Encounter with my neighbor

The message came two days later, short and clear.
Friday. 8 pm. All of them will be here. Bring the red blouse.
I spent the afternoon preparing with more care than usual. Fresh shave, the breast forms warmed and settled high, the tight red blouse that made the cleavage deep and obvious, a black mini skirt that barely covered anything, high heels, bangles, anklets, the small nose ring. Full makeup—dark kohl, glossy red lipstick, arched brows. When I looked in the mirror I looked like the woman the wives had been recording, only more deliberate.
She opened the door before I knocked. Behind her the living room was already full.
All four wives.
And three husbands.
The accounts officer, the mechanical engineer, and—newly present—the chemist, who had finally been told. They stood near the mattresses, shirts already open at the collar, eyes fixed on me the moment I stepped inside. The tripod was set up again. Two phones were already recording, red lights glowing.
My neighbour closed and locked the door.
“They watched the last video,” she said simply. “Now they want the real thing.”
No one wasted time with conversation.
The wives undressed me in front of the men and the cameras—blouse opening, breast forms spilling free, mini skirt sliding down. When my cock sprang out, hard and already leaking, the mechanical engineer stepped forward first. He wrapped his hand around it, stroked once, then looked at his wife. She nodded.
They guided me onto my hands and knees in the center of the mattresses. One phone was repositioned to catch my face; the other framed my ass and the heavy swing of the breast forms. The mechanical engineer knelt behind me, coated himself with the same expensive gel, and pressed the thick head of his cock against my hole. He pushed in with one long, steady stroke, filling me completely while the cameras recorded every inch. I moaned loudly for the lens.
The accounts officer moved in front of me, cock already hard, and fed it into my mouth. I sucked him while the man behind me began to fuck me in deep, heavy thrusts that made the breast forms bounce and the anklets chime. The wives surrounded us—stroking my hair, squeezing the breast forms, whispering instructions, making sure both cameras caught everything.
The chemist watched for a long minute, then stepped closer. His wife took his hand and placed it on my ass, letting him feel how the other man’s cock stretched me. When the mechanical engineer finally pulled out, still hard and glistening, the chemist took his place. He entered me slower, almost carefully, but once he was buried to the hilt he started thrusting with growing urgency. The camera caught the exact moment his control broke—the way his hips snapped forward, the low sound he made as he started pounding me in earnest.
They rotated me between them with deliberate care, always keeping the best angles for the recording.
I was put on my back next. The accounts officer’s wife sank down onto my cock, facing the camera so every wet slide was visible, while the mechanical engineer pushed back into my ass. The double penetration made me cry out. The chemist’s wife straddled my face, lowering her cunt onto my mouth, and the remaining wives stroked and kissed and made sure the phones never missed a detail—the way my cock disappeared inside one wife, the way the men’s cocks stretched my hole, the smeared lipstick, the bouncing breast forms, the exact expression on my face when I came.
I flooded the accounts officer’s wife while the mechanical engineer groaned and emptied himself deep in my ass. The cameras kept recording as the chemist took his turn, fucking me through the aftershocks until he too finished with a low, broken sound, filling me while his wife watched and stroked my hair.
They were not finished.
My neighbour made me sit up on my knees so the men could take turns fucking my mouth while the wives held the phones close. Lipstick smeared across their cocks. Cum streaked my chin and the breast forms. One of the wives reached between my legs and stroked me until I came again, spilling onto the sheets while a cock was still in my throat.
By the time the recording finally stopped, the mattresses were wrecked, my makeup was ruined, and I was dripping with the evidence of every man who had used me.
My neighbour picked up one of the phones, checked the footage, and smiled.
“This one is longer,” she said softly. “They’ll watch it many times.”
She leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth, tasting the cum still there.
“Next week,” she murmured, “we invite the senior officers’ wives. They’ve been asking. And their husbands… some of them already know what Fridays are for.”
Outside, the colony was quiet.
Inside, the red recording lights had gone dark, but the understanding between everyone in the room had never been clearer.
Friday evenings now belonged to all of us.