Then the cross again, faster.
Akriti–Sanjay: she sat across his lap, ass in his hands, kissing like a fight, he slapped her thigh and she put his cock between her cheeks without taking him in.
Sonam–Vivek: she pulled his hair, put his mouth on her pointy nipple, slapped his chest when he sucked too soft, then kissed him in apology that was not apology.
Puja–Raja: she bent so he could see everything he had paid for last night and everything he was getting free now, and he slapped her ass and kissed the base of her spine.
Hands everywhere. A palm on a shaved pussy. A pinch on a standing nipple. An ass cheek held open and released. Slaps landing on Puja, on Sonam, on Akriti, once on a man’s thigh when Akriti got tired of being the only one stinging.
Sonam, breathless, in Sanjay’s mouth, then Raja’s, then Vivek’s:
“Tonight we are not a phone clip. Tonight you touch what you spied on.”
Akriti, to the group, while Sanjay’s cock was slick against her cunt and Vivek’s mouth was on her tit:
“Exchange properly. Nobody keeps only his own. That was the confession.”
Puja grabbed Sanjay’s face, then Raja’s, then pulled Vivek in so three men’s mouths passed over hers in a line.
“Then kiss. Slap. Hold. If someone wants inside, they ask with a name. Until then this bed is just what it looks like.”
It looked like six naked people grouping and regrouping—Sanjay with Puja, Raja with Sonam, Vivek with Akriti; then Akriti with Sanjay, Sonam with Vivek, Puja with Raja—kissing through the swaps, hands on hard nipples and shaved pussy and ass, slaps cracking under the fan, the laundry basket forgotten under the bed, the word Bhaiya coming out between kisses like a dare they were finally spending.
They were already a mess before anyone stood.
Pussies dripping. Not a pretty film—real wet, shining down inner thighs, smearing onto hips and sheets whenever a grind paused. Saliva on nipples, cooling, making them pointier. Saliva on thighs where mouths had missed and not cared. Three cocks oozing precum in slow threads, smearing against shaved cunts and ass cheeks every time someone shifted.
Sonam got up first. A string of wet followed her off Raja’s thigh.
Akriti followed, one hand under herself as if the floor might complain.
Puja stood last, looked down at Sanjay’s cock shining against his stomach, and clicked her tongue.
“Bhaiya.” Sweet. Mean. “Where are the pills. The lubricant. The ORS. The condoms. You came to a sister’s flat like last night was going to run on enthusiasm and tap water.”
Sonam burst out laughing, sudden and ugly and real.
Akriti covered her mouth and failed.
“ORS,” Akriti wheezed. “She is planning the hangover before the fuck.”
Puja shrugged, tits wet, a smear of spit still on the left nipple.
“I have taught virgins. Virgins collapse. I am not carrying three bodies to a chemist at one a.m.”
Sanjay’s ears went hot. His cock still twitched, leaking.
“We didn’t—”
“You didn’t,” Puja said. “Lucky for you this house is used to nights that need a kit.”
Akriti rolled her eyes, still smiling, and padded to the corner shelf. A plastic first-aid box came down. Not cute. Practical. She popped the lid on the bed among the bottles.
