The bass was a living thing, a pulse that traveled up through the soles of her strappy silver heels and into her very bones. It vibrated in the cheap glass of her empty cocktail, rattled the tiny table, and thrummed against the low, sticky leather of the booth. Sanduwanthi—Sandu to her friends, and tonight, to anyone who’d listen—felt it all. But she felt the eyes more.
They were a heat on her skin, distinct from the humid, perfumed air of the Colombo club. She’d chosen the dress for that exact reason. A slip of midnight blue satin, it was less a gown and more a suggestion. The neckline plunged in a daring V that ended just above her navel, held together by a delicate chain that dipped into the shadowed valley between her breasts. The back was nonexistent, the fabric clinging to the curve of her spine and the swell of her hips before flaring just above her knees. It was a statement. I am here. Look at me.
And they were looking. Groups of men in crisp shirts with sleeves rolled up, their eyes flickering over her like moths to a flame. But Sandu’s gaze was fixed on the dance floor, watching the blur of colored lights and gyrating bodies without really seeing them. She was waiting. The third friend had finally arrived, and the plan—whispered over WhatsApp, laden with winking emojis—was in motion.
“Another drink, miss?” A waiter materialized, his voice barely audible over the remix of a popular Baila track.
She was about to shake her head when a deeper voice cut in, smooth and confident, right beside her ear. “I think we can take care of that from here.”
She turned, a practiced smile already on her lips. There were three of them, just as promised. Dilan was the speaker, the unofficial ringleader. He was tall, with the easy posture of someone used to space bending around him. His smile was brilliant white against his warm brown skin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He wore a dark linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, and his gaze didn’t shy away from the deep plunge of her neckline. It lingered, appreciative, before meeting her eyes.
Beside him was Kasun, broader, quieter. He had the build of a former rugby player, his presence more solid than animated. He gave her a small, tight nod, his eyes doing a quick, efficient sweep from her highlighted hair to her silver heels. There was an intensity to his silence that felt heavier than Dilan’s easy charm.
The third was Ravindra—Ravi. He was the wild card, the one who’d texted her the club’s name with a simple “wear something unforgettable.” He was leaner, all sharp angles and restless energy. His hair was artfully messy, and he rocked slightly on the balls of his feet to the beat, a sly, knowing grin playing on his lips as he looked her over. “You didn’t just wear something unforgettable, Sandu,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise. “You are something unforgettable.”
The line was cheesy, but the delivery, the sheer audacity of his appraisal, sent a skittering thrill across her skin. This is it, she thought. The point of no return.
“You boys are late,” she said, her voice pitched to carry just to them. She leaned forward slightly as she stood up, an unconscious gesture that made the chain on her dress pull taut, emphasizing the deep V. She saw Dilan’s eyes drop, saw Kasun’s jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. “I was starting to think I’d have to find my own fun.”
“The fun,” Dilan said, offering his arm with an old-world gallantry that felt ironic in the pounding club, “is just getting started. This place is a zoo. We’ve got somewhere… quieter. More private.”
“Oh?” Sandu arched a carefully sculpted eyebrow, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His forearm was firm under her fingers. “And where might that be?”
Ravi fell into step on her other side, his hand coming to rest lightly, possessively, on the small of her bare back. The touch was electric, a brand through the thin satin. “Member’s cabins,” he said, his lips close to her ear. His breath was warm and smelled of peppermint and something sharper, like gin. “Soundproofed. Minibar. A view of the city. Much better for… conversation.”
Kasun brought up the rear, a solid, watchful presence. They formed a phalanx around her, moving through the crowd which seemed to part for them. Sandu felt the stares multiply, felt the envious glances from other women in their huddled groups. She held her head higher, the thrill of being chosen, of being the clear center of this trio’s attention, coiling hot and tight in her stomach. This was a game, and she loved the opening moves.
They bypassed the main bars and the throbbing heart of the dance floor, heading towards a secluded, carpeted hallway guarded by a burly man in a black suit with an earpiece. Dilan gave a slight nod, the bouncer’s eyes flicking over Sandu with a detached professionalism before he unclipped a velvet rope. The noise of the club faded into a muffled throb as the heavy door swung shut behind them.
The hallway was plush and dim, lit by sconces that cast a golden glow. The carpet was deep and silent underfoot. It felt like entering another world. Ravi’s hand hadn’t left her back; his thumb traced a faint, idle circle on her spine.
“Who are you guys?” Sandu asked, half-teasing, half-serious. “Club owners?”
“Connections,” Dilan said vaguely, leading them to a polished teak door at the end of the hall. He produced a keycard from his wallet and swiped it. A green light blinked, and he pushed the door open. “After you.”
Sandu stepped inside, and a soft “wow” escaped her lips before she could stop it.
It wasn’t a cabin; it was a sanctuary. The room was spacious, decorated in tones of charcoal and bronze. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, offering a breathtaking, glittering panorama of Colombo’s night skyline. The city lights swam like distant jewels through the slight haze. A large, low U-shaped sofa in buttery-soft leather dominated the center of the room, facing the view. To one side was a well-stocked bar, its shelves illuminated from within, glowing bottles of amber, clear, and green liquids standing like soldiers. The soundproofing was absolute; the only noise was the faint, luxurious hum of an air conditioner.
“Home sweet home, for the next few hours,” Ravi said, finally removing his hand from her back to stride towards the bar. “What’s your poison, princess?”
The nickname, the casual ownership of the space, made her heart beat faster. She wandered to the window, pretending to be captivated by the view. In the dark glass, she could see their reflections. Dilan was shrugging off his linen shirt, revealing a fitted black t-shirt underneath. He dropped onto the center of the sofa, spreading his arms along the back. Kasun remained standing near the door, a silent sentinel, his arms crossed. Ravi was clinking glasses.
“Surprise me,” she said, turning from the window. She leaned back against the cool glass, knowing the pose would silhouette her against the city lights, turning her dress into a shadowy outline. “Something strong. I have a feeling I might need it.”
Ravi chuckled, a low, rich sound. “A woman after my own heart.” He poured clear liquid into a shaker, added ice and other ingredients with a practiced flourish.
Dilan patted the sofa cushion beside him. “Don’t stand all the way over there. Come. Enjoy the view from a more comfortable angle.”
The command was gentle, but it was a command nonetheless. Sandu pushed off the window and walked over, the click of her heels the only sound in the room. She felt Kasun’s eyes track her every step. She sat, not right next to Dilan, but with a careful foot of space between them. The leather was cool and supple under her thighs.
“So,” Dilan began, swirling a glass of amber whiskey he’d apparently poured for himself. “Three strangers, a private room, a beautiful woman in a devastating dress. How did you think this night would go, Sandu?”
She accepted the chilled martini glass from Ravi. Their fingers brushed. “I try not to think too much,” she said, taking a sip. The drink was crisp, cold, and very strong. “It ruins the spontaneity.”
“Smart,” Kasun spoke for the first time. His voice was deeper than she’d expected, gravelly. It wasn’t a social voice; it was a voice that stated facts. “Thinking leads to second-guessing.”
“And what is there to second-guess?” Ravi asked, coming around to sit on her other side. Now she was bracketed. Dilan to her left, Ravi to her right, Kasun standing watch like a statue by the bar. The space she’d created vanished. She could feel the heat radiating from both men beside her. Ravi’s knee casually brushed against hers. “We’re just having a drink. Getting to know each other.”
“Exactly,” Sandu said, her voice a little breathier than she intended. She took another, longer sip of her drink. The alcohol was a warm river spreading through her chest. “So. Get to know me. Ask me something.”
Dilan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze was direct, unnervingly focused. “Why that dress?”
The question was so blunt it startled a laugh out of her. “You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, his eyes drifting down, then slowly back up. The journey felt tactile. “It’s a masterpiece. But it’s not a dress you wear to be ignored. It’s a dress you wear to be seen. To be wanted. So I’m asking… why tonight? Why with us?”
The room suddenly felt smaller. Ravi had gone still beside her, listening. Kasun had uncrossed his arms and was now leaning against the bar, watching intently. The air, crisp from the AC, now felt charged, thick with unspoken possibility.
Sandu traced the rim of her glass. Show, don’t tell. “I was bored,” she said, which was true. “My life is… predictable. Work, home, the same group of friends talking about the same things. I wanted to feel something different.” She looked at Dilan, then at Ravi. “I wanted an adventure. And when Ravi messaged me… it felt like an invitation to one.”
“An adventure,” Ravi repeated, his grin returning, wider now. He placed his hand on the sofa cushion behind her, not touching her, but his arm was a barrier. She’d have to lean into him to get up. “I like that. And what does your adventure look like, Sandunwanthi?”
The use of her full name was intimate. She finished her drink, the cold glass leaving a damp circle on her thigh. She placed it carefully on the low table in front of them. “I don’t know yet,” she murmured, her gaze dropping to her own hands in her lap. The chain on her dress felt heavier. “It depends on the guides.”
For a long moment, there was silence. Then Dilan moved. He didn’t touch her. Instead, he reached for the bottle of whiskey and poured a generous measure into a fresh glass. He held it out to her. “Try this. It’s smoother.”
It was a test. Her martini glass was empty. This was a new drink, from his bottle, offered directly. Accepting it was accepting the next phase of whatever this was. She took the glass, her fingers wrapping around where his had just been. The whiskey was warm, peaty. She took a small sip, letting the complex flavors burn a path down her throat.
“Good?” Dilan asked, his eyes gleaming.
She nodded, unable to speak for a second. The warmth from the whiskey pooled low in her belly, mixing with the nervous, excited energy already there.
“You’re shivering,” Ravi observed softly.
“I’m not,” she protested, but even she could hear the slight tremor in her voice.
“You are.” And then his hand was no longer on the sofa behind her. It was on her bare shoulder, his palm broad and warm. His thumb stroked the sensitive skin just above her collarbone. It was the first deliberate, intimate touch since they’d entered the room. A simple caress, but in the context of the quiet room, the locked door, the two other men watching, it felt profoundly possessive. A claim.
She didn’t pull away. She let her head tilt just a fraction, her eyes closing for a heartbeat. The thrill was a live wire now, sparking under her skin.
“Cold from the AC?” Dilan asked, his voice a low rumble. He hadn’t touched her, but his attention was a physical weight.
“No,” Sandu whispered, opening her eyes. She looked at Kasun, still by the bar. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze was locked on Ravi’s hand on her shoulder. “Not cold.”
“Then what?” Ravi prompted, his thumb still moving in that slow, maddening circle. His other hand came up, and he gently took the whiskey glass from her loosening grip, placing it next to hers on the table. Both her hands were now free. Empty. Vulnerable.
The action felt significant. She was now without a prop, without a barrier. Just her, in her revealing dress, between two men who were no longer pretending this was just a friendly drink.
“Nervous,” she admitted, the truth slipping out.
“Don’t be,” Dilan said. He finally moved closer, eliminating the last of the space between them on the sofa. His thigh pressed against hers, solid and warm through the thin satin of her dress. He didn’t look at her face; he was looking at where the chain of her dress disappeared between her breasts. “We’re just talking. Getting to know each other.”
His proximity, combined with Ravi’s touch on her shoulder, created a delicious, terrifying tension. She was hyperaware of every point of contact: the press of Dilan’s leg, the heat of Ravi’s palm, the cool air on the rest of her exposed skin. Her breath hitched.
“Kasun,” Dilan said, without looking away from Sandu. “Why don’t you join us? You’re looming.”
Kasun pushed off the bar. He moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that was somehow more intimidating than if he’d stomped. He didn’t sit on the available single chair. He walked around the table and sat directly on the low, wide ottoman in front of the sofa, facing her. His knees were almost brushing hers. Now she was surrounded on three sides. Caged in the most luxurious way possible.
He looked up at her, his dark eyes finally meeting hers directly. There was a hunger there, long-banked and carefully controlled, but it was unmistakable. “The dress,” he said, echoing Dilan’s earlier question but making it his own. “It’s held by that chain.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, loaded with implication.
“Yes,” Sandu breathed. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. She could feel the pulse in her throat.
“It looks… delicate,” Kasun continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that demanded she lean in to hear. She did, unconsciously. “One good pull… and what would happen?”
The image was instant and vivid in her mind: the delicate metal snapping, the two halves of the dress falling away, leaving her bare to the waist in this room, under the gaze of these three men. A flush spread from her chest up her neck. She was glad for the dim light.
Ravi’s hand slid from her shoulder, down her arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His fingers traced the side of her breast, just the barest whisper of contact over the satin, before coming to rest on her thigh, high up, near the seam of her dress. His touch was light, but the intent was volcanic.
“I think,” Ravi murmured, his lips now dangerously close to her ear, his breath stirring her hair, “she’s wondering the same thing.”
Dilan leaned in from her other side. His scent—sandalwood and expensive soap—enveloped her. He didn’t touch her. He just looked, his eyes drinking in the blush on her skin, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the parted fullness of her lips. “Would you like to find out, Sandu?” he asked, his voice so quiet it was almost lost. “That’s the next question in our… getting to know you session.”
The world shrank to the single point of tension on her chest. Kasun’s blunt, strong finger was hooked through the tiny loop of the delicate chain, right where it dipped between her breasts. The metal was cool, but his skin was hot. Her entire dress felt like a held breath, a precarious architecture balanced on this one fragile link.
Dilan’s question echoed. Would you like to find out?
Her throat was too dry to speak. Words were irrelevant now. This was about action. About choice. She looked from Dilan’s expectant, gleaming eyes to Ravi’s sly, encouraging grin, and finally back to Kasun. His gaze was a dark, unwavering pool, asking for permission without a single syllable. She gave the smallest, most imperceptible nod. A surrender. A yes.
Kasun’s finger tightened.
He didn’t yank. He pulled. A slow, steady, inexorable draw, the chain sliding an inch, then two, from its resting place. The satin whispered, the tension across the front of her dress shifting. The deep V widened. The delicate clasp at the top of the spine strained. A soft ping echoed in the silent room, impossibly loud, as the chain snapped free from its anchor at the nape of her neck.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The dress held its shape by sheer will and friction. Then, as Kasun let the broken chain slip from his finger, the two sides of the midnight blue satin sighed and fell away.
Cool air washed over her skin. The dress pooled at her waist, held up only by her hips and the sofa behind her. She was bare from the waist up; her breasts exposed under the city’s glittering gaze. A gasp caught in her chest, half-shock, half-overwhelming relief. The facade was gone.
“Beautiful,” Dilan breathed, the word a reverent exhalation.
He didn’t wait. His hands, warm and sure, cupped her face, tilting it towards him. His kiss was not tentative. It was deep, hungry, claiming her mouth with a confidence that melted the last of her nerves. His tongue swept against hers, tasting of whiskey and desire. She kissed him back, her hands flying up to clutch at the fabric of his t-shirt, anchoring herself in the storm of sensation.
As Dilan claimed her mouth, Ravi’s hands found her bare breasts. His touch was less reverent, more playful, more greedy. He palmed their weight, his thumbs circling her nipples until they tightened into desperate, aching peaks. The contrast was exquisite—Dilan’s possessive kiss, Ravi’s teasing hands. She moaned into Dilan’s mouth; the sound swallowed by him.
Kasun watched for a moment longer, his control a visible mantle he was slowly shedding. Then he moved. His large, calloused hands slid under her thighs, his grip firm. “Lift,” he commanded, his gravelly voice rough with need.
Her mind foggy, she obeyed, raising her hips slightly. In one smooth motion, he gathered the fallen satin of her skirt and drew it up and over her head, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the sofa beside her. Now she was completely naked except for a tiny, lace-trimmed G-string in silver, a fragile barrier against the cool leather. Her silver heels were still on, making her legs seem impossibly long.
Kasun didn’t return to the ottoman. He knelt on the floor between her spread knees. His hands stayed on her thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of her inner legs, pushing them wider apart. The city lights haloed his broad shoulders.
“Look at you,” Ravi murmured, abandoning her breasts to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, her collarbone. He took one peaked nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, then with more pressure, his tongue flicking. A jolt of pure pleasure shot straight to her core. Dilan, meanwhile, had moved his attentions to her other breast, his mouth and hands mirroring Ravi’s, creating a synchronized assault of sensation that made her arch off the sofa, her head falling back.
While they feasted above, Kasun dove below. His hands hooked into the side strings of her G-string. With a firm tug, he pulled the flimsy fabric aside, exposing her completely to the cool air and his hot gaze. He didn’t pause. He leaned forward, his breath a warm ghost over her most intimate skin, and then his mouth was on her.
The first touch of his tongue was a lightning strike.
It was flat, broad, a slow, deliberate lick from bottom to top that gathered her wetness. She cried out, a sharp, broken sound. Dilan captured her mouth again, swallowing her moans as Kasun began to work in earnest. His technique was intense, focused, and as disciplined as the rest of him. He licked, sucked, circled, his tongue delving and retreating, building a rhythm that had her hips lifting off the leather to meet him. One of his hands slid under her, gripping her ass, holding her in place for his feast, while the other remained on her thigh, a firm anchor.
Lost in the dual sensation of mouths on her breasts and the relentless pleasure between her legs, Sandu’s hands flailed, seeking purchase. They found the hard planes of Dilan’s and Ravi’s bodies. Her fingers slid down Dilan’s chest, over the firm muscle of his abdomen, and came to rest on the prominent bulge straining against his trousers. He groaned against her lips, pushing into her touch. Emboldened, her other hand found Ravi. He was just as hard, the length of him pressing urgently against his pants.
She began to massage them, her palms rubbing in slow, firm circles over the fabric, feeling their heat and rigid length. The power of it—being the source of their pleasure while they wrenched climaxes from her—was intoxicating. Kasun’s tongue found a particular spot, a sweet, tight knot of nerves, and began to flick over it with rapid, precise strokes.
The coil inside her, wound tight all night, snapped.
Her orgasm crashed over her without warning, a wave of pure, blinding release. Her back arched violently, her heels digging into the leather. A guttural sob was torn from her throat, muffled by Dilan’s kiss. Her hands clenched on their cocks through their pants as she rode the convulsive waves, Kasun’s tongue gentling but not stopping, drawing out every last shudder.
As the tremors subsided, leaving her boneless and panting, Kasun finally pulled back, his lips glistening. He looked up at her, his controlled mask completely gone, replaced by raw, voracious hunger.
Slowly, Dilan and Ravi stood up from the sofa. They looked down at her, sprawled and glistening with sweat in the city’s light, her chest heaving. Wordlessly, they unbuckled their belts, the sounds of leather and metal unnervingly loud. Buttons were undone, zippers lowered. They freed themselves, their erections springing free, thick and proud.
Dilan took her hand, his touch now gentle. “Up,” he said, his voice husky.
Weak-legged, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. The room swayed for a second. Ravi guided her down, not back to the sofa, but onto the lush carpet in the center of the room. She knelt, the pile soft under her knees. They formed a half-circle around her—Dilan directly in front, Ravi to her right, Kasun, now standing and having shed his own trousers, to her left.
Three hard, velvety-strong cocks stood at her eye level. The musk of male arousal, mixed with cologne and sweat, filled her senses. The view was dizzying, intimidating, utterly thrilling. She looked up, meeting Dilan’s eyes. He gave a slow, encouraging nod.
Sandu reached out, her hands trembling only slightly. She took Dilan in one hand, Ravi in the other. Their skin was hot, the veins prominent under her fingertips. She leaned forward, her lips parting. She took the head of Dilan’s cock into her mouth first, swirling her tongue around the broad crown, tasting salt and skin. A low groan rumbled from his chest.
She didn’t linger. She pulled off with a soft pop and turned to Ravi, taking him deep, fitting as much of his length as she could, her jaw stretching. He hissed, his fingers tangling in her hair. Back to Dilan, deeper this time, her hand pumping what she couldn’t take. Then to Kasun, who was the thickest. She opened wider, using her tongue, wanting to consume him. She moved between them, a rhythm building, her mouth and hands working, taking turns, trying to please them all, to give back a fraction of the pleasure they’d given her. The sounds were filthy, wet, and full of need—their grunts, her muffled moans, the slick slide of her mouth.
She lost herself in the rhythm, in the weight and taste of them, in the sheer, audacious reality of what she was doing. Her own desire, sated momentarily, began to coil again, fed by their obvious enjoyment, by the control she now wielded with her mouth. She took Dilan deep again, her throat relaxing, and he whispered, “Good girl. Just like that.”
Her mouth was a slick, warm haven, and she worked them with a dedication that bordered on worship. Dilan’s fingers tightened in her hair, not guiding, just holding, as she took him deep, her throat fluttering around the head of his cock before pulling back with a wet, obscene sound. She turned to Ravi, swallowing him down with a hungry moan that vibrated through his length, her tongue pressing hard along the sensitive underside. Then to Kasun, whose thickness stretched her lips wide, her saliva dripping in silvery strands to mix with the pre-cum beading at his tip.
She lost track of time, lost in the rhythm of suck and pull, the taste of each man—Dilan’s clean salt, Ravi’s sharper musk, Kasun’s deeper, earthier flavor. Her jaw ached, a sweet burn that fed her own renewed arousal. She was making them hers, reducing these three confident, controlling men to groaning, hip-twitching statues. Drool coated her chin, her neck, glistening on their shafts, making her movements even slicker, louder. The room filled with the symphony of her effort: wet slurps, choked gasps, the slap of a hand against a thigh.
“Fuck, Sandu,” Ravi gritted out, his hips giving an involuntary jerk as she hollowed her cheeks around him. “Your mouth is a miracle.”
She pulled off him with a gasp, a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening crown. She panted, looking up at them through her lashes. All three were gleaming, thoroughly slicked with her spit, rigid and throbbing. The sight was profoundly powerful. She’d marked them. She’d prepared them.
“I want more,” she whispered, her voice ragged from use.
She looked at Kasun. His control was a frayed wire, his chest heaving. “I want to ride you,” she said, the words clear and bold. “I want to feel all of you. And I want you all to watch.”
A slow, approving smile spread across Dilan’s face. He stepped back, pulling Ravi with him by the shoulder. They moved to the low sofa, sinking onto it like kings settling onto a throne to watch a spectacle. Kasun remained standing, a pillar of tense muscle.
Sandu got to her feet, her legs steadier now, fueled by pure, carnal intent. The city lights painted her naked, sweat-sheened body in streaks of gold and silver. She stepped towards Kasun, her silver heels clicking on the polished floor. She placed her hands on his broad chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart under her palm. “On your back,” she instructed, her tone leaving no room for debate. “On the floor. I want to see all of you.”
For a moment, he looked like he might resist, might flip her and take control. But the thrill of her command, the audacity of it, won. With a grunt, he lowered himself to the lush carpet, lying back, his thick cock standing straight up from a thatch of dark hair, a proud, daunting challenge.
Sandu stood over him, drinking in the sight. Then she knelt, straddling his hips, her knees sinking into the soft pile on either side of his waist. She didn’t lower herself immediately. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his rock-hard abdomen, and kissed him. It was a deep, dirty kiss, letting him taste himself on her tongue. He growled into her mouth, his hands coming up to grip her hips, his fingers digging in.
She broke the kiss, sitting up straight. Reaching between her own legs, she took his shaft in hand, guiding the broad, slick head to her entrance. She was soaked, her own wetness mingling with the spit she’d coated him in. She looked over her shoulder at Dilan and Ravi, watching from the sofa, their hands stroking their own cocks slowly. She held their gaze as she began to sink down.
The stretch was immediate, exquisite. Kasun was thick, and her body, still humming from her earlier orgasm, had to open for him inch by torturously wonderful inch. A low, continuous moan escaped her as she impaled herself, her inner muscles fluttering, trying to accommodate him. She took it slowly, reveling in the burn, the fullness, the way his eyes rolled back in his head as she sheathed him completely.
“Mmmmh…” Kasun breathed, a raw, shattered sound. His hands on her hips were vises.
When he was fully buried inside her, she paused, letting her body adjust, letting the sensation of being so completely filled radiate through her. Then she began to move. She started with a slow, grinding roll of her hips, circling on his shaft, feeling him rub against every sensitive inner wall. Her head fell back, her hair tickling the small of her back. The pleasure was deep, penetrating, a constant pressure on all the right spots.
She built a rhythm, lifting herself almost all the way off before sinking back down in a smooth, controlled plunge. The wet, rhythmic slap of their joining filled the room. Each downward stroke forced a gasp from her lips; each upward drag made Kasun groan. She rode him with focused intensity, her thighs burning, her core tightening. She looked at the other two, saw the hunger in their eyes, the way their hands moved faster on themselves.
“She looks good on you, machan,” Dilan said to Kasun, his voice thick. “But she shouldn’t get too comfortable.”
Sandu’s rhythm faltered for a second, a spike of new anticipation shooting through her. She knew what was coming. The promise of it made her clench around Kasun, drawing a ragged curse from him.
“My turn,” Ravi said, his playful tone gone, replaced by pure greed. He stood from the sofa and came to kneel behind her on the carpet. His hands smoothed over the sweat-damp skin of her back, down to her ass. He gripped her cheeks, spreading them, and she felt the cool air on her most forbidden hole. A shudder of pure, wanton need wracked her.
She felt the blunt, wet head of his cock nudge against her back entrance, slick with her saliva and his own pre-cum. She was tight there, untouched tonight. “Yes,” she hissed, pushing back against him, an open invitation.
“Easy, kelle” Ravi murmured, but there was no hesitation in his voice. He applied steady, insistent pressure.
The breach was a sharp, stunning burst of sensation—a sting of stretch that quickly melted into a deep, full ache as the thick crown of him popped past her tight ring of muscle. She cried out, her body seizing, her inner walls clamping down on Kasun so hard he shouted. Ravi held there, letting her adjust, his hands soothing on her hips. The feeling of being filled in two places at once was overwhelming, a saturation of pleasure that bordered on pain. Her mind blanked, whiting out into pure sensation.
“Move,” she begged, the word torn from her.
Ravi began to thrust, shallow at first, then deeper, finding a rhythm that worked in counterpoint to her own movements on Kasun. She was the nexus, the conduit. Kasun’s thick cock stretched her pussy to its limit, a constant, grounding fullness, while Ravi’s strokes were sharper, more punctuated, lighting up a whole new set of nerves. The dual penetration sent her spiraling. Her moans became continuous, broken sobs. She rode Kasun with renewed frenzy, driven by the pistoning force of Ravi behind her.
Dilan watched, his own stroking hand stilled, utterly captivated. After a few minutes of watching the frantic, slick union of the three, he stood. “Switch,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Ravi pulled out of her ass with a wet, sucking sound, leaving her feeling gaping and empty for a heartbeat. He moved aside, breathing hard. Dilan took his place, his cock, the longest of the three, already glistening and ready. He didn’t ask. He positioned himself and pushed into her still-loosened, slick channel in one smooth, powerful stroke.
The feeling was different. Dilan filled a different depth. He set a punishing, dominant pace from the start, his hips slamming against her ass, each thrust driving her down harder onto Kasun. The force of it stole her breath. Kasun’s hands moved from her hips to her breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples, adding another layer of sharp, bright pain-pleasure to the deep, pounding fullness.
They fucked her like this for what felt like an eternity, trading places behind her—Ravi, then Dilan, then Ravi again—while Kasun remained a constant, thick anchor inside her pussy. Each man brought a different rhythm, a different angle, a new wave of overwhelming sensation. Sandu lost all sense of herself. She was just a body being used, stretched, filled, and worshipped all at once. Orgasm after orgasm ripped through her, each one blurring into the next, a continuous earthquake of pleasure that left her trembling and dripping.
Finally, Kasun’s control shattered. “I’m close,” he growled, his hips bucking up to meet her downward strokes. “I need to…”
“Not yet,” Dilan commanded from behind her, still driving into her ass with deep, measured thrusts. He had a vision. “Sandu. Up. Sit on him. Reverse.”
Understanding dawned through her pleasure-fog. The ultimate stretch. The final frontier. With a strength she didn’t know she had, she lifted herself off Kasun’s slick cock, Dilan pulling out of her ass to allow her to move. She turned her body, her back now to Kasun’s chest. She looked at Dilan and Ravi, who stood before her, their cocks hard and waiting. “Both of you,” she panted. “Now.”
Kasun, understanding, sat up behind her, his back against the side of the sofa. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her securely against his chest. His thick, wet erection stood up between her thighs. Reaching behind her, she guided him, not to her pussy, but lower, to her other, well-used entrance. She positioned the broad head against her back hole, still loose and slick from the earlier fucking.
She looked at Dilan, then at Ravi. “Pussy,” she said, the crude word a plea. “Together.”
Dilan’s eyes widened, then darkened with feral lust. He moved first, kneeling between her spread legs. He guided his cock to her swollen, dripping folds. With a slow, relentless push, he entered her, filling the channel that had just been vacated. The stretch was familiar yet new; his length reaching deep. She gasped, her head falling back against Kasun’s shoulder.
There was room. She was so open, so impossibly stretched. She looked at Ravi, her eyes begging.
“Kelle!” Ravi whispered, a prayer and a curse. He moved in close, his body pressing against Dilan’s side. It was a tight, awkward fit, but the desire made it possible. He angled himself, the head of his cock nudging against her stretched entrance, right beside Dilan’s shaft. With a shared, grunting push from both men, he slid in.
The sensation was beyond anything.
It was an invasion, a completion, a violation that felt like the most profound belonging. She was stuffed beyond capacity, stretched to a breathtaking, burning limit. Dilan and Ravi were both inside her pussy, their cocks pressed side-by-side, a double thickness that stretched her wide, filling every conceivable space. And behind, Kasun’s thick girth was buried in her ass, a deep, constant pressure. She was full. Utterly, completely, impossibly full. A choked scream, part agony, part ecstasy, was torn from her throat.
For a moment, no one moved. They were all suspended in the shocking, perfect fullness of it. She could feel every vein, every pulse, every slight twitch from each of them. It was overwhelming. It was everything.
Then Kasun, from behind, began to move. A slow, deep grind of his hips, his cock moving in her ass. The movement forced a chain reaction. Dilan and Ravi, pressed together inside her, began to thrust in a ragged, uncoordinated, but devastating rhythm. They couldn’t move far, but they didn’t need to. The friction was insane—the slide of their dual shafts against each other, against her slick, stretched walls, combined with the deep pressure from behind.
Sandu shattered.
Her orgasm was not a wave but a cataclysm. It was a full-body convulsion that locked her muscles and stole her vision. She screamed, a raw, continuous sound of release as the pleasure detonated from her core and radiated out to her fingertips, her toes. Her inner walls clamped and fluttered violently around the three cocks filling her, milking them, triggering their own climaxes.
Kasun came first. With a roar that was almost animal, he buried himself to the hilt in her ass and pulsed, his hot release flooding her depths in thick, urgent jets. The feeling of him coming inside her, the heat and the rhythmic pulsing, pushed Dilan and Ravi over the edge. They came almost simultaneously, their bodies tensing, their thrusts becoming shallow, frantic jerks. She felt the hot spill of their cum, mixing together inside her, a torrent that seemed to have no end, filling her already-stuffed channel until it felt like it might overflow.
The world dissolved into a haze of panting breaths, trembling limbs, and the profound, wet heat of shared completion. They stayed locked together for long moments, a tangled, sweating, spent heap of limbs on the luxurious carpet, the city lights silently bearing witness to their spent, exhausted forms.
The world came back in slow, heavy pieces. The first was the cool, textured press of the carpet against her cheek. The second was the deep, rhythmic sound of three sets of lungs struggling to return to normal. The third was the profound, liquid ache between her legs, a hollow, stretched feeling that was both sore and satiated.
Sandu lay on her side, curled slightly, her body a map of spent pleasure. Kasun’s arm was a dead weight across her waist, his breathing a hot puff against her shoulder blade. Dilan was sprawled on his back beside them, one hand resting on his stomach. Ravi sat a few feet away, elbows on his knees, head bowed, his back gleaming with sweat.
One by one, they withdrew.
It was a slow, wet, intimate separation. Kasun shifted first, pulling himself from her with a soft, slick sound that made her shiver. The sudden emptiness was a shock. Dilan and Ravi, still tangled with each other and with her, disentangled themselves with grunts and careful movements. The loss of their combined heat and weight left her feeling strangely light, untethered. A cool trickle traced a path down her inner thigh.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were their breathing and the distant, muted thump of music from the club far below. Sandu remained on the floor, trembling faintly, the aftershocks of her climaxes still echoing in her muscles. She felt utterly used, completely emptied, and yet… more present in her own skin than she had in years.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, then to her knees. The movement made the pooled wetness inside her shift. A warm, thick trickle escaped. The evidence of them. Of all of them.
A strange, powerful curiosity seized her. It was primal, visceral. She needed to see. To taste the proof of what had just happened.
Still on her knees, she brought her hand between her legs. Her fingers, slick with her own wetness and theirs, slid easily inside her own swollen, sensitive flesh. She pushed deep, past the aching muscles, until her knuckles pressed against her entrance. She curled her fingers, gathering the warm, thick fluid that had been deposited in her deepest part. When she pulled her hand out, her fingers were coated in a pearlescent, viscous mix.
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She brought her glistening fingers to her lips, her eyes locked on the three men who were now watching her, their exhaustion replaced by a stunned, rapt fascination.
She opened her mouth and slowly, deliberately, slid her fingers in. She swirled her tongue, tasting salt, musk, and a unique, tangy bitterness that was not her own. It was the taste of them, combined inside her. A low, appreciative hum vibrated in her throat. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second. This. This was the final, forbidden seal on the night.
When she opened her eyes, she saw Dilan’s jaw tighten. Ravi’s lips parted. Kasun’s dark eyes burned.
She wasn’t done.
Still holding their gaze, she crawled the short distance to where Dilan sat. He watched her, unmoving, as she leaned in and took the soft, spent length of him into her mouth. She cleaned him with slow, tender laps of her tongue, swallowing the remnants of their union. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, his hand coming to rest on the back of her head, not pushing, just holding.
She moved to Ravi next. He was already half-hard again at the sight of her. She took him in, her mouth gentle but thorough, sucking him clean until he was soft and slick with just her saliva. “Unbelievable,” he whispered, his voice ragged.
Finally, she turned to Kasun. He was still lying on his back. She knelt over his hips and lowered her head. He was the largest, and she took her time, her tongue tracing every vein, lapping up every last drop until he, too, was clean. His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin in a gesture that felt shockingly tender amidst the carnality.
The act was one of service, but it felt like the ultimate power move. She had taken their pleasure, and now she was claiming the very essence of it.
As if on cue, a soft, chiming melody broke the silence. It was Sandu’s phone, buzzing from within the small clutch that had been discarded on the sofa earlier. She ignored it, sitting back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Ravi, however, stood up. He walked to a neat pile of towels stacked on a low shelf near the bar—a thoughtful amenity in this private cabin. He tossed one to Dilan, one to Kasun, and wrapped one around his own waist. He then picked up his own phone from his discarded trousers and made a brief, quiet call. “It’s done. Send it,” was all he said.
Sandu’s phone chimed again, this time with the distinct, high-pitched ka-ching of a mobile payment notification.
She blinked, the sound slicing through the post-coital haze. Slowly, she got to her feet, her legs wobbly, and retrieved her clutch. The screen glowed brightly in the dim room. A banking app notification. A transfer. The number of zeros made her breath catch.
Ravi finished tucking his towel and sauntered over, a familiar, playful smirk back on his face, though it was softer now. “Check it,” he said, nodding to her phone.
She opened the notification. The amount was… significant. Far more than generous. It was a statement.
“There’s a generous tip,” Ravi said, his eyes gleaming with mischief and something else—respect, perhaps, “for that stunt you pulled at the end.” His gaze flickered down her body, then back to her face, remembering the sight of her tasting herself, tasting them.
Sandu looked from the screen to Ravi, then to Dilan and Kasun, who were now both wrapped in towels, watching her. The money was a shock, a cold, hard reality intruding on the fever dream of the last hour. It reframed everything, yet somehow, it didn’t cheapen it. It made it feel more dangerous, more real.
A slow smile touched her lips. Not a grateful, demure smile. A knowing one. She had been paid, yes. But she had also been the one in control. She had commanded the finale. She had consumed the evidence.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice husky but clear. She didn’t gush. She simply acknowledged it, slipping the phone back into her clutch as if it were a receipt for an exceptionally good meal.
