Maine Apni Divorced Maasi Se Apna Lund Chuswaya Summer Holidays Ke Festival Mein
blowjob, cum-in-mouth, incest

College ka final year student, gym ki wajah se meri body ab toned aur tight ho gayi thi—broad shoulders, hard chest, aur abs jo shirt ke neeche chhupe rehte the. Par sabse badi problem yeh thi ki jab bhi main Meera maasi ke baare mein sochta, mera lund apne aap khada hone lagta. Control karna bahut mushkil hota. Uske divorce ke baad se yaadein aur zyada gehri ho gayi thi, aur main jaanta tha ki yeh summer break sirf vacation nahi hone wala. Farmhouse ka wooden gate khula hua tha. Mango orchards ki khushboo hawa mein ghuli hui thi, aur door se hi maine dekha—woh veranda pe khadi thi. Meera maasi. Forty-two saal ki umar mein bhi uska jism ek mature sundarta ki misaal tha. Lambi wavy black hair ko usne loosely bun mein bandha tha, deep madak aankhein, aur woh curvy body jo time ke saath aur zyada attractive ho gayi thi—full breasts, wide hips, aur woh soft glow jo sirf ek aurat ke chehre pe aata hai jab woh akeli rehne lagi ho. “Rahul beta!” uski awaaz purani yaadon ki tarah goonji. Woh seedha mere paas aayi aur mujhe gale laga liya. Uski bahen mere around lapet gayi, aur main feel kar saka uske soft, heavy boobs apne chest se dabte hue. Unka mild perfume, thoda sa sweat aur gaon ki mitti ki khushboo mil kar ek aisa nasha bana raha tha jo seedha mere andar utar gaya. “Itne bade ho gaye ho tum. College aur gym ka asar dikhta hai.” Main muskuraya, apne haath uski peeth pe rakh kar. “Aap bhi bilkul waise hi ho maasi. Divorce ke baad socha tha aap thak jaogi, par yahan aakar lag raha hai aapne khud ko aur behtar sambhal liya.” Woh thoda door hui, meri aankhon mein dekha. Uski aankhon mein ek halki si udaasi thi. “Akeli rehna padta hai beta. Tumhare mausa ke jaane ke baad ghar sunsaan ho gaya tha. Isliye tumhe bulaaya. Summer holidays mein yahan festivals bhi hote hain na… jaise bachpan mein hote the.” Hum andar gaye. Creaky wooden floors pe humare kadmon ki awaaz purani yaadon ko jagati ja rahi thi. Rangoli abhi bhi entrance pe thi, thodi si dhuli hui. Woh mujhe fresh nimbu paani diya aur hum baith gaye. Baatein shuru hui—uski shaadi ki kharabiyan, akelapan, aur phir woh purani baatein. “Yaad hai na, har festival mein tum mere saath hi rehte the? Holi ho, ya yeh water-color wala mela… tum chhote se pichkari lekar mere peeche peeche daudte the.” Main hans pada. “Haan maasi. Aur aap mujhe pakad ke apne paas khinch leti thi. Woh din… ab bhi fresh hain dimag mein.” Bahut jaldi gaon ka annual water-color festival shuru ho gaya. Bahar se music aur hasi ki awaaz aa rahi thi. Log pichkariyon se rang birange paani aur gulal ki barsaat kar rahe the. Meera maasi ne bhi ek chhoti si plastic pichkari uthayi aur mujhe challenge kiya, “Chalo beta, dekhte hain aaj bhi tum mujhe hara paate ho ya nahi.” Hum dono bahar nikal gaye. Mela vibrant tha—lal, neela, hara rang har taraf. Main uspe pehla spray kiya. Woh chillayi, hasi, aur phir mere muh pe bhaari wala rang-paani chhod diya. Hum daud rahe the, khel rahe the jaise bachpan mein. Usne mujhe pakda, maine usko. Har baar jab hum paas aate, uski saansein meri gardan ko chhoo jati. Phir paani ki boondein uski saree pe girne lagi. Woh light pink cotton saree ab bheeg rahi thi, uske mature body se chipak kar. Uski full breasts ka shape ab saaf dikh raha tha—blouse ke andar woh heavy mounds, nipples ki halki outline bhi. Wide hips pe saree ka pallu lapeta hua tha par wet hone se uske curves aur bhi zyada sexy lag rahe the. Paani uske navel se hote hue neeche tak beh raha tha. Meri nazar wahan ruk gayi. Mera lund andar hi andar khada hone laga tha. “Maasi aap… bahut achhi lag rahi ho aaj,” maine kaha, hasne ki koshish karte hue. Woh ruk kar meri taraf dekhi. Uske gehri aankhon mein kuch tha—wohi purani chuppi pyaas jo bachpan se chali aa rahi thi, par ab divorce ke baad woh aur gehri, aur bhookhi lag rahi thi. “Tum bhi bahut handsome ho gaye ho Rahul. Bachpan ke dost ab… aur kuch aur lagte ho.” Hum hasse, khele, purani baatein ki. “Yaad hai jab tum chhote the toh mujhe ‘maasi queen’ bolte the?” Woh hans rahi thi jab main uske chehre pe rang laga raha tha. Par har hasi ke peeche main uske shareer ko mehsoos kar raha tha—wet saree uske thighs se chipki hui, uske movements se boobs ka hilna, aur woh halki si madak madak jo uski aankhon mein thi. Jaise jaise dopahar badli, mela khatam hone laga. Log ghar lautne lage. Hum bhi dheere dheere sunsaan farmhouse ki taraf chal diye. Ab sirf door se faint music ki awaaz aa rahi thi. Andar pahunchte hi ghar ka silence humpe chha gaya. Creaky floor pe humare geele kadmon ki awaaz alag si lag rahi thi. Meera maasi ne darwaza band kiya. Jab woh meri taraf ghumi, uski aankhon mein ek gehra emotional look tha. Woh sirf udaasi nahi thi—usme pyaas thi, emotional kamzori thi, aur ek aisa invitation jo bina kahe keh raha tha ki ab asli baat shuru hone wali hai. Mera dil zor se dhadak raha tha. Bachpan ki yaadein, uske bheegi saree ke curves, aur woh nazrein… sab kuch ek saath mere andar hulchul macha raha tha. Main samajh gaya tha—yeh summer sirf festival ka nahi hone wala. The creaky wooden door clicked shut behind us. The farmhouse fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the distant fading beats of festival drums. Meera maasi’s wet saree was still clinging to her body like a second skin, the light pink fabric now see-through in places. The rang from the festival had mixed with sweat on her neck making her skin look even more colorful and inviting. She turned towards me, her deep eyes with tears. “Rahul beta… aaj sab kuch itna yaad aa raha hai. Woh bachpan ke festivals, tumhara chhota sa haath mere haath mein… aur ab tum itne bade ho gaye ho.” Her voice cracked. She wiped her eyes and gave a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Divorce ke baad yeh ghar bilkul sunsaan lagta hai. Tum aaye ho toh jaise purani hawa phir se chal rahi hai.” I followed her to the big old couch in the living room. The humid air stuck to our skin. She sat down first, her wide hips spreading on the cushion, the wet saree stretching over her thighs. Without thinking, she patted the spot right next to her. “Baitho na beta. Itne door kyun khade ho?” Jaise hi main baitha, uski body ki garmi mujhe chhoo gayi. Uski thigh meri thigh se lag rahi thi. Yaadein ek saath aa rahi thi — jab main chhota tha aur woh mujhe godi mein baithati thi, uske soft boobs mere seene se lagte the. Ab wohi feeling, lekin ab main 21 ka tha aur mera lund already half-hard ho chuka tha. “Maasi, aap akeli kyun feel karti ho? Aap itni beautiful ho ab bhi,” I whispered, my voice thick. Woh thoda sharmaayi, phir emotional ho gayi. “Beautiful? Divorce ke baad koi nahi dekhta mujhe aise. Par tum… tumhari nazrein aaj mela mein kuch alag thi. Jaise bachpan ki woh chuppi attraction ab bhi zinda hai.” Mera haath apne aap uski thigh pe chala gaya. The fabric was still damp, warm from her skin. I traced a slow circle with my thumb. She stiffened for a second, her breath catching. “Rahul…” she said softly, but she didn’t push my hand away. Instead, her eyes met mine — that same thirsty look from the festival, now mixed with soft emotional side. Guilt twisted in my chest. *Yeh meri maasi hai, blood relation. Yeh galat hai.* Par uske mature curves mere saamne the, boobs upar neeche ho rahe the, aur uski thigh itni soft thi. Control chhoot gaya. Maine dheere se uski thigh ko squeeze kiya, feel kiya uski garam skin saree ke neeche. Woh ek pal ke liye aankhein band kar ke baithi, phir mera haath pakad liya. Main socha rok degi. Lekin nahi. Usne mera haath uthaya aur seedha apne left boob pe rakh diya. “Touch karo beta… agar mann kar raha hai toh.” Mera haath uske heavy breast pe dab gaya. Itna soft, itna full. Wet blouse ke through bhi uski warmth feel ho rahi thi. Maine dheere dheere squeeze kiya, thumb se uske nipple ko circle banate hue. Woh halki si siski bhar utari, “Mmm…” Uski nipple hard ho gayi mere touch se. Main dono haathon se uske boobs ko massage karne laga — light squeezing, kneading the soft flesh. Unka weight mere haathon mein perfect lag raha tha. Purani yaadein aur lust dono ek saath chal rahe the. Usne apna haath mere shorts ki taraf badhaya. Meri saans ruk gayi. Uski ungliyan elastic ke andar slip ho gayi aur seedha mera lund pakad liya. “Ohhh Rahul… itna tight aur garam.” Woh dheere dheere usko upar neeche hilane lagi — slow, sensual handjob. Uski mature palm meri shaft ko ache se lapet rahi thi, thumb se tip ko tease karte hue. “Maasi… yeh… galat hai na?” I groaned, even as my hips pushed forward into her fist. Woh mere kaan ke paas whisper ki, haath ki speed badhaate hue, “Rahul beta, yeh galat toh hai par bahut purana connection feel ho raha hai. Bachpan se hi tum mere closest the. Divorce ke baad raaton ko aksar tumhari yaadein aati thi.” Uski strokes ab aur rhythmic ho gayi thi — tight grip, slow pull, phir tez. Mera lund uske haath mein phool raha tha, precum uski palm ko geela kar raha tha. Hum dono ki saansein tez ho rahi thi. Ghar mein sirf humari heavy breathing aur uske haath ki wet stroking ki awaaz thi. Maine uske boobs ko aur zor se dabaya, nipples ko pinch kiya. Woh moan karti rahi, apni free hand se apni saree ke upar se apni pussy ko dabate hue. “Yaad hai jab tum mere saath pichkari se khelte the? Aaj tum mujhe kuch aur hi pila rahe ho beta…” Mera lund ab bilkul rock hard tha. Woh expert strokes de rahi thi — base se tip tak, kabhi kabhi balls ko bhi touch karti. Pleasure itna intense tha ki meri aankhein band ho rahi thi. Guilt ab door ja chuka tha. Sirf relief tha — purana attraction finally release ho raha tha. Jaise hi main jhadne wala tha, usne apna haath rok liya. Mera lund uske haath mein throb kar raha tha, ekdum edge pe. Maine shocked hokar uski taraf dekha. Woh muskurayi, aankh maari aur dheere se bola, “Kal aur gehraai tak jaayenge.” Phir woh uthi, apni wet saree ko theek kiya aur bedroom ki taraf chali gayi, apni curvy hips ko hilate hue. Main wahan couch pe hi baitha raha, lund abhi bhi khada, dil zor zor se dhadak raha tha. Us raat bhar mujhe neend nahi aayi. Sirf uske haath ki feeling, uske boobs ka softness, aur uska woh seductive smile baar baar yaad aa raha tha. Kal kya hone wala tha, yeh soch soch ke mera mann bilkul bekaraar ho gaya tha. The morning light filtered through the old wooden windows of the farmhouse, casting colorful patches on the floor from the leftover gulal and rang that had stuck to our feet from yesterday’s festival. The air still carried the faint smell of wet earth, mango blossoms, and that sweet, sticky scent of colored powder. I had barely slept, my mind replaying every stroke of Meera maasi’s soft hand on my lund from last night. My body felt restless, gym-toned muscles tight with anticipation. Twenty-one years ka ladka hoon, par uske saamne main ab bhi woh chhota Rahul lagta tha jo uske saath pichkari khelta tha. “Rahul beta… aa jaao idhar,” her voice called from the hallway, soft but urgent. Main utha aur uske peeche ho liya. Woh seedha apne bedroom mein le gayi. The room smelled of her—jasmine oil, faint sweat, and something deeper, more feminine. The big wooden bed with its faded floral bedsheet looked inviting. Sunlight poured in, making the colorful remnants on her skin glow. Her long wavy hair was open today, falling over her shoulders. She was wearing a simple white saree, no blouse underneath, just the pallu draped loosely. Uski mature curves ab aur bhi zyada inviting lag rahi thi. She closed the door behind us. For a moment, hesitation flickered in her deep madak eyes. “Beta, kal raat ke baad socha bahut. Yeh sab galat hai na? Tum meri behen ka beta ho… blood relation. Par yeh yaadein… bachpan se jo connection tha, woh divorce ke baad itna strong ho gaya hai ki control nahi ho raha.” Her voice trembled. She stepped closer, her fingers lightly touching my chest. “Tumhe yaad hai jab tum chhote the, festival ke din main tumhe godi mein baithati thi? Tumhara sar mere boobs pe lagta tha aur tum muskurate the. Aaj… aaj main tumhe kuch aur dena chahti hoon.” Nostalgia ka jhonka itna strong tha ki meri saans ruk gayi. *Yeh meri maasi hai. Yeh forbidden hai. Par uski yeh pyaas… main ise rok nahi sakta.* Maine sirf nod kiya, mera lund already thickening inside my shorts. Woh dheere se mere saamne ghutno pe baith gayi. Forty-two saal ki aurat, curvy body, wide hips spread on her heels, full breasts heaving under the thin saree. Usne meri shorts ki elastic pakdi aur aankhon mein dekhte hue neeche khinch di. Mera lund spring ki tarah bahar aa gaya, hard and throbbing, veins pulsing. Usne ek pal usko dekha, phir meri taraf dekha with those hungry yet emotional eyes. “Kitna bada ho gaya hai mera Rahul,” she whispered, voice thick with memories. “Bachpan mein tum mujhe apni favorite queen kehte the. Aaj yeh queen tumhara yeh lund worship karna chahti hai.” Pehle usne apni warm tongue bahar nikali aur dheere se base se lekar tip tak lick kiya. The wet, hot trail sent electricity up my spine. Phir usne tip ko kiss kiya, soft mature lips pressing lovingly, sucking the precum drop that had beaded there. “Mmm…” she moaned, eyes never leaving mine. Uske lips itne soft, itne experienced the. Jaise saalon se iske liye wait kar rahi ho. Phir usne pura muh khol kar mera lund andar liya. Inch by inch, warm, wet heat ne mujhe lapet liya. Uski tongue ne shaft ke neeche ka hissa massage kiya jaise expert ho. Deep throat karte hue usne almost saara lund andar le liya, nose mere stomach se lag gayi. Thoda gag hua par woh ruk nahi. Uski mature lips tight ring banakar upar neeche hilne lagi, sloppy wet sounds filling the quiet room—slurp… slurp… gluck. “Maa… maasi…” I groaned, haath uske baal mein daal kar. Beech mein main jhuk kar uske boobs pakde. Saree ke upar se bhi unka weight aur softness feel ho raha tha. Maine zor zor se massage kiya, unko knead kiya, nipples ko pinch kiya. Woh aur zor se choosne lagi, jaise mera touch usko aur hungry bana raha ho. Usne apni ek haath apni saree ke andar daal diya. Main dekh sakta tha uski ungliyan apni pussy mein ghus rahi hain, wet squelching sounds ke saath. Uski moans mere lund ke around vibrate kar rahe the—low, needy, mixing with the faint festival geet ki awaaz jo bahar se door door aa rahi thi. Jaise purane Holi ke geet ab humare moans mein mil rahe hon. “Ahhh… Rahul beta… tumhara lund itna tasty hai,” she gasped whenever she pulled back for air, strings of saliva connecting her lips to my cock. Woh expert thi. Kabhi deep throat, kabhi sirf tip ko chusna with swirling tongue, kabhi balls ko gently suck karna. Uski aankhein hamesha meri aankhon se judi hui thi, jaise keh rahi ho ki yeh sirf sex nahi, purana connection hai. Guilt mere andar tha par lust usse zyada strong tha. Uski wavy hair mere thighs pe faili hui thi, uske heavy boobs mere haathon mein dab rahe the, aur uski tongue mere lund ko paagal kar rahi thi. Mera body tight hone laga. Balls sac tight ho raha tha. Woh speed badha deti thi, phir slow kar deti, mujhe edge pe le jaati. Har baar main sochta yeh baar jhad jaunga, woh ruk jaati aur muskurati, apni tongue se sirf tip ko tease karti. Finally, jab main bilkul control kho chuka tha, hips automatically uske muh mein dhakel rahe the, woh poora lund muh se bahar nikala. Mera lund uske saliva se chamak raha tha, throbbing desperately in front of her face. Woh apne ghutno pe baithi rahi, lips swollen and wet, breathing hard. Usne dheere se mera lund haath mein pakda, halka sa stroke diya aur boli, “Aaj raat poora experience karenge, abhi sirf taste liya hai beta.” Mere mann mein aur gehre desires jag gaye the. Raat ka intezaar ab jaise aag laga raha tha. Uske seductive aankhon mein woh hunger dekh kar main samajh gaya—yeh festival ab sirf rang-paani ka nahi, hamare purane connection ka asli mela hone wala tha. Woh uthi, apne lips ko chaat ti hui, aur mujhe ek emotional yet naughty smile di. Mera lund abhi bhi khada, dil zor zor se dhadak raha tha. Raat bahut door thi par har second jaise saal lag raha tha. The last night of the special festival week had come. Outside, the village lights were dimming, but the faint beats of dhol and leftover laughter from the colorful water festival still floated through the mango orchards. Inside Meera maasi’s bedroom, the air was humid and heavy with jasmine oil, old wood, and the sweet sticky smell of rang that still clung to our skin. Aaj pura din humne saath mein village ke dusre festivals enjoy kiye the par ab raat ka asli khel shuru hone wala tha. I stood near the door, my heart hammering like it did when I was a kid waiting for her to lift me up during pichkari play. *Yeh meri maasi hai… blood relation. Yeh galat hai,* my mind kept whispering, but my 21-year-old lund was already straining against my shorts, remembering her soft hand from two nights ago and the way her lips had worshipped me yesterday morning. “Rahul beta… andar aao,” she called softly. Her voice carried that same warmth from my childhood, but now it had a deeper, throatier edge. I stepped in. She was standing beside the big wooden bed, the faded floral sheet still scattered with tiny bits of colored powder from the festival. Her long wavy black hair was open, falling over her shoulders like a dark waterfall. The simple white saree she wore clung to every mature curve—full heavy breasts, soft waist, wide hips that swayed gently as she breathed. Her deep madak eyes met mine, full of loneliness, love, and raw hunger that divorce had only made stronger. Without saying much, she started unwrapping her saree. The fabric whispered as it fell, pallu first, then the rest pooling at her feet. No blouse, no petticoat underneath. Just her naked 42-year-old body in the soft lamplight—curvy, real, beautiful. Her heavy breasts hung full and soft with dark nipples already hard. Her wide hips flared out, leading to thick thighs and the dark triangle between them. The faint traces of festival color still streaked her skin like war paint from our past. She walked to me, took my hand, and gently pushed me down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Baitho beta. Aaj last night hai is festival ki. Humne bachpan mein itna khela hai… ab kuch aur khelte hain.” Her fingers trembled slightly as she pulled my shorts down. My thick lund sprang out, hard and veiny, already leaking precum. She smiled with wet lips, that nostalgic look in her eyes making my chest tight. Meera maasi cupped her heavy breasts and leaned forward. She pressed them together around my shaft, the soft warm flesh swallowing me completely. *Fuck… itne soft.* The sight of my cock disappearing between her mature tits was too much. She started moving up and down slowly, her boobs sliding along my length, warm and silky. Every time the tip poked out from her cleavage she bent her head and gave it a wet lick, tasting the precum. “Maasi… yeh feeling…” I groaned, my hands reaching for her hair. The guilt was there, sharp like a knife—*she changed my diapers, she is my maasi*—but the nostalgia was stronger. All those years of hidden glances during festivals, her calling me her little Rahul, now this. Her breasts were so full they spilled over my thighs as she worked them faster, squeezing tighter, the wet sounds of skin on skin filling the quiet room. She looked up at me, eyes glassy. “Yaadein yaad hain beta? Jab tum chhote the aur main tumhe apne seene se lagati thi? Aaj wohi seena tumhara lund chhoo raha hai.” Her voice cracked with emotion even as she kept sliding her tits up and down my cock. After some time she couldn’t wait anymore. She pulled back, let my lund fall from between her breasts, and took it straight into her mouth. The transition was sudden and sloppy. Her mature lips stretched wide, tongue swirling around the head before she sank down, taking almost all of me in one go. Wet, gurgling sounds—slurp… gluck… slurp—echoed as she bobbed her head with hunger. Saliva dripped down my balls. She was an expert, sucking hard, cheeks andar kheench kar, then pulling back to lick every inch like she was starving for me. My hands moved on their own. I reached down past her shoulders, grabbing her soft, round gaand. It was so big and plush in my palms. I groped hard, squeezing the flesh while she moaned around my lund, the vibration shooting pleasure up my spine. My fingers slid into her crack, finding her tight hole. Lightly, I circled it, then pushed one finger in just a little. She jerked but didn’t pull away. Instead she sucked harder, pushing her ass back onto my finger as I gently fingered her. “Maasi… aapki gaand itni tight… aur aapka muh itna garam,” I whispered, voice shaking. All the incest guilt and years of suppressed desire crashed together. *Yeh galat hai par yeh hamara purana connection hai.* Festival memories flooded me—her laughter when I sprayed her with pichkari, her wet saree yesterday, her calling me beta even while stroking me. It was all too much. My balls tightened. My toned body went rigid. I grabbed her head with both hands and started thrusting into her mouth. She took it, eyes watering but full of love, one hand stroking the base while the other played with her own wet pussy. The pressure built like a dam breaking. “Maasi… main… aaahhh!” I lost control completely. Thick ropes of cum exploded into her mouth, jet after jet. She didn’t pull back. She swallowed every drop, her throat working around me, milking me dry with soft sucks until I was empty and trembling. Finally she let my lund slip from her lips with a wet pop. A thin string of cum and saliva connected us for a second before breaking. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then smiled that beautiful, satisfied smile. Some cum still glistened on her lower lip. “Yeh hamara secret festival hai beta.” Uske muh se cum saaf karte hue woh mere se lipat gayi, pressing her naked warm body against my chest. Her heavy breasts squished on me as she hugged tight, her face buried in my neck. But when she pulled back a little, her deep eyes were shining with something more. They told me clearly that this summer break was far from over. Aur bhi raatein baaki hain. The farmhouse, the orchards, and our forbidden yaadein were going to see a lot more before I had to leave. My heart swelled with love and fresh lust as I held my maasi close, the distant festival drums slowly fading into the night. Aapko yeh kahani kaisi lagi? Comment mein zaroor batao!