Best Indian Sex Stories: The Voice Through the Vent

Aisha told herself she was only reading best indian sex stories to fall asleep. It was past midnight in her tiny Mumbai flat, her new flatmate Kabir was supposedly asleep in the next room, and the ventilator above her bed carried every sound from his room straight to her ears.

That was when she heard his voice. Low. Unhurried. Talking on the phone to someone.

She tried not to listen. She really did. But then she heard her own name.

"Aisha," Kabir was saying, "you should see her in that yellow kurti. The way it pulls across her chest when she reaches for the top shelf. I have to look away or I'll embarrass myself."

Aisha froze, her phone forgotten. Her heart hammered so loud she was sure he could hear it through the wall.

"No, I'm serious," he went on. "Last night she came out of the bathroom in a towel. Just a towel. Water on her neck. I stood there like an idiot. I wanted to push her against the wall right there in the corridor."

Aisha's breath caught. That had been yesterday evening. She had thought he hadn't seen her. He had seen everything.

"What would I do?" Kabir laughed softly. "First I'd take that towel off her. Slowly. I'd kiss the water off her shoulders. Then I'd go lower. I'd kneel right there in the corridor and taste her until she forgot her own name."

Aisha pressed her thighs together. Heat spread through her body. This was wrong. This was eavesdropping. But her hand had already slipped under her blanket.

"She has no idea," Kabir continued. "She thinks I'm the decent flatmate who fixes the fuse and splits the groceries. If she knew what I think about when I hear her shower running..."

There was a pause. Then his voice dropped even lower. "Right now, actually. I'm thinking about it right now."

Aisha bit her lip to keep from making a sound. Her fingers moved under the blanket. She could hear the faint rustle of his bedsheets too. He was touching himself while describing her.

The thought made her dizzy. She imagined his hand on his cock, stroking, while he talked about her body. Her own fingers sped up.

"Fuck," he breathed. "The things I'd do to that mouth. She has this way of biting her lower lip when she's thinking. I want to pull that lip with my teeth and then push my tongue inside."

Aisha couldn't stay silent anymore. A small whimper escaped her. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late.

Silence from the next room. Then: "I have to go. I'll call you back." A pause. Footsteps. A knock on her door.

Aisha yanked her hand out from under the blanket and sat up, pulling the sheet around herself. "Yes?" Her voice came out strangled.

"Can I come in?" Kabir's voice. Closer now. Right outside her door.

Every sensible part of her screamed no. Her body said yes before her mouth could form the word. "The door's open."

He stepped in wearing only his boxers. His chest was bare, rising and falling fast. His eyes went straight to her flushed face, her tangled hair, the sheet clutched too tightly around her.

"You heard," he said. It wasn't a question.

"The vent carries everything." Aisha's cheeks burned. "Kabir, I..."

"Were you touching yourself while you listened?" He asked it plainly, no shame, no teasing. Just direct.

Aisha opened her mouth. Closed it. Nodded.

Something shifted in his face. Hunger replaced embarrassment. He crossed the room in two strides and sat on the edge of her bed. "Show me."

"What?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." His hand covered hers where it gripped the sheet. "Show me what you were doing."

Aisha's resistance lasted exactly three seconds. Then she let the sheet fall. She wore an old t-shirt and nothing else. Kabir's eyes darkened as they traveled down her body.

"Fuck, Aisha." He pulled her t-shirt up and off in one motion. Her breasts spilled free. He stared. "Yellow kurti has nothing on this."

He leaned in and took one nipple into his mouth. Aisha gasped and arched into him. His tongue circled the hard peak while his hand kneaded her other breast, thumb flicking across the nipple.

"I meant everything I said," he murmured against her skin. "Every filthy word."

"Prove it." The challenge left her mouth before she could stop it.

Kabir grinned and pushed her back onto the pillows. He slid down her body, kissing a wet trail from her breasts to her stomach to the edge of her panties. He hooked his fingers in them and dragged them down her legs.

She was soaked. He groaned at the sight. "Look at you. All this from just listening."

He spread her thighs and buried his face between them. His tongue found her clit immediately, like he'd been studying for this moment. Which, Aisha realized dizzily, he had.

He licked her in long, firm strokes, then circled the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. Aisha's hands fisted in the bedsheets. Her hips bucked against his mouth.

"Kabir... oh god... don't stop..."

He slid two fingers inside her while his tongue kept working her clit. The stretch and the pressure together pushed her to the edge fast. Her inner walls clenched around his fingers.

"Come for me," he ordered. "I want to feel it."

She shattered. Her body convulsed, her back arching off the bed, a cry tearing from her throat. He kept licking her through it, gentler now, riding out every wave.

When she could breathe again, she pulled him up by his hair and kissed him hard, tasting herself on his lips. Her hand slid into his boxers and wrapped around his cock.

He was thick and hard and leaking. She stroked him slowly, thumb smearing the wetness across the head. He groaned into her mouth.

"My turn to talk," she whispered. She pushed him onto his back and straddled his thighs. She took his cock into her mouth, slowly, watching his face.

His eyes nearly rolled back. "Jesus, Aisha..."

She worked him with her lips and tongue, taking him deeper with each pass. Her hand pumped what her mouth couldn't reach. She could feel him throbbing, close.

"Not yet," he gasped, pulling her up. "I want to be inside you when I come. I've imagined it too many times."

He rolled her onto her back and settled between her thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock through her wetness, teasing her entrance, making her whimper and lift her hips begging for more.

"Say it," he said. "Say what you want."

"Fuck me, Kabir. Fuck me hard."

He drove into her in one deep thrust. Aisha cried out. He filled her completely, stretching her, hitting places that made her see stars.

He started moving. Hard. Fast. The bed banged against the wall. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, driving even deeper, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in tight circles.

"You feel incredible," he panted. "So tight. So wet. Fuck."

Aisha could barely form words. "Harder... don't you dare stop..."

He obliged, pounding into her, the room filling with the sounds of skin on skin and her breathless moans. Her second climax hit her like a wave, her walls squeezing him rhythmically.

He followed seconds later, groaning her name as he pulsed inside her, his body shuddering over hers.

They lay tangled together, both breathing hard. Kabir brushed her damp hair off her forehead.

Morning came too fast. Aisha woke to the smell of coffee and found Kabir in the kitchen wearing her oversized t-shirt, looking unfairly good. He handed her a mug.

"So," he said, leaning against the counter. "Last night happened."

"It did." Aisha sipped her coffee. "Any regrets?"

"Only one." He stepped closer. "That we waited until midnight to start talking honestly."

She laughed, but the sound died when his hand slid to the back of her neck and pulled her into a slow, deep kiss. Coffee forgotten. His other hand slipped under her t-shirt, finding her bare underneath.

"Kabir," she breathed. "I have a meeting at nine."

"Then we'd better be quick." He lifted her onto the kitchen counter. The cold granite against her thighs made her gasp. He pushed her knees apart and knelt.

His mouth was on her in seconds, skilled and hungry. Aisha gripped the edge of the counter, her head falling back. Morning light streamed through the window. Anyone in the building opposite could have seen. She didn't care.

He brought her off fast with his tongue, two fingers curled inside her, and she came with a cry she had to muffle against her own hand. Then he stood, freed his cock from his boxers, and pushed into her right there on the counter.

It was fast and frantic and perfect. He held her hips and drove into her, both of them half-dressed, coffee going cold beside them. She came again, clenching around him, and he followed with a groan, spilling inside her.

"I am definitely going to be late," she panted.

"Worth it." He kissed her forehead. "Tonight. The vent. Be ready."

That night, Aisha lay in bed and did exactly what she'd promised. She narrated everything, every filthy detail, her voice carrying through the vent to his room. She heard him lose control. She smiled in the dark.

Then her door opened anyway. Kabir stood there, wrecked and grinning. "The vent is great," he said, "but I prefer the live version."

"Then get over here and prove it," she said, opening her arms.

He did. Twice.

"So," he said. "The vent works both ways, you know."

Aisha laughed, breathless. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means tomorrow night, when you're in your room reading your stories, I'm going to make sure you hear everything I do to myself while thinking about tonight."

"Promise?" She grinned.

"Every filthy word."