My name is Sameer. I’m 24, just finished my MBA in Mumbai, and until this Mahabaleshwar trip, I was a complete virgin. No girlfriends, no hookups—just late nights with porn and fantasies I was ashamed of. Most of those fantasies starred Rhea bhabhi, my brother Arjun’s wife of six years.
Rhea bhabhi is 32, a stunner—long wavy hair, golden skin, sharp features with those full lips that curve into a teasing smile, and a body that could stop traffic. Heavy 36D breasts that strain against her blouses, a slim waist from yoga, and an ass so round and firm it jiggles just right when she walks in sarees. She’s flirty by nature—double-meaning jokes, bending low to serve me food so I get a view of her deep cleavage, “accidental” brushes in the kitchen. I’ve jerked off countless times imagining her voice calling me “Sameer baby” while those lips sucked me dry.
This year, family planned a week in Mahabaleshwar—strawberry season, cool mist, escape Mumbai humidity. Arjun bhaiya, Rhea bhabhi, parents, my cousin sister, and me. Booked a hillside resort with cottages. But when we arrived, heavy fog and rains caused cancellations and overbooking. Only one luxury suite left—with a king bed, fireplace, jacuzzi tub, and valley view veranda.
Parents and cousin took the family cottage. Arjun bhaiya shrugged—he had work calls anyway. “Rhea, Sameer ke saath adjust kar lo. He’s like your younger brother.”
Bhabhi smirked at me, eyes twinkling. “Haan ji. Main apne virgin devar ka poora khayal rakhungi.”
My cock twitched instantly. Virgin? She knew?
The suite was made for romance—dim lights, wooden interiors, huge bed with silk sheets, rain pattering on the roof. First night, awkward. Bhabhi changed in the bathroom and came out in a thin black nightie—short, low-cut, nipples hard and visible through the fabric, the hem barely covering her thick thighs. No bra. No panties—I could tell when she bent to pick something.
I wore boxers and t-shirt, trying to hide my hard-on.
We lay on opposite sides, fireplace crackling, rain heavy.
After an hour, she whispered, “Sameer baby, soye nahi abhi tak?”
“Nahi bhabhi… barish ki awaaz…”
She laughed low. “Aao na paas. Thand lag rahi hai.”
I scooted closer. She turned, one leg draping over mine, thigh pressing my erection. She didn’t move away.
“Bhabhi…” I groaned.
“Shh… kitna hard ho gaya hai tera lund,” she murmured, hand sliding down to cup my bulge. “Itna bada? Teri bhabhi ko pata nahi tha tune itna mota lund chhupaya hai.”
I gasped. “Bhabhi please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya devar ji?” Her fingers squeezed. “Sirf hum dono hain yahan. Tera bhaiya ko kabhi pata nahi chalega.” She stroked slowly through fabric. “Bata na… kitni baar meri photos dekh ke muth maara hai? Meri bra churake soongh ke?”
I froze, ashamed. She knew everything.
She laughed husky. “Main jaanti hoon sab. Bathroom mein chhup ke mujhe nahate dekhne ki koshish, terrace pe. Ab sach bata—abhi tak virgin hai na tu? Kisi chut mein lund nahi daala?”
“Haan bhabhi…” My voice broke.
She straddled me slowly, nightie riding up—no panties, her wet pussy rubbing my stomach. “Aaj teri bhabhi tujhe mard banayegi. Apni geeli chut mein tera virgin lund legi… pura andar tak phaad ke.”
She yanked my boxers down. My cock sprang free—8 inches, thick, veiny, throbbing. Her eyes widened hungrily. “Arre waah… Arjun se double mota aur lamba. Yeh toh meri chut faad dega… kitna garam hai tera lund.”
She stroked slow, twisting the head, pre-cum leaking. “Taste karun apne virgin devar ka ras?”
She slid down and took me in her mouth—hot, wet, sloppy. Tongue swirling, cheeks hollow, deep-throating until I hit her throat. “Mmm… devar ka lund… kitna tasty… pura muh bhar diya tune.”
I lasted seconds. “Bhabhi… nikal raha hai…”
She sucked harder. “Mere muh mein daal de… teri bhabhi sab pee jaayegi tera garam ras… de na pura!”
I exploded—thick ropes down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, eyes locked on mine, then licked clean.
“Ab meri baari,” she purred, climbing to straddle my face. Her pussy shaved smooth, pink lips dripping. “Chat apni bhabhi ki geeli chut, Sameer. Zor zor se choos… saara ras pi le.”
I dove in—salty-sweet nectar, addictive. Long licks from ass to clit, sucking her swollen nub, tongue fucking her hole. She ground hard. “Haan… wahi… apni jeebh andar daal aur chod mujhe… ahh devar ji… kitna acha choosta hai tu meri chut… zor se… aa rahi hun main… pi le saara!”
She came hard, flooding my mouth, thighs clamping my head, muffling screams in pillow.
I was rock hard again. She positioned over my cock. “Ready baby? Ab teri bhabhi tujhe chut ka asli mazaa dilayegi.”
She sank down slow—tight, scorching heat gripping every inch. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai tera lund… meri chut phaad raha hai… pura bhar diya tune… ahh Sameer… chod ab apni bhabhi ko zor se!”
I grabbed her hips, thrust up. She rode wild, boobs bouncing free. “Haan… pel devar… bana de apni randi bhabhi ko… thok zor zor se… meri chut faad de!”
Nails raked my chest, my hands slapped her ass red. “Bata… kitne din se meri chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha? Ab maar… bhar de apne ras se!”
“Andar daalun bhabhi?” I gasped.
“Haan… creampie de apni bhabhi ko… bhar de meri bachchedani apne garam virye se… bana de mujhe pregnant apne bacche se!”
I erupted—pulse after pulse deep inside. She came again, pussy milking me dry, screaming “Haan… feel ho raha hai tera ras andar… kitna garam!”
Round one.
We didn’t sleep much. Round two in the jacuzzi—rain outside, water sloshing as she bent over the edge, me pounding doggy. “Zor se thok devar… meri chut phaad… gaand bhi maar dal!”
I fingered her tight ass while fucking pussy. She begged. Later, with body lotion as lube, I took her virgin ass—slow entry, then deep strokes. “Phad di tune meri gaand Sameer… kitna mota lund hai tera… ab roz gaand marunga apni bhabhi ki!”
Mornings: She woke me with sloppy blowjobs under quilts before family called. “Subah subah lund khada kar deti hun… ab muh mein thok zor se… daal pura ras!”
Afternoons: Family sightseeing; we stayed “tired.” Reverse cowgirl by fireplace, her ass bouncing. “Dekh kaise hil rahi hai teri bhabhi ki moti gaand… pakad ke thok… bhar de again!”
One rainy night, power out, candles flickering. We oiled each other—slow massage turning filthy. She tied my hands with her dupatta, edged me hour-long—sucking, stopping before cum. “Abhi nahi… pehle bol—main teri kiski hun?”
“Teri bhabhi ki chut aur gaand dono meri property hain… roz thokunga tujhe!”
She untied, rode senseless—missionary deep, doggy brutal, against window with fog outside.
Between fucks, emotions surfaced. She confessed missing passion with bhaiya—he’s routine, quick. “Tu mujhe wild feel karata hai… jaise main phir jawaan hun.”
I admitted obsession—stealing her panties, jerking to her voice.
She cried after slow lovemaking. “Yeh taboo bhabhi devar passion… barbaad kar sakta hai humein.”
“Par rok nahi sakta.”
“Main bhi nahi. Tu mera hai ab.”
Trip ended, but not us.
Back Mumbai, bhaiya travels often. I “help” at their place. Really, raw sex when alone.
Mornings before office: quick kitchen doggy, her in robe hiked. “Jaldi pel devar… tera bhaiya nahane gaya… zor se thok meri chut!”
Nights outstation: marathons in marital bed. “Yahan chod mujhe… jahan tera bhaiya sota hai… uski biwi ko uske bistar pe creampie de!”
Once during festival, relatives everywhere, storeroom quickie—she sucked me off, I fingered her to orgasm, swallowing load no evidence.
Nine months now. Guilt sometimes—bhaiya good man. But addiction stronger.
Bhabhi says I ruined her. “Tera mota lund ek baar andar gaya na… ab Arjun ka chhota sa satisfy nahi karta.”
I’m confident now, addicted, hers.
We steal weekends in Lonavala—motels, roleplay. Last time she wore sheer saree, nothing under—strict bhabhi spanking naughty devar, then riding till collapse.
Rhea bhabhi is 32, a stunner—long wavy hair, golden skin, sharp features with those full lips that curve into a teasing smile, and a body that could stop traffic. Heavy 36D breasts that strain against her blouses, a slim waist from yoga, and an ass so round and firm it jiggles just right when she walks in sarees. She’s flirty by nature—double-meaning jokes, bending low to serve me food so I get a view of her deep cleavage, “accidental” brushes in the kitchen. I’ve jerked off countless times imagining her voice calling me “Sameer baby” while those lips sucked me dry.
This year, family planned a week in Mahabaleshwar—strawberry season, cool mist, escape Mumbai humidity. Arjun bhaiya, Rhea bhabhi, parents, my cousin sister, and me. Booked a hillside resort with cottages. But when we arrived, heavy fog and rains caused cancellations and overbooking. Only one luxury suite left—with a king bed, fireplace, jacuzzi tub, and valley view veranda.
Parents and cousin took the family cottage. Arjun bhaiya shrugged—he had work calls anyway. “Rhea, Sameer ke saath adjust kar lo. He’s like your younger brother.”
Bhabhi smirked at me, eyes twinkling. “Haan ji. Main apne virgin devar ka poora khayal rakhungi.”
My cock twitched instantly. Virgin? She knew?
The suite was made for romance—dim lights, wooden interiors, huge bed with silk sheets, rain pattering on the roof. First night, awkward. Bhabhi changed in the bathroom and came out in a thin black nightie—short, low-cut, nipples hard and visible through the fabric, the hem barely covering her thick thighs. No bra. No panties—I could tell when she bent to pick something.
I wore boxers and t-shirt, trying to hide my hard-on.
We lay on opposite sides, fireplace crackling, rain heavy.
After an hour, she whispered, “Sameer baby, soye nahi abhi tak?”
“Nahi bhabhi… barish ki awaaz…”
She laughed low. “Aao na paas. Thand lag rahi hai.”
I scooted closer. She turned, one leg draping over mine, thigh pressing my erection. She didn’t move away.
“Bhabhi…” I groaned.
“Shh… kitna hard ho gaya hai tera lund,” she murmured, hand sliding down to cup my bulge. “Itna bada? Teri bhabhi ko pata nahi tha tune itna mota lund chhupaya hai.”
I gasped. “Bhabhi please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya devar ji?” Her fingers squeezed. “Sirf hum dono hain yahan. Tera bhaiya ko kabhi pata nahi chalega.” She stroked slowly through fabric. “Bata na… kitni baar meri photos dekh ke muth maara hai? Meri bra churake soongh ke?”
I froze, ashamed. She knew everything.
She laughed husky. “Main jaanti hoon sab. Bathroom mein chhup ke mujhe nahate dekhne ki koshish, terrace pe. Ab sach bata—abhi tak virgin hai na tu? Kisi chut mein lund nahi daala?”
“Haan bhabhi…” My voice broke.
She straddled me slowly, nightie riding up—no panties, her wet pussy rubbing my stomach. “Aaj teri bhabhi tujhe mard banayegi. Apni geeli chut mein tera virgin lund legi… pura andar tak phaad ke.”
She yanked my boxers down. My cock sprang free—8 inches, thick, veiny, throbbing. Her eyes widened hungrily. “Arre waah… Arjun se double mota aur lamba. Yeh toh meri chut faad dega… kitna garam hai tera lund.”
She stroked slow, twisting the head, pre-cum leaking. “Taste karun apne virgin devar ka ras?”
She slid down and took me in her mouth—hot, wet, sloppy. Tongue swirling, cheeks hollow, deep-throating until I hit her throat. “Mmm… devar ka lund… kitna tasty… pura muh bhar diya tune.”
I lasted seconds. “Bhabhi… nikal raha hai…”
She sucked harder. “Mere muh mein daal de… teri bhabhi sab pee jaayegi tera garam ras… de na pura!”
I exploded—thick ropes down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, eyes locked on mine, then licked clean.
“Ab meri baari,” she purred, climbing to straddle my face. Her pussy shaved smooth, pink lips dripping. “Chat apni bhabhi ki geeli chut, Sameer. Zor zor se choos… saara ras pi le.”
I dove in—salty-sweet nectar, addictive. Long licks from ass to clit, sucking her swollen nub, tongue fucking her hole. She ground hard. “Haan… wahi… apni jeebh andar daal aur chod mujhe… ahh devar ji… kitna acha choosta hai tu meri chut… zor se… aa rahi hun main… pi le saara!”
She came hard, flooding my mouth, thighs clamping my head, muffling screams in pillow.
I was rock hard again. She positioned over my cock. “Ready baby? Ab teri bhabhi tujhe chut ka asli mazaa dilayegi.”
She sank down slow—tight, scorching heat gripping every inch. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai tera lund… meri chut phaad raha hai… pura bhar diya tune… ahh Sameer… chod ab apni bhabhi ko zor se!”
I grabbed her hips, thrust up. She rode wild, boobs bouncing free. “Haan… pel devar… bana de apni randi bhabhi ko… thok zor zor se… meri chut faad de!”
Nails raked my chest, my hands slapped her ass red. “Bata… kitne din se meri chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha? Ab maar… bhar de apne ras se!”
“Andar daalun bhabhi?” I gasped.
“Haan… creampie de apni bhabhi ko… bhar de meri bachchedani apne garam virye se… bana de mujhe pregnant apne bacche se!”
I erupted—pulse after pulse deep inside. She came again, pussy milking me dry, screaming “Haan… feel ho raha hai tera ras andar… kitna garam!”
Round one.
We didn’t sleep much. Round two in the jacuzzi—rain outside, water sloshing as she bent over the edge, me pounding doggy. “Zor se thok devar… meri chut phaad… gaand bhi maar dal!”
I fingered her tight ass while fucking pussy. She begged. Later, with body lotion as lube, I took her virgin ass—slow entry, then deep strokes. “Phad di tune meri gaand Sameer… kitna mota lund hai tera… ab roz gaand marunga apni bhabhi ki!”
Mornings: She woke me with sloppy blowjobs under quilts before family called. “Subah subah lund khada kar deti hun… ab muh mein thok zor se… daal pura ras!”
Afternoons: Family sightseeing; we stayed “tired.” Reverse cowgirl by fireplace, her ass bouncing. “Dekh kaise hil rahi hai teri bhabhi ki moti gaand… pakad ke thok… bhar de again!”
One rainy night, power out, candles flickering. We oiled each other—slow massage turning filthy. She tied my hands with her dupatta, edged me hour-long—sucking, stopping before cum. “Abhi nahi… pehle bol—main teri kiski hun?”
“Teri bhabhi ki chut aur gaand dono meri property hain… roz thokunga tujhe!”
She untied, rode senseless—missionary deep, doggy brutal, against window with fog outside.
Between fucks, emotions surfaced. She confessed missing passion with bhaiya—he’s routine, quick. “Tu mujhe wild feel karata hai… jaise main phir jawaan hun.”
I admitted obsession—stealing her panties, jerking to her voice.
She cried after slow lovemaking. “Yeh taboo bhabhi devar passion… barbaad kar sakta hai humein.”
“Par rok nahi sakta.”
“Main bhi nahi. Tu mera hai ab.”
Trip ended, but not us.
Back Mumbai, bhaiya travels often. I “help” at their place. Really, raw sex when alone.
Mornings before office: quick kitchen doggy, her in robe hiked. “Jaldi pel devar… tera bhaiya nahane gaya… zor se thok meri chut!”
Nights outstation: marathons in marital bed. “Yahan chod mujhe… jahan tera bhaiya sota hai… uski biwi ko uske bistar pe creampie de!”
Once during festival, relatives everywhere, storeroom quickie—she sucked me off, I fingered her to orgasm, swallowing load no evidence.
Nine months now. Guilt sometimes—bhaiya good man. But addiction stronger.
Bhabhi says I ruined her. “Tera mota lund ek baar andar gaya na… ab Arjun ka chhota sa satisfy nahi karta.”
I’m confident now, addicted, hers.
We steal weekends in Lonavala—motels, roleplay. Last time she wore sheer saree, nothing under—strict bhabhi spanking naughty devar, then riding till collapse.