My name is Aryan Kapoor, 22 years old, pursuing engineering in a top college in Hyderabad. My younger sister Kiara, 19, had just joined the same college for her commerce degree—parents' idea to keep us together away from home in Delhi. The college had mixed hostels, but during the annual cultural fest, rooms were overbooked with visitors and events. "Bhaiya, mera room full hai friends se... tere paas adjust kar lun?" Kiara pleaded one evening, eyes wide and innocent. My single room was small—a bunk bed, study desk, attached bath—but I agreed. "Thik hai, tu lower bunk le, main upar."
Kiara had grown into a stunning young woman since leaving home: fair skin with a golden tint from Hyderabad sun, long wavy hair often in a ponytail, big expressive eyes, juicy lips, and a body that made boys stare—full 36D breasts that jiggled under her tight tops, a curvy waist from dance practice, and a thick, round ass that filled her jeans or leggings perfectly. In the room, she wore comfy shorts and tank tops for the heat, no bra often—nipples poking when AC was off.
First night: awkward. Fest noise outside—music, laughter. She climbed lower bunk in tiny shorts and camisole, ass flashing as she bent. "Goodnight bhaiya," hug goodnight—her soft boobs pressing my chest. I lay above, hearing her breaths, mind racing with forbidden thoughts.
Fest days: events together—dancing, food stalls. She'd drag me to performances, holding my hand, body brushing in crowds. Nights back: exhausted, sharing bed stories—her missing home, college boys flirting but seeming fake. "Bhaiya, tu hi best hai... protective aur caring." Closeness grew—hugs longer, her head on my lap watching phone videos.
Second night: power cut from overload. Heat unbearable; we shared lower bunk "for fan breeze." Sweat made clothes cling—she in damp camisole, nipples hard visible. Talking turned intimate—she confessed curiosity about sex, no experience. "Bhaiya, tu bata... kaisa feel hota hai?" My cock hardened against her thigh. She felt it, gasping but pressing closer. "Bhaiya... yeh?"
Kiss happened—soft, then hungry, tongues exploring. "Yeh galat hai Kiara... hum bhai-behen." But she whispered, "Sirf hamara secret... please bhaiya." Peeled her top—perfect heavy tits spilling, pink nipples begging. Sucked greedily, tongue flicking while pinching. "Ahhh... bhaiya... chooso zor se... behen ke boobs pi lo."
She stroked my cock through shorts—thick 8-inch throbbing. "Bhaiya ka lund... itna bada." Blew me shyly at first, then eagerly—deep, wet, learning fast.
Ate her shaved pussy—sweet juices, clit sucked until orgasm shaking.
Deflowered gently—slow entry, pain to pleasure. Fucked passionately—missionary, cowgirl bouncing, doggy ass jiggling. Creampies begging.
Fest nights paradise: quickies between events, marathon blackouts—anal, role-play. Emotional—she felt safe exploring; I protective lover. Fest ended; room ours—ongoing secret in hostel.
Kiara had grown into a stunning young woman since leaving home: fair skin with a golden tint from Hyderabad sun, long wavy hair often in a ponytail, big expressive eyes, juicy lips, and a body that made boys stare—full 36D breasts that jiggled under her tight tops, a curvy waist from dance practice, and a thick, round ass that filled her jeans or leggings perfectly. In the room, she wore comfy shorts and tank tops for the heat, no bra often—nipples poking when AC was off.
First night: awkward. Fest noise outside—music, laughter. She climbed lower bunk in tiny shorts and camisole, ass flashing as she bent. "Goodnight bhaiya," hug goodnight—her soft boobs pressing my chest. I lay above, hearing her breaths, mind racing with forbidden thoughts.
Fest days: events together—dancing, food stalls. She'd drag me to performances, holding my hand, body brushing in crowds. Nights back: exhausted, sharing bed stories—her missing home, college boys flirting but seeming fake. "Bhaiya, tu hi best hai... protective aur caring." Closeness grew—hugs longer, her head on my lap watching phone videos.
Second night: power cut from overload. Heat unbearable; we shared lower bunk "for fan breeze." Sweat made clothes cling—she in damp camisole, nipples hard visible. Talking turned intimate—she confessed curiosity about sex, no experience. "Bhaiya, tu bata... kaisa feel hota hai?" My cock hardened against her thigh. She felt it, gasping but pressing closer. "Bhaiya... yeh?"
Kiss happened—soft, then hungry, tongues exploring. "Yeh galat hai Kiara... hum bhai-behen." But she whispered, "Sirf hamara secret... please bhaiya." Peeled her top—perfect heavy tits spilling, pink nipples begging. Sucked greedily, tongue flicking while pinching. "Ahhh... bhaiya... chooso zor se... behen ke boobs pi lo."
She stroked my cock through shorts—thick 8-inch throbbing. "Bhaiya ka lund... itna bada." Blew me shyly at first, then eagerly—deep, wet, learning fast.
Ate her shaved pussy—sweet juices, clit sucked until orgasm shaking.
Deflowered gently—slow entry, pain to pleasure. Fucked passionately—missionary, cowgirl bouncing, doggy ass jiggling. Creampies begging.
Fest nights paradise: quickies between events, marathon blackouts—anal, role-play. Emotional—she felt safe exploring; I protective lover. Fest ended; room ours—ongoing secret in hostel.