke bina nahi jee sakta.”
She cried softly after, holding me. “Yeh chachi bhatija taboo passion… humein barbaad kar sakta hai. Par rok nahi sakti main.”
The five-day trip was pure filth.
Mornings: Wake-up sex—her riding reverse cowgirl on the deck at dawn, birds chirping, me slapping her ass. “Subah subah chachi ki gaand hil rahi hai… dekh kaise bounce kar rahi hai meri moti gaand!”
Afternoons: While family did safari, we stayed back “tired.” Marathon 69 in the tent—her deepthroating me while I ate her ass and pussy. “Chachi ka gaand chat… jeebh andar daal… haan… ab mera muh bhar de apne lund se!”
One night after bonfire, family asleep, we sneaked to the pool. Naked swimming turned fucking—she wrapped legs around me in water, I pounded deep. “Paani mein chod raha hai mujhe… kitna wild hai mera bhatija… andar daal phir se!”
We tried everything: Oiled body massage turning slippery titfuck—“Chachi ke boobs mein chod apna lund… kitna garam hai… ab muh mein le!” Then anal doggy on the rug.
Role-play: She dressed as strict chachi punishing “naughty bhatija” with spanking, then riding me till we collapsed.
Between rounds, raw confessions.
She admitted sex with chacha is boring—twice a month, lights off. “Tu mujhe aisa chodta hai jaise main randi hun… wild, wanted. Tera lund meri chut ka addict bana diya.”
I confessed everything—stealing her panties since 16, peeking when she bathed at our house, fantasizing breeding her.
One emotional night after I fucked her slow, whispering love, she held me tight. “Beta… agar chacha ko pata chal gaya?”
“Never chachi. Yeh humara secret rahega. Main aapke lund ka gulam ban gaya hun.”
Back home in Jaipur, secrecy mastered.
Chacha travels for business. I “study” at their place—really hours of raw sex.
Kitchen: Her bent over counter in apron only, me pounding doggy. “Jaldi pel beta… chacha office se aa jayenge… andar daal de!”
Guest room nights when chacha away: Full marathons—triple penetration with fingers, toys she bought, me filling every hole.
Once during family dinner at our house, we sneaked to bathroom. Quick blowjob—her on knees, swallowing my load. “Chupke se muh mein daal de… sab bahar hain!”
Diwali: Relatives everywhere, we locked in store room. I took her ass against shelves, her lehenga bunched. “Chachi ki gaand mein Diwali ka patakha fod raha hun… chillao mat!”
It’s been seven months. Guilt sometimes—chacha treats me like son. But addiction stronger.
Chachi says I’ve ruined her. “Tera lund ek baar andar gaya na… ab chacha se satisfy nahi hoti. Sirf tera mota lund chahiye.”
I’m confident now—girls flirt, I ignore. Only chachi satisfies.
We steal weekends—hotels in Pushkar, “temple visit” excuse. Last time she wore transparent saree, nothing underneath. We fucked nonstop—balcony, bathtub, floor.
Future uncertain—chacha wants kids, family pressures. But this chachi-bhatija forbidden lust?
It’s everything.
She texts nightly: “Beta, chachi ki chut geeli hai… kab aa raha hai pelne?”
I reply: “Aaj raat, chachi. Aapki chut aur gaand dono bhar dunga apne maal se… zor zor se chodunga.”
This is our dirty, wild secret.
And we’re never stopping.