23-11-2024, 12:07 AM
(This post was last modified: 23-11-2024, 12:29 AM by Naruto411. Edited 4 times in total. Edited 4 times in total.)
The single-bedroom flat was still, save for the faint hum of the fan slicing through the heavy morning air. You stood there in nothing but your boxers, the waistband barely containing the throbbing erection that refused to subside. The maid had just left, leaving behind the scent of her soap and the faint aroma of freshly cooked tiffin lingering in the room.
You couldn’t help but replay the way she moved as she worked—efficient, focused, her hips swaying with each step, her saree hugging her curves just enough to drive you mad. She was young, too young to be trapped in this life, but just old enough for the thoughts in your head to twist into something darker.
"Did she notice?" the voice in your head murmured, sly and teasing. "When you adjusted yourself as she walked past? When your eyes followed her every move, lingering on her waist, her ass, the soft outline of her breasts under that blouse?"
You paced the flat, restless, your body buzzing with need. Her backstory—daughter-in-law? Niece?—barely registered in your mind. You hadn’t bothered to ask; it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her submissive nature mirrored her father-in-law’s. The old watchman had a permanent stoop to his shoulders, a meekness that made him easy to manage. He liked you, respected you even, because you slipped him a little extra for washing a car you didn’t even own. That bought you his silence, his blind eye to anything you might do or say.
"She’s part of his world," the voice continued, coaxing. "A pawn in his little game. But here, inside these walls? She’s yours to command. She can feel it, can’t she? That shift in power when you’re around? That’s why she won’t meet your gaze directly, why her hands tremble just slightly when she serves you your food."
You glanced toward the door, wondering if she was still in the stairwell, lingering, adjusting her saree after the sweat and work of the morning. The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. You had leaned in too close earlier, deliberately standing over her as she reached to adjust the gas stove, her body inches from yours. You were almost sure you saw her cheeks flush, though she didn’t say a word.
"She’s used to men looking," the voice hissed. "But not like this. Not with this hunger. She’s curious, maybe even eager to know what it would feel like to have you touch her, to let you take what you want. What would she do if you pulled her close next time, whispered something filthy in her ear?"
You imagined her reaction—shock, followed by the slow, shy bloom of desire as she gave in. The image was enough to make your cock ache painfully, straining against the thin fabric. Your hand drifted downward, palming yourself lightly as your thoughts spiraled.
The flat was quiet, the only sound your breathing and the faint echo of her footsteps in your mind. You didn’t even bother to pull on more clothes. What was the point? This was your space, your world, and she was a part of it now, whether she realized it or not.
The flat was too damn quiet, except for the thrum of your own pulse pounding in your ears. You stood there, half-naked, your cock straining so hard it almost hurt. That fucking maid. The way she strutted around in that cheap saree, the fabric clinging to her sweaty curves, her tits bouncing just a little too freely under that flimsy blouse—fuck, it was like she wanted to be watched. Like she knew you’d be standing there, eyes glued to her, drinking in every fucking inch of her body like the desperate pervert you were.
"She’s such a dirty little tease," the voice in your head growled, sharp and filthy. "Did you see the way she bent over when she scrubbed that floor? Ass up, practically begging for you to rip that saree off and ram your cock into her dripping cunt. You could see the outline of her panties through the fabric, couldn’t you? Bet they were soaked."
Your hand drifted to your cock, palming it through your boxers, and fuck, you were already leaking. You let out a low groan, the kind you didn’t bother to stifle. No one was here to hear you. The old watchman downstairs wouldn’t dare say a word even if he did. That spineless bastard owed you for all the extra cash you threw his way—cash you knew probably went to this slut of a maid, his little niece or daughter-in-law or whatever the fuck she was. Not that you cared. She was yours the second she stepped into your flat.
You thought about how she’d looked earlier, the way her hair stuck to her sweaty neck, the hollow of her throat glistening. Her blouse had clung to her tits like a second skin, the dark circles of her nipples faintly visible through the thin material. You’d stood behind her, your cock rock-hard, hoping for just a glimpse down her blouse, for the slightest peek at those round, perfect tits.
"Fucking whore knows what she’s doing," the voice snarled, urging you on. "Walking around like that, bending over right in front of you. Did she catch you staring? Did she feel your eyes on her cunt, wondering if it’s as tight as it looks?"
You didn’t even try to stop yourself as you pulled your cock free, the swollen head already slick with pre-cum. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slow and hard as you imagined her on her knees, those big, innocent eyes looking up at you while her mouth wrapped around your cock. You’d grab her by the hair, make her choke on it, watch as spit and tears streamed down her face.
"You’d love that, wouldn’t you?" the voice purred, dark and insistent. "Turn her into your personal little cumslut. Fill her mouth, her pussy, her tight little ass. Make her beg for it, make her scream your name. You know she’d fucking love it."
Your strokes quickened, your grip tightening as your imagination ran wild. You pictured her bent over the counter, her saree hiked up, panties shoved aside as you rammed into her soaking cunt. She’d be dripping, her pussy clenching around you, her moans echoing through the flat. You’d slap her ass, watch it jiggle, hear her gasp and beg for more.
"Fuck, you filthy little whore," you growled out loud, the words spilling from your lips unbidden. Your breathing grew ragged, the tension coiling tighter in your gut as you imagined the way she’d look afterward—her hair a mess, her cunt dripping with your cum, her pretty little mouth curved into a satisfied, submissive smile.
The thought pushed you over the edge, your body shuddering as hot streams of cum spilled over your hand, your cock twitching in your grasp. You leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, the echoes of your filthy thoughts still buzzing in your head.
The flat was silent again, but all you could think about was when she’d be back.
You couldn’t help but replay the way she moved as she worked—efficient, focused, her hips swaying with each step, her saree hugging her curves just enough to drive you mad. She was young, too young to be trapped in this life, but just old enough for the thoughts in your head to twist into something darker.
"Did she notice?" the voice in your head murmured, sly and teasing. "When you adjusted yourself as she walked past? When your eyes followed her every move, lingering on her waist, her ass, the soft outline of her breasts under that blouse?"
You paced the flat, restless, your body buzzing with need. Her backstory—daughter-in-law? Niece?—barely registered in your mind. You hadn’t bothered to ask; it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way her submissive nature mirrored her father-in-law’s. The old watchman had a permanent stoop to his shoulders, a meekness that made him easy to manage. He liked you, respected you even, because you slipped him a little extra for washing a car you didn’t even own. That bought you his silence, his blind eye to anything you might do or say.
"She’s part of his world," the voice continued, coaxing. "A pawn in his little game. But here, inside these walls? She’s yours to command. She can feel it, can’t she? That shift in power when you’re around? That’s why she won’t meet your gaze directly, why her hands tremble just slightly when she serves you your food."
You glanced toward the door, wondering if she was still in the stairwell, lingering, adjusting her saree after the sweat and work of the morning. The thought sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. You had leaned in too close earlier, deliberately standing over her as she reached to adjust the gas stove, her body inches from yours. You were almost sure you saw her cheeks flush, though she didn’t say a word.
"She’s used to men looking," the voice hissed. "But not like this. Not with this hunger. She’s curious, maybe even eager to know what it would feel like to have you touch her, to let you take what you want. What would she do if you pulled her close next time, whispered something filthy in her ear?"
You imagined her reaction—shock, followed by the slow, shy bloom of desire as she gave in. The image was enough to make your cock ache painfully, straining against the thin fabric. Your hand drifted downward, palming yourself lightly as your thoughts spiraled.
The flat was quiet, the only sound your breathing and the faint echo of her footsteps in your mind. You didn’t even bother to pull on more clothes. What was the point? This was your space, your world, and she was a part of it now, whether she realized it or not.
The flat was too damn quiet, except for the thrum of your own pulse pounding in your ears. You stood there, half-naked, your cock straining so hard it almost hurt. That fucking maid. The way she strutted around in that cheap saree, the fabric clinging to her sweaty curves, her tits bouncing just a little too freely under that flimsy blouse—fuck, it was like she wanted to be watched. Like she knew you’d be standing there, eyes glued to her, drinking in every fucking inch of her body like the desperate pervert you were.
"She’s such a dirty little tease," the voice in your head growled, sharp and filthy. "Did you see the way she bent over when she scrubbed that floor? Ass up, practically begging for you to rip that saree off and ram your cock into her dripping cunt. You could see the outline of her panties through the fabric, couldn’t you? Bet they were soaked."
Your hand drifted to your cock, palming it through your boxers, and fuck, you were already leaking. You let out a low groan, the kind you didn’t bother to stifle. No one was here to hear you. The old watchman downstairs wouldn’t dare say a word even if he did. That spineless bastard owed you for all the extra cash you threw his way—cash you knew probably went to this slut of a maid, his little niece or daughter-in-law or whatever the fuck she was. Not that you cared. She was yours the second she stepped into your flat.
You thought about how she’d looked earlier, the way her hair stuck to her sweaty neck, the hollow of her throat glistening. Her blouse had clung to her tits like a second skin, the dark circles of her nipples faintly visible through the thin material. You’d stood behind her, your cock rock-hard, hoping for just a glimpse down her blouse, for the slightest peek at those round, perfect tits.
"Fucking whore knows what she’s doing," the voice snarled, urging you on. "Walking around like that, bending over right in front of you. Did she catch you staring? Did she feel your eyes on her cunt, wondering if it’s as tight as it looks?"
You didn’t even try to stop yourself as you pulled your cock free, the swollen head already slick with pre-cum. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slow and hard as you imagined her on her knees, those big, innocent eyes looking up at you while her mouth wrapped around your cock. You’d grab her by the hair, make her choke on it, watch as spit and tears streamed down her face.
"You’d love that, wouldn’t you?" the voice purred, dark and insistent. "Turn her into your personal little cumslut. Fill her mouth, her pussy, her tight little ass. Make her beg for it, make her scream your name. You know she’d fucking love it."
Your strokes quickened, your grip tightening as your imagination ran wild. You pictured her bent over the counter, her saree hiked up, panties shoved aside as you rammed into her soaking cunt. She’d be dripping, her pussy clenching around you, her moans echoing through the flat. You’d slap her ass, watch it jiggle, hear her gasp and beg for more.
"Fuck, you filthy little whore," you growled out loud, the words spilling from your lips unbidden. Your breathing grew ragged, the tension coiling tighter in your gut as you imagined the way she’d look afterward—her hair a mess, her cunt dripping with your cum, her pretty little mouth curved into a satisfied, submissive smile.
The thought pushed you over the edge, your body shuddering as hot streams of cum spilled over your hand, your cock twitching in your grasp. You leaned back against the wall, chest heaving, the echoes of your filthy thoughts still buzzing in your head.
The flat was silent again, but all you could think about was when she’d be back.
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