In the serene, tree-lined suburbs of Pune, where old bungalows hid behind high compound walls and bougainvillea crept over iron gates, Mahesh Sharma lived with his 22-year-old daughter, Bhavya. He had raised her alone after her mother left when Bhavya was barely three. Now, fresh out of college and staying home while she figured out her future, the house felt smaller, warmer, and far more dangerous than it ever had. Mahesh was 45, still powerfully built from years in the construction business. Salt-and-pepper hair, strong arms, and quiet confidence. Bhavya had grown into a breathtaking young woman — long, wavy auburn hair, bright green eyes she inherited from her mother, and a body that curved generously in all the right places. She moved around the house in tiny shorts and loose tank tops, completely at ease, unaware — or perhaps fully aware — of the effect she had on him. It began innocently. Late-night movies on the large sofa in the living room. Bhavya would curl into his side li...
The apartment in Indore felt unusually quiet that week. My husband had left for a three-day training program in Bhopal, leaving me alone with his younger brother who had come from Kanpur for a series of job interviews at a big IT firm. We had offered him the spare room so he could prepare in peace without worrying about hotel expenses.
At first everything stayed completely normal. I cooked meals, he studied for hours, and we exchanged casual conversations over tea. But slowly I started noticing the way his eyes lingered whenever I wore a saree. The way he would smile and compliment how gracefully I moved around the house. It felt a little strange at the beginning, but soon that awkwardness turned into a strange thrill.
One evening after dinner, while we were sitting on the couch, the conversation drifted into more personal territory. He admitted that he had often heard my moans from our bedroom whenever my husband and I were intimate. He confessed he had masturbated many times thinking about those sounds. Hearing that made my cheeks burn with embarrassment, yet it also sent a forbidden rush through my body.
I found myself telling him how badly I was missing my husband’s touch after so many days apart. That’s when he suggested something bold. “Let’s watch something tonight… just to relieve the tension. We can touch ourselves while watching, no touching each other.” I hesitated for a long moment, but curiosity won. I agreed.
Late that night, the living room lights were off. Only the glow of his laptop illuminated the space. He played a rough, intense porn video full of hard thrusting and loud moans. The scenes were so raw and passionate that within minutes my hand slipped inside my panties. I started rubbing myself slowly while he stroked his cock openly. He pulled his shorts completely down, and his thick, hard shaft sprang free. Guilt and shame flooded my mind, but the heat between my legs was stronger.
I lay back on the couch, eyes half-closed, fingers moving faster inside my wet folds. My breathing grew heavy. When my orgasm hit, my body trembled and I came hard inside my panties. At that exact moment he lost control. He aimed his cock at my exposed belly and exploded, thick ropes of warm cum landing on my skin. He immediately apologized, saying he couldn’t hold back because my saree and the way it draped over my curves had been teasing him for days.
I didn’t say anything. I just looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes and gave a small, silent nod.
That was all the permission he needed.
In seconds he was on me. He grabbed my hair and pushed his cock deep into my mouth, fucking my throat with raw urgency. I gagged and struggled for air as tears welled up in my eyes. When he finally pulled out, he yanked my saree off with one powerful tug, the fabric pooling around my waist. My bra was ripped open in his haste, freeing my breasts. Using the saliva still coating his shaft as natural lubricant, he positioned himself between my legs and drove his entire length inside me in one forceful thrust.
We were in missionary position on the couch. He pounded me relentlessly while his hands roughly squeezed and pinched my breasts. Then he lowered his head and sucked on my nipples like a hungry animal — biting, licking, and pulling until sharp pain mixed with overwhelming pleasure. I moaned loudly, tears streaming down my cheeks from the intensity. For almost fifteen minutes he fucked me with deep, savage strokes, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room.
Finally, with a deep groan, he buried himself as far as he could go and released everything inside me. Wave after wave of hot cum flooded my pussy. He collapsed on top of me, both of us panting and sweaty.
That night we slept completely naked on the same bed, his cum still leaking out of me slowly.
The next morning was strangely calm. We exchanged shy glances while I made tea. He received a slow, sensual blowjob from me, and I let him finish in my mouth. After that, neither of us spoke about what had happened. We acted as if it was just another ordinary day.
But the real twist came two weeks later.
My husband returned from his trip in a cheerful mood and casually mentioned that his brother had cleared all the interviews. He had been offered the job in Indore itself and was now looking for a place to stay permanently. “He really liked staying with us,” my husband said with a laugh. “He even suggested he could continue living here for the next few months until he finds his own apartment. It would help with rent too.”
I stood there frozen, my heart racing. My devar was going to stay under the same roof for months. The same devar whose cum was still dried on my inner thighs from that wild night.
Now every morning and evening I see him, knowing exactly what he is thinking when his eyes roam over my body in a saree. And deep down, I already know this forbidden chapter is far from over.
Comments
Post a Comment