I glance at the clock on my office wall—6:55 PM. Shit. I'd promised you I'd be home by 7, Jackie, no excuses. But my boss, that relentless prick, just dumped another stack of reports on my desk. "Finish it tonight, Nick, or we're all fucked come Monday," he says, not even looking up from his screen. My phone feels heavy in my hand as I dial your number, knowing exactly how this call is going to go.
Your voice comes through sharp and expectant the second it connects. "Nick? You're calling from the parking lot, right? Tell me you're on your way."
I lean back in my chair, rubbing my temple. "Babe, listen—I'm sorry. Boss is making me stay late. It's this project, it has to be done now, or we're screwed. Date night's off. We can reschedule for tomorrow, I swear."
There's a pause, and I can picture your face—those full lips pressing into a thin line, your dark eyes narrowing. You're stunning, Jackie, with that cascade of wavy auburn hair that falls just past your shoulders, framing your heart-shaped face. Your body's the kind that turns heads without trying: curves in all the right places, full C-cup breasts that strain against your tops, a toned waist flaring into wide hips and an ass that's firm from all those yoga sessions. You're wearing that little black dress tonight, I bet—the one that hugs your thighs and dips low enough to show off the swell of your cleavage.
"You're shitting me, right?" you snap, your voice rising. "We planned this weeks ago, Nick. I got all dressed up, shaved everything, and now you're bailing because of some bullshit deadline? Fuck that."
"I know, I know," I say, trying to keep my tone calm. "It's not like I want to. But if I leave now, it'll bite me in the ass later. Please, just—"
"Just what? Sit here alone and wait for you like some desperate housewife?" Your words cut like knives. We go back and forth for a few minutes—you yelling about how I'm always putting work first, me apologizing and promising to make it up to you. Finally, you let out a frustrated huff. "You know what? Fine. Handle your reports. I'm done talking." The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, guilt twisting in my gut. But there's nothing I can do from here. Back at home, you toss your phone onto the couch, the screen still glowing with my last text—a lame "I'm sorry, love you." Pissed doesn't even cover it. Your blood's boiling, that familiar heat building not just from anger but something else, something restless. You've been cooped up all day, and now this. Fuck Nick and his excuses.
Without thinking twice, you grab your phone again and open your messages, scrolling to Kassim's name. He's your neighbor, the tall, broad-shouldered guy next door with smooth dark skin, a shaved head, and a smile that always seems to linger a beat too long when he sees you. You've flirted harmlessly before—him offering to fix your leaky faucet last month, you laughing at his jokes while handing him a beer. He's single, or at least he acts like it.
"Hey Kassim, what's up? Bored out of my mind tonight. You free?" you text, keeping it light.
His reply pings back almost immediately: "Hey Jackie! Just chilling with my buddy Sahir. He's in town visiting from back home. Why, you need company?"
Sahir. You've heard the name—Kassim's old college friend, some guy from the same neighborhood growing up. Your anger simmers into mischief. "Company sounds perfect. Nick flaked on me. Want to come over for drinks? I could use a distraction."
There's a delay, then: "Hell yeah. Give us 10 minutes."
You smile for the first time all evening, a wicked little curve of your lips. Standing in front of your bedroom mirror, you adjust your dress, the fabric clinging to your body like a second skin. It's short enough that when you bend over, it rides up to show the lacy edge of your black thong. No bra tonight—your nipples poke faintly against the material, already perking up from the thrill. You snap a quick selfie, just your face and shoulders, lips pursed in a pout, and send it to Kassim. "Hurry up, this dress is getting lonely."
His response is a string of fire emojis. "Damn, girl. On our way."
By the time the doorbell rings, you've poured three glasses of red wine and dimmed the living room lights—not too much, just enough to make the space feel intimate, the leather couch inviting. You open the door to Kassim, all 6'2" of him, wearing a fitted black t-shirt that stretches over his muscled chest and arms, jeans hugging his thick thighs. Behind him stands Sahir—taller still, maybe 6'4", with a leaner build but no less imposing. His skin is a deep mahogany, hair cropped short and tight, a neatly trimmed beard framing his jaw. He's got that quiet intensity, eyes dark and piercing, dressed in a simple white button-up and slacks that do nothing to hide the bulge of his quads.
"Jackie," Kassim says, pulling you into a quick hug that lingers, his hand brushing your lower back. "You look incredible. Sorry about Nick—guy's missing out."
Sahir nods, his voice low and accented, smooth like gravel wrapped in velvet. "Yeah, pleasure to meet you. Kassim's told me you're the best neighbor around."
You laugh, stepping aside to let them in. "Flattery will get you everywhere. Come on, wine's waiting."
The three of you settle on the couch, knees almost touching in the cozy setup. Conversation flows easy—Kassim teasing you about your yoga obsession, Sahir sharing stories from his travels, his laugh deep and rumbling. The wine loosens things up, your anger at me fading into a buzz of excitement. After your second glass, Kassim suggests a game. "Truth or dare? Keep it fun, no holds barred."
You smirk, crossing your legs so your dress hikes up a bit. "You're on. But I warn you, I don't play nice."
First round's tame: Kassim admits to a wild college hookup, Sahir dares you to chug the rest of your wine—which you do, laughing as it dribbles down your chin. But it escalates quick. You dare Kassim to strip off his shirt. He does, revealing a chiseled torso, abs rippling under that dark skin, a faint trail of hair leading down into his jeans. "Your turn," he says, eyes locked on yours. "Truth or dare?"
"Dare," you say, heart pounding.
"Kiss Sahir. Make it count."
Sahir raises an eyebrow but leans in without hesitation. His lips meet yours—firm, demanding, tasting faintly of wine. His beard scratches your skin in the best way, and you deepen it, your hand sliding to his neck. When you pull back, the air's thicker, charged.
Things snowball from there. Sahir dares you to lose the dress. You stand, slowly unzipping it, letting the fabric pool at your feet. Underneath, just that thong—your breasts full and heavy, nipples hard as pebbles in the cool air. Kassim's eyes devour you, his jeans tenting obviously. "Fuck, Jackie," he mutters.
You send me a quick pic then—just your bare back, ass peeking over the thong's edge, captioned "Having fun without you." I see it later, my stomach dropping, but right now, you're lost in the moment.
Kassim's next dare has him and Sahir both stripping down. Kassim's cock springs free first—thick, maybe 8 inches, veined and heavy, balls hanging low and full. Sahir's is longer, uncut, curving slightly upward, the head already glistening. Both men are rock-hard, their bodies a study in contrast: Kassim's bulkier, powerful, Sahir's more wiry, every muscle defined.
"Truth," you say when it's your turn, but Kassim shakes his head. "No more truths. Dare only now." He dares you to touch them—your hands wrap around their shafts, stroking slow. Kassim's girth fills your palm, hot and pulsing; Sahir's length throbs as you twist your wrist, foreskin sliding back to expose the sensitive tip.
They dare each other next—Kassim to suck on your nipple while Sahir fingers you. You spread your legs on the couch, thong shoved aside. Kassim's mouth is warm, tongue flicking your peaked bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. Sahir's fingers—long and deft—part your slick folds, two sliding in deep, curling against that spot that makes your toes curl. "You're so wet already," Sahir murmurs, his thumb circling your clit. "This what you needed?"
"Fuck yes," you moan, head falling back. You snap another photo for me—your legs spread, Kassim's head at your breast, no faces, but the implication clear. Sent.
The game dissolves into pure heat. You drop to your knees between them, the carpet rough against your skin. Kassim's cock first—salty pre-cum on your tongue as you take him in, lips stretching around his thickness. You bob slow, hollowing your cheeks, one hand pumping Sahir in rhythm. Sahir groans, threading fingers through your hair. "Suck it deeper, yeah, like that." Kassim's hips buck, fucking your mouth gently, his balls brushing your chin.
They pull you up, positioning you on the couch. Kassim kneels behind, spreading your ass cheeks, his tongue diving into your pussy from behind—lapping broad strokes over your lips, then probing your entrance. Sahir takes your mouth again, but this time you guide his cock between your breasts, squeezing them around his length as he thrusts. The sensation's overwhelming: Kassim's beard tickling your inner thighs, his tongue flicking your clit while his fingers stretch you, three now, scissoring inside. You grind back against his face, juices coating his chin.
"Want more?" Kassim asks, voice muffled against your skin.
"God, yes—fuck me," you beg.
Sahir lies back first, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him reverse, sinking down onto his cock—it's a stretch, that curve hitting deep as you bottom out, your ass pressing against his hips. He grips your waist, guiding you up and down, each bounce making your breasts jiggle. Kassim watches, stroking himself, then steps up, rubbing his dick against your lips. You suck him eagerly, tasting yourself on him from earlier.
The rhythm builds—Sahir thrusting up hard, his balls slapping your ass, while you deepthroat Kassim, gagging slightly on his girth. They switch, Kassim taking your pussy now, his thickness splitting you open, pounding with short, powerful strokes that make the couch creak. Sahir moves to your mouth, his cock slick from your juices.
You text me again mid-fuck—a blurry shot of Kassim's cock buried halfway in you, your pussy lips stretched around him. "This is what late nights get you."
Foreplay bleeds into full-on frenzy. Kassim pulls out, flipping you onto all fours. He teases your ass with his thumb, circling the tight ring while Sahir slides under you, sucking your clit as Kassim re-enters your pussy. The dual assault has you shaking—Sahir's tongue relentless, Kassim's hips slamming forward, his free hand spanking your ass lightly, leaving red handprints on your pale skin.
"Ever tried both?" Sahir asks, voice husky, his cock hard against your thigh.
You nod, breathless. "Do it."
They lube up—Kassim with spit and your wetness, Sahir grabbing some from the kitchen drawer (you always keep it handy). Kassim goes first in your ass, slow— the head popping past the ring, inch after thick inch filling you until you're stuffed. It burns sweet, then turns to pleasure as he starts moving. Sahir enters your pussy from below, the thin wall between them letting you feel every ridge, every vein as they both thrust.
"Fuck, you're tight," Kassim grunts, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. His muscles flex with each pump, sweat gleaming on his dark skin, abs contracting as he drives deeper.
Sahir's leaner frame bucks up, his beard scratching your breasts as he latches onto a nipple. "Take it all, Jackie—milk us dry." Their cocks rub together inside you, the friction insane, building that pressure fast.
You come first—hard, walls clenching around them, a gush of wetness soaking Sahir's balls. You squirt a little, the release messy and intense, crying out as waves crash over you. They don't stop, pounding through it, Kassim's thumb now rubbing your clit to draw it out.
"Switch," Sahir says, and they do—Sahir in your ass now, his length hitting spots Kassim couldn't, making you whimper. Kassim in your pussy, his girth stretching you anew. The pace is brutal, synchronized, their grunts filling the room. You reach back, fondling Kassim's heavy balls, feeling them tighten.
"I'm close," Kassim warns, thrusts erratic.
"Me too—fill her up," Sahir growls.
You beg for it. "Cum inside—both of you."
Kassim erupts first, hot spurts flooding your pussy, his cock pulsing as he buries deep, groaning your name. Sahir follows seconds later, his load pumping into your ass, thick and warm, leaking out as he keeps moving. You come again, the sensation of being filled pushing you over, body trembling between them.
They pull out slow, cum dripping from both holes, pooling on the couch. You collapse, spent, but they aren't done pampering. Kassim grabs a towel, cleaning you gently, his strong hands massaging your thighs. Sahir kisses your neck, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.
As the high fades, your phone buzzes—my texts, frantic after the pics: "What the fuck, Jackie? Stop this." But you ignore it, turning to them with a grin. "That was... incredible."
Kassim chuckles, pulling you into his side. "Anytime. Nick's loss."
Sahir nods, his hand on your knee. "We're not going anywhere tonight."
Hours later, when I finally drag myself home, the house is quiet. You greet me at the door, freshly showered, in a robe that hides the marks—the faint bruises on your hips, the satisfied glow in your eyes. "Hey," you say casually, like nothing happened. "Work go okay?"
I nod, confused, pulling you close. But as we head to bed, I catch a whiff of unfamiliar cologne on your skin, and later, when you fall asleep smiling, I check your phone. The pics are gone, deleted, but the secret lingers. You wake up the next morning, stretching languidly, and whisper in my ear, "Maybe next time, include me in your late nights. Or don't—I can handle my own fun."
And damn if that doesn't spark something new between us, a twist in our routine that keeps things anything but boring.