Chapter 21: Night to remember
The heat between my legs was a persistent, throbbing memory from last night, a sweet ache that had simmered all morning as I watched Nupur pretend to work on her laptop, her posture rigid with unspoken tension. Leaving her there, I found Vishal in our bedroom, the morning light gliding over his shoulders as he scrolled through his phone. "Kya dekh rahe ho?" I purred, leaning against the doorframe, letting my silk robe fall open just enough. His eyes flicked up, and I saw the familiar darkening. "Tumhare alawa kuchh bhi nahi," he said, his voice already rough. I pushed the door shut with my foot. "Phone phek do," I commanded, my fingers already on the belt of my robe. I let it slide from my shoulders, pooling at my feet, standing bare before him in the golden light. "Aaj tumhare mooh mein lena chahti hoon, aur fir tumhe apni chut ka paani pilana chahti hoon." I stepped forward, my hands going to the waistband of his pajamas, pulling them down slowly, freeing his already hardening cock. I knelt, taking his length into my mouth without hesitation, swallowing him deep until my nose pressed into his skin, my tongue working furiously along his shaft. The taste of him, of us from last night, was intoxicating. "Kitna kadak lund hai mera pati ka," I gasped, pulling back to swirl my tongue around the head. "Aaj poori tarah nikalungi isse." From the other room, Nupur's voice, tight and strained, called out, "Didi, thoda softly, na? Main kaam kar rahi hoon." I smiled around Vishal's cock, then released him with a lewd pop. "Sun liya?" I whispered, looking up at him. "Woh randi disturb ho rahi hai." I stood up, pushing him onto the bed. "Ab tum chato," I said, straddling his face, lowering my dripping cunt onto his mouth. "Apni biwi ki chut saaf karo, jisme kal raat tumhari saali ka bhosda banane ka maza aaya tha." He groaned into me, his tongue delving deep, and I threw my head back, riding his face with abandon, moaning loudly enough for Nupur to hear. "Haan! Aise hi chato! Meri chut ka sara swaad le lo!" I cried out, grinding against his mouth.
His tongue was a relentless, welcome pressure, but I wanted his mouth on mine more. I shifted, sliding up his body in one fluid motion until my hips were over his, and then I lowered myself again, this time taking his thick cock deep into my throat in a single, practiced motion. "Ab bol," I commanded, my voice a husky rasp around his shaft as I pulled back, my lips dragging slowly along his length before plunging down again, my hand cupping and kneading his heavy balls. "Bol, Vishal. Us randi ko sunna chahiye tumhara kitna maza aa raha hai."
"Ah, saali! Teri gaal kitni garam hai," he groaned, his hands tangling in my hair, not guiding, just feeling the ownership. "Tera mooh... tera mooh mere lund ko aag laga raha hai." I swirled my tongue around the swollen head, tasting his pre-cum, salty and sharp, then took him deep again until my throat relaxed and opened, letting him hit the back. "Aur! Saaf kardi na?" he growled, his hips lifting off the bed to fuck my face shallowly. "Teri behen ka saara paani pi ke mujhe saaf kar diya, ab mera lund bhi chat!"
I released him with a wet gasp, stroking him firmly as I looked up, his cock glistening with my saliva. "Sirf chat nahi rahi," I whispered, before diving back down, letting him slide over my tongue and against the roof of my mouth, my other hand squeezing his balls gently, then rolling them in my palm. I traced the thick vein underneath with the tip of my tongue, then sucked just the head hard, my cheeks hollowing. "Teri biwi aaj tujhe wajd karwa degi," I promised, before taking him all again, my nose buried in his coarse hair, breathing him in. I hummed around him, the vibration making his thighs tense, then pulled back to lick from his balls all the way up to the tip in one long, slow, filthy stripe. "Haan, wohi... aise hi," he choked out, his voice rising as I focused on the sensitive spot just beneath the head, flicking my tongue rapidly. I moved my mouth away, spitting a long strand of saliva onto his shaft, and used my hand to mix it, sliding my fist up and down while I took his balls into my mouth, sucking each one. "Teri garmi... teri garmi mere mooh mein ghul rahi hai," I breathed against his skin before swallowing him again, deeper this time, letting my throat contract rhythmically around him as I timed my breathing through my nose. His cursing became a mantra, a rough, loud litany of filth that I knew was meant to travel through the walls. "Chus le, randi! Poori tarah andar le! Apni behen ne jo chhod diya woh bhi nikal de mere lund se!" Every flick of my tongue, every suction, every gentle scrape of my teeth was deliberate, worshipful, designed to unravel him. Heat coiled in my own belly, mirroring his building tension; my thighs were slick, and I rubbed them together, the ache a delicious counterpoint to the power in my mouth. I could feel him swelling, the pulse in his cock quickening, and I redoubled my efforts, my pace becoming frantic, my world narrowing to taste and texture and the sound of his voice shattering. "Swati... main... main nikalne wala hoon teri... teri gandi gaand jaise mooh mein!" he roared, and I took him as deep as he could go, letting him finish, my throat working.
I swallowed every pulsing jet, my throat convulsing around him until he was spent and soft. I released him with a final, slick kiss to his tip, wiping my chin with the back of my hand as I climbed up his body. I positioned my breasts around his now-sensitive cock, the full, heavy weight of them a soft, warm cage. "Abhi khatam nahi hua," I whispered, my voice ragged but firm, as I began to stroke him with my tits, sliding my slick flesh up and down his shaft. "Tera lund phir se khada karna hai, kyuki is baar tera maal in mammon par chahiye." He groaned, a mixture of overstimulation and raw desire, his hands coming up to squeeze and knead my flesh as I worked him. "Yeh hai tere liye," I breathed, leaning forward so my nipples brushed his lips. "Sirf tere liye bade kiye they, tere mooh mein dene ke liye, tera lund inke beech sahlaane ke liye." My rhythm became more insistent, the soft slapping sound of skin on skin filling the room. "Dekh, kaise khada ho raha hai fir se... meri boobs dekh kar hi paani nikalta hai tera." A low, possessive laugh escaped me. "Nupur ke chhotu chuchein dekh kar kabhi aisa hua? Kabhi uske flat, bacchon jaise mammon dekh kar tera lund itna cheerh gaya?" His cock thickened and hardened completely between my breasts, a throbbing testament. "Kahin nahi," he grunted, his hips beginning to push upward, fucking the valley I’d made for him. "Sirf teri... sirf tere liye." "Sach bata," I demanded, squeezing tighter, watching his tip emerge, glistening, at the top of each stroke. "Us randi ke chhote chuchein daboch kar soya hai kabhi? Aise?" "Kabhi nahi," he gasped, his eyes locked on where his cock disappeared into my flesh. "Bas tera... tera bada jism... teri boobs." "Toh le," I commanded, my voice dropping to a harsh, hungry whisper. "Inhi par nikal. Apni biwi ke mammon ko apne cum se bhijwa de." His back arched off the bed, a raw, guttural cry tearing from his throat as he came again, hot streaks painting my skin white. I milked him through it, my movements slowing, feeling every last spurt coat my cleavage. "Saali ki chhoti chhattiyon par aise kabhi nahi pharakta," I panted, looking down at the mess, smearing it into my skin with deliberate circles. I dipped a finger into the pool between my breasts and brought it to my mouth, tasting him again. "Chalo," I said, swinging off him, my body humming with power. "Ab usse bulate hain. Usse dikhate hain kis cheez ki kami thi."
I walked out, my skin sticky with him, and stood before Nupur in her workspace. She wouldn’t look up from her screen. “Chal,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument. Her eyes, wide and wounded like an animal’s, finally flicked to mine, then down to the gleaming mess on my chest. She understood. “Nahi, Didi, please…” she whispered, but I already had her wrist, my grip vice-like, and pulled her to her feet. I dragged her, stumbling, back to our bedroom where Vishal lay waiting, his cock already stirring again against his thigh, and pushed her into the plush armchair in the corner. “Bas yahin baith,” I commanded, pointing a stern finger. “Aankhein khol ke dekh. Dekh teri didi kaise chudti hai.” I turned to Vishal, spreading my legs wide as I stood before him, presenting my glistening, swollen cunt to his mouth. “Shuru kar,” I ordered.
He pulled me onto the bed, his mouth latching onto me with a hunger that wasn’t for pleasure alone, but for show. His first service was deep, languid laps of his broad tongue from my asshole up to my clit, a slow claiming of every inch. Then his fingers, two thick digits, plunged inside me, curling and scissoring, stretching me wide while his thumb circled my clit. “Ussi tarah,” I moaned, my head rolling back, “jitna kal uski chut mein daala tha.” He switched to sucking, his lips sealing around my entire clit, pulling it into the hot vacuum of his mouth, his tongue flicking the tip rapidly until I screamed, my first climax tearing through me, wet and shocking. “Ab dusra,” I gasped, pushing his head down further. He obeyed, his tongue now a rigid point, fucking in and out of my hole in short, brutal jabs, mimicking the act, the obscene wet sounds echoing in the quiet room. “Teri behen ki gaand mein jaise lund daalta tha, waise hi language meri chut mein daal!” I cried, and he drove his tongue deeper, lapping at my inner walls. The third was a torment of teeth, gentle scrapes along my inner lips that made me jump, followed by soothing, flat-tongued strokes. He gathered my juices on his chin and smeared them up to my navel, then licked them clean in a long, dirty stripe. Fourth: he buried his face completely, his nose grinding into my clit as his tongue probed as deep as it could go, making me buck against him, my hands fisted in his hair. “Haan, saans ghut! Ghut ke mar ja mere chut mein!” I shrieked, my second orgasm building, a coiling, unbearable pressure. Fifth, he slowed, tracing every fold with meticulous, maddening slowness, cataloging me, before blowing cool air on the slick, sensitive flesh. Sixth was pure filth: he spat onto his fingers and rubbed the cold saliva into me, then licked it all up, mixing it with his own. “Mera paani aur tera thook,” I panted, “abb is randi ki aankhon ke saamne pi ja.” Seventh, he focused solely on my asshole, his tongue circling and probing the tight rim, reminding us both of last night’s violation, while his fingers worked my cunt. Eighth, he pushed two fingers back inside me and pressed down hard on my lower belly, creating a deep, internal massage that made me see stars. “Andar tak… haan… wahi dabao!” Ninth was a rapid, consistent vibration of his tongue against my clit, unrelenting, a machine-like rhythm that disconnected my mind from my body. Tenth, as I was screaming on the brink, he stopped everything. He looked over at Nupur’s pale, frozen face, held my gaze, and then sank his mouth onto me one last time, sucking my clit between his lips and humming, the vibration shooting through my core like lightning. My final climax shattered me, a raw, screaming release that convulsed my entire body, my juices flooding his waiting mouth. He drank, greedily, noisily, until I pushed him away, spent and trembling. I turned my head, sweat dripping into my eyes, to look at my sister. “Samjhi?” I breathed, the words thick and spent. “Yeh hai woh cheez jo uss raat tune mujhse chheeni thi.
“Yeh hai woh cheez jo uss raat tune mujhse chheeni thi.” I held her tear-blurred gaze until she looked away, then turned to Vishal, running a hand along his thigh. “Utho,” I breathed, my voice husky with spent passion and fresh intent. I straddled him, my still-throbbing cunt hovering just above his re-hardened cock. From the corner of my eye, I saw Nupur’s hand shift subtly in her lap, a slow, guilty movement under the blanket of her kurta. Her face was a mask of horror and a fascination she couldn’t suppress. Her fingers pressed against the fabric, tracing a slow, hidden circle. “Dekh,” I commanded her, not moving yet, letting her see the glistening evidence of his tongue on me, the way he filled my hand. “Dekh ki teri didi apne pati ko kaise sataati hai.” I lowered myself onto him, taking him inside me in one smooth, sinking motion, a deep, full groan escaping my lips as he stretched me perfectly. “Pehla,” I moaned, beginning to roll my hips in a slow, grinding circle, letting him feel every internal ridge. “Isse kehte hain gehrai… andar tak pahuchna.” I leaned back, bracing my hands on his thighs, arching my spine to change the angle. The head of his cock dragged against a different, exquisite spot. “Doosra… kone pakadna,” I gasped, my rhythm becoming a shallow, insistent rocking designed to tease that single ridge. Nupur’s breathing hitched; her concealed hand moved faster, a desperate, secret pulse. I rose up until only his tip remained inside me, then slammed down, taking him deep with a wet slap. “Teesra… ghussa… saari hawa nikal dena,” I growled, my nails digging into his chest. Her eyes were glued to where we joined, to the slick, driving motion of my hips. I turned, presenting my back to Vishal, and guided him inside me from behind. “Chautha… gaand dikha ke chodna,” I panted, pushing back against him, taking him deeper in this position, each thrust jolting through me. I looked over my shoulder at Nupur. “Us raat teri gaand mein isi tarah ghusaya tha na?” Her face crumpled, but the frantic movement under her kurta continued. Finally, I lay on my back, pulling Vishal on top, hooking my legs high over his shoulders. “Aur paanchwa… khopdi tak le jaana,” I whispered, as he plunged, the weight of him crushing the air from my lungs, our sweat-slick skin sliding together.
He drove into that vulnerable, opened angle again, and a broken voice sliced through our grunts. “Jija… uss raat… kya mere nangi body ka soch kar choda tune didi ko?” Nupur’s question hung, toxic and sudden. Vishal’s rhythm faltered for one stroke, his eyes snapping toward the armchair. “Haan,” he grunted, slamming back into me, his gaze locked on her. “Teri chikni kamar ka soch kar.” “Uski chut… mere muqqable mein kaisi hai?” she whispered, then louder, “Meri jawan chut zaada tight hoti na?” I felt him swell inside me at her words. “Teri behen ki chut geeli hai, pani chodti hai,” he panted, pistoning harder, “par teri… teri to bilkul nayi plastic ki toy thi.” “Phir bhi didi ke mammon daboch kar maza aaya?” Her voice was a taunt now, aimed at me. “Ya fir socha tune… ki mere bade boobs hote toh?” He groaned, his pace becoming brutal, punishing me for her audacity. “Teri didi ki chut ka hisaab chukta hoon… par teri gaand ka khayal aata hai!” She moaned then, a genuine sound. “Aaj… aaj mere mooh pe baith jaao na, jija… jaise didi baithi thi?” “Teri behen ki chut mein ghuse hue… tera hi taste aata hai kya?” she cried out, her own composure shredding. “Meri kacchi kali jaisi chut se zaada maza deti hai kya yeh bhosi hui chut?” His answer was a final, snarling thrust, his release tearing through him as he shouted, “Haan! Teri chut zaada tha! Zaada!” He collapsed, spent, his confession staining the sheets between us. I lay perfectly still, his words etching themselves into the silence, her victory complete.
I lay perfectly still, his words etching themselves into the silence, her victory complete. The only sound was our ragged breathing and the rustle of fabric from Nupur’s corner. She stood, her movements jerky, and took a single step toward the bed where Vishal lay slumped beside me, his softened cock glistening against his thigh. “Jija,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Woh plastic toy… ab broken hai.” She knelt, her eyes not leaving his. “Us broken toy ko phir se khelna chaoge?” Her fingers, trembling slightly, brushed the inside of his knee. “Ya fir… uss raat ki yaad aati hai?” she murmured, leaning closer, her breath warm on his hip. “Jab meri gaand itni tight thi ki aapko paseena aagaya… woh feeling… wapas lena chaoge?” Her tongue darted out, a pink flash, and she licked a stray drop of our combined fluids from his skin. “Meri chut se zyada khoon aaya tha na?” she breathed, her lips nearly touching him. “Aaj… sirf paani niklega.” One hand crept up to cradle his balls gently. “Inme abhi bhi kitna maal hai, jija? Meri wajah se jo nikla tha… uss hisaab se toh khaali hona chahiye tha.” She took him into her mouth slowly, not to suck, just to hold the soft weight on her tongue, warming him. “Aapka lund mere gale mein itna der tha kal,” she said, pulling off with a wet sound. “Ab bas meri chut ka intezar kar raha hai kya?” Her nails traced light, maddening circles on his inner thighs. “Didi ki chut ne aapka saara josh khatam kar diya,” she taunted softly, “lekin meri gaand… aapke liye tayyar baithi hai.” She spat into her own palm, the sound crude and deliberate, and began to slowly, slowly stroke him. “Socho, jija… iss baar andar jaate hi kaise chillayegi.” Her other hand pinched her own nipple through her kurta. “Mujhse pucho… ‘Nupur, teri gaand mein lund daalun?’” Her grip tightened imperceptibly. “Mujhse please karwao.” Her rhythm was a gradual, persistent demand. “Aur fir… jab andar hoga… bolna ‘Teri didi se achhi lagti hai yeh gaand.’” She was willing him back to hardness with memories and promises, each filthy suggestion a thread pulling him from his stupor. His flesh twitched in her hand, beginning to swell and thicken under the relentless, whispered pressure of her words.