Desi Indian Village Girl Sex Story – My name’s Radha, a 20-year-old village girl from a small hamlet near Lucknow. I’m simple but sexy—long black hair tied in a braid, sun-kissed skin, full breasts that stretch my worn-out blouses, a curvy ass shaped by years of fieldwork, and dark eyes that hold a quiet fire. Life in the village is slow—mud houses, endless fields, gossip by the well. I’d heard of city boys—rich, slick, cocky—but never met one until Rohan rolled into our dusty world on April 14, 2025. He was 25, a city guy from Delhi, tall and lean with a chiseled jaw, wearing a tight shirt and jeans that hugged his bulge. One night with him turned my rural life into a hardcore sex story I’ll never forget.
Rohan’s car broke down on the dirt road near our village—a shiny SUV, out of place among bullock carts. My father, the local mechanic, towed it to our shed, and Rohan stayed the night—our guest, crashing in the spare room. I saw him first at dusk, stepping out of the car, sweat glistening on his neck, his eyes catching mine as I carried water from the well. “Hey, village girl, you’re pretty,” he grinned, voice smooth like city whiskey. I blushed, my blouse damp, breasts outlined, muttering, “Thanks, city boy.” That night, under a starry sky, our worlds collided in a storm of fucking.
Dinner was simple—roti, sabzi, served on the verandah. My parents ate with him, chatting about his job—some tech thing I didn’t get. I sat across, barefoot in a faded green saree, my breasts pushing against the blouse, my ass shifting on the stool. His eyes roamed—over my cleavage, my hips, a smirk playing on his lips. “Radha, you’re quiet,” he said, leaning closer. “Not much to say to a city guy,” I replied, bold for once, my pussy tingling under his gaze. My parents retired early, leaving us alone, the crickets humming, the air thick with heat.
“You ever been to the city?” he asked, stepping outside, lighting a cigarette. I followed, barefoot on the cool earth, saree swaying. “No, but I dream of it,” I admitted, standing close. He blew smoke, eyeing me. “You’re too hot for this village, Radha. That body deserves more.” My heart raced—his words, his stare, waking something wild in me. “And you’re too fancy for here,” I teased, stepping closer, my breasts brushing his arm. He tossed the cigarette, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me behind the shed—hidden by shadows, the village asleep.
He kissed me—rough, urgent, city lips crashing into my rural ones. I moaned, “Ohh, Rohan,” tasting smoke and desire, my tongue tangling with his. His hands yanked my saree pallu down, exposing my blouse—thin, torn, my big breasts straining. “Fuck, Radha, these breasts are insane,” he growled, ripping the blouse open. No bra—just my bare tits, full and heavy, nipples hard in the night air. He sucked one, hard, biting it, while his hand squeezed the other. “Ahh, Rohan, suck me more!” I cried, my village innocence melting into lust.
The saree fell, petticoat untied—my naked body glowed under the moon, pussy hairy and wet, ass trembling. He dropped his jeans, cock springing free—long, thick, 7 inches, city-slick and ready. “Shit, Rohan, your cock’s huge,” I gasped, kneeling instinctively, rural curiosity taking over. I licked it—salty, hot—then sucked, my lips stretching around him. “Fuck, village girl, you’re a natural,” he groaned, thrusting into my mouth. I gagged, drooled, but kept going, my pussy dripping onto the dirt.
He pulled me up, pushing me against the shed wall—rough wood scraping my back. “Spread your legs, Radha, I’m fucking you now,” he ordered. I obeyed, a village girl turned slut for this city guy, my pussy aching. He rubbed his cock against my pussy lips, teasing, then slammed in—one deep thrust filling me. I screamed, “Ahh, fuck, it’s too big!” My tight rural pussy stretched, burning, as he fucked me—hard, fast, relentless. My breasts bounced wildly, my ass slamming the wall, the night alive with my moans— “Ohh, Rohan, fuck my pussy deeper!”
He spun me around, bending me over a stack of hay bales—doggy-style, my ass up, rural and raw. “Look at this ass,” he grunted, spanking me—hard, my cheeks stinging red. “Fuck my ass too, city boy!” I begged, lost in heat. He spat on my asshole, easing his cock in—tight, painful, then pure pleasure as he fucked my ass raw. “Fuck, Radha, your ass is tight as hell!” he groaned, pounding me, hands gripping my breasts, pinching my nipples. “Ahh, Rohan, rip me apart!” I screamed, hay sticking to my sweaty skin.
We fucked like animals—one-night stand energy, city meets village hardcore. He pulled me to the ground, laying me flat on a blanket of grass, legs over his shoulders—missionary under the stars. My breasts jiggled as he fucked my pussy, slow then brutal. “You’re so fucking hot, Radha,” he panted, slamming into me. “Fuck me, Rohan, own this village pussy!” I moaned, my nails clawing the earth. He switched—pussy to ass, ass to pussy—fucking me senseless, my body his playground.
Hours passed—crickets drowned by our noise. He dragged me to the well, bending me over the stone edge, water splashing as he fucked my pussy from behind— “Harder, city boy!” I screamed, breasts swaying. Then under a mango tree, me riding him cowgirl-style, pussy swallowing his cock, ass bouncing— “Fuck me, Radha, take it all!” he groaned. Every thrust was wild, every moan desperate, my rural innocence fucked away by his city cock.
I came first—shaking, pussy clenching, juices soaking him as I screamed, “Ohh, Rohan, I’m cumming!” He fucked me through it, relentless, then growled, “Where do you want my cum, village girl?” “Everywhere—my pussy, my ass, my breasts!” I gasped. He pulled out, erupting—thick cum flooding my pussy, then coating my ass cheeks, finally spraying my big breasts, rubbing it into my nipples. I collapsed, panting, cum dripping off me onto the grass, his city seed marking my rural body.