I was alone in the house again.
My wife had left three days ago for another long business trip. She always did. Meetings, flights, late-night calls. The flat felt bigger and quieter every time she packed her suitcase. I was thirty-six, worked a regular office job that didn’t demand much overtime, and still came home to empty rooms more often than not.
That evening I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I locked the bedroom door out of old habit, even though no one was coming home, and sat on the edge of the bed. My cock was already half-hard from the restless thoughts that had been circling all day. I pushed my trousers and underwear down to my thighs, spat into my palm, and started stroking. Slow at first, then firmer. The familiar wet sound filled the quiet room. I closed my eyes and let the tension build, hips shifting, breath turning rough. I was right there—balls tight, the first sharp pulse of orgasm starting to rise—when the doorbell rang.
“Shit.”
The word came out sharp and panicked. My hand froze mid-stroke. I was so close that the interruption almost hurt. I shoved myself back into my trousers with clumsy fingers, heart hammering, and stood up. The zipper caught. I cursed under my breath, gave it one quick yank that only half-closed it, and hurried toward the front door. My cock was still thick and sensitive against the fabric, the head wet enough to leave a small damp spot.
I opened the door.
Anwesha stood two steps down on the landing, looking up at me. Nineteen. My elder sister’s daughter. Long wavy black hair, gold earrings, that soft face I hadn’t seen in person for over a year. She was wearing a top with a deep, plunging neckline that left a wide V of smooth skin exposed. From my higher position I could see straight down into the soft, heavy cleavage between her full breasts. The fabric clung just enough to show the round shape of them.
Her eyes dropped for half a second—right to the front of my trousers where the half-zipped fly and the obvious bulge were impossible to hide—then flicked back up. A slow, surprised smile curved her lips.
“Surprise, Unc…” Her voice was light, almost playful. Then it dropped a little, teasing. “Wow. Mini unc with uncle.”
Heat flooded my face. I cleared my throat and tried to step sideways so the doorframe blocked more of me. “Anwesha. I—wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
“Interview got moved up. Thought I’d surprise you.” She climbed the last two steps, still watching my face, still smiling that small knowing smile. Up close the scent of her hair reached me—something light and floral mixed with the warm evening air. Her top shifted as she moved; the deep neckline dipped even lower for a second. I forced my eyes up.
“Come in,” I said, stepping back. My cock gave another unwanted throb against the half-open zipper. I kept one hand casually in front of me.
She walked past me into the living room, looking around with open curiosity. The white cloth of her lower garment moved with her hips. She turned, still smiling.
“Aunty’s not home, right? You look like a man who’s been alone too long.” Her gaze flicked down again, deliberate this time, then back to my eyes. “Did I interrupt something important, Unc?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Just… relaxing. Long day.”
“Mmm.” She set her small bag on the sofa and sat down, leaning back so the neckline of her top opened wider. The inner curves of her breasts were clearly visible. She didn’t adjust the fabric. “You can finish relaxing later. I’m not going to tell.”
The air felt thicker. I stayed standing, trying to will the remaining hardness away, but the sight of her—nineteen, soft, looking at me like she already knew too much—wasn’t helping.
She patted the cushion beside her. “Sit. Tell me how you’ve been. And maybe zip up properly before you sit. Unless you want me to keep staring.”
Her tone was light, but her eyes stayed on mine, steady and a little challenging. The teasing had already started.
I zipped up the rest of the way, the metal teeth loud in the quiet flat, and sat down on the other end of the sofa. My pulse was still too fast. Anwesha shifted slightly, angling her body toward me, one arm along the back of the sofa. The movement made her breasts press together inside the deep top for a moment.
“So,” she said softly, “are you going to pretend that didn’t just happen… or are we going to be honest that your niece just caught you with your hand down your pants?”
I stayed on my end of the sofa, trying to keep my breathing steady. Anwesha didn’t look away. She shifted again, drawing one leg up under her so the white cloth of her lower garment slid higher on her thigh. The deep neckline of her top still gaped open, the soft inner curves of her breasts rising and falling with each breath.
“You don’t have to look so guilty, Unc,” she said, voice low and almost amused. “I’m not a little girl anymore. I know what men do when they’re alone too long.”
She leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees. The movement pushed her breasts together, deepening the shadow between them. My eyes dropped before I could stop them. She noticed. Of course she noticed.
“See?” she murmured. “You’re still looking. It’s okay. You can look. You’ve been staring since I walked in.”
I swallowed. “Anwesha… this isn’t—”
“Isn’t what?” She tilted her head. “Isn’t allowed? Because I’m your niece? Or because Aunty isn’t here and you’re already hard again?”
The words hit me like heat. My cock, which had started to soften, twitched heavily inside my trousers. I shifted, trying to hide it. She smiled, slow and knowing.
“You can touch, if you want,” she said quietly. “Just once. I won’t tell anyone. I’ve been thinking about it since I saw you at the door.”
My hand moved before my brain fully caught up. I reached across the small space between us and closed my fingers over the soft, heavy weight of her left breast through the thin fabric of her top. The warmth of her skin soaked instantly into my palm. Her breast filled my hand completely—full, yielding, the nipple already stiff under the cloth. I squeezed once, almost instinctively, feeling the soft flesh compress and spring back.
Anwesha gasped. A sharp, soft sound that went straight to my cock. Her eyes fluttered half-closed for a second.
I jerked my hand back like I’d been burned. “Shit—sorry. I’m sorry.”
I stood up too fast, almost knocking the side table. Without another word I walked out of the living room and into the kitchen, heart slamming against my ribs. The silence that followed was thick. I could hear her breathing from the other room, but neither of us spoke for almost a full minute.
When I finally came back, she was still on the sofa, but her expression had softened. She looked at me without the earlier sharp teasing.
“Unc,” she said quietly, “when are Aunty and you getting a child together?”
The question caught me off guard. I sat down again, farther away this time. “We… talk about it sometimes. But her work. My work. Timing never feels right. And the house already feels empty enough without adding the pressure of trying.”
She listened. Really listened. I found myself talking more than I meant to—about the long stretches of silence, the way the marriage had settled into polite distance, how some nights the loneliness sat heavier than I wanted to admit. She didn’t interrupt. Just nodded once or twice, eyes steady on mine.
After a while she stood and went to the kitchen herself. I heard the fridge open, the soft clink of bottles. She came back with two cold beers, handed one to me, and sat closer than before.
We drank in slow sips. The cold bitterness helped steady my nerves a little. Conversation drifted—her interview the next day, how different the city felt from home, small memories of family gatherings years ago. The earlier tension was still there, humming under every word, but the beer and the quiet talking softened the edges.
I was mid-sentence about something ordinary when she set her bottle down, leaned in, and kissed me.
It wasn’t soft or hesitant. Her mouth pressed firmly against mine, lips warm and slightly parted, the faint taste of beer on her tongue as it brushed my lower lip. One of her hands came up and rested lightly on my chest. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make my head spin and my cock surge hard again inside my trousers.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark, breathing a little faster. She didn’t give me time to speak.
Anwesha leaned in again and kissed me harder, mouth opening against mine. The faint, sweet taste of strawberry balm on her lips mixed with the beer still lingering on both our tongues. It wasn’t lipstick—just a soft, sticky gloss that made her natural pink lips taste like ripe fruit. I could smell it too, light and sugary every time she exhaled against my face. My hands hovered uselessly at my sides for a second before one of them found the curve of her waist.
Her fingers were already at the buttons of my shirt. She worked them open one by one without breaking the kiss, knuckles brushing my chest each time. When the last button came free she pushed the fabric off my shoulders. The cool air of the living room touched my bare skin. I shrugged the shirt the rest of the way off and let it fall somewhere behind the sofa.
Still kissing me, she reached for my belt. The metal buckle clinked. She tugged the leather free, unbuttoned the trousers, and dragged the zipper down. My cock, already thick and aching from everything that had happened earlier, sprang forward against the front of my underwear. She didn’t pause. Her hand slipped inside the waistband, fingers wrapping firmly around the hot, hard length of me.
I groaned into her mouth.
She broke the kiss just long enough to look down, then back up at my face, eyes dark and gleaming. With both hands she hooked the waistband of my underwear and pulled it down. My cock bounced free, heavy and flushed, the head already wet. She closed her fingers around it again—warm, soft, slightly cool from the beer bottle she had been holding—and started stroking. Slow, deliberate pulls from base to tip, her thumb sliding over the slick head on every upstroke.
“Fuck… Anwesha—”
The sensation was almost too much after the earlier interruption. My hips twitched forward into her fist. She kissed me again while she stroked, tongue sliding against mine, the sweet strawberry taste flooding my mouth. I could feel every ridge of her fingers, the way her grip tightened just under the head, the soft wet sound of her hand moving over me. Heat pooled low in my stomach. My balls drew up tighter with every stroke.
She kept going until my breathing turned rough and uneven. Then she suddenly pulled back, stood up in front of me, and reached for the hem of her top.
I watched, pulse hammering in my throat, as she peeled the deep-necked top up and over her head. Her full, heavy breasts spilled free—round, soft, dark nipples already tight. She didn’t stop there. The white lower cloth came next, sliding down over her hips and thighs until it pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it and stood completely naked in the middle of the living room, the soft light from the side lamp painting her skin in warm gold.
Long black hair spilled over one shoulder. The soft curve of her stomach, the full weight of her breasts, the smooth junction of her thighs—everything was right there in front of me. The scent of her skin reached me, warm and clean under the faint strawberry of her lip balm.
She stepped between my knees. I was still sitting on the sofa, trousers and underwear shoved down around my thighs, cock standing rigid and glistening. She leaned down and kissed me again, slower this time, letting me taste more of that sweet balm. One of her breasts brushed against my bare chest. The soft, warm weight of it made my cock jump.
Then she sank to her knees.
I watched her settle between my legs, hands resting on my thighs. She looked up at me once, eyes steady, then lowered her head. Her soft pink lips parted and closed around the head of my cock.
The wet heat of her mouth was immediate and overwhelming. I sucked in a sharp breath, one hand flying to the edge of the sofa cushion. She took me deeper, tongue pressing flat against the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. The strawberry taste was gone now—replaced by the slick, salty heat of her saliva and the slow, deliberate drag of her lips as she rose and fell.
She stroked what she couldn’t take with one hand, twisting gently on every upstroke. The other hand rested on my thigh, fingers digging in lightly. Wet sounds filled the quiet room—soft, filthy, rhythmic. I could feel every movement: the tight ring of her lips, the flat of her tongue, the way she occasionally took me deeper until the head nudged the back of her throat and she had to pull back with a small wet gasp before going down again.
My head fell back against the sofa. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter at the base of my spine. My hips wanted to thrust; I forced them to stay still. The sight of her—nineteen, naked, kneeling between my legs with her mouth full of my cock—made the pressure build faster than I could control.
“Anwesha… I’m close—fuck, I’m—”
She felt it. The way my cock swelled thicker against her tongue, the way my breathing turned into short, broken sounds. Just as the first heavy pulse started to rise, just as my balls tightened and the orgasm was about to crash through me, she pulled off completely.
A wet string of saliva connected her lower lip to the glistening head of my cock for a second before it broke. She sat back on her heels, lips shiny, breathing a little hard, and looked up at me with that same half-smile.
My cock throbbed in the open air, angry-red and leaking, so close that the denial almost hurt. I was left gasping, hips twitching uselessly, the unfinished orgasm burning under my skin.
She stayed right there on her knees, naked, watching me struggle to catch my breath.
I was still throbbing, the unfinished orgasm sitting right under my skin like a live wire, when Anwesha climbed onto my lap.
Her bare thighs settled on either side of mine. The heat of her skin against my legs made my cock jump. She reached down, wrapped her fingers around me again, and tried to guide the slick head between her legs. I felt the soft, wet folds of her pussy brush against me—hot, smooth, already slick. She pressed down.
The head nudged against her entrance and slipped.
She adjusted, bit her lip, and tried again. Same result. The blunt head of my cock slid up through her folds instead of pushing inside. A soft, frustrated sound escaped her throat.
“It’s not as easy as the videos say…” she muttered, almost to herself, cheeks colouring.
I stared at her. My hands were on her waist, feeling the soft give of her skin. The question left my mouth before I could stop it.
“Are you a virgin?”
Her eyes snapped up to mine. The look she gave me was sharp, almost offended.
“What did you expect? Your niece to lose her virginity when she’s just nineteen?”
Something in me snapped.
I stood up in one sudden motion, lifting her with me. She gasped, arms flying around my neck in pure shock. I carried her the short distance to the master bedroom—the room that still smelled faintly of my wife’s perfume—and threw her onto the bed. She bounced once on the mattress, eyes wide, hair spreading across the pillows. Completely naked, legs slightly parted, breasts rising and falling fast.
I stood at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, cock still rigid and wet. For a few seconds I just looked at her. The reality of what we were doing hit me hard. My niece. Nineteen. Virgin. Alone in my house. I hesitated.
Anwesha saw it. A slow, mocking smile curved her shiny lips.
“So I thought you were going to show your man side,” she said, voice dripping with challenge. “Hah. Who knew my unc is just a dumb no-man.”
She started to push herself up, as if she was about to leave the bed.
That did it.
I grabbed her ankles and yanked her toward the edge of the mattress. She let out a startled sound. I dropped to my knees between her spread thighs, pushed them wider with my hands, and buried my mouth against her pussy.
The first taste of her hit me like heat—clean, slightly sweet, already wet. I dragged my tongue flat from the bottom of her slit all the way up to the small, swollen pearl of her clit. She jerked. A sharp gasp turned into a broken moan.
I did it again, slower this time, spreading her open with my thumbs so I could see everything. Soft pink folds, the tight, untouched entrance that had refused my cock earlier, the little hood of her clit. I licked deeper, pushing the tip of my tongue against that narrow opening, feeling how it resisted and then yielded just a fraction. She was tight—impossibly tight. I worked my tongue in shallow thrusts while my upper lip rubbed steadily over her clit.
Anwesha’s hands flew to the sheets. Her hips twitched. I kept going—long, wet strokes, then focused circles around her clit, then back to that tight little hole, stretching it carefully with the tip of my tongue. The wet sounds of my mouth on her filled the bedroom. Her breathing turned into short, high sounds. I could feel her getting wetter against my chin.
I closed my lips around her clit and sucked gently while I kept teasing her entrance with two fingers, rubbing, pressing, never pushing inside yet—just stretching the sensitive rim. Her thighs started to tremble on either side of my head.
“Unc—ah—fuck—”
Her voice broke. I doubled down, licking harder, sucking her clit in a steady rhythm while my tongue and fingers kept playing with that untouched opening. The tension in her body wound tighter and tighter until it suddenly snapped.
She came with a sharp cry, hips lifting off the bed, thighs clamping around my head. Her pussy pulsed against my mouth in strong, rhythmic waves. I kept licking her through it, slower now, drawing out every tremor until she collapsed back onto the mattress, chest heaving, breasts rising and falling fast, skin flushed, lips parted as she tried to catch her breath.
I stayed on my knees between her legs, mouth wet with her, watching her pant and tremble.
I rose from my knees, the taste of her still thick on my tongue. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, eyes locked on the flushed, trembling body spread open on the bed. Anwesha’s chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. Her thighs were still parted, pussy glistening and slightly swollen from my mouth, the tight virgin entrance looking softer now, more open after the orgasm.
I climbed onto the mattress between her legs. My cock was aching, the head dark and wet. I lined myself up, the blunt tip pressing against that narrow opening. The heat of her was immediate. I looked down at her face—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, still riding the aftershocks.
Then I pushed.
Hard.
The head of my cock forced its way past the tight ring of muscle. Resistance was sharp and sudden. Anwesha’s eyes flew wide. A broken cry tore from her throat—high, raw, half-pain. Her hands shot up and grabbed my arms, nails digging in.
“Unc—wait—ah—!”
I didn’t stop. I drove forward in one steady, relentless thrust, stretching her open around the thick shaft. The tight, virgin heat clamped down on me like a fist. I felt every millimetre of her walls resisting, then yielding as I sank deeper. The sensation was almost too much—scalding, impossibly tight, the soft wet grip dragging along every ridge of my cock. When my hips finally met hers I was buried to the root. Her inner muscles fluttered and spasmed around me in shocked, involuntary pulses.
She was crying out under me, breath hitching, tears starting at the corners of her eyes. Her pussy clenched hard around the sudden invasion, trying to push me out and pull me deeper at the same time.
I stayed still for only a second, letting her feel the full stretch. Then I pulled back until just the head remained inside and slammed forward again. The wet, heavy sound of my cock forcing into her filled the room. She cried out louder this time, body jolting on the mattress. I set a hard, relentless rhythm—deep, powerful strokes that forced her tight channel to open around me again and again. Each thrust dragged against her sensitive walls. Each time I bottomed out I felt the soft give of her cervix against the head.
“Fuck—so tight—” The words left me in a rough growl. My hands pinned her wrists to the bed. Her full breasts bounced with every hard impact. The sweet strawberry taste of her lip balm still lingered faintly when I leaned down and kissed her open, gasping mouth. She whimpered into the kiss, legs trembling on either side of my hips.
I fucked her harder. The bed creaked. The wet slap of skin on skin grew louder. Her virgin pussy was being forced to take every inch, stretching around the thick base on every downstroke. Tears slipped down her temples into her hair, but her hips had started to twitch upward to meet me, the pain mixing with the leftover sensitivity from her orgasm. Her walls fluttered and squeezed with every thrust, soaking my cock in fresh wetness.
I kept driving into her without mercy, chasing the pressure that had been denied earlier, burying myself as deep as her body would allow while she cried and gasped beneath me.
I kept driving into her hard, the tight, newly-stretched heat of her virgin pussy gripping every inch of my cock. Each thrust forced a broken sound from her throat—half sob, half gasp. Tears still slipped from the corners of her eyes, but something was shifting. Her nails stopped trying to push me away and started digging into my arms instead. Her hips, which had been tense and resisting, began to lift to meet me.
“Unc… ah—more—” The word came out cracked, wet with tears, but clear.
She pushed back against the next thrust, taking me deeper. A moan slipped out of her, low and shaky, mixing with the soft cries. I felt her inner walls flutter and squeeze around me, no longer just in pain but starting to chase the friction. The wetness between us grew thicker; every hard stroke made a louder, slicker sound.
I didn’t ease up. I fucked her through it—deep, powerful thrusts that kept her pinned to the mattress, her full breasts bouncing, her long black hair tangled across the pillow. Her moans grew stronger, rising through the tears. She started moving with me, rolling her hips up to meet every slam of my body into hers.
The pressure at the base of my spine coiled tight and sudden. I buried myself to the root one last time and came hard, deep inside her. Thick pulses of cum flooded her tight channel, spilling against her cervix. I groaned through clenched teeth, hips jerking as I emptied everything I had into her. Her pussy clenched around me in rhythmic waves, milking every drop while she moaned and trembled beneath me.
I stayed buried for several long seconds, feeling the last weak spurts leave me, feeling how hot and full she was now. Then I slowed. My cock was still hard, still buried in the wet, cum-slick heat of her. I pulled out carefully. A thick trickle of my cum followed, running down over her swollen folds and onto the sheets.
Anwesha’s eyes were glassy, cheeks wet, lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. I didn’t give her long. I hooked my hands under her hips and flipped her onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She let out a startled sound, face pressed into the pillow for a moment before she turned her head to the side. I pulled her ass up, knees spreading her open again. Her pussy was red, puffy, glistening with our mixed fluids, the small entrance still slightly open and leaking white.
I lined up and pushed back inside from behind.
Even slower this time, but she was still so tight that the head stretched her open all over again. A fresh cry left her—half pain, half overwhelmed pleasure—as I sank deep. Her walls fluttered around the fresh invasion. I gripped her hips and started fucking her in long, steady strokes, watching my cock disappear into her from this new angle. Every thrust pushed another soft, wet sound out of her, mixed with quiet, shaky sobs as her body kept adjusting to being filled again so soon.
She was still crying, still sensitive, still trying to take it—and still pushing her hips back to meet me.
**Part 7 (Final)**
I slowed and finally stopped, still buried deep inside her from behind. My breathing was rough. Hers was broken and wet. I carefully pulled out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, shoulders shaking.
For a long moment the only sounds in the bedroom were our breathing and the soft, uneven hitch of her sobs. I sat back on my heels, looking at her—naked, flushed, hair tangled, the clear evidence of what we had just done glistening between her thighs and on the sheets.
Anwesha turned her head on the pillow. Tears still clung to her lashes. Her voice came out small and rough.
“It… it was nice, Unc.”
She swallowed, wiping at her cheek with the back of her hand. “Even when it hurt. It was still nice.”
I didn’t answer right away. The weight of everything settled over me—what we had done, who she was, the empty house, the wife who wasn’t here. I reached out and rested a hand lightly on her back, just for a second, then let it fall away.
We stayed like that until her sobs quieted into soft, exhausted breathing. Eventually she sat up, gathered her clothes in silence, and left the room. I heard the guest-room door close a minute later.
That night was the only time.
Anwesha finished her interview the next day, stayed two more nights under the same roof, and then went home. We never spoke about what happened. No more teasing. No more touches. No second time. Life simply continued—my wife returned from her trip, the house filled with ordinary noise again, and the quiet, irreversible line we had crossed stayed buried between us.
Nothing else ever happened.
(Now comment down how it was)
🔞 Candy.AI 🔥 AI Sex Chat – Roleplay, Erotic Stories, Try for Free 🕹️