Peeking Neighbor

Vyoma's skin still glowed from the heat of the shower.

The last trace of Pulkit’s cum slid lazily down the inside of her thigh.

She stood in front of the mirror, still naked. Her nipples were stiff, her lips a little swollen from earlier.

She slipped into a sheer peach kaftan.

Across the hall, she could already sense Jitu stepping out on his balcony. He always did.

Pulkit was still in the living room, sprawled on the couch, half-hard. “You sure he’s ready for this?”

Vyoma’s lips curled. “He’s a 21-year-old idiot who thinks a few cocky comments and glances make him a man. Let’s show him what men and women actually look like.”

She stepped out onto the balcony. Jitu froze. He stared — as he always did — and looked away only when she caught him. She smiled, took out her phone, and sent him a message.

Dinner’s done. Come over. Pulkit wants to meet you 😉

He arrived twelve minutes later.

Jeans too tight. Shirt too ironed. Hair styled with effort.

Pulkit looked up from the couch. “Hey, Jitu. Come in.”

Vyoma didn’t greet him with words — just a slow turn, hips swaying, her bare ass faintly visible through the fabric as she moved toward the sofa.

Her legs were still wet from the shower. Jitu noticed. Of course he did.

“Want a drink?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes—uh, sure.”

She turned. “Too bad. You don’t get one.”

Jitu chuckled nervously, unsure if it was a joke.

Pulkit patted the single chair across from them. “Sit down.”

He did.

Vyoma leaned into Pulkit, whispering something, giggling.

Her legs were draped over his lap now. One hand sneaked inside his joggers.

Jitu blinked, unsure if he was seeing right.

Pulkit didn’t flinch. His cock was already out.

And Vyoma? She was stroking it like she had an audience.

“You’ve been watching us, haven’t you?” she said suddenly, without looking at him. “From that little balcony. For weeks.”

Jitu stammered. “What—no, I—I—”

Vyoma moaned softly, cutting him off.

She leaned down and licked the tip of Pulkit’s cock, slow, deliberate. “You’re not in trouble. We just thought it’s time you watched properly.”

Pulkit groaned, hand resting casually on her ass.

Jitu tried to stand. “I—I should—”

“Sit,” Pulkit said, firm now. “You move again, we’ll throw you out. Not before you cum in your pants.”

Vyoma giggled. “And we will make you cum.”

She stood up slowly, never once breaking eye contact with Jitu. She let the kaftan fall to the floor.

Naked… No pretense.

Just her—gleaming, bare, confident, cunt wet and glistening, thighs still glossy from the earlier fuck.

She turned and straddled Pulkit without hesitation, positioning his cock at her entrance, and then...

She sank down.

Wet, loud, obscene.

The slap of skin echoed.

Jitu jolted. His breath hitched.

Vyoma leaned back, tits bouncing as she began to ride. “He’s drooling,” she said with a smirk.

Pulkit grunted, gripping her hips. “Let him.”

Jitu couldn’t look away. Couldn’t even blink. His hands were clenched into fists. His cock was already hard and straining against denim.

Vyoma bounced harder. Faster. Her moans grew louder.

She threw her head back, then snapped forward suddenly to look straight at Jitu.

“You see that? That’s how a woman fucks when she’s worshipped.” She spat on Pulkit’s chest and smeared it with her palm.

Pulkit grabbed her hair and yanked. Vyoma screamed in pleasure.

She bent over, tits swinging, and Pulkit fucked up into her like a beast.

Her ass smacked against his thighs. The coffee table shook.

Jitu’s chest rose and fell rapidly. His cock throbbed painfully, but he didn’t dare touch.

“Don’t even think about it,” Vyoma said, glaring.

They flipped positions.

Vyoma was now on her back, legs thrown wide apart, her pussy stretched open and dripping as Pulkit plunged into her over and over.

“Faster,” she screamed. “Let the little fucker hear how wet I am.”

And oh, he did.

The squelching. The slapping. The gasping.

Pulkit went harder. Vyoma came loudly, squirted on his cock, shivered.

Her body thrashed, eyes rolling back.

She pushed Pulkit off, dropped to her knees, and took him in her mouth like a beast in heat.

She gagged, spit, moaned, slurped.

She was on display. Cum dribbling. Her jaw slack. Her eyes—still on Jitu.

Pulkit’s groans deepened. He grabbed her head. One last thrust.

He exploded.

Cum splattered across her cheeks, chin, tits, even her tongue.

She smiled with it on her face. Swallowed the rest. Smeared some across her nipples.

She crawled toward Jitu, still naked and soaked.

He flinched as she got close. There was a dark stain on his jeans.

She smiled, lips still slick with her husband’s cum.

“Didn’t even touch yourself. Still made a mess.”

She stood up, stretched, and slipped on her kaftan without cleaning off.

Pulkit lit a cigarette. “Weak little fuck.”

Vyoma leaned in. Whispered:

“You’re not a man yet. But maybe… next time, we’ll let you lick us clean.”

She opened the door.

“Go home, baby.”

Jitu walked out in silence.