Chapter 1

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.

She was lying on her side on her bed, her knees slightly bent ,  and one arm under her head. Her light T-shirt clung tightly to her body, perhaps from  the heat . Sweat  had beaded on  her skin. Beneath the T-shirt, her voluptuous breasts were clearly visible, their rise and fall with every breath.

Her hot pants were so short that the curve of her backside was clearly visible. When she turned, the fabric would ride up even more, revealing the glistening skin of her thighs. Her slim waist and the gently rising navel created an image that stuck in my mind.

I stared at her for a while, then slowly walked over to the wardrobe in the corner of her room. I knew it held many of her things. Carefully, quietly, I opened the wardrobe. Inside were a few layers of clothes and some underwear in between.

My hand slowly picked up a bra—a pale pink one, probably her favorite. Didi's scent lingered in its fragrance. Then, I pulled out a thin, smooth pair of panties underneath—a pale blue one. My heart was pounding. I could just touch it all, feel it as if it were  part of Didi.

I carefully picked up the bra and panties and left the room  without making a sound.  Returning to my room, I closed the door and tucked them under my pillow, as if I were hiding some very special treasure.

[A/N: Dupatta = A long, Multipurpose Scarf or Shawl]

After that night, it became a habit. Every night  after Didi fell asleep , I would sneak into her room. Sometimes I would just look at her, sometimes I would feel her clothes. Each time, I would take something from the closet and take it to my room—sometimes a bra, sometimes panties, sometimes a dupatta she had worn. These items carried her scent, which was nothing short of intoxicating  for me.

I would rub them against my private parts and climax on them. It was incredibly exciting to see my white fluid on those clothes, and then I would quietly put them back in the closet. Sometimes , the  next morning ,  I would find them wearing the clothes I had touched. It was a wonderful feeling. The stains of my fluid touched  their private parts, and that was a kind of love for me.

This has  become my daily routine. As soon as everyone was asleep, I'd leave my room and go to Didi's. Every night, I'd yearn to touch and feel something new. Sometimes I'd place my hand under her pillow, sometimes I'd sit at her feet and gaze at her. The warmth of her body and the sound of her breathing would make my heart race. I'd just sit next to her for hours, watching her every movement under her T-shirt, as if her every breath were mine.

One day, when no one was home, she called me into her room, shouting at me. I was sitting in the drawing room watching TV. I ran to her room, and as I opened the door, my breath caught. Didi was holding the same panty I had relieved myself in the night before. She was staring intently at the stain. When I opened the door, she glared at me angrily.

[A/N: Golu = A Common, Affectionate indian nickname for younger boys]

"What do you do in my room at night, Golu?" she asked, still angry. My face turned pale. My throat became  dry, and my heart started pounding. I frantically tried to speak, "Didi... I just... I can explain..."

But she raised her hand and silenced me. “Shut up. Not a word. I know what you were doing in my room. This thing you've been doing every night… I understand everything. I'm your sister, Golu, but still… I also felt… There  was something between us that was more than just brother and sister. But this way of yours is starting to scare me.”

She threw the panties on the floor and looked at me. Her eyes were filled with anger and fear, but her lips trembled, as if she herself couldn't understand it all.

"If you do that again... if you do anything to my clothes again... I'll tell Mom and Dad everything. Do you understand? Now get out of here."

I tried to say something, but she turned and stared out the window. There was less anger on her face now, but a strange unease. I quietly turned back and left her room, feeling fear and regret for the first time.

Then  she didn't talk to me much. Her behavior had changed. Before, she would talk to me with a smile and call me affectionately, but now she kept a distance.

Chapter 2

Within a few weeks, she received a job offer from a major company in Bangalore—her dream job. She happily accepted the job and started packing. Everyone at home was overjoyed, but a void filled my heart. She left. She would occasionally come home for festivals, but we weren't the same anymore. She would only talk to me when necessary and never look me in the eye.

I realized what I had done had changed us forever. Almost a year had passed, and I had graduated . Monica had   settled in  Bangalore. She had filled her Instagram account with photos of herself. She looked more beautiful than ever.

The anxiety inside me had subsided a little, but every time I saw a new photo of him, an old memory would resurface. Everything had changed since that day.

I often regretted having  misinterpreted my feelings for Didi. Now that I had to decide on my career, I decided to pursue further studies in Bangalore. Perhaps I could improve myself there, or maybe… something else.

But Bangalore was a completely unfamiliar city to me. Where I would stay, how I would get admission, what the expenses would be—I couldn't understand anything. After much thought, I hesitantly dialed Didi's number. My fingers were trembling, and my heart was pounding. The phone was ringing… and I wondered if she would pick it up.

Seconds  later, she answered the phone. Her voice lacked its old familiarity, but it wasn't formal either. I hesitated and said, "Didi, I want to study in Bangalore... but I don't know anything about it."

There was silence for a while. Then she said, "It's good that you told me. Come , I'll explain everything. Stay with me for a few days until you find a place."

Hearing him speak brought a strange sense of relief. Maybe now something could change—or at least make sense.

Ten days later, I arrived in Bangalore. I carried a large bag with me, filled with essential supplies. I got off at the bus stand around ten in the morning and saw Didi again in person for the first time in ages.

She was wearing a white shirt and black pants. Her shirt was tucked in tightly, revealing the beautiful shape of her waist. The buttons on her shirt were slightly tucked, revealing the fullness of her chest. Her tight black pants accentuated her backside, making her look even more attractive. There was confidence in her gait, and a pause in each step.

She smiled and came to me. Without saying much, she hugged me lightly—just for a second. But in that one second, her chest was completely pressed against mine. The touch in that moment was slow but deep. Her warm, full chest pressed against mine, as if it had penetrated deep within. I immediately felt the softness of her breasts, hidden beneath her shirt, and that feeling spread throughout my body.

A few moments later, we hopped into a taxi and headed to his apartment. On the way, he looked out the window and said, "There are many good colleges here, but there's one in particular that would be perfect for you. I've already gathered the information. Its faculty, placements, and learning environment are excellent."

I listened intently. Her tone seemed more relaxed now, as if she were trying to be a sister again… or maybe something more.

About half an hour later, we arrived at her apartment. She took out the keys and opened the door, and as I entered, I noticed her room. It was a bit messy—some clothes were spread out on the bed, a bra hung on a chair, and on a stool in the corner sat her black panties, apparently put away for washing.