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When a woman’s husband dies young, leaving her a widow in the prime of her life, only she knows the hell her life becomes. You can’t kill desire, just like you can’t ignore hunger. Food feeds the stomach, and sex feeds the body. Society doesn’t get the pain of a widow. They don’t understand what it’s like for a 22-year-old woman, who hasn’t even had a child, to lose her husband. Life turns empty, unbearable.
Society’s hypocrisy is disgusting. If a man’s wife dies, he remarries in months. But if a woman’s husband dies, they tell her to become a saint, drown in religion, avoid looking at men, stop wearing nice clothes. I, Nisha, a 22-year-old widow, refused to bow to these bullshit rules. After my husband’s death, I kept my beauty alive. I did what my heart wanted.
In my house, it’s just my father-in-law and my jeth ji, my husband’s elder brother. Jeth ji’s wife was at her parents’ place, and my mother-in-law passed away long ago. My husband died of corona, just six months after our marriage. My life turned hollow. I’m 22, full of life, with a curvy figure—34D boobs, slim waist, and a round, juicy ass.
I was always bold, even in my in-laws’ house. My husband never stopped me from anything; he loved me deeply. But fate didn’t want us together. After he was gone, I was broken inside. Nothing interested me. Days dragged on, but nights were torture. Every night, I’d read sex stories online, fingering my pussy, squeezing my own tits to calm my burning desire. But that wasn’t enough. It only made me hornier, hungrier for real sex. Reading dirty stories or watching porn made me ache for a hard fuck.
I didn’t know who to call, who to trust. Then I noticed Ronak bhaiya, the milkman who came every morning at 6. He was about 25, tall, fair, with a muscular body and a naughty spark in his eyes. Mornings were perfect—my father-in-law would be at satsang, and jeth ji wouldn’t wake up before 8. I started teasing Ronak. I’d wear thin kurtis, sometimes without a bra, letting my nipples poke through. I’d let my dupatta slip, showing off my deep navel or the curve of my tits. Sometimes, I’d bend forward, giving him a peek at my cleavage or my ass. He’d stare, lost in my body—my boobs, my ass, my navel. I’d talk to him in a flirty way, swaying my hips, flashing a naughty smile. If you give a guy signals, he’ll come running.
One day, he broke the ice. “Bhabhi ji, you’re different. I deliver milk to many houses, but no one’s like you. You’re beautiful, sexy as hell.” I smirked, “Oh, really? What’s so sexy about me?” He blushed but said, “Your figure, your eyes, your smile—everything’s hot. You’re a total babe.” I teased, “Just that? Nothing else?” He grinned, his eyes full of lust. Then he got serious. “Bhabhi, it kills me to see you alone. You’re so gorgeous, but so lonely. You should remarry. Life’s too long to live like this.”
I sighed, “Remarry? Not possible. My parents are gone. My mom ran off with someone, and my dad passed away. My marriage was fixed by my uncle and villagers. If not for them, I’d still be single.” Ronak’s face softened. He looked emotional, almost teary. “Bhabhi, you’ve been through so much. If you ever need anything, just tell me.” After that day, he got closer. His words started comforting me. He’d check on me every morning, making me feel cared for.
One morning, I couldn’t hold back. I called him inside and said, “Ronak, I need you to fuck me. I’m burning for it.” He froze, shocked. “Bhabhi, I like you a lot, but this isn’t right. After hearing your story, I feel for you. I can be your brother, but not this.” I didn’t care. I pulled off my kurti, standing in just my bra and skirt. My heavy tits were barely held by the bra, my navel exposed. His eyes widened, his cock bulging in his pants. I pointed at it, “Brother, huh? Then why’s your dick so hard?”
He gave in. He ripped off his kurta and grabbed me. His strong arms pulled me close, his rough hands squeezing my tits through the bra. “Fuck, bhabhi, you’re too hot,” he growled. He unhooked my bra, letting my 34D boobs bounce free. He kissed my neck, sucking hard, making me moan. “Aah… Ronak… squeeze my tits harder…” I gasped. He grabbed my boobs, kneading them, pinching my nipples. “Ohh… fuck… yes…” I moaned louder, my pussy already wet. He sucked my nipples, biting them gently, sending shivers through me. I pushed his head into my chest, “Suck them, Ronak… aah… don’t stop…”
He pushed me onto the sofa, yanking off my skirt. I was in my tiny black panties now. He rubbed my thighs, then my pussy over the fabric. “Bhabhi, your pussy’s soaking wet,” he said, pulling my panties down. My shaved, pink pussy was dripping for him. He spread my legs, his fingers teasing my clit. “Ohh… Ronak… lick it… please…” I begged. He buried his face in my pussy, his tongue lapping at my clit, sucking it hard. “Aah… fuck… yes… eat my pussy…” I moaned, grabbing his hair, grinding my cunt against his mouth. He licked for a good five minutes, my juices coating his face.
Then he stood up, dropping his pants. His cock sprang out—10 inches long, thick, and rock-hard. “Holy shit… it’s huge…” I whispered, grabbing it. I licked the tip, tasting his precum. “Mmm… so hard…” I sucked his cock, taking it deep in my mouth, gagging as it hit my throat. “Fuck, bhabhi… you’re a pro…” he groaned, thrusting into my mouth. I sucked harder, my tongue swirling around his shaft.
He pulled me up, “Enough, bhabhi. I need to fuck your pussy now.” He spread my legs wide, rubbing his cock against my wet slit. “Ronak… go slow… it’s too big…” I said, nervous but excited. He pushed the tip in, stretching my tight pussy. “Aah… fuck… it’s so thick…” I gasped. He went deeper, inch by inch, filling me up. My pussy was tight from months without sex, and his cock felt like it was splitting me. “Ohh… shit… Ronak… fuck me…” I moaned. He started thrusting, slow at first, then harder. “Aah… yes… fuck my pussy… harder…” I screamed, my tits bouncing with each thrust.
He pounded me, his cock slamming into my cunt. “Fuck, bhabhi… your pussy’s so tight… like a virgin…” he grunted, grabbing my boobs, sucking my nipples as he fucked me. “Ohh… Ronak… tear my pussy apart… aah…” I was lost in pleasure, my body shaking. The room filled with the sound of his balls slapping against me—thap thap thap—and my moans. “Aah… uhh… fuck… don’t stop…” My lips were dry, my body trembling, my pussy dripping. It felt like rain in a desert after so long without a proper fuck.
After 20 minutes of relentless pounding, he groaned, “Bhabhi… I’m gonna cum…” His cock throbbed, and he shot his hot cum deep in my pussy. “Ohh… fuck… it’s so warm…” I moaned, feeling his load fill me. He was loud, “Aah… ohh… fuck…” His screams woke jeth ji. It was around 6:45 AM. Jeth ji rushed downstairs, catching me naked on the sofa, Ronak grabbing his milk can and running off.
I panicked, grabbing my kurti and skirt, dressing in front of jeth ji. His eyes burned with anger and shock. I said nothing, ran to my room, and locked the door. My heart was racing. I heard jeth ji on the phone with my father-in-law. “Babuji, come home now! Something big’s happened. You won’t believe it. If you don’t hurry, things will get worse. I’m not responsible for what happens next!” Father-in-law probably said he’d come after satsang, but jeth ji shouted, “No, come now!”
I opened my door, trembling, and begged, “Jeth ji, please forgive me. It was a mistake. It won’t happen again.” He snapped, “Shut up! Let babuji come. I’ll tell him what you did. You’re too horny for your own good.” I locked myself in again, lying on the bed, my heart pounding. I was terrified, not knowing what jeth ji and father-in-law would do to me.
What will jeth ji and father-in-law do? Will they forgive me or make my life hell? Share your thoughts in the comments.