My name’s Varun, a 30-year-old guy with a chiseled, athletic build that turns heads. I’ve been married for four years to Radhika, a stunning woman with a heart of gold and a smile that could melt anyone. We’ve got a beautiful daughter, Ananya, who’s the light of our lives. I love Radhika deeply, but there’s one thing that’s always gnawed at me—our sex life. No matter how hard she tries, and believe me, she’s tried everything from lingerie to roleplay, I’m never fully satisfied. There’s this burning hunger inside me, a primal need that she can’t quench, and it’s been there since I was a teenager.
I come from a respectable, middle-class family in Delhi, where honor and reputation are everything. Growing up, I was taught to keep my desires in check, to never stray from the path of decency. That’s why I’ve never cheated on Radhika, never sought out another woman to satisfy my cravings. But there’s another reason too—I’ve never found anyone who could match the intensity of my fantasies, someone I could trust to keep things secret. This hunger, this obsession with sex, started when I was just a kid, barely 17, and it all began with my older sister, Shalini. Two years my senior, she was the spark that lit the fire in me, and that fire’s been burning ever since.
Back then, I was a horny teenager, my hormones raging like a wildfire. I’d sneak glances at my teachers in school, their curves peeking through tight blouses or the way their sarees hugged their hips. I’d rush home, lock myself in the bathroom, and jerk off under the shower, imagining their bodies pressed against mine. But Shalini? She was just my big sister—bossy, protective, always nagging me about my studies. I never saw her that way, not until one summer day that changed everything.
We lived in an old, cramped house in a bustling Delhi neighborhood. The place was modest—a small living room, two bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, and a cluttered storeroom with doors opening into my room and the lobby. My dad worked a government job, and Mom ran the household with an iron fist. Shalini was in college, studying commerce, while I was grinding through 12th grade. It was June, the kind of sticky heat that made you sweat just sitting still. I was in my room, pretending to study, when I overheard Shalini chatting with her friend Neha in the next room.
Neha was a firecracker, the kind of girl who spoke her mind and didn’t care who heard. I caught snippets of their conversation through the thin walls. “Shalini, that guy at college totally wants you,” Neha teased, her voice dripping with mischief. “He stares at you like he’s undressing you with his eyes.” Shalini laughed, embarrassed. “Shut up, Neha! He’s creepy. I don’t even look at him.” Neha kept pushing. “Oh, come on, he’s hot! You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed his muscles. Bet he’s packing something nice down there.”
I froze, my textbook forgotten. Shalini, my sister, was the object of some guy’s lust? The thought sent a strange jolt through me. I’d never thought of her as anything but family, but now my mind was racing. Curious, I crept to her door, which was slightly ajar. Heart pounding, I peeked through the crack. Neha was sprawled on the bed, her short skirt riding up to reveal a glimpse of her floral panties. Her thighs were smooth, tanned, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away. It was the first time I’d seen a girl’s body so exposed, and my cock twitched in my shorts.
But then my gaze shifted to Shalini. She was wearing a loose Punjabi suit, no bra underneath, and her full, round tits jiggled slightly as she moved. The thin fabric clung to her curves, outlining her nipples. She was blushing, trying to change the subject, but Neha’s dirty talk had her flustered. I watched, mesmerized, as Shalini’s tits bounced when she laughed. My mouth went dry, and a wave of guilt hit me. This was my sister. What the hell was I doing? But my body didn’t care. I was rock hard, and all I could think about was seeing more.
Shalini shooed Neha out soon after, and I scurried back to my room, my heart racing. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The image of Shalini’s tits, the way they moved under her suit, was burned into my brain. I jerked off twice, each time picturing her, and hated myself for it. But the shame only made the desire stronger. From that day on, I started watching her, stealing glances whenever I could. The way she walked, the way her hips swayed, the way her lips curved when she smiled—it all drove me crazy. I was obsessed, and I didn’t know how to stop.
A few weeks later, I got another chance to feed my addiction. Shalini was washing clothes in the courtyard, and I was in my room, pretending to read. The storeroom door was open, giving me a clear view of her. She was wearing a thin white undershirt under a light kurta, no bra, as usual. Her tits bounced with every scrub, and I couldn’t look away. I made excuses to walk past her, brushing by just to catch a closer glimpse. When she started wringing out the clothes, water splashed onto her kurta, soaking it. The fabric turned transparent, clinging to her skin, and her pink nipples stood out like they were begging to be touched.
My cock throbbed painfully in my shorts. Shalini noticed her state and blushed, quickly covering her chest with her arm. She grabbed a dry shirt and headed to the storeroom to change. I didn’t think twice. I bolted to my room, knelt by the storeroom door, and pressed my eye to the keyhole. My breath caught as I saw her peel off her wet kurta. Her bare tits were perfect—full, round, with those pink nipples hard from the cold water. She slipped off her undershirt, and for a moment, she stood topless, her skin glowing in the dim light. My hand was already down my shorts, stroking my cock as I watched. When she bent to grab a new shirt, her tits swayed, and I lost it. I came hard, my cum soaking my hand, my body shaking with the intensity.
I cleaned up quickly, but the guilt hit me like a truck. She was my sister, for God’s sake. But the more I tried to stop, the more I wanted her. I started dreaming about seeing her completely naked, every inch of her body exposed. I became a master at finding excuses—lingering near the bathroom when she showered, sneaking into her room to “borrow” something, anything to catch a glimpse.
The real turning point came one morning when our parents were out at the temple. It was just me and Shalini at home. I heard the bathroom door creak as she went in to shower. My heart raced. The bathroom was old, with a rusty door that had a small gap at the bottom. I’d never dared to look before, but today, I couldn’t resist. I crept to the door, my pulse pounding in my ears, and crouched down. Through the gap, I saw her.
Shalini had just dropped her towel, and she was completely naked. Her body was a work of art—smooth, pale skin glistening with water droplets, full tits bouncing as she moved, a flat stomach leading to the perfect curve of her hips. Her pussy was shaved clean, a soft pink slit that made my mouth water. She lathered soap over her body, her hands gliding over her tits, squeezing them gently. Her nipples hardened under her touch, and she let out a soft moan, her eyes closed. My cock was so hard it hurt, straining against my shorts. I freed it, stroking slowly, savoring every second of the view.
She turned, giving me a full view of her round, firm ass. Water cascaded down her back, pooling at the curve of her cheeks. She bent slightly to soap her legs, and her pussy lips parted, glistening with water and something else—her own arousal. I bit my lip to keep from groaning. Shalini’s hands lingered between her thighs, rubbing her clit in slow circles. Her breathing grew heavy, her moans louder. She slipped a finger inside her pussy, then two, fucking herself with a rhythm that drove me wild. Her tits bounced as she moved, her face flushed with pleasure.
I matched her pace, jerking my cock faster. She leaned against the wall, her fingers plunging deeper, her moans turning into gasps. “Ohh… fuck…” she whispered, and I nearly came right then. My sister, my proper, perfect sister, was masturbating, lost in her own world of pleasure. I imagined joining her, pinning her against the tiles, my cock buried in her tight pussy. The thought pushed me over the edge. My cum shot out, splattering the floor, my body shuddering with the most intense orgasm I’d ever had.
Shalini finished her shower, wrapping the towel around her dripping body. I scrambled back to my room, cleaning up the mess and collapsing on my bed. My mind was a whirlwind. What I’d seen wasn’t just a fantasy—it was real, raw, and forbidden. I knew I’d crossed a line, but I didn’t care. I wanted more.
For months, I kept up my secret spying, catching glimpses whenever I could. Shalini never suspected a thing. But then, her marriage was arranged, and she moved to her husband’s home. I was left with nothing but memories, jerking off to the image of her naked body night after night. Now, years later, married with a kid, I still can’t shake her. Every time I fuck Radhika, it’s Shalini’s face I see, her body I crave. I’ve never acted on it, never crossed that final line, but the hunger remains, a dark secret I’ll carry forever.
This is my truth, the story I can’t tell anyone. Writing it down is the only way I can let it out, a confession of the fire that’s burned in me for over a decade. It’s not just a story—it’s my life.