My Sister's Boyfriend Has a New Toy-me! Ch1:the Unseen Observer
Copyright© 2025 by Cherry Bitch
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - I wasn’t supposed to be there. I wasn’t supposed to watch. But when I saw them together — him on top of her, all strength and control — something inside me snapped. I touched myself while they fucked, right there outside the window, shaking so hard I nearly gave myself away. She didn’t notice. But he did. And from that moment on, I wasn’t invisible anymore.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Slavery Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing InLaws DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Indian Male Indian Female Oral Sex Public Sex Indian Erotica
My sister Nisha Patel is a supernova. She walks into a room, and you know she’s there. At 20, she’s perfected the art of command, not through subtle persuasion, but through presence. Her confidence isn’t just a trait; it’s a weapon, honed by years of getting exactly what she wants.”No” is a foreign concept to her, leading to a deeply ingrained sense of entitlement.
Then there’s me - 19 year old Shruti Patel, an almost invisible flicker in Nisha’s bright orbit. I blend into the background of a crowded room, comfortable in my own thoughts, often with her nose buried in a book or her laptop. Maybe it’s just me - or it is the fact that I might be scared to step out of my comfort zone, as judgement and gossip break my heart. Or maybe it’s due to Nisha
You see, Nisha has never let this fact down. She makes it known to everyone what a pathetic loser I am, sometimes directly, sometimes through taunts. Since I can’t directly fight her back, I just remorsefully sulk back at her, leading to bitterness. And so when Nisha got a new boyfriend, I was sceptical.
You see ‘new boyfriends’ are a very common thing for Nisha. She will just wag her ass for whichever boy gives her attention. I’m not jealous - I’m just saying it like it is.
However this one was ... different. Faizan met her at her social meets, and him being an artist intrigued me. At 27, he was the kind of guy who doesn’t need to be loud to command attention; his presence does it for him. He’s tall, with a lean, powerful build. When he speaks, it’s often in a low, measured tone, making people lean in to hear him. This quiet confidence, combined with his natural strength, gives him the undeniable aura of an alpha male.
Now I didn’t engage myself much in this boys nonsense, but if I had to choose someone, it would have been someone like him. Well. This was already going to be awkward. So when the doorbell rang on a random Sunday, I didn’t expect it to be him.
My breath hitched a little. Seeing him in person, without Nisha as a buffer, felt different. More ... intense.
“Hi,” he said, his voice low, and smooth “Is Nisha home?”
I fumbled for a moment, suddenly aware of my worn t-shirt and the messy bun that had been perfectly acceptable for an afternoon alone. “Uh, yeah. She’s ... she’s in the shower,” I managed, feeling my cheeks warm. “Come in.” I stepped back, opening the door wider. He moved past me with an easy grace, filling the hallway with his quiet presence.
My mind, however, was a whir. What do you say to your sister’s new, mysterious boyfriend when she’s stuck in the shower? I tried to think of something smart, or at least normal, to say, but my mind was a blank. It was then I noticed the screen. The movie I’d been half-watching wasn’t the usual lighthearted rom-coms Nisha loved. It was ... an adult romance.
Right now, a woman on screen was dramatically pulling a man closer by his tie. My face burned. Of course this was the movie playing when Faizan walked in. I scrambled for the remote, my fingers suddenly clumsy, desperate to change the channel. But before I could jab at the buttons, Faizan’s low voice cut through my panic. “It’s alright, Shruti,” he said, and there was a hint of a smile in his tone. “No need to be embarrassed.”
He didn’t laugh, didn’t even smirk. He simply looked at me with those steady, dark eyes, and for a moment, the awkwardness began to melt away. He shifted slightly on the sofa, settling back with an ease that suggested he wasn’t bothered by the movie, or my obvious discomfort.
“Nisha talks about you,” he offered, changing the subject, his gaze still on me. It wasn’t a demanding look, just an attentive one. “She says you’re very smart.”
My brow furrowed instinctively. Nisha says I’m smart? My sister, who usually refers to my studies as “nerd stuff” and dismisses my opinions as “Shruti being Shruti”? Yeah, Right!
In the silence, we heard the bathroom door opening upstairs, indicating Nisha was done with her shower. Faizan got up from the sofa. “Well, I guess that’s my cue,” he winked at me.
I was left alone in the living room again, the TV still playing the ridiculous romance movie. I picked up the remote, but my fingers froze over the buttons. My mind wasn’t on the screen anymore. It was upstairs, behind that closed door.
What were they doing up there? Nisha, so loud and demanding, and Faizan, so quiet and contained. What did that look like when they were alone? Was she still trying to be the one in charge, or had she already given in to his subtle dominance? That final, fleeting look from him, the hint of a shared, unspoken joke – it replayed in my mind. A weird knot formed in my stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was more like an unsettling curiosity.
My dilemma lasted only a few seconds. The urge to know, to understand what was happening upstairs, was stronger than my awkwardness, stronger than my usual timid nature. Slowly, carefully, I rose from the sofa. Each step I took towards the staircase felt deliberate, amplified in the quiet house. I tried to walk as lightly as possible, holding my breath, my heart thumping a strange rhythm against my ribs. The giggles and laughs grew a little clearer as I ascended. The closer I got to the top, the more I could feel the energy emanating from Nisha’s closed bedroom door
The door, of course, was locked. Typical Nisha. But I knew a way. Our bedrooms on the second floor shared a long, narrow balcony that ran across the back of the house. From my window, I had a clear view of Nisha’s, and if I was brave enough, I could climb out. It was a stupid idea, reckless even, but the urge to see, to understand this new dynamic, was overwhelming.
I maneuvered myself onto the balcony. I crept along the dusty, sun-warmed concrete, the sounds from Nisha’s room growing louder with every hesitant step. As I neared her window, a soft light spilled out, and I could finally make out movement within. Slowly, cautiously, I edged closer, finally peeking around the frame.