27-02-2025, 09:24 AM
(This post was last modified: 06-03-2025, 12:13 AM by story_reeder. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
A proper middle-class Indian family, mummy-papa both slogging away at their 9-to-5 jobs, leaving the house buzzing with the drama of their two kids—Arpita, the elder beti, and Rupesh, the shy, lanky bhai. Now, Arpita, oh bhai, she’s the full-on heroine material! At 25, she’s married off and settled in Bangalore, playing the perfect housewife with her husband and their little two-year-old munchkin, Yuvan. Meanwhile, Rupesh, the 20-year-old college lad, is still chilling at home in Mangalore with mummy-papa, all athletic and fair-skinned, standing tall at 5ft 9in, but so introverted he’d rather talk to his textbooks than the neighborhood lassies.
Now, let’s zoom into Arpita, because, arre wah, she’s a total stunner! Back in her college days, this girl was slaying beauty pageants left, right, and center—fair skin glowing like a Diwali diya, and a figure so perfect you’d think she walked straight out of a Bollywood song. 32D-28-32, 5ft 8in tall, and those firm, jaw-dropping boobs that don’t even know the meaning of sag—seriously, they could wake up a coma patient, so perky and gorgeous they were! Even now, after popping out little Yuvan, she looks like she’s never seen a stretch mark in her life. Rupesh, on the other hand, is no slouch either—fair, fit, and decently handsome—but the poor chap’s too busy blushing to chat up any college girls.
So, the plot thickens, boss! Arpita’s husband jets off abroad for some fancy office trip, leaving her and Yuvan to pack their bags and head to the parents’ house in Mangalore for a few months. The setup at home is classic desi—mummy-papa’s room on the ground floor, Arpita crashing in her old first-floor bedroom, and Rupesh holed up in his tiny terrace den with an attached loo. The parents are out from 9 AM to 7 PM, sweating it out at work, so the house becomes a playground for Arpita, Yuvan, and Rupesh.
First day, Arpita struts in wearing a navy blue saree with a matching blouse—oh my God, the way that color popped against her milky skin, she looked like a bloody apsara! And Rupesh? The minute he laid eyes on her, his jaw hit the floor. That blouse hugging her plump, juicy boobs was like a magnet for his sneaky glances. The saree was dbangd so casually, it was practically teasing him—half covering, half revealing those curves. Rupesh, you see, has always been a boob-man, and his didi’s assets were driving him mental!
Arpita, oblivious to all this, was just thrilled to be back home, catching up with mummy-papa and even complimenting Rupesh’s green-white striped tee like a good behen. But at home, she’s all chill—ditching the saree for comfy tees, which only made it worse for Rupesh. Every time she leaned over or brushed past him, those luscious boobs jiggling under the fabric sent his hormones into overdrive. He’d steal glances like a pro thief, heart thumping louder than a dhol at a wedding.
Days rolled by, and the routine kicked in. Rupesh, back from college by 2 PM, would play with little Yuvan—tossing balls, running around—while Arpita joined in, laughing and carefree. After 5 PM, they’d hit the nearby park, Yuvan giggling away as Rupesh proved he’s a natural with kids. Arpita couldn’t help but notice how her bhai was ten times better with Yuvan than her husband ever was. She’d watch them bond, her heart swelling with pride, totally unaware of the lust brewing in Rupesh’s head.
Then came the day, Arpita had just returned from meeting her gal-pals, rocking a pink saree that made her fair skin glow like a bloody supernova. Rupesh couldn’t peel his eyes off her—those firm boobs, perfectly outlined by the pink blouse, were screaming for attention. They were playing “Catch Me If You Can” in the living room, Yuvan squealing as Rupesh chased Arpita around the sofa. She’s darting, giggling, turning her head to taunt him, when—bam!—her foot slams into the tea table. Down she goes, crashing onto the sofa, flat on her back, and Rupesh, hot on her heels, tumbles right on top of her!
Oh ho, what a scene, bhai! Their bodies smashed together—Rupesh’s chest pressing against her soft, heavenly boobs, her warmth seeping into him. For a split second, time froze, and his dirty mind exploded with fireworks. She laughed it off, thinking it’s just sibling silliness, but Rupesh? He was a goner—his brain flooded with spicy, erotic thoughts, his eyes glued to her blouse like a hawk. That pink fabric stretched over her non-sagging treasures was pure torture for him; he couldn’t look away if his life depended on it.
The game went on, but now Arpita clocked him staring. Her pallu had slipped during the chase, leaving her pink blouse—and those killer curves—on full display. Rupesh, lost in his lust, wasn’t even subtle anymore, gawking openly like a roadside Romeo. Arpita caught the vibe, and her smile vanished. She felt a pang of unease, her gut twisting—how could her own bhai look at her like that? Without a word, she bolted from the game, storming off to her room, leaving Rupesh standing there, still half-dazed by the forbidden heat of the moment.
Now, let’s zoom into Arpita, because, arre wah, she’s a total stunner! Back in her college days, this girl was slaying beauty pageants left, right, and center—fair skin glowing like a Diwali diya, and a figure so perfect you’d think she walked straight out of a Bollywood song. 32D-28-32, 5ft 8in tall, and those firm, jaw-dropping boobs that don’t even know the meaning of sag—seriously, they could wake up a coma patient, so perky and gorgeous they were! Even now, after popping out little Yuvan, she looks like she’s never seen a stretch mark in her life. Rupesh, on the other hand, is no slouch either—fair, fit, and decently handsome—but the poor chap’s too busy blushing to chat up any college girls.
So, the plot thickens, boss! Arpita’s husband jets off abroad for some fancy office trip, leaving her and Yuvan to pack their bags and head to the parents’ house in Mangalore for a few months. The setup at home is classic desi—mummy-papa’s room on the ground floor, Arpita crashing in her old first-floor bedroom, and Rupesh holed up in his tiny terrace den with an attached loo. The parents are out from 9 AM to 7 PM, sweating it out at work, so the house becomes a playground for Arpita, Yuvan, and Rupesh.
First day, Arpita struts in wearing a navy blue saree with a matching blouse—oh my God, the way that color popped against her milky skin, she looked like a bloody apsara! And Rupesh? The minute he laid eyes on her, his jaw hit the floor. That blouse hugging her plump, juicy boobs was like a magnet for his sneaky glances. The saree was dbangd so casually, it was practically teasing him—half covering, half revealing those curves. Rupesh, you see, has always been a boob-man, and his didi’s assets were driving him mental!
Arpita, oblivious to all this, was just thrilled to be back home, catching up with mummy-papa and even complimenting Rupesh’s green-white striped tee like a good behen. But at home, she’s all chill—ditching the saree for comfy tees, which only made it worse for Rupesh. Every time she leaned over or brushed past him, those luscious boobs jiggling under the fabric sent his hormones into overdrive. He’d steal glances like a pro thief, heart thumping louder than a dhol at a wedding.
Days rolled by, and the routine kicked in. Rupesh, back from college by 2 PM, would play with little Yuvan—tossing balls, running around—while Arpita joined in, laughing and carefree. After 5 PM, they’d hit the nearby park, Yuvan giggling away as Rupesh proved he’s a natural with kids. Arpita couldn’t help but notice how her bhai was ten times better with Yuvan than her husband ever was. She’d watch them bond, her heart swelling with pride, totally unaware of the lust brewing in Rupesh’s head.
Then came the day, Arpita had just returned from meeting her gal-pals, rocking a pink saree that made her fair skin glow like a bloody supernova. Rupesh couldn’t peel his eyes off her—those firm boobs, perfectly outlined by the pink blouse, were screaming for attention. They were playing “Catch Me If You Can” in the living room, Yuvan squealing as Rupesh chased Arpita around the sofa. She’s darting, giggling, turning her head to taunt him, when—bam!—her foot slams into the tea table. Down she goes, crashing onto the sofa, flat on her back, and Rupesh, hot on her heels, tumbles right on top of her!
Oh ho, what a scene, bhai! Their bodies smashed together—Rupesh’s chest pressing against her soft, heavenly boobs, her warmth seeping into him. For a split second, time froze, and his dirty mind exploded with fireworks. She laughed it off, thinking it’s just sibling silliness, but Rupesh? He was a goner—his brain flooded with spicy, erotic thoughts, his eyes glued to her blouse like a hawk. That pink fabric stretched over her non-sagging treasures was pure torture for him; he couldn’t look away if his life depended on it.
The game went on, but now Arpita clocked him staring. Her pallu had slipped during the chase, leaving her pink blouse—and those killer curves—on full display. Rupesh, lost in his lust, wasn’t even subtle anymore, gawking openly like a roadside Romeo. Arpita caught the vibe, and her smile vanished. She felt a pang of unease, her gut twisting—how could her own bhai look at her like that? Without a word, she bolted from the game, storming off to her room, leaving Rupesh standing there, still half-dazed by the forbidden heat of the moment.
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