Younger Brother Fucks Elder Sister in Sleeper Bus

It had been almost three months since that wild time in Gonda. (Read my story’s last part first: Elder Sister Becomes Dulhan For Younger Brother) Shekhar’s wedding was over. His new wife had gone to her mayke for a few weeks. My younger sister was busy in her college hostel. Ramesh was stuck with work in Pune and had told me to go alone. So I came to my mayke.

One evening Papa suddenly said, “Let’s go to Kasol for a few days. Weather is good, and only four of us are home.” Mummy agreed at once. Tickets were booked the same night. Train to Delhi, then a sleeper bus to Kasol.

The train journey was completely normal. We sat together, ate homemade parathas, talked about small things. Shekhar and I barely looked at each other in front of Mummy-Papa. But every time our eyes met, the old fire was still there.

At Delhi we changed to the sleeper bus. It was a cheap private bus with duo beds. Papa had booked two. One for him and Mummy on the lower berth, and one for “bhai-behen” on the upper berth, the second floor of the same section. No one found it strange. Brother-sister sharing a duo bed is common and cheap.

Our upper berth was right above Mummy and Papa. Thick curtains hung on both sides, but we still pulled them extra tight and checked twice that no gap was left. Even a small opening could let someone look up from below. The mattress was wide enough for two people if they stayed close. The ceiling was low. Every movement had to be careful because the whole frame could creak and alert the lower berth.

Night fell. The bus started climbing the hills. Lights were dimmed. Most people slept. I lay on my side facing the window. Shekhar lay behind me. For a long time we did not move. Only the sound of the engine and the occasional bump of the road.

Then I felt his hand slowly slide under my kurta. Warm fingers traced my waist, then moved up and cupped my breast over the bra. He squeezed gently at first, then harder, feeling the full soft weight. His thumb circled my nipple through the cloth until it stood stiff. I stayed completely still. His breath touched my neck.

“Didi…” he whispered so softly only I could hear. “I’ve been dying these three months.”

I did not answer. His hand slipped inside the bra and took my bare breast fully in his palm. He kneaded it slowly, pressing the soft flesh, pinching the nipple between two fingers and rolling it. A soft gasp escaped me. I bit my lip hard and pressed my face into the pillow so no sound could travel down. He spent a long time on that one breast, squeezing, lifting, brushing the nipple again and again until my breathing became uneven. Then he moved to the other breast and gave it the same slow hungry attention, both hands now under my kurta, playing with my heavy tits like he had all night.

His lower hand left my breast and went down. He opened the drawstring of my pyjama carefully and slid inside. His fingers stroked the soft skin of my lower belly first, then moved lower and cupped my pussy over the panty. He pressed the whole mound, rubbing slowly in circles. I was already wet. The cloth stuck to me. He pulled the panty aside and ran one finger along my slit, up and down, spreading the wetness. Then he pushed the finger inside me slowly. I clenched around it. He added a second finger and started moving them in and out with short careful strokes, curling them against the soft front wall. His thumb found my clit and rubbed it in tiny circles while his fingers kept fucking me.

“Fuck… you’re dripping,” he breathed into my ear. “Ramesh doesn’t touch you like this, does he?”

I turned my face a little toward him and whispered back, voice almost nothing, “He finishes in two minutes and sleeps. Your new wife… does she even know how to take this cock?”

Shekhar’s fingers pushed deeper, still careful so the berth would not shake. He scissored them inside me, stretching me open, then rubbed my clit faster. My hips wanted to move but I forced them still. Juice was coating his fingers and making soft wet sounds. He pulled his fingers out, brought them up, and wiped the wetness across my nipples, then went back down and pushed three fingers inside me this time. I bit the pillow harder.

“She’s tight, but she just lies there. No sound, no movement. Nothing like you. Your cunt sucks my fingers like it wants to eat them.”

I reached behind and gripped his cock through the cloth. It was thick and hot. I freed it with tiny movements. The heavy length slapped against my palm. Pre-cum was already leaking. I stroked him slowly, spreading the slippery fluid over the thick head and down the shaft while his fingers kept working my pussy and his other hand stayed busy on my breasts, squeezing and pinching.

He pulled my pyjama and panty down just enough. I lifted my upper leg a little. The bus swayed. His thick head pressed against my entrance. He rubbed it up and down my wet slit first, coating himself, teasing my clit with the head, then finally pushed in slowly, inch by inch, so no sudden pressure would make the upper berth creak above Mummy and Papa.

A long silent moan stayed locked in my throat as he filled me completely. My walls stretched around him after months. It burned a little, then turned into deep pleasure.

He started moving in short careful thrusts. The mattress made almost no sound. Only wet soft “pich-pich” that was hidden under the engine noise. His hand stayed on my breast, kneading slowly. The other held my hip steady so the whole bed would not move.

“Your husband has never reached this deep,” he whispered against my neck. “Tell me.”

“Never,” I breathed. “His cock is half of yours. When he fucks me I feel nothing. But you… you ruin me every time.”

Shekhar’s thrusts became a little longer but still controlled. Every time the bus hit a bump he froze for a second, listening for any sound from below. “My wife cries if I go hard. She says it hurts. You used to beg me to break you.”

I pushed my ass back to take him deeper, tiny movements only. “Because I am your real wife. That girl is just for society. This cunt belongs to you.”

He groaned quietly and bit my shoulder through the kurta. His cock throbbed inside me. I could feel every vein. The bus took a sharp turn. His cock slammed deeper by accident. I almost cried out. He covered my mouth with his palm instantly and held me tight until the frame stopped shaking.

We stayed locked like that for a long time, slow deep careful fucking. Sweat made our bodies stick. My pussy made soft wet sounds every time he pulled out and pushed back in. Juice was leaking down my thigh onto the sheet. We kept checking the curtains again and again, pulling them tighter whenever a small gap appeared.

He whispered again, “After Kasol I’m going to fuck you every day we get chance. In the hotel, in the jungle, everywhere. I don’t care about anyone.”

I turned my face and found his lips. We kissed messily in the dark, tongues moving while his cock kept sliding in and out of me with the smallest possible thrusts.

“Cum inside,” I whispered against his mouth. “Fill me. I want to walk tomorrow with your cum leaking.”

His rhythm broke for a second. He thrust deeper, held still, and started pumping thick ropes of hot cum straight into my womb. I clenched around him, milking every drop, my own orgasm rolling through me in silent waves. My thighs trembled. Tears of pleasure leaked from the corners of my eyes. I bit the pillow hard so no sound would reach the lower berth.

He stayed buried inside me until his cock softened. Then he slowly pulled out. Warm cum followed and wet the sheet between my legs. He quickly pulled my panty and pyjama up, tucked his cock away, and wrapped his arm around me like a normal brother.

I lay there, heart hammering, pussy still twitching and leaking, listening carefully for any movement from the lower berth. Below us Mummy and Papa were snoring peacefully.

The bus kept climbing toward Kasol, and my brother’s cum kept slowly dripping out of me the whole way.