The love of a sister – Part 6

We had slept in each other’s arms for around two hours. After spraying out copious amounts of our bodily juices, we needed this for recovery. I opened my eyes to see my kid brother’s eyes gazing at my face with immense admiration and satisfaction.

“What are you looking at so intently?” I asked, knowing the answer. Yet I wanted to hear it again. Genuine compliments from a man are like flower bouquets for a woman.

“Didi, you look so much more beautiful when you sleep on my chest without any worries. Ah, your eyelids with those natural eyelashes. I feel like I am with the most beautiful woman on this planet.”

“Jotto shob gul. Je magikei chudish takei ei dialogue dish mone hoy. Tor moton handsome mal ke Bengaluru sohorer magira chere kotha bolbe? Ar tui oder agrajyo kore puro tin mash na chude thakte parish?”

(All lies. You must have given these dialogues to whomever you’ve fucked. Can the sluts of Bengaluru left alone a handsome hunk like you? I don’t believe you’ve abstained for three months.)

“Bishash kor Didi jobe theke toke chudechi ar kono meyer dike chokh jay na. Janina tor gud e bara diye oshojyo sukh, naki tor marattok choshon, naki tor soundorjyo, ami bodhoy tor preme habdubu khachchi.”

(Trust me, Didi, except for one accident, I’ve even stopped looking at girls since the day I’ve fucked you. I don’t know whether your pussy feels damn good, or your incomparable sucking, or your beauty. I think I’m head over heels in love with you.)

My heart filled up with a deluge of emotions, but I chose to underplay it. “E ma loke shunle bolbe ki? Nijer mayer peter didir sathe prem? Se amake chude shob sukh ne na, tai bole prem?”

(What will the world say if they get to know about this? Falling in love with your elder sister born from the same womb as you? You can get all the pleasure by fucking me, but falling in love?)

He drew my face with his manly, strong arm and planted a passionate kiss on my lips. Looking deep into my eyes, he spoke with intense earnestness, “I love you, Didi.”

I kissed him back with equal intensity and told him my feelings. “Sotyi bolte ki tor moto poritripti amake kono purush dite pareni. Jobe theke tor bara gud e niyechi, sudhu tokei kamona kori. Mone hoy toke emon sukh di ja toke duniyar meye dite parbe na. Bhai re amio ki tor preme por gechi naki?”

(To be honest, no man has gratified me like you. Since the day I had your cock in my pussy, I crave for you only. I feel like giving you extreme pleasure, which no other girl ever can. Oh bro, have I fallen in love with you?)

“Yes, Didi, you have. We’re lovers now.”

“Erokom bolish na chup kor bhai.” (Bro, don’t speak like that.)

A feminine coyness crept up in me, and I hid my face in his hairy chest, with my face blushing like a teenager. We kept on petting each other and whispering sweet nothings as we reconstructed that historic Bhai Phonta (BhaiDuj) day that changed everything.

Instead of as we recollected, I will give a first-person narrative so as to maintain continuity.

The sexual tension between us had escalated to an extreme level. We were eagerly awaiting a signal from each other, mentally and physically, to pounce on each other. It was Bhai Phonta day, yet my lust overpowered my sisterly self. I had to make him totally blind with lust so that he could make a move.

For over a week, I had given a decent cleavage show. I had seen him roaming around in boxers without underwear. Was he showing it on purpose? I reasoned that he was used to my bare thighs and legs as, at home, I usually wear short pants.

If he viewed me as a sexual object, I needed to make him wilder, lose all control and grab me fiercely. How much I wanted to be taken by him in a primitive caveman style. I reasoned that there is one displayable part of my body he hasn’t got a view of properly. My sexy abdomen and my navel.

I did wear a saree for the office but without exposing those provocatively. The seven hundred years of Mughal rule and subsequent prude Victorian British rule had ruined the natural dressing of Indian women. The Mughals brought the veils/ghunghat culture, and the British reinforced it.

Yet the exposure of the navel and stomach, especially in a saree, was never frowned upon by Indian society. I finalised the attire for the day. First was the heavy deep neck, sleeveless scanty blouse, which exposed my boobs and shaven armpits gloriously.

Then, I chose my highly erotic translucent chiffon saree. It would act as an ineffective curtain to my bodily assets. I expected my kid brother to get a good view of my navel and stomach when he would be bending down to touch my feet for blessings after administering the tilak on his forehead.

When he saw me in that attire, he found it difficult to conceal his admiration. “Wow, Didi, are you going to some party later on?” I gloated from inside as his jaws had literally dropped, and his eyes glistened with unmistakable lust.

I replied most casually, though. “Keno re party keno jabo? Aj Bhai Phonta na. Toke bhalomondo redhe khwabo, tor thee upohar nebo, tor sathe saradin katabo.” (Why should I go out on a Bhai Phonta day? I will cook your favourite items and spend the whole day with you.)

“Amar sathe saradin! Na mane ajker saj onyorokom to tai vabchilam kono date ba party jabi hoyto.” (Whole day with me! You have dressed up as if you’re going to a party or on a date.)

“Onnyorokom bolte ki bolte chash? Sareei to porechi.” (What do you exactly mean by different? It’s just a saree.” I was enjoying the way things had started.

“Yes, it’s a saree, but you look different.” I could feel that he was trying to say ‘sexy’ but could not muster the courage to say so. I decided to push the gear. This waiting game was becoming torturous.

“Different? Now, don’t say I look like a model or something like that.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to say. Didi, you’re looking like a hot model.”

I feigned an artificial ignorance while I gloated from inside. “Babah, hot model! Oto na tyalalo cholbe, na tel dileo bhalo khabar pabi ar gift to toke ditei hobe.” (You need not flatter me for good food, and don’t think I’ll excuse the gift from you.) Then I shifted to fifth gear.

“Khatirer thalay abar sexy model bolbi naki vabchish?” (Are you thinking of flattering further by calling me a sexy model?)

My heart beat loud and fast, wondering whether it would ruin everything, but fortune favours the brave.

“Sottyi bolte ki, toke dekhachche sexy bote. Ei saje baire gele sob chele pule pagol hoye jabe.” (To be honest, you’re looking sexy indeed. If you go out in this attire, all the guys will go mad.)

It was immensely pleasing to hear the word ‘sexy’ from his mouth, but I spoke calmly. “Thak bapu tahle ar baire giye cheleder pagal kore labh nei. Ay, toke Phonta di.” (Then there’s no use going outside and driving the guys mad. Come, let me give you the tilak.)

In my heart, I was saying to myself, “All I need is for you to go mad, and it appears the medicine is working well.”

At this juncture, it will be more relishing if I depict the actual conversation we had to convey the unsaid feelings between us.

Hrik exclaimed as he fondled my boobs. “So you wore it for me. You were out to seduce me?”

“Absolutely. Tor mukh choher obosta dekhe mone hochillo tui bejay heat kheye gechish.” (From the looks on your face, I could tell you were feeling the heat.)

“Heat mane heat. Didi bhaggyish ami pyjama Punjabi porechilam tao long. Na hole dekhtish pajamar tolay ekta Qutub minar dariye ache.”

(I can’t explain why you literally sizzled my mind and body. Didi, thank God I wore the traditional pyjama and long kurta. Otherwise, you would have found a Qutub Minar in my pyjamas.)

“Aha re, ki chagranitai na kheyechilish. Ta amar kon byaparta toke sob theke beshi chagrechilo bolto?” (You must have felt the heat really bad. What turned you on the most?) I was eager to know whether my plans had worked right that day. The gentle fondling of my boobs felt more soothing.

“Uff patla chiffon saree modhdhe tor oi bra fathano thasha dodo, tor chokchoke kamano bogol ar tor cherry lipstick. Ha sedin tui chultao khola rekhechilish. Sob miliye toke jeno kono swarger opsora lagchilo. Tao Vishamitra munir moton Menaka ke dekheyo prathomik niyontron rakhte perechilam.”

(Your bra-bursting boobs were clearly visible through your chiffon saree. The clean-shaven armpits, the cherry shade lipstick. You had also let down your hair. Overall, you were a stunning nymph from the heavens. I was like sage Vishwamitra trying to exercise restraint on seeing Menaka.)

“Tui ki tokhoni thik kore felli je aj amake chudei charbi?” (Did you decide to fuck me that day at that very point?” I was inquisitive to know what broke his restraint.

“Thik tokhuni noy karon tui amake Bhai Phnta te boshali. Phontar seshe amar sob sonjom bhenge gelo. Emon kichu dekhlam jar por kono purush ar nijeke dhore rakhte pare na. Thik kore fellam ei dainik nirjatan ar sojjyo korbo na. Aj toke je vabei hok chudboi chudbo.”

(Not at that point, as we sat down for the rituals. After the rituals, I saw something which would shatter all control of any man. I decided to get enough of the daily torture. I will fuck you today, by all means.)

I let out a victorious smile. “Jak amar porikolpona kaj korechilo. Tui ki amar pet ar nabhi dekhe lagam chara hoyegechili?” (Seems my plan worked. Did my stomach and navel make you a reinless horse?)

“Ekdum thik dorechish. Tui uthe darali ar ami tor pa chuye pronam kolam. Mukhta unchu kortei seki ashirvad pelam. Offff tor pet ar nabhi amar chokh mukf theke thik ek inchi dure. Saree tae eto niche porechilish jeno tor gud er beditai dekha jachchilo. Bishash korbi na Didi amar shara deho mon chaityannye jeno kamer jowar boilo. Pajamar bhitore dhon ta emon kore lafalo bhoy holo khulei na pore jay.”

(You’ve guessed right. You stood up, and I bent down to touch your feet for blessings. As I looked up, your stomach and navel were just an inch from my eyes and mouth. A great, priceless blessing indeed. You wore the saree so low that the plateau of your pussy was visible. Didi, my entire body, mind and consciousness were overtaken by a tidal wave of raw, all-consuming lust. My cock sprang up so hard that I feared it might fall off.)

I clapped in joy. “Seems it had much more effect than I desired. I knew my stomach and navel would break all your shackles. But you rose quite composed and had breakfast normally. Tor mathay ki plan ghurchilo bolto?” (What plans were you making?)

“Normal na chai, shorire, mone dabanol jwolchilo. Ichcha korchilo tor pe ar nabhite muh dubiye toke chepe dhori. Tarpor ektu bhoy holo hite biporit na hoye jay. Ami thik korlam dupure luncher por tui jokhon shuye thakbi toke chepe dhorbo. Se jai hoye jak na keno.”

(It was far from normal. A forest fire was burning in me. I wanted to sink my mouth in your stomach and hold you tightly. But I decided to hold back from the fear of misreading the signals. I decided to take my chances during the post-lunch siesta you generally take on holidays. I would pin you down on the bed, come what may.)

“But fate brought us together in a different manner,” I reflected.

“It was much better, Didi. I didn’t have to use any force on you. It was nothing short of divine.”

After the customary meal, Hrik sat on the TV couch and switched on a cricket channel. His eyes kept following me more than the game. I deliberately moved a few times in front of him, providing him with an abundant view of my tantalising stomach and navel.

Then, an idea developed in my mind. The closest I could get to his cock was by putting my head on his lap for a head massage. He would also have an unhindered view of my boobs and cleavage. I hoped it would get things started, though I was not very confident.

Well, I had his cock to gain. I decided to give it a try. I spoke innocuously. “Bhai amar mathay ektu massage kore dibi?” (Can you give me a head massage, bro?)

“Why not? Can a brother refuse a sister, especially on Bhai Phonta? Pass me the hair oil, and where will you sit?”

“No need for oil. I had shampooed in the morning. Just give a dry massage and remain where you are.”

I went to the couch, faced him and loosened my hair, laying bare my stomach and navel for him. At this point, he confessed that it was the point he became confident that I was inviting him. He readily agreed to massage because he would at least relish the touch of my air over his cock.

I couldn’t help asking him. “Sekire eto charge giyeo sudhu amar chuler choyatei sontushto hoye jeti?” (That’s strange; with so much excitement, only the touch of my hair would have satisfied you?)

“Asomvob, tor oi lobhoniyo peti ar nabhi dekhe amar toke chodar ichcha poripokko hoye gelo. Ami sthir kore fellam toke chudei charbo. Sudhu opekhkha korchilam uttom muhurter.”

(Far from it. Your sizzling tummy and navel had broken down all restraint. It only fortified my earlier decision to fuck you that day. I was awaiting an opportune moment.)

“Aha re ki jontronatai na bhog korchili!” (Oh dear, that must have been torturous.)

“Not only that day, Didi, I wanted to fuck you every day. That’s the resolution I made.”

“Eesh, nijer didir proti ei durnibar akorshon! Ekbaro mone badha aseni je bhai boner pobitro somporker onusthaner din e didike chodar sidhdhanto nili? Ekbaro mone hoyni je amake chudle tui ekta banchod hoye jabi?”

(Oh my God, so much attraction towards your sister! Didn’t it bother you even once that you made the final decision to fuck your sister on the very day that celebrates the sacred relationship of a brother and sister? Did it occur to you that if you fuck me, you’ll become a sister fucker?)

“Oi bhaibon byaparta to ami prothom hoptatei katiye felechilam. Sedin mon ar dhon dutoi bolchilo ei rojkar jontrona soibar dekhe baki jibonta bancod hoyei katano onek bhalo.” (I had overcome the initial guilt feelings by the first week itself. That day my mind and cock told me that it’s preferable to spend the rest of my life as a sister fucker, instead of enduring the daily agony.)

“By the way, did you choose to seduce me deliberately as it was Bhai Phonta day?”

“My decision to fuck you had been made the very day I saw you fucking Avantika. Any day would be good to fuck. It was a predestined coincidence. Yes, the fact that it was Bhai Phonta added to my excitement. Otherwise, I knew no other way to unravel my stomach and navel for you.”

As we recollected that life-changing day, he started squeezing my boobs, and I started caressing his cock. I will narrate that day with relevant present-day conversations.

I put my head carefully on his lap, deliberately maintaining a distance from his crotch. If he moved his cock and balls closer, that would be my glaring green signal. He massaged my head with a firm circular motion. After a minute, surged his cock a bit closer to my head.

I felt the heat of his balls and cock on the scalp and the back of my neck and shivered from within. I had to feel that cock somehow. I was getting hot and wet. He massaged me with skilled hands, which enhanced my excitement. I decided to step on the accelerator.

I balanced myself with my palms over his thighs, saying, “Dara ar ektu jut kore boshi.” (Let me sit more comfortably). My soft palms on his thighs scorched his skin and made him harder. I adjusted my head position and let it gently recline over his raging boner, making it lie down below my head.
I felt the scalp burn with his pronounced heat and somehow suppressed a loud moan with supreme control. But he let out an audible sigh, which pleased me. My operation was on its way to a success. Ah, the heat of a solid cock scorching my scalp, even with the barrier of cotton fabric, set me boiling with lust.

He, too, realised my intentions, as no grown-up girl rests her head on a raging boner, in ignorance or by accident. He was thinking of multiple options. The first was to hold my head back and kiss my lips. The second was to let his hands slide from my head to my boobs in a careless manner.

Third was to start nudging my head with his cock. However, before he could finalise and act upon it, I made it easier for him.

“Are dhur koler opor remote ta ache keno, sora ota.” (Why have you kept the damn remote on your lap? Move it quick.” I spoke matter-of-factly, sounding genuinely irritated.

He didn’t respond except for growing harder. Any other man, if not sexually experienced, would have cum by now. He displayed courage by moving closer to my head. He was testing my responses to be certain. I eased it out by pushing my head further back to feel more male heat scalding my scalp.

My palms itched to hold his shaft. My mouth tingled to stuff my mouth till the throat with his meat pole. I rubbed my head sideways over his massive, hot erection, feigning ignorance and innocence.

“Toke bollam na mathar theke remote ta sorate, alser dheki kothakar.” (Didn’t I tell you to remove the remote, you lazy sloth.)

In retrospect, now I know that he saw through my charade of innocence. He replied robotically with a signal that I could check out if he were speaking the truth.

“That’s not a remote.”

I read him well. This was a clear signal to find out what else it could be. All my senses told me, “ Go for it, Hritika. This is the golden opportunity you have been waiting for. Don’t let all the effort drown the drain. You are just a move away from your dream cock. Go girl, go.”

I went for the jugular with the feigned ignorance act. “Remote noyto ar ki? Tui jokhon etoi alshe amii sorachchi.” (What else can it be? If you’re so lazy, I’ll remove it.”

I moved my right hand to the back of my head and grabbed his cock over the pyjama. I acted as if it was the remote and intended to move it. Ah, there was this cotton fabric between his throbbing cock and my palm. The masculine heat and the raging rigidity scorched my palm and seeped into my very heart.

He feebly whispered in a trembling voice. “Didi, Didi.”

My voice also shook as I uttered. “This is not a remote.”

His thighs shook. The cock pulsated in my palm. He tried to say something, but all he could utter was “Didi.” As if he was trying to say, “Are you doing the right thing?” His fingers trembled in my open hair.

I turned back swiftly, facing him and looked at my right hand clasped over his cotton-covered cock. There was a mixed expression on his face. He was glad that his tool was in my hand. Yet pleading that I take full control of the situation.

So, I went ahead with my sense of humour and my characteristic confidence. A man can never turn back once a woman has his cock in her hands. I moved my hand over the entire length of the fabric and smiled as he let out a helpless sigh. I spoke with genuine astonishment.

“Tai to, eta to remote noy, remoter thekeo bodo sodo kichu mone hochche. Ta eta khule na dekhle sondeho to royei jabe konta beshi boro.” (This is definitely not a remote. It’s something bigger. So if I don’t take a better look, the doubt as to which is bigger will persist in the mind.)

My left hand went to the pyjama chords and untangled the knot with practised ease. I had hardly undid a man’s traditional pyjama, but the daily or frequent habit of tying and untying the petticoat came in handy. He was more than glad at my initiative.

He gave no resistance as I undid the pyjamas and pulled them down to his ankles. Finally, the object of my obsessive desire was revealed. My eyes opened wide. My face filled with wonder and amazement to see the most glorious cock I’ve ever seen in my life.

Devleena was so right. An impressive eight inches of male virility, with a massive girth which my entire palm could not encompass. The dick head was so heavy and shaped like a perfect swan egg. The thick veins pulsated in my palm. The naked heat was seeping into my very soul.

I clasped the marvellous meat pole with both my hands and stroked the entire length up and down in a gentle, teasing manner. No man can remain silent at this point, and a deep moan of pleasure escaped his mouth with a concocted protest.

“Oho Didi, tui ei shob ki korchish ah ah ah?” (Oh, Didi, what are you doing?)

“Sondeho dur korchi sothik map niye je eta beshi boro na remote ta.” (Dispelling doubts with accurate measurement to ascertain whether this is bigger than the remote.)

The mock seriousness and humour in my voice were the reassurance he required. He replied in the same tone. “Sondeho dur holo? Naki aro porikhkha nirikhkkha korte hobe?” (So are your doubts dispelled, or do you need to conduct a few more tests?”

“Sondeho ayoton niye to dur hoye geche, tobe etake niye aro bhalo gobeshona na korle onek proshner uttor ajanai thke jabe je.” (Doubts as to the size have been dispelled. But intensive research is essential to many other questions arising in the mind.)

I spoke with the tone of a scientist who has come upon an interesting specimen to focus on.

“Tai bujhi? Jinishta tor khub mone dhoreche mone hochche.’ (Is that so? Seems the specimen has made a good impression on you.”) His tone had become relaxed and playful.

“Mone dhorar moton jinish to baniyechish. Uff ki size. Babah bhabteo parchi na amar adorer choto bhai kobe eto boro hoye gelo.” (That size will impress one and all. I can’t believe that my little kid brother has become so big.”)

Hrittika and Hrittik will be back for their first fuck.