The humid scent of bourbon and anticipation clung to Linda's skin as she traced the rim of her glass, the ice long melted into irrelevance. Across the room, Vicky's laughter�sharp and bright as shattered crystal�pierced the low thrum of masculine voices, her bare foot hooked around the calf of a man whose wedding band glinted under the dim light. Stacey, quieter but no less present, arched into the hands kneading her hips, her breath catching when teeth grazed her throat. Linda watched her daughters move through the crowded den like currents in dark water, each touch, each murmur, a ripple expanding from that first night months ago�the night her husband talked the two girls husbands into fucking Linda while she was blindfolded.
Blindfolded nights had been Linda's secret ritual long before the girls knew: the velvet strip tight across her eyes, the disorienting plunge into blackness where touch became language. Strange hands mapping her body became prayers, anonymous mouths on her skin a sacrament. She'd sigh into the void, hips lifting toward calloused palms or soft fingers, never caring whose breath hitched against her neck or whose belt buckle scraped her thigh. The thrill was the not-knowing, the surrender to sensation untethered from identity�until the video. Grainy footage on Rich's phone: Her own choked gasp as her son-in-law's familiar tattooed forearm braced against her thigh, the other son-in-law's unmistakable chuckle vibrating against her spine. Shock curdled into something molten when she realized they'd been slipping into her darkness for months, unrecognized, unspoken.
It was then she laughed. A low, guttural sound that startled even her. She'd wondered, hadn't she? What *they* would feel like inside her�not faceless strangers, but the husbands of her daughters, men whose hands she'd shaken at barbecues.
The blindfold hadn't been a shield; it had been their invitation. Her own husband hadn't given her the opportunity; he'd orchestrated the deception. The laugh died abruptly, replaced by a sharp, crystalline clarity. "Tell them, " she'd ordered Rich, her voice unnervingly calm, "to come back. Alone."
That night, the velvet strip was back, thicker, heavier. The familiar darkness descended, amplifying the slide of silk against her skin, the thud of her own pulse. She knelt on the plush rug, the air thick with the scent of her arousal and expensive whiskey. Hands�rough, calloused�gripped her hips from behind, positioning her, spreading her. She felt the blunt, insistent pressure, the slow, deliberate breach as one cock filled her from behind, stretching her open with a familiar, brutal rhythm. Doggy style, anchored. Then, another presence knelt before her. Fingers tangled in her hair, guiding her head forward. The hot, salty-sweet tip of a cock nudged her lips, then pushed past them, filling her mouth, sliding deep into her throat. She gagged instinctively, tears pricking her eyes, but forced herself to relax, hollowing her cheeks, sucking hard, taking him deeper until his groans vibrated against her palate. The one behind her slammed harder, his balls slapping against her clit with each thrust, sending sparks through her core.
The rhythm became frantic, desperate. The cock in her mouth pulsed, swelling impossibly thick, the salty tang of precum flooding her tongue. Behind her, the thrusts grew shorter, harder, ragged breaths hot on her neck. Then, simultaneously, it hit: a guttural roar from the man at her mouth, his release erupting in hot, thick spurts down her throat, forcing her to swallow convulsively. At the same instant, the man behind her buried himself to the hilt, his body locking rigid against hers as his cock pulsed deep inside her womb, a scalding flood that made her own inner walls clench and flutter wildly. Twin releases, one filling her throat, the other flooding her depths, a synchronized eruption that left her trembling, suspended between them, dripping and utterly filled.
As the last shuddering pulses faded, the hands gripping her slackened. The cock slipped wetly from her mouth, leaving her gasping, saliva slicking her chin. The one behind withdrew with a slick, sucking sound, followed by the distinct drip of spent seed onto the carpet. Silence descended, thick and expectant, broken only by their labored breathing. Then, Linda moved with deliberate calm. She reached up. Her fingers found the knot of the thick velvet blindfold. A sharp tug, and it fell away. Blinking against the sudden, harsh light of the den, she didn't look at the men flanking her � Rich sat there as she confronted her two son in laws, their faces flushed, chests heaving. Instead, she pushed herself up onto unsteady legs, ignoring the trails of semen cooling on her inner thighs and the slickness between them. She walked, naked and utterly composed, to the plush leather couch. Sitting down with a sigh, she crossed her legs, the picture of unsettling tranquility.
Her gaze finally settled on Rich, then the two boys, her son in laws. "I know, " she stated, her voice low, smooth as aged whiskey, devoid of anger but layered with a chilling certainty. "About the friends. About Vicky and Stacey." She paused, letting the weight of her knowledge settle over them, watching the blood drain from their faces. "You've been sharing my daughters with your friends for months. She smiled as she continued. And then me, unknown lovers. My own son in laws. Now you pay me. I'm going to lay on the floor her with my legs spread and the two of you will make me cum any way you know how until I tell you I've had enough. They jumped to it. One immediately dove for her pussy and immediate penetration, the other a relentless suction on her nipples, a focused friction on her clit � sensations crashed over Linda in overlapping, overwhelming waves. A low, guttural moan tore from her throat.
"That's more like it, " she whispered to them, her voice ragged but commanding, arching her hips upwards into their hands, grinding against the fingers buried deep. "Keep it up. For a long, long time." Her eyes fluttered shut, not in surrender, but to intensify the sheer, consuming feeling. The son-in-law at her left breast intensified his sucking, his teeth grazing the nipple lightly, sending sharp jolts down her spine to pulse where their fingers worked her. The one on her clit shifted tactics, replacing his thumb with the flat of his tongue, licking broad, wet stripes from her opening upwards, circling the bud with relentless pressure before plunging his tongue deep inside her alongside their fingers, tasting her arousal mixed with their earlier release. The wet heat, the insistent penetration, the rhythmic suckling � it built a pressure deep within her core, a familiar, tightening coil.
Rich pushed himself off the sofa, the leather sighing softly. The humid air, thick with sex and exertion, clung to his skin as he crossed the room towards the wet bar. Ice clinked sharply against crystal as he poured a generous measure of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the low light. He took a slow, deliberate sip, the burn sharpening his focus. *This was going to be a show.* His gaze swept over the tableau: Linda sprawled like a queen on the rug, her body a landscape of pleasure under the ministrations of her sons-in-law, their heads buried between her thighs and at her breasts, utterly absorbed. A predatory satisfaction settled in his gut. He moved silently towards a discreet panel near the bookshelf, fingers pressing a sequence. With a soft, almost imperceptible whirr, hidden lenses within the ornate ceiling moldings slid open. Tiny red lights blinked to life, unseen from below. He started the cameras recording from every angle � capturing the desperate devotion on the younger men's faces, the sweat-slicked expanse of Linda's belly rising and falling, the intricate play of tongues and fingers, the glistening mess between her legs. He leaned against the bar, drink forgotten in his hand, watching the feed flicker to life on a small monitor embedded in the panel. The voyeurism was potent, primal.
He suddenly had a thought, sharp and undeniable. *They need to know.* Especially with what was coming next week � thirty strangers, darkness, the sheer overwhelming scale of it. They needed to see *this*. See the devotion their husbands poured into Linda. See the raw, unvarnished hunger. See *her* command. He disappeared into the adjoining den, the heavy oak door clicking shut behind him. The comparative quiet was jarring. He snatched his phone from the charger, fingers flying over the screen. Not a call. A group video link. He initiated it, the screen splitting instantly. Vicky’s face appeared first, flushed and slightly breathless, her hair tousled, wearing a silk robe loosely tied. Stacey’s image flickered beside her, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, clutching a mug � tea, probably. Both were clearly at home, unprepared. Rich didn’t give them time to speak. "Watch, " he commanded, his voice low and gravelly with suppressed excitement. He tapped a command, flipping the camera feed. The screen filled with the high-definition live stream from the main den: Linda’s ecstatic face tilted back, mouth open in a silent scream as one son-in-law relentlessly flicked her clit with his tongue while the other pumped three fingers deep inside her, his thumb circling her asshole. The wet sounds were amplified through the phone’s speaker � sucking, slurping, Linda’s ragged gasps.
Vicky’s sharp inhale was audible even through the phone. "Oh fuck, " she breathed, leaning closer to her screen, her robe gaping open revealing a hardened nipple. "Have they fucked her yet?" The question trembled with anticipation, her own arousal palpable in the husky edge of her voice. She was getting excited, her fingers unconsciously tracing the swell of her breast through the silk.
Stacey’s mug clattered onto a table surface. Her eyes, wide and dark, remained glued to the screen showing her husband’s tongue buried deep in her mother’s cunt, his fingers working furiously inside her. A flush crept up her neck. "You know those two, " she murmured, her voice thick with a mix of disbelief and burgeoning heat, "of course they did." A small, almost involuntary tremor ran through her. She was equally excited watching her mother writhe in the throes of debauchery, the raw intimacy both shocking and deeply compelling. Her own thighs pressed together tightly beneath her nightgown.
Rich’s phone buzzed insistently against his palm � a separate notification flashing. It was Vicky: *Dad, come to my house.* Rich’s thumb hovered. Another message appeared: *We'll all watch them naked on the couch together.* The implication was electric. *We both want you, * the words stark on the screen, *and it's only right after seeing them with mama.* Rich felt a familiar, predatory heat coil low in his belly. The image bloomed instantly: Vicky and Stacey, stripped bare on their sofa, waiting. His daughters. His reward for orchestrating Linda’s spectacle. *"I'll be right there, "* Rich whispered aloud, the promise tasting like bourbon and power. He ended the video call abruptly, silencing Linda’s escalating cries and his daughters' stunned faces, and walked out the den door without a backward glance.
The humid night air clung to Rich as he navigated the familiar streets towards Vicky’s house, anticipation tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t knock. The spare key slid smoothly into the lock, the click echoing slightly in the quiet foyer. The air inside was thick, charged � the scent of female arousal unmistakable, mingling with expensive perfume. He followed the low murmur of the television, the flickering blue light spilling from the living room doorway. Stepping inside, the sight arrested him: Vicky and Stacey lay sprawled naked on the deep leather couch, bathed in the glow of the enormous flat-screen TV dominating the wall. Their bodies glistened faintly with sweat, breasts rising and falling with shallow, panting breaths. Their eyes, wide and darkly dilated, were locked not on each other, but on the screen. Rich followed their gaze.
The high-definition feed filled the screen. Linda knelt on the Persian rug, no longer on her back but arched dramatically onto her hands and knees. The scene had shifted. Rich’s sons-in-law were still present, but their positions had changed dramatically. They lay on their backs beneath Linda’s suspended torso, their heads tilted upwards, mouths fastened hungrily onto her swaying breasts. One sucked fiercely, his lips pulling deep, tongue swirling relentlessly around the stiffened nipple, while the other alternated between sharp nips and broad, wet licks across the underside of her heavy flesh. But the dominating presence belonged to two newcomers Rich instantly recognized: Officer Dan from next door, his thick forearms braced on Linda’s hips, his uniform trousers pooled around his ankles, driving his thick, veined cock into her dripping pussy with deep, piston-like thrusts that made her entire body shudder forward onto the sons-in-law’s mouths. And kneeling directly before Linda’s lowered face, gripping her dark hair tightly in both fists, was Mike � Rich’s old poker buddy. Mike used his grip to hold Linda’s head perfectly still as he fucked her mouth with brutal, shallow strokes, the swollen head of his cock stretching her lips wide with each withdrawal before plunging back over her tongue towards her throat. Linda’s gagging sounds were audible, choked, rhythmic counterpoints to the wet slap of Dan’s hips against her ass and the desperate sucking noises beneath her chest.
Dan’s thick fingers, slick with Linda’s juices, slid expertly around the curve of her hip. His thumb found her swollen clit immediately, pressing hard, rubbing in frantic, tight circles against the sensitive nub as he continued to slam deep into her from behind. The dual assault � the relentless pistoning deep inside her cunt and the insistent, focused friction on her clit � ripped a guttural scream from Linda’s throat, muffled only by the cock filling her mouth. Her body convulsed wildly, hips bucking uncontrollably against Dan’s thrusts and grinding desperately against his rubbing thumb. She wiggled and humped with frantic, jerking motions, trying to force even more pressure onto her clit, her cries escalating into a continuous, ragged moan that vibrated around Mike’s cock. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, mixing with saliva slicking her chin. Her eyes rolled back, showing white, utterly consumed by the overwhelming sensations tearing through her core.
"Christ, she’s close, " Dan grunted, his voice thick with exertion. He leaned forward, biting the curve of Linda’s shoulder as he intensified the pressure on her clit, grinding the pad of his thumb hard against the pulsing bud. Mike, gripping Linda’s hair tighter, increased the brutal pace of his shallow thrusts, fucking her mouth with short, sharp jabs that choked her gag reflex into a constant, wet gurgle. Beneath her, the sons-in-law sucked harder, their tongues swirling frantically over her stiff nipples, pulling deep, desperate to draw out her climax. Linda’s entire body locked rigid for a split second � a silent scream trapped behind Mike’s cock � before exploding into violent tremors. Her inner muscles clamped down viscously on Dan’s invading shaft, milking it in powerful, rhythmic spasms while her hips jerked erratically against his hand. A high, keening wail finally escaped her, muffled and wet, as the orgasm tore through her, wave after wave of electric pleasure radiating outwards from her clit and her clenching cunt, leaving her shuddering and gasping around the cock still stuffing her throat.
On the couch in Vicky’s living room, Rich watched his daughters react. Vicky’s hand had slipped between her own thighs, fingers working furiously against her slick folds, her breath coming in sharp pants that mirrored Linda’s on-screen gasps. "God, Mom, " she moaned, her eyes glued to the screen where Linda’s body still convulsed under Dan’s relentless thumb. Stacey was quieter, her cheeks flushed crimson, but her hips lifted subtly off the leather cushion, grinding down against nothing as she watched her husband’s mouth fastened greedily to her mother’s breast. Rich felt the familiar heat coil in his own groin, thick and demanding. He moved silently towards them, the thick carpet swallowing his footsteps. He didn’t ask. His hands settled possessively on their bare shoulders, thumbs tracing the delicate ridges of their collarbones. Vicky arched into his touch instantly, a needy whimper escaping her lips. Stacey stiffened for a fraction of a second, then melted back against him, her head tilting to rest against his thigh. The scent of their arousal � musky, sweet, and utterly female � filled his nostrils, mingling with the voyeuristic thrill radiating from the screen. His fingers tightened slightly, pulling them both closer against his legs.
"Let’s take a closer look, " Rich murmured, his voice thick with anticipation. He pulled the sleek wireless remote from his pocket, its surface cool against his palm. His thumb danced expertly over the controls. On the massive screen, the wide-angle shot dissolved instantly. The view plunged dizzyingly close: a high-definition, intimate focus on Officer Dan’s thick, veined cock buried to the hilt in Linda’s glistening pussy. The camera lingered on the stretched, flushed lips of her entrance clinging tightly to his shaft, slick juices welling around the intrusion and dripping onto the rug below. Another tap, and the view shifted violently upward: Mike’s swollen cockhead, glistening with saliva and Linda’s tears, pistoning shallowly just past her teeth, the taut muscles of her throat visibly working around each brutal thrust. Rich zoomed again, this time pulling focus downward beneath Linda’s suspended torso. The screen filled with the desperate, synchronized suckling of her sons-in-law: tongues swirling frantically over stiff, darkened nipples, lips pulling deep, cheeks hollowed with effort, saliva slicking the pale curves of her breasts. "This is wonderful, " Rich breathed, the words barely audible over Linda’s choked gags and the wet sounds of penetration.
Vicky shifted restlessly against Rich’s thigh, her own fingers still buried deep between her slick folds. Her breath hitched as she watched the extreme close-up of Dan’s thumb grinding relentless circles on her mother’s clit. "God, Dad, " she gasped, her voice trembling with arousal, "the angle... it’s perfect." She tilted her head back, eyes wide and dark, locking onto Rich’s face. "I’m recording the whole thing." Her free hand fumbled beside her on the couch cushion, lifting her phone. The screen glowed, showing the exact same live feed Rich was manipulating � Linda’s face contorted in ecstasy, Dan’s cock pistoning into her, Mike’s shaft stretching her lips wide. Vicky thumbed the record button, a soft chime confirming it. "Every filthy second, " she whispered, her gaze flicking back to the screen, transfixed by the raw intimacy. "For later."
With that, Vicky pushed herself up from the couch, her body slick with sweat and her own wetness. She slid over Rich’s lap, her movements fluid and deliberate. Her knees bracketed his hips as she lowered herself, her wet heat enveloping him instantly. Rich’s thick cock impaled her to the hilt in one smooth, practiced motion, stretching her wide. A sharp gasp tore from her lips, mingling with Rich’s low groan. The warm tunnel of her cunt clenched instinctively around him, a tight, pulsing sheath that hugged every ridge and vein. They both sat there, fused together, their shared heat radiating through thin pajama pants and bare skin. On the massive screen, Linda’s body bucked violently as Dan’s thumb pressed harder, her choked screams vibrating around Mike’s cock. Vicky’s hips began a slow, instinctive grind against Rich’s lap, her inner muscles rippling around his shaft in time with her mother’s convulsions. Her breath came in shallow pants, fogging the air between them.
Rich’s hands slid around Vicky’s waist, fingers tracing the delicate curve of her ribs before finding her breasts. His thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples�pebbled and sensitive�circling them slowly at first, then rolling the stiff peaks between calloused fingertips. The gentle massage sent electric currents straight to her core, tightening the coil low in her belly. Vicky arched her back, pressing her breasts deeper into his palms, her hips lifting slightly before sinking down again, taking him impossibly deeper. Beneath her, Rich felt the subtle, deliberate clench and release of her inner walls�the same technique Linda had perfected. It was a slow, rolling squeeze, like velvet fingers milking him from root to tip, followed by a fluttering release that teased the sensitive head of his cock. Each rhythmic contraction pulled a ragged groan from Rich’s throat. Vicky’s eyes remained locked on the screen, watching her mother’s mouth stretch obscenely around Mike’s thrusts, her own lips parting in a silent echo of Linda’s ecstasy.
Beside them, Stacey shifted closer. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached out to trace the sweat-slicked valley between Rich’s shoulder blades before sliding down his spine. Her touch was tentative at first, then bolder as she watched Vicky ride him. Stacey’s fingers dipped lower, tracing the waistband of Rich’s pants where they clung to his hips, then slipped beneath the fabric to cup the curve of his ass. Her nails dug in lightly as she pulled him deeper into Vicky’s rhythm, her breath hot against his neck. Rich turned his head, capturing Stacey’s mouth in a hungry kiss�tongue sliding against hers, tasting bourbon and shared arousal. Stacey moaned into the kiss, her free hand drifting to her own breast, pinching a nipple hard enough to make her gasp against Rich’s lips. The scent of her�musky, sweet�mingled with Vicky’s wetness and the charged air thick with voyeuristic heat.
On the screen, Officer Dan’s hips stuttered. A guttural roar tore from his throat as he slammed Linda down onto his cock one final time, burying himself to the hilt. His thumb ground vicious circles against her clit as his body locked rigid beneath her. Pulse after pulse of thick cum flooded her depths, hot and insistent, filling her until she felt the scalding overflow seep down her inner thighs. Linda’s choked scream vibrated around Mike’s shaft as her cunt milked Dan’s release in violent, fluttering spasms. Beneath her, her sons-in-law redoubled their efforts, sucking her nipples raw as if trying to draw the ecstasy from her very core. Mike’s thrusts grew frantic, shallow, his cockhead pulsing visibly against the taut stretch of Linda’s lips.
Rich watched Dan’s release paint Linda’s insides on the massive screen�the intimate close-up of her stretched entrance clinging to his shaft, creamy white rivulets mixing with her slickness. The sheer obscenity of it, the raw ownership in that flood, ignited something primal. Vicky’s tight heat clenched rhythmically around him, her inner muscles mimicking Linda’s convulsions, but Rich’s focus fractured. His gaze snapped back to the screen, to Linda’s face�eyes rolled back, tears cutting tracks through sweat and saliva�as Mike finally tore his cock from her mouth with a wet pop. Vicky gasped for air, her chest heaving, but her attention remained fixed on her mother, Linda, still impaled and shuddering beneath Dan’s final thrusts. Watching his wife filled in every cavity�mouth slack and dripping, pussy stretched wide and overflowing�Rich couldn’t stand it any longer. A low groan ripped from him as his hips bucked upward, driving himself impossibly deeper into Vicky. His release surged, thick and scalding, pulse after pulse of cum flooding her full, each spurt timed with Dan’s dying throbs on screen. Vicky cried out, her body arching, inner walls clamping down to milk every drop.
They got up from around Linda, a wet mess of cum, saliva, and her juices pooling beneath her on the ruined Persian rug. Dan wiped himself off with a grunt, pulling his uniform trousers up over sticky thighs. Mike spat onto the carpet, slicking back his hair before retrieving his belt. The sons-in-law scrambled to their feet, lips swollen and glistening from Linda’s breasts, eyes avoiding the wreckage of her body. As they left, shuffling past discarded glasses and the heavy scent of sex, Linda collapsed forward onto the floor, her cheek pressed into the damp wool. Semi-conscious, she trembled�a spent vessel, limbs splayed bonelessly, the only movement the shallow rise and fall of her ribs and the slow drip of seed from her gaping cunt onto the intricate patterns below.
Rich hated retreating from Vicky’s warmth�the snug clutch of her cunt still fluttering around his softening cock, the mixture of her wetness and his seed inside her, and the visceral knowledge that he was the only plug holding it all inside her. Pulling out felt like a violation, a cold emptiness replacing the slick heat that had milked him dry. He lingered for a heartbeat, buried to the root, savoring the possessive fullness before reluctantly withdrawing with a wet, sucking sound. A thick rivulet of pearly cum immediately traced its way down Vicky’s inner thigh, pooling on the leather couch cushion beneath her. She whimpered softly at the loss, her hips lifting instinctively as if chasing his retreat, her fingers pressing between her legs to feel the warm spill. Rich watched, transfixed, as his release mingled with hers�a tangible claim glistening on her skin.
"I’d better go take care of your mother, " Rich murmured, his voice thick with bourbon and exertion. He traced the damp curve of Vicky’s hip with a thumb, smearing the sticky trail. "She looks in a bad way." His gaze drifted past his daughters to the massive screen still displaying Linda’s prone form: a crumpled silhouette against the ruined Persian rug, her cheek pressed into the damp wool, limbs splayed like a discarded marionette. The high-definition lens captured every detail�the slow drip of semen from her gaping cunt, the tear tracks dried on her flushed cheeks, the faint tremors still wracking her exhausted frame. She looked utterly hollowed, a vessel emptied of everything but sensation and spent desire. Rich felt a familiar pang�not pity, but a possessive urgency. *She was his.* He reached into his pocket, fingers closing around the remote. With a decisive click, he severed the live feed just as Linda stirred, her head lifting slightly, bleary eyes blinking against the harsh overhead lights. The screen went black, sparing her the knowledge of the tiny red camera lights winking down from the ceiling moldings�lights that had witnessed every shudder, every tear, every violation.
Rich pushed himself off the couch, the leather sighing beneath him. He paused, looking down at Vicky and Stacey. Vicky’s fingers were still pressed between her thighs, slick with their mingled release. Stacey watched him, her eyes wide and dark, lips parted slightly. "By the way, " Rich said, his tone abruptly casual as he straightened his shirt. He stretched, a deliberate display of nonchalance that felt jarring after the raw intimacy. "Your mother wants to host a big party next week. Friday night." He paused, letting the words hang in the humid air thick with sex and bourbon. Both daughters froze, their expressions shifting from post-coital languor to sharp attention. Rich met their gazes, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. "She wants thirty guys." He let the number resonate, heavy with implication. "And the three of you, " he added, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial rasp, "are supposed to service all of them." He watched the understanding dawn�not shock, but a dawning, hungry comprehension. Vicky’s breath hitched, her fingers unconsciously pressing harder against her clit. Stacey’s hand drifted to her own throat, fingertips tracing the pulse fluttering beneath her skin. Rich savored the moment, the electric charge of anticipation crackling between them. "Blindfolded, " he finished, the word a velvet promise. "Just like she was tonight. Only... bigger."
He turned toward the door leading back to the main den, his movements unhurried. "Oh, " he added, glancing over his shoulder as if recalling a minor detail. "She told me to handle the venue and refreshments." He waved a dismissive hand. "I’ll take care of that." His gaze sharpened, locking onto theirs. "But she was very specific about the guest list." He paused, letting the silence stretch taut. "You two, " he said, his voice hardening slightly, "are to pick the thirty men." Vicky sat up straighter, her damp thighs sticking to the leather. Stacey leaned forward, her robe gaping open. Rich’s smile turned predatory. "She wants your young friends, " he clarified, the emphasis deliberate. "The ones with..." He paused, his eyes sweeping over their bodies, lingering on the flush of arousal still staining their skin. "*Big cocks*, " he enunciated slowly, the vulgarity stark in the quiet room. "And *lots of energy*." He let the words sink in, watching the flush deepen on their cheeks, the subtle shift in their posture�shoulders squaring, spines straightening with purpose. "Her exact words, " Rich murmured, turning fully toward the door. "So start thinking. Names. Faces. Measurements, if you have them." He chuckled softly, a low, dark sound. "Make sure they can handle a long night."
Rich pushed open the heavy oak door, stepping back into the humid den thick with the scent of sex, bourbon, and Linda’s exhaustion. The overhead lights felt harsh after the dimmer den. Linda lay exactly as he’d left her: prone on the ruined Persian rug, a crumpled silhouette against the intricate patterns stained with semen and sweat. Her cheek rested against the damp wool, her breathing shallow and uneven. Tremors still occasionally racked her frame�tiny aftershocks of sensation. Rich crossed the room silently, his footsteps muffled by the thick pile. He knelt beside her, the wool fibers pressing into his knees. For a long moment, he simply looked at her: the elegant curve of her spine, the graceful arc of her hipbone, the way her blonde hair fanned out, sticky and tangled. The drying trails of semen on her inner thighs glistened faintly. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her damp forehead. Her skin felt fever-hot beneath his touch. She stirred faintly, a soft sigh escaping her parted lips, but her eyes remained closed. Rich leaned closer, inhaling the complex musk of her�sex, exertion, salt, and beneath it all, the faint, familiar scent that was uniquely Linda.
"Honey, " Rich murmured, his voice low and rough-edged. He slid a hand beneath her head, cradling it gently, lifting it slightly from the damp rug. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, struggling to open. "Are you OK?" he asked, his thumb tracing the delicate ridge of her cheekbone. Her gaze finally focused on him, bleary and unfocused, swimming with residual tears and utter depletion. She blinked slowly, confusion clouding her expression for a moment before recognition flickered. Her lips moved soundlessly, then formed words thick with exhaustion. "Rich?" she breathed, her voice a cracked whisper. "Where... where did you go?" The question held a childlike vulnerability, stripped bare of her earlier command.
"You were having such a good time with the boys, " Rich replied smoothly, his thumb continuing its gentle path along her cheekbone. He kept his voice soft, reassuring. "I figured I’d give you some privacy." He didn’t mention the cameras silently recording her every gasp and shudder from the ceiling. He didn’t mention slipping into the other den to orchestrate the viewing, or the fact he’d watched Officer Dan and Mike leave, chuckling about how thoroughly they’d wrecked her. He certainly didn’t mention overhearing Dan boast to Mike about how the neighbors, the Johnsons, had taken turns on her last Tuesday afternoon while Rich was golfing, fucking her limp and incoherent against the kitchen island until she couldn’t form words. That knowledge burned in his gut, a possessive thrill mixed with fury he carefully masked. "Didn’t want to crowd you, " he added, his gaze sweeping pointedly over her ravaged body � the bite marks on her breasts, the semen drying on her thighs, the raw redness around her mouth and cunt. "Seemed like you needed the space."
Linda blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy as lead. A tremor ran through her, making her hips shift slightly against the damp rug. She tried to focus on Rich’s face, but her vision swam. "You said you wanted them to make you cum a lot, " Rich murmured, his voice dropping lower, intimate. He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Did they make you happy?" The question hung in the thick air, laden with layers only she could unravel. It wasn’t just about the physical release, the brutal pounding, the fingers stretching her, the mouths sucking her raw. It was about the surrender, the obliteration of self, the dark thrill of being used so completely by men who were supposed to be family. It was about the secret knowledge that her own husband watched it all, *owned* it all, recorded it all. Her lips parted, a dry rasp escaping before words formed. "After a while, " she whispered, her voice thin and frayed, "it seemed like there were more cocks in me." Her brow furrowed slightly, confusion clouding her exhaustion. "I don’t know who it could have been." She paused, her breath hitching. "Maybe I just imagined it." The admission was soft, vulnerable, hinting at the disorienting blur of sensation � Dan’s thick shaft pounding her cervix, Mike’s relentless thrusts choking her throat, the phantom feel of other hands, other mouths, invading her consciousness. Had Rich slipped back in? Had her sons in law called friends? The uncertainty itself was a potent drug.
Rich’s thumb traced the curve of her jaw, his expression unreadable. "You didn’t imagine it, " he stated simply, his voice devoid of surprise or concern. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The implication settled over her like a heavy blanket � more men *had* been there, filling her blindfolded darkness, adding their seed to the mess cooling on her skin and pooling beneath her. He shifted his weight, his arm sliding beneath her shoulders. "Come on, " he murmured, his tone shifting to gentle command. "Let’s get you cleaned up." He began to lift her, his movements careful but firm. Linda gasped softly as her body protested, muscles screaming, joints stiffening. Every inch of her felt bruised, stretched, hollowed out. Rich hauled her upright, her legs buckling instantly. She sagged against him, her head lolling onto his shoulder, her damp hair sticking to his shirt. Her knees refused to lock. "Rich, " she breathed, a tremor of panic threading her exhaustion. "I can’t... stand."
He half-carried, half-dragged her toward the master bathroom, her bare feet scraping limply across the cool marble tiles. The humid scent of sex trailed them, mingling with the cleaner, sterile smell of the bathroom. He guided her to the wide, tiled shower stall, lowering her onto the sturdy plastic shower chair tucked in the corner. Her body slumped into it, boneless and trembling. The hard plastic felt unforgiving against her raw skin. Rich turned on the water, adjusting the spray until it was a warm, heavy rain. Steam began to curl into the air. Linda watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he stripped off his own sticky shirt, tossing it onto the floor. He knelt before her, his hands resting on her splayed knees. "Lean back, " he instructed softly. She obeyed, her spine pressing into the chair’s backrest, her head tilting back against the cool tile wall. The water streamed down, plastering her hair to her scalp, tracing paths through the dried semen, sweat, and saliva coating her body. It felt like a benediction, a slow dissolution of the evening’s filth.
Rich reached for the sleek, black wand resting on the shower shelf � her "special wand, " a high-powered pulsating massager she used for deep muscle aches. Its silicone head was broad, ribbed, and curved. He coated it thickly with her lavender-scented body wash, the gel slicking his fingers. His gaze locked onto hers. "Spread wider, " he murmured, his voice low and intent. Linda instinctively obeyed, her thighs falling open further, exposing the swollen, flushed mess of her cunt, still gaping slightly. The warm water cascaded directly onto her mound, washing away the loosened streaks of white. Rich positioned the thick, vibrating head against her entrance. He didn't rush. He pressed slowly, firmly, feeling her exhausted muscles yield reluctantly around the intrusion. The silicone ridges caught on her tender inner lips as he pushed deeper, inch by deliberate inch, until the entire length was buried inside her, the base nestled against her labia. The vibration kicked in instantly � a deep, penetrating thrum that resonated through her core, making her gasp sharply. It wasn't pleasure; it was a profound, internal massage, agitating the deep ache.
He began to move it. Slow, grinding circles inside her, the ribs massaging her inner walls with relentless pressure. The vibration traveled up her spine, setting her teeth on edge, shaking loose the residual tremors. He angled it upwards, pressing hard against her G-spot � that spongy, abused patch of flesh already bruised from Dan's earlier pounding. A choked sob escaped Linda's throat. It wasn't ecstasy; it was a raw, scraping sensation, pushing her already overloaded nerves towards a painful hypersensitivity. Her hips tried to jerk away instinctively, but Rich held the wand firmly in place, his other hand pressing down on her lower belly, pinning her to the chair. "Shhh, " he breathed, leaning close, his lips brushing her wet temple. "Just let it work. Clean you out." His eyes held hers � not cruel, but utterly focused, watching her face contort as the relentless vibration shook her from the inside out. Tears welled again, mixing with the shower spray.
"I think I'm finished now, " Linda gasped, her voice raw and thin above the drumming water and the wand's insistent buzz. Her fingers scrabbled weakly against Rich's forearm where it pinned her belly. Every nerve felt flayed open, scraped raw by the vibration. The deep ache was lessening, replaced by a hollow, trembling exhaustion so profound it felt like her bones were dissolving. "Please... Rich... stop." The plea was barely audible, swallowed by the steam and the relentless thrumming inside her core. She felt emptied, scoured clean, not just of semen but of the capacity for any further sensation. Her eyelids felt like lead weights.
Rich watched her face, the tears mingling with the shower spray, the slackness of her jaw, the utter vacancy in her eyes. He saw the point of true depletion. With a final, deliberate press against her G-spot that made her whimper, he clicked off the wand. The sudden silence inside her was almost louder than the vibration had been � a blessed, echoing void. He withdrew the silicone shaft slowly, slick with water and her own slickness, leaving her gaping entrance feeling strangely cold and exposed. He rinsed it under the spray, the water running clear, then set it aside. Without a word, he reached for a thick, fluffy towel hanging nearby. He wrapped it around her shoulders first, cocooning her upper body, absorbing the chill that instantly prickled her wet skin. Then, with surprising gentleness, he began to pat her dry � her arms, her collarbones, avoiding her ravaged breasts and thighs for now. The terrycloth rasped softly against her oversensitive skin, a grounding counterpoint to the evening's extremes.
He lifted her from the shower chair. Her body offered no resistance, limp as a doll. Her legs still refused to hold her. Rich carried her the short distance to their massive bed, the cool, crisp Egyptian cotton sheets a stark contrast to the humid bathroom and the sticky rug. He laid her down carefully on her back. Her damp hair fanned out on the pillowcase, dark against the white. She always slept nude; the towel fell away, revealing the map of the night etched onto her skin � the fading bite marks, the faint red abrasions around her wrists and thighs, the deep flush still staining her inner thighs and mound. Rich unfolded the lightweight summer duvet, its pristine surface a silent rebuke to the evening's filth. He draped it over her swiftly, tucking it loosely around her shoulders, covering the evidence. Her eyelids, already heavy, fluttered once, then sank shut. Her breathing deepened almost instantly, shifting from shallow gasps to the slow, rhythmic cadence of profound sleep. The transformation was startlingly complete: from shattered vessel to peaceful sleeper in the space of a breath.
Rich stood motionless at the bedside for a long moment, watching her. The soft glow of the bedside lamp caught the silver in her hair, the faint lines around her eyes smoothed by exhaustion. She looked younger, vulnerable. The sheer stillness of her was unnerving after the hours of convulsive movement and choked cries. He listened to her breathe, a steady, reassuring sound in the quiet room. The scent of lavender body wash lingered faintly, overlaying the deeper, muskier traces of sex that clung stubbornly to the humid air. He turned away, leaving the lamp on low. She hated waking in total darkness.
He padded silently back to the den, the cool marble tiles soothing against his bare feet. The room still smelled thickly of bourbon, sweat, and Linda's arousal�a pungent reminder of the evening's orchestrated chaos. He poured three fingers of Knob Creek into a crystal tumbler, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he swirled it absently. Ice would dilute it. He wanted the burn tonight. Settling into his leather command chair, he faced the bank of monitors embedded in the mahogany console. With a few precise taps, the screens flickered to life, displaying multiple angles from the hidden ceiling cameras. He rewound to the beginning.
The playback showed Linda kneeling blindfolded on the rug, flanked by Dan and Mike�his sons-in-law, their faces tight with nervous hunger. But then, the front door eased open silently. Rich leaned forward, squinting. *Ah, yes.* The Johnsons�Bill and Ted from next door�slipped in, drawn by Dan's hushed phone call earlier. They moved with practiced stealth, shedding jackets and shirts as they approached Linda's oblivious form. Bill knelt behind her, replacing Mike's cock buried in her ass with his own thicker shaft, pushing in slowly as Linda gasped, her back arching sharply. Ted slid onto the rug facing her, guiding her mouth onto his erection while Mike shifted position, pressing his cock back into her dripping cunt alongside Bill's. Four men now, filling her simultaneously�mouth, cunt, ass�each thrust a counterpoint to the others. Linda's body became a taut bowstring, vibrating with overloaded sensation. Her choked screams were muffled around Ted's cock, her hips jerking helplessly as Bill hammered her asshole and Mike pistoned her pussy. The neighbors grinned, sweat gleaming on their faces, hands roaming her breasts and thighs, adding to the frenzy. She came like that�violently, silently except for the wet slap of flesh and the guttural groans of the men�her body seizing in a continuous, shuddering wave until she went limp, held upright only by their relentless grip.
Rich fast-forwarded, stopping at the moment Linda lay spent and trembling after the neighbors finally pulled out, leaving her gaping and glistening. Dan and Mike moved back in, their faces slack with awe and renewed lust. Dan knelt between her legs, burying his face in her ravaged cunt, licking up the mingled streams of seed with desperate, hungry swipes. Mike straddled her chest, feeding his semi-hard cock back into her slack mouth, groaning as she instinctively hollowed her cheeks around him. Rich zoomed in on Linda's face�her blindfold askew, revealing one unfocused eye staring blankly at the ceiling, tears carving paths through the sweat on her temples. Her lips moved weakly around Mike's shaft, a silent, rhythmic suckling even in utter depletion. Dan's tongue worked deeper, probing her stretched entrance, lapping at the mess left by Bill and Ted, his fingers spreading her wider, seeking every drop. Her hips gave a feeble twitch against his mouth, a ghost of response. The raw intimacy of it�their devotion to her used body, their hunger for the taste of other men inside her�tightened Rich's chest. He sipped his bourbon, the smoky heat mirroring the possessive fire in his gut.
Rich counted 9 overwhelming orgasms during the time she was being done an quite a few smaller ones. No wonder she felt so used. she'd been ravaged by 4 middle aged men and two young ones. She's been used and fucked silly and discarded on the living room floor in a puddle of cum. It wasn't her worst night but pretty close.
She did say that she wanted them to make her cum lots and that did happen so she doesn't have anything to say about that. She never said it just had to be the two of them.
Rich sat there, finishing his drink and thought back to the girls. He should have paid more attentiion to Stacey but then Vicky did kind of monopolize his time by sitting on his cock. He could never tell Linda of her learning the pussy muscle trick she was so proud of.
Vicky had done him befoe. Linda was proud of a video she had of the two of them doing him.
Maybe in the future he'll tell her, or maybe not.