“Some want only this view. They slap. They hold the hip like a handle. One fingered me until I was dripping down his wrist and then he made me say thank you before he put it in. I said thank you. I meant it that night. I can still feel the sentence.”
She fingered herself from behind so Raja could see the wet gathering, stretching, shining.
Akriti stood over Vivek, one hand on the wall, the other between her legs, two fingers in, thumb on her clit, a professional rhythm that was not shy.
“Mine are rougher on average. I don’t sell soft as well as Sonam.” She looked at Vivek’s oozing cock and smiled without kindness. “The one I enjoyed most made me sit on his face until I shook, then he flipped me and fucked me like he was angry at the price. I liked the anger. I liked when he put my own wet on my mouth and told me to taste the booking.”
She lifted her fingers and painted her nipple with her own slick, then the other, spit and pussy mixed.
“Another wanted my ass and asked properly. Lube. Slow. Then not slow. I came with nothing on my clit, only that fullness. That surprised me. I hated that it surprised me.” She turned, showed Vivek her ass, slapped her own cheek once, watched it ripple. “Some men just stare at this and forget their names. You three are doing that now. Same face as paying strangers. Difference is you packed us dinner.”
The three guys were harder than the confessions had left them. Cocks dark, wet at the tips, twitching at every wet sound.
Puja took the condom strip and tapped it against Sanjay’s thigh.
“That is the hint you threw. Other men. Their hands. Their luck. You want to sit in that feeling and stay hard inside it.” She smeared her dripping cunt along his shaft, not taking him in, just coating him. “Say if that’s what you asked.”
Sanjay’s voice was wrecked.
“I asked what you enjoyed. I also wanted to hear that they had you. I wanted it to hurt and I wanted my cock to stay like this anyway.”
Raja, staring at Sonam’s fingers: “Same. I wanted the window. I wanted to be the balcony and the man.”
Vivek, almost whispering: “I wanted to be the stranger and the brother and I don’t know which one is worse.”
Akriti tossed a condom onto Vivek’s stomach, one onto Raja’s, one onto Sanjay’s.
“Then you listen while we touch ourselves and you don’t come. Clients came when they were told, or when they couldn’t help it. You practice help it.”
The girls kept going because the men were watching like a booking that had forgotten to pay.
Puja riding her own fingers, describing a man who made her thank him after every orgasm.
Sonam circling her clit, describing a man who held her throat and asked about her exam the same night, the mix of filthy and ordinary that had made her drip down her own thighs.
Akriti, two fingers in her ass now with lube from the tube, showing Vivek the exact slow push a client had used, narrating the burn and the yes.
ORS packets sat on the sheet like a punchline.
Pills beside them.
Condoms still unopened.
Three dripping pussies. Saliva drying on nipples and shining again when a mouth wasn’t even there. Three cocks leaking in helpless pulses while their sisters—lovers, problem, family—explained, with their own hands, exactly how other men had taken them to the fullest, and how much of it they had enjoyed.
