userpic of Yozojain
Yozojain
10 Stories22 Followers
All characters are above 18 and this story is a work of fiction. It is based on real events woven together into a story. With names and other details changed.
"I can't live without you," Pooja managed to speak out from between her sobs. She had been crying uncontrollably for the past 15 minutes over the phone since I had told her that I wanted to break up. I had been in Delhi for 6 months, been dating Pooja for 5 and fucking Tanya for 2. I was not a cheat at heart and wanted to break up with Pooja so that I could have sex with other women and have no commitments. I tried, but this monogamous shit was not for me.
And so, I had told her, not that I was fucking someone else but that I was not able to control my temptations for other women and I was too young to make a commitment to one girl. She tried her best to change my mind but, I was sure. I had not liked myself the last two months, fucking Pooja and being naked with her all day and then meeting Tanya the next day. I didn't want to hurt someone for my pleasures.
Finally, after crying a little more, she seemed to reach a decision.
"Look, Raghav," she said, her voice unsteady but resolved. "You can have sex with other girls. You don't need to commit to me or promise anything. I'm fine being your mistress--just let me stay in your life until I'm ready to leave. I'll do whatever you want. I want to be yours."
I didn't know how to respond to that. The truth of what I wanted was simpler than she was perhaps understanding it to be. I wanted sex. I wanted company. I had tried love and learned it wasn't for me. I couldn't feel the way people expected you to feel for another person. I was emotionless but first Anchal, now Pooja-- I couldn't understand why these women were so determined to remain tethered to my life.
So, I decided to break her resolve.
"Send me fucking nude photos, Pooja," I said. "Not just nudes--filthy ones. Pictures that'll make me hard while I have sex with someone else from college tonight. If you don't, I'll assume you're not okay with this arrangement and we stop talking."
"I'll send them," she whispered.
The first photo arrived before the call had fully ended. A blurry shot--her t-shirt off, hair tousled, and her swollen eyes avoiding the lens.
Then another. Bra on the floor. Breasts bare, with taut nipples--from cold or desire, I couldn't tell.
Then more.
Jeans unbuttoned, tugged down her thighs. The soft curve of her stomach, the dark shadow between her legs still hidden under her panties.
Next, fully naked, standing in the center of her room, at my disposal.
Then a close-up--her cunt open and delicate. The soft pink lips glistening under the flashlight of her phone, captured in unflinching detail.
A video: her fingers moving over her clit, her hips rocking and pushing into her hand. I could hear her purry breathing. Her eyes were closed and mouth slightly open. It seemed she was lost in the shameful pleasure of being owned and dominated. A new revelation for me who had assumed her to be a typical Indian girl.
Then her ass.
Her asshole, a clenched pink muscle laid open for my viewing pleasure. Exposed without hesitation. This was the same girl who had been ashamed to show her ass even after we had sex.
A final image: on her knees, her back arched, ass-cheeks spread wide--giving me the deepest part of her self.
I decided to push further. See how far I could push her willingness to cling to me. Write my name across your pussy. I sent.
She did.
The letters were crooked, drawn with what looked like her eyeliner--RAGHAV--black against the white skin of her lower belly, just above the neatly trimmed thatch of pubic hair. My ownership of this flesh seemed final. Something I had not expected or even fantasized about owning. I understood women but I was new to their perversions.
By the time I told her to stop, my gallery held thirty-two pics of her.
'I have one condition,' I typed, my thumb hovering over my phone unsteady. "If you ever want to fuck someone else, you tell me first. End this clean. Then you're free."
"And until then?" She replied
"Until then," I sent, saving the last photo, "you're my girlfriend."
I fucked Payal that night.
Payal was the college archetype slut --the girl every guy spread rumors about, but still lined up for, and succeeded in getting. She was a first-year legend. Not even six months into college life and she had slept with 10 guys. Rumor was that she gave blowjobs to one guy before college and fucked someone else after. I wouldn't have been shocked if she'd fucked someone else between classes.
Not that she was a literal whore but if a guy went and talked to her nicely, made her laugh, took her for a drive in his car and brought some beers, sex seemed to be guaranteed.
My friend Satyam had invited me to join him that night. We picked up Tuborgs and Lays and idled near her hostel in his Audi SUV. She made up some lie in the hostel that she was going to stay with her uncle.
Her eyes sparked when she saw the car--not at us.
She settled into the back and I passed her a cold bottle. We knew each other in that shallow college way--formal hellos in the canteen, half-smiles in the hall. I talked to literally everyone in college so that was expected. But tonight, I wanted to know her beyond that.
We drove without direction: South Campus to Lajpat Nagar, Lajpat to South Ex. The city passed by, a blur of amber streetlights and late-night traffic. Music thumped through the speakers. We were not afraid of cops. Satyam's father owned hotels, hospitals, bars--enough power in Delhi that cops came to him for favors, to request transfers to more favorable places within Delhi where they could make more money through bribes.
Laws in India don't exist if you have enough money and power.
We had both.
Payal and I talked about nothing--classes, a professor, the Delhi weather. When Satyam pulled into the deserted parking lot of Ansal Plaza to piss, the mood shifted. The moment his door clicked shut, I moved into the backseat beside her.
My door hadn't even closed before my mouth was on hers. Girls like her welcomed assertive guys and so that was my strategy. She opened her lips without hesitation, her tongue meeting mine with beer-sweet readiness. Not bothering to kiss her neck, making a judgement that it was not necessary with her, my hands went to her top, pushing the cotton top up. She arched her back, giggling. Her bra came off in one practiced motion, her breasts spilling into my hands. Small loose mounds of fat with large brown nipples and small areolas.
I unzipped my jeans, my cock out. I didn't have to guide her she knew what to do. She was the expert.
Her mouth was on my cock before I could speak--her tongue darted underneath my foreskin with practiced precision, swirling around the head, knowing all the right spots, teasing the slit (the best part of the blowjob) before she took me all the way. Her throat opened, accepting me without gagging, warm and tight. I watched her head move up and down in the dim street light flying in through the window, her eyes closed in focus, lips stretched tight around my cock. Felt like genuine worship of the act and not me. Every now and then, she'd pull back, let her tongue flutter over the tip deliberately, before plunging down again, engulfing me completely.
Satyam returned maybe five minutes later. He chuckled low as he dropped into the driver's seat--a dark laugh of knowing the inevitability. Payal laughed too, the vibration humming through my cock, but she didn't stop. If anything, she clamped her mouth deeper, one hand massaging my balls, rolling them gently between her fingers while the other gripped the base of my cock, stroking it with the rhythm of her mouth. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine briefly before focusing back on the task. The wet sounds of her blowjob filled the car, each slurp and swallow loud even with the music on. It was my first audio enabled blowjob. All previous blowjobs felt like 2D in comparison to this 3D worship.
We started driving again, Satyam navigating empty streets while I watched the city blur past, my focus narrowed to the wet pull of her mouth. My hips began to move involuntarily; my hand tangled in her hair. I could feel the tightness building in my gut. When I came, it was with a loud groan, my body tensing, my grip tightening on her hair as I emptied my cum in mouth. She swallowed neatly, then sat back, wiping her lips with her hand. A satisfied look in her eyes. Her breasts were still bare, nipples hard in the cool AC breeze.
"You drive," Satyam said, tossing me the keys without looking back.
Payal leaned against the window, her eyes holding mine in the rearview mirror.
The night was just beginning.
After Satyam came once and since she needed to pee as we had been swimming in beer, we headed to my place. Of course, after buying more. On the way, drunk and bold, I messaged Pooja, Anchal, and Tanya, demanding nudes.
Laughing, giggling, and staggering, the three of us managed the three flights of stairs, passing closed doors behind which families slept. I often wondered what they thought of us. Daily, random girls and men climbed up with clinking bags, and daily they stumbled back down drunk. Girls in miniskirts and tiny shorts strutted through hallways where someone's grandmother might be praying. But this was Delhi--nobody said a word unless you made noise or stole a parking spot. That was the Punjabi culture of this city. Everyone drank every day, and nights were for fucking around. The local guys I drank with talked about alcohol like it was religion--how much they'd had last night, and which brand they were going to drink next. Alcohol consumed Delhi as much as Delhi consumed alcohol.
And I fucking loved it. Back home in my hometown, all anyone talked about was aggression and fighting.
Now, back to Payal.
Once we settled in my room, I lit a joint and she cracked open another beer bottle. When her words started to slur and her fingers began demanding attention on my palm, I nodded at Satyam. He stood, announcing he had to make some calls--a lie we all knew.
Within seconds Payal was naked and I did not even bother closing the door.
She was a mid-looking girl who didn't care about receiving pleasure and I was already more drunk than horny having my dick already sucked off once. There was no incentive or intention in me to make her wet, and she was more than willing to do anything. As I got naked, she leaned in to kiss me. I skillfully deflected, planting my lips on her cheek instead.
Laughing, I asked, "You like sucking cock, right?"
"To be honest, yes," she beamed, her eyes glazed but eager. "I sorta love the taste of it. And what it does to men."
"Then go ahead," I replied, my dick already pointing toward her.
She went down on her knees without hesitation, taking my cock into her mouth. Within seconds, I was hard again as she began audio blowjob. I told her to turn around, and she did in a clumsy way. I parted her ass-cheeks, taking a long, deliberate look at her pussy, and the brown asshole just above it. Then, I plunged into her. She was soaked. With my thumb pressing against her asshole, circling the rim, and my dick pumping into her with a steady rhythm, she began to moan into my mattress. I spanked her ass twice--stinging slaps that left red handprints on her light brown skin. When that wasn't enough for me, I slapped her face. First gently, testing. She smiled--a wicked, willing grin. So, I slapped her harder. She let out a sharp, pleasure-soaked shriek. Ahhhhhhhhh.
Two minutes into riding her, I remembered the nudes I had asked my gang of chicklets. I reached for my phone. But first, I took pictures of her asshole stretched around my thumb in doggystyle. Then I took a video of her smiling back at me. I took out my cock once to take a picture of her gaping pussy before I began fucking her again.
Pooja had sent a picture--a back view from above, her ass arched high on a rumpled bed. Her message read 'Do you want more?'
I did not bother replying to her.
Tanya was in Dubai. She'd sent photos of a hotel room, a city skyline, and one of her standing naked before a floor-length mirror, breasts facing the glass, legs pressed together, hiding her pussy. Her last message read: FUCK OFF NOW.
Anchal sent a downward shot of her pussy, one hand stretching her pajamas and pink underwear aside. I ignored her, too.
Ten minutes in Payal, but I couldn't cum. We stopped when she said her knees hurt. I was too drunk and high, my dick hard but disconnected. So, she went back to sucking me, her mouth a better seal on my cock than her cunt.
That's how Satyam found us when he walked back in--me lying on the bed, Payal between my legs, my cock in her mouth. He knew what to do. He stripped and got behind her, hands gripping her hips, and entered her. We never used condoms, pulling out was our only rule. Her tits jiggled with each drive of his cock. I reached down and pinched her nipple, twisting it hard until she cried out.
I took more pictures as Satyam flashed a victory sign over her shoulder, Payal sandwiched between us, making and breaking vacuum seals round my cock. The sound of a wet fleshy piston filling the room.
I came in her mouth soon after--a weak release. She swallowed. She came up for air, spit shining on her chin but before she could move, Satyam's rhythm grew rougher, his hips snapping against her. Ten minutes later, he pulled out with a grunt and came across her arched her back and between curves of her ass in thick stripes, some of it even splattered on my mattress and I gave him a dirty look for that. She stayed on her knees, trembling and thoroughly used.
I dozed off, not caring to care enough.
I woke around three thirty to an empty room. The only sound accompanying me was the low hum of the AC. Pulling on a pair of shorts, I stepped out into the living room and then onto the balcony. There they were--Payal bent over the railing, Satyam behind her, driving into her with steady, deep thrusts. The night air was cool, the city asleep below. I lit a cigarette, the only betray of light in the dark and watched them.
The view was mesmerizing. Delhi lay quiet, the park opposite my building was still and dark. Payal's body looked erotic in the half-moon light, bent double over the concrete railing, her spine in a sharp curve, her breasts swaying with each thrust, nipples tight in the night air, a tease to the sleeping world below. I grew hard just watching. I tapped Satyam on the shoulder. Without a word, he pulled out of her, his cock wet, and stepped aside.
I moved behind her, not bothering with being gentle. I guided myself into her warmth, still wet from Satyam. She didn't betray any change or movement as I filled her. I set a brutal pace from the start, hands gripping her hips pulling the cheeks apart, my body slapping against hers in the quiet dark of the balcony as her stomach moved over the cloth placed on the concrete. I felt like an Arabian prince.
Of course, I took pictures. It was too dark to see much--just shapes and skin but I managed to capture her face dangling down from the balcony, her eyes and mouth opened wide. We fucked without lights, because this was still India, and pleasure was always shadowed by risk. Here, you fucked within four walls and never spoke of it.
In five minutes, I pulled out, leaving her still filled with lust against the railing. I came on her thighs, and went back to my room without a word. They followed soon after. I could only imagine how tired she must have been, hanging on that railing for so long. Sleep came easily even with the noises they made next to me on the bed--Satyam fucking her, her loud cries against the sheets. I drifted off to the lullaby of their fucking
We woke on Saturday morning-tired, stinking and tangled. Tobacco and weed clung to my skin; my breath was a sour from last night's beer. Bright light cut in from the corner window. Payal lay sprawled on her stomach between us, grey-white dried cum crusted in streaks across her lower back and on ass-cheeks, even seeping in between them. The evidence of the long night of painting on her skin. I pried her ass-cheeks apart lazily just to check the depths of our reach. Human biology fascinating me as did human emotions and reasoning.
We didn't speak. Just stumbled into the shower together, the cold water shocking us awake, washing away the crust and smell.
Clean and awake, I had the bright idea of lighting a joint while we waited for the parathas from the local shop. And that was a mistake. The skunky smoke curled through the room, and the world softened at the edges again forcing us to stay home for the day.
We settled into a routine on my bed. Three of us barely talking, naked, eyes glued to my laptop screen watching some nonsense American sitcom, eating food and smoking weed.
The only words that passed between us till Sunday night when they decided to leave were:
"Raghav roll another"
"Satyam order food and cigarettes"
"Payal, bend over." Or, "Payal, suck me."
Sex, weed and food were all we were for two days. Our heartbeats high from sex and THC, our heads dizzy and our souls fulfilled. Sex wasn't making love; it was a physical need for idle hands and buzzing minds.
Payal became our shared toy, our harbinger of pleasure. One moment her face would be between Satyam's legs, taking him deep into her throat while I watched from behind, my hands playing her hips absentmindedly. Sometimes spitting on my dry finger and pushing them into her asshole to make her squirm. At times, she'd be bent over, me driving into her pussy from behind while Satyam fed her the joint and cigarettes at intervals, her moans releasing thick smoke rings. All the while the sitcom never stopped.
We used her mouth, her pussy, her ass--every opening. We three did everything we could think of apart from double penetration as we hated the idea of touching our cocks. In my fog of stupidity, I even tried using her naval once, trying to get pleasure by pushing my precum laced cock against the soft skin, but it didn't work. We all laughed at the absurd attempt. One time, we used her asshole as an ashtray, her tight muscle held the filter of the cigarette as the tip burned, a fleeting game of daring fun. She stayed still on all fours her ass stretched taut, as we took turns plucking the cigarette, taking drags on it before parking it back in, blowing the smoke to her face. When ash fell hot on her skin she flinched; before giggling at the pain.
The only thing missing, we three joked with slurred voices, was another set of holes to fill.
The outside world tried to pierce our bubble.
Satyam's girlfriend called relentlessly; he'd silence his phone with a grunt, texting back. 'Too high. Partying with the boys.'
Payal's phone buzzed from time to time--a long roster of other cocks waiting for their turn. She'd ignore most, sending a generic 'with relatives' to a select few.
Tanya wanted to talk but I told her I was fucking someone. Pooja called, desperate and clinging; I told her to behave and stop bothering me.
Two days bled together until my balls ached, drained drier than the Thar desert. By Monday morning, the very sight of a naked body repulsed me. The thought of alcohol turned my stomach. I fled to the gym, punishing my body with clean, solitary pain and focused my brain on classes.
That weekend of brotherly love was Satyam's gift to me: a side chick that stayed for the next three years. Payal became my reliable side quest, a willing port I'd dock in whenever my other harbors were empty or stormy.
She never asked for more.
After college, she met a decent, kind man. She cut off her long string of cocks--mine included--and married him. That was Payal: a girl who fulfilled the crude fantasies of guys who might not have gotten laid otherwise, a quiet saint of dry, virgin-infested India.
P.S.- The most important detail, the one I almost forgot: For two days after that weekend, a clear imprint of my fingers stayed etched on the right cheek of her face. Forcing her to skip college. Before she left on Sunday, she made me promise, her voice was quiet firm, to never hit her where she couldn't hide it.