The bathroom was already thick with steam when I sank deeper into the tub. Hot water lapped at my collarbones. My knees were bent, thighs open, the underside of one breast floating just above the surface. I had the door locked, the exhaust fan humming low, and my phone face-down on the closed toilet lid so I wouldn’t get distracted by notifications.
I started slow. Two fingers of my right hand drifted down my stomach, past the small dark mole just left of my navel—the only mark that ever made me different from Ahena—and slipped between my folds. I was already slick. I circled my clit with the pad of my middle finger, light at first, then firmer, the way I liked it when I had time. A soft moan slipped out before I could bite it back. The sound bounced off the tiles.
My left hand came up and cupped my left breast, thumb dragging across the nipple until it tightened into a hard peak. I pinched it, rolled it, then lifted the heavy soft weight toward my mouth. I had to hunch a little, water sloshing. My tongue flicked the tip once, twice, then I sucked it in, wet and noisy. The dual sensation—tongue on my own nipple, fingers working my clit in tight circles—made my hips jerk. Another moan, louder this time, vibrated against my own skin.
I switched breasts. The right one was just as full, DD and heavy in my palm. I sucked harder, teeth grazing just enough to sting, while two fingers slid inside me. I fucked myself with short, wet thrusts, the heel of my hand grinding my clit on every inward push. Water slapped against the sides of the tub in time with my movements. My head tipped back against the cool ceramic. Eyes half-closed. Mouth open around my own nipple, saliva running down the curve of my breast and dripping into the bath.
“Fuck… yes…” I whispered, the word muffled by soft flesh. I sucked harder, pinched the other nipple between two fingers, and curled the ones inside me until my thighs started to shake. The pressure built fast—tight, hot, coiling low in my belly. I was so close. My hips lifted, water cascading off my skin, toes curling against the far end of the tub. One more hard suck, one more deep thrust—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The bathroom door rattled hard enough that the lock clicked in its frame.
“Saina! Open up, you absolute menace, I’ve been calling for ten minutes!”
Ahena’s voice. Soft as usual, but sharp with urgency.
I froze, fingers still buried inside myself, nipple still wet and shiny between my lips. My orgasm hovered right there, throbbing, denied. I groaned in pure frustration, the sound half-moan, half-growl, and reluctantly pulled my hand free. The water felt suddenly too hot. I stood, legs shaky, and reached for the handheld shower to rinse the slickness from my thighs and the saliva from my breasts. Quick, efficient, annoyed. Then I stepped out onto the mat, grabbed the towel, and dried myself with rough, impatient strokes—chest, stomach, between my legs, the small mole that was only mine. I paused for half a second in front of the fogged mirror, towel draped around my hips, and looked at my own body the way I always did when I was alone: the heavy curve of my breasts, the narrow waist, the soft flare of my hips. Bigger than hers. Always had been. I smirked at my reflection, then wrapped the towel properly under my arms and unlocked the door.
Ahena was already dressed in a soft pastel kurti, hair half-done, a small bindi waiting on the dressing table behind her. She took one look at my damp hair and the flush still high on my cheeks and rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
“At least today don’t masturbate,” she said, voice low so no one in the rest of the house would hear. “One boy is coming to see me in an hour. Try to look like a normal younger sister for once.”
I grinned, stepped right into her space, and cupped both of her breasts through the thin fabric of her kurti, giving them a firm, playful squeeze.
“That’s why I’m bigger,” I said, voice still a little rough from the unfinished orgasm.
She slapped my hands away, laughing under her breath even as she glared.
“Naughty. Go put clothes on before Mummy hears you. And if you leave the bathroom smelling like… that… I’m telling her you used all the hot water again.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, adjusted the towel, and padded past her toward our shared room, already plotting how I was going to finish what I started later tonight after the boy left and the house went quiet.
—
I dropped the towel on our bed and pulled on a simple white kurti and jeans, the kind that made me look like the “well-behaved younger sister” for five minutes. Ahena was already sitting in front of the mirror, a half-open makeup pouch in her lap. I took the foundation bottle from her hand without asking.
“You don’t even need this,” I said, dabbing a little on her cheek. “Your face is already soft and sweet. He’s going to fall over just looking at you.”
She tilted her head so I could blend better. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one sitting there while two families decide if you’re good enough.”
I grinned and reached for the kajal. “Then why are you letting me do your eyes? You know I’ll make you look dangerous.”
“That’s exactly why.” She caught my wrist for a second, then let go. “Just… not too much. Mummy will complain.”
I finished her eyes, brushed a light gloss on her lips, and stepped back. She looked calm, pretty, the soft version of us. I tugged the neckline of her kurti a little higher, then immediately pulled it back down half an inch.
“There. Perfect. Now if he stares, it’s not my fault.”
She slapped my arm, laughing. “Saina!”
We heard the car engine outside. Both of us froze for half a second, then ran for the stairs. Papa was already at the bottom, adjusting his shirt.
“Saina, you stay here,” he said. “When I call, bring her down properly.”
“Yes, yes,” I answered, already pushing Ahena toward the upper landing. “Move, lazy ass. Go sit like a proper bride-to-be.”
Mummy’s eyes flashed at me from the living-room doorway. “Language.”
I turned my head just enough to look innocent and kept climbing.
The guests came in a few minutes later. I went down first. The man who stepped inside was bulky—broad shoulders, thick arms under a plain formal shirt—but the heavy black-rimmed glasses sat on his nose like they were part of his face. For a second I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the laugh. Then I looked properly. The rest of him was handsome enough that the glasses didn’t ruin anything. He kept his eyes slightly lowered, almost shy.
I folded my hands. “Pranam, Aunty. Pranam, Uncle.” Then I offered my hand to him. He took it carefully, his palm warm and a little damp, and gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes yet.
His mother looked at me with open delight. “Wah, our daughter-in-law is so beautiful.”
I laughed lightly. “Aunty, I’m the younger one. You’ll see my didi in a minute. She’s more beautiful than me.”
“Oh?” She patted the sofa beside her. “Then come, sit here with me until she comes. What is your name, beta?”
“Saina.”
I sat. The boy—still standing—looked even more embarrassed now that his mother had mistaken me for the actual girl. He cleared his throat and finally sat on the single chair opposite us, glasses glinting under the tube light.
The usual family talk started. Papa spoke about Ahena’s BSc, her new job as a business analyst, how soft-spoken and caring she was. Mummy added the expected lines about her cooking and her nature. I stayed quiet, only answering when someone asked me about college. First-year engineering, Jaipur, hostel life—short answers. Every time I spoke, the boy’s eyes flicked toward me for a second before dropping again.
After a while Mummy looked at me with the sweetest voice she only used in front of guests.
“Beta, go and tell Ahena to bring tea for our guests.”
(In my head: *How sweet she’s talking now.*)
I stood. “Didi, come… tea time.”
Ahena came down the stairs a minute later. The U-neck of her kurti sat lower than it had upstairs; the soft weight of her breasts pushed the fabric just enough that a clean line of cleavage showed when she moved. She carried the tray carefully, eyes lowered the way girls are taught. The boy’s gaze went straight there and stayed for a second too long before he remembered his glasses and the room full of parents. He looked away, then looked back, then adjusted the frames on his nose as if that would help.
Tea was poured. More polite questions. Ahena answered softly. I watched the way his thick fingers held the cup, the way he kept glancing at her when he thought no one noticed. His mother asked me about my studies again; I gave the same short answers and stole a side look at Ahena. She was smiling that gentle smile of hers, the one that made boys lose track of counting.
When the visit ended, both families stood. I walked with Ahena to the door. The boy’s mother squeezed my hand once more and said something affectionate. He gave a small, shy nod to both of us, glasses catching the evening light, then followed his parents to the car.
Ahena and I stayed at the gate until the car turned the corner. The street was quiet again. She let out a long breath. I bumped her shoulder with mine.
“Well,” I said. “He stares. And those glasses…”
She didn’t answer, but the corner of her mouth curved up just a little as we turned back toward the house.
—
Author note :
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