23-08-2026, 01:55 PM
At night sister came earlier than usual.
I was still sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, the courtyard conversation looping in my head like a dirty film I couldn’t shut off. Akash’s voice kept describing them — Maa’s heavy breasts and thick, used cunt, my sister’s firmer tits and the tight hole he imagined between her legs — and every repetition made my cock twitch again even though I had already come once. The shame of it sat in my stomach like warm grease. I had stroked myself while my best friend compared my mother and my sister like two different whores.
The door opened without a knock. She stepped in, locked it, and stood there for a second letting her eyes adjust. The thin grey night shirt barely reached mid-thigh. In the low light I could see the soft weight of her breasts moving under the cloth as she breathed, the faint outline of her nipples, the smooth bare skin of her thighs. She looked calm, completely in control, while I felt sticky and exposed.
She walked over and sat on the bed. Close. Her bare thigh pressed against mine from hip to knee. The heat of her skin came through instantly. I tried to shift away an inch; she simply followed the movement so the contact never broke.
“Tu alag lag raha hai,” she said quietly. “Chehra, saans, body language. Bol. Akash se kya hua?”
My throat closed. The shame rose first — hot and thick — followed immediately by another pulse of blood into my cock. She was sitting right here in that thin shirt, asking about the conversation in which her own body had been described in the filthiest way, and I was already getting hard again.
“Usne… baat ki,” I managed.
“Detailed baat ki,” she corrected. Not a question. “Main tere face pe dekh sakti hoon. Poora bol.”
Her voice stayed soft, almost gentle, which made it worse. She leaned forward a little. The neckline of the night shirt fell open. I saw the upper curve of both breasts, the soft shadow between them, the way the cloth clung to her nipples. She knew exactly where my eyes went. She did not adjust the shirt.
“Usne Maa ke baare mein kya kaha?” she asked.
I swallowed. The words tasted dirty coming out in front of her.
“Usne kaha… Aunty ka body heavy hai. Boobs bade aur soft. Gaand bhari hui. Choot used aur garam. Motel ki awaazein yaad karke bola.”
My face burned. My cock was now fully hard, pressing against my pants in a clear line. She glanced down once, saw it, and looked back at my face without any change in expression. Only her breathing slowed a little.
“Aur mere baare mein?”
The question landed like a hand around my throat. I wanted to stop. The shame was so strong it made my stomach turn, yet my cock throbbed harder with every second of silence.
“Bol,” she said, still calm. “Usne meri body ke baare mein kya socha.”
“…Usne kaha tere boobs tight hain, shape perfect hai. Shirt ke andar se pointed. Gaand round hai. Legs lambi. Choot tight hogi, kam use hui. Usne kaha woh tujhe deewar pe lagaake chodna chahta hai.”
The last sentence came out rough. I felt filthy saying it to her face. At the same time the image Akash had planted — my sister against a wall, trousers pulled down, that tight cunt taking cock — mixed with the living warmth of her thigh against mine and made my head swim. I was ashamed of how hard I was. I was ashamed that she could see it. I still could not stop the heat.
She was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stayed on mine. Then she spoke, voice lower than before.
“Usne yeh sab tere saamne kaha. Aur tu sunta raha. Lund khada karke.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The proof was right there between my legs, obvious and humiliating.
Her hand settled on my thigh, higher than before. Fingers rested just beside the hard outline of my cock, close enough that the heat of her palm made it twitch. She did not grab it. She simply left her hand there, a quiet, deliberate pressure that said she owned the moment.
“Tu mera report laata hai,” she murmured. “Mere liye useful hai. Isliye main tujhe saza nahi de rahi. Lekin yeh yaad rakh — jo bhi tu usse sunta hai, jo bhi tu sochta hai, woh sab mujhe batana. Hide mat karna. Chahe kitna ganda ho.”
Her thumb moved once, a slow stroke along the fabric near my cock, not quite touching it. The tiny contact dragged a broken breath out of me. Shame flooded up my neck and face; my cock only got harder.
She watched my reaction with perfect calm, then leaned in and pressed her mouth to the corner of my lips the same way she had before — soft, brief, deliberate. A reward and a claim at the same time. When she pulled back her eyes were dark and steady.
“Kal main usse milne wali hoon,” she said. “Tu arrange kar. Meeting ke baad poora report dena. Jo bhi usne dekha, jo bhi usne socha, jo bhi uska body reaction tha. Sab.”
She stood. The night shirt clung for a second to her breasts and the soft mound of her pussy before falling straight again. I could see the faint outline of her nipples, still slightly tight. She had been affected too, even if she controlled it better than I ever could.
At the door she paused.
“Aur haan,” she added without looking at me, “jo tu abhi feel kar raha hai — sharam aur yeh hard-on — usse aadat daal le. Aage aur aayega.”
Then she left.
I sat alone in the dark, cock aching, face burning, the taste of her mouth still on my lips and the filthy comparison still alive in my head. She had made me say every dirty word out loud, watched me stay hard through the shame, and then rewarded me just enough to keep me loyal.
I was ashamed.
I was still throbbing.
And she had made sure those two things would stay locked together from now on.
I was still sitting on the edge of the bed in the dark, the courtyard conversation looping in my head like a dirty film I couldn’t shut off. Akash’s voice kept describing them — Maa’s heavy breasts and thick, used cunt, my sister’s firmer tits and the tight hole he imagined between her legs — and every repetition made my cock twitch again even though I had already come once. The shame of it sat in my stomach like warm grease. I had stroked myself while my best friend compared my mother and my sister like two different whores.
The door opened without a knock. She stepped in, locked it, and stood there for a second letting her eyes adjust. The thin grey night shirt barely reached mid-thigh. In the low light I could see the soft weight of her breasts moving under the cloth as she breathed, the faint outline of her nipples, the smooth bare skin of her thighs. She looked calm, completely in control, while I felt sticky and exposed.
She walked over and sat on the bed. Close. Her bare thigh pressed against mine from hip to knee. The heat of her skin came through instantly. I tried to shift away an inch; she simply followed the movement so the contact never broke.
“Tu alag lag raha hai,” she said quietly. “Chehra, saans, body language. Bol. Akash se kya hua?”
My throat closed. The shame rose first — hot and thick — followed immediately by another pulse of blood into my cock. She was sitting right here in that thin shirt, asking about the conversation in which her own body had been described in the filthiest way, and I was already getting hard again.
“Usne… baat ki,” I managed.
“Detailed baat ki,” she corrected. Not a question. “Main tere face pe dekh sakti hoon. Poora bol.”
Her voice stayed soft, almost gentle, which made it worse. She leaned forward a little. The neckline of the night shirt fell open. I saw the upper curve of both breasts, the soft shadow between them, the way the cloth clung to her nipples. She knew exactly where my eyes went. She did not adjust the shirt.
“Usne Maa ke baare mein kya kaha?” she asked.
I swallowed. The words tasted dirty coming out in front of her.
“Usne kaha… Aunty ka body heavy hai. Boobs bade aur soft. Gaand bhari hui. Choot used aur garam. Motel ki awaazein yaad karke bola.”
My face burned. My cock was now fully hard, pressing against my pants in a clear line. She glanced down once, saw it, and looked back at my face without any change in expression. Only her breathing slowed a little.
“Aur mere baare mein?”
The question landed like a hand around my throat. I wanted to stop. The shame was so strong it made my stomach turn, yet my cock throbbed harder with every second of silence.
“Bol,” she said, still calm. “Usne meri body ke baare mein kya socha.”
“…Usne kaha tere boobs tight hain, shape perfect hai. Shirt ke andar se pointed. Gaand round hai. Legs lambi. Choot tight hogi, kam use hui. Usne kaha woh tujhe deewar pe lagaake chodna chahta hai.”
The last sentence came out rough. I felt filthy saying it to her face. At the same time the image Akash had planted — my sister against a wall, trousers pulled down, that tight cunt taking cock — mixed with the living warmth of her thigh against mine and made my head swim. I was ashamed of how hard I was. I was ashamed that she could see it. I still could not stop the heat.
She was quiet for a long moment. Her eyes stayed on mine. Then she spoke, voice lower than before.
“Usne yeh sab tere saamne kaha. Aur tu sunta raha. Lund khada karke.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The proof was right there between my legs, obvious and humiliating.
Her hand settled on my thigh, higher than before. Fingers rested just beside the hard outline of my cock, close enough that the heat of her palm made it twitch. She did not grab it. She simply left her hand there, a quiet, deliberate pressure that said she owned the moment.
“Tu mera report laata hai,” she murmured. “Mere liye useful hai. Isliye main tujhe saza nahi de rahi. Lekin yeh yaad rakh — jo bhi tu usse sunta hai, jo bhi tu sochta hai, woh sab mujhe batana. Hide mat karna. Chahe kitna ganda ho.”
Her thumb moved once, a slow stroke along the fabric near my cock, not quite touching it. The tiny contact dragged a broken breath out of me. Shame flooded up my neck and face; my cock only got harder.
She watched my reaction with perfect calm, then leaned in and pressed her mouth to the corner of my lips the same way she had before — soft, brief, deliberate. A reward and a claim at the same time. When she pulled back her eyes were dark and steady.
“Kal main usse milne wali hoon,” she said. “Tu arrange kar. Meeting ke baad poora report dena. Jo bhi usne dekha, jo bhi usne socha, jo bhi uska body reaction tha. Sab.”
She stood. The night shirt clung for a second to her breasts and the soft mound of her pussy before falling straight again. I could see the faint outline of her nipples, still slightly tight. She had been affected too, even if she controlled it better than I ever could.
At the door she paused.
“Aur haan,” she added without looking at me, “jo tu abhi feel kar raha hai — sharam aur yeh hard-on — usse aadat daal le. Aage aur aayega.”
Then she left.
I sat alone in the dark, cock aching, face burning, the taste of her mouth still on my lips and the filthy comparison still alive in my head. She had made me say every dirty word out loud, watched me stay hard through the shame, and then rewarded me just enough to keep me loyal.
I was ashamed.
I was still throbbing.
And she had made sure those two things would stay locked together from now on.
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