Rekha was the kind of woman who made men forget their own names.
At 29 years old, she was the perfect Indian Bhabhi — fair skin, long black wavy hair that reached her lower back, full breasts that strained against every blouse she wore, and wide, curvy hips that swayed hypnotically when she walked. She had been married to my elder brother, Rajesh, for six years. They lived with us in our big joint family house in Bangalore.
I was Arun, 24 years old, the younger Devar. I had been secretly in love with Rekha Bhabhi since the day she entered our house as a bride.
It started innocently. I would steal glances at her while she cooked in the kitchen wearing her saree. The way the pallu would slip off her shoulder, revealing her deep cleavage… the way her blouse stretched tight across her heavy breasts… I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
One hot afternoon in May, the entire family had gone to a relative’s wedding in Mysore. Only Rekha Bhabhi and I were left at home because I had college exams and she wasn’t feeling well.
The house was completely empty and silent.
I was in my room studying when I heard her call from the kitchen.
“Arun… can you come help me?”
I walked into the kitchen and froze.
Rekha Bhabhi was standing on her toes trying to reach a packet on the top shelf. Her creamy waist was completely exposed. The saree had slipped dangerously low on her hips, and her deep navel was clearly visible. A thin line of sweat ran down her back.
“Bhabhi… let me help,” I said, my voice suddenly dry.
I stepped behind her and easily grabbed the packet. My chest lightly brushed against her back. She didn’t move away.
For a few seconds we stayed like that — my body pressed against hers. I could smell her jasmine hair oil and the faint scent of her sweat.
She turned around slowly. Our faces were only inches apart.
“Arun…” she whispered, her breathing heavy. “You’ve grown so tall… and strong.”
Her eyes dropped to my chest, then lower. I was only wearing shorts and my erection was impossible to hide.
I don’t know who moved first, but suddenly her soft lips were on mine.
The kiss started gentle but quickly became hungry. Her tongue entered my mouth as she moaned softly. My hands moved on their own — one sliding down to squeeze her round ass through the saree, the other cupping one of her massive breasts.
“Mmhh… Arun… we shouldn’t…” she whispered even as she pressed her body harder against me.
“I’ve wanted you for so long, Bhabhi,” I confessed, kissing her neck.
She pulled back, breathing heavily, her lips swollen. Her eyes were dark with lust.
“Then take me, Devarji… but we have to be very careful.”
That afternoon changed everything.
Rekha Bhabhi took my hand and led me to her bedroom — the same bedroom she shared with my brother. She closed the door and slowly untied her saree. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in just a tight red blouse and black petticoat.
Her breasts looked enormous in that blouse. I could see her nipples were already hard.
I pulled her close and kissed her again, this time roughly. I unhooked her blouse with trembling fingers. Her heavy breasts spilled out — big, soft, with dark brown nipples. I latched onto one like a hungry man, sucking hard while squeezing the other.
“Ahhh… Arun… yes… suck harder,” she moaned, running her fingers through my hair.
I pushed her onto the bed and removed her petticoat. She wasn’t wearing any panties. Her pussy was shaved smooth and already glistening with wetness.
I buried my face between her thick thighs and licked her like a man possessed. Rekha Bhabhi writhed and moaned loudly, her hips grinding against my tongue.
“Devarji… oh god… you’re so much better than your brother…”
Those words made me even harder.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I took off my shorts and climbed on top of her. My cock was throbbing painfully.
Rekha Bhabhi looked down, eyes wide. “It’s so big… much bigger than Rajesh.”
She guided my cock to her wet entrance. I pushed inside her slowly, inch by inch, until I was buried completely in my own Bhabhi’s pussy.
We both moaned loudly.
I started fucking her — slow and deep at first, then harder. The sound of my balls slapping against her ass filled the room. Rekha wrapped her legs around me, her nails digging into my back.
“Fuck me, Arun… fuck your Bhabhi… harder!”
I pounded her mercilessly. Her big breasts bounced with every thrust. I sucked on them while fucking her, leaving red marks.
She came first — her pussy clenching around my cock as she screamed my name. I followed soon after, flooding her womb with thick ropes of cum.
We lay there panting, my cock still inside her.
That was just the beginning.
Over the next few months our secret affair became intense.
We fucked everywhere in the house when everyone was away — in the kitchen while she was cooking, in the bathroom while she was bathing, even on the terrace at night.
Rekha Bhabhi became addicted. She started wearing sexier sarees and blouses just for me. She would send me naughty pictures when my brother was in the same room — lifting her saree to show me she wasn’t wearing panties, or squeezing her breasts for the camera.
One risky evening, while the whole family was watching TV in the hall, Rekha Bhabhi made me sit next to her on the sofa. She covered both our laps with a blanket and slowly stroked my cock under it while talking normally with my mother. I came in her hand and she licked it clean later in the kitchen.
The most dangerous time was when my brother was away on a business trip for a week.
Rekha Bhabhi became completely shameless.
She made me sleep in her bedroom every night. She would wear nothing but my favorite red saree, tied very low, and ride me for hours. One night she even made me fuck her in the same bed where she slept with my brother.
“Cum inside me, Arun,” she begged while bouncing on my cock. “Fill your Bhabhi’s pussy. I want to feel your cum when your brother comes back.”
I filled her multiple times that week.
On the last night before my brother returned, she did something that shocked me.
She got on all fours on their marital bed, pulled her ass cheeks apart and said:
“Take my ass tonight, Devarji… I want you to own every hole.”
I lubed my cock with coconut oil and slowly pushed into her tight asshole. Rekha Bhabhi moaned like a whore as I fucked her ass deep and hard. When I came, I filled her ass with so much cum it leaked out for minutes.
Six months into our affair, things became even riskier.
Rekha Bhabhi started talking about getting pregnant.
“I want your baby, Arun… not his,” she whispered one night while I was deep inside her.
The thought was terrifying… and extremely arousing.
We started taking bigger risks. She would suck my cock in the car while I drove. She let me fuck her in the storeroom while the entire family was having dinner just ten feet away.
One afternoon she called me to the bathroom while she was bathing.
I entered and saw her standing under the shower, water running down her naked body. She pulled me in fully clothed and made me fuck her against the wall. We came together as water poured over us.
The story reached its peak during Diwali.
The entire family had gone to the temple for evening prayers. Rekha Bhabhi said she had a headache and stayed back. I stayed with her.
As soon as everyone left, she attacked me.
She was wearing a sheer red saree with a backless blouse. No bra. No panties.
She pushed me onto the sofa in the living room — the same sofa where the whole family sits — and climbed on top of me. She rode me like a wild woman, her big breasts bouncing, moaning loudly without fear.
“Fuck me, Devar… fuck your Bhabhi in the middle of the house… make me yours!”
I flipped her over and fucked her hard in doggy style, spanking her round ass red. She came twice before I filled her pussy again.
We barely finished cleaning up when the family returned.
