My name is Kabir. At 25, I was married for eight months to my wife Sneha—arranged, loving, everything perfect on paper. But I was still a virgin. Shy to the core, awkward with women, our wedding night postponed for her health issues, then my work stress, then family always around. We kissed, cuddled, but never more. In the privacy of the bathroom, I relieved myself to porn, but the face I imagined wasn’t Sneha’s. It was her younger sister, Ridhi—my sali.
Ridhi was 28, unmarried, a firecracker working as a travel influencer in Delhi. Tall, wheatish skin that glowed golden in sunlight, long curly hair she tied messily, sharp features with a constant mischievous smile, and a body that made my hands shake. 36DD breasts that strained against her crop tops and kurtis, a flat toned belly from gym, curvy hips, and an ass so plump and jiggly it hypnotized me when she walked ahead in tight jeans or leggings. She was shamelessly flirty with me from day one—long hugs pressing her heavy tits into me, sitting on my lap “by mistake” at family gatherings, whispering “mera handsome jiju” while brushing my thigh, sending me selfies in bikinis “for opinion.”
I’d jerked off to her Insta stories countless times, guilt eating me after.
This year, the family planned a Kashmir trip—houseboat on Dal Lake, shikara rides, gardens, snow views. Sneha’s parents, Sneha, Ridhi (visiting from Delhi), and me. Booked a luxury houseboat with multiple cabins. But tourist season chaos—only three cabins functional. Parents one, Sneha insisted on her own “for period rest.” That left Ridhi and me sharing the largest carved wooden cabin—king bed with heavy Kashmiri quilts, lanterns, window opening to the lake, attached bath.
Sneha laughed. “Ridhi ke saath adjust kar lo, jiju. Woh toh aapki chhoti behen jaisi hai.” Ridhi’s eyes locked on mine, smirking. “Haan di, jiju ke saath toh bohot maza aayega. Raat bhar baatein karenge.” My cock stirred at her tone.
The cabin was romantic—intricate wood carvings, soft rugs, low lighting, lake lapping outside. Nights dropped freezing.
First night, after shikara dinner and kahwa, Sneha slept early. Ridhi changed in bath, came out in a thin woolen top and shorts—top cropped showing underboob almost, clinging to her massive tits, nipples hard from cold. Shorts tiny, ass cheeks peeking. No bra.
We lay far apart, quilts thick, lanterns dim.
Sleep impossible. Lake sounds, her perfume—saffron and musk.
“Jiju,” she whispered after an hour, “so gaye?”
“Nahi Ridhi… thand hai.”
She giggled low. “Aa jaiye paas. Sali garam kar degi apne handsome jiju ko.”
I shifted closer, heart pounding. She turned her back to me, pulled my arm over her waist. Her ass—plump, warm—pressed right against my crotch. My cock hardened fast, poking her.
She ground back deliberately.
“Yeh kya hai itna sakht, jiju?” Her hand reached back, gripping my bulge through pajamas. “Mera shy jiju… itna mota lund? Sali ko pata tha aap mujhe gandi nazar se dekhte hain—shadi pe, ghar pe, meri selfies dekh ke.”
I groaned. “Ridhi please… yeh galat hai… Sneha…”
“Shh… di so rahi hai. Aur yeh sali jiju forbidden passion humara secret rahega.” She squeezed rhythmically. “Bataiye na… kitni baar sali ke boobs dekh ke muth maara? Meri bikini pics dekh ke? Meri gaand ko chhupke dekhte the na?”
“Haan Ridhi… roz… aapki stories… aapke naam se… sorry…”
She turned facing me, eyes wicked. “Sorry kyun jiju? Aaj aapki sali aapko mard banayegi. Apni geeli chut mein aapka virgin lund legi.”
She pushed me back, straddled quietly. Top rode up—no panties, wet pussy rubbing my stomach. Pulled my pajamas down. My cock sprang out—9 inches, thick.
“Arre waah jiju… di ke pati ka lund… itna bada mota. Yeh toh sali ki chut phaad dega.”
Stroked slow. “Taste karun apne jiju ka lund?”
Slid down, took me deep—hot sloppy mouth, deepthroating.
“Mmm… jiju ka lund… kitna tasty… sali ki throat bhar di…”
Quick swallowed orgasm.
Stripped—perfect heavy tits, dark nipples.
“Choosiye sali ke bade boobs… zor se kaatiye…”
Devoured.
Licked her to climax.
Mounted—tight heat.
“Chodiye apni sali ko… zor se peliye…”
Multiple rounds.
Trip full of secrets—shikara quickies, cabin marathons, anal, everything.
Ridhi was 28, unmarried, a firecracker working as a travel influencer in Delhi. Tall, wheatish skin that glowed golden in sunlight, long curly hair she tied messily, sharp features with a constant mischievous smile, and a body that made my hands shake. 36DD breasts that strained against her crop tops and kurtis, a flat toned belly from gym, curvy hips, and an ass so plump and jiggly it hypnotized me when she walked ahead in tight jeans or leggings. She was shamelessly flirty with me from day one—long hugs pressing her heavy tits into me, sitting on my lap “by mistake” at family gatherings, whispering “mera handsome jiju” while brushing my thigh, sending me selfies in bikinis “for opinion.”
I’d jerked off to her Insta stories countless times, guilt eating me after.
This year, the family planned a Kashmir trip—houseboat on Dal Lake, shikara rides, gardens, snow views. Sneha’s parents, Sneha, Ridhi (visiting from Delhi), and me. Booked a luxury houseboat with multiple cabins. But tourist season chaos—only three cabins functional. Parents one, Sneha insisted on her own “for period rest.” That left Ridhi and me sharing the largest carved wooden cabin—king bed with heavy Kashmiri quilts, lanterns, window opening to the lake, attached bath.
Sneha laughed. “Ridhi ke saath adjust kar lo, jiju. Woh toh aapki chhoti behen jaisi hai.” Ridhi’s eyes locked on mine, smirking. “Haan di, jiju ke saath toh bohot maza aayega. Raat bhar baatein karenge.” My cock stirred at her tone.
The cabin was romantic—intricate wood carvings, soft rugs, low lighting, lake lapping outside. Nights dropped freezing.
First night, after shikara dinner and kahwa, Sneha slept early. Ridhi changed in bath, came out in a thin woolen top and shorts—top cropped showing underboob almost, clinging to her massive tits, nipples hard from cold. Shorts tiny, ass cheeks peeking. No bra.
We lay far apart, quilts thick, lanterns dim.
Sleep impossible. Lake sounds, her perfume—saffron and musk.
“Jiju,” she whispered after an hour, “so gaye?”
“Nahi Ridhi… thand hai.”
She giggled low. “Aa jaiye paas. Sali garam kar degi apne handsome jiju ko.”
I shifted closer, heart pounding. She turned her back to me, pulled my arm over her waist. Her ass—plump, warm—pressed right against my crotch. My cock hardened fast, poking her.
She ground back deliberately.
“Yeh kya hai itna sakht, jiju?” Her hand reached back, gripping my bulge through pajamas. “Mera shy jiju… itna mota lund? Sali ko pata tha aap mujhe gandi nazar se dekhte hain—shadi pe, ghar pe, meri selfies dekh ke.”
I groaned. “Ridhi please… yeh galat hai… Sneha…”
“Shh… di so rahi hai. Aur yeh sali jiju forbidden passion humara secret rahega.” She squeezed rhythmically. “Bataiye na… kitni baar sali ke boobs dekh ke muth maara? Meri bikini pics dekh ke? Meri gaand ko chhupke dekhte the na?”
“Haan Ridhi… roz… aapki stories… aapke naam se… sorry…”
She turned facing me, eyes wicked. “Sorry kyun jiju? Aaj aapki sali aapko mard banayegi. Apni geeli chut mein aapka virgin lund legi.”
She pushed me back, straddled quietly. Top rode up—no panties, wet pussy rubbing my stomach. Pulled my pajamas down. My cock sprang out—9 inches, thick.
“Arre waah jiju… di ke pati ka lund… itna bada mota. Yeh toh sali ki chut phaad dega.”
Stroked slow. “Taste karun apne jiju ka lund?”
Slid down, took me deep—hot sloppy mouth, deepthroating.
“Mmm… jiju ka lund… kitna tasty… sali ki throat bhar di…”
Quick swallowed orgasm.
Stripped—perfect heavy tits, dark nipples.
“Choosiye sali ke bade boobs… zor se kaatiye…”
Devoured.
Licked her to climax.
Mounted—tight heat.
“Chodiye apni sali ko… zor se peliye…”
Multiple rounds.
Trip full of secrets—shikara quickies, cabin marathons, anal, everything.