Hello friends, this is my true confession – a bhabhi devar sex story that changed my life forever. My name is Vikram, 27 years old, living in a joint family in Jaipur. Our house is big, traditional Rajasthani style with a courtyard, but privacy is hard to come by. My elder brother, Ajay bhaiya, is 35, works in the army and is posted in Kashmir most of the year. He comes home only for 15-20 days every few months. That leaves bhabhi, Neha, 32 years old, alone with us – me, my parents downstairs, and her room upstairs next to mine.
Neha bhabhi is every man’s dream. Wheatish golden skin that glows in the sun, sharp Rajput features with big kohl-lined eyes, long thick black hair she usually braids, and a body built for sin – 34D-28-36 figure that she hides under salwar kameez or sarees, but nothing can hide those heavy bouncing boobs, slim waist, and that round, firm gaand that sways hypnotically when she walks. She’s traditional on the outside – does all the household work, respects elders, performs pooja every morning – but I started noticing the fire inside her when bhaiya’s absences grew longer.
Bhaiya got married to her eight years ago in an arranged match. At first, everything seemed fine, but army life is tough. He’d come home, spend a week, and leave again. Bhabhi never complained openly, but I saw the signs – the way she’d stare out the window during evenings, the soft sighs when she thought no one was listening, the late-night phone calls where she’d plead, “Ajay ji, kab aaoge? Bahut akela lagta hai.” I felt bad for her. A woman like bhabhi, in her prime, deserved daily attention, daily touch, daily passion. And slowly, guiltily, I started imagining myself giving her what she needed.
It began innocently enough during last year’s Diwali preparations. The whole family was busy cleaning and decorating. Parents were downstairs supervising servants, bhaiya was away as usual. Bhabhi was in her room arranging new clothes, and I went up to help. She was on a stool reaching for a high shelf, wearing a pink salwar kameez that hugged her curves perfectly. The dupatta had slipped, revealing deep cleavage as her heavy boobs strained against the tight kameez.
“Vikram, zara ye box neeche kar do,” she called, stretching higher. Her gaand was right at my eye level – round, perfect, outlined beautifully. My lund twitched instantly.
I stepped behind her to “help,” my chest brushing her back as I reached up. She didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned back slightly, her soft gaand pressing against my crotch. I felt myself hardening against her. “Bhabhi… gir jaogi,” I muttered, hands on her waist to steady her.
She turned her head, smiling playfully. “Devar ji, tum ho na pakadne ke liye.” Her eyes had a sparkle I hadn’t seen before.
That small moment lingered. After that, she started teasing me in subtle ways only I noticed – bending low to pick something up when I was around, letting her pallu slip “accidentally” to show cleavage, brushing against me in the narrow staircase. During family dinners, her foot would sometimes graze mine under the table. I’d catch her staring at me when she thought I wasn’t looking, biting her lower lip.
One night in December, the real spark happened. It was cold, and parents had gone to a relative’s wedding in another city for three days, leaving just bhabhi and me at home. Bhaiya was stuck at the border due to tension. Bhabhi knocked on my door around 11 PM. “Vikram, neend nahi aa rahi. Thodi baat karein?”
She came in wearing a thin black nighty – unusual for her, as she normally wore full clothes. No bra, nipples faintly visible through the fabric, hair open and flowing. She sat on my bed, legs tucked under her. We talked about random things at first – movies, work, family. Then the conversation turned personal.
“Tera bhaiya kitna busy rehta hai,” she sighed. “Kabhi time hi nahi milta. Ek aurat ko kitni zarooratein hoti hain, koi samajhta nahi.” Her voice was low, eyes downcast.
My heart raced. “Bhabhi, aap itni sundar ho. Bhaiya lucky hain. Par… main samajhta hoon aapko akela feel hota hoga.”
She looked up, eyes misty. “Tu samajhta hai? Sach mein?” Then she leaned closer, placing her hand on my thigh. “Vikram, tu jawaan hai, strong hai. Kabhi socha hai… teri bhabhi ke baare mein?”
The air thickened. I swallowed hard. “Bhabhi… roz sochta hoon. Aapko dekh kar control nahi hota.”
That was it. She cupped my face and kissed me – soft at first, then hungry. Years of pent-up desire exploded. I kissed back fiercely, hands roaming her body, squeezing those heavy boobs I’d dreamed about. She moaned into my mouth, “Ahh devar ji… kitne saal se mann kar raha tha.”
We broke apart gasping. Guilt flashed in her eyes. “Ye galat hai, Vikram. Hum devar-bhabhi hain. Agar kisi ko pata chal gaya toh…”
But desire won. “Bhabhi, koi nahi jaanega. Bas hum dono. Main aapki saari pyaas bujha dunga.”
I pulled her nighty over her head. No bra, no panty – she came prepared. Her naked body was breathtaking – full heavy breasts with dark brown nipples already hard, flat stomach with a cute navel piercing from her wedding, trimmed chut with puffy lips already glistening, and that perfect gaand. I attacked her boobs, sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other. “Ahh… devar ji… chooso zor se… bhabhi ke boobs daba do.”
She pushed me back and straddled me, grinding her wet chut against my hard lund through my shorts. “Feel kar kitni geeli hoon tere liye.” I grabbed her gaand, spreading cheeks, feeling her tight asshole. She gasped.
I flipped her onto the bed, kissing down her body – neck, boobs, stomach, thighs. Then I spread her legs wide and dove into her chut. She tasted sweet and musky, juices flowing. I licked her clit in circles, tongue-fucking her hole, sucking her lips. “Oh god… Vikram… teri zubaan magic hai… lick kar bhabhi ki chut… ahh aa rahi hoon!” She came hard, thighs clamping my head, squirting a little on my face.
Now her turn. She yanked my shorts off. My 8-inch thick lund sprang out, veins pulsing. “Arre wah… kitna mota aur lamba… tere bhaiya se double better.” She stroked it lovingly, then took it in her mouth – warm, wet heaven. She sucked like a pro, deepthroating half, gagging slightly, saliva dripping down. “Mmm… devar ka lund tasty hai.” I face-fucked her gently, holding her hair.
I couldn’t wait anymore. “Bhabhi… andar daalun?”
“Haan devar ji… chod apni bhabhi ko… phaad de meri chut.”
Missionary first – I rubbed my lund head on her slit, then pushed in slowly. She was incredibly tight, walls gripping like velvet. “Ahh… dhire… kitna mota hai… bhar diya poora.” Once fully in, I started thrusting – slow deep strokes building to hard pounding. Her boobs bounced wildly. “Faster… zor se chod… make me your randi!”
We switched – cowgirl. She rode me like a goddess, grinding her clit, boobs in my face. I sucked them hard, slapping her gaand. “Ahh… maar gaand pe… bhabhi ko saza de.”
Then doggy – her favourite. Ass up, face down, I slammed into her from behind, balls slapping her clit. I spread her cheeks, thumb circling her asshole. “Bhabhi… yahan bhi try karein?”
She hesitated, then moaned, “Haan… finger daal… prepare kar.”
I lubed my thumb with her juices and pushed into her tight ass. Double penetration feeling drove her wild. “Ahh… devar ji… gaand mein bhi lund daal do kabhi.”
I pounded her chut harder, feeling orgasm build. “Bhabhi… andar aa jaun?”
“Yes… creampie kar… bhar de apni bhabhi ki chut… pregnant kar de if possible.” Taboo words sent me over. I exploded deep inside, flooding her womb with thick hot cum. She came again, milking me dry.
We collapsed, sweaty, panting. She cuddled into me, head on my chest. Tears in her eyes – happy ones. “Vikram… ye galat hai, lekin kitna sahi lag raha hai. Tere bhaiya kabhi aise pyaar nahi kiya.”
I kissed her forehead. “Bhabhi, ab se main aapka sab kuch hoon. Jab bhi mann kare, mujhe bula lena.”
That night we didn’t stop at one round. After resting, she woke me with a blowjob, swallowing my morning cum. Then shower sex – I fucked her against the wall, water cascading over her curves. Anal play escalated – I fingered her ass properly while eating her chut, making her squirt again.
Since that night, our affair became constant. Whenever parents are out or asleep, we sneak into each other’s rooms. Quickies in the kitchen while cooking – me bending her over the counter, lifting her saree, pounding doggy while she bites a cloth to muffle moans. Full nights when parents visit relatives – we explore everything. She loves anal now – took my lund slowly at first, now begs for hard ass fucking. Roleplay too – she as strict bhabhi punishing naughty devar, tying me with her dupatta and riding me.
Emotionally, it’s deep. She confides everything – her frustrations, dreams, fears. I listen, comfort, love her in ways bhaiya never did. When bhaiya comes home, we act normal, but stolen glances, risky touches under the table, late-night texts keep the fire burning. Once, bhaiya was sleeping in their room, and bhabhi sneaked to mine for a quick blowjob – the danger made it hotter.
Guilt comes sometimes. We know society would destroy us if they knew about this devar bhabhi chudai. But the passion, the connection, outweighs everything. Bhabhi has blossomed – she’s happier, glows more, even started wearing sexier clothes at home for me.
We’ve made memories everywhere – terrace under stars, car during late-night drives, even the storeroom. She’s taught me pleasures I never knew, and I’ve awakened her inner slut. This forbidden bhabhi devar sex story continues daily, secretly, intensely.
During Holi that year, parents were home but busy with guests. Bhabhi and I played colors in the courtyard. She wore a white kurta that became transparent when wet – red bra visible, nipples poking. We “accidentally” smeared color in private places – my hand slipping into her cleavage, her palm brushing my lund. Later, in the bathroom “cleaning,” we had quick standing sex – me lifting her, pinning against wall, fucking hard while colors smeared between our bodies.
Summer brought new opportunities. Power cuts were common. One night, no electricity, whole family sleeping downstairs to escape heat. Bhabhi whispered to me to meet on the terrace. Moonlight bathed her naked body as she waited. We fucked slowly, sensually – missionary under stars, her moans mixing with crickets. I ate her chut for ages, making her cum thrice before filling her.
She introduced toys too – ordered a vibrator online secretly. We’d use it together – me controlling while fucking her mouth, or her riding me with it in her ass. Anal became regular. First time full anal was magical – lots of lube, slow entry, her guiding me. “Ahh… devar ji… poora andar… gaand phaad do.” Once in, she went wild, pushing back, loving the fullness.
Emotionally, we grew closer than lovers. She’d cry sometimes after sex, saying she loves bhaiya as husband but me as her real man. I’d hold her, promise forever. We even discussed future – if bhaiya ever retires, how we’d manage, or fantasies of running away (though unrealistic).
Riskiest moment: Bhaiya home for leave. One afternoon, parents napping, bhaiya in market. Bhabhi called me to her room. We fucked missionary quietly, her hand over mouth. Bhaiya returned early – we heard the gate. Panic – I hid in wardrobe as she dressed quickly. Bhaiya entered, suspicious of her flushed face, but she blamed heat. My heart pounded hiding there, smelling our sex in the air. Later, the danger made us laugh and fuck again that night.
Physically, bhabhi transformed. Regular sex made her skin glow, body toner. She started gym secretly, making her gaand even firmer. Boobs seemed bigger, nipples more sensitive – maybe from constant sucking.
We explored outdoors too – once drove to a secluded hill, fucked in car backseat, windows fogged. Another time, village fair – quickie in an empty stall.
This bhabhi devar sex story isn’t just physical. It’s love – forbidden, intense, all-consuming. She completes me, I complete her. Whatever the future, these memories are ours forever.
Neha bhabhi is every man’s dream. Wheatish golden skin that glows in the sun, sharp Rajput features with big kohl-lined eyes, long thick black hair she usually braids, and a body built for sin – 34D-28-36 figure that she hides under salwar kameez or sarees, but nothing can hide those heavy bouncing boobs, slim waist, and that round, firm gaand that sways hypnotically when she walks. She’s traditional on the outside – does all the household work, respects elders, performs pooja every morning – but I started noticing the fire inside her when bhaiya’s absences grew longer.
Bhaiya got married to her eight years ago in an arranged match. At first, everything seemed fine, but army life is tough. He’d come home, spend a week, and leave again. Bhabhi never complained openly, but I saw the signs – the way she’d stare out the window during evenings, the soft sighs when she thought no one was listening, the late-night phone calls where she’d plead, “Ajay ji, kab aaoge? Bahut akela lagta hai.” I felt bad for her. A woman like bhabhi, in her prime, deserved daily attention, daily touch, daily passion. And slowly, guiltily, I started imagining myself giving her what she needed.
It began innocently enough during last year’s Diwali preparations. The whole family was busy cleaning and decorating. Parents were downstairs supervising servants, bhaiya was away as usual. Bhabhi was in her room arranging new clothes, and I went up to help. She was on a stool reaching for a high shelf, wearing a pink salwar kameez that hugged her curves perfectly. The dupatta had slipped, revealing deep cleavage as her heavy boobs strained against the tight kameez.
“Vikram, zara ye box neeche kar do,” she called, stretching higher. Her gaand was right at my eye level – round, perfect, outlined beautifully. My lund twitched instantly.
I stepped behind her to “help,” my chest brushing her back as I reached up. She didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned back slightly, her soft gaand pressing against my crotch. I felt myself hardening against her. “Bhabhi… gir jaogi,” I muttered, hands on her waist to steady her.
She turned her head, smiling playfully. “Devar ji, tum ho na pakadne ke liye.” Her eyes had a sparkle I hadn’t seen before.
That small moment lingered. After that, she started teasing me in subtle ways only I noticed – bending low to pick something up when I was around, letting her pallu slip “accidentally” to show cleavage, brushing against me in the narrow staircase. During family dinners, her foot would sometimes graze mine under the table. I’d catch her staring at me when she thought I wasn’t looking, biting her lower lip.
One night in December, the real spark happened. It was cold, and parents had gone to a relative’s wedding in another city for three days, leaving just bhabhi and me at home. Bhaiya was stuck at the border due to tension. Bhabhi knocked on my door around 11 PM. “Vikram, neend nahi aa rahi. Thodi baat karein?”
She came in wearing a thin black nighty – unusual for her, as she normally wore full clothes. No bra, nipples faintly visible through the fabric, hair open and flowing. She sat on my bed, legs tucked under her. We talked about random things at first – movies, work, family. Then the conversation turned personal.
“Tera bhaiya kitna busy rehta hai,” she sighed. “Kabhi time hi nahi milta. Ek aurat ko kitni zarooratein hoti hain, koi samajhta nahi.” Her voice was low, eyes downcast.
My heart raced. “Bhabhi, aap itni sundar ho. Bhaiya lucky hain. Par… main samajhta hoon aapko akela feel hota hoga.”
She looked up, eyes misty. “Tu samajhta hai? Sach mein?” Then she leaned closer, placing her hand on my thigh. “Vikram, tu jawaan hai, strong hai. Kabhi socha hai… teri bhabhi ke baare mein?”
The air thickened. I swallowed hard. “Bhabhi… roz sochta hoon. Aapko dekh kar control nahi hota.”
That was it. She cupped my face and kissed me – soft at first, then hungry. Years of pent-up desire exploded. I kissed back fiercely, hands roaming her body, squeezing those heavy boobs I’d dreamed about. She moaned into my mouth, “Ahh devar ji… kitne saal se mann kar raha tha.”
We broke apart gasping. Guilt flashed in her eyes. “Ye galat hai, Vikram. Hum devar-bhabhi hain. Agar kisi ko pata chal gaya toh…”
But desire won. “Bhabhi, koi nahi jaanega. Bas hum dono. Main aapki saari pyaas bujha dunga.”
I pulled her nighty over her head. No bra, no panty – she came prepared. Her naked body was breathtaking – full heavy breasts with dark brown nipples already hard, flat stomach with a cute navel piercing from her wedding, trimmed chut with puffy lips already glistening, and that perfect gaand. I attacked her boobs, sucking one nipple hard while pinching the other. “Ahh… devar ji… chooso zor se… bhabhi ke boobs daba do.”
She pushed me back and straddled me, grinding her wet chut against my hard lund through my shorts. “Feel kar kitni geeli hoon tere liye.” I grabbed her gaand, spreading cheeks, feeling her tight asshole. She gasped.
I flipped her onto the bed, kissing down her body – neck, boobs, stomach, thighs. Then I spread her legs wide and dove into her chut. She tasted sweet and musky, juices flowing. I licked her clit in circles, tongue-fucking her hole, sucking her lips. “Oh god… Vikram… teri zubaan magic hai… lick kar bhabhi ki chut… ahh aa rahi hoon!” She came hard, thighs clamping my head, squirting a little on my face.
Now her turn. She yanked my shorts off. My 8-inch thick lund sprang out, veins pulsing. “Arre wah… kitna mota aur lamba… tere bhaiya se double better.” She stroked it lovingly, then took it in her mouth – warm, wet heaven. She sucked like a pro, deepthroating half, gagging slightly, saliva dripping down. “Mmm… devar ka lund tasty hai.” I face-fucked her gently, holding her hair.
I couldn’t wait anymore. “Bhabhi… andar daalun?”
“Haan devar ji… chod apni bhabhi ko… phaad de meri chut.”
Missionary first – I rubbed my lund head on her slit, then pushed in slowly. She was incredibly tight, walls gripping like velvet. “Ahh… dhire… kitna mota hai… bhar diya poora.” Once fully in, I started thrusting – slow deep strokes building to hard pounding. Her boobs bounced wildly. “Faster… zor se chod… make me your randi!”
We switched – cowgirl. She rode me like a goddess, grinding her clit, boobs in my face. I sucked them hard, slapping her gaand. “Ahh… maar gaand pe… bhabhi ko saza de.”
Then doggy – her favourite. Ass up, face down, I slammed into her from behind, balls slapping her clit. I spread her cheeks, thumb circling her asshole. “Bhabhi… yahan bhi try karein?”
She hesitated, then moaned, “Haan… finger daal… prepare kar.”
I lubed my thumb with her juices and pushed into her tight ass. Double penetration feeling drove her wild. “Ahh… devar ji… gaand mein bhi lund daal do kabhi.”
I pounded her chut harder, feeling orgasm build. “Bhabhi… andar aa jaun?”
“Yes… creampie kar… bhar de apni bhabhi ki chut… pregnant kar de if possible.” Taboo words sent me over. I exploded deep inside, flooding her womb with thick hot cum. She came again, milking me dry.
We collapsed, sweaty, panting. She cuddled into me, head on my chest. Tears in her eyes – happy ones. “Vikram… ye galat hai, lekin kitna sahi lag raha hai. Tere bhaiya kabhi aise pyaar nahi kiya.”
I kissed her forehead. “Bhabhi, ab se main aapka sab kuch hoon. Jab bhi mann kare, mujhe bula lena.”
That night we didn’t stop at one round. After resting, she woke me with a blowjob, swallowing my morning cum. Then shower sex – I fucked her against the wall, water cascading over her curves. Anal play escalated – I fingered her ass properly while eating her chut, making her squirt again.
Since that night, our affair became constant. Whenever parents are out or asleep, we sneak into each other’s rooms. Quickies in the kitchen while cooking – me bending her over the counter, lifting her saree, pounding doggy while she bites a cloth to muffle moans. Full nights when parents visit relatives – we explore everything. She loves anal now – took my lund slowly at first, now begs for hard ass fucking. Roleplay too – she as strict bhabhi punishing naughty devar, tying me with her dupatta and riding me.
Emotionally, it’s deep. She confides everything – her frustrations, dreams, fears. I listen, comfort, love her in ways bhaiya never did. When bhaiya comes home, we act normal, but stolen glances, risky touches under the table, late-night texts keep the fire burning. Once, bhaiya was sleeping in their room, and bhabhi sneaked to mine for a quick blowjob – the danger made it hotter.
Guilt comes sometimes. We know society would destroy us if they knew about this devar bhabhi chudai. But the passion, the connection, outweighs everything. Bhabhi has blossomed – she’s happier, glows more, even started wearing sexier clothes at home for me.
We’ve made memories everywhere – terrace under stars, car during late-night drives, even the storeroom. She’s taught me pleasures I never knew, and I’ve awakened her inner slut. This forbidden bhabhi devar sex story continues daily, secretly, intensely.
During Holi that year, parents were home but busy with guests. Bhabhi and I played colors in the courtyard. She wore a white kurta that became transparent when wet – red bra visible, nipples poking. We “accidentally” smeared color in private places – my hand slipping into her cleavage, her palm brushing my lund. Later, in the bathroom “cleaning,” we had quick standing sex – me lifting her, pinning against wall, fucking hard while colors smeared between our bodies.
Summer brought new opportunities. Power cuts were common. One night, no electricity, whole family sleeping downstairs to escape heat. Bhabhi whispered to me to meet on the terrace. Moonlight bathed her naked body as she waited. We fucked slowly, sensually – missionary under stars, her moans mixing with crickets. I ate her chut for ages, making her cum thrice before filling her.
She introduced toys too – ordered a vibrator online secretly. We’d use it together – me controlling while fucking her mouth, or her riding me with it in her ass. Anal became regular. First time full anal was magical – lots of lube, slow entry, her guiding me. “Ahh… devar ji… poora andar… gaand phaad do.” Once in, she went wild, pushing back, loving the fullness.
Emotionally, we grew closer than lovers. She’d cry sometimes after sex, saying she loves bhaiya as husband but me as her real man. I’d hold her, promise forever. We even discussed future – if bhaiya ever retires, how we’d manage, or fantasies of running away (though unrealistic).
Riskiest moment: Bhaiya home for leave. One afternoon, parents napping, bhaiya in market. Bhabhi called me to her room. We fucked missionary quietly, her hand over mouth. Bhaiya returned early – we heard the gate. Panic – I hid in wardrobe as she dressed quickly. Bhaiya entered, suspicious of her flushed face, but she blamed heat. My heart pounded hiding there, smelling our sex in the air. Later, the danger made us laugh and fuck again that night.
Physically, bhabhi transformed. Regular sex made her skin glow, body toner. She started gym secretly, making her gaand even firmer. Boobs seemed bigger, nipples more sensitive – maybe from constant sucking.
We explored outdoors too – once drove to a secluded hill, fucked in car backseat, windows fogged. Another time, village fair – quickie in an empty stall.
This bhabhi devar sex story isn’t just physical. It’s love – forbidden, intense, all-consuming. She completes me, I complete her. Whatever the future, these memories are ours forever.