Indian Jija Sali Sex Story: The Night Shift Secret

If this were one of those indian jija sali sex story pages Tanya had read on her phone under her blanket in college, the first line would have told her exactly what to do. Instead she stood in her didi's kitchen at seven in the morning, and her jija was reaching past her for the pressure cooker lid, and her whole body was doing the reading for her.

Rohan's forearm brushed the back of her shoulder as he leaned in, and steam burst from the cooker between them like it had been waiting for an excuse. He did not move back right away. She did not move away either. For three whole seconds the kitchen belonged to nobody's rules.

"Sambhal ke," he said, low, and his voice sounded different with steam in it, thicker, and Tanya felt her nipples tighten under her thin cotton top before she could stop them.

She was twenty five, newly hired at a marketing firm in Pune, and sleeping on the fold-out bed in Priya didi's spare room while she hunted for her own flat. Priya, thirty one, was a nurse doing a week of night shifts, which meant the flat went quiet at nine every evening, and Rohan, her husband of six years, worked from home at the dining table with his headphones on and his eyes doing things Tanya pretended not to notice.

Monday evening she had caught him watching her hang laundry on the balcony. She had stretched up to pin Priya's salwar to the line, her kurta riding up to show a strip of her waist, and when she turned he was standing in the doorway with a coffee mug and no expression at all, which was worse than any expression.

"Help karoon?" he had asked, and she had said no too fast, and the pin had slipped from her fingers and he had caught it before it hit the tiles, his fingers closing over hers around the small plastic clip, and neither of them had let go first.

On Tuesday the rain came back for one last monsoon performance and the power flickered once, just once, and Tanya found herself standing too close to him in the dark hallway for the four seconds it took the inverter to kick in. His hand had landed on her waist, steadying her, and stayed there a heartbeat too long, and in the dark she had heard him breathe in, sharp, through his nose.

"Didi ko pata chala toh?" she whispered, because somebody had to say it.

"Didi so rahi hai," he said, and the inverter hummed back to life, and his hand left her waist like it had never been there, but her skin remembered the shape of it all evening.

Wednesday she went up to the terrace alone at dusk to escape the flat's thick air, and the wet cement smell rose up around her, and two minutes later the terrace door creaked and there he was with two cutting chai glasses, saying Priya had texted that he should make sure she eats.

They sat on the low parapet wall with their knees almost touching, and the city lights came on below them, and Tanya told him about her college boyfriend who had married someone else, and Rohan told her about the first year of his marriage when he and Priya had fought every single night about nothing.

"Ab?" she asked.

"Ab hum ladte nahi," he said. "Hum bas... alag alag kamron me rehte hain, almost." The honesty of it hung between them like the steam in the kitchen, and then a gust of wind took her dupatta and threw it across his face, and he caught it, and for a moment his mouth was buried in the cloth that smelled of her, and his eyes closed.

She took the dupatta back slowly, letting it slide through his fingers, and his hand followed it without permission and closed around her wrist instead.

"Rohan," she said, and it was the first time she had said his name instead of jija, and they both heard what it meant.

Thursday morning Priya kissed Tanya's forehead at eight, already half asleep on her feet. "Night shift, baccha. Fridge me khana hai. Apne jija ko khila dena, woh bhool jata hai." Then she was gone into the bedroom, and the door clicked, and the flat settled into its daytime hum.

Tanya worked from the spare room with her laptop, but every hour she found a reason to walk past the dining table. Once he looked up and their eyes locked and he held her gaze until she had to look away, her ears burning. Once she bent to pick up a fallen pen near his chair and felt his eyes on the curve of her back the whole way down and the whole way up.

At nine that night Priya left with her tiffin, her hair in a tight nurse's bun, blowing them both a kiss from the door. The lock turned. The flat went quiet. Tanya heated the dal and rice and set two plates on the table, and Rohan came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and water still on his chest, and the sight of him stopped her hands mid motion.

"Khana lag gaya," she managed.

"Tanya," he said, and crossed the small kitchen in three steps, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and certain, like he had been rehearsing this for days and was done rehearsing.

She made a small sound against his lips and her hands came up on their own, one sliding into his wet hair, the other flat against his chest where his heart was hammering. He tasted of toothpaste and want. His towel loosened and dropped, and her palm closed around his lund before her brain caught up, thick and hard and pulsing in her fist.

"Itna," she breathed. "Tum itne din se..."

"Tum bhi," he said, and lifted her onto the kitchen counter in one motion, plates forgotten, and pushed her kurta up over her head. Her bra was thin and damp with sweat and he unhooked it with one hand like it was nothing, and then his mouth was on her boobs, sucking hard, his tongue circling her nipples until she was arching off the counter and whimpering.

She worked his lund with her hand, faster, feeling the pre cum bead at the tip and spreading it with her thumb, and he groaned into her neck. "Mouth," he rasped. "Please."

Tanya slid off the counter to her knees on the kitchen tiles, and took him into her mouth in one slow push, her lips stretching around his thickness. He was big, and she had to relax her throat, and the sounds he made above her, broken and filthy, went straight to her chut. She sucked and licked and took him deeper, her tongue pressing hard under the head, one hand cupping his balls and rolling them gently.

"Bas, bas," he gasped, pulling her up by her shoulders before he could finish. "Bedroom. Abhi."

He carried her, actually carried her, down the hallway to the master bedroom, and laid her on the bed he shared with her sister, and for one second the thought flickered, Priya, didi, and then his mouth was between her legs and the thought burned away completely.

He pushed her salwar and panty down in one drag and spread her thighs wide, and then his tongue was on her chut, long slow licks from bottom to top, circling her clit with maddening patience. Tanya's hands fisted in the bedsheet. "Rohan, please, please," she chanted, and he slid two fingers inside her while his tongue kept working, curling them up to find the spot that made her back bow off the bed.

Her chut was dripping, soaked, and when she came it hit her like the rain on the terrace, sudden and total, her thighs clamping around his head and her cry muffled by her own fist. He did not stop. He kept licking her through it, gentler now, until she was trembling and pushing at his head.

"Andar," she whispered, pulling him up. "Ab andar aao."

He rolled on the condom with shaking hands, and then he was pushing into her, slow at first, her wet chut taking his lund inch by inch, stretching around him. Tanya wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper. "Aur," she demanded. "Poora."

He gave it to her, all of it, bottoming out inside her, and they both froze at the feeling, joined completely, and then he started moving, long deep strokes that hit something inside her with every push. The bed creaked. Her boobs bounced with the rhythm and he bent to suck one nipple, then the other, never breaking the pace.

"Tum itni tight ho," he groaned against her skin. "Pagal kar diya tumne mujhe, Tanya."

She flipped them, surprising them both, and rode him, her hands flat on his chest, her hips rolling in slow circles before she started bouncing hard, taking him as deep as she could. His hands gripped her waist, guiding her, and his eyes never left her face, and she felt powerful and filthy and free all at once.

When her second climax started building she leaned forward and bit his shoulder to keep quiet, and he turned her around without pulling out, onto her hands and knees, and took her from behind, doggy, one hand in her hair and the other reaching around to rub her clit in fast circles.

"Aa rahi hoon," she gasped. "Rohan, main aa rahi hoon."

"Saath me," he growled, thrusting harder, the sound of skin on skin filling the bedroom, and then she was coming, her chut clenching hard around his lund in waves, and he shouted her name into the pillow and emptied himself inside the condom, his body jerking against hers.

They collapsed sideways, still joined, breathing like they had run up the terrace stairs. His hand found hers and laced their fingers together, and for a long time neither of them said anything, because there was nothing to say that would not ruin it.

They showered together at four in the morning, slow and tender, washing each other with more care than the night had allowed, and he kissed the water off her shoulder and she memorized the exact shape of his mouth. At five her alarm buzzed and she slipped back to the spare room with her pillow, and the flat was a normal flat again.

Priya came home at seven, tired and smelling of hospital soap, and found them both in the kitchen. Tanya was making chai, and Rohan was buttering toast, and everything looked so ordinary that Tanya almost laughed.

"Dono ne khana kha liya tha?" Priya asked, yawning.

"Haan didi," Tanya said, handing her a cup. "Jija ko khila diya tha. Tumne kaha tha na."

Rohan met her eyes over the rim of his chai glass for one loaded second, and Tanya smiled into her own cup, and the secret sat between them, warm and alive, waiting for the next night shift.