Encounter with my neighbor

The next Friday the air in the flat felt different from the moment I stepped inside.
All four wives were already there. The mattresses were laid out. Soft lamps glowed. But on the low table near the bed sat something new: a small tripod, a phone mounted on it, and a second phone resting in the chemist’s wife’s hand.
My neighbour locked the door and turned to me with that same private smile.
“We decided something,” she said. “The husbands who already know… they asked. They want to see. Not just hear about it later. So we’re going to record tonight.”
The accounts officer’s wife stepped closer, eyes dark. “Only for them. And for us. No one else.”
The mechanical engineer’s wife was already unwrapping my sari, fingers steady. “They’ll watch it when they’re on night shift. Or when we’re not home. We thought you’d like that.”
I felt my cock harden under the soft fabric as the chemist’s wife set the phone on the tripod and angled it toward the bed. The red recording light blinked on.
They undressed me slowly in front of the camera—blouse opening, breast forms settling free and heavy, the mini skirt I had worn beneath the sari sliding down my thighs. When my cock sprang out, already thick and leaking, the accounts officer’s wife wrapped her fingers around it and stroked once for the lens.
“Look at the camera,” my neighbour murmured.
I did.
They arranged me on my back first. The mechanical engineer’s wife straddled my face, lowering her cunt onto my mouth while the chemist’s wife sank down onto my cock, facing the camera so every wet inch of me disappearing inside her was clearly visible. My neighbour and the accounts officer’s wife knelt on either side, stroking my breast forms, kissing each other, glancing at the lens between soft moans.
The phone captured everything—the way the chemist’s wife’s full breasts bounced as she rode me, the glistening stretch of her cunt around my shaft, the wet sounds of my tongue working the woman above me. When the mechanical engineer’s wife came she ground down hard, thighs trembling against my ears, and the camera caught every shudder.
They rotated with deliberate care, always keeping the best angles for the recording.
I was turned onto my hands and knees. The accounts officer’s wife lay beneath me so I could fuck her in long, deep strokes while my neighbour worked two slick fingers into my ass, then replaced them with a thick dildo, fucking me in time with my thrusts. The chemist’s wife held one phone closer, filming the place where I sank into the woman under me and the place where the dildo stretched me open. The mechanical engineer’s wife stroked my hair and whispered for me to look at the lens while I came, flooding the accounts officer’s wife with thick pulses that the camera recorded in glistening detail.
They were not finished.
My neighbour produced the silicone gel again and prepared me thoroughly while the others watched and the red light kept blinking. Then the mechanical engineer’s wife guided me to sit on her husband’s thick cock—she had brought a realistic toy molded from him—while the chemist’s wife lowered herself onto my mouth and the accounts officer’s wife fed me her breast. They made me ride the toy slowly at first, then harder, the camera catching every bounce of the breast forms, every expression on my painted face, every wet sound as I took it deep.
By the time the recording finally stopped, the sheets were ruined, my makeup was smeared, and cum—mine and the evidence of how many times they had made me finish—streaked my stomach and the breast forms.
My neighbour picked up the phone, checked the video, and smiled.
“Perfect,” she said softly. “The husbands will see this tonight. And next week… we record with them in the room.”
She leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth, leaving a fresh smear of red.
“You’re going to look so pretty on camera when they fuck you.”