My name’s Zara, a 25-year-old fashion design student at a top Delhi institute. I’m fair-skinned, with light brown eyes and long, silky hair that turns heads wherever I go. My 34-inch tits are full and round, always straining against my tight tops, and my ass—think Kim Kardashian, but curvier—grabs every guy’s attention. I’ve been hitting the gym since I was 20, not just to stay fit but because I love the hungry looks I get from guys when I wear skin-tight leggings that dig into my ass. I’m a party girl, living for late-night clubbing and chilling with friends. My Instagram’s flooded with comments from guys drooling over my pussy and ass, begging to fuck me senseless. And honestly? I love it. Every girl secretly craves a thick, hard cock to pound her pussy and ass.
Aditya, 28, is the hottest guy in the gym—a tall, muscular beast with dark skin, chiseled pecs, and deep, piercing eyes that scream trouble. His Instagram’s full of edgy posts, some borderline offensive, but it only makes him more intriguing. He’s got this bad-boy charm that makes girls wet just looking at him. His eyes are always glued to my ass, and I can tell he’s fantasizing about fucking me every chance he gets.
Rohit, Aditya’s buddy, is 26, lanky, and quieter, with a sly glint behind his glasses. He’s the type who seems innocent but is always filming workouts at the gym, probably for more than just fitness tips. His sneaky vibe makes it clear he’s just as hooked on my curves as Aditya.
I’ve got a boyfriend, but he’s just a wallet to me. He pays for my lifestyle, and yeah, I suck his dick sometimes, but he’s never fucked my ass. Every guy at the gym is obsessed with my ass, but Aditya’s different. His stares set my pussy on fire. We started chatting casually—gym tips, diets, that kind of thing. Soon, we were hanging out outside the gym, grabbing coffee or cruising Delhi’s streets. Aditya was chill, cracking jokes, making me laugh. Before long, we were workout partners. He’d film my glute sessions, suggest tighter leggings, and drop hints about wanting to fuck me. I knew he saw me as a conquest, especially with his thing about Muslim girls, and it turned me on even more. My pussy was aching for his thick, black cock, and I decided it was time to make him mine.
The next day, I showed up at the gym dressed to kill—black leggings so tight they hugged every curve of my ass, and a pink crop top that showed off my deep cleavage. My pussy lips were practically outlined through the fabric, and I could feel eyes on me as I squatted in front of Aditya, shaking my ass just for him. I caught him staring, his cock bulging in his shorts, and I gave him a teasing smirk. After the workout, we ended up by the locker room.
Aditya: “What’s up, you modeling extra hard today?”
Me: “Hmm, why not?”
Aditya: “Fair point. That ass is your bread and butter.”
Me: “Shut up, Adi! Don’t get cocky.”
Aditya: “Which club we hitting tonight?” (grabbing my ass)
Me: “I’ll see.”
Aditya: “You know I’m crazy about you.”
Me: “I know exactly what you like—and what you don’t.”
Aditya: (slapping my ass) “Oh yeah? How’s that?”
Me: “I know about your second account.”
His eyes lit up, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He was fucking turned on.
Aditya: “What’s wrong with it? Look at yourself!”
I pushed his hand off my ass and snapped, “What you’re thinking? That’s never gonna happen.”
He leaned in, kissing my neck softly, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. “We’ll see, baby. Tomorrow, we’ll find out who’s right.”
I was pissed, but my pussy was throbbing. His deep voice and cocky attitude had me dripping wet. I wanted him to grab me right there, but I held back and walked away.
The Next Day
It was late at night, and the gym was dead quiet, just the hum of machines in the background. I’d finished my workout and headed to the locker room to shower. My body was slick with sweat, my leggings clinging to my pussy and ass, my crop top glued to my tits, nipples poking through. I felt sexy as hell. Then I saw Aditya’s shadow behind me. Before I could react, he grabbed me from behind, yanking off my hijab. “Your honor’s gone now,” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. I didn’t fight back—my pussy was already soaked, my body begging for his touch.
He whispered in my ear, “Why bother with that hijab when you’re showing off your ass in those leggings?” His words made my pussy clench. I stayed silent, my breath hitching as he squeezed my tits hard, pinching my nipples through the fabric. My pussy was dripping, a wet spot forming on my leggings. He pushed me against the locker room wall, tugging my leggings down to my knees, exposing my round, smooth ass. The cool air hit my wet pussy, making me shiver. He slapped my ass hard, the sound echoing in the empty room. “Fuck, Zara, your ass is perfect,” he said, sliding his fingers along my pussy lips, teasing my clit. I moaned, my juices coating his fingers as he fingered me slowly, driving me wild.
He pulled out his 9-inch black cock, thick and rock-hard, veins pulsing. My pussy ached just looking at it. He spit on it, grabbed my hair, and shoved it into my mouth. “Suck it, you slut,” he ordered. I went crazy, sucking his cock like my life depended on it. It was so thick it stretched my mouth wide, the tip hitting the back of my throat. I swirled my tongue around the head, stroking his balls with my fingers. “Fuck, Adi, your cock’s so good,” I moaned between sucks. He fucked my mouth for 15 minutes, gripping my hair, thrusting deep until my eyes watered. My pussy was dripping, soaking the floor, begging for his cock.
He pulled out, bent me over a bench, and slapped my ass again, leaving a red handprint. “My little Muslim slut, you’re such a good bitch,” he said. He rubbed his cock against my dripping pussy, teasing my clit until I was trembling. “Adi, fuck me, my pussy’s dying for it,” I begged. With one hard thrust, he slammed his cock into my ass. I screamed, pain and pleasure ripping through me as his thick cock stretched my tight hole. He didn’t stop, fucking my ass raw, his balls slapping against my pussy with every thrust. His fingers found my clit, rubbing it hard, making my pussy gush. “Your ass is so fucking tight,” he growled, spanking me again. I screamed, “Fuck, Adi, wreck my ass!” The sound of his cock pounding my ass—slap, slap, slap—filled the room, mixing with my moans.
He flipped me onto the floor, spreading my legs wide, and shoved his cock into my pussy. My pussy was so wet it sucked him in, his cock stretching me to the limit. His balls slapped against my ass with every thrust, the wet squelching sound driving me wild. He grabbed my tits, squeezing them hard, sucking my nipples until they were raw. “Your pussy’s so fucking juicy, Zara,” he said. I was lost in the pleasure, screaming, “Fuck, Adi, pound my pussy! Your cock’s fucking heaven!” He fucked me for 20 minutes, each thrust deeper, harder, sending waves of orgasms through my body. My pussy clenched around his cock, my juices dripping onto the floor.
Then he pulled me up, bent me over again, and went back to my ass. This time, he went slower, letting me feel every inch of his cock as it slid deeper into my stretched hole. “I’m gonna ruin this ass,” he said, grabbing my hips and fucking me harder. His fingers were back in my pussy, fingering me in rhythm with his thrusts. I was screaming, “Adi, fuck my ass and pussy, tear me apart!” My body was shaking, another orgasm building as he pounded me relentlessly. The locker room echoed with my moans and the sound of his cock slamming into me.
After 45 minutes of relentless fucking, he pulled out and shoved his cock back in my mouth. His hot, thick cum exploded down my throat, and I swallowed every drop, my face sticky with sweat and cum. My body was trembling, my pussy and ass sore but satisfied. But then I looked up—Rohit, his friend, was filming us with his phone, a smirk on his face. I froze. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yelled. Aditya and Rohit laughed and bolted. My heart was racing. I was terrified the video would go viral. I scrambled to pull my clothes on, my mind spinning with one question—what the hell happens now?