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Two fully clothed adults, one adult Indian man and one adult Indian woman in an Indian apartment entry.

Why Bhabhi Aditi Never Let Us Reach Aunt Usha’s Dinner

8 min readBhabhi Sex Stories

Aditi Bhabhi held her sandals by the straps and blocked the front door of our Mysuru flat.

“You’re not walking me into that hall like a well-behaved devar,” she said. “Not after last Sunday.”

My brother’s wife had already draped the cream silk saree she saved for family dinners. The blouse sat tight across her chest. Gold hung at her throat. She looked ready for Aunt Usha and not ready at all.

Sanjay had flown out two days earlier for a plant audit, the kind of trip that still pulls men across India away from their own dining tables. He had asked me, casually, to escort Aditi Bhabhi to Mausi’s gathering so the relatives would not count an empty chair.

I had one cuff still open. “Mausi is expecting both of us. You heard her.”

“I heard you last Sunday too.” Her voice stayed low, but the sandals knocked once against the doorframe. “You said we would wait until after the dinner. I thought that meant you were finished with me.”

The living room smelled of her perfume and the fried snack she had packed for the carpool. Ceiling fan on medium. Street noise from the parking lane under the balcony. I should have been tying my shoe.

“That is not what I meant,” I said.

She laughed without humour. “Then say what you meant, Vikram. Because I spent six days thinking my devar looked at his bhabhi, got frightened, and hid behind a family function.”

The Dinner We Abandoned

Last Sunday we had argued about a delayed plumber and a leaking tap. The fight had gone stupid and hot. I had kissed her against the kitchen shelf. When her fingers found my belt, I had stopped us. I had said the dinner came first. I had said I would not take her to Mausi’s house with her mouth still on mine.

She had heard a refusal. I had meant a delay. The planned obligation had sat between us like a locked cupboard.

“I did not want Aunt Usha reading it on my face,” I said. “I did not want your pallu smelling of me in a hall full of cousins. That was the promise. Not that I was done.”

Aditi Bhabhi lowered the sandals. One strap slid off her finger and hit the tile. For a second she only breathed. Then she stepped off the doorway and into me, cream silk whispering against my open shirt.

“Then the dinner can lose,” she said. “I am not going there to sit polite while I still want this.”

Her mouth found mine before I finished nodding. It was not shy. She bit my lower lip and pulled my half-buttoned shirt apart. I walked her backward until her hips met the arm of the sofa. The gold at her throat clicked against my teeth when I kissed down.

“Tell me if you want the door instead,” I muttered into her skin.

She dragged my palm to her breast over the blouse. “I want you. Now. Not after any speech from Mausi.”

That was the whole permission we needed. Her nipple hardened under the fabric. I opened the hook at her nape and the blouse loosened. She shrugged one shoulder free, then the other, and the cream silk sagged to her waist. The petticoat stayed. Her bra was plain beige, the kind a woman wears when she thinks she is only going to eat rice and listen to aunts.

I got it off. Her breasts filled my hands, warm, already tight. She made a small sound and pushed her chest forward. I sucked one nipple, then the other, slower the second time because her fingers were in my hair and she was not pretending this was accidental.

“Bedroom,” she said. “The sofa faces the balcony.”

We left the sandals where they fell. In the bedroom she turned so I could unwind the saree. Metres of silk piled on the chair. Petticoat next. She stood in panties and the gold necklace, thirty-one, my brother’s wife, looking at me like the dinner had been a bad joke.

I dropped my shirt. Belt. Trousers. She hooked her thumbs in my briefs and dragged them down, and my cock sprang against her wrist. She wrapped her fingers around it and stroked once, watching my face, not performing.

“You kept this from me for a dinner,” she said.

“I kept us from walking in smelling like we had already done this.”

She sat on the edge of the bed and took me into her mouth. Heat, wet tongue, the slow pull that made my knees ugly. One of her hands stayed on my hip. The other held the base. I did not thrust into her throat. I let her set it. When she drew off, a string of spit connected her lip to the head, and she wiped it with her thumb like it annoyed her that we had wasted a week.

I went to my knees on the rug and pulled her panties aside. She was already slick. I licked her open, slow at first, then harder when her thigh trembled against my ear. Aditi Bhabhi cursed in a whisper and caught the bedspread. Her sister-in-law composure was gone. She tasted like salt and whatever soap she had used for the function we were about to miss.

“Inside,” she said. “Stop being careful.”

I stood, hooked the panties down her legs, and laid her back. She opened for me without theatre. I rubbed the head of my cock through her wetness and pushed in, one long press until my hips met hers. She was tight around me, and her mouth fell open on a sound she tried to swallow.

We stayed like that a moment, just breathing, my brother’s wife under me in the room they shared when he was in town. Then she rolled her hips and I started to fuck her in earnest, deep, the bedframe tapping the wall in a rhythm that would have been stupid if the neighbours were home.

When Aunt Usha Phoned

Her phone rang on the nightstand. The screen said Usha Mausi. We both froze with me still buried in her. The second ring was louder.

Aditi Bhabhi reached, answered, and kept her other hand on my back so I would not pull out.

“Haan, Mausi.” Her voice came out almost normal. “We are… getting ready.”

Aunt Usha’s volume carried. The society car was lining up. If we were not downstairs in twenty minutes, they would leave without the two empty seats.

I should have withdrawn. I should have reached for the shirt. That had been the old plan: hear the obligation, become decent, arrive on time.

Aditi Bhabhi looked at me while Mausi talked. Then she said, “Don’t wait. Something came up in the flat. We are not coming.”

Silence on the line. Then Mausi’s sharp question. Aditi only repeated that we were not coming, said sorry once, and cut the call. The phone landed face down on the pillow.

“That was the last chance to be good,” she said. “I am not putting the saree back on.”

The decision flipped. We were not late people hurrying into clothes. We were staying. I hooked her knees higher and drove in harder, and she laughed into my shoulder, startled and hungry. Her necklace bounced. Sweat gathered between her breasts. I sucked a mark low enough that a blouse would hide it, then another because she pulled my hair when I did.

“Harder,” she said. “You delayed us for nothing.”

I gave her harder. The wet sound of it filled the room. She clenched around my cock when I rubbed her clit with my thumb, and her orgasm hit with her nails in my arm and a broken yes she did not bother to muffle. I kept moving through it until she twitched and pushed at my wrist, oversensitive, still holding me in with her heels.

I was close. She felt it, tightened on purpose, and said, “In me.” I came with my face in her neck, spilling inside her in pulses that left my arms shaking. We stayed joined, breathing like we had run stairs.

When I slipped out, semen wet her inner thigh. She looked down at it, then at me, and did not reach for a towel first. She kissed my mouth, slower now, the fight gone out of both of us.

“Last Sunday you were not rejecting your bhabhi,” she said against my teeth. “You were being a coward about Mausi’s hall. Fine. The hall lost.”

Left Behind by the Carpool

A horn sounded in the parking lane, long and impatient. Then another. Voices carried up, someone calling our floor number. Aditi Bhabhi sat up, found the saree on the chair, and wrapped it once around her bare chest without blouse or pins. She went to the balcony door and stood to the side of the curtain.

I stayed on the bed, still naked, heart ugly in my throat. The horn blared again. A man shouted that Mausi would not wait. After a minute the engine noise moved, faded toward the main road, and the lane went ordinary.

A missed family dinner in India does not stay a private matter. Relatives talk. Chairs get counted. By morning the cousins would have a story about Sanjay’s wife and Sanjay’s younger brother who never came downstairs.

Aditi Bhabhi let the curtain fall. She did not step fully onto the balcony. Down in the slot where the society car had idled, there was only oil stain and a stray dog. She came back to the bed, saree slipping off one shoulder, and sat on the edge without looking at the phone.

“They left,” she said.

I nodded. There was nothing useful to add. The obligation had done what it came to do. It had shown us the promise, and then it had driven away without us.

She picked her blouse off the floor, held it, and did not put it on. Outside, Mysuru evening traffic filled the gap the horn had left. Inside, my brother’s wife stayed on the rumpled sheet, gold necklace still fastened, and neither of us reached for the door.

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