Behenchod: My sister, my lover(Brother-sister)

[Mohit.Kumar]

Sharan could feel the blood pounding in his veins, his eyes never leaving hers as she danced. He watched the way her choli clung to her dampened skin, the way her panty hugged the curve of her ass, and the seductive sway of her hips. Her every move was a declaration of her desire for him, a silent invitation that he found impossible to resist. He reached out, his hand snaking around her waist to pull her closer, his thumb brushing the edge of her choli. "Keep dancing," he breathed, his voice a rough whisper. "Let me see what I've been missing."

The music grew louder, the lyrics of the song a sultry backdrop to their illicit dance. Rupa's breasts bounced with the rhythm, her nipples pebbled and visible through the red fabric. She leaned back, her hand coming up to cover one of her breasts, teasing him with a glimpse of the flesh beneath. "You like what you see, bhenchod?" she asked, her voice a low purr that made his cock throb.

Sharan's eyes were dark with lust as he nodded, his hand tightening on her waist. "Keep going," he said, his voice hoarse. "Show me what you've been hiding from your husband." The words were crude, but they sent a thrill through Rupa, a thrill of rebellion and power. She knew her brother craved the taboo, the taste of something that was not meant for him.

With a wink, Rupa turned up the volume on her phone, the bass of the Hindi song thumping through the air like a heartbeat. She began to dance for him, her hips moving in a way that was both innocent and obscene. Her choli was soaked with sweat, the red fabric clinging to her body like a second skin, revealing the outline of her areolae. The neckline of her choli had slipped even further, exposing the swell of her left breast, the nipple a hard peak that seemed to call out to him.

Sharan could feel his cock straining against his pants, begging for release. He leaned against the wall, watching her with a hunger that was almost feral. His eyes never left her body as she moved, her green cotton panty riding up to reveal the curve of her ass. The way she talked to him, the filthy words that fell from her lips like pearls of desire, only served to heighten the erotic tension in the room.

Rupa knew she had him in the palm of her hand, and she reveled in it. She danced closer, her breasts brushing against his chest, the friction of the fabric against his skin sending bolts of pleasure through him. Her hand slid down to his crotch, her fingers tracing the length of him through his trousers. "Is this what you want?" she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. "You want to fuck your own sister?"

Sharan's breath hitched, his heart racing at the raw, unfiltered words. He knew it was wrong, but the heat between them was too intense to ignore. He nodded, his voice a gruff murmur. "Yes," he said, his hand sliding down to cup her ass, his thumb tracing the crease between her cheeks. "I want you, Rupa."

With a wild growl of passion, Rupa pushed him backward, her hand on his chest as she propelled him onto the bed. He landed with a thud, his eyes never leaving hers. She unzipped his trousers, her movements swift and sure. The sight of her, dressed in nothing but her choli and panty, her hair cascading around her shoulders like a waterfall of desire, was almost too much to bear.

Sharan watched, his breath ragged, as Rupa knelt before him. She took his cock in her hand, the warmth of her skin like a brand against his own. He groaned, the sound a confession of his need. She stroked him, her movements deliberate and teasing, her eyes never leaving his. The room was a cocoon of desire, the outside world forgotten in the face of their shared transgression.

With a flick of her tongue, she tasted the bead of precum that had formed at the tip of his cock. It was a declaration of intent, a promise of what was to come. She took him into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his length like a warm, velvet vice. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that made his toes curl. He felt the pressure build, his hips rising off the bed as she deep-throated him, her cheeks hollowing with each bob of her head.

Rupa's eyes were closed, lost in the moment as she worked him with a passion that was both fiery and reverent. Her hand massaged his balls, her thumb tracing the sensitive ridge beneath, adding an extra layer of ecstasy to the already mind-numbing sensations. Sharan's fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her, urging her on. The sounds of her moans and the wet, suckling noises she made filled the room, a symphony of carnality that seemed to drown out the world outside.

Her head bobbed up and down in a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and erotic. She knew just how to touch him, just how to suck him to make him moan with pleasure. It was as if she had unlocked the secrets to his soul through the intimate dance of her mouth on his cock. Each stroke of her tongue was a declaration of her love, each pull of her cheeks a silent vow of devotion. Her hand slid down to cup his ass, her nails digging into his flesh as she took him deeper, her throat constricting around him.

Sharan's eyes rolled back in his head, his hips bucking in time with her movements. He could feel his climax approaching, a wave of pleasure that threatened to drown him. Yet, even as he neared the edge, he was acutely aware of the wrongness of their act, the taboo that made it all the more exhilarating. The guilt was a dark undercurrent, a thrill that added a hint of danger to the sweetness of their shared sin.