The scent of gardenias clung to Linda's wrists as she traced the familiar grooves of her husbands wedding band, sliding it onto the wrong finger in the dimness before the blindfold group session. "Another anonymous soul tonight, darling?" Rich murmured, his voice thick with manufactured innocence from the doorway. Linda’s laugh was breathless, nervous excitement thrumming beneath her skin as the black silk settled over her eyes. "You know the rules, Rich. No names, no faces... just touch." She didn’t see the predatory gleam in his eyes as he guided her toward the waiting darkness of the converted sunroom, where eight silent, broad-shouldered shapes already sat expectant on the plush floor cushions.
Heat bloomed low in Linda’s belly as unfamiliar hands�rough, calloused�skimmed the dip of her waist, followed by softer, almost reverent palms cupping her jawline. She gasped as someone’s thumb brushed her lower lip, the salt-taste of skin lingering as she instinctively turned her head toward the touch. "So responsive, " a gravelly voice chuckled near her ear, sending shivers down her spine. Another pair of hands, cool and precise, mapped the arch of her foot, kneading the tendon with expert pressure that made her toes curl against velvet. She arched into the touch, the anonymity stripping away her usual reserve, leaving only raw sensation�the scrape of stubble against her inner thigh, the sudden, wet heat of a tongue tracing her collarbone. She moaned, lost in the symphony of anonymous worship.
The hands multiplied, guiding her backward onto yielding carpet. Strong fingers tangled in her blonde hair, pulling gently, exposing the vulnerable line of her throat just as another mouth descended, sucking hard enough to bloom a bruise beneath the silk blindfold. Her legs were parted, not roughly, but with a certainty that brooked no resistance. Cool air kissed her wetness, followed instantly by the humid warmth of breath, then the devastatingly soft press of lips against her inner thigh. She cried out, hips lifting off the carpet, seeking friction, seeking *more*. "Please, " she whispered, the word swallowed by the darkness and the hungry silence surrounding her.
Then came the head � firm, unmistakable � pressing against her entrance. She gasped, her legs instinctively wrapping around broad shoulders, heels digging into solid muscle. The man buried his face deeper, his tongue a relentless, swirling pressure against her clit as his thumbs held her open. Sensation detonated � sharp, electric jolts radiating from her core, coiling tight low in her belly. Her fingers scrabbled against the carpet, finding purchase in the thick pile as wave after wave of raw, shuddering pleasure tore through her. She arched violently, a choked scream escaping her lips, her hair fanning wildly around her head like spilled gold.
That night had been the first time Linda serviced her sons-in-law. Jake and Mark, their wives Stacey and Vicky asleep at their respective homes, had been two of the anonymous shapes worshipping her blindfolded body. Afterwards, the boys worked on their wives. Subtly at first. Jake would trace Stacey’s collarbone, whispering how beautiful she was, how other men must fantasize about her touch. Mark, quieter, would watch Vicky across the dinner table, his gaze lingering on her lips until she squirmed. "Imagine, " Jake breathed into Stacey’s ear one night, fingers dipping beneath her waistband, "if you were blindfolded... just feeling hands, mouths... strangers wanting only you." The husbands were addicted. They’d watch Stacey laugh, Vicky bend over, and see not their wives, but fantasies � Stacey riding some faceless cock, Vicky’s lips stretched obscenely around another man’s shaft. The hunger in their eyes became a palpable thing, thick and urgent.
Now, Stacey’s fingers trembled slightly as she traced the curve of her own breast through the thin silk of her camisole. Beside her, Vicky mirrored the gesture, her breath catching audibly in the quiet bedroom. The air felt thick, charged with the unspoken tension that had been building since their husbands started planting those seeds. "Think, " Stacey whispered, her voice husky, barely audible. Her thumb brushed over her hardened nipple, making her gasp softly. "Think how incredible it would feel... if we had just one friend here. Right now." Her gaze locked with Vicky’s, wide and vulnerable. "Someone to help us."
Vicky’s hand slid lower, fingertips grazing her own stomach, then dipping beneath the waistband of her pajamas. Her eyelids fluttered shut. "One sucking here, " she murmured, pinching her nipple through the silk, a sharp jolt of pleasure tightening her core. "The other..." Her other hand slipped lower, pressing against the damp heat between her legs. "Massaging me here..." Her hips lifted off the mattress involuntarily. "While the first one..." Her voice dropped to a ragged whisper. "...finger fucked me deep." Her own finger slid inside herself with a choked moan. "You’d be screaming."
Stacey watched, mesmerized, as Vicky’s body arched, her breathing turning shallow and rapid. The image bloomed in Stacey’s mind: not anonymous hands, but Vicky’s mouth, hot and insistent on her nipple, Vicky’s clever fingers circling her clit while another hand�strong, demanding�plunged deep inside her. The fantasy was visceral. She could almost feel the slick drag of fingers curling against her inner walls, the simultaneous suction on her breast pulling a low whine from her throat. Her own hand mirrored Vicky’s, sliding beneath her camisole to cup her aching breast, thumb rubbing the stiff peak through the dampening silk.
"We could, " Stacey breathed, the words thick with shared hunger. Her gaze locked onto Vicky’s flushed face. "Just one friend each. Tonight. With our husbands." The idea shimmered between them, dangerous and electric. "Just... just to see how it feels." Her voice cracked on the last word, imagining Jake’s broad hands guiding Vicky’s hips onto him, Mark’s intense gaze watching Stacey’s lips stretch around him. The thought sent a fresh pulse of wetness soaking through her pajama bottoms.
The husbands arrived home to an unnerving stillness. Dinner was silent, forks scraping plates, tension coiling tight in the air like a loaded spring. Finally, Stacey cleared her throat, her knuckles white where they gripped her wineglass. "We talked, " she began, avoiding Jake’s probing stare. Vicky picked up the thread, her voice unnervingly steady. "We want... an extra friend. Tonight." She paused, letting the implication hang heavy. "You." Her finger pointed at Jake. "For me." Then she gestured at Mark. "And you. For Stacey." Jake choked on his water. Mark froze, a forkful of pasta halfway to his open mouth. "If it works, " Stacey added quickly, her cheeks burning, "maybe... maybe your friends next time." The silence stretched, thick with disbelief and burgeoning, forbidden excitement. Jake’s slow, predatory grin was answer enough.
Later, in Stacey’s dimly lit bedroom, the air hummed with nervous electricity. They sat perched on the edge of the vast king-sized bed � Stacey, Jake, Vicky, Mark � arranged boy-girl, boy-girl. Stacey’s gaze darted to Mark’s hands, imagining them rough on her skin instead of Jake’s familiar touch. Beside her, Vicky trembled almost imperceptibly, her eyes fixed on Jake’s broad shoulders. Each wife burned with the same visceral fantasy: feeling the other’s husband bury his face between her thighs, tasting her desperation, then filling her with a hard, possessive thrust that belonged to someone else’s marriage bed. The preliminaries were crucial. Both women possessed Linda’s legacy � nipples wired directly to their cores, hypersensitive ignition points.
Vicky’s breath hitched. Her fingers fumbled uselessly at the clasp of her silk camisole, trembling too hard. Frustration flashed across her face, sharp and primal. With a sudden, violent jerk, she ripped the delicate fabric apart. Buttons pinged against the wall like tiny gunshots. In one fluid motion, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her lace panties and shoved them down her thighs, kicking them off. The cool air kissed her bare skin as she fell backward onto the mattress, legs splayed wide. Her dark curls glistened visibly in the low light. "Eat me till I cum!" she commanded Jake, her voice raw, trembling with need. Her chest heaved, flushed skin gleaming.
Stacey did the same. Her gaze snapped to Mark � Vicky’s husband � his eyes already locked onto hers, dark and hungry. A jolt of pure, electric anticipation shot through her core. "Me too!" she screamed, the sound ragged and desperate. Her own camisole tore easily under frantic hands, the silk fluttering to the floor. She clawed at her panties, yanking them down past her knees, exposing herself completely as she scrambled backwards onto the bed beside Vicky. Her blonde hair fanned out against the dark sheets, her body arching instinctively towards Mark. The scent of her own arousal, sharp and musky, filled her nostrils. "Now! Please!" Her plea was a gasp, her hips lifting off the mattress, seeking the heat of his mouth.
As the two husbands started without any preliminaries, the girls reached over and played with each other's nipples. Stacey’s fingers found Vicky’s left nipple first � a hard, pebbled bead against her palm. She rolled it roughly between thumb and forefinger, eliciting a sharp gasp from Vicky that turned into a choked moan as Jake’s tongue stabbed deep into her wet folds. Simultaneously, Vicky’s hand clamped onto Stacey’s right breast, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh before pinching the stiff peak hard. Stacey cried out, the sharp pain-pleasure radiating straight to her clit, amplified by the sudden, wet heat of Mark’s mouth engulfing her entire sex. His tongue was broad, flat, and relentless, lapping at her swollen lips before zeroing in on her throbbing nub with devastating precision.
Unknown to the sisters writhing on the bed, their husbands had perfected this exact strategy on Linda just forty-eight hours prior. Jake remembered Linda’s back arching violently off the carpet, her blonde hair tangled in his fist as he’d sucked her clit with the same brutal rhythm he used now on Vicky. Mark recalled the precise angle Linda’s hips had lifted, the choked scream she’d made when he’d plunged two fingers deep inside her while Jake worked her nipples � a scream echoed perfectly now by Stacey as Vicky twisted her nipple cruelly while Mark’s tongue flickered over her exposed clit. The husbands exchanged a fleeting, predatory glance over the trembling bodies of their wives. The same moves. The same desperate, bucking hips. The same choked pleas for more. Linda had been their training ground, her hypersensitive body the blueprint for demolishing her daughters.
Now Jake’s mouth sealed over Vicky’s clit, sucking hard enough to pull a ragged scream from her throat as his fingers � thick, calloused from construction work � plunged into her slick heat. Three fingers, knuckle-deep, spreading her wide before curling ruthlessly upward. Simultaneously, Mark mirrored the assault on Stacey, his tongue a relentless, swirling pressure against her swollen bud while his own three fingers drove deep inside her trembling body, seeking that hidden ridge Linda had taught them to find. The sisters’ bodies locked rigid, twin arches of agony and ecstasy, their cries mingling into a single, desperate sound. But Mark’s did I say that?* He didn’t move. His fingers pistoned faster inside Stacey, curling expertly, finding the spongy spot Linda swore made her see stars. Stacey’s scream shattered into wordless sobs, her hips jerking wildly against his face.
Vicky’s world dissolved into pure sensation: Jake’s teeth grazing her clit as he sucked, the brutal stretch of his fingers filling her impossibly full, and Stacey’s fingernails digging into her nipple, twisting it with savage precision. The combined assault ignited a firestorm deep in her belly, coiling tighter and tighter until it felt like her spine would snap. Beside her, Stacey choked on Mark’s name, her body convulsing as his tongue fluttered against her clit with inhuman speed while his fingers hammered that same devastating spot inside her. The sisters’ eyes met, wide and terrified, drowning in identical waves of overwhelming pleasure-pain. They saw their own frantic desperation mirrored, felt the shared rhythm of violation hammered into them by husbands who moved like choreographed predators. Recognition flickered � *this rhythm... Mom screamed like this...* � just as the twin detonations hit.
Both girls exploded in orgasm, shaking the bed as they came apart mentally, drawn in by the other's husband. Vicky’s scream tore through the room, raw and guttural, her hips lifting violently off the mattress, grinding against Jake’s relentless mouth as her inner walls clamped down spasmodically on his invading fingers. Simultaneously, Stacey bucked wildly, her back arching off the sheets, a high-pitched wail escaping her as Mark’s tongue pinned her clit and his fingers curled hard inside her pulsing depths. Their bodies locked in rigid ecstasy, trembling uncontrollably, slick thighs pressed together, fingers still tangled in each other’s tortured nipples. The shared climax wasn’t just physical; it was a shattering of boundaries, a visceral understanding that their husbands weren't loving partners in this moment, but skilled technicians wielding borrowed knowledge against hypersensitive flesh.
As the aftershocks trembled through them, Jake pulled his glistening fingers from Vicky’s dripping core, a thick strand of her wetness clinging obscenely between them. Mark lifted his mouth from Stacey’s swollen sex, leaving her clit throbbing and exposed. Without a word, both men moved. Jake’s rough hands grabbed Vicky’s hips, hauling her trembling body towards the headboard. Mark mirrored the motion, dragging Stacey’s limp form beside her sister. The girls gasped, legs instinctively closing, but strong hands forced them apart again, exposing their flushed, glistening slits. The husbands knelt between their wives’ splayed thighs, rock-hard cocks jutting thick and urgent. Jake’s gaze burned into Stacey’s wetness; Mark’s intense stare devoured Vicky’s glistening folds. A silent, predatory understanding passed between them. *Now.* As one, they surged forward.
The invasion was brutal, immediate. Jake’s thick cockhead slammed against Stacey’s tight entrance, forcing its way past resisting muscles in one relentless thrust. Simultaneously, Mark drove himself deep into Vicky’s slick channel, burying himself to the hilt. Twin screams ripped through the bedroom � sharp, shocked cries of violation. Stacey’s eyes flew wide, locking onto Jake’s face above her, his jaw clenched with effort. *Not Mark. Jake. My husband... inside me... wrong.* The sheer, stretching fullness was overwhelming, different from Mark’s fingers � hotter, harder, claiming. Beside her, Vicky whimpered, her nails digging into Mark’s forearm as he held her hips pinned, his unfamiliar thickness stretching her unbearably. "Oh God... Jake?" Vicky gasped, confused, staring up at Mark’s intense, unfamiliar eyes. *Not my husband.* The violation wasn’t just physical; it was the jarring dissonance of another man’s possession, deep and undeniable.
The new pussy felt wonderful, tighter than Linda's, more virgin. Jake groaned, low and guttural, as Stacey’s inner walls clenched around him like a velvet fist. "Christ, Stace... you’re fucking *tight*, " he rasped, his hips grinding forward, savoring the exquisite resistance. She felt impossibly snug, untouched depths yielding only reluctantly to his invasion, a stark contrast to Linda’s practiced ease. Beside him, Mark hissed through clenched teeth, his gaze locked on Vicky’s flushed face. "Like a virgin, " he breathed, awed by the fierce, wet grip of Vicky’s body. Her slick heat enveloped him, pulsing with involuntary tremors, clinging tighter than Linda ever had. Each girl screamed again � ragged, breathless sounds � as their husbands began to move. Slow, deliberate withdrawals followed by deep, grinding returns, stretching them wider with each thrust, filling them with the undeniable reality of the other man’s cock.
Their young bodies moved incredibly fast, fucking hard and deep, bringing out the animal in each girl. Jake pistoned into Stacey with savage, jackhammer thrusts, the slap of flesh echoing off the walls. Each brutal plunge drove her hips deeper into the mattress, her blonde hair whipping wildly. Beside her, Vicky bucked violently against Mark’s relentless pounding, her dark curls plastered to her sweat-slicked forehead. Gone was the tentative exploration; this was raw, primal claiming. Stacey’s fingernails raked bloody trails down Jake’s back, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as he hammered her cervix. Vicky clawed at Mark’s ass, pulling him deeper with each desperate yank, her cries dissolving into guttural grunts. The bed frame groaned in protest, a rhythmic counterpoint to the wet, slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh. Animalistic hunger consumed them � husbands driven by possessive fury, wives surrendering to the brutal, unfamiliar friction igniting fresh fire in their cores.
Jake locked eyes with Mark over Stacey’s heaving chest. A silent, predatory signal passed between them � a shared memory of Linda’s shuddering climax under their synchronized assault. On the next inward thrust, Jake slowed fractionally, grinding deep into Stacey’s tightness, feeling her inner muscles flutter wildly around him. Simultaneously, Mark angled his hips sharply upward, driving the thick crown of his cock directly against Vicky’s G-spot with bruising force. Both sisters gasped, backs arching off the bed in perfect, agonized unison. Jake’s hand snaked down Stacey’s sweat-slicked belly, finding her swollen clit. Mark mirrored the move, his calloused thumb pressing hard circles against Vicky’s throbbing nub. The rhythm intensified � deep, grinding thrusts timed perfectly with ruthless, focused pressure on their hypersensitive buds. Stacey’s vision blurred; Vicky’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Resistance dissolved under the onslaught, replaced by a terrifying inevitability.
Stacey’s hips snapped upward, meeting Jake’s next thrust with desperate force. Her inner walls clenched, not in rejection, but in savage, involuntary greed, milking the unfamiliar thickness invading her. Beside her, Vicky’s legs locked around Mark’s waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him impossibly deeper with a ragged sob. The strange cocks � harder, thicker, driven by different rhythms � ignited a wildfire neither sister had known existed. Jake’s scent filled Stacey’s nostrils � sawdust and sweat, alien yet intoxicating � as he pistoned into her. Mark’s low groan vibrated through Vicky’s core, a sound utterly unlike Jake’s familiar grunts. This wasn’t love; it was raw, animalistic *need*, and the forbidden thrill of being claimed by another’s husband shattered their last inhibitions. Their bodies moved with primal urgency, hips rolling, grinding, rising to meet every powerful stroke, chasing the searing friction that promised oblivion.
Tomorrow, they’d be home. Alone. But the thought bloomed, vivid and intoxicating: Stacey sprawled on her own bed, not one, but *two* extra friends kneeling between her legs. The first man’s mouth, hot and demanding, would latch onto her left nipple, sucking hard enough to pull a gasp from her throat while his fingers teased her slick entrance. The second friend would take her right nipple, his tongue swirling the stiff peak, sending electric jolts straight to her core. And the third? Oh god, the third would be buried deep between her thighs, his tongue a relentless, swirling pressure on her clit, or maybe his cock already stretching her wide, filling her while the mouths on her nipples kept her pinned in exquisite torment. The sheer *volume* of sensation, the overwhelming focus on every hypersensitive inch of her skin, promised a heaven Linda had only hinted at.
Beside her, Vicky’s fantasy unfolded with feverish intensity. She saw herself bent over the kitchen island, the cool granite biting her palms. Behind her, not one, but *two* extra friends taking turns. One would plunge deep, his cock stretching her impossibly full with each thrust, while the other waited, his thick tip teasing her stretched entrance, slick with her wetness and his friend’s precum. The anticipation, the *sharing*, the feeling of being utterly used and filled beyond capacity � it sent a fresh pulse of heat soaking through her pajamas. And maybe, just maybe, a third friend kneeling before her, his mouth capturing her cries as he devoured her clit, his fingers joining the rhythm inside her. The image was pure, forbidden fuel.
As both sisters envisioned this shared, impossible dream, their bodies betrayed them. Stacey’s inner walls clenched around Jake’s invading cock with a sudden, violent spasm, a phantom echo of the imagined triple penetration. Simultaneously, Vicky’s hips bucked wildly against Mark’s relentless thrusts, her core tightening in a mimicry of the fantasy’s overwhelming fullness. It was a shared hallucination, vivid and visceral. They felt it � the imagined eruption of not one, but multiple strangers, thick ropes of strange, forbidden seed exploding deep inside their most intimate places. The sensation wasn't real, yet it triggered a cascade of raw, involuntary pleasure. Stacey gasped, her back arching off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as the phantom cum seemed to flood her womb, hot and claiming. Vicky whimpered, her fingernails digging into Mark’s back, her body convulsing as if filled by an alien tide.
The imagined violation � the sensation of being utterly claimed and filled by unfamiliar essence � detonated their climaxes. Stacey came first, a ragged scream tearing from her throat as her body locked rigid. Her inner muscles milked Jake’s cock with desperate, rhythmic pulses, mistaking the brutal friction of her sister's husband for the imagined strangers. The phantom feeling of strange cum shooting deep inside her, a violation both terrifying and electrifying, pushed her over the edge into a shattering orgasm that blurred her vision. Beside her, Vicky followed instantly, her climax ripped from her by the same shared delusion. She felt the imagined seed, thick and hot, jetting against her cervix, and the sheer taboo of it, the utter surrender to being used and filled by unknown men, sent her spiraling. Her body clenched around Mark’s shaft, her cry merging with Stacey’s into a single, desperate wail of release.
The two men followed suit immediately. Jake’s hips slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt in Stacey’s convulsing channel. A guttural groan ripped from his chest as his cock pulsed, thick ropes of his seed erupting deep into his sister-in-law’s womb. Simultaneously, Mark’s rhythm faltered, then stuttered into stillness as he drove deep into Vicky. His own release surged, a hot flood jetting against her inner walls, marking her with the tangible proof of their first true taboo � spilling their essence into each other’s wives. The sensation of being filled by another man’s seed, the unfamiliar heat and weight of it, sent fresh tremors through both girls, their bodies instinctively milking every last drop from the wrong husbands.
In the heavy silence that followed, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the slick sound of withdrawal, the transformation began. Stacey felt Jake’s seed leaking from her, warm and alien down her inner thigh. The sensation wasn’t repulsive; it was a brand. Her gaze drifted past Jake’s heaving shoulder to Mark, still kneeling between Vicky’s splayed legs. She imagined the taste of him � salt and musk and Vicky’s arousal � thick on her tongue. Her own mouth watered. Beside her, Vicky watched Jake’s softening cock glisten in the low light, a bead of his cum clinging to the tip. A raw, visceral hunger ignited low in her belly, a craving not for Mark, but for the next unfamiliar hardness, the next unknown flavor. The shared seed inside them wasn’t an end; it was the catalyst. Their hypersensitive bodies, already primed by Linda’s legacy, now screamed for *more* � more mouths, more hands, more *strangers*.
Stacey’s fingers, still trembling, traced the cooling trail on her thigh. She imagined kneeling before Vicky’s husband, not as a wife, but as a supplicant. The rough texture of Mark’s shaft against her lips, the heady scent of Vicky’s arousal mingling with his musk as she took him deep, using her tongue to coax him rigid again. She’d suck him not just to hardness, but to readiness � a slick, throbbing tool primed to plunge back into her sister’s glistening depths, or perhaps, this time, into *hers*. The thought sent a fresh pulse of wetness between her own legs, mingling with Jake’s spend. Simultaneously, Vicky envisioned Jake rising before her, his cock thick and demanding. She’d lean forward, not hesitating, her lips parting to envelop him, swirling her tongue around the crown to gather the remnants of Stacey’s essence before taking him fully. Sucking him wouldn’t be service; it would be *preparation*, a sacred act to ensure his cock was slick, hard, and perfectly positioned to breach her own aching entrance once more.
The shared seed inside them wasn't just a mark; it was fuel. Stacey craved the weight of another man’s cock on her tongue while a third filled her cunt � the dual invasion, the impossible fullness. She pictured kneeling, her mouth stretched wide around one thick shaft, her head bobbing frantically as salty precum coated her throat, while behind her, a second man’s hands gripped her hips, his cock driving into her wetness with brutal efficiency. Above her, a third would stand, his heavy balls brushing her chin, waiting his turn to stuff her mouth or her sister’s. The symphony of grunts, the slap of flesh, the overwhelming *sensation* of being nothing but a vessel for their release � it made her clench around nothing, a phantom stretch echoing inside her. Vicky’s fantasy mirrored it: bent over, taking one cock deep in her pussy, her back arching to accept the thrusts, while another man fed his length into her hungry mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair to control her rhythm. The third would watch, stroking himself, ready to paint her face or flood her sister’s throat when the moment came.
It was settled. Tomorrow, each girl would be at their own home, waiting. Stacey imagined the doorbell ringing, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stood naked in her foyer, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. Three shadows would fill the doorway � Jake’s friends from the construction site, perhaps, smelling of sweat and sawdust. No words, just hungry eyes stripping her bare. She’d lead them to the living room rug, her knees hitting the plush pile before they’d even closed the door. The first man’s rough hands would haul her up, spin her, and shove her face-first onto the couch, his calloused fingers spreading her cheeks wide. She’d feel the blunt, insistent pressure of a cockhead against her tight back entrance, the sting of intrusion as he forced his way in, stretching her impossibly while another knelt before her, his thick shaft sliding past her lips, filling her mouth until she gagged on his musky taste. The third would stand over her, his heavy balls resting on her nape as he guided himself toward her dripping cunt, the triple penetration complete. Her body would be a map of their desire, every hole claimed, her senses obliterated by the sheer, brutal occupancy.
Vicky craved the carpet. Specifically, the thick, cream-colored Berber in her own living room. She pictured herself on all fours, trembling, as Mark’s friends filed in � the quiet accountant, the loud-mouthed mechanic, the college kid who always stared. They’d circle her like wolves, their zippers the only sound. Then, the assault: one man grabbing her hair, yanking her head back to force his cock down her throat, the salty tang of precum hitting her tongue. Another would kneel behind her, his hands gripping her hips, his cock slamming into her pussy with a wet slap that echoed, each thrust jolting her forward onto the invading shaft in her mouth. The third would watch, stroking himself, before stepping close, the head of his cock bumping against her cheek, demanding entry. She’d turn her head, open wide, taking him deep, her throat working around the thick intrusion, drool and tears mixing as she choked. They’d use her relentlessly, switching holes without ceremony, filling her mouth, her cunt, maybe even her ass, their grunts and the wet sounds of her body the only soundtrack. Cum would leak from her, dripping onto the carpet beneath her knees, a sticky, glistening puddle marking her submission.
The vision consumed her. Vicky spent hours preparing. The shower scalded her skin pink, steam curling around her as she meticulously shaved herself completely smooth, the razor gliding over the delicate swell of her mons, leaving nothing but slick, vulnerable skin. She blow-dried her dark hair until it fell in a sleek curtain, applied smoky eyeshadow that made her gaze look bruised and hungry, painted her lips a deep, sinful red. Standing naked before the full-length mirror, she cataloged her offerings: long, toned legs that tapered to delicate ankles, hips that flared invitingly, a stomach flat and taut above the shaved, plump mound of her sex. Her breasts, full and high, crowned with nipples already stiff and aching, pebbled dark against her pale skin, reacting to the mere thought of the violation to come. Every inch was primed, polished, presented. She wanted them to see her like this � a feast laid bare. She wanted them to use every part.
Her last preparation was laying a brightly colored quilt in the middle of the living room carpet. The patchwork of vibrant blues, reds, and yellows seemed jarringly cheerful against the beige Berber, a domestic island in the sterile room. She smoothed it meticulously, ensuring no wrinkles marred its surface. Beside where her head would rest, she placed a bottle of baby oil, the plastic cool and smooth under her fingertips. Its innocent scent � a faint, powdery sweetness � felt like a perverse counterpoint to the raw acts she craved. The oil was for her skin; it was a lubricant for their hands, their cocks, a tool to ease their brutal entry, to make her body slick and yielding, a silent invitation to defile her without restraint. The quilt would soak up the evidence � sweat, spit, her slickness, their seed � a tangible testament to her surrender.
The sharp, electronic *beep* of her phone sliced through the quiet intensity of her preparations. Vicky flinched, her hand hovering over the baby oil bottle. She glanced at the screen where it lay face-down on the coffee table, its glow faintly visible around the edges. It was Jake. Her husband. A flicker of annoyance, sharp and cold, pricked her concentration. *Later*, she dismissed it with a mental wave, her focus snapping back to the quilt, the oil, the phantom weight of men pressing her down. She needed this space, this ritual, undisturbed. Whatever Jake wanted � probably some mundane detail about the family gathering they were supposed to attend later � could wait. Her entire being was coiled tight, thrumming with the anticipation of violation, the fantasy of three strangers reducing her to a gasping, leaking vessel on this very quilt. Jake’s reality felt like an intrusion, a buzzing fly to be swatted away. She deliberately turned her back on the phone, the unread message a forgotten speck in the vast landscape of her hunger. She didn’t see the words: *"Running late. Traffic nightmare. Be home in 2 hours."* Two hours. An eternity. Time enough.
It was almost time. Vicky walked to the front door, the cool wood smooth beneath her palm. The lock clicked open with a satisfying finality. She didn’t leave it ajar; she left it unlocked, an open invitation hanging heavy in the still air. Turning, she crossed the room with deliberate steps, the plush carpet yielding silently under her bare feet. She lowered herself onto the center of the vibrant quilt, the fabric cool against her heated skin. At the last minute, a vivid image flashed: her mother Linda, blindfolded, head thrown back in ecstasy, utterly surrendered to sensation. *That’s the key, * Vicky thought, a shiver of excitement running through her. She scrambled up, padding quickly to the nightstand drawer in the adjoining bedroom. Her fingers closed around the familiar softness of her black satin sleep mask. Back on the quilt, she pulled it over her eyes, the world plunging into velvety darkness. Instantly, her other senses sharpened. The faint scent of the baby oil bottle beside her head, the texture of the quilt beneath her thighs. She reached for the bottle, the plastic cool and yielding. Squeezing a generous dollop into her palm, she began.
The oil was cool at first, a shock against her warm skin. She slathered it on her body, starting at her ankles. The glide was smooth, almost frictionless, as her slick palms slid upwards over the curve of her calves, the dip behind her knees. She worked it over her hips, the generous swell feeling pliant and alive under her touch. Then her groin, a generous amount massaged into the smooth skin of her mons, fingers tracing the outer lips of her pussy, already slick with anticipation. She coated her stomach, the oil catching the low light filtering through the mask, making her skin gleam. Finally, she lavished attention on her breasts, palms circling the full mounds, thumbs brushing over her stiff, aching nipples, sending jolts straight to her core. She coated the column of her neck, the oil cool and decadent. She felt like a glistening offering laid bare on the quilt. In the enveloping dark, she consciously adopted her mother’s technique: *Just feel, don’t see.* She focused on the cool air kissing her oiled skin, the faint thrum of her own pulse, the deep, hungry ache between her legs. She imagined the hands, the tongues, the cocks that would soon be on her, inside her. She laid back, sinking into the quilt, her knees bending and spreading wide, exposing her completely bald pussy to the empty room, to whoever would walk through the unlocked door. A tremor ran through her, part nerves, part raw, unadulterated need.
Outside, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns. Two college kids, barely twenty, shuffled awkwardly near the curb. "Seriously, Brad, just knock, " the taller one, Ethan, muttered, nudging his friend. "Dad needs that rake." Brad, the lead boy, ran a hand through his messy hair, his gaze fixed on Vicky's front door. "Yeah, yeah, the rake..." he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Just... maybe we get lucky and she answers. You seen her lately? Those yoga pants..." His voice trailed off dreamily. As they started up the walk, a couple of other guys from the block, drawn by the spectacle of Brad and Ethan actually approaching the 'hot wife's' house, drifted over. "What's up?" one called. "Need a rake, " Brad replied, his voice gaining a little confidence. "From Mrs. V." The name 'Vicky' passed between them like a secret. More guys materialized � neighbors, friends passing by on bikes, lured by the gathering group. By the time they reached the porch, there were fifteen young men, a loose knot of restless energy, joking loudly, shoving each other playfully, the pretense of the rake almost forgotten. They stopped at the door, a sudden hush falling over the group as Brad turned, putting a finger to his lips. "Shhh! Seriously, guys, shut up, " he hissed, his own voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Maybe... maybe she's home. Maybe we see her." He raised his hand, knuckles poised inches from the wood, the afternoon air thick with adolescent anticipation.
Brad knocked � three sharp, hesitant raps. A faint, breathy voice drifted through the door, muffled but unmistakably feminine: "Come in... I've been waiting for you." The words hung in the air, charged and unexpected. Brad froze, mid-stride, his hand still hovering near the doorknob. Ethan, peering over his shoulder, went rigid. The playful shoving stopped instantly. A collective intake of breath sucked the noise from the porch. Brad turned the knob slowly, the click echoing loudly in the sudden silence. They pushed the door open just enough to see inside. The sight stopped them cold. Vicky lay sprawled on a vibrant patchwork quilt in the center of the living room floor, limbs wide open, her body gleaming under a thick sheen of baby oil that caught the low light filtering through the blinds. Every curve, every dip, every inch of her smooth, shaved skin glistened � a surreal, oiled sculpture of surrender. Not a sound was made, not a cough, not a shuffle of feet, as the entire group, drawn by a primal magnetism, filed silently into the room. They gathered around her in a loose, awestruck circle, their earlier bravado evaporated, replaced by wide-eyed, slack-jawed wonder. They just looked. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the faint, rapid click of phone cameras being activated. Brad pulled his out first, then Ethan, then others, the screens glowing like cold fireflies in the dim room as they started silently shooting video of the oiled, naked body displayed before them � a forbidden feast suddenly laid bare.
As they stood there, Vicky commanded them. Her voice, low and thick with impatience, sliced through the stunned silence. "Are you just going to stand there looking?" Her oiled body shifted slightly on the quilt, a subtle ripple of muscle beneath gleaming skin. "You're supposed to play with me, fuck me." The crude words, spoken with such raw, unashamed need, hung in the air like a dare. "I've been waiting all day for some cock." She tilted her head back, the black satin mask hiding her eyes but exposing the vulnerable line of her throat, glistening with oil. "Well? What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Get over here. Touch me. Taste me. Use me." Her demand wasn't a plea; it was a challenge, a queen commanding her subjects to service her. The scent of baby oil mixed with the sharp, musky tang of her arousal filled the air, an intoxicating perfume that pulled at them. "Don't just film it, " she added, a sharp edge entering her voice. "Live it. Put the damn phones down and *do* something." Her oil-slicked hand slid down her stomach, fingers parting her glistening folds, offering herself to the circle of silent, staring men. "This isn't a show. It's a buffet. And I'm starving."
The crude invitation shattered the paralysis. A low murmur, a collective release of pent-up breath, swept through the group. Two figures detached themselves from the awestruck circle almost instantly � Brad and Ethan, the college boys who'd come for the rake, their adolescent bravado replaced by a dazed, hungry urgency. They didn't hesitate, didn't look at each other. They simply moved, drawn to the oiled feast laid out before them. Brad dropped to his knees beside Vicky's head, his gaze fixed on the plump swell of her breasts gleaming under the slick coating. Ethan mirrored him, positioning himself between her wide-spread legs, his eyes wide as he took in the glistening, shaved mound, the dark curls glistening with oil and her own slickness. Their hands, trembling slightly, reached out almost in unison. Brad's rough palms closed over the slick, heavy weight of her left breast, his fingers sinking into the yielding flesh. Ethan's hands, equally calloused, found her right breast. They squeezed, the oil making their grip slide, molding her breasts into stiff peaks, the nipples hardening into tight, dark buds against their palms. "Like a sundae, " Brad breathed, his voice thick with awe and lust, his thumb rubbing roughly over the stiffened peak, making it pucker impossibly harder. "Cherries on top..." Ethan echoed, mesmerized, his own thumb mimicking the motion on the other nipple.
They started sucking madly on them. Brad bent his head, his lips closing hot and wet over the entire stiff peak of her left breast, sucking hard, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub in frantic circles. Simultaneously, Ethan engulfed her right nipple, sucking with the same desperate hunger, his tongue flicking and lapping at the rigid tip. The sensation was electric, immediate. Vicky gasped, a sharp, ragged sound that tore from her throat. Her back arched violently off the quilt, her oiled skin gleaming under the low light as her hips lifted clear off the fabric. "Fuck! Yes!" she cried out, her head thrashing against the quilt, the blindfold hiding the wild dilation of her pupils. The dual suction was relentless, pulling deep, primal groans from her chest, each tug sending shockwaves straight to her throbbing core. She was hot, radiating heat that mingled with the scent of baby oil and the musky tang of her arousal, a potent perfume that filled the room. Her body writhed, not away, but *into* the voracious mouths, seeking more pressure, more friction, her hips lifting higher, offering herself completely.
Two other boys, emboldened by the sight, moved with sudden purpose. One, tall and lanky with messy brown hair, dropped to his knees beside Vicky’s head. His hands fumbled with the button of his jeans, the zipper rasping down. He pulled his flaccid cock free, the soft, warm head bumping clumsily against her oil-slicked lips. Vicky didn’t hesitate. Her mouth opened instantly, hungry and wide, enveloping the soft flesh. She sucked hard, her tongue swirling around the tip, coaxing it to life. He groaned, low and guttural, as she felt him swell rapidly against her palate, thickening, hardening, filling her mouth with the salty tang of precum and warm skin. Her jaw stretched wide to accommodate his burgeoning size, her throat working as she took him deeper, her head bobbing instinctively. Simultaneously, another boy, shorter and stockier, laid himself flat on the quilt between her wide-spread legs. He didn’t pause, didn’t admire. He simply buried his face into her glistening pussy, his nose pressing against her slick folds as his tongue lashed out, finding her swollen clit instantly. He licked furiously, broad, flat strokes followed by tight, rapid flicks, his entire mouth sealed over her sensitive nub, sucking hard. The sudden, wet heat and the relentless pressure on her clit made Vicky scream around the cock filling her mouth, the sound muffled, vibrating along the shaft. Her hips bucked wildly against the face buried between her legs, grinding her clit harder onto the devouring tongue.
She was being done everywhere. This was the maelstrom she’d craved � the raw, simultaneous assault on every nerve ending. The twin anchors on her chest were relentless; Brad and Ethan sucked her nipples with a ferocious hunger, their teeth grazing the hypersensitive tips, sending jolts of near-painful pleasure radiating through her breasts and deep into her belly. The cock pistoning in her mouth was a thick, insistent weight, stretching her jaw, filling her throat, the salty-sweet taste of precum flooding her tongue with each thrust. Below, the mouth on her pussy was a furnace of sensation � the rough scrape of stubble against her inner thighs, the wet, sucking pressure on her clit, the probing tongue that occasionally dipped lower to trace her tight, untouched entrance before returning to torture her swollen bud. Sensations collided and merged: the sharp pull on her nipples synced with the deep penetration in her mouth and the rhythmic suction on her clit, creating a dizzying feedback loop of pleasure. It was overwhelming, a tidal wave threatening to sweep her consciousness away. She was floating, unmoored, lost in the sheer overload. Only the anchors held her down � the mouths on her nipples, the cock in her mouth, the tongue on her clit � each a point of intense, grounding sensation tethering her trembling body to the quilt, preventing her from dissolving entirely into the blinding white noise of sensation.
Just then the sucking on her clit stopped. The sudden absence was jarring, a vacuum in the storm. The wet heat vanished, leaving her exposed folds cool and strangely empty against the air. A whimper escaped her throat around the cock still filling her mouth � a sound of protest, of loss. Before the emptiness could fully register, she felt it: the blunt, insistent pressure of a cockhead replacing the vanished tongue. It nudged against her slick, swollen outer lips, slick with oil and her own juices, rubbing insistently back and forth, coating itself in her wetness. The sensation was different � heavier, more demanding. Anticipation coiled tight in her belly, sharper than any tongue flick. Then came the plunge. No hesitation, no gentle easing. Just a powerful, deliberate thrust. She was so wet, so impossibly open from the oral assault, that the thick shaft slid into her with a single, soft glide, parting her folds effortlessly, filling her deep and full in one smooth motion. She gasped, arching her hips violently off the quilt to meet it, driving him deeper still, a silent plea for completeness answered instantly. The stretch was divine, a perfect ache blooming deep inside her core.
All the while, the camera phones caught every detail. Held aloft by trembling hands, lenses zoomed and focused, capturing the slick gleam of oil on her skin as Brad and Ethan sucked her nipples like starving men, their cheeks hollowing obscenely. They filmed the thick cock pistoning rhythmically in and out of her glistening pussy, each withdrawal revealing her slick, pink folds stretched taut before the next deep plunge buried it again. They captured the cock sliding wetly between her lips, her throat working around its girth, her blindfolded face a mask of rapturous concentration. Each boy jostled for the best angle, desperate to immortalize his own moment of dominance over this neighborhood fantasy made flesh. One focused tightly on her face as she moaned around the cock in her mouth, another zoomed in on the thick shaft disappearing into her oiled depths, a third lingered on her breasts, bouncing and gleaming under the relentless suction. This beautiful girl, one they’d all craned their necks to glimpse bending over her garden or glimpsed through a window, was now utterly theirs, naked and writhing beneath them, silently accepting every violation.
The front door remained wide open, framing a growing crowd. Older neighbors, drawn by the commotion and the unusual sight of so many young men gathered silently inside, peered in with widening eyes. Mr. Henderson, stooped and grey, clutched his cane, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Vicky’s oiled thighs spread wide, the rhythmic thrusting cock buried deep within her. Mrs. Gable, clutching her small terrier, watched with a faint, knowing smirk playing on her lips as she saw Brad’s head buried between Vicky’s breasts, sucking greedily. They didn’t speak; they just watched, their expressions a mixture of shock, prurient fascination, and undeniable enjoyment. The voyeurs drank in the scene: the young wife blindfolded, glistening, impaled on one thick cock while servicing another, her body a playground for college boys and neighbors alike. They saw her hips lift to meet each thrust, heard her muffled cries of pleasure echoing around the room, smelled the potent mix of baby oil and sex hanging thick in the air. Their presence added a layer of depraved legitimacy, a silent audience sanctioning the debauchery unfolding on the living room floor.
A ripple of urgency went through the boys clustered around Vicky. Someone hissed, "Her husband!" Heads snapped towards the open door. The distant sound of a car engine approaching cut through the humid afternoon air. Panic flashed across several faces, quickly replaced by a fierce, collective determination. Time was short. Two boys kneeling near Vicky’s oil-slicked shoulders grabbed the large bottle of baby oil still lying on the quilt. They poured thick, viscous streams onto her palms, coating her fingers and wrists until they shone, the cool liquid dripping onto her forearms. "Here, " one breathed urgently, guiding her slicked right hand towards his straining cock, already weeping precum. Another boy did the same with her left hand. Her fingers instinctively closed around the hot, rigid shafts. The texture was startling � velvety skin stretched taut over iron-hard flesh, pulsing with desperate need against her oiled palms. Without hesitation, she began pumping them furiously, her wrists twisting, her grip tightening and sliding with the oil’s slickness. The boys gasped, heads thrown back, hips jerking involuntarily into her frantic strokes.
Beside her hips, the boy buried deep inside her pussy sensed the shift. He drove harder, faster, his balls slapping wetly against her oiled skin with each brutal thrust. Above her, the cock in her mouth thickened, the salty tang of precum flooding her tongue as the boy fucked her face with short, desperate jerks. Brad and Ethan intensified their suction on her nipples, biting down just enough to make her cry out around the mouthful of cock, the sharp sting radiating straight to her clit. The air crackled with frantic energy. Hands reached out, not touching her directly, but hovering, trembling with anticipation. One boy squeezed his own shaft, eyes glued to her working hands. Another groaned, "Almost... fuck..." His knuckles whitened as he gripped his cockhead. The rhythm became chaotic, desperate � Vicky’s hands pistoning, her hips lifting to meet the pounding cock inside her, her throat working around the one filling her mouth, her nipples screaming under the relentless suction. It was a symphony of impending release, conducted by panic and lust.
The first explosion hit her right hand. The boy she was jerking off gasped, a strangled sound ripped from his throat. His cock pulsed violently against her slick palm, thick ropes of hot cum spurting across her oiled forearm, painting gleaming white streaks on her skin. Almost instantly, the boy on her left erupted. His release splattered her collarbone and the swell of her breast Brad was sucking, pearly drops mixing with the sheen of oil. Then came the cascade. The boy fucking her mouth pulled out with a wet pop just as he came, his thick jets painting her blindfolded face � warm stripes across her forehead, her cheeks, her parted lips. Below, the cock buried in her pussy jerked deep inside her, pumping her full as his hips stuttered against her ass. Simultaneously, Brad and Ethan tore their mouths from her tortured nipples, gasping. Brad’s cum splashed hot across her heaving stomach, while Ethan’s shot onto her inner thigh, dripping down towards her trembling core. Others followed � hands frantically jerking, bodies convulsing. Hot streams arced through the air, splattering her shoulders, her ribs, her oil-slicked belly. Thick droplets landed on her breasts, mingling with the sweat and oil. It fell like warm rain, coating her in a thick, pearlescent glaze that shimmered under the voyeurs’ gaze.
The moment the last shudder faded, the lines reformed. Hands slick with fresh cum and oil grabbed her wrists, guiding them onto new, straining erections. Another boy shoved his cock past her cum-smeared lips before she could swallow, the salty tang sharp and urgent. Below, the boy who’d filled her pulled out with a wet slurp, his place instantly taken by another � thicker, hotter � driving into her slick, cum-lubed channel without preamble. The rhythm was relentless, industrial. Hands pumped her fists along rigid shafts. Her mouth stretched wide around another thick cock, gagging slightly as it hit her throat. Her pussy clenched around a new invasion, already stretched but yielding to the urgent thrusts. Cum dripped from her chin onto her breasts, pooled in her navel, trickled down her thighs. The air thickened with the scent of sex, sweat, baby oil, and the sharp tang of countless releases. Each boy took his turn � a grunt, a frantic bucking of hips, a choked cry, then the hot spill inside her, down her throat, or across her glistening skin. She became a vessel, slick and shining, absorbing their urgency, her own pleasure a secondary thrum beneath the symphony of their release.
Her hips lifted off the quilt in a frantic, involuntary arch as a boy buried deep inside her curled his fingers against her clit while another sucked her nipple with bruising force. The dual assault ignited a chain reaction deep in her core. A ragged scream tore from her throat around the cock filling her mouth, muffled but raw. Her inner walls clamped down violently on the thick shaft pistoning within her, milking it as wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashed over her. Before the first tremor subsided, another boy replaced the mouth on her breast, his tongue flicking her hypersensitive nipple with cruel precision, sending fresh jolts straight to her core. Another climax ripped through her, shorter, sharper, a gasp ripped from her lungs as her body bowed impossibly off the quilt. Then, as the cock in her mouth pulsed, flooding her throat with hot release, the rhythmic thrusts inside her shifted angle, hammering that perfect spot relentlessly. A third orgasm seized her, silent this time, her body locking rigid, trembling uncontrollably as pure sensation obliterated thought. Cum slicked her thighs, pooled beneath her ass, ran in warm rivulets down her throat. She was twisted, contorted � heels digging deep into the quilt for purchase, back arched like a bowstring, blindfolded face turned towards the ceiling in silent ecstasy.
The onslaught lasted for an hour and a half before they started drifting away, worried of being caught. The last cocks came in her various holes and by her hands. The boys took off. Past the older neighbors standing in the doorway. She laid there covered in cum as 4 of the older neighbors approached her body. They quietly grinned at each other and rushed in. One on each hand, one in her pussy and one in her mouth. She couldn't tell the difference in age as bald heads and paunch bellys assaulted her. Rough, calloused hands slick with drying oil and cum grabbed her wrists, forcing her palms onto thick, veined shafts that felt softer, heavier than the boys'. The cock pushing past her cum-smeared lips tasted different � stale tobacco and sweat replacing youthful musk. Below, the invasion was slower, thicker, stretching her swollen lips with an unfamiliar, deliberate pressure that burned. A bald head pressed against her collarbone, hot breath puffing against her skin as thick fingers twisted her nipple brutally. Another mouth descended onto her other breast, sucking with a wet, greedy slurp, teeth scraping the hypersensitive peak. She gasped, choking on the thick cock filling her throat, the combined sensations � the unfamiliar weight inside her, the rough hands jerking her wrists, the painful suction on her nipples � a jarring, overwhelming assault replacing the frantic energy of youth with something heavier, more possessive.
Each man pursued his own desperate pleasure with single-minded focus. One grunted, his hips bucking against her slicked palm as he shot thick ropes of pearly cum across her oiled belly, the warmth startling against her cooling skin. Another convulsed above her, his release pulsing deep into her throat, the salty bitterness flooding her mouth as she swallowed convulsively. Below, the man buried in her pussy groaned, a low, guttural sound, his thrusts becoming shallow, erratic jerks before he pulsed inside her, flooding her already filled channel with fresh heat. The last gasped against her breast, his teeth digging into her nipple as he came, hot stripes painting her ribs and dripping onto the quilt beneath her. It was heaven for them, this unexpected ravaging � the impossible conquest of a young, oiled fantasy sprawled and helpless before them, knowing they’d likely never touch such ripe flesh again. Their camera phones clicked and whirred, capturing every detail: the glistening cum pooled in her navel, the thick shaft sliding wetly from her lips, the dazed expression beneath the blindfold, the way her inner thighs trembled as the last cock withdrew from her well-used pussy.
As they pulsed their final releases onto or into her quivering body, the voyeurs’ movements grew frantic. One last, shaky video focused tightly on her slack, cum-smeared mouth. Another zoomed in on the thick rivulets of white dripping from her swollen folds onto the stained quilt. They captured the shuddering aftermath � the involuntary twitch of her oiled thigh, the slow trickle of seed down her hip, the blindfold tight on her face preventing her from knowing what had just transpired or with who. Satisfied, trembling with spent lust and the thrill of stolen moments, they hastily wiped sticky hands on trousers, tucked themselves away, and stood. Without a backward glance, they shuffled towards the open door, their footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor. The front door slammed shut behind them with a final, echoing thud, leaving Vicky alone in the sudden, ringing silence, drenched and violated, the scent of sex and baby oil thick in the still air.
She slowly sat up, feeling the sudden solitude of the room press in like a physical weight. The absence of hands, mouths, bodies was jarring�a vacuum where chaos had reigned. Every muscle screamed protest; her hips felt wrenched, her jaw ached from being stretched wide, her nipples throbbed with a deep, bruised heat. She lifted the sleep mask from her eyes, the elastic snapping softly against her sweat-slicked hairline. Light flooded her vision, harsh and unforgiving. She blinked, her gaze dropping to her own body. Carnage. Her skin was a canvas of obscenity�streaked with drying cum in pearly ropes across her belly, her breasts glistening with a mix of oil and viscous trails that pooled in the hollow of her throat. Her thighs were sticky, painted white from hip to knee, the dark curls between them matted into stiff clumps. The quilt beneath her was a swamp of fluids�translucent oil shimmering over opaque puddles of semen, the fabric soaked through in dark, spreading stains. The air tasted metallic, thick with the smell of spent men and her own ravaged flesh.
The street was strangely deserted when they arrived ready for conquest. He'd brought 4 with him. He hoped she wouldn't mind three extra to make her night special.
The front door creaked open. Footsteps�heavy, familiar�paused on the threshold. Her husband stood frozen, his keys dangling from one hand, his work boots tracking gravel onto the pristine foyer tile. Behind him, Jake, Mark, and two others�Brad and Ethan�crowded the doorway, their eager grins evaporating as they took in the scene. Rich’s eyes swept over her: the blindfold pushed up onto her forehead, her lips swollen and smeared white, the way her knees were still parted wide, revealing the glistening mess between her legs and the thick pool of seed beneath her. His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering in his temple. The silence stretched, thick with disbelief and something darker�revulsion? Awe? Vicky didnt move. She met his stare, her chin lifted slightly, her body a testament to the fantasy *he* had orchestrated, now rendered in brutal, undeniable reality. She saw the exact moment his disgust warped into something else�a predatory hunger ignited by the sheer scale of her violation. His nostrils flared, inhaling the stench of her conquest.
"You brought *more*?" Vicky’s voice ripped through the silence, raw-edged and trembling with exhaustion. She gestured wildly at the newcomers crowding the doorway behind Rich�Jake, Mark, Brad, Ethan�their expressions shifting from anticipation to stunned confusion. Her arm trembled, slick with drying fluids. "Wasn’t the fucking *multitude* that just wrecked me enough?" The words choked her, thick with unshed tears and the bitter tang of swallowed cum. Her thighs clenched instinctively, a fresh trickle of warm seed escaping her abused entrance and tracing a path down her inner thigh. The sheer *weight* of it�the aching emptiness where cocks had filled her, the phantom sting of teeth on her nipples, the sticky film coating every inch of her skin�made her want to scream. "Look at me!" Her voice cracked, raw and desperate. "I’m... I’m *dripping*!"
His gaze remained locked on her, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He didn’t see ruin; he saw a masterpiece. His eyes traced the intricate map of violation�the pearly streaks painting her collarbone, the thick globs clinging to her ribs, the dark, glistening mess between her legs where cum pooled on the quilt beneath her hips. The potent cocktail of scents�sex, sweat, baby oil�hit him like a physical force, igniting a furnace in his gut. "Christ, Vicky, " he breathed, his voice thick with reverence. He took a step closer, his boot crunching on a discarded button from her torn camisole. "You’re... magnificent." His hand reached out, not to comfort, but to trace a thick smear of drying cum across her trembling belly. The touch was possessive, claiming the carnage. "This..." He dipped his finger lower, gathering a viscous string from her inner thigh and lifting it, glistening, into the light. "...is exactly what I wanted." The hunger in his eyes wasn't disgust; it was ravenous awe. He turned slightly, addressing the men behind him without looking away from Vicky’s ravaged form. "See? Told you she’d take it all.
Behind her husband, Jake’s gaze flickered from Vicky’s cum-smeared face to the thick pool soaking the quilt beneath her hips. A muscle jumped in his jaw. He remembered Stacey’s trembling exhaustion after their own swap, the way she’d curled away from him, whispering it was too much. But this... this was annihilation. Mark shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the deep bruises blooming on Vicky’s inner thighs, the angry red bite marks encircling her nipples. Brad swallowed hard, the eager grin wiped clean from his face. Ethan just stared, pale-faced, at the sheer volume of glistening white coating her skin, the way it clung to the fine hairs on her arms and legs like obscene frost. The fantasy he had sold them�a willing, eager wife lost in pleasure�shattered against the brutal reality: Vicky trembling on the edge of collapse, her body a violated canvas painted in the unmistakable evidence of countless men. The silence among them thickened, heavy with unspoken horror and a dawning, sickening understanding of what had happened to her from unseen strangers.
Vicky pushed herself off the ruined quilt, her legs trembling violently beneath her. Every movement sent fresh aches radiating through her hips, her lower back screaming protest. She ignored Rich’s possessive stare, the hungry murmurs of the newcomers, and shuffled towards the hallway bathroom, leaving slick footprints on the hardwood floor. The cool air raised goosebumps on her cum-painted skin. She gripped the doorframe for balance, her knuckles white, before stumbling inside and locking the door behind her with a decisive click. Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she took a shuddering breath. The scent of sex clung to her, thick and cloying, mixed with the sharp tang of baby oil. Outside, she heard Rich’s low chuckle, muffled words�"See? Told you she could handle it"�followed by uneasy shuffling.
Hot water exploded from the showerhead, instantly fogging the mirror. Vicky stepped under the punishing spray, gasping as the near-scalding water hit her abused skin. It stung the bite marks on her breasts, the raw abrasions inside her thighs, the sensitive flesh between her legs stretched and tender. She watched, detached, as rivulets of white streamed down her chest, swirling pink-tinged around her feet before vanishing down the drain. The heat seeped into her muscles, easing the deep ache in her hips and lower back. She lifted a hand, watching the water cascade over her fingers, washing away the sticky residue of countless hands, countless releases. A strange, hollow calm settled over her exhaustion. "It was really pretty good, " she murmured aloud, her voice raspy from screaming. The words felt foreign, almost blasphemous, yet undeniably true beneath the violation. "In fact, it was wonderful." The relentless fullness, the overwhelming pressure, the sheer *scale* of being used... it had ignited something primal, terrifyingly deep. She tilted her head back, letting the water sluice through her tangled hair, washing away the streaks of cum from her face. "I wonder if they'll come back." The thought wasn't fearful; it was a low thrum of anticipation. Those faceless shapes, the rough hands, the greedy mouths... the anonymity had been the key, unlocking a hunger she hadn't known existed.
I'll start wearing my really tight near translucent yoga pants to jog, and my smallest top.Or maybe leave the curtains open and stay naked in the house at night. Her mind was working, planning. She wanted it again, and would have it.