The clock hit 11:30 PM when my phone buzzed. I was lounging in my room back home
, scrolling through nothing, when Mala's friend called. 'Muthu, your
sister's wasted. Partied too hard. Can you pick her up?' My heart skipped—Mala, my
26-year-old married sister, out with her wild crowd again, husband off in some foreign
job, leaving her alone and reckless. I told my parents I was heading out for a drive,
grabbed my keys, and jumped into my beat-up car.
The club parking lot was a mess of thumping bass and stumbling drunks. I called
her friend, and minutes later, she dragged Mala out, my sister leaning heavy on her
arm. Mala's short black dress clung to her curvy 36D-34-37 frame, tits straining the
fabric, legs wobbling in heels. I hopped out, helped her into the front seat—her skin hot
from the booze, perfume mixed with sweat hitting me hard. 'Thanks, Muthu,' her friend
said, waving us off. I slid back in, started the engine, and peeled out toward her place.
Mala slumped against the door at first, mumbling shit I couldn't make out—slurred
words about the night, her friends, something dirty. Then she shifted, legs parting as
the car bumped over potholes. 'Sis, sit still,' I said, glancing over. Her dress had ridden
up, thighs splayed wide. No panties. Her shaved pussy lips peeked out, brown and
glistening under the dashboard glow. Fuck, my cock twitched instantly, thickening in
my jeans to its full six inches. I gripped the wheel tighter, eyes flicking back to the
road, but the image burned in—my own sister's bare cunt, exposed like she didn't give
a damn. Heat flooded my groin; I was rock hard, pre-cum leaking as I fought the urge
to pull over.
We made it to her quiet apartment without crashing. I half-carried her inside, her
arm slung over my shoulder, body soft and heavy against my fit frame. She giggled
nonsense as I dumped her on the bed, tits bouncing under the dress. I fetched hot
water from the kitchen, held the glass to her lips. 'Drink, Mala. You'll feel better.' She
sipped, then grabbed my hand sudden, eyes glassy. 'Vicky... don't leave me. I miss you
so fucking much.' Vicky—her ex from before marriage. Shock hit me, but her grip
tightened, pulling me close. She lunged, hugging me tight, her massive 36D boobs
squishing against my chest. Then her lips crashed into mine, sloppy and desperate,
tongue shoving in like she owned me.
I froze, heart pounding. This was my sister, drunk and confused, but her mouth
tasted like booze and need, stirring the fire I'd buried since puberty. Non-consent hung
in the air—she thought I was him—but my cock throbbed, demanding. I couldn't stop. I
kissed back hard, hands roaming, grabbing her ass through the dress. She moaned into
my mouth, 'Vicky, fuck, touch me.' My palms slid up, cupping her tits—soft, heavy
melons that overflowed my fingers. I squeezed, thumbs rubbing her hard nipples
through the fabric. She arched, grinding against my thigh.
I yanked the dress straps down, peeling it off. No bra. Her huge tits spilled free,
dark nipples erect, begging. No panties either—just her dripping pussy, thighs slick.
'Sis... Mala,' I groaned, shedding my shirt and jeans, my six-inch cock springing out,
veiny and leaking. She stared, then grabbed it, stroking rough. I pushed her head
down. 'Suck it. Suck my cock.' She obeyed, lips wrapping around the head, tongue
swirling sloppy from the alcohol. Fuck, heaven—her warm mouth slurping, cheeks
hollowing as she bobbed, gagging a bit on my length. I thrust shallow, hand in her hair,
watching her tits sway. 'Yeah, take it deep, you dirty slut.' She hummed, drool dripping,
eyes half-shut in drunk haze.
I pulled out, shoving her back on the bed. Legs wide, her pussy gaped, wet and
swollen. I dove in, tongue lashing her clit, sucking the folds. She bucked, hands fisting
my hair. 'Vicky! Oh god, Vicky, eat my pussy... I missed this.' Her moans echoed, loud
and raw, body shaking as I fingered her hole, two digits pumping while I licked her
juices—salty, musky tang coating my tongue. Incest burned hot in my veins, wrong but
unstoppable. She thrashed, 'Fuck, yes, Vicky, make me cum!' Her thighs clamped my
head, pussy clenching, and she exploded—hot squirt flooding my mouth, body
convulsing in waves.
I climbed up, cock aimed at her soaked entrance. 'Gonna fuck you now,' I growled,
slamming in slow at first, her walls gripping tight, velvet heat sucking me deep. She
gasped, 'Vicky, your cock feels so good!' I ramped up, pounding hard, balls slapping her
ass. Her tits jiggled with each thrust; I latched on one nipple, sucking hard while
railing her. 'Take it, sis—fuck, your pussy's mine.' Moans turned screams, 'Harder,
Vicky! Fuck me like you used to!' Sweat slicked our bodies, room reeking of sex. After
fifteen minutes of brutal rhythm, my balls tightened. I yanked out, stroking fast, ropes
of cum blasting her face—splattering lips, cheeks—then her heaving tits, white streaks
pooling in her cleavage.
We collapsed, her breathing ragged beside me. I passed out, spent. Morning light
pierced the curtains when I woke—alone. Panic hit; where was she? I dressed quick,
stumbling to the hall. There she sat on the sofa, sipping coffee, pink shorts hugging her
curves, white t-shirt braless, nipples poking through. She looked up, composed, like
nothing happened. 'Sit down, Muthu.' Her voice was steady, but eyes flicked away.
I dropped beside her, tension thick. 'Last night... don't tell anyone. It was an
accident. The drinking.' I nodded, silent, cock stirring at the memory. Guts churning, I
blurted, 'You still talk to Vicky?' She paused, cup to lips. 'No. But I miss him sometimes.
That's all.' Her gaze met mine, lingering a beat too long, something unspoken hanging.
I stood, heart racing, heading for the door—but her soft 'Muthu...' stopped me cold.
, scrolling through nothing, when Mala's friend called. 'Muthu, your
sister's wasted. Partied too hard. Can you pick her up?' My heart skipped—Mala, my
26-year-old married sister, out with her wild crowd again, husband off in some foreign
job, leaving her alone and reckless. I told my parents I was heading out for a drive,
grabbed my keys, and jumped into my beat-up car.
The club parking lot was a mess of thumping bass and stumbling drunks. I called
her friend, and minutes later, she dragged Mala out, my sister leaning heavy on her
arm. Mala's short black dress clung to her curvy 36D-34-37 frame, tits straining the
fabric, legs wobbling in heels. I hopped out, helped her into the front seat—her skin hot
from the booze, perfume mixed with sweat hitting me hard. 'Thanks, Muthu,' her friend
said, waving us off. I slid back in, started the engine, and peeled out toward her place.
Mala slumped against the door at first, mumbling shit I couldn't make out—slurred
words about the night, her friends, something dirty. Then she shifted, legs parting as
the car bumped over potholes. 'Sis, sit still,' I said, glancing over. Her dress had ridden
up, thighs splayed wide. No panties. Her shaved pussy lips peeked out, brown and
glistening under the dashboard glow. Fuck, my cock twitched instantly, thickening in
my jeans to its full six inches. I gripped the wheel tighter, eyes flicking back to the
road, but the image burned in—my own sister's bare cunt, exposed like she didn't give
a damn. Heat flooded my groin; I was rock hard, pre-cum leaking as I fought the urge
to pull over.
We made it to her quiet apartment without crashing. I half-carried her inside, her
arm slung over my shoulder, body soft and heavy against my fit frame. She giggled
nonsense as I dumped her on the bed, tits bouncing under the dress. I fetched hot
water from the kitchen, held the glass to her lips. 'Drink, Mala. You'll feel better.' She
sipped, then grabbed my hand sudden, eyes glassy. 'Vicky... don't leave me. I miss you
so fucking much.' Vicky—her ex from before marriage. Shock hit me, but her grip
tightened, pulling me close. She lunged, hugging me tight, her massive 36D boobs
squishing against my chest. Then her lips crashed into mine, sloppy and desperate,
tongue shoving in like she owned me.
I froze, heart pounding. This was my sister, drunk and confused, but her mouth
tasted like booze and need, stirring the fire I'd buried since puberty. Non-consent hung
in the air—she thought I was him—but my cock throbbed, demanding. I couldn't stop. I
kissed back hard, hands roaming, grabbing her ass through the dress. She moaned into
my mouth, 'Vicky, fuck, touch me.' My palms slid up, cupping her tits—soft, heavy
melons that overflowed my fingers. I squeezed, thumbs rubbing her hard nipples
through the fabric. She arched, grinding against my thigh.
I yanked the dress straps down, peeling it off. No bra. Her huge tits spilled free,
dark nipples erect, begging. No panties either—just her dripping pussy, thighs slick.
'Sis... Mala,' I groaned, shedding my shirt and jeans, my six-inch cock springing out,
veiny and leaking. She stared, then grabbed it, stroking rough. I pushed her head
down. 'Suck it. Suck my cock.' She obeyed, lips wrapping around the head, tongue
swirling sloppy from the alcohol. Fuck, heaven—her warm mouth slurping, cheeks
hollowing as she bobbed, gagging a bit on my length. I thrust shallow, hand in her hair,
watching her tits sway. 'Yeah, take it deep, you dirty slut.' She hummed, drool dripping,
eyes half-shut in drunk haze.
I pulled out, shoving her back on the bed. Legs wide, her pussy gaped, wet and
swollen. I dove in, tongue lashing her clit, sucking the folds. She bucked, hands fisting
my hair. 'Vicky! Oh god, Vicky, eat my pussy... I missed this.' Her moans echoed, loud
and raw, body shaking as I fingered her hole, two digits pumping while I licked her
juices—salty, musky tang coating my tongue. Incest burned hot in my veins, wrong but
unstoppable. She thrashed, 'Fuck, yes, Vicky, make me cum!' Her thighs clamped my
head, pussy clenching, and she exploded—hot squirt flooding my mouth, body
convulsing in waves.
I climbed up, cock aimed at her soaked entrance. 'Gonna fuck you now,' I growled,
slamming in slow at first, her walls gripping tight, velvet heat sucking me deep. She
gasped, 'Vicky, your cock feels so good!' I ramped up, pounding hard, balls slapping her
ass. Her tits jiggled with each thrust; I latched on one nipple, sucking hard while
railing her. 'Take it, sis—fuck, your pussy's mine.' Moans turned screams, 'Harder,
Vicky! Fuck me like you used to!' Sweat slicked our bodies, room reeking of sex. After
fifteen minutes of brutal rhythm, my balls tightened. I yanked out, stroking fast, ropes
of cum blasting her face—splattering lips, cheeks—then her heaving tits, white streaks
pooling in her cleavage.
We collapsed, her breathing ragged beside me. I passed out, spent. Morning light
pierced the curtains when I woke—alone. Panic hit; where was she? I dressed quick,
stumbling to the hall. There she sat on the sofa, sipping coffee, pink shorts hugging her
curves, white t-shirt braless, nipples poking through. She looked up, composed, like
nothing happened. 'Sit down, Muthu.' Her voice was steady, but eyes flicked away.
I dropped beside her, tension thick. 'Last night... don't tell anyone. It was an
accident. The drinking.' I nodded, silent, cock stirring at the memory. Guts churning, I
blurted, 'You still talk to Vicky?' She paused, cup to lips. 'No. But I miss him sometimes.
That's all.' Her gaze met mine, lingering a beat too long, something unspoken hanging.
I stood, heart racing, heading for the door—but her soft 'Muthu...' stopped me cold.