Neighbours From Heaven Ch.03

 **Chapter 3**

The aftermath of the long, degrading threesome with Angela and Leroy still clung to Sultana like a second skin as she quietly slipped out of their house. Her legs felt weak and shaky, her pussy swollen and sore, constantly leaking thick globs of mixed cum down her inner thighs. Her heavy 38DD tits were red and tender from being slapped and mauled. Her once-modest Abaya was crumpled and stained, her hair messy, and her face flushed with shame and lingering ecstasy. Every step sent fresh trickles of cum dripping from her ruined hole, reminding her of how thoroughly she had been used — first by Leroy’s monstrous cock, then by both of them as they treated her like a disposable toy.

As she crossed the short distance back to her own house in the dark, the cool night air on her skin made her shiver. Guilt crashed over her in waves. *What have I become?* she thought, tears pricking her eyes. *A married mother of two, a Muslim wife… now nothing but a cumdump for my neighbour and her man.* Yet even as shame burned her cheeks, her clit throbbed at the memory of their filthy words and rough hands. She felt dirty, broken… and alarmingly alive.

She managed to sneak inside just in time.

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Sultana had only just slipped back through her front door when she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock. Her stomach dropped like a stone.

Haydar stepped inside, pulling his suitcase behind him, his face lighting up with genuine happiness the moment he saw her. “Jaan! Surprise! My mother recovered much faster than we thought, so I managed to get an earlier flight. I missed you and the children so much.”

He looked exactly the same — kind eyes, slightly greying hair at the temples, the gentle, devoted Bangladeshi husband who had built a life with her. Aisha (7) and Karim (5) were still staying happily at their aunt’s for a few more days. Sultana stood frozen in the hallway, her body a complete betrayal. Her pussy was still swollen, sore, and leaking thick remnants of Leroy’s cum into her crotchless panties. Her thighs felt sticky. Her heavy 38DD breasts were tender and marked with faint bruises. The unmistakable scent of rough sex and black men clung to her skin no matter how much perfume she had sprayed on.

“Haydar… you’re back so soon,” she whispered, forcing a weak smile. She kept her distance, terrified he would notice anything.

He stepped forward and pulled her into a warm hug. Sultana stiffened as his arms wrapped around her waist. His nose brushed against her neck. “You smell… different,” he murmured softly. “New body wash? Or perfume?”

“Yes,” she lied quickly, pulling away before he could hold her longer. “I was just cleaning the house. Let me make you some tea. You must be tired from the journey.”

The rest of the evening was pure torture. Haydar wanted to be close — sitting beside her on the sofa, his hand resting on her thigh, trying to kiss her properly. Each time Sultana dodged, turning her face so his lips landed on her cheek, claiming she was exhausted or had a headache. When he suggested they go upstairs early, she pretended to be too sleepy. Haydar looked concerned and a little hurt, but he was understanding as always. “It’s okay, jaan. We have all the time in the world now.”

That night, as Haydar slept soundly beside her in their marital bed, Sultana lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Guilt twisted like a knife in her chest — her two young children, her husband who had never done anything wrong, her faith that she had shattered so completely. Yet her clit still throbbed gently, and she could feel fresh trickles of another man’s cum slowly leaking out of her ruined pussy onto the sheets. She was drowning in shame… and craving more.

In the darkness, her mind drifted to Linda — her wild white friend who had three half-caste children by different black bulls and had always encouraged her to explore. *I need to tell her everything,* Sultana thought. *She’s the only one who would understand.* Quietly, she texted Linda: “Need to meet soon. Have so much tea to spill. You won’t believe what’s happening.” Linda replied almost instantly with several excited emojis. They arranged to meet in two days.

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**Next door, Angela’s house**

Angela closed the front door behind her and locked it. Reece sat on the living room sofa, head down, shoulders tense, gold chains glinting under the dim light. He had grown even more muscular lately, but right now he looked like a hurt, angry young man.

Angela’s heart ached for her son. She was still furious at Sultana for betraying him so quickly after he had defended her, but right now Reece needed comfort only a mother could give.

She walked over slowly, her tall, curvaceous body moving with purpose. She sat beside him and pulled his head gently against her large, soft breasts. “My baby… Mummy knows it hurts. That disloyal Paki whore used you and then ran to your stepfather like a cheap slut.”

Reece stayed silent at first, breathing heavily. Angela kept stroking his cornrows, her voice low and soothing. “You defended her. You were kind to her. And she chose Leroy’s old cock over yours. Let Mummy make you feel better, hmm?”

She tilted his chin up and kissed him. It started soft — just a mother’s comforting kiss — but lingered. Reece didn’t pull away. Angela kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue gently teasing his lips until he opened for her. Their tongues met, slow and hesitant at first, then growing hotter, wetter, more urgent.

Angela moaned softly into her son’s mouth. “That’s it, baby… let Mummy take care of you.”

She straddled his lap, her short skirt riding up her thick thighs. Reece’s hands instinctively gripped her wide ass as they kissed passionately, tongues sliding and wrestling. Angela ground slowly against the growing bulge in his baggy pants, feeling him harden rapidly beneath her.

“Fuck… Mum,” Reece finally groaned, voice thick with emotion and lust. “This is so wrong… but I need it.”

She pulled her top off, freeing her heavy, dark breasts. “Suck them, baby. Suck Mummy’s tits like you used to when you were little… but harder now.”

Reece latched onto one dark nipple, sucking hungrily while his mother moaned and rocked her hips. “Yeah… just like that, son. Use Mummy’s tits. Take what you need from me.”

She reached down, unzipped him, and freed his thick, young black cock — rock hard and throbbing with need. She stroked it lovingly with her soft hand.

“Look how hard my big boy is,” she whispered proudly. “All this for Mummy. That Bengali bitch doesn’t deserve this cock. But I do.”

Reece growled, voice breaking. “She chose him over me, Mum… I hate her… but I still want her.”

Angela rose slightly, pulled her panties to the side, and slowly sank down onto her son’s cock. Inch by thick inch disappeared into her wet, experienced pussy until she was fully seated, both of them groaning loudly. “Fuuuuck… yes, baby. Fill Mummy up.”

She started riding him with deep, sensual rolls of her hips, her big ass bouncing heavily in his lap. The wet, rhythmic sounds of her juicy cunt sliding up and down his shaft filled the living room. Angela leaned forward, kissing her son sloppily, tongues dancing as she fucked him.

“That’s my good boy,” she moaned between kisses. “Fuck Mummy. Take all your anger and hurt out on this pussy. This is the pussy that made you… now use it, baby. Harder.”

Reece gripped her ass tighter and started thrusting up powerfully, slamming into his own mother. “Shit, Mum… your pussy is so fucking tight,” he panted. “I’m gonna destroy that traitor next. She’s gonna pay for choosing him.”

Angela rode him faster, her heavy tits bouncing in his face. He sucked and bit her nipples while she cried out in pleasure. “Yes! Harder, Reece! Fuck Mummy like you hate that whore next door! Show me how strong you are! Take it out on me first!”

They fucked intensely for a long time — switching positions fluidly. Angela bent over the sofa arm so Reece could take her from behind, pounding her hard, his hips slapping loudly against her big ass while he growled, “This is what she should have had… not him.” Then she rode him reverse cowgirl, spreading her cheeks so he could watch every inch of his cock disappearing into the pussy that had given birth to him. Sweat poured down their bodies. Angela came first, shaking violently on her son’s cock, her juices soaking his balls. Reece followed soon after, roaring as he pumped thick ropes of cum deep into his mother’s womb, groaning, “Take it, Mum… fuck yes.”

They stayed locked together afterwards, panting, Angela stroking his cornrows tenderly while his cock softened inside her.

After a long silence, Angela whispered, “That disloyal bitch is going to make this right, baby. We’re going to cheer you up properly… and then we’re going to take back what Leroy tried to steal from you. She’s going to learn exactly who she belongs to now.”

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After spending a full day trying to dodge her husband Sultana felt tired as hell. Later that night as she listened to her husband snoring away, Sultana’s phone lit up with a new message from Leroy:

**“No more hijab. No more modest wife bullshit. Wear the tight black bodycon dress I bought you. Make it short. Tight. No bra. No panties. Heavy makeup. Heels. Send me a picture when you’re ready. Then sneak out and meet me at the corner. I’m taking you to meet my crew tonight. The real fun begins now.”**

Sultana stood alone in front of her bedroom mirror, heart hammering while Haydar slept soundly downstairs. Her hands trembled with fear and arousal as she obeyed.

The black bodycon dress was scandalously short — barely covering the bottom of her massive ass cheeks. The thin, stretchy material clung like a second skin, stretching obscenely over her 38DD tits so her hard nipples poked clearly against the fabric. Deep cleavage spilled out. No bra. No panties. No hijab. Her long dark hair flowed freely down her back. She applied heavy makeup — dark smokey eyes, glossy red lips, thick lashes, contour and blush — turning her face into that of a high-class whore. Tall black stilettos completed the transformation.

She stared at the stranger in the mirror: the once-pious Muslim wife and mother was completely gone. In her place stood a shameless, bodycon-clad BBC slut.

A powerful mix of fear, shame, and throbbing arousal surged through her as she took several photos from different angles and sent them to Leroy.

His reply came quickly:

**“Good girl. That’s my married Bengali whore. Now sneak out. I’m waiting at the corner.”**

Sultana took one last look at herself, pulled the tiny dress down as much as it would go, and quietly slipped out of the house into the night.

**End of Chapter 3**

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