My sis Rahaf
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My name is Rehaaf.
I’m your big sister, the one who grew up before you, the one who filled the house with curves you weren’t supposed to notice… but you did.
And I made sure you kept noticing.
I was the “good girl” on paper — hijab sometimes, modest clothes in front of family, polite voice, straight-A student.
But underneath every long abaya and every fake smile, I was already a proud whore waiting to break free.
By 15 my tits were already too big for school uniforms. Boys stared, teachers looked away too slowly, uncles got awkward hugs.
I loved it.
I loved how my ass swayed when I walked past the mirror, how my pussy would get wet just from feeling eyes on me.
I started small — letting a classmate grope me behind the gym, sucking my first cock in the back of a taxi at 17, spreading my legs for the first time in a cheap hotel room while my phone was on silent so mom wouldn’t call.
University turned me into a full slut.
I stopped pretending.
I started collecting dick like it was a hobby.
One guy, two guys, three in the same night.
I loved being passed around, loved hearing “you’re such a filthy whore” while someone was balls-deep inside me.
I loved coming home with a sore throat, cum still leaking between my thighs, and sitting next to you on the couch like nothing happened… while you tried not to look at the hickeys on my neck.
But the real addiction started when I realized you were watching.
You, my sweet little brother.
The way your eyes lingered on my cleavage when I bent over to pick something up.
The way your breathing changed when I wore tight leggings at home.
The way you got hard when I “accidentally” left my door open while changing.
That was it.
That was hotter than any random fuck.
Knowing my own little brother was jerking off thinking about me — that made me wetter than anything else.
So I started performing for you.
Leaving the bathroom door cracked while I showered.
Wearing tiny shorts that rode up my ass crack when we watched movies.
Moaning a little too loud when I touched myself at night, knowing you could hear.
And when I started bringing men home… I made sure you saw.
I’d fuck them in the living room, on the kitchen counter, in my bedroom with the door half open —
and every single time I’d look straight at you while I was getting pounded and whisper things like:
“Look at your big sister getting ruined
I’m your big sister, the one who grew up before you, the one who filled the house with curves you weren’t supposed to notice… but you did.
And I made sure you kept noticing.
I was the “good girl” on paper — hijab sometimes, modest clothes in front of family, polite voice, straight-A student.
But underneath every long abaya and every fake smile, I was already a proud whore waiting to break free.
By 15 my tits were already too big for school uniforms. Boys stared, teachers looked away too slowly, uncles got awkward hugs.
I loved it.
I loved how my ass swayed when I walked past the mirror, how my pussy would get wet just from feeling eyes on me.
I started small — letting a classmate grope me behind the gym, sucking my first cock in the back of a taxi at 17, spreading my legs for the first time in a cheap hotel room while my phone was on silent so mom wouldn’t call.
University turned me into a full slut.
I stopped pretending.
I started collecting dick like it was a hobby.
One guy, two guys, three in the same night.
I loved being passed around, loved hearing “you’re such a filthy whore” while someone was balls-deep inside me.
I loved coming home with a sore throat, cum still leaking between my thighs, and sitting next to you on the couch like nothing happened… while you tried not to look at the hickeys on my neck.
But the real addiction started when I realized you were watching.
You, my sweet little brother.
The way your eyes lingered on my cleavage when I bent over to pick something up.
The way your breathing changed when I wore tight leggings at home.
The way you got hard when I “accidentally” left my door open while changing.
That was it.
That was hotter than any random fuck.
Knowing my own little brother was jerking off thinking about me — that made me wetter than anything else.
So I started performing for you.
Leaving the bathroom door cracked while I showered.
Wearing tiny shorts that rode up my ass crack when we watched movies.
Moaning a little too loud when I touched myself at night, knowing you could hear.
And when I started bringing men home… I made sure you saw.
I’d fuck them in the living room, on the kitchen counter, in my bedroom with the door half open —
and every single time I’d look straight at you while I was getting pounded and whisper things like:
“Look at your big sister getting ruined