The doorbell rang at six sharp, just as the last sliver of sunset bled through the curtains. I wasn’t expecting anyone—my parents were halfway to Goa by now, and the only person who ever dropped by unannounced was the milkman, and he sure as hell didn’t show up at this hour. I wiped my palms on my shorts, already half-hard from the thought of who it might be, and yanked the door open.
There she stood—Priya, my neighbor, the woman who’d haunted my jerk-off sessions for months. Her usual prim saree was gone, replaced by a thin, loose kurta that clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric stretched tight over her tits, the outline of her nipples pressing against it, begging to be touched. Her lips were parted, her breath uneven, like she’d run up the stairs. But it wasn’t fear in her eyes. It was hunger.
“Mani,” she said, her voice low, rough, like she’d been holding back this words for years. “I need you.”
I didn’t hesitate. My hand shot out, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her inside so fast she gasped. The door slammed shut behind her, the lock clicking into place like a promise. She stumbled against me, her body pressing into mine, her tits crushing against my chest. I could smell her—sweat, perfume, and something else, something musky and desperate. The scent of a woman who hadn’t been touched in too damn long.
“You’ve been teasing me for months,” I growled, my fingers digging into her hips. “Walking around in those thin kurtas, letting me see what your husband doesn’t even bother with. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
She whimpered when I squeezed her ass, her nails raking down my back. “I didn’t know how to ask,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He hasn’t touched me in three years. I—I can’t take it anymore.”
“Then you’re mine now,” I said, shoving her against the wall. My mouth crashed onto hers, my tongue forcing its way past her lips. She moaned into the kiss, her body melting against mine, her hands fumbling with my belt. I didn’t let her. Not yet. I wanted to savor this.
I tore her kurta open, buttons scattering across the floor. Her bra was lace, black, barely containing her tits. I yanked it down, freeing them, and my cock twitched at the sight—heavy, full, her nipples dark and hard. I palmed one, squeezing, rolling the nipple between my fingers until she was panting.
“Please,” she begged, her head falling back against the wall. “I need you inside me.”
“You’ll get it,” I promised, dropping to my knees. “But first, I’m gonna taste that pussy you’ve been denying me.”
Her skirt was already hiked up, her thighs trembling as I hooked my fingers into her panties and ripped them off. The scent of her hit me like a punch—wet, hot, ready. I groaned, my mouth watering, and dove in.
She screamed when my tongue dragged up her slit, her fingers tangling in my hair, yanking me closer. I lapped at her like a starving man, my tongue circling her clit before plunging inside her. She was soaking, her juices coating my chin, her thighs shaking as I fucked her with my mouth. I could feel her getting closer, her muscles tightening, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Not yet,” I growled, pulling back just as she was about to come. She whined, her hips bucking, chasing my mouth. “You come when I say you can.”
I stood up, wiping her wetness from my lips, and unbuckled my pants. My cock sprang free, thick and leaking, the tip already glistening. Her eyes widened, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
“Fuck,” she breathed. “You’re so big.”
“And you’re gonna take every inch,” I said, spinning her around and bending her over the couch. She went willingly, her ass in the air, her pussy glistening. I spat on my palm and rubbed it over my cock, then lined myself up.
The first thrust made her scream. I bottomed out in one go, her tight, neglected cunt gripping me like a vice. She was so fucking wet, so hot, her walls fluttering around me as I pulled back and slammed into her again.
“Yes! Harder!” she begged, her nails digging into the couch cushions. I obliged, my hips snapping against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. Her tits bounced with every thrust, her moans getting louder, more desperate.
I reached around and found her clit, rubbing it in rough circles. “Come for me,” I ordered. “Now.”
She shattered with a cry, her pussy clamping down on my cock, her juices gushing out around me. I didn’t stop. I kept fucking her through it, my balls drawing up, my own release building.
“Again,” I demanded, flipping her onto her back and driving into her. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into my ass as I pounded into her. “You’re gonna come until you can’t walk.”
And she did. Over and over, in every position I could think of—against the wall, on the kitchen counter, bent over the bed while I spanked her ass until it was red. I fucked her throat, her tits, her tight little asshole until she was sobbing, her body trembling with overstimulation.
By the third day, she was a mess—bruised, sore, her voice hoarse from screaming. But she never once asked me to stop. She took everything I gave her, begging for more, her body responding like it had been made for me.