A week had passed since that first night in Aisha’s kitchen, and the memories haunted me in the best way. Vikram’s thick cock stretching me open, his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet while Aisha slept down the hall, the taste of my own cum on his fingers after he made me squirt on the counter. I’d fingered myself raw every night replaying it, whispering “daddy” into my pillow like a prayer. When his text came—“Friday. Aisha’s out till late. Bring that slutty ass. No panties.”—I was already dripping before I even replied “Yes, daddy.”

I arrived at 8 PM in a tiny black dress that hugged my curves and ended mid-thigh, nipples hard against the thin fabric, no bra, no panties, just like he ordered. Vikram opened the door, eyes dark with hunger, and pulled me inside without a word. The flat smelled faintly of his cologne and whiskey. Candles flickered on the coffee table. But we weren’t alone.