Priya had turned 24 that evening, and the flat felt unusually quiet without her parents around—they were away in Kanpur for a week attending a family wedding. She had invited only three people she trusted completely: Rohan (25, tall, broad-shouldered, always calm and protective), Vikram (25, lean, quiet, with those intense dark eyes that always made her stomach flip), and Sneha (24, short-haired, bold, and the one who could read Priya’s mood in seconds). They were her college gang—no judgments, no secrets.

They arrived around 8 pm with cake, a bottle of whiskey, pizza, and a speaker playing soft music. Priya wore a simple black dress—knee-length, soft cotton, thin straps. She hadn’t worn a bra (she liked the freedom), and no panties either (a secret she told herself was just for comfort in the heat). But deep down she knew why. Lately, every time Vikram looked at her—really looked—her heart raced and her pussy tingled. She had been crushing on him for months, quietly, never saying it out loud. Tonight, with the drinks and the empty house, she hoped something might happen… just with him.