Big Sister and Me
Copyright© 2026 by Abe
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - He was masturbating into her underwear night after night—rubbing himself against the soft lace of her favorite pink bra, spilling thick ropes of cum across the crotch of her pale-blue panties, then carefully folding them back into her drawer so she’d unknowingly wear his mark against her most intimate skin the next day. The secret thrill of seeing her walk around the house in those same stained pieces, hips swaying, ass cheeks shifting under shorts, kept him hard and aching for more.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Fiction Incest Brother Sister Indian Male Indian Female Anal Sex Cream Pie Massage Masturbation Oral Sex Big Breasts Indian Erotica Slow
The story of Monica Didi and me wasn’t as simple as the ones I usually read. But then the thought came to mind that this is a real story, and in the real world, when you want to have sex with your own sister, there are bound to be difficulties. It took years, but I got what I wanted. Anyway, I’ll start the story; just read it slowly.
[A/N: Didi = older sister]
Monica didi and I are siblings, and we’ve been together since childhood. She’s three years older than me. Everything was fine until I learned about sex and other things. But when I turned nineteen, everything changed. At that time, almost every boy in our class was in love with someone. He seemed to like one girl or another.
But I was different. I never liked any girl. And a big reason was Monica Didi. I saw her the moment I opened my eyes. Her smile, her gait, her caring nature—everything deeply ingrained itself in my heart. Gradually, no one could take her place within me.
I already had a soft spot for her, and it only grew stronger with time. When other boys talked about their girlfriends, I simply remained silent. I couldn’t understand what they were saying because my mind was always on Didi.
And anyway, my sister Monica is so beautiful that anyone could fall in love with her. Her face was so innocent yet sensual. Her large eyes, filled with kohl, made my heart flutter every time she looked at me. Her lips were so juicy and plump that when she smiled, I couldn’t resist kissing them. The slight pink sheen made her lips even more alluring.
Her chest was full and round. When she wore tight T-shirts, the shape of her voluptuous breasts was clearly visible. Every time she bent over, her cleavage peeking out from her neckline made me restless. Every movement of those round and heavy breasts drove me crazy. Sometimes she would walk around without a bra under the T-shirt. The shape of her nipples was clearly visible beneath the fabric.
[A/N: A Traditional indian cloth worn by women]
Her slender waist and the curves that flowed down from it seemed sculpted. When she wore a sari or shorts, her navel was clearly visible, a small, round, and deep spot that drew me in again and again. Often, I would simply stare at her navel, lost in its beauty.
And her most captivating feature was her backside. When she wore shorts, her plump, firm buttocks swayed as she walked. Her backside swayed with every step, and my eyes were glued to it. Her plump thighs and round backside in tight clothes could drive any guy crazy.
Monica didi wasn’t just beautiful; she was a living, sensual fantasy, the thought of whom kept me awake at night. Gradually, I began to observe and feel her more closely. I would deliberately wake up at a time when she would be drying her hair after her morning bath. Through the crack in the door, I would sneak a peek at her, noticing how her hair would be wet, her T-shirt would cling to her body, and her nipples would be visible.
I started following her. Whenever she went to the terrace to dry clothes, I would follow her and hide in a corner, watching her. As she bent to pick up a bucket or straighten her sari, I would capture her every move. Sometimes, when she talked to her friends and laughed, I would sense the innocence and sensuality hidden behind her laughter.
I knew it was all wrong, but my heart couldn’t stop looking at Didi. She was my sister, but to me she wasn’t just a sister; she was a woman whose heart and body were beyond my control.
One night, I couldn’t control myself, and quietly slipped into her room. Monica Didi was asleep, but not deeply. I’d always assumed she was a light sleeper, but that night she seemed exhausted. The dim light in the room made her skin glow a pale golden hue.
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