Us din se use mujh par saq hone laga ki mai usko chuo chup k dekhta hu….wo janbuj k apna pallu gira deti thi…main jab bhi uske ghar par jata to us...o dekhta hi rahta, kash is ko chod saku aisa soch kar ghar aake muth marta tha. main uske boobs or gand ke bare me soch soch kar muth mara karta tha.ek din ki baat h mai uske ghr gaya..wo kapde pahen rahi thi..us waqt usne sirf bra aur panty hi paheni thi..mai use dekhta hi rah gayi…mai waha se chala gaya..aur kuch din uske ghr par nhi gaya. ek din. My father had remarried when I was three, with who quickly became a perfect stepmother, treating me like her own child. I actually called her my mother, because she was always there in my oldest memories. When I was five, I had a half-sister. Early enough so that I would also consider her like a proper one.When were still young, our father's death was a painful event that marked us all and made us closer than ever before. Not that I hated my sister before that : I actually loved spending time. More

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