How 16 year old girl fucked me. Or introduce me to fucking world. Fuck man. After reading comment down for next part.
My name is Chagulu. I’m twenty-seven. I never went past standard thirteen. After that I took over the family rental business—tools, generators, tents, furniture, whatever people needed for a few days or a few weeks. It brings in decent money and keeps the house running. My older brother lives out of the country for work and only comes back once in a blue moon, so most of the responsibility sits on me. Father, mother, my brother’s wife, and their little one all stay under the same roof. We manage.
Then the call came about Lisha. She is my uncle’s daughter. Standard ten. So she is 16 but no one will say it is 16 because of her mature boobs. One ordinary afternoon she simply vanished with some boy. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened around her. Once she had been caught calling two different boys to the house on the same day; one of them was even found hiding under the bed. That history sat in the back of my mind the whole time.
Aunty broke down completely. Uncle was furious and panicked at the same time. We involved the police, tracked the mobile, and finally reached the location. The boy was still with her. Uncle didn’t waste a second—he slapped the boy hard across the face instead of laying a hand on his own daughter. Lisha cried, clung to her mother, and spun the same story: she had been brainwashed, pressured, almost kidnapped. Everyone around us nodded and believed her.
I didn’t.
Once is an accident. Twice is a pattern. Three times is a choice. I thought she has this big boobs at age 16 meaning she is continuously giving boys to press them , otherwise no way. I kept that thought to myself. I also kept the other thought—that she was almost certainly no longer a virgin—locked behind my teeth. No point saying it out loud when the whole family wanted to treat her like a victim who needed protecting.
After a few days of silence at her own house, the decision was made that she should visit relatives for a change of air, a “mind-fresh” trip. One stop on that trip was our house.
I came back from a rental delivery on my electric bike and found her already inside, sitting with my mother and my brother’s wife, speaking softly, looking properly ashamed and grateful. I gave a short nod and went to wash up. I didn’t care about her tour of relatives. I had work to do.
The problem was space. We still hadn’t built extra rooms. The only proper bedroom that could take another person was mine. So that night she would sleep there.
I didn’t argue. There was nowhere else to put her.
When I walked into the room later, her small bag was already in the corner and a thin mattress had been rolled out on the floor beside my bed. She looked up at me, offered a quiet “Thanks for letting me stay,” and then went back to folding a pair of clothes.
I just grunted, dropped onto my bed, and switched off the main light.
Outside the room the house was quiet. Inside, only the two of us.
Lisha went to the washroom. When she came back she was wearing a thin nighty, the kind that barely reached mid-thigh. She didn’t say anything at first. She just stood near the rolled mattress on the floor, looking at me for a second longer than necessary, then sat down.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling and ignored her.
She shifted. The nighty rode up a little when she moved. After a while she stood again, walked closer to my bed, and hesitated like she was still deciding. Then she climbed up anyway, kneeling on the edge of the mattress.
Moonlight was coming through the skylight in the roof. It fell straight across her chest. The thin fabric of the nighty turned almost see-through under that silver light. Her boobs were big—heavy, full, and clearly free underneath. The dark circles of her nipples pressed against the cloth, easy to see.
I finally spoke.
“Lisha, why are you not wearing a bra?”
She smirked. The moonlight made the expression look sharper.
“Bhai, after you guys brought me from there I haven’t seen any man yet.”
She leaned in a little closer.
“So Chagulu bhai… what do you think? What am I saying?”
Her finger came up and touched the tip of my nose, then slowly slid down to my lips, then lower, resting lightly on my chest. She left it there for a moment, feeling the heat of my skin.
I stayed still.
She didn’t stop. Her hand moved to the buttons of my shirt. It had been a hot day; I had only worn the shirt loosely. One by one she opened them, pushing the cloth aside until my chest was bare. Her fingertips brushed the hair there.
“Nice chest hair, Chagulu bhai…” she murmured, almost teasing.
I didn’t answer. My heart was already beating harder than I wanted it to.
She kept touching, kept looking at me with that same half-smile, waiting for a reaction that refused to come. After another minute she let out a small, disappointed breath.
“You are so boring.”
I turned away from her and faced the wall. The moonlight still reached the bed behind me. I could feel her still kneeling there, close enough that the heat of her body mixed with the warm night air. My heart kept racing against the mattress, loud in my own ears.
Outside the room the house stayed quiet. No one knew what was happening inside.
She didn’t leave the bed.
I felt her shift closer until her body pressed fully against my back. The thin nighty was the only thing between us at first. Then something soft and warm pushed harder. I clearly felt both of her nipples—hard, pointed—digging into my skin through the fabric.
A second later a piece of cloth flew past my face, hit the wall in front of me, and dropped onto my cheek. I pulled it away and looked at it in the moonlight. It was her nighty.
She was completely bare now.
Two hard, warm points rubbed slowly up and down my bare back. Her full breasts pressed flat against me, nipples dragging across my skin with every small movement she made. The heat of her naked chest soaked into me.
Her lips came close to my ear.
“Those boys… they never lasted, Chagulu bhai. One of them finished the moment I touched him. The other one only knew how to talk. I got bored so fast…”
Her voice was low, almost casual, but every word landed heavy.
She took my right hand, guided it backward, and placed it firmly on her breast. The soft, heavy weight filled my palm. The nipple was stiff under my fingers. I didn’t squeeze. I just left my hand there, frozen.
“Still ignoring me?” she whispered.
I didn’t answer. My heart was hammering.
Then her hand slid around my waist, found the front of my pants, and pressed against the growing hardness there. She cupped it through the cloth, giving a slow, deliberate stroke.
“Bhai, you are not honest… but your dick sure is.”
She squeezed a little tighter, rubbing the length of it with her fingers.
“It’s getting harder every second. See? It likes me more than you do.”
She kept talking, voice soft and dirty against my ear—details about how the boys used to beg, how none of them ever filled her the way she wanted, how sharing a room with me was the first time she felt real tension again. Every sentence made the pressure in my pants worse. My breathing turned rough. The last of my calm was cracking.
I couldn’t take any more.
I turned fast, grabbed both her wrists, and slammed her down onto the bed. Her naked body lay fully open under the moonlight—big breasts rising and falling, nipples dark and hard, stomach flat, legs slightly apart. I pinned her wrists above her head, holding her in place.
She looked up at me, eyes bright, no fear at all.
“Go on, Bhai.”
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