Indian Chachi Sex Story: Wedding House Nights

Every joint family hides an Indian chachi sex story it will never admit out loud. Mine began on the evening before my cousin Aisha's wedding, with Ritu chachi's voice low and hurried on the phone. "Beta, tumhare chacha station gaye hain mehmaanon ko lene, aur main yahan dulhan ke trousseau ke dibbon mein dabi hui hoon. Aa jao na, thodi madad kar do." I could hear the smile hiding inside her words. I told her I would be there in twenty minutes.

Shahjahanpur in wedding season smells of marigold and diesel and frying jalebis. Chacha's house was strung with yellow bulbs that buzzed faintly, and the whole lane throbbed with a dhol from two houses down. Ritu chachi opened the door herself, and for one stupid second I forgot how to say namaste. Her saree was half draped, the pallu tucked carelessly at her waist, her hair pinned up in a loose bun with damp strands sticking to her neck. "Andar aa," she said, pulling me in by the wrist, "time bahut kam hai."

The big bedroom looked like a cloth shop after a storm. Three steel trunks stood open, suitcases yawned on the bed, and tissue paper rustled under my shoes. Silk sarees lay everywhere in heaps of red and gold and bottle green. Chachi stood in the middle of it all with her hands on her hips, a general surveying her battlefield. "Dulhan ka trousseau pack karna hai, aur tumhare chacha ko station jaane ki padi thi," she said. "Ab tu hi mera sahara hai."

She picked up a deep maroon blouse with a plunging back and held it against herself in front of the tall mirror. "Shaadi mein yeh pehnun ya woh neeli wali?" she asked, and before I could answer she had slipped the blouse on over her petticoat and turned her back to me. "Zara zip laga de beta. Peeche haath nahi pahunch raha."

My fingers were not steady. The zip was tiny and her back was warm and smooth, and the moment the teeth closed she let out a small satisfied sound. "Bas," she whispered, looking at me in the mirror, "perfect." Her eyes held mine a heartbeat too long. I told myself I was imagining the rest.

"Ab ek kaam kar," she said, turning around, the new blouse hugging her tightly, "neeche wali almari se woh zari wali saree nikaal de. Dusri shaam ko pehnungi." I bent to the almari, and when I straightened she was standing very close, close enough that the maroon silk brushed my chest. "Waise," she said softly, "tu toh bada ho gaya hai Kabir. Last time dekha tha tab kitna dubla tha."

"Chachi," I said, my voice thinner than I wanted, "aap bhi toh waisi ki waisi hain." She laughed, a low sound that did something to my stomach. "Jhootha," she said, but she did not step back. Her fingers straightened my collar, slowly, deliberately, and I could feel each fingertip through the cotton of my kurta. The dhol outside changed its beat. Somewhere a pressure cooker whistled in the kitchen and nobody went to attend it.

My phone buzzed. Then hers rang, shrill, from the bedside table. She glanced at the screen and her whole face changed. "Tumhare chacha," she said, and put it on speaker while she folded a saree. "Haan ji, bolo."

Chacha's voice came thin through the speaker, full of station noise. "Ritu, train chhe ghante late hai. Mehmaan abhi platform par hi hain. Main subah ki bus pakad lunga, raat yahin kaat leta hoon." A pause, then, almost apologetic, "Ghar ka dhyaan rakhna. Kabir aaya kya?"

"Haan, aaya hai, madad kar raha hai," chachi said quickly, too quickly, her eyes flicking to me. "Theek hai, aap aaram se aana." She cut the call and stood very still for a moment, the folded saree in her hands. Then she looked at me, and the look was completely different from the teasing of five minutes ago. "Toh," she said quietly, "aaj raat ghar mein sirf hum dono hain."

The words hung in the air between us like the smell of her perfume. She walked past me to the door, and I heard the bolt slide home with a soft metallic click that was louder than the dhol. "Bahut se mehmaan aate jaate rehte hain shaadi wale ghar mein," she said, not turning around. "Darwaza band rakhna hi theek hai." When she turned, she was unpinning her hair, and it fell around her shoulders in a dark wave.

"Chachi," I started, and she held up one finger. "Shh. Aaj raat ke liye main Ritu hoon." She walked to the mirror and began undoing the blouse she had just asked me to zip, her eyes on mine in the glass the whole time. The maroon silk slid off her shoulders. "Waise bhi," she murmured, "tumne zip lagaya tha. Tum hi khologe."

I crossed the room before I had decided to move. My hands found the little zip and drew it down, slowly, feeling her shiver under my fingers. She leaned back against me, her bare back against my kurta, and I could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric. "Kabir," she breathed, and turned in my arms, and then her mouth was on mine, hungry and certain, tasting of paan and secrets.

What happened next on that bed of scattered silk I will remember on my deathbed. She pushed me down among the sarees and straddled me, her saree riding up, and ground herself against me through my kurta with a rhythm that stole my breath. "Itne saalon se," she gasped against my neck, "tumhare chacha ne mujhe chhua tak nahi dhang se. Business, travel, thakaan. Main aurat hoon Kabir, murti nahi." Her hands tore at my kurta buttons. Two popped off and rolled across the floor.

I had dreamed of Ritu chachi since I was nineteen and understood what dreaming meant, but nothing had prepared me for the reality of her. Her boobs spilled out of the loosened blouse, heavy and full, the nipples dark and already hard. I took one in my mouth and she cried out, a raw sound she immediately smothered with her own palm. "Dheere," she hissed, laughing breathlessly, "pados wali chachi sun legi." Then she pulled my head back down, harder.

She was wild and I was starving and the trousseau bed became our battlefield. I rolled her under me, yanked her petticoat's nada open with my teeth, and she laughed into my shoulder as the fabric pooled away. Her chut was already wet, glistening, and when I slid two fingers inside her she arched off the bed with a choked moan. "Haan," she whispered fiercely, "aur andar, aur."

I went down on her right there among the tissue paper and gold zari, and the taste of her nearly undid me. My tongue found her clit and she grabbed fistfuls of my hair, grinding against my face with no shame left at all. "Kabir, Kabir," she chanted under her breath, her thighs trembling around my ears, and then she came with a muffled scream into her own dupatta, her whole body convulsing. I licked her through every wave of it, greedy for more.

She pulled me up, her eyes glazed and shining, and pushed me back onto the pillows. "Ab meri baari," she said, and her hand closed around my lund through my pyjama with a confidence that made me groan. She freed it, looked at it for a long hungry moment, and then took me into her mouth. The heat of her, the wet slide of her tongue along the underside, the way she hummed around me, I thought I would lose my mind. Her hand worked what her mouth could not take, fast and skilled, and I tangled my fingers in her hair and let her drive me to the edge and hold me there, cruel and perfect.

"Ritu," I gasped, "main jhadne wala hoon." She lifted her head, breathing hard, a wicked smile on her swollen lips. "Nahi," she said. "Aaj raat tera pani aise nahi niklega." She stood up, naked except for a gold chain at her throat, and walked to the door of the room that opened onto the terrace. "Chhat par chal. Taaron ke neeche. Wahan koi nahi sunega."

The terrace was strung with the same yellow wedding bulbs, and the night air was cool on our heated skin. Below, the lane was quiet now, the dhol silent, only a dog barking far away. She spread a spare razai on the charpai and pulled me down with her, and under that ridiculous innocent sky she rode me like she had been waiting years for exactly this. My lund slid into her chut in one deep thrust and we both cried out at the fullness of it, the rightness of it.

She set a brutal pace, her boobs bouncing, her head thrown back, the yellow bulbs gilding her sweat. I held her hips and drove up into her, and every stroke pulled another broken sound from her throat. "Aur tez," she begged, "aur tez, mujhe tod de." I flipped her onto her stomach on the charpai, pulled her hips up, and took her from behind, one hand fisted in her hair, the other reaching around to rub her clit in tight circles. She screamed into the razai, truly screamed, and came so hard her legs gave out.

I was not done, and neither was she. I turned her over, lifted her legs onto my shoulders, and sank into her again, deeper than before, watching her face twist with pleasure in the bulb light. "Tumhare chacha," I groaned, unable to stop the words, "unhe pata chala toh?" She laughed, wild and free, digging her nails into my back. "Toh keh dungi," she panted, "ki unki biwi aakhir aurat ban gayi." Her chut clenched around me and I felt my own climax building like a wave.

When it came it nearly blinded me. I pulled out at the last second and my pani spurted across her stomach and breasts in hot ropes, and she watched it with half closed eyes, smiling like a queen. Then she pulled me down beside her on the charpai, both of us panting, sticky and spent, and draped the razai over us. The yellow bulbs hummed above. "Kabir," she whispered into my chest, "yeh raat kisi ko mat batana. Yeh sirf humari hai."

We lay there until the sky began to pale at the edges. She made me get up first, pushed me toward the bathroom with my kurta bundled in my arms. "Chacha ki bus saat baje aayegi," she said, already wrapping her saree with practiced speed, every inch the respectable chachi again. "Jaldi se taiyaar ho ja." I stood in the doorway, memorizing her, and she caught me looking and blew me a kiss when the bathroom door was safely between us and the world.

By the time the gate creaked and chacha's tired voice called out from the lane, the trousseau was packed, the bed was made, and Ritu chachi was in the kitchen making chai like nothing had ever happened. She handed me my cup, our fingers brushing for one deliberate second, and her eyes said everything her respectable smile did not. "Chai pi le beta," she said sweetly. "Shaadi mein bahut kaam hai aaj."