02-10-2026, 05:16 PM
EPISODE 4-A Dangerous Audacity
The taste of myself lingers on my tongue as I slide off Bikram’s lap, my legs still shaky. He watches me with a satisfied smirk, one hand resting on his thigh, the other reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.
“That was just the beginning,” he says, his voice low and rough. “We have the whole day.”
I nod, my heart racing. The thought of more—more of his hands, his mouth, his fingers—sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I pick up the broom and set it aside, then settle onto the sofa beside him, my thigh pressing against his. He doesn’t pull away.
For the next few hours, we lose ourselves in each other. He pulls me onto his lap again, fingers finding their way under my skirt, stroking my wet folds, sliding inside me with slow, deliberate thrusts. I come twice more before the clock strikes two, each orgasm louder than the last, my cries muffled against his shoulder. The house is empty, the strike keeping the streets quiet, and I let myself be utterly wanton.
But then my phone buzzes. I ignore it the first time. The second time, Bikram glances at the screen. “Rohan,” he says, his hand stilling inside me.
I grab the phone, my breath catching. The message is short: “Meeting ended early. Coming home in an hour.”
My heart sinks. An hour. That’s all we have left. I look at Bikram, my lips forming an apology, but he just shrugs, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll have more time.”
I nod, but disappointment coils in my chest. I pull my skirt down, straighten my top, and try to compose myself before Rohan walks through the door.
Dinner that evening is a quiet affair. Rohan sits in the living room, watching some news channel, while I set the table. Bikram is already seated, his eyes following me as I move. I bring the dishes—rice, dal, sabzi—and place them in front of him. As I lean over to set down his plate, his hand shoots out, cupping my left breast through my thin kurta. I freeze, my eyes darting to Rohan. He’s engrossed in the TV, oblivious.
“Bikram,” I whisper, my voice strained. “Not now.”
But his thumb finds my nipple, rolling it gently, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through me. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. He squeezes once, firmly, then releases me, his expression utterly nonchalant as he picks up his spoon.
My heart pounds through the rest of the meal. Every time I pass him to serve more food, I feel his gaze on my hips, my ass. The risk of being caught, the thrill of being touched so boldly while my brother sits just a few feet away—it makes my skin tingle, my thighs clench under the table.
After dinner, I retreat to the kitchen to wash the utensils. The water runs cold over my hands, but my body still burns. I hear footsteps behind me, and then Bikram’s chest presses against my back, his arms caging me against the sink.
“You liked that,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath warm. “Didn’t you?”
I don’t answer, but my body does—leaning back into him, my ass pressing against his hardening bulge. His hands slide around my waist, up to my breasts, cupping them through the fabric. He squeezes, kneads, his fingers finding my nipples again.
“Bikram, please,” I gasp. “Rohan is just in the next room. He could come in any second.”
“Then let him,” he growls, his lips brushing my neck. “Let him see how his little sister is being enjoyed.”
I shake my head, panic and arousal warring inside me. “No. Not here. Not now. Please.”
He holds me for a long moment, his hands firm on my breasts, then relents. He steps back, but his eyes are dark, demanding. “Then tomorrow morning. Bring me tea. Before your brother wakes up.”
I nod, my breath shaky. “I will. Six in the morning.”
He smiles, a slow, predatory curl of his lips. “Good. And wear that short skirt again. Nothing underneath.”
He leaves me trembling at the sink, water still running, my body aching for more. I know I should stop this, but the stolen touches, the risk, the submission—specially controlled by a person who have been working for us being paid by my own brother.....it all feels too good to resist. Tomorrow morning will come soon enough. And I’ll be ready.
The taste of myself lingers on my tongue as I slide off Bikram’s lap, my legs still shaky. He watches me with a satisfied smirk, one hand resting on his thigh, the other reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face.
“That was just the beginning,” he says, his voice low and rough. “We have the whole day.”
I nod, my heart racing. The thought of more—more of his hands, his mouth, his fingers—sends a fresh wave of heat through me. I pick up the broom and set it aside, then settle onto the sofa beside him, my thigh pressing against his. He doesn’t pull away.
For the next few hours, we lose ourselves in each other. He pulls me onto his lap again, fingers finding their way under my skirt, stroking my wet folds, sliding inside me with slow, deliberate thrusts. I come twice more before the clock strikes two, each orgasm louder than the last, my cries muffled against his shoulder. The house is empty, the strike keeping the streets quiet, and I let myself be utterly wanton.
But then my phone buzzes. I ignore it the first time. The second time, Bikram glances at the screen. “Rohan,” he says, his hand stilling inside me.
I grab the phone, my breath catching. The message is short: “Meeting ended early. Coming home in an hour.”
My heart sinks. An hour. That’s all we have left. I look at Bikram, my lips forming an apology, but he just shrugs, pulling his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean.
“Tomorrow,” he says. “We’ll have more time.”
I nod, but disappointment coils in my chest. I pull my skirt down, straighten my top, and try to compose myself before Rohan walks through the door.
Dinner that evening is a quiet affair. Rohan sits in the living room, watching some news channel, while I set the table. Bikram is already seated, his eyes following me as I move. I bring the dishes—rice, dal, sabzi—and place them in front of him. As I lean over to set down his plate, his hand shoots out, cupping my left breast through my thin kurta. I freeze, my eyes darting to Rohan. He’s engrossed in the TV, oblivious.
“Bikram,” I whisper, my voice strained. “Not now.”
But his thumb finds my nipple, rolling it gently, and a bolt of pleasure shoots through me. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. He squeezes once, firmly, then releases me, his expression utterly nonchalant as he picks up his spoon.
My heart pounds through the rest of the meal. Every time I pass him to serve more food, I feel his gaze on my hips, my ass. The risk of being caught, the thrill of being touched so boldly while my brother sits just a few feet away—it makes my skin tingle, my thighs clench under the table.
After dinner, I retreat to the kitchen to wash the utensils. The water runs cold over my hands, but my body still burns. I hear footsteps behind me, and then Bikram’s chest presses against my back, his arms caging me against the sink.
“You liked that,” he murmurs into my ear, his breath warm. “Didn’t you?”
I don’t answer, but my body does—leaning back into him, my ass pressing against his hardening bulge. His hands slide around my waist, up to my breasts, cupping them through the fabric. He squeezes, kneads, his fingers finding my nipples again.
“Bikram, please,” I gasp. “Rohan is just in the next room. He could come in any second.”
“Then let him,” he growls, his lips brushing my neck. “Let him see how his little sister is being enjoyed.”
I shake my head, panic and arousal warring inside me. “No. Not here. Not now. Please.”
He holds me for a long moment, his hands firm on my breasts, then relents. He steps back, but his eyes are dark, demanding. “Then tomorrow morning. Bring me tea. Before your brother wakes up.”
I nod, my breath shaky. “I will. Six in the morning.”
He smiles, a slow, predatory curl of his lips. “Good. And wear that short skirt again. Nothing underneath.”
He leaves me trembling at the sink, water still running, my body aching for more. I know I should stop this, but the stolen touches, the risk, the submission—specially controlled by a person who have been working for us being paid by my own brother.....it all feels too good to resist. Tomorrow morning will come soon enough. And I’ll be ready.
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