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### Recap of Chapters 1-29: Shadows of Forbidden Crave
1. **Mom Watches Her Son & Daughter Fucking**: Shyamala spies her fraternal twins Amar and Jyothi in raw sibling sex on the dining table—missionary thrusts, blowjob, standing doggy with squirting—and masturbates voyeuristically in shock and arousal.
2. **Siblings' Midnight Sex Adventure**: Shyamala eavesdrops on drunk Amar's return; Jyothi dominates with facesitting, ass-licking, cowgirl riding, and dirty talk, her own climax crashing silent outside the door.
3. **Desperately Tasting Son’s Dick**: Alone with sleeping drunk Amar, Shyamala sniffs his underwear, masturbates on Jyothi's bed, then sucks and grinds her pussy on his erect cock, orgasming twice in guilty ecstasy.
4. **Becoming My Son’s Slut**: Amar confronts Shyamala's spying, revealing his "Sis Fucker" group with Jyothi's nudes; he dominates her with throat-fuck, titfuck, and body cumshot, sealing her submission.
5. **Horny for My Son's Cock**: Post-confrontation, Amar strips Shyamala nude, licks and fingers her virgin ass, then she rides him vaginally before surrendering her backdoor roughly, multiple rounds ending in oral cleanup.
6. **How It Started Between My Son & Daughter**: While groping and titfucking Shyamala in the kitchen, Amar recounts the siblings' origins—Jyothi's video-call fingering leading to her sucking and fucking him post-virginity loss to Mukundh—culminating in doggy as grandmother witnesses.
7. **The Humiliation**: Grandmother catches the kitchen fuck, shaming Shyamala; Amar humiliates her further by roughly fucking her in front, spanking and degrading her as "family slut" before she flees silent.
8. **Riding My Son’s Dick**: After a 10-day break, Shyamala and Amar fuck all day—69, facesitting, anal, cowgirl, shower—embracing rough gangbang fantasies as his "new wife."
9. **First Time Cheating**: Flashback: Post-childbirth Shyamala seduces virgin nephew Askah into oral, 69, and cowgirl while breastfeeding, weekly sessions forging aunt-nephew bond.
10. **With Neighbor’s 7-Inch Dick**: Interrupted mid-fuck with Amar, Shyamala seduces brother-in-law Sampath (7-inch), orchestrated by Amar: standing vaginal, missionary, anal doggy, Amar cumming on her face.
11. **Sneha’s Sex Adventure**: Shyamala reads Jyothi's diary: virginity loss to Mukundh—blowjob, cunnilingus, missionary—masturbating to the youthful exploits echoing family lust.
12. **Sneha’s Anal Fuck**: Diary: Jyothi's first anal with Mukundh—oral prep, slow entry to rhythmic thrusts—prompting Shyamala to experiment anally with Amar, generational mirroring.
13. **Sneha’s First Double Penetration**: Diary: Mukundh and virgin roommate Ajay blackmail Jyothi into threesome—blowjobs, DP in positions—Shyamala masturbating with cucumber, inspired fantasies.
14. **Sneha’s Gangbang**: Diary: Jyothi's gangbang by Mukundh and three friends—oral rotations, DP, full group filling with creampies/facials—fueling Shyamala's ride on Amar, him planning to share her.
15. **Son’s & His Friends’ Whore**: Shyamala begs Amar to share her with friends Abhay, Suresh, Satish—throat-fucks, DP, rough gangbang; frequent visits normalize her as communal slut, their incest confessions bonding.
16. **Abhay's Revenge Sex**: Abhay (Mukundh) humiliates Shyamala for Jyothi's professor refusal—urinates on her, ties/whips, fucks with veggies, leashed crawling, multi-room pounding in degradation.
17. **Mom & Daughter's Double Penetration**: Dream: Shyamala finds Jyothi tied/gangbanged; forced into mother-daughter kiss, fingering, oral, shared DP with five boys, waking orgasming in fantasized lesbian incest.
18. **Naughty Adventure with Neighbor**: At party, Sampath eats Shyamala's pussy while Amar secretly tit-sucks her; later, Sampath anals her in bathroom, Amar peeping, risks heightening thrill.
19. **Akash Fucks Me Again**: At family function, Shyamala blows nephew Askah (8-inch); 69, facesitting. Amar catches, calls her "incest slut," fucks her sideways in jealous joining.
20. **Facing My Son's Fury**: Amar punishes Shyamala's nephew affair with rough domination—whipping, choking, multi-position anal/vaginal marathon, forcing confessions in jealous control.
21. **Akash and Shyam's Slut**: On terrace, Askah rough-anals Shyamala; Amar joins for DP (pussy/ass), all-night rotation, piss play; reveals aunt's sister-mom incest parallel in cross-family taboo.
22. **Tasting My Daughter's Boobs**: Shyamala titfucks/rides Amar outside Jyothi's room; later sucks sleeping Jyothi's marked boobs, fleeing in guilty arousal as Abhay taunts both as sluts.
23. **First Lesbian with My Daughter**: Shyamala confronts Jyothi's gangbang marks; inspection leads to kissing, 15-min oral, fingering, scissoring, squirting, sleeping nude in mother-daughter bond.
24. **Hot Shower Fuck**: Amar recreates Jyothi's shower sex with Shyamala—erotic soaping, oral under water, standing anal/vaginal, wall-pinning creampie in sensual contrast to roughness.
25. **Triple Penetration**: Amar and two friends triple-fuck Shyamala—orally, vaginally, anally—in rotating positions, cumming inside/on her amid degradation, escalating group to triple.
26. **Daughter Turned Me into Her Slut**: Jyothi dominates showering Shyamala—kissing, fingering, dildo vaginal/anal fuck, mutual squirting in strap-on reversal.
27. **Auto Driver Used Me**: Blackmailed by auto driver Ravi's video, Shyamala submits to rough pussy/ass pounding, slapping, choking; Jyothi later licks cum off her in daughter cleanup.
28. **Promising My Daughter**: Shyamala promises Jyothi secrecy on Ravi affair; they share lesbian oral/fingering, vowing mutual sluttiness in emotional pact.
29. **Mom and Daughter**: Shyamala introduces Ravi to Jyothi for threesome—oral chain, doggy over face, creampies, biting; Jyothi claims "complete woman" status in generational handover.
### Chapter 30: Becoming My Brother’s Slut
The evening shadows lengthened slow across the courtyard, the sun dipping low behind the rooftops to paint the sky in hues of deep orange and fading purple that bled into the coming night. I stood at the kitchen window, my hands resting light on the sill, fingers curling just enough to feel the rough grain of the wood beneath my palms as I watched the last rays warm the potted marigolds lining the steps. The house had fallen into its familiar quiet after dinner, the clatter of plates in the sink long since faded, my husband retreating to the balcony with his evening tea, the steam rising slow from his glass as he settled into the chair with a newspaper open on his lap. Jyothi had slipped out for a late sketch session with her friends, her bag slung over her shoulder as she kissed my cheek goodbye, her lips lingering warm against my skin for a full moment before she stepped out the door.
Mohan arrived without announcement, his knock at the front door full and firm against the wood, echoing slight through the empty hallway. I smoothed the pallu of my saree with deliberate care, the cotton falling even over my shoulder as I crossed the room, each step measured on the tile floor. He stood there when I opened the door, my brother—50 now, but still carrying the broad frame of the village fields in his youth, his kurta loose over shoulders that had once hauled sacks of rice without strain, his hair threaded dark with silver at the temples. His eyes met mine steady, dark and unreadable, holding the gaze without rush as he stepped inside, his sandals scraping faint on the threshold before he slipped them off with unhurried motion. "Shyamala," he said, voice low and complete, his hand brushing my arm in the pass, fingers warm against the skin above my elbow in a touch that lingered just a fraction too long for siblings.
We moved to the living room without words, the air between us settling heavy as he lowered himself onto the sofa, the cushion dipping slight under his weight, his hands resting flat on his knees, fingers splaying wide as if to steady himself. I took the chair opposite, folding my hands in my lap, the saree's pleats falling smooth under my palms, and for a long moment, the room held its silence—the distant call of a night bird from the courtyard the only sound breaking the stillness. "You've changed," he said then, each word drawn out even and full, his eyes tracing my face slow—the line of my jaw, the curve of my lips—before settling on my eyes. "The way you move. The flush on your cheeks when I arrived. It's been years since I've seen you like this."
The words landed soft but pointed, and I felt the warmth stir low in my belly, spreading gradual through my core as my hand unfolded in my lap, palm up on my thigh in open gesture. "Life has a way of shifting things," I replied, voice calm and complete, leaning forward just enough to let the pallu slip slight from my shoulder, baring the curve of my collarbone. "And you, Mohan. Coming unannounced. What brings you here after all this time?" He leaned back against the sofa, his posture easing gradual, one hand rising to rub the back of his neck in unhurried motion, the gesture familiar from our childhood days when he'd tease me over stolen mangoes from the neighbor's tree.
"I've heard things," he said, voice steady and full, his hand dropping to rest on the armrest, fingers drumming light in even rhythm. "From the family. Whispers about you and the boy. Amar. The way he looks at you. The nights when your husband sleeps alone." The confession hung full in the room, each word carrying the weight of years unspoken, and I held his gaze without flinch, my hand smoothing the saree's pleats flat on my thigh. "You've been listening," I said, each syllable measured, a small smile curving my lips as I rose from the chair without haste, the fabric whispering against the seat before falling straight. "And what do you intend with that knowledge, brother? To judge? Or to join?"
He stood then, his movements unhurried, crossing the space between us in three full steps, stopping close enough that his chest nearly brushed mine, the heat of him cutting through the room's cooling air. His hand rose gradual, fingers brushing my chin to tilt my face up, thumb tracing the lower lip in slow circles that parted it slight. "To take," he murmured, voice low and complete, his thumb pressing just enough to feel the softness before his mouth descended—lips sealing mine in a kiss that unfolded slow, tongue exploring deep and thorough, tasting the faint tea on me as his free hand slid to my waist, fingers splaying over the saree's tie in possessive warmth. The kiss broke gradual, his lips trailing to my jaw, pressing open kisses along the line to my throat, thumb holding my chin steady as his fingers tugged the tie loose.
The saree loosened then, the fabric falling away from my waist in a soft cascade, and his hand slipped beneath the blouse, cupping my breast full, thumb rolling the nipple in lazy spirals that tightened it to a peak under his touch. "I've wanted this since we were young," he said against my skin, voice full and ragged, mouth kissing lower to the swell of my breast, tongue tracing the curve before latching on the nipple—lips sealing soft, sucking steady in unhurried pull that drew a quiet sigh from me. My hands rose to his shoulders, palms flattening over the kurta's fabric, fingers curling into the muscle there as the coil began slow in my belly, spreading warm through my core. His free hand trailed down my side, fingers parting the petticoat's folds to brush my mound, thumb dipping into the lace of my panties in gradual exploration, feeling the dampness there.
"Take me then," I whispered, voice complete against his ear, my hand guiding his lower, pressing it firmer between my legs as his thumb circled my clit in even pressure through the lace. He pulled back from my breast slow, lips leaving it with a soft pop, the nipple dark and glistening in the room's fading light, and his hand at my mound slipped under the lace, parting my folds with steady fingers, one dipping shallow to curl inside me, stroking that ridge with measured care. The fullness bloomed warm, my legs parting just enough to ease the stretch, and his mouth returned to mine—kissing deep, tongue delving thorough as his finger plunged deeper, two now, thrusting even in gradual rhythm that matched the slow circles of his thumb on my clit.
The coil gathered slow in my core, a tide rising steady—pussy clenching his fingers in unhurried ripples, breaths coming fuller as his free hand untied the blouse's hooks one by one, the fabric parting to bare my breasts to the room's air. He cupped one then, palm molding to the curve, thumb pinching the nipple in lazy twists that echoed the pressure below, and the kiss broke gradual, his mouth trailing to the other breast—lips sealing on the peak, tongue circling it in warm laps before sucking steady. "On the sofa," he murmured against my skin, voice full, and I stepped back without haste, the saree pooling at my feet as I lowered myself onto the cushions, legs parting slow to invite him between them.
He knelt there, his hands at my thighs steady, pushing the petticoat higher to bare me full, his mouth descending to my folds—lips parting mine gradual, tongue gliding along the seam in broad strokes that tasted my dampness before circling my clit in even spirals. His hands held my legs wide, fingers splaying over the inner thighs to hold them open as his tongue delved deeper, spearing my entrance in unhurried thrusts, curling inside to stroke the walls before returning to the nub in sucking pull. The coil tightened then, slow and deep—pussy fluttering under his mouth in gradual waves, breaths coming ragged as his fingers joined, two plunging full to curl against that ridge inside in measured strokes.
Climax crested unhurried, body quaking in long waves that rolled through me, walls spasming around his fingers in steady contractions, a hot gush releasing in gradual pulses to soak his palm and chin as he held steady, tongue lapping the flow with fervent warmth. He rose then, without haste, his kurta rumpled as he freed his cock—8 inches thick and rigid, curving upward, veined and warm as he notched it at my entrance, rubbing the head through my slick folds in slow strokes. "Full now," he said, voice complete, pushing in gradual—inch by inch stretching me full, the girth dragging my walls in friction that sparked fire along every nerve.
He held at the hilt, balls snug against me, his hands at my thighs to hold them wide as the fullness settled deep, my body adjusting to the warmth gradual. The rhythm began then, thrusts even and measured—pulling back torturous to the tip, sinking deep again with unhurried force that kissed my cervix, pubic bone grinding my clit on each hilt. One hand slid up my body, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head, holding me there as his mouth kissed my breast—lips sealing on the nipple, tongue circling it in warm laps before sucking steady, the pull matching the thrusts in slow harmony. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to pull him closer, the coil building again gradual—pussy clenching his length in unhurried ripples, breaths mingling with his in the room's quiet.
He shifted then, rolling us slow until I straddled him on the sofa, his hands at my hips holding steady as I sank down full, the angle deepening the fullness, his cock kissing my cervix with each grind. "Ride me," he murmured, voice full against my ear, one hand cupping my ass to guide the motion, thumb brushing the pucker in light circles while the other pinched my nipple in measured twists. The rhythm built unhurried between us—hips rolling even, breasts swaying with each descent, mouths kissing deep and thorough, breaths syncing slow in the space.
Climax crested again, slow and deep—body quaking in waves that milked his length, squirting hot between us in steady pulses, soaking his thighs as he held my hips steady, grinding through the spasms. He followed without haste—thrusts faltering gradual as he pushed up one last time, hot jets flooding me in thick ropes that overflowed, trickling down my thighs in warm trails. We held there full, breaths syncing slow in the afterglow, his mouth kissing my throat warm as his hands held me close. "Mine now," he said, voice complete against my skin, holding me until the warmth faded gradual, the promise lingering like the slow close of night. The brother had claimed his share, the family feast complete, the sweetness lingering forever in the warmth of surrender.
STORY COMPLETED...
1. **Mom Watches Her Son & Daughter Fucking**: Shyamala spies her fraternal twins Amar and Jyothi in raw sibling sex on the dining table—missionary thrusts, blowjob, standing doggy with squirting—and masturbates voyeuristically in shock and arousal.
2. **Siblings' Midnight Sex Adventure**: Shyamala eavesdrops on drunk Amar's return; Jyothi dominates with facesitting, ass-licking, cowgirl riding, and dirty talk, her own climax crashing silent outside the door.
3. **Desperately Tasting Son’s Dick**: Alone with sleeping drunk Amar, Shyamala sniffs his underwear, masturbates on Jyothi's bed, then sucks and grinds her pussy on his erect cock, orgasming twice in guilty ecstasy.
4. **Becoming My Son’s Slut**: Amar confronts Shyamala's spying, revealing his "Sis Fucker" group with Jyothi's nudes; he dominates her with throat-fuck, titfuck, and body cumshot, sealing her submission.
5. **Horny for My Son's Cock**: Post-confrontation, Amar strips Shyamala nude, licks and fingers her virgin ass, then she rides him vaginally before surrendering her backdoor roughly, multiple rounds ending in oral cleanup.
6. **How It Started Between My Son & Daughter**: While groping and titfucking Shyamala in the kitchen, Amar recounts the siblings' origins—Jyothi's video-call fingering leading to her sucking and fucking him post-virginity loss to Mukundh—culminating in doggy as grandmother witnesses.
7. **The Humiliation**: Grandmother catches the kitchen fuck, shaming Shyamala; Amar humiliates her further by roughly fucking her in front, spanking and degrading her as "family slut" before she flees silent.
8. **Riding My Son’s Dick**: After a 10-day break, Shyamala and Amar fuck all day—69, facesitting, anal, cowgirl, shower—embracing rough gangbang fantasies as his "new wife."
9. **First Time Cheating**: Flashback: Post-childbirth Shyamala seduces virgin nephew Askah into oral, 69, and cowgirl while breastfeeding, weekly sessions forging aunt-nephew bond.
10. **With Neighbor’s 7-Inch Dick**: Interrupted mid-fuck with Amar, Shyamala seduces brother-in-law Sampath (7-inch), orchestrated by Amar: standing vaginal, missionary, anal doggy, Amar cumming on her face.
11. **Sneha’s Sex Adventure**: Shyamala reads Jyothi's diary: virginity loss to Mukundh—blowjob, cunnilingus, missionary—masturbating to the youthful exploits echoing family lust.
12. **Sneha’s Anal Fuck**: Diary: Jyothi's first anal with Mukundh—oral prep, slow entry to rhythmic thrusts—prompting Shyamala to experiment anally with Amar, generational mirroring.
13. **Sneha’s First Double Penetration**: Diary: Mukundh and virgin roommate Ajay blackmail Jyothi into threesome—blowjobs, DP in positions—Shyamala masturbating with cucumber, inspired fantasies.
14. **Sneha’s Gangbang**: Diary: Jyothi's gangbang by Mukundh and three friends—oral rotations, DP, full group filling with creampies/facials—fueling Shyamala's ride on Amar, him planning to share her.
15. **Son’s & His Friends’ Whore**: Shyamala begs Amar to share her with friends Abhay, Suresh, Satish—throat-fucks, DP, rough gangbang; frequent visits normalize her as communal slut, their incest confessions bonding.
16. **Abhay's Revenge Sex**: Abhay (Mukundh) humiliates Shyamala for Jyothi's professor refusal—urinates on her, ties/whips, fucks with veggies, leashed crawling, multi-room pounding in degradation.
17. **Mom & Daughter's Double Penetration**: Dream: Shyamala finds Jyothi tied/gangbanged; forced into mother-daughter kiss, fingering, oral, shared DP with five boys, waking orgasming in fantasized lesbian incest.
18. **Naughty Adventure with Neighbor**: At party, Sampath eats Shyamala's pussy while Amar secretly tit-sucks her; later, Sampath anals her in bathroom, Amar peeping, risks heightening thrill.
19. **Akash Fucks Me Again**: At family function, Shyamala blows nephew Askah (8-inch); 69, facesitting. Amar catches, calls her "incest slut," fucks her sideways in jealous joining.
20. **Facing My Son's Fury**: Amar punishes Shyamala's nephew affair with rough domination—whipping, choking, multi-position anal/vaginal marathon, forcing confessions in jealous control.
21. **Akash and Shyam's Slut**: On terrace, Askah rough-anals Shyamala; Amar joins for DP (pussy/ass), all-night rotation, piss play; reveals aunt's sister-mom incest parallel in cross-family taboo.
22. **Tasting My Daughter's Boobs**: Shyamala titfucks/rides Amar outside Jyothi's room; later sucks sleeping Jyothi's marked boobs, fleeing in guilty arousal as Abhay taunts both as sluts.
23. **First Lesbian with My Daughter**: Shyamala confronts Jyothi's gangbang marks; inspection leads to kissing, 15-min oral, fingering, scissoring, squirting, sleeping nude in mother-daughter bond.
24. **Hot Shower Fuck**: Amar recreates Jyothi's shower sex with Shyamala—erotic soaping, oral under water, standing anal/vaginal, wall-pinning creampie in sensual contrast to roughness.
25. **Triple Penetration**: Amar and two friends triple-fuck Shyamala—orally, vaginally, anally—in rotating positions, cumming inside/on her amid degradation, escalating group to triple.
26. **Daughter Turned Me into Her Slut**: Jyothi dominates showering Shyamala—kissing, fingering, dildo vaginal/anal fuck, mutual squirting in strap-on reversal.
27. **Auto Driver Used Me**: Blackmailed by auto driver Ravi's video, Shyamala submits to rough pussy/ass pounding, slapping, choking; Jyothi later licks cum off her in daughter cleanup.
28. **Promising My Daughter**: Shyamala promises Jyothi secrecy on Ravi affair; they share lesbian oral/fingering, vowing mutual sluttiness in emotional pact.
29. **Mom and Daughter**: Shyamala introduces Ravi to Jyothi for threesome—oral chain, doggy over face, creampies, biting; Jyothi claims "complete woman" status in generational handover.
### Chapter 30: Becoming My Brother’s Slut
The evening shadows lengthened slow across the courtyard, the sun dipping low behind the rooftops to paint the sky in hues of deep orange and fading purple that bled into the coming night. I stood at the kitchen window, my hands resting light on the sill, fingers curling just enough to feel the rough grain of the wood beneath my palms as I watched the last rays warm the potted marigolds lining the steps. The house had fallen into its familiar quiet after dinner, the clatter of plates in the sink long since faded, my husband retreating to the balcony with his evening tea, the steam rising slow from his glass as he settled into the chair with a newspaper open on his lap. Jyothi had slipped out for a late sketch session with her friends, her bag slung over her shoulder as she kissed my cheek goodbye, her lips lingering warm against my skin for a full moment before she stepped out the door.
Mohan arrived without announcement, his knock at the front door full and firm against the wood, echoing slight through the empty hallway. I smoothed the pallu of my saree with deliberate care, the cotton falling even over my shoulder as I crossed the room, each step measured on the tile floor. He stood there when I opened the door, my brother—50 now, but still carrying the broad frame of the village fields in his youth, his kurta loose over shoulders that had once hauled sacks of rice without strain, his hair threaded dark with silver at the temples. His eyes met mine steady, dark and unreadable, holding the gaze without rush as he stepped inside, his sandals scraping faint on the threshold before he slipped them off with unhurried motion. "Shyamala," he said, voice low and complete, his hand brushing my arm in the pass, fingers warm against the skin above my elbow in a touch that lingered just a fraction too long for siblings.
We moved to the living room without words, the air between us settling heavy as he lowered himself onto the sofa, the cushion dipping slight under his weight, his hands resting flat on his knees, fingers splaying wide as if to steady himself. I took the chair opposite, folding my hands in my lap, the saree's pleats falling smooth under my palms, and for a long moment, the room held its silence—the distant call of a night bird from the courtyard the only sound breaking the stillness. "You've changed," he said then, each word drawn out even and full, his eyes tracing my face slow—the line of my jaw, the curve of my lips—before settling on my eyes. "The way you move. The flush on your cheeks when I arrived. It's been years since I've seen you like this."
The words landed soft but pointed, and I felt the warmth stir low in my belly, spreading gradual through my core as my hand unfolded in my lap, palm up on my thigh in open gesture. "Life has a way of shifting things," I replied, voice calm and complete, leaning forward just enough to let the pallu slip slight from my shoulder, baring the curve of my collarbone. "And you, Mohan. Coming unannounced. What brings you here after all this time?" He leaned back against the sofa, his posture easing gradual, one hand rising to rub the back of his neck in unhurried motion, the gesture familiar from our childhood days when he'd tease me over stolen mangoes from the neighbor's tree.
"I've heard things," he said, voice steady and full, his hand dropping to rest on the armrest, fingers drumming light in even rhythm. "From the family. Whispers about you and the boy. Amar. The way he looks at you. The nights when your husband sleeps alone." The confession hung full in the room, each word carrying the weight of years unspoken, and I held his gaze without flinch, my hand smoothing the saree's pleats flat on my thigh. "You've been listening," I said, each syllable measured, a small smile curving my lips as I rose from the chair without haste, the fabric whispering against the seat before falling straight. "And what do you intend with that knowledge, brother? To judge? Or to join?"
He stood then, his movements unhurried, crossing the space between us in three full steps, stopping close enough that his chest nearly brushed mine, the heat of him cutting through the room's cooling air. His hand rose gradual, fingers brushing my chin to tilt my face up, thumb tracing the lower lip in slow circles that parted it slight. "To take," he murmured, voice low and complete, his thumb pressing just enough to feel the softness before his mouth descended—lips sealing mine in a kiss that unfolded slow, tongue exploring deep and thorough, tasting the faint tea on me as his free hand slid to my waist, fingers splaying over the saree's tie in possessive warmth. The kiss broke gradual, his lips trailing to my jaw, pressing open kisses along the line to my throat, thumb holding my chin steady as his fingers tugged the tie loose.
The saree loosened then, the fabric falling away from my waist in a soft cascade, and his hand slipped beneath the blouse, cupping my breast full, thumb rolling the nipple in lazy spirals that tightened it to a peak under his touch. "I've wanted this since we were young," he said against my skin, voice full and ragged, mouth kissing lower to the swell of my breast, tongue tracing the curve before latching on the nipple—lips sealing soft, sucking steady in unhurried pull that drew a quiet sigh from me. My hands rose to his shoulders, palms flattening over the kurta's fabric, fingers curling into the muscle there as the coil began slow in my belly, spreading warm through my core. His free hand trailed down my side, fingers parting the petticoat's folds to brush my mound, thumb dipping into the lace of my panties in gradual exploration, feeling the dampness there.
"Take me then," I whispered, voice complete against his ear, my hand guiding his lower, pressing it firmer between my legs as his thumb circled my clit in even pressure through the lace. He pulled back from my breast slow, lips leaving it with a soft pop, the nipple dark and glistening in the room's fading light, and his hand at my mound slipped under the lace, parting my folds with steady fingers, one dipping shallow to curl inside me, stroking that ridge with measured care. The fullness bloomed warm, my legs parting just enough to ease the stretch, and his mouth returned to mine—kissing deep, tongue delving thorough as his finger plunged deeper, two now, thrusting even in gradual rhythm that matched the slow circles of his thumb on my clit.
The coil gathered slow in my core, a tide rising steady—pussy clenching his fingers in unhurried ripples, breaths coming fuller as his free hand untied the blouse's hooks one by one, the fabric parting to bare my breasts to the room's air. He cupped one then, palm molding to the curve, thumb pinching the nipple in lazy twists that echoed the pressure below, and the kiss broke gradual, his mouth trailing to the other breast—lips sealing on the peak, tongue circling it in warm laps before sucking steady. "On the sofa," he murmured against my skin, voice full, and I stepped back without haste, the saree pooling at my feet as I lowered myself onto the cushions, legs parting slow to invite him between them.
He knelt there, his hands at my thighs steady, pushing the petticoat higher to bare me full, his mouth descending to my folds—lips parting mine gradual, tongue gliding along the seam in broad strokes that tasted my dampness before circling my clit in even spirals. His hands held my legs wide, fingers splaying over the inner thighs to hold them open as his tongue delved deeper, spearing my entrance in unhurried thrusts, curling inside to stroke the walls before returning to the nub in sucking pull. The coil tightened then, slow and deep—pussy fluttering under his mouth in gradual waves, breaths coming ragged as his fingers joined, two plunging full to curl against that ridge inside in measured strokes.
Climax crested unhurried, body quaking in long waves that rolled through me, walls spasming around his fingers in steady contractions, a hot gush releasing in gradual pulses to soak his palm and chin as he held steady, tongue lapping the flow with fervent warmth. He rose then, without haste, his kurta rumpled as he freed his cock—8 inches thick and rigid, curving upward, veined and warm as he notched it at my entrance, rubbing the head through my slick folds in slow strokes. "Full now," he said, voice complete, pushing in gradual—inch by inch stretching me full, the girth dragging my walls in friction that sparked fire along every nerve.
He held at the hilt, balls snug against me, his hands at my thighs to hold them wide as the fullness settled deep, my body adjusting to the warmth gradual. The rhythm began then, thrusts even and measured—pulling back torturous to the tip, sinking deep again with unhurried force that kissed my cervix, pubic bone grinding my clit on each hilt. One hand slid up my body, fingers tangling in my hair to tilt my head, holding me there as his mouth kissed my breast—lips sealing on the nipple, tongue circling it in warm laps before sucking steady, the pull matching the thrusts in slow harmony. My legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back to pull him closer, the coil building again gradual—pussy clenching his length in unhurried ripples, breaths mingling with his in the room's quiet.
He shifted then, rolling us slow until I straddled him on the sofa, his hands at my hips holding steady as I sank down full, the angle deepening the fullness, his cock kissing my cervix with each grind. "Ride me," he murmured, voice full against my ear, one hand cupping my ass to guide the motion, thumb brushing the pucker in light circles while the other pinched my nipple in measured twists. The rhythm built unhurried between us—hips rolling even, breasts swaying with each descent, mouths kissing deep and thorough, breaths syncing slow in the space.
Climax crested again, slow and deep—body quaking in waves that milked his length, squirting hot between us in steady pulses, soaking his thighs as he held my hips steady, grinding through the spasms. He followed without haste—thrusts faltering gradual as he pushed up one last time, hot jets flooding me in thick ropes that overflowed, trickling down my thighs in warm trails. We held there full, breaths syncing slow in the afterglow, his mouth kissing my throat warm as his hands held me close. "Mine now," he said, voice complete against my skin, holding me until the warmth faded gradual, the promise lingering like the slow close of night. The brother had claimed his share, the family feast complete, the sweetness lingering forever in the warmth of surrender.
STORY COMPLETED...
