My name is Vikram, and I’m 25 years old. I grew up in a small village in Uttar Pradesh, in a typical joint family setup – mud-brick house with a courtyard, fields all around, the smell of cow dung and wet earth after rains. After finishing my engineering degree, I had been working in Noida for two years, living in a cramped PG, chasing promotions and city dreams. But every summer, I came back home for a month to recharge, eat maa’s food, and escape the pollution.
This year, when I stepped off the bus and walked the dusty path to our house, something felt different. The moment I entered the courtyard, I saw her – my bhabhi, Priyanka. Bhaiya had married her five years ago when I was still in college. Back then, I barely noticed her beyond the fact that she was beautiful. But now… fuck, now she was something else.
Priyanka bhabhi was 30, fair-skinned like fresh malai, with long black hair that she usually tied in a loose bun, a few strands always escaping to frame her face. Her body had filled out in all the right ways after marriage – heavy breasts that strained against her cotton sarees, a narrow waist that flared into wide hips, and an ass that swayed hypnotically when she walked. Village life kept her active – fetching water, helping in the fields, cooking – so her body was soft yet firm. I had noticed her beauty in photos bhaiya sent, but seeing her in person after two years hit me like a thunderbolt.
Bhaiya was working in Dubai now, sending money home every month. He had been gone for eight months this time, with only a promise to return next year. That left bhabhi alone in the house with maa, papa, and me when I visited. Maa and papa slept in the main room, bhabhi had the smaller room next to the kitchen, and I took the extra charpai in the veranda during summers.
The first few days were normal. I helped papa in the fields, ate ridiculous amounts of food, and caught up with old friends. But I couldn’t stop stealing glances at bhabhi. The way her red cotton saree clung to her sweaty body after working in the kitchen, the deep valley of her cleavage visible whenever she bent to serve food, the soft jiggle of her breasts when she walked – it was torture.
I felt guilty as hell. She was my bhabhi, practically my elder sister-in-law. Bhaiya trusted me completely. But at night, lying on the charpai under the stars, my cock would throb painfully as I remembered how her pallu slipped slightly while serving rotis, revealing the edge of her black blouse stretched tight over her big, round breasts.
On the fourth day, things started changing. It was afternoon, scorching hot. Maa and papa had gone to the neighboring village for a family function and wouldn’t return till evening. I was in the courtyard splashing water on myself from the hand pump when bhabhi came out carrying a bucket.
“Vikram, thoda pani nikal doge?” she asked, smiling shyly.
I nodded and started pumping. She stood close – too close – holding the bucket under the spout. Droplets splashed onto her chest, making her thin yellow saree stick to her skin. I could clearly see the outline of her black bra, the swell of her heavy breasts rising and falling with her breath.
As I pumped harder, more water splashed. One big drop landed right on her neck and slid down into her cleavage. She gasped softly and looked up at me. Our eyes met. For a moment, neither of us moved. I saw something flicker in her eyes – loneliness? Desire? Then she quickly adjusted her pallu and stepped back.
“Bas ho gaya,” she murmured, voice slightly husky.
That night, I jerked off twice thinking about that drop of water disappearing between her breasts.
The teasing continued over the next week. Small things. She would brush past me in the narrow kitchen doorway, her soft hip pressing against my groin for a second longer than necessary. When serving food, she would lean over me, her breast almost grazing my shoulder. Once, while I was fixing the fan in her room, she stood behind me holding the stool, and I felt her warm breath on my neck.
I started noticing how she looked at me too. When I came back from the fields shirtless and sweaty, her eyes would linger on my chest and arms. When I laughed at something, she would smile in a way that made my heart race.
I knew it was wrong, but the taboo thrill was intoxicating. She was lonely – bhaiya barely called, and village life for a young married woman without her husband was tough. And I was young, horny, and suddenly seeing her not as bhabhi but as a desirable woman.
Then came the rainy night that changed everything.
It was mid-July, peak monsoon. Dark clouds had been gathering all evening. Maa and papa decided to sleep early because the weather was bad. Around 9 PM, the sky cracked open. Thunder, lightning, torrential rain hammering the tin roof like bullets.
Power went out, of course. Village electricity is unreliable even on good days. We lit a lantern in the main room. Bhabhi was in the kitchen finishing up when lightning struck very close – the loudest crack I’d ever heard. She screamed.
I rushed to the kitchen. She was standing there clutching her saree, face pale.
“Vikram… dar lag raha hai,” she whispered.
Maa called from the other room, “Priyanka, tu theek hai? Vikram, dekh toh usko.”
I took the lantern and went to her. She was trembling slightly. Without thinking, I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Bhabhi, darne ki koi baat nahi. Main hoon na.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide in the lantern light. Rain pounded harder. Another thunderclap. She stepped closer instinctively.
Suddenly, maa shouted, “Vikram, bijli kabhi bhi aa sakti hai. Tu veranda pe ja ke apna bistar andar le aa, baarish mein bheeg jayega!”
I went to get my bedding. By the time I returned, maa and papa had gone to sleep, door closed. The only light was the dim lantern in the kitchen area.
Bhabhi was still there, sitting on the wooden bench, hugging herself.
“Vikram… aaj bahut tez barish hai. Main akeli dar jaungi apne kamre mein.”
Her voice was small, vulnerable. My heart pounded.
“Toh… aap yahin baith jao thodi der. Main bhi yahin hoon.”
She nodded. We sat on the bench, close because it was small. The air smelled of wet earth and her faint jasmine scent mixed with sweat from the humid day.
Minutes passed in silence, only rain sound. Then she spoke softly.
“Tera bhaiya kabhi call nahi karta properly. Aath mahine ho gaye… kabhi kabhi lagta hai main akeli hi hoon.”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat was dry.
“Bhabhi… bhaiya busy honge. Par aap akeli nahi ho. Hum sab hain.”
She turned to look at me. Lantern light danced on her face, highlighting her full lips, the curve of her neck.
“Tu samajhta hai na, Vikram? Ek aurat ko kitni akelapan mehsoos hota hai?”
Her hand reached out and rested lightly on my thigh. Just rested. But my cock twitched instantly.
I swallowed hard. “Haan bhabhi… samajhta hoon.”
Her fingers stayed there. Neither of us moved. The tension was thick, electric like the storm outside.
Then another lightning flash illuminated everything – and in that moment, I saw her pallu had slipped slightly, revealing the deep valley between her big breasts rising and falling rapidly.
She noticed where my eyes went but didn’t fix her pallu. Instead, her hand on my thigh pressed slightly.
“Vikram…” she whispered, voice barely audible over the rain.
My heart was about to explode. I turned toward her. Our faces were inches apart.
“Bhabhi…?”
She leaned in just a fraction. I could feel her warm breath on my lips.
And then the lantern flame flickered wildly from a gust of wind through the window, and for a second everything went dark. When light returned, her lips were brushing mine.
It wasn’t a full kiss yet – just the softest touch, testing. But it was enough to break the dam.
I grabbed her face gently and pressed my lips properly against hers. She gasped into my mouth, then melted. Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of the elaichi she chewed after dinner. Her hands clutched my shoulders as we kissed hungrily, years of suppressed desire exploding.
I pulled her closer. Her heavy breasts crushed against my chest, soft yet firm. I could feel her hard nipples through the thin blouse and saree. My cock was rock-hard, straining against my lungi.
We broke the kiss, breathing heavily.
“Vikram… yeh galat hai,” she whispered, but her eyes were dark with lust.
“Bhabhi… mujhe pata hai. Par main rok nahi pa raha.” I kissed her neck, tasting salt from her sweat. She moaned softly – “ahhh…”
Her hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and boldly cupped my erection through the lungi.
“Kitna bada ho gaya hai mera devar…” she murmured, stroking slowly.
I groaned. “Bhabhi… aap kitni sundar ho.”
I started unwinding her saree. She helped me, standing up briefly so the wet cotton fabric pooled at her feet. Now she stood in just her blouse and petticoat. Her black blouse was soaked from earlier splashes, almost transparent, showing her black bra straining against her 36D breasts – full, round, with dark areolas visible through wet fabric.
I pulled her petticoat string. It loosened and fell. She stepped out of it, now only in blouse and panties. Her panties were simple cotton but soaked, clinging to her mound, outlining her swollen pussy lips.
She blushed but didn’t cover herself. Instead, she reached for my lungi and tugged it off. My cock sprang free – 7 inches, thick, throbbing, precum already leaking.
“Hayee… kitna mota hai tera…” she whispered, wrapping her soft hand around it. She stroked slowly, up and down, making me shudder.
I unhooked her blouse buttons one by one. Her breasts spilled out, barely contained by the bra. I pushed the cups down – her breasts were magnificent. Big, heavy, slightly sagging from weight but perfect. Dark brown nipples, thick and erect, begging to be sucked.
I took one in my mouth, sucking hard. She arched back – “Ahhh… Vikram… choos mera doodh… zor se…”
I sucked and bit gently, alternating between both breasts. Her skin smelled of sweat and jasmine soap. She was moaning continuously now – soft “ahhh… haan… devarji…” sounds that drove me crazy.
My hand slid down her soft belly to her panties. I rubbed her pussy through the fabric – she was drenched. The cotton was soaked with her juices.
“Bhabhi… kitni geeli ho gayi ho aap.”
She ground against my hand. “Tere liye geeli hui hoon… andar daal apni ungli…”
I pushed her panties aside and slid one finger into her hot, slippery chut. She was tight, velvety, dripping. I added another finger, pumping slowly while sucking her nipples.
She was bucking against my hand now. “Ahhh… bas kar… mujhse nahi raha ja raha… chod mujhe Vikram…”
I laid her down on the thick durree on the floor. Spread her legs wide. Her pussy was beautiful – dark outer lips, pink inner folds glistening, swollen clit peeking out.
I buried my face between her thighs. Licked her from bottom to top, tasting her musky sweetness. She screamed softly – “Hayee rama… teri zubaan… ahhh…”
I sucked her clit hard, tongue-fucking her hole. Her thighs clamped around my head, hands pulling my hair. Within minutes she came – hard. Her body shook, juices flooding my mouth. “Ahhhh… aa gaya… devarji… tu ne mujhe swarg dikha diya…”
But I wasn’t done. My cock was throbbing painfully. I positioned myself between her legs, rubbing my cockhead against her slippery slit.
“Bhabhi… andar daalun?”
She nodded frantically. “Haan… chod apni bhabhi ko… bhar de mujhe…”
I pushed in slowly. Fuck, she was tight. Hot, wet, gripping my cock like a vice. Inch by inch I sank into her until I was balls-deep.
We both groaned. I stayed still for a moment, feeling her pussy pulse around me.
Then I started moving – slow, deep strokes. Her breasts jiggled with every thrust. I grabbed them, squeezing hard.
“Zor se… Vikram… aur zor se chodo…” she begged.
I increased speed, pounding her now. The durree creaked beneath us. Rain still hammered outside, masking her loud moans – “Ahhh… haan… chodo… phad dal meri chut… tera lund bahut bada hai…”
I flipped her over onto her hands and knees. Her big ass looked incredible. I slapped it lightly, watching it jiggle, then slammed back in from behind.
This position was deeper. She buried her face in the pillow to muffle screams. “Haan devarji… aise hi… teri bhabhi ki gaand maar…”
I reached around to rub her clit while fucking her hard. Sweat poured down both our bodies, making slapping sounds louder.
She came again – harder this time. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around my cock, milking me. “Ahhhh… dobara aa gaya… tu ne mujhe maar dala…”
I couldn’t hold back. “Bhabhi… main bhi… andar hi daalun?”
“Haan… bhar de mujhe… apna maal de de andar…”
I thrust deep and exploded. Rope after rope of thick cum shooting into her womb. The feeling was indescribable – hot, intense, forbidden.
We collapsed together, my cock still inside her, softening slowly. She turned her head and kissed me softly.
“Vikram… yeh galat tha… par bahut accha laga.”
I kissed her back. “Bhabhi… ab yeh humara raaz hai. Aur jab mauka milega… phir karenge.”
She smiled shyly. “Jab bhi tu chahega… teri bhabhi taiyaar hai.”
We cleaned up quietly, dressed, and went to our respective beds. But from that night, whenever we were alone – in the fields, behind the house, even quick moments in the kitchen – we would steal touches, kisses, and sometimes more.
Bhaiya still doesn’t know. And the rainy season that year was the best of my life.
This year, when I stepped off the bus and walked the dusty path to our house, something felt different. The moment I entered the courtyard, I saw her – my bhabhi, Priyanka. Bhaiya had married her five years ago when I was still in college. Back then, I barely noticed her beyond the fact that she was beautiful. But now… fuck, now she was something else.
Priyanka bhabhi was 30, fair-skinned like fresh malai, with long black hair that she usually tied in a loose bun, a few strands always escaping to frame her face. Her body had filled out in all the right ways after marriage – heavy breasts that strained against her cotton sarees, a narrow waist that flared into wide hips, and an ass that swayed hypnotically when she walked. Village life kept her active – fetching water, helping in the fields, cooking – so her body was soft yet firm. I had noticed her beauty in photos bhaiya sent, but seeing her in person after two years hit me like a thunderbolt.
Bhaiya was working in Dubai now, sending money home every month. He had been gone for eight months this time, with only a promise to return next year. That left bhabhi alone in the house with maa, papa, and me when I visited. Maa and papa slept in the main room, bhabhi had the smaller room next to the kitchen, and I took the extra charpai in the veranda during summers.
The first few days were normal. I helped papa in the fields, ate ridiculous amounts of food, and caught up with old friends. But I couldn’t stop stealing glances at bhabhi. The way her red cotton saree clung to her sweaty body after working in the kitchen, the deep valley of her cleavage visible whenever she bent to serve food, the soft jiggle of her breasts when she walked – it was torture.
I felt guilty as hell. She was my bhabhi, practically my elder sister-in-law. Bhaiya trusted me completely. But at night, lying on the charpai under the stars, my cock would throb painfully as I remembered how her pallu slipped slightly while serving rotis, revealing the edge of her black blouse stretched tight over her big, round breasts.
On the fourth day, things started changing. It was afternoon, scorching hot. Maa and papa had gone to the neighboring village for a family function and wouldn’t return till evening. I was in the courtyard splashing water on myself from the hand pump when bhabhi came out carrying a bucket.
“Vikram, thoda pani nikal doge?” she asked, smiling shyly.
I nodded and started pumping. She stood close – too close – holding the bucket under the spout. Droplets splashed onto her chest, making her thin yellow saree stick to her skin. I could clearly see the outline of her black bra, the swell of her heavy breasts rising and falling with her breath.
As I pumped harder, more water splashed. One big drop landed right on her neck and slid down into her cleavage. She gasped softly and looked up at me. Our eyes met. For a moment, neither of us moved. I saw something flicker in her eyes – loneliness? Desire? Then she quickly adjusted her pallu and stepped back.
“Bas ho gaya,” she murmured, voice slightly husky.
That night, I jerked off twice thinking about that drop of water disappearing between her breasts.
The teasing continued over the next week. Small things. She would brush past me in the narrow kitchen doorway, her soft hip pressing against my groin for a second longer than necessary. When serving food, she would lean over me, her breast almost grazing my shoulder. Once, while I was fixing the fan in her room, she stood behind me holding the stool, and I felt her warm breath on my neck.
I started noticing how she looked at me too. When I came back from the fields shirtless and sweaty, her eyes would linger on my chest and arms. When I laughed at something, she would smile in a way that made my heart race.
I knew it was wrong, but the taboo thrill was intoxicating. She was lonely – bhaiya barely called, and village life for a young married woman without her husband was tough. And I was young, horny, and suddenly seeing her not as bhabhi but as a desirable woman.
Then came the rainy night that changed everything.
It was mid-July, peak monsoon. Dark clouds had been gathering all evening. Maa and papa decided to sleep early because the weather was bad. Around 9 PM, the sky cracked open. Thunder, lightning, torrential rain hammering the tin roof like bullets.
Power went out, of course. Village electricity is unreliable even on good days. We lit a lantern in the main room. Bhabhi was in the kitchen finishing up when lightning struck very close – the loudest crack I’d ever heard. She screamed.
I rushed to the kitchen. She was standing there clutching her saree, face pale.
“Vikram… dar lag raha hai,” she whispered.
Maa called from the other room, “Priyanka, tu theek hai? Vikram, dekh toh usko.”
I took the lantern and went to her. She was trembling slightly. Without thinking, I put a hand on her shoulder.
“Bhabhi, darne ki koi baat nahi. Main hoon na.”
She looked up at me, eyes wide in the lantern light. Rain pounded harder. Another thunderclap. She stepped closer instinctively.
Suddenly, maa shouted, “Vikram, bijli kabhi bhi aa sakti hai. Tu veranda pe ja ke apna bistar andar le aa, baarish mein bheeg jayega!”
I went to get my bedding. By the time I returned, maa and papa had gone to sleep, door closed. The only light was the dim lantern in the kitchen area.
Bhabhi was still there, sitting on the wooden bench, hugging herself.
“Vikram… aaj bahut tez barish hai. Main akeli dar jaungi apne kamre mein.”
Her voice was small, vulnerable. My heart pounded.
“Toh… aap yahin baith jao thodi der. Main bhi yahin hoon.”
She nodded. We sat on the bench, close because it was small. The air smelled of wet earth and her faint jasmine scent mixed with sweat from the humid day.
Minutes passed in silence, only rain sound. Then she spoke softly.
“Tera bhaiya kabhi call nahi karta properly. Aath mahine ho gaye… kabhi kabhi lagta hai main akeli hi hoon.”
I didn’t know what to say. My throat was dry.
“Bhabhi… bhaiya busy honge. Par aap akeli nahi ho. Hum sab hain.”
She turned to look at me. Lantern light danced on her face, highlighting her full lips, the curve of her neck.
“Tu samajhta hai na, Vikram? Ek aurat ko kitni akelapan mehsoos hota hai?”
Her hand reached out and rested lightly on my thigh. Just rested. But my cock twitched instantly.
I swallowed hard. “Haan bhabhi… samajhta hoon.”
Her fingers stayed there. Neither of us moved. The tension was thick, electric like the storm outside.
Then another lightning flash illuminated everything – and in that moment, I saw her pallu had slipped slightly, revealing the deep valley between her big breasts rising and falling rapidly.
She noticed where my eyes went but didn’t fix her pallu. Instead, her hand on my thigh pressed slightly.
“Vikram…” she whispered, voice barely audible over the rain.
My heart was about to explode. I turned toward her. Our faces were inches apart.
“Bhabhi…?”
She leaned in just a fraction. I could feel her warm breath on my lips.
And then the lantern flame flickered wildly from a gust of wind through the window, and for a second everything went dark. When light returned, her lips were brushing mine.
It wasn’t a full kiss yet – just the softest touch, testing. But it was enough to break the dam.
I grabbed her face gently and pressed my lips properly against hers. She gasped into my mouth, then melted. Her lips were soft, warm, tasting faintly of the elaichi she chewed after dinner. Her hands clutched my shoulders as we kissed hungrily, years of suppressed desire exploding.
I pulled her closer. Her heavy breasts crushed against my chest, soft yet firm. I could feel her hard nipples through the thin blouse and saree. My cock was rock-hard, straining against my lungi.
We broke the kiss, breathing heavily.
“Vikram… yeh galat hai,” she whispered, but her eyes were dark with lust.
“Bhabhi… mujhe pata hai. Par main rok nahi pa raha.” I kissed her neck, tasting salt from her sweat. She moaned softly – “ahhh…”
Her hand slid down my chest, over my stomach, and boldly cupped my erection through the lungi.
“Kitna bada ho gaya hai mera devar…” she murmured, stroking slowly.
I groaned. “Bhabhi… aap kitni sundar ho.”
I started unwinding her saree. She helped me, standing up briefly so the wet cotton fabric pooled at her feet. Now she stood in just her blouse and petticoat. Her black blouse was soaked from earlier splashes, almost transparent, showing her black bra straining against her 36D breasts – full, round, with dark areolas visible through wet fabric.
I pulled her petticoat string. It loosened and fell. She stepped out of it, now only in blouse and panties. Her panties were simple cotton but soaked, clinging to her mound, outlining her swollen pussy lips.
She blushed but didn’t cover herself. Instead, she reached for my lungi and tugged it off. My cock sprang free – 7 inches, thick, throbbing, precum already leaking.
“Hayee… kitna mota hai tera…” she whispered, wrapping her soft hand around it. She stroked slowly, up and down, making me shudder.
I unhooked her blouse buttons one by one. Her breasts spilled out, barely contained by the bra. I pushed the cups down – her breasts were magnificent. Big, heavy, slightly sagging from weight but perfect. Dark brown nipples, thick and erect, begging to be sucked.
I took one in my mouth, sucking hard. She arched back – “Ahhh… Vikram… choos mera doodh… zor se…”
I sucked and bit gently, alternating between both breasts. Her skin smelled of sweat and jasmine soap. She was moaning continuously now – soft “ahhh… haan… devarji…” sounds that drove me crazy.
My hand slid down her soft belly to her panties. I rubbed her pussy through the fabric – she was drenched. The cotton was soaked with her juices.
“Bhabhi… kitni geeli ho gayi ho aap.”
She ground against my hand. “Tere liye geeli hui hoon… andar daal apni ungli…”
I pushed her panties aside and slid one finger into her hot, slippery chut. She was tight, velvety, dripping. I added another finger, pumping slowly while sucking her nipples.
She was bucking against my hand now. “Ahhh… bas kar… mujhse nahi raha ja raha… chod mujhe Vikram…”
I laid her down on the thick durree on the floor. Spread her legs wide. Her pussy was beautiful – dark outer lips, pink inner folds glistening, swollen clit peeking out.
I buried my face between her thighs. Licked her from bottom to top, tasting her musky sweetness. She screamed softly – “Hayee rama… teri zubaan… ahhh…”
I sucked her clit hard, tongue-fucking her hole. Her thighs clamped around my head, hands pulling my hair. Within minutes she came – hard. Her body shook, juices flooding my mouth. “Ahhhh… aa gaya… devarji… tu ne mujhe swarg dikha diya…”
But I wasn’t done. My cock was throbbing painfully. I positioned myself between her legs, rubbing my cockhead against her slippery slit.
“Bhabhi… andar daalun?”
She nodded frantically. “Haan… chod apni bhabhi ko… bhar de mujhe…”
I pushed in slowly. Fuck, she was tight. Hot, wet, gripping my cock like a vice. Inch by inch I sank into her until I was balls-deep.
We both groaned. I stayed still for a moment, feeling her pussy pulse around me.
Then I started moving – slow, deep strokes. Her breasts jiggled with every thrust. I grabbed them, squeezing hard.
“Zor se… Vikram… aur zor se chodo…” she begged.
I increased speed, pounding her now. The durree creaked beneath us. Rain still hammered outside, masking her loud moans – “Ahhh… haan… chodo… phad dal meri chut… tera lund bahut bada hai…”
I flipped her over onto her hands and knees. Her big ass looked incredible. I slapped it lightly, watching it jiggle, then slammed back in from behind.
This position was deeper. She buried her face in the pillow to muffle screams. “Haan devarji… aise hi… teri bhabhi ki gaand maar…”
I reached around to rub her clit while fucking her hard. Sweat poured down both our bodies, making slapping sounds louder.
She came again – harder this time. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around my cock, milking me. “Ahhhh… dobara aa gaya… tu ne mujhe maar dala…”
I couldn’t hold back. “Bhabhi… main bhi… andar hi daalun?”
“Haan… bhar de mujhe… apna maal de de andar…”
I thrust deep and exploded. Rope after rope of thick cum shooting into her womb. The feeling was indescribable – hot, intense, forbidden.
We collapsed together, my cock still inside her, softening slowly. She turned her head and kissed me softly.
“Vikram… yeh galat tha… par bahut accha laga.”
I kissed her back. “Bhabhi… ab yeh humara raaz hai. Aur jab mauka milega… phir karenge.”
She smiled shyly. “Jab bhi tu chahega… teri bhabhi taiyaar hai.”
We cleaned up quietly, dressed, and went to our respective beds. But from that night, whenever we were alone – in the fields, behind the house, even quick moments in the kitchen – we would steal touches, kisses, and sometimes more.
Bhaiya still doesn’t know. And the rainy season that year was the best of my life.