My name is Rohit. I’m 19, studying computer science in Bangalore, still a total virgin. Never even held a girl’s hand properly. All my fantasies revolve around one woman: my mami, Shalini.
Mami is 37, married to my mama (mom’s younger brother) for 15 years. She’s pure fire—long wavy hair she ties in a loose bun, milky fair skin, almond eyes with thick lashes, and a body that makes me hard instantly. 36DD boobs that strain against her kurtis, a soft belly from good living, wide hips, and an ass so plump and jiggly it sways hypnotically in her tight salwars or sarees. She’s always been super affectionate with me—pinching my cheeks, pulling me into tight hugs where her heavy tits crush against me, calling me “mera pyara bhanja” in that husky voice. At family weddings, she’d dance close, her body brushing mine, whispering teasing jokes. I’ve been obsessed since puberty—stealing her used bras from the guest room, jerking off three times a day to mental images of her moaning my name, imagining burying my face in those massive tits while she rides me.
This winter, the family decided on an Ooty trip—escape the heat, see the Nilgiri hills, toy train ride, chocolate factories, the works. Mama, mami, my parents, and me. We booked rooms at a beautiful old colonial bungalow resort—fireplaces, wooden floors, views of tea plantations. But when we arrived, fog delays and tourist rush meant overbooking. Only two rooms available. Parents took one. Mama laughed it off: “Shalini, tu aur Rohit adjust kar lo. Mami-bhanja hain, koi problem nahi.”
Mami smiled sweetly, but her eyes locked on mine with a glint. “Haan ji, mera bhanja toh bilkul bachha hai. Adjust ho jaayega apni mami ke saath.” My stomach flipped. My cock stirred.
The room was romantic as hell—huge four-poster bed with white canopy, fireplace crackling, bay windows misty with fog, attached bathroom with a clawfoot tub. One bed. No couch.
First night, after dinner and bonfire, we were exhausted from the drive. Mami changed first in the bathroom. She came out in a silky nightie—short, black, low-cut, clinging to every curve, nipples visible through the thin fabric, hem barely covering her thick thighs. No bra. No panties, I suspected. I swallowed hard, changed into shorts and t-shirt, erection already straining.
We lay on opposite sides, fireplace glowing, blankets heavy. The room smelled of her jasmine perfume and woodsmoke.
Sleep didn’t come. Fog horned outside. Eucalyptus scent drifted in.
“Bhanja,” she whispered after a while, “so gaya?”
“Nahi mami… thand lag rahi hai.”
She chuckled softly. “Aa ja paas. Mami garam kar degi tujhe.”
I moved closer, heart pounding. She turned, spooning me from behind—no, wait, she pulled me to face her. Her heavy breast pressed against my chest. One leg draped over mine. Her thigh rubbed my instant hard-on.
“Mami…” I croaked.
“Shh… yeh kya hai itna sakht?” Her hand slipped under the blanket, palming my bulge. “Mera chhota bhanja… itna bada lund? Mami ko kabse pata tha tu mujhe dekhta hai chupke se.”
I groaned, hips bucking. “Mami please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya, beta? Sirf hum dono hain is room mein. Tera mama ko kabhi pata nahi chalega.” She squeezed hard. “Bata sach… kitni baar mami ke boobs dekh ke muth maara hai? Haan? Meri bra churata tha na laundry se? Soonghta tha aur lund hilata tha mere naam se?”
Shame and lust crashed. “Haan mami… roz… aapki moti gaand saree mein hilte dekh ke… aapke cleavage… sorry…”
She laughed dirty, low. “Sorry kyun? Aaj mami tujhe asli mazaa degi. Apni geeli chut mein tera virgin lund legi.”
She pushed me flat, straddled my chest. Nightie rode up—bare pussy, neatly trimmed, already wet. She yanked my shorts down. My cock—8 inches, thick, veiny—sprang free.
“Arre waah… mera bhanja ka lund… tera mama se kitna bada aur mota. Yeh toh mami ki chut aur gaand dono phaad dega.”
She stroked slow, thumb smearing pre-cum. “Kitna ras nikal raha hai… mami taste kare apne bhanje ka lund?”
She slid down, took me deep—hot, sloppy mouth, no hesitation. Bobbing fast, gagging, saliva dripping down my balls. Tongue swirling the head like a pro.
“Mmm… bhanje ka lund… kitna garam aur tasty… pura throat mein le rahi hun… fuck mami ka muh!”
I lasted twenty seconds. “Mami… nikalne wala hai…”
She deepthroated harder. “Mere muh mein daal de… mami pi legi tera pura thick maal… har boond… haan aa ja!”
I erupted—rope after rope down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, eyes watering but locked on mine. Then sucked me clean, popping off with a wet sound.
“Kitna sara ras… mera bhanja kitna powerful hai abhi se.”
She climbed up, shoved her tits in my face. “Ab choos mami ke bade bade boobs… zor zor se kaat… mami ke nipples ko noch le.”
I attacked—sucking one fat nipple hard, biting gently, kneading the soft heavy flesh. They were perfect—milky white with dark pink areolas.
“Ahh… haan beta… zor se choos… mami ke boobs ko daba… kitne din se taras rahi thi aise worship karne ko!”
I moved down, kissing her belly, then face between her thighs. Her pussy smelled musky-sweet. I licked tentatively at first—long strokes, tasting her juices.
“Haan Rohit… chat mami ki chut… zor zor se… clit choos… jeebh andar daal ke fuck kar!”
I got confident—sucking her swollen clit, two fingers pumping inside her tight heat. She bucked, gripping my hair.
“Ahh mera raja… kitna acha choosta hai… bana de mami ko randi apni… haan… aa raha hai… drink mami ka ras!”
She came hard—gushing on my tongue, thighs clamping my head, body shaking.
Then she straddled my cock—already hard again. “Ab asli game. Ab mami tere virgin lund ko apni chut mein legi… ready beta?”
She sank down slow—scorching tight grip, velvet walls sucking me in. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai… meri chut phaad di tune… ahh bhanja… ab chod apni mami ko!”
I grabbed her ass cheeks and thrust up. She rode wild—up and down, circling hips, tits bouncing crazily. I caught them, sucked as she slammed.
“Haan… zor se… pel de mami ko… bana de apni kutiya… bata, kitne din se mami ki chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha college mein?”
“Roz mami… aapki photos dekh ke muth marta tha… ab sach mein chod raha hun!”
She leaned down, biting my neck. “Chod… zor zor se thok… meri bachchedani mein gus de… haan… aise!”
Doggy next—she on all fours, ass high, me pounding, watching it jiggle. Slapping hard. “Mami ki moti gaand… kitni tight… maar raha hun aapki gaand se!”
“Haan beta… thappad maar… gaand laal kar… aur deep pel… phad de mami ki chut!”
“Andar daalun mami?”
“Haan… creampie de apni mami ko… bhar de meri chut apne garam virye se… andar tak feel karungi!”
I exploded—flooding her deep. She came again, pussy spasming, milking me. “Haan… beta ka ras… kitna garam… mami ki chut bhar di tune!”
We went all night.
Round two: In the clawfoot tub, hot water steaming, her riding reverse, water sloshing. “Dekh kaise mami ki gaand bounce kar rahi hai pani mein… pakad ke thok!”
I fingered her ass underwater. She begged. Later, oiled up, I took her ass slow—tight ring stretching around my thickness. “Phad di tune mami ki gaand… ab roz gaand mar… kitna mazaa… andar daal gaand mein bhi!”
Filled both holes multiple times.
Mornings: Wake-up oral—she deepthroating under blanket before parents knocked. “Subah subah mami ka muh bhar de… haan… swallow kar legi!”
Afternoons: Family out for toy train or boating, we stayed “resting.” Marathon sessions—69 on the rug, her squirting on my face, me titfucking those massive boobs till I painted them.
One foggy evening, sneaked to the tea estate behind the resort. She bent over a bush in her shawl, I fucked her standing, fog hiding us. “Jungle mein chod raha hai mujhe… koi dekh le toh? Zor se pel beta!”
Nights: Slow and filthy—oiled massage turning slippery fuck, role-play where she was teasing mami punishing “naughty bhanja” with edging, then begging for my cock.
Between, emotions.
She confessed mama is limp most times, work stress. “Tu mujhe jeena sikha raha hai… tera lund meri chut ka drug hai.”
I admitted everything—fantasies since 14, peeking when she changed at our house.
One night after tender missionary, deep kisses, she teared up. “Yeh mami bhanja forbidden desire… barbaad kar dega humein.”
“Par main aapko chodna band nahi kar sakta mami.”
“Main bhi nahi beta. Tu mera hai ab.”
The week was heaven—multiple rounds daily, exploring every position, every hole.
Back in Bangalore, secret life.
Mama posted abroad often now. I “visit” on weekends—really fuckathons in their bedroom.
Kitchen quickies: Her bent over in nothing but apron. “Jaldi thok bhanja… mama call karne wale hain… andar daal!”
Full nights when mama away: We fuck in every room, her screaming dirty. “Yahan chod jahan mama sota hai… uski biwi ko usi ke bed pe pel!”
Family gatherings: Stolen moments—bathroom blowjob, terrace doggy.
It’s been nine months. I’m skilled, confident—girls notice, I don’t care.
Mami glows, addicted. “Tera mota lund ne mujhe bigad diya… ab mama se kuch nahi hota.”
We steal getaways—“temple trip” to Tirupati, really hotels where we don’t leave bed.
Future unknown—mama wants kids, family eyes on my marriage.
But this mami-bhanja raw lust?
It owns us.
She messages: “Beta, mami ki chut aur gaand dono geeli hain… kab aa raha hai bharne?”
I reply: “Tonight mami. Aapko itna chodunga ki chal na payengi.”
Our filthy secret.
Mami is 37, married to my mama (mom’s younger brother) for 15 years. She’s pure fire—long wavy hair she ties in a loose bun, milky fair skin, almond eyes with thick lashes, and a body that makes me hard instantly. 36DD boobs that strain against her kurtis, a soft belly from good living, wide hips, and an ass so plump and jiggly it sways hypnotically in her tight salwars or sarees. She’s always been super affectionate with me—pinching my cheeks, pulling me into tight hugs where her heavy tits crush against me, calling me “mera pyara bhanja” in that husky voice. At family weddings, she’d dance close, her body brushing mine, whispering teasing jokes. I’ve been obsessed since puberty—stealing her used bras from the guest room, jerking off three times a day to mental images of her moaning my name, imagining burying my face in those massive tits while she rides me.
This winter, the family decided on an Ooty trip—escape the heat, see the Nilgiri hills, toy train ride, chocolate factories, the works. Mama, mami, my parents, and me. We booked rooms at a beautiful old colonial bungalow resort—fireplaces, wooden floors, views of tea plantations. But when we arrived, fog delays and tourist rush meant overbooking. Only two rooms available. Parents took one. Mama laughed it off: “Shalini, tu aur Rohit adjust kar lo. Mami-bhanja hain, koi problem nahi.”
Mami smiled sweetly, but her eyes locked on mine with a glint. “Haan ji, mera bhanja toh bilkul bachha hai. Adjust ho jaayega apni mami ke saath.” My stomach flipped. My cock stirred.
The room was romantic as hell—huge four-poster bed with white canopy, fireplace crackling, bay windows misty with fog, attached bathroom with a clawfoot tub. One bed. No couch.
First night, after dinner and bonfire, we were exhausted from the drive. Mami changed first in the bathroom. She came out in a silky nightie—short, black, low-cut, clinging to every curve, nipples visible through the thin fabric, hem barely covering her thick thighs. No bra. No panties, I suspected. I swallowed hard, changed into shorts and t-shirt, erection already straining.
We lay on opposite sides, fireplace glowing, blankets heavy. The room smelled of her jasmine perfume and woodsmoke.
Sleep didn’t come. Fog horned outside. Eucalyptus scent drifted in.
“Bhanja,” she whispered after a while, “so gaya?”
“Nahi mami… thand lag rahi hai.”
She chuckled softly. “Aa ja paas. Mami garam kar degi tujhe.”
I moved closer, heart pounding. She turned, spooning me from behind—no, wait, she pulled me to face her. Her heavy breast pressed against my chest. One leg draped over mine. Her thigh rubbed my instant hard-on.
“Mami…” I croaked.
“Shh… yeh kya hai itna sakht?” Her hand slipped under the blanket, palming my bulge. “Mera chhota bhanja… itna bada lund? Mami ko kabse pata tha tu mujhe dekhta hai chupke se.”
I groaned, hips bucking. “Mami please… yeh galat hai…”
“Galat kya, beta? Sirf hum dono hain is room mein. Tera mama ko kabhi pata nahi chalega.” She squeezed hard. “Bata sach… kitni baar mami ke boobs dekh ke muth maara hai? Haan? Meri bra churata tha na laundry se? Soonghta tha aur lund hilata tha mere naam se?”
Shame and lust crashed. “Haan mami… roz… aapki moti gaand saree mein hilte dekh ke… aapke cleavage… sorry…”
She laughed dirty, low. “Sorry kyun? Aaj mami tujhe asli mazaa degi. Apni geeli chut mein tera virgin lund legi.”
She pushed me flat, straddled my chest. Nightie rode up—bare pussy, neatly trimmed, already wet. She yanked my shorts down. My cock—8 inches, thick, veiny—sprang free.
“Arre waah… mera bhanja ka lund… tera mama se kitna bada aur mota. Yeh toh mami ki chut aur gaand dono phaad dega.”
She stroked slow, thumb smearing pre-cum. “Kitna ras nikal raha hai… mami taste kare apne bhanje ka lund?”
She slid down, took me deep—hot, sloppy mouth, no hesitation. Bobbing fast, gagging, saliva dripping down my balls. Tongue swirling the head like a pro.
“Mmm… bhanje ka lund… kitna garam aur tasty… pura throat mein le rahi hun… fuck mami ka muh!”
I lasted twenty seconds. “Mami… nikalne wala hai…”
She deepthroated harder. “Mere muh mein daal de… mami pi legi tera pura thick maal… har boond… haan aa ja!”
I erupted—rope after rope down her throat. She swallowed greedily, moaning, eyes watering but locked on mine. Then sucked me clean, popping off with a wet sound.
“Kitna sara ras… mera bhanja kitna powerful hai abhi se.”
She climbed up, shoved her tits in my face. “Ab choos mami ke bade bade boobs… zor zor se kaat… mami ke nipples ko noch le.”
I attacked—sucking one fat nipple hard, biting gently, kneading the soft heavy flesh. They were perfect—milky white with dark pink areolas.
“Ahh… haan beta… zor se choos… mami ke boobs ko daba… kitne din se taras rahi thi aise worship karne ko!”
I moved down, kissing her belly, then face between her thighs. Her pussy smelled musky-sweet. I licked tentatively at first—long strokes, tasting her juices.
“Haan Rohit… chat mami ki chut… zor zor se… clit choos… jeebh andar daal ke fuck kar!”
I got confident—sucking her swollen clit, two fingers pumping inside her tight heat. She bucked, gripping my hair.
“Ahh mera raja… kitna acha choosta hai… bana de mami ko randi apni… haan… aa raha hai… drink mami ka ras!”
She came hard—gushing on my tongue, thighs clamping my head, body shaking.
Then she straddled my cock—already hard again. “Ab asli game. Ab mami tere virgin lund ko apni chut mein legi… ready beta?”
She sank down slow—scorching tight grip, velvet walls sucking me in. “Oh fuck… kitna mota hai… meri chut phaad di tune… ahh bhanja… ab chod apni mami ko!”
I grabbed her ass cheeks and thrust up. She rode wild—up and down, circling hips, tits bouncing crazily. I caught them, sucked as she slammed.
“Haan… zor se… pel de mami ko… bana de apni kutiya… bata, kitne din se mami ki chut marne ka sapna dekhta tha college mein?”
“Roz mami… aapki photos dekh ke muth marta tha… ab sach mein chod raha hun!”
She leaned down, biting my neck. “Chod… zor zor se thok… meri bachchedani mein gus de… haan… aise!”
Doggy next—she on all fours, ass high, me pounding, watching it jiggle. Slapping hard. “Mami ki moti gaand… kitni tight… maar raha hun aapki gaand se!”
“Haan beta… thappad maar… gaand laal kar… aur deep pel… phad de mami ki chut!”
“Andar daalun mami?”
“Haan… creampie de apni mami ko… bhar de meri chut apne garam virye se… andar tak feel karungi!”
I exploded—flooding her deep. She came again, pussy spasming, milking me. “Haan… beta ka ras… kitna garam… mami ki chut bhar di tune!”
We went all night.
Round two: In the clawfoot tub, hot water steaming, her riding reverse, water sloshing. “Dekh kaise mami ki gaand bounce kar rahi hai pani mein… pakad ke thok!”
I fingered her ass underwater. She begged. Later, oiled up, I took her ass slow—tight ring stretching around my thickness. “Phad di tune mami ki gaand… ab roz gaand mar… kitna mazaa… andar daal gaand mein bhi!”
Filled both holes multiple times.
Mornings: Wake-up oral—she deepthroating under blanket before parents knocked. “Subah subah mami ka muh bhar de… haan… swallow kar legi!”
Afternoons: Family out for toy train or boating, we stayed “resting.” Marathon sessions—69 on the rug, her squirting on my face, me titfucking those massive boobs till I painted them.
One foggy evening, sneaked to the tea estate behind the resort. She bent over a bush in her shawl, I fucked her standing, fog hiding us. “Jungle mein chod raha hai mujhe… koi dekh le toh? Zor se pel beta!”
Nights: Slow and filthy—oiled massage turning slippery fuck, role-play where she was teasing mami punishing “naughty bhanja” with edging, then begging for my cock.
Between, emotions.
She confessed mama is limp most times, work stress. “Tu mujhe jeena sikha raha hai… tera lund meri chut ka drug hai.”
I admitted everything—fantasies since 14, peeking when she changed at our house.
One night after tender missionary, deep kisses, she teared up. “Yeh mami bhanja forbidden desire… barbaad kar dega humein.”
“Par main aapko chodna band nahi kar sakta mami.”
“Main bhi nahi beta. Tu mera hai ab.”
The week was heaven—multiple rounds daily, exploring every position, every hole.
Back in Bangalore, secret life.
Mama posted abroad often now. I “visit” on weekends—really fuckathons in their bedroom.
Kitchen quickies: Her bent over in nothing but apron. “Jaldi thok bhanja… mama call karne wale hain… andar daal!”
Full nights when mama away: We fuck in every room, her screaming dirty. “Yahan chod jahan mama sota hai… uski biwi ko usi ke bed pe pel!”
Family gatherings: Stolen moments—bathroom blowjob, terrace doggy.
It’s been nine months. I’m skilled, confident—girls notice, I don’t care.
Mami glows, addicted. “Tera mota lund ne mujhe bigad diya… ab mama se kuch nahi hota.”
We steal getaways—“temple trip” to Tirupati, really hotels where we don’t leave bed.
Future unknown—mama wants kids, family eyes on my marriage.
But this mami-bhanja raw lust?
It owns us.
She messages: “Beta, mami ki chut aur gaand dono geeli hain… kab aa raha hai bharne?”
I reply: “Tonight mami. Aapko itna chodunga ki chal na payengi.”
Our filthy secret.