Hello everyone, this is my most private confession – a real cousin sex story that still sets my blood on fire whenever I think about it. My name is Karan, 25 years old now, working as a software engineer in Hyderabad. I come from a big joint family scattered across Rajasthan and Delhi. Weddings, festivals, and summer vacations always brought us together, and that’s where my story with my cousin Diya begins.
Diya is my mama’s daughter – my mother’s brother’s girl – so technically my cousin behen. She’s 23 now, but when everything started three years ago, she was 20 and I was 22. We grew up seeing each other every summer when our families met at our ancestral haveli in a small village near Jodhpur. As kids, we were inseparable – playing in the fields, climbing mango trees, swimming in the village pond. But puberty changed everything. By the time she was 16, Diya had blossomed into a stunning desert beauty: golden wheatish skin that glowed under the sun, long silky black hair she wore in a thick braid, almond-shaped eyes lined naturally with kajal, full pink lips, and a body that could stop traffic – heavy 34DD breasts that strained against her kameez, a narrow waist, flared hips, and a big, soft, perfectly round gaand that jiggled enticingly when she walked in her ghagra or tight jeans during modern family functions.
I noticed her first when I was 18. During one Holi, she was 16, wearing a white salwar kameez soaked with colors. The fabric clung to her developing curves, outlining her young boobs and the shape of her nipples. I got my first real hard-on looking at her, and felt instant guilt – she was my cousin behen! From then on, every family gathering was torture and thrill. We’d tease each other innocently, wrestle playfully, but touches lingered longer. She’d sit on my lap during card games, her soft gaand pressing against my growing lund. I’d “accidentally” brush her boobs while passing in narrow corridors. We never spoke about it, but the tension built like desert heat.
After class 12, Diya went to Delhi for college, and I moved to Hyderabad for engineering. We saw each other rarely – only big family events. WhatsApp kept us connected: late-night chats, sharing memes, then slowly personal stuff. She’d complain about hostel food, strict wardens, and boys hitting on her. “Tu hi best hai, bhaiya. Koi ladka tere jaisa nahi,” she’d text with heart emojis. I’d send gym selfies; she’d reply with fire emojis and “Looking hot, bhaiya.” Innocent flirting, but it kept my fantasies alive.
The explosion happened three years ago during my cousin’s wedding at our village haveli. The whole extended family gathered – over 50 people. The haveli was huge: multiple courtyards, terraces, guest rooms. Diya arrived from Delhi looking like a Bollywood heroine – modern yet traditional, in cropped tops and palazzo pants that showed her navel and hugged her big gaand. The first night, during sangeet practice, she pulled me aside. “Bhaiya, kitne saal baad properly mile! Miss kiya tujhe.” She hugged me tight, her heavy boobs crushing against my chest, perfume intoxicating. My lund stirred instantly.
We were assigned adjacent rooms on the upper floor – thin walls, shared balcony overlooking fields. Nights were hot, power cuts common. First night, everyone danced till late. Diya and I performed a duet – romantic song, close dancing, family cheering. Her body moved against mine, hips swaying, eyes locked. Sweat made her kameez cling, deep cleavage visible. After, on the balcony cooling off, she leaned on the railing. “Bhaiya, yaad hai bachpan mein yahin baith ke stars dekhte the?”
I stood behind her, hands on railing either side. “Haan, Diya. Ab tu kitni badi ho gayi… kitni sundar.” My voice was husky.
She turned, smiling shyly. “Tu bhi handsome ban gaya. College mein girlfriend hai?”
“Nahi. Tu bata?”
She bit her lip. “Boys try, but I compare everyone to you. Tu perfect hai.”
The air crackled. I brushed hair from her face. She didn’t pull away. But aunties called; moment broken.
Next days were wedding chaos – rituals, food, guests. But stolen moments built tension. During mehendi, she sat for henna; I fed her sweets, fingers brushing lips. She sucked my finger playfully when no one saw. During baraat, late night, she texted: “Balcony pe aa na.”
I went. She was in a thin nightie, hair open, no bra – nipples visible in moonlight. “Neend nahi aa rahi, garmi hai.” We sat close, legs touching. Talk turned personal. She confessed feeling lonely in Delhi, missing family closeness. “Especially you, bhaiya. Tu mera best friend bhi hai, protector bhi.”
I put arm around her. “Main hamesha hoon tere liye.”
She rested head on my shoulder, hand on my thigh. Slowly, her hand moved higher. My lund hardened. “Bhaiya… I feel weird sometimes around you. Like… attracted.”
My heart pounded. “Me too, Diya. Since years. But we’re cousins… society…”
She looked up. “Society door hai. Yahan sirf hum hain.” Then she kissed me – soft, tentative. I froze, then kissed back hungrily. First real kiss with my cousin behen – tongues exploring, hands roaming. I cupped her heavy breast, thumb on nipple. She moaned softly, “Ahh bhaiya… touch me…”
We broke apart hearing footsteps. “Kal… continue?” she whispered.
Next day was wedding. Everyone busy. Afternoon siesta time – most sleeping. Diya texted: “My room, now.”
I sneaked in. She locked door, pulled curtains. Wearing just bra and panty – black lace, bought in Delhi. Body breathtaking: big boobs overflowing bra, flat stomach with navel ring, thick thighs, big gaand. “Bhaiya… I want you. Years se sochti hoon.”
Guilt hit, but desire stronger. We kissed wildly, falling on bed. I removed her bra – perfect heavy boobs, dark brown nipples erect. Sucked greedily, biting gently. “Ahh bhaiya… choos zor se… cousin behen ke boobs piyo.” Her hand in my shorts, stroking my thick 7.5-inch lund. “Kitna mota hai… meri chut mein fit hoga?”
I kissed down, removed panty. Her chut was beautiful – trimmed hair, pink lips glistening. Virgin smell fresh. Spread legs, licked slowly – clit sucking, tongue deep. “Oh god bhaiya… teri zubaan… chat meri chut… ahh cumming!” She orgasmed fast, juices flooding my mouth.
She pulled me up, blew me – eager but inexperienced, licking head, half in mouth. “Bhaiya ka lund tasty… teach me.” I guided, gentle thrusts. Came in her mouth; she swallowed bravely.
We didn’t fuck – time short, she scared of pain. But foreplay intense: 69, me fingering her tight hole, her riding my face.
Evening rituals separated us, but eyes spoke volumes.
Wedding night – groom’s side left, family relaxed. Late night, terrace party with music. Parents drunk on bhaang, slept early. Diya and I danced alone on terrace. She wore backless choli – gaand visible through sheer lehenga. Grinding against me shamelessly. “Bhaiya… tonight?”
We sneaked to an empty guest room downstairs – lockable, away from family. Finally alone, no interruptions.
Clothes off frantically. Naked bodies pressed – her soft curves against my hard muscles. Kissed everywhere. I sucked boobs till red marks, fingered chut till soaking. She blew me expertly now, deepthroating half.
Missionary – rubbed lund on slit. “Ready, Diya? Teri seal tod dun?”
“Haan bhaiya… apni cousin behen ko chod… make me yours.”
Pushed slowly – tight virgin resistance. She cried in pain. “Ahh… dard… ruk.” Paused, kissed, sucked nipples. Then deeper – fully in, blood on sheets. Started slow thrusts. Pain turned pleasure. “Bhaiya… ab maza… chod zor se apni behen ko.”
Pounded harder – boobs bouncing wildly. “Ahh… bhaiya… cousin brother ka lund best!” Changed positions – cowgirl: she rode awkwardly then confidently, grinding clit, braid swinging. Doggy: her big gaand up, me slapping hard, deep thrusts. “Maar gaand pe… phaad de meri chut!”
Felt climax. “Diya… andar?”
“Yes bhaiya… creampie… bhar de apni cousin ki chut!” Came deep, flooding her womb. She orgasmed, walls milking.
Collapsed, emotional. Tears in her eyes. “Bhaiya… I love you. Not just cousin love. Real love.”
“Me too, baby. Tu meri hai ab.”
That night multiple rounds: slow sensual in spooning, rough against wall, oral till exhausted. Tried anal tease – finger in gaand, she moaned but said later.
Rest of stay – secret heaven. Morning quickies before family woke, afternoon in fields behind haveli – fucked in grass, risk of farmers seeing. Night terrace under stars – slow passionate sex.
Back to cities, affair continued long-distance: video calls with mutual masturbation, nudes, dirty talk in Hinglish. “Bhaiya, meri chut geeli hai tere lund ko yaad kar.”
Next meet: Six months later, family Diwali in Delhi. Stayed at mama’s house. Riskier – parents around. But nights she’d sneak to my room. Full sex with hand over mouth. Once almost caught – mama knocked, we froze mid-thrust.
Anal first: During college break, she visited Hyderabad alone “for internship.” Rented flat – week of freedom. Prepared with lube, fingers. Slow entry – “Ahh bhaiya… gaand mein lund… dard but maza.” Became addicted – tight grip amazing.
Emotional depth grew. She’d cry about marriage pressure – family looking for rishta. “Main sirf tere saath happy hoon.” I felt possessive – no one else could have her.
Riskiest: Village monsoon visit. Power cut, whole family downstairs. We on terrace in rain – naked, fucking wildly, lightning flashing, rain slicking bodies. Thunder masked moans.
Another: Train journey together to wedding. Berth opposite – night curtain closed, fingering under blanket, quiet oral.
Physically, Diya transformed – confident, sexier. Started waxing fully, wore thongs for me. Boobs fuller from constant fondling. Learned positions from porn – reverse cowgirl with gaand twerking my favorite.
Toys: I gifted vibrator. Used on calls – her moaning my name.
Pregnancy scare once – late period. Panic, but negative. Started pills.
Future plans: Dream of eloping, but realistic – continue secretly forever.
This cousin sex story is endless. Every meet new passion, deeper bond. Society calls it sin, but for us, purest love – childhood friends to forbidden lovers.
More memories: One summer, village well – swam naked, first underwater oral.
Wedding photo sessions – stolen kisses behind backdrop.
Her birthday – surprise visit, hotel room, rose petals, slow tantric sex all night.
We roleplay: innocent cousin seducing bhaiya, or strict bhaiya punishing naughty behen with spanking.
Public risks: Movie theatre – handjob under jacket. Park – quick doggy behind trees.
This cousin brother sister chudai defines us. No regrets, only craving for next meet.
To deepen our tale, let’s explore the psychological side. Growing up in conservative family, sex was taboo topic. But closeness bred curiosity. Diya confessed first fantasies at 17 – dreaming of me after seeing me shirtless. I admitted jerking to her bikini pics from Goa trip.
Guilt phases: After first full sex, she cried hours – fear of hell, family dishonor. I comforted, said love transcends rules. Gradually accepted – if it feels right, it is.
Jealousy: When she dated briefly in college, I went mad. Possessive sex after – marking with hickeys, rough fucking claiming her.
My side: Rejected girls who pursued me – none matched Diya’s mix of innocence and fire.
Cultural layers: Rajasthani traditions – ghumar dances where she’d twirl, lehenga flying, giving glimpses. Inspired dance sex – her dancing naked, me joining.
Food play: Mango season – feeding each other, juice dripping on boobs, licking clean.
Monsoon magic: Multiple rain fucks – symbolic purity washing sin.
We’ve evolved kinks: Light bondage with her dupatta, blindfolds, ice play on nipples.
Recorded videos – private collection, watch together for foreplay.
Dream future: Move abroad, live as couple. Or secret second wife fantasy.
Whatever happens, this forbidden cousin sex story is eternal flame in our hearts.
One final intense memory: Last year’s family Rajasthan tour. Desert camp – private tent. Full moon, camel sounds outside. Slow oil massage turning to hours of sex – every position, multiple creampies. Fell asleep joined, woke to morning glory continuation.
Diya now glows differently – womanly aura from our love. Family compliments her beauty; only I know reason.
This is our truth – cousin brother sister chudai born of pure connection, burning brighter than any allowed love.
Diya is my mama’s daughter – my mother’s brother’s girl – so technically my cousin behen. She’s 23 now, but when everything started three years ago, she was 20 and I was 22. We grew up seeing each other every summer when our families met at our ancestral haveli in a small village near Jodhpur. As kids, we were inseparable – playing in the fields, climbing mango trees, swimming in the village pond. But puberty changed everything. By the time she was 16, Diya had blossomed into a stunning desert beauty: golden wheatish skin that glowed under the sun, long silky black hair she wore in a thick braid, almond-shaped eyes lined naturally with kajal, full pink lips, and a body that could stop traffic – heavy 34DD breasts that strained against her kameez, a narrow waist, flared hips, and a big, soft, perfectly round gaand that jiggled enticingly when she walked in her ghagra or tight jeans during modern family functions.
I noticed her first when I was 18. During one Holi, she was 16, wearing a white salwar kameez soaked with colors. The fabric clung to her developing curves, outlining her young boobs and the shape of her nipples. I got my first real hard-on looking at her, and felt instant guilt – she was my cousin behen! From then on, every family gathering was torture and thrill. We’d tease each other innocently, wrestle playfully, but touches lingered longer. She’d sit on my lap during card games, her soft gaand pressing against my growing lund. I’d “accidentally” brush her boobs while passing in narrow corridors. We never spoke about it, but the tension built like desert heat.
After class 12, Diya went to Delhi for college, and I moved to Hyderabad for engineering. We saw each other rarely – only big family events. WhatsApp kept us connected: late-night chats, sharing memes, then slowly personal stuff. She’d complain about hostel food, strict wardens, and boys hitting on her. “Tu hi best hai, bhaiya. Koi ladka tere jaisa nahi,” she’d text with heart emojis. I’d send gym selfies; she’d reply with fire emojis and “Looking hot, bhaiya.” Innocent flirting, but it kept my fantasies alive.
The explosion happened three years ago during my cousin’s wedding at our village haveli. The whole extended family gathered – over 50 people. The haveli was huge: multiple courtyards, terraces, guest rooms. Diya arrived from Delhi looking like a Bollywood heroine – modern yet traditional, in cropped tops and palazzo pants that showed her navel and hugged her big gaand. The first night, during sangeet practice, she pulled me aside. “Bhaiya, kitne saal baad properly mile! Miss kiya tujhe.” She hugged me tight, her heavy boobs crushing against my chest, perfume intoxicating. My lund stirred instantly.
We were assigned adjacent rooms on the upper floor – thin walls, shared balcony overlooking fields. Nights were hot, power cuts common. First night, everyone danced till late. Diya and I performed a duet – romantic song, close dancing, family cheering. Her body moved against mine, hips swaying, eyes locked. Sweat made her kameez cling, deep cleavage visible. After, on the balcony cooling off, she leaned on the railing. “Bhaiya, yaad hai bachpan mein yahin baith ke stars dekhte the?”
I stood behind her, hands on railing either side. “Haan, Diya. Ab tu kitni badi ho gayi… kitni sundar.” My voice was husky.
She turned, smiling shyly. “Tu bhi handsome ban gaya. College mein girlfriend hai?”
“Nahi. Tu bata?”
She bit her lip. “Boys try, but I compare everyone to you. Tu perfect hai.”
The air crackled. I brushed hair from her face. She didn’t pull away. But aunties called; moment broken.
Next days were wedding chaos – rituals, food, guests. But stolen moments built tension. During mehendi, she sat for henna; I fed her sweets, fingers brushing lips. She sucked my finger playfully when no one saw. During baraat, late night, she texted: “Balcony pe aa na.”
I went. She was in a thin nightie, hair open, no bra – nipples visible in moonlight. “Neend nahi aa rahi, garmi hai.” We sat close, legs touching. Talk turned personal. She confessed feeling lonely in Delhi, missing family closeness. “Especially you, bhaiya. Tu mera best friend bhi hai, protector bhi.”
I put arm around her. “Main hamesha hoon tere liye.”
She rested head on my shoulder, hand on my thigh. Slowly, her hand moved higher. My lund hardened. “Bhaiya… I feel weird sometimes around you. Like… attracted.”
My heart pounded. “Me too, Diya. Since years. But we’re cousins… society…”
She looked up. “Society door hai. Yahan sirf hum hain.” Then she kissed me – soft, tentative. I froze, then kissed back hungrily. First real kiss with my cousin behen – tongues exploring, hands roaming. I cupped her heavy breast, thumb on nipple. She moaned softly, “Ahh bhaiya… touch me…”
We broke apart hearing footsteps. “Kal… continue?” she whispered.
Next day was wedding. Everyone busy. Afternoon siesta time – most sleeping. Diya texted: “My room, now.”
I sneaked in. She locked door, pulled curtains. Wearing just bra and panty – black lace, bought in Delhi. Body breathtaking: big boobs overflowing bra, flat stomach with navel ring, thick thighs, big gaand. “Bhaiya… I want you. Years se sochti hoon.”
Guilt hit, but desire stronger. We kissed wildly, falling on bed. I removed her bra – perfect heavy boobs, dark brown nipples erect. Sucked greedily, biting gently. “Ahh bhaiya… choos zor se… cousin behen ke boobs piyo.” Her hand in my shorts, stroking my thick 7.5-inch lund. “Kitna mota hai… meri chut mein fit hoga?”
I kissed down, removed panty. Her chut was beautiful – trimmed hair, pink lips glistening. Virgin smell fresh. Spread legs, licked slowly – clit sucking, tongue deep. “Oh god bhaiya… teri zubaan… chat meri chut… ahh cumming!” She orgasmed fast, juices flooding my mouth.
She pulled me up, blew me – eager but inexperienced, licking head, half in mouth. “Bhaiya ka lund tasty… teach me.” I guided, gentle thrusts. Came in her mouth; she swallowed bravely.
We didn’t fuck – time short, she scared of pain. But foreplay intense: 69, me fingering her tight hole, her riding my face.
Evening rituals separated us, but eyes spoke volumes.
Wedding night – groom’s side left, family relaxed. Late night, terrace party with music. Parents drunk on bhaang, slept early. Diya and I danced alone on terrace. She wore backless choli – gaand visible through sheer lehenga. Grinding against me shamelessly. “Bhaiya… tonight?”
We sneaked to an empty guest room downstairs – lockable, away from family. Finally alone, no interruptions.
Clothes off frantically. Naked bodies pressed – her soft curves against my hard muscles. Kissed everywhere. I sucked boobs till red marks, fingered chut till soaking. She blew me expertly now, deepthroating half.
Missionary – rubbed lund on slit. “Ready, Diya? Teri seal tod dun?”
“Haan bhaiya… apni cousin behen ko chod… make me yours.”
Pushed slowly – tight virgin resistance. She cried in pain. “Ahh… dard… ruk.” Paused, kissed, sucked nipples. Then deeper – fully in, blood on sheets. Started slow thrusts. Pain turned pleasure. “Bhaiya… ab maza… chod zor se apni behen ko.”
Pounded harder – boobs bouncing wildly. “Ahh… bhaiya… cousin brother ka lund best!” Changed positions – cowgirl: she rode awkwardly then confidently, grinding clit, braid swinging. Doggy: her big gaand up, me slapping hard, deep thrusts. “Maar gaand pe… phaad de meri chut!”
Felt climax. “Diya… andar?”
“Yes bhaiya… creampie… bhar de apni cousin ki chut!” Came deep, flooding her womb. She orgasmed, walls milking.
Collapsed, emotional. Tears in her eyes. “Bhaiya… I love you. Not just cousin love. Real love.”
“Me too, baby. Tu meri hai ab.”
That night multiple rounds: slow sensual in spooning, rough against wall, oral till exhausted. Tried anal tease – finger in gaand, she moaned but said later.
Rest of stay – secret heaven. Morning quickies before family woke, afternoon in fields behind haveli – fucked in grass, risk of farmers seeing. Night terrace under stars – slow passionate sex.
Back to cities, affair continued long-distance: video calls with mutual masturbation, nudes, dirty talk in Hinglish. “Bhaiya, meri chut geeli hai tere lund ko yaad kar.”
Next meet: Six months later, family Diwali in Delhi. Stayed at mama’s house. Riskier – parents around. But nights she’d sneak to my room. Full sex with hand over mouth. Once almost caught – mama knocked, we froze mid-thrust.
Anal first: During college break, she visited Hyderabad alone “for internship.” Rented flat – week of freedom. Prepared with lube, fingers. Slow entry – “Ahh bhaiya… gaand mein lund… dard but maza.” Became addicted – tight grip amazing.
Emotional depth grew. She’d cry about marriage pressure – family looking for rishta. “Main sirf tere saath happy hoon.” I felt possessive – no one else could have her.
Riskiest: Village monsoon visit. Power cut, whole family downstairs. We on terrace in rain – naked, fucking wildly, lightning flashing, rain slicking bodies. Thunder masked moans.
Another: Train journey together to wedding. Berth opposite – night curtain closed, fingering under blanket, quiet oral.
Physically, Diya transformed – confident, sexier. Started waxing fully, wore thongs for me. Boobs fuller from constant fondling. Learned positions from porn – reverse cowgirl with gaand twerking my favorite.
Toys: I gifted vibrator. Used on calls – her moaning my name.
Pregnancy scare once – late period. Panic, but negative. Started pills.
Future plans: Dream of eloping, but realistic – continue secretly forever.
This cousin sex story is endless. Every meet new passion, deeper bond. Society calls it sin, but for us, purest love – childhood friends to forbidden lovers.
More memories: One summer, village well – swam naked, first underwater oral.
Wedding photo sessions – stolen kisses behind backdrop.
Her birthday – surprise visit, hotel room, rose petals, slow tantric sex all night.
We roleplay: innocent cousin seducing bhaiya, or strict bhaiya punishing naughty behen with spanking.
Public risks: Movie theatre – handjob under jacket. Park – quick doggy behind trees.
This cousin brother sister chudai defines us. No regrets, only craving for next meet.
To deepen our tale, let’s explore the psychological side. Growing up in conservative family, sex was taboo topic. But closeness bred curiosity. Diya confessed first fantasies at 17 – dreaming of me after seeing me shirtless. I admitted jerking to her bikini pics from Goa trip.
Guilt phases: After first full sex, she cried hours – fear of hell, family dishonor. I comforted, said love transcends rules. Gradually accepted – if it feels right, it is.
Jealousy: When she dated briefly in college, I went mad. Possessive sex after – marking with hickeys, rough fucking claiming her.
My side: Rejected girls who pursued me – none matched Diya’s mix of innocence and fire.
Cultural layers: Rajasthani traditions – ghumar dances where she’d twirl, lehenga flying, giving glimpses. Inspired dance sex – her dancing naked, me joining.
Food play: Mango season – feeding each other, juice dripping on boobs, licking clean.
Monsoon magic: Multiple rain fucks – symbolic purity washing sin.
We’ve evolved kinks: Light bondage with her dupatta, blindfolds, ice play on nipples.
Recorded videos – private collection, watch together for foreplay.
Dream future: Move abroad, live as couple. Or secret second wife fantasy.
Whatever happens, this forbidden cousin sex story is eternal flame in our hearts.
One final intense memory: Last year’s family Rajasthan tour. Desert camp – private tent. Full moon, camel sounds outside. Slow oil massage turning to hours of sex – every position, multiple creampies. Fell asleep joined, woke to morning glory continuation.
Diya now glows differently – womanly aura from our love. Family compliments her beauty; only I know reason.
This is our truth – cousin brother sister chudai born of pure connection, burning brighter than any allowed love.