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Color Of Sister's Panties

"If you can tell the color of my panties..." Madhuri says, looking at brother. "Something may happen now." His bright eyes sparkle.

The word 'panties' kicks Dev. It guides him toward her, inexorably, in deep need of what he says his goldmine in his sister's womanhood. He is crazy about her panties because he says they cover his juice-well, the source of his life-potion when she wears them. With panties she has baptized him and got his allegiance and protection. In panties they have an interest which is powerful enough to live an entire life together.

Dev's eyes travel from her breasts to her jeansed crotch. His eyes seem to tear the hard fabric to see what color she has worn today. "And my bra, darling?" Madhuri says, sexily, caressingly. "It matches with my panties."

Dev looks at her breasts, jutting from inside her bra and white work-shirt; the two buttons on her chest are suffering from their weight. She has good breasts. She is proud of them. Two rich crowns of flesh that always remind her that she is a woman, that she has something between her legs too, something very important to a man, specially to her brother.

It is nice to have Dev here when she undresses after work. After a long weary day at office, scolding five executives of the five departments of her booming software company Ma-Tech, and countless software engineers, it is her time to enjoy with her kid brother in her own private world. Madhuri's father died of heart disease in his private jet three months ago while shuttling from Dubai to Chennai, where he made a fortune in last 20 years in software business. Madhuri's mother left the busy businessman husband for a university professor when Dev was five. 16 years old then, Madhuri raised Dev as a single mother would do her son. Madhuri's father raised a mistress somewhere in the city. His death has left a legacy she has to deal with.

Dev takes the remote-control and lowers the temperature of the air-conditioner by two degrees. Dev has always been looking for her comfort. Madhuri's heart fills in tenderness as she feels her perspiration cooling. Her breasts swell in love, exerting extra pressure on the two shirt-buttons. Dev's eyes are glued to her stiffening nipples, which make their presence felt even from two layers of garments.

"Honey, don't you like to guess what color is your didi's panties today?"

Teasing Dev is such a great fun. She has no time for cinema or television. She would have, if she were not this much busy with Dev. What life is better than the one with such a brother who worships your breasts? Madhuri watches the change of color on Dev's face. The line of his manhood getting clearer against his cotton shorts as she flaunts her sisterly charms. She knows, by instinct, he is suffering. But she wants to be sure. She inquires, "What happened baby? Why are your cheeks dancing? What makes you --?"

"My mouth is watering, didi."

"What?" Madhuri snaps. "Why your mouth is watering? Am I naked? Aren't I in most presentable condition to the priest?"

Madhuri feels humidity smoking out of her pussy.

Dev says, "You know they are the most beautiful sight when they are naked. But they are no less beautiful when you are dressed."

"What they are, Dev, my transgressed brother?"

"Your breasts."

"You are always gentleman," Madhuri says. "But sometimes you can speak your mind."

"If I could I'd give them the most beautiful name. But I'm unable to. No word can express them, didi. There is no word that can express your breasts."

"More beautiful than Katrina's, Priyanka's, Dipika's."

"Phoo, didi." Dev retorts. "These girls? Only Priyanka has some nice titties. Others, Phoo. Besides I don't buy something that's in market. That's for business. They are only for making money, for flaunting, for making unlucky boys masturbate. Something that is so much on display is incapable of giving its possessor any feel of love or romance. I don't believe they have any feel. I like breasts which are for love, for enjoyment of somebody you care about, you love, you protect."

Madhuri swallows some sentiment. Her brother is an artist. She has him in companion of love. She feels herself to be the luckiest girl on earth. And something she notices. "Dev Khandelkar," Madhuri reproaches. "You know some bad words. You have just said 'tits'. Can't you call didi's breasts tits sometimes, only for the sake of being naughty?"

Dev drinks water in his mouth. And he is not ashamed of it. "Is it sweet, baby?" Madhuri asks. "The water in your mouth."

"Very much."

"I wish, I could taste," Madhuri says, regrettably.

Somebody taps on the door. Madhuri opens it. A servant girl leaves two tumblers of pineapple juice and a plate of sandwiches. The servants know Madam and her brother spend the evenings together when Madam returns home.

"It's important, Devanad Khandelkar," Madhuri reproaches. "You have to tell the color of your sister's panties."

Dev is in her power. She likes Dev squirm under her charms. Dev, the 6 feet tall big boy, is her pet, her cute little brother, her unborn son, her slave, her protector in the vast world.

"What is my prize if I can tell it?" Dev says.

The literature student rears his intelligent head. Life is dull if your partner is a thickhead, a slob, or a snob. Dev is perfect. Madhuri is a lucky girl. Dev is smart enough to encounter her intelligence. She once regretted his not having chosen software engineering at university. She no longer regrets it. Her brother loves poetry and talks like a poet since his teenage. He does not need to earn money. He is rich enough. She will not be able to hand over the charge of the family business to his hand. But it is not a big deal. He has made her happy. He has made her a husband that she does not have and will never have. He has given her the happiness a woman only dreams and never has.

"What is my prize, didi?" Dev reminds her.

Madhuri did not think of an answer. She is in a quandary. Her palpitation is charged. She looks at Dev's face. So sweet, so loving, yet so manly. Looking at his big eyes, she wets her lower lip with her tongue -- being aware their pinkness and feminineness. She loves to exhibit her carnal need. Her saliva is sweet in her mouth.

"Well, Sir" she says. "Your prize is nothing. You just tell the color of your sister's panties and expect a prize, darling. You are not a good brother."

Gloom hangs over Dev's face, a pretended gloom on her very sexy brother's face, which melts her to the very core and covers her with many layers of feminine supplication. Madhuri wants to play. She is ready to take him in her arms, let him feel her erect nipples, and kiss her with his so-sweet-boyish lips.

She is aware that Dev's need is more urgent than hers. But he will not hurry. He has patience. He knows her penchant for loitering, which he calls her art of lingering pleasure. The success of seduction is in pre-empting an orgasm.

"Well, brother," Madhuri says, giving Dev his juice tumbler, in a manner of serving him. "If you can tell the color of my panties, I will undress for you. I will take off my shirts looking at you. I will then take off my bra. I will give you my bra so that you know what flavor my nipples have today. I will unclip my hair for you, I will show you my armpits, and...and, well, you can even weigh up your didi's breasts."

"You are a good sister, didi," Dev says. "You know what I want. Even if you didn't tease me like this, only slump on the bed like a lazy pig, I'd still suck on your armpits until your sweet pussy aches for love. I don't know how other boys of my age live. I can't live without your love."

"Or sex?" Madhuri smirks.

"Sex, yes. But not without love."

In society, in religion, in families, it is described that teasing your brother is sin. But it is the sin for which she receives this adoring gratitude. Madhuri's eyesight gets blurred with two drops of tears.

Dev jumps off the bed. He holds Madhuri's face in his palms. Through blurred eyes, Madhuri sees how adoringly he looks at her face, and how protectively he holds her cheeks. Like a loving father, he wipes her tears with his index fingers. Madhuri feels her palms on her cheeks as if they belong to her mighty father -- not her kid brother -- a loving god. She gives herself to him before he hugs her.

Dev hugs her tightly, not with lust, but with love and protection. Her breasts are two bursting glove of sensitive flesh against his chest. She pushes them into him, feeling the flattening thrills; her oversensitive nerves spread ecstasy all over her body. Dev lightly touches her left eye with his lips, warm and soft. She presses and presses her breasts against him, as he sips her tears from her eyes.

"Didi," Dev whispers on her nose.

His breath is sweet strawberry to her sense. She emerges from a swoon-like happiness.

"You are so beautiful, didi. You have a baby's face. So tender, so fresh, even when you are from work."

Madhuri's friend Minakhshi hanged herself because no man had ever proposed her. Minashkhi had a brother like Dev. If the stupid girl had seduced her brother she would not have needed to hang herself. She would live in her own paradise as Madhuri is doing in hers. Madhuri is unable to control the quivers of her lips. Her lower lip slackens with yearning. Yearning for a kiss; by this god of love and worship, by her little brother. His lips are like hers. Semi-full, drawn to the corners. Hers are completely pink, his have a deeper shade, which makes them manly. He lowers his extra two inches from his solid six feet to reach her feminine mouth. She tried her eyes open, to see the descent of his godlike head, but fails. She receives the touch of his lips on hers with her eyes shut. His lips are velvety soft against her woolly ones.

Life is such a burden to millions outside the window. But life is paradise inside Madhuri's bedroom.
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