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bhabhi

Hello reader, I live with my bhaiya and bhabhi in Bangalore. Ethnically, we are Gujarati, from Ahmadabad. Our father had bought some land in Bangalore about thirty years ago. He built a building for office spaces about twenty years ago. My brother has been looking after it for last ten years. I am 27. My brother is 33, bhabhi is 30. And a few days ago it was their third wedding anniversary. Those are all the ages, reader. We threw a party. The party was attended by our parents, our relatives, our friends, our business partners and associates, and they who run their offices in our building. My brother introduced them all. He was introducing Dr Srinivas to bhabhi when I walked up to them. My bhabhi is always the warm, lovely, respectful hostess. I have known her from before she married by brother. I saw her first. Happy, bubbly, beautiful, she rouses spirits everywhere. I was aroused too, constantly; beautiful and sensual like a rose, her skin so smooth and velvety. How one can resist, I wonder. But I stammered and fumbled with nervous energy when I spoke to her those days. Bhaiya said he saw his wife in her. He proposed her. It was not really a heartbreak- I wanted to taste her once, just one time perhaps- to have done her, scored her too on my list. At the moment, I could see that the charming gynecologist, Dr srinivas was eying her beauty lustily. But he had it well disguised by good manners. He had setup his clinic newly in our building. A fine doctor for only 32 years of age- he had made his reputation at a hospital where he had previously worked for four years. And now he was thriving in our building. Tall, dark, handsome, married. My bhaiya and bhabhi had very quickly found a good rapport with him. The conversation was energetic, full of laughter, like between old friends. Everything else in the party was a drag after that. It rained heavily the next day. In the evening, I went to pick up bhabhi from her work. While we were driving back, we made a short stop at a paanwala to buy cigarettes. There was no place or need to park the car. Bhabhi got out getting them. The rain was a light drizzle. I stayed in the cozy, air-conditioned confines of my car, while I watched her outside. She was slightly drenched, in a hurry, rushing the paanwala to attend her before others. Just then, her phone rang- a text. She had left it in the car; unknown number. It could have been an advert; I read it. It was, “it’s raining, take care, it’s not the kind of wet you should get. If you get wet, I will lick it all over. Very hot for you! You know, my lund is so drenched. It was in a very wet place today. It is erect again to go there again; maybe tomorrow!” I have never been shocked more- Like struck by lightning. But wait! Could be wrong number! Huh! But what if; why is it more convincing that it is a wrong number? I was a man completely alert and skeptical. I ran the number past my contact list. Anybody I know maybe? Dr Shrinivas. Dr Shrinivas! The numbers matched. Just then she opened the door and got inside swiftly. She seemed hassled; she looked anxious. She had seen the two phones in my hand. She was anxious to know what I was checking, something private. She leaned over and glanced at her phone. Looked at me with wide guilt ridden eyes. A moment to make up minds that can ruin everything if handled with immaturity; if handled maturely, can be no more than talking about dirty experiences- things people naturally do to satisfy and thrill themselves, a way to live- with broad-minded, intimate friends.. yeah, okay, I can absorb that, be her intimate friend. It was her suggestion and I agreed. Her eyes were still locked with mine, searching for an understanding. After a brief moment of tense silence, I ran my finger gently down her cheek, tracing the contour of her face. My thumb finished by resting on her lower lip, pressing it down slightly. Like a rose petal bent to see what lies in the center, I was unraveling her sensuality. The moistness in her warms breath that flowed over my hand; the feeling of my finger now touching; dipping in the saliva; it is beyond describing how suddenly aroused I was for my greatest conquest. But there was something in her expression that did not make a big deal about it. It was something like what all women think of men cockiness and conquests: not very different from childish games. She was in a mood to show how she sexy she can be, not sensuality crap. I drove us out of there and stopped by a spot- dark, uninterrupted roadside. It was not like taking my chance with a slut I barely knew. This was my bhabhi, and though she knew that I was sweating horny for her, knew that I can be cocky- a humping beast, she still felt she can let me do it- a liberty. Above all she felt safe with me. I am younger and fitter than her husband. I want to fuck her, so what? It’s hot blood. She smiled when I pulled over by the curb. Hot blood!??! What is going on with the gyno?? But her answer can wait- I was uncontrollably hot under my skin, I was like a stream engine- Whistles and bells were going off all over my body. I reclined her seat (she helped me with it). Until then, in the last few minutes in the car, her sitting next to me wearing a deep cut blouse, the relief of her breasts etched in dim lights, tiny water drops seeping inside the cleavage, her heaving breasts- round, firm, voluptuous, aroused nipples beneath, was all caught by the corner of my eyes. I bent over her and removed the blouse, hastily but carefully not to rip it to shreds. There they were: the gorgeous flesh, the mummers. Tits! I suckled her breasts. She cried at first, resisted my ferocity at first, then braced herself for it and moaned deeply. My teeth were sheathing behind my lips to bite. I squeezed and cupped and squeezed and pressed and cupped them in the palm of my hands. She held the back of my head with my hair and rolled it all over. I kissed her full on the mouth and unleashed my tongue inside her mouth. Her tongue entered my mouth like an expert, beating me in the bout. Turned on another level by her win, she pulled my head down her body, spread her legs high and wide, pulled her skirt up with her other hand and buried my face into her pussy. She was not wearing any panties. I was getting a look at it, the fine hair: the short bush of it at the top, lining up on the sides of the way down. The rose! The rose that I am obsessed with, to unravel it, to separate the petals with my fingers when with a sudden push she thrust my face into it and my tongue entered where my fingers dreamed to explore. She was also moving her pelvis, a gyrating motion, humping my mouth with her pussy. Moaning longingly, running her fingers through my hair, pulling them when lumps of shivering ran down her body. She was cumming in my mouth, came over many times, oozing juices that flowed in my mouth, flooding during heavy bouts- she shivered when the heavy bouts came to pass. I dragged my tongue further down, raised her hips more, and entered the hole of her arse. I rimmed it. Licked the hole and spit inside. I tickled inside with fluttering tongue. She sighed with pleasure. I was down there for all the time in the world. From a long forgotten part of my head, I could hear a calling that it was getting late, it had gotten late already. With great self restrain and a mammoth effort I sprung from my position and returned to my seat. She followed my body and climbed on top of me, straddling tightly, pushing and rubbing her pussy that was wet and dripping of my saliva and her cum perfectly over my erected cock that felt trapped in my pants. I pushed her off me and said it was getting rather late. I did not want to hear an inquiring call of concern by bhaiya to us. I will continue in next part.