One day, by noon, it was so sultry. I thought, it might provide some relief, if I kept open our backyard window.
When I opened it, the window hooked me to witness an act of lovemaking.
The Electricity Board people had had chopped down a branch from a dense tree, standing in our backyard, to make way to the overhead power lines. A gap thus created exposed to me the lovers in the house behind.
May be I was sex starved all these eight years, but then I was never allowed to listen to my body utterances. My husband was a businessman. A busy man he posed to be. He used to burden my mind with his business worries and find excuses, always, to stay away from my sexual needs. Luckily, he could spare some time in the early days of our married life. I conceived and gave birth to our daughter, who is eight years old now.
Even so with all his involvements in our business, my husband found it difficult to compete with a fast growing rival in our locality. The rival was a Rajasthani marwadi, who stepped in as a pawn-broker, but leaped up into the grocery business to pull away all our customers to his supermarket. And we were in the verge of closing down our grocery shop.
The house behind was of that marwadi, our rival businessman. It was his white skinned wife, sprawled on the backstairs steps, hiking her chaniya and blouse, baring her fatty choot and saggy boobs. Letting down his trousers, a black boy, one of the servants in their supermarket, was serving her extra demand by driving his plunger rod in and out of her pleasure box.
A hot wave seized my body. A well fired up in between my thighs. My mental as well as physical balance got disturbed. I sensed emptiness. Emptiness that was left unfulfilled by my husband for so long a time. My fingers were drawn towards the centre of my heat. My pulsating cunt of the swollen lips was burning with the lava of its steaming slit.
When the act was concluded, the marwadi wife disappeared into her house and appeared again with a lunch carrier. Her lover-boy took the carrier box and left the house.
I wandered inside my house; lay on the sofa, trying to control my whirling desire, but in vain. I had to relieve the pressure, somehow. I rushed toward the bathroom.
The door of the bathroom had lost its bolt long back, but it didn't pop up on my mind on that rushing moment. I pushed open the door. There, lighted up by the ventilator, was the huge erection of a young cock, beaten by a moving hand. It was my younger brother.
Two days back my mother arrived from our native village with my younger brother. He had just completed his school final. My mother left him here in town and took my daughter with her to village, to spend their summer holidays.
And here, alas, my brother is spending his holidays within the four walls of our bathroom, playing with his loin-bat.
Out of sheer shock, I barked at him like a frightened dog. And I didn't know why, I slapped him shouting, "Othavaakkarap payalae! (Useless boy!)" and walked out breathless.
My brother was ten years younger than me. Smacking him was not new to me. In his childhood, I have used it on him so many times to discipline him. And lo now... a spoiled kid!
The very day he arrived at our home, I was drying my daughter's wet hair with a towel and she was naked, after her bath. By then, the rice-cooker started whistling. I pushed my daughter in the hands of my brother to dry her further and rushed into the kitchen. After attending to the rice-cooker, I put out my head to see whether my brother was comfortable with his assigned job, for my daughter was not an easy one to manage. He had already completed his drying and, to my bewilderment, was kissing her squarely on her pubic mound. She giggled, of course, my innocent girl!
By that very moment my husband entered and noticed everything, including my shocking expression. He came into the kitchen and patted my shoulder, saying, "Nothing to worry. It's mere affection. You could have done the same thing with your brother in his childhood."
My husband was right. My brother was a small boy then, three or four years old. Five, six of us girls in teen were chit-chatting, sitting in the veranda of our village house. Suddenly my kid brother ran into us, naked. My friends laughed in chorus and started making fun of him. "Look at his penis" wondered a girl, "even at this age, it's as big as my thumb! What it would be like when he's grownup!" Other girls laughed loud at her comment.
My mother came out and told me to bath my brother. I took him to the backyard, where we store water, to give him a bath. Once my brother and I were alone, I looked at his penis. What my friend observed was true. For his age, his thing was obviously big. I looked around. Nobody was there to notice. I pulled him up and kissed his penis. He giggled.
The bathroom masturbating scene of my brother flashed back into my mind. The penis of my brother had taken such a shape to make true the early prediction of my teenage friend. Unbelievable! It's as big as that of a donkey! Far more huge than that of my husband!
A fresh stream of hotness gushed through my cunt-hole. If I get a chance to plug this leaky hole with the hugeness of that lovely cock, oh, my God! I wanted to run back into the bathroom and ride my brother's cock then and there, but...
I went into the kitchen, searched all-around and found a slim and long brinjal. I placed my left foot on the two feet high grinder-platform, hiked my sari and petticoat, exposed my hairy cunt and inserted the brinjal into my oozing exigency. It was heartening to have something inside. Closing my eyes I imagined the brinjal as my brother's cock.
It's wrong.
It's all wrong, oh God, how can a sister, that too an elder responsible sister, fuck her own adolescent brother?