I stepped in through the front door and gratefully kicked off my sneakers, dropping my backpack and folio case in the hall. My college assignment could wait for now. All I wanted this second was a cold drink from the fridge and a shower to get rid of the sweat of the day and the smell of oil paints and charcoal.

I'm Louise, but most people call me Lou or Lulu. I'm twenty and currently studying for a degree in art. I bummed around for a couple of months after my A-Levels. I worked a couple of shit jobs while I tried to figure myself out. Then, my parents took me to Italy in an attempt to get me out of my aimless funk. 

I'd passed an art A-level with flying colours. It had always been my passion. But Italy, specifically Florence, Milan and Rome, had turned it into a career option. I'd always specialised in life studies and portraits. So after seeing the world's great works, followed by a stint of practically living in the Tate, the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery, I'd applied to and been accepted to the Royal College of Art.

"Hi Mum. I'm home," I called out. No answer. Silence.

I wandered through the hallway and into the kitchen, helping myself to one of Dad's San Miguels on the way. I'd just cracked the can and taken a swig when I heard Mum's voice on the patio. I walked into the lounge and up to the French doors and stopped dead in my tracks. 

'Shit,' I thought to myself. 'She's here.'

She is Ananya, or Ana. Twenty-six years old and utterly beautiful. All five feet five inches of her. An artistic study of pure Indian beauty. Her long legs in the usual tight jeans, outstretched on our rattan garden couch. Her pretty bare feet with red-painted nails idly toying with the weave. Her lustrous, wavy dark hair hung down over her shoulders, flowing over the arm of the couch like a river of silky chocolate ganache. I knew every contour of her, every detail etched into my memory.

And there she lounged, looking like some beautiful 'off duty' Indian princess (I often called her Rani as a nickname), casually chatting to my mother as they sipped on G&Ts on a Thursday afternoon.

There is one thing perhaps I should tell you at this point as well, though. Not only am I besotted with her, but she's also my stepbrother's girlfriend.

Danny is my twenty-eight-year-old stepbrother from my dad's first marriage. Danny's mum had tragically passed away when he was just a toddler. Mum and Dad got married when Danny was six, and I came along two years later. We're close as hell, though; I'd do anything for him. Which is why I feel so damn guilty over my feelings toward Ana.

My brother's a chef, and he'd met Ana at one of the many food shows that do the London rounds four years ago. Bless him, he was giddy. Don't get me wrong, he's a good-looking guy. Rugged looks, longish hair, and the obligatory tattoo sleeves of a modern chef. But with Ana, trust me, he's punching way, way above his weight.

Fade the picture, cue the harp player; it's time for a flashback.

xoxoxoxoxo

I was sixteen when Danny introduced me to Ana. She most definitely wasn't the stereotypical good Indian girl. She drank copiously. She swore. She had a filthy sense of humour and a sexy, dirty laugh to go with it. And she loved to eat. Unlike her family, who were all strict vegetarians, Ana, when she wasn't around them, was a true carnivore. I tell you, watching this pretty Indian girl inhale a double Whopper with cheese or devour a steak was a sight to behold.

She'd also picked up her mum's talents in the kitchen. I'd helped her prepare many a feast. And to be honest, watching her cook and eat, she could put Nigella Lawson to shame.

We'd hit it off instantly. She'd sneak me a drink here and there. She discovered my guilty pleasure of Bollywood movies, and we'd spend hours in the cinema or in front of the TV devouring sickly sweet treats watching them.

Hell, she'd even given me a nickname the night of my senior school prom. I'd emerged from my room in a classic little black dress. Blonde hair blown out just right, and I've gone downstairs to await my date for the evening.

"Woooo, look at you," she'd exclaimed. You look hot, hot, hot!

"Shut up," I'd replied with a chuckle. Wringing my hands. Outwardly trying to appear bashful. Inside, secretly chuffed as fuck. "I don't look that good."

"Are you bloody kidding me! You look vinda-fucking-loo hot!" she continued. "Haha, VindaLuLu."

And that nickname had stuck. Although now she always shortened it to 'Vinda'. I later found out that in Hindi, 'vinda' also means 'one who gets or finds everything'.

Because she was my mate and not just my brother's girlfriend, I'd even celebrated the festivals with her and her family. Her maa and pita were just wonderful to me. Holi was so much fun for an art kid. Those explosions of colour and the pure joy of it all. We'd thrown brightly coloured powders and water all over the place, to the accompaniment of loud music and laughter. 

Despite the six-year age difference, she was my best mate. And I thought the absolute fucking world of her.

Things took an unexpected turn, though, one lazy Saturday afternoon about a year ago.

Danny was at work; Mum and Dad were off out, trawling around Ikea. And Ana had found her way over to our place. 

We were sprawled in standard movie mode. Sharing the couch and eating junk food while Ana applied henna tattoos to my feet, which were kicked up on her lap. We were watching, no, not Bollywood, but Titanic. Would you believe it? Titanic. Kate and fucking Leo started this whole thing off.

Jack was drawing Rose, like one of his French girls, when the cocky, arrogant artiste in me blurted out.

"I could do better than that; that's fucking easy."

"Could you now, Vinda?" She'd laughed, saying it. "Perhaps you should prove it."

Challenge accepted, I thought to myself. "OK, Rani, tell me who to sketch," I replied.

"You could draw me if you like, like one of your Indian girls." Her voice had taken on a low, seductive tone.

I was stunned. That statement, in her voice, turned my fucking world upside down."

"Fuck off, you daft cow," I laughed. She just looked at me with her huge, dewy brown eyes and flickered her impossibly long eyelashes. "Fuck, are you serious?"

"Why not? I trust you. It's not like a dirty picture on the internet. We can always destroy it. Aww, come on, Lulu, it'll be fun."

I just looked at her not answering.

"Tell you what, it can be a present for Danny."

"Eww," I responded. "Isn't that a bit icky? Me, drawing a revealing picture of you, my brother's girlfriend. As a gift for...my brother."

"He doesn't have a single naughty picture of me," she said. "I won't allow it, nothing digital. I don't want to be on fuckmyex.com if we break up. At least this is mine to control."

I thought for a moment. Danny wouldn't be picking Ana up till later tonight. Mum and Dad would be gone for hours yet. And I could hone my skills with a real live, utterly sublime subject.

"I'll get my pad and pencils. You can get comfy on the couch," I managed to croak.

Whatever Ana had said had sparked something inside me. A new aspect of my character. One I'd never met before. Why was I feeling this way? I wasn't gay or attracted to girls. I had a boyfriend at the time. Ok, so I had a boy, who was a friend. And we scratched one another's respective itches from time to time. And he was getting good. He'd learnt how to get me off. And he was finally at the point where he could actually fuck me for fifteen minutes, not fifteen angsty seconds before blowing his custard.

Things only got worse as I watched Ana slide out of her jeans and black denim shirt, revealing a delicately lacy black bra that made her pert boobs absolutely eye-grabbing and the tiniest matching lacy black knickers I'd ever seen. No way was she sporting a scrap of body hair in those.

She never wore gold jewellery, only silver and lots of it. The plethora of necklaces, bangles, bracelets, numerous piercings in her ears, the tiny hoop in her nose and beautiful little anklets glittered and sparkled on her skin.

She half sat, half reclined on my parents' couch. Her shapely legs were outstretched, and one arm was languidly stretched and resting behind her head. She looked stunning. An artist's dream.

 I got to work. I hoped for the same effect as in Jack's sketch of Rose and worked just in pencil.

As I sat on the armchair opposite, my body, however, was letting me do anything but relax and concentrate. My knickers suddenly felt two sizes too small. My breath was erratic, and I could feel my face burning.

"Nope, it's no good." I muttered. "It needs something."

I got up and, using the throw from the back of the couch, I gave her what I hoped was some classic Renaissance drapery. Partly for effect, mainly to keep my mind out of the gutter and on the task at hand.

I breathed her in; the scent of flowers and spice was intoxicating. Her usual signature scent was joined by another, lower-lying, very natural partner. Her own feminine musk.

"What's up, Lulu?" She teased. "You're not embarrassed at seeing me in my undies, are you? I thought you were an artist."

"Just, just trying to keep it classy and artistic," I replied in barely more than a whisper.

While Ana smouldered, I worked for nearly ninety minutes before showing her the end result. She was thrilled. But I declined to sign what I actually felt was my finest work to date on the grounds that it was destined for my brother.

After that, Ana was etched into my memory. I found myself recreating her without even thinking about it. Even if I was just doodling whilst watching TV. Dozens, maybe even hundreds of pictures. Charcoals, oils, paintings and sketches. Some tasteful, some downright pornographic, as I imagined her devoid of those skimpy undies.

I'd lie in bed at night, finger-fucking myself raw, looking at the pictures my perverted imagination had transferred to paper, my mind blazing through countless erotic scenarios of us together. Sharing kisses, making love, fucking. I imagined her beautiful hair draped over my thigh as I gave myself yet another self-inflicted orgasm.

Xvideos and Pornhub became my favourite places to visit online as I ingested scene after tawdry, debauched, delicious scene of girl-on-girl porn.

If I was with 'the boyfriend', it just didn't happen. I'd lost all interest in him. And in turn, he lost interest in me.

She was in my mind constantly. And I found myself avoiding her, finding it easier to not be around her than risk making a fool of myself.

We stopped hanging out. We didn't go to the cinema. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. But I was hurting her terribly in the process without even realising it.

Which brings us crashing back to the here and now.

xoxoxoxoxo

I poked my head out of the patio doors, my mouth dry, my heart pounding.

"Hi, you two, having fun out here?"

"Vinda!!" She leapt off the couch and pulled me into a cuddle before I could retreat. "Just who I came to see."

"Hey Ana, what's up?"

"There's a new movie out, and we haven't hung out in months. Come to the pictures with me. Please."

She hadn't given a day or time, but I responded, "I can't; I'm busy." I know, I know, what a lame answer.

"Not now, silly. How about Saturday? Then we can go and eat afterwards. My treat?"

"I really can't." I wriggled out of her grip. "I'm busy."

She looked crestfallen, defeated.

"Lulu, please, what's up?" You never even talk to me anymore."

I could see my mum getting upset. I took a swig of beer, hoping to hold back the tears I could feel behind my eyes.

"I just...I just fucking can't, OK. Leave me alone," I sobbed.

I ran upstairs, slammed my bedroom door and hurled myself on my bed. I was distraught, sobbing like a child.

I was vaguely aware of voices downstairs saying goodbyes as I lay there crying. I didn't eat, and I didn't speak to anybody that night. And I eventually drifted off into a disturbed, uneasy sleep.

I checked my phone the following morning when I awoke. I found a furious text message from my brother.

'Wtf is your problem with Ana? She spent the night crying. I don't know what the hell is up with you, Lou, but you need to fucking sort it!!!! Now'

It was early, and neither Mum nor Dad was up, so I took a shower, swallowed two headache tablets, got dressed and headed out into the early morning sunshine.

I had two options as I saw it. Carry on being a little bitch and hope it blows over. Or option two, grow a fucking spine and face your fear. In case I did actually go with option two, before leaving home I'd grabbed a couple of sketch pads and my 'doodle book' and shoved them into my backpack. I didn't actually have to be on campus today, but I'd rather be there than face the inevitable grilling from my mother over the breakfast table. 

Mum, ever the clairvoyant, had obviously foreseen my cowardly retreat, however, and left a note on the kitchen table.

'Whatever it is that's upsetting you, sweetheart, can it really be so bad? Ana's really hurt, you know, and misses you terribly. Please talk to her. Mum xx'

As my early morning train pulled into the city, my stomach growled angrily. The effects of no dinner and just a hastily downed can of lager were making their presence felt. I was starving.

I dropped into the nearest MaccyD's, and as I worked my way through orange juice, a double sausage and egg muffin, three hash browns and a cappuccino, I debated with myself over the Ana Conundrum.

Should I just tell her how I feel? She's my best friend; will she be...disgusted, offended even? Will my actions hurt my brother? Am I really crushing that hard? Will it pass? 

Well, it hadn't passed yet, and I'd been feeling this way for a year. And I'd been getting more and more depressed and isolated in the process.

I had to tell her, for my own sanity. At least then I'd see her reaction. And if she wanted no more to do with me, then so be it. If she was angry or offended, at least maybe I could stop moping around, mooning over what could never be, and move on.

I texted Ana, and so began the longest morning of my life while I waited anxiously for our lunchtime chat.

I was in the college dining hall idly picking at a sandwich I didn't really want, feeling sick to my stomach with dread and fear when she arrived.

Fuck me! I hated myself instantly. Gone was my sparkly, sassy Indian princess. In her place was a young woman with eyes puffy from tears and lack of sleep. The usual immaculate makeup was replaced with just enough war paint to face the day, her beautiful hair scraped back into a lazy ponytail. She looked how I felt. Timid, nervous and ready to run. I stood up and waved. 

"Ana," I called out and beckoned her over. "Over here."

I didn't sit down. I stood, waiting for her, and this time it was me that initiated the hug. It was enough to start me crying again.

"I'm sorry, Ana. I'm so sorry." I sobbed into her neck.

"Shhhh kutty," she whispered, stroking my back. "Shhh, whatever it is, Vinda, we'll sort it out."

When my sobs subsided, she sat me down. And while I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue, she took my student card and went to get us both coffees.

"So, Lulu," she asked, placing our cups down and sitting opposite me. "Little one, whatever has been up with you? You avoid me now; we never hang out. I miss you. What have I done to drive you away?

"I", I took a sip of coffee, wincing in pain as I took too much and burnt my tongue. "It's...oh fuck. Ana, it's easier if I just show you."

I reached into my backpack, taking out the sketchpads and doodle book.

"Take a look, and hopefully you'll get the idea. But please, don't open them right up in here. It's...sensitive material."

She half-opened the first pad to a random page. Then another. Then another.

"They're," she paused. "Vinda, they're all of me." She sounded stunned and unsure of what to say next.

For the next ten minutes, I sat in silence, nervously sipping my coffee as she flicked her way through page after page after page of images of herself.

She was silent save for the odd 'fuck Lulu' or 'holy shit'. Or even, 'holy fucking shitballs'.

She lingered on one I was particularly proud of. A rear view of her sitting naked, cross-legged, looking over her shoulder. I'd actually used a lucky picture I'd captured on my phone of her and Danny walking in front of me hand in hand. Her head was perfectly positioned.

"Lou, these are—" I waited nervously for the inevitable tirade. The outrage. The disgust. "Lulu, these are beautiful. Is this how you see me?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Rani, you're all I can think about since that day when you asked to sit for me. These are just a fraction of what I've done. You're always in my head."

She looked at me for a second, reached for my hands and whispered. "I want to see them. All of them. Now."

"Are you sure?" I replied, "They might shock you."

"I don't think you could shock me anymore than I already am, Vinda. Do you have any idea how fucking flattered I am? That this is the way you see me? Beautiful, desirable?"

There was my Indian princess, making a rapid comeback. "Well, okay then, let's go."

xoxoxoxoxo

We entered my empty house; Mum and Dad were at work, and I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Ana had driven her Fiat 500 like a thing possessed to get here. But we'd barely spoken since leaving the college campus.

She tossed her jacket on my unmade bed and sat down.

"So, let me see then," she said. I couldn't tell if she was excited or nervous. But there was a definite tremor in her voice.

I started by opening my wardrobe door. The near-lifesize canvas was stretched and pinned to the back. It portrayed her as I saw her. My princess. In oils, in full colour. In full regalia, wrapped in a bright purple sari, a silver circlet atop her head. My first attempt at a full-sized oil on canvas, like the grand masters.

"I give you Rani, oil on canvas." I tried to sound like a museum guide.

"Wooooow, Lulu!" She exclaimed. "That is fucking beautiful!"

She jumped up to hug me, beaming her signature huge smile, before I told her she'd better sit back down.

"Ok Ana, brace yourself for the rest."

It was now that I showed her my full body of work. Down to the last close-up of how I imagined her pussy, as if I was gazing down, positioned to...well, you know.

She looked down at the pages; she looked up at me. Rinse and repeat again and again. Until:

"Fuuuck me, Vinda, you are one naughty girl. Is this what you want, me?"

"I'll, er, I'll give you a second to process, shall I?" I turned and went to leave the room.

"Hold it right there, Kutty, no running away. We need to talk."

I stood rooted to the spot as she came up behind me. My hand on the doorknob, my heart pounding. I was in full-on flight mode.

She brushed my hair aside and spoke softly into my ear. "This last year, ohh Lulu, we could have been having so much fucking fun together."

I gulped nervously. "How so?"

"That day I asked you to draw me," she continued. "I thought I was finally going to get you out of your clothes too. I thought I had the perfect chance. I was sooo hoping you'd be down to your undies too, Vinda. Or out of them."

I stiffened as she came up close behind me; I could feel her breath on my skin. I could smell her familiar floral, spiced scent.

"I still think about you in that little black prom dress, Lulu," she breathed into my ear. "God, I wanted to see what was underneath.

I was petrified, rooted to the spot as she kissed my neck and the exposed part of my shoulder. Her arms encircled me from behind, holding me close to her.

"Is this what you imagine, baby? When you paint me. Do you want me? I mean, do you really want me?"

I let out a soft low moan as her fingertips slipped up under my t-shirt, lazily caressing my tummy, forcing me to suck my breath in. Fuck! I'd imagined this moment a million times. And now I was terrified. I laid my head back against her.

"I want you so badly, Rani, but what about Danny? He's my brother. And," I hesitated. "And I've never done it before. "With a girl, I mean."

"Don't worry, Kutty," she whispered. "I have."

She turned me to face her. She wasn't mad or angry or disgusted. She was smiling. I could've drowned in her huge dark eyes.

She tilted her head down, softly, so softly pressing her lips to mine. It was so different from kissing a guy. I'd never felt anything so divine. Soft velvety lips, no stubble on her face. She didn't rush to shove her tongue down my throat. Instead, she traced my lips with her tongue. Testing the waters. I melted into her embrace, my mouth opened willingly, and my tongue made a new friend in hers. I don't know how long we made out for. Could have been ten minutes. Could've been ten years. But I knew I never wanted it to end.

I was the first to gradually lose my clothes. Ana kissed every inch of me with each new patch of skin she exposed. My collarbone, my breasts, my stomach. She kissed my feet as she removed my socks, and behind my knees while I desperately tried to kick my jeans off. 

And right there pushed up against my bedroom door, Ana, still fully clothed, gave me my first orgasm at the hands of another woman. My black cotton knickers hang from one ankle, my leg draped over her shoulder. Her tongue sunk deep into my core; she French kissed my overly aroused pussy with a fervour I never knew possible. Her top lip massaged my clit while her lips teased and mauled at my puffy, lust-swollen labia. 

I was lost in some kind of detached dream state. I was aware of her soft hair gripped in my fists; I was aware of a distant, lust-soaked scream of her name as I climaxed, my body shaking uncontrollably. Was this really happening? Could my fever dream of having sex with my princess really be a reality?

It was all I'd dreamed of. Everything I'd fantasised about. And so much more.

I felt my soul and my body become one again as Ana stood up. Pressing her fully clothed self against my naked body. She kissed me again. A long, languid, lazy kiss. Letting me taste myself on her lips.

"I want to ma…" I tried to speak, but she put a finger to my lips.

"I want you to as well, my Vinda, believe me, I do. But your mum's going to be home very soon. And do we really want her to see us coming downstairs looking guilty? I've waited this long; I can wait one more day."

I wasn't about to take no for an answer. I had to at least feel her. If only quickly. "No fucking chance," I heard myself growl.

I kissed her again, savouring the taste of myself on her lips while my fingers fumbled urgently with the buttons of her jeans.

"Lulu...what the fu..."

The words died on her lips as I yanked her jeans to the middle of her exquisitely shaped thighs. She was wearing miniscule little knickers again, but this time they were pristine white in stark contrast to her dark olive skin.

Okay, so I'd never touched another girl's pussy before. But as I said earlier, I'd wanked myself into a froth, and Pornhub was a handy 'how to' guide.

I thrust my hand into her undies as our mouths collided again. My suspicions were confirmed. She was silky smooth and as wet as a dewy morning. I let my palm rest on her velvet-soft mound, while my two middle fingers diddled her clit. It was clumsy, as most first-time sex is, but oh my god, it was fucking hot.

Her excitement must have overridden my lack of experience. There, in the bedroom I'd occupied my entire life, surrounded by childhood memories and cuddly toys, I finally got everything! I made my princess cum. A shaking knee trembling quickie. She whimpered, her soaking cooch glossing my fingers. She even managed to hickey my shoulder in the process.

Not bad for a first-timer, I thought to myself. I'd never been happier in my life.

xoxoxoxoxo

We were sitting in the kitchen innocently drinking tea when my mum got home. She instantly started clucking and cooing about how pleased she was that we'd sorted things out.

"Are you girls staying for dinner?" She asked as we sipped.

Before I could say anything, Ana piped up, "Don't worry about us, Jan. I think we'll find somewhere quiet and keep catching up. Lulu says she fancies eating out."

I almost snorted my tea everywhere, so I gave her a playful half kick under the table. All she did was grin and lick her lips.

On the plus side though, I don't think I have to worry about my brother. The next day I got a text giving me the go-ahead...I think.

'Hey kiddo, thanks for sorting stuff with Ana. She's the happiest she's been in weeks. Whatever you said or did, keep it up xxx.'

Am I reading it right? Surely I am. I should do as my brother asks shouldn't I? It'd be rude not to...wouldn't it?