My pulse was racing as he brought the car to a halt in the long-abandoned car park, strewn with rubbish left by fly-tippers and dotted with deep-rooted weeds that had forced themselves through cracks in the asphalt.
John turned off the engine and an eery silence descended on the dimly lit interior of our family car. For a moment or two we both stared straight ahead at the graffiti adorned wall of the derelict building, waiting for the other to speak. “So, you’re sure you want to go ahead with this,” my husband murmured in a voice tight with sexual tension.
“It’s what we agreed we both wanted,” I nodded, my own voice betraying nervous anticipation. Looking out of the passenger window, I could see a number of cars parked not far from us; their owners seeking discretion in the dark corners of the concrete wasteland.
John nodded, his jaw set, and reached for the door handle. Taking his cue, I opened the passenger door and stepped from the car. With a final glance of confirmation from my husband, I began to make my way towards the entrance to the disused building; the wooden heels of my white suede ankle-length cowboy boots echoing with every uncertain step towards the door that hung useless on its rusted hinges.
Once inside the cavernous space, lit by the full moon streaming in through large windows now devoid of their glass, I saw a number of men lurking in the shadows. Despite the balmy summer weather, there were goose-pimples on my exposed flesh as I stood watching them make their way slowly and awkwardly towards me.
The first to arrive was in his mid 50s, balding and with a beer belly. Next, a younger man in a hoody and with the confident grin of a builder. He was followed by an obviously nervous middle-aged man in glasses. Finally, another older man in a football shirt that stretched across his paunch.
“Hello, boys,” I croaked, watching them circle around me. The bright red top was low cut, with spaghetti thin straps up over my bare shoulders. The garment was backless, with thin straps tied to the rear. Cropped above my belly button, it revealed my taut stomach, as well as exposing an expanse of side boob. Separated from the top by the bare midriff, a shiny faux leather micro skirt clung to my hips. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re fit, darlin’,” the fat man exhaled, rubbing himself slowly.
“Ground rules, lads,” my husband growled from the doorway, “it stops if and when my wife says so; and she gets what she wants and no more than that. Everyone clear,” he asked, to universal nods of excited agreement.
“What his wife wants is for you to fuck her face, make her gag and choke on your cocks, and drop your fat loads all over her face,” I murmured as I looked around at their lust-filled faces, whilst slipping the straps from my shoulders and letting the bright red top fall to my waist. “Can you do that for me, boys,” I murmured, reaching under my skirt and running an index finger along a shaven mound slick with my own juices.
This was met with more eager nodding and rubbing of growing bulges. From behind me, crunching litter under his heavy tread, my husband approached and placed a carefully folded picnic rug on the filthy concrete floor. “On your knees,” John commanded, his hands applying gentle pressure to my shoulders.
Settling my buttocks onto the slightly abrasive suede of my cowboy boots, I looked around at the four men. “Get those cocks out for me, boys,” I purred, circling a fingertip over the hard nub with oft-practiced ease, feeling the heat rise within my loins.
Male hands fumbled urgently with belts and zips; trousers were pulled hastily down to reveal hairy thighs and a variety of underwear, some cleaner and newer than others; the sound of elasticated waistbands being tugged over flabby backsides; cocks of various shapes and sizes springing free; eager, hungry, anticipation shining on the men’s faces, barely believing their own luck.
Four men in a semi-circle; the heady scent of arousal, body odour, aftershave, and the musk of their cocks. A phalanx of rampant members presented for my supplicant attention, crowding my vision. The silence heavy and expectant. My own husband ever-present behind me, watching with lustful anticipation.
Reluctantly abandoning my clit, I reached for the cock immediately in front of me. Placing the palm of one hand flat on a fleshy thigh, I leant forward until the shiny head brushed against my face. Parting my glossed lips, I took him into my mouth and began to run up and down his veiny length.
After pleasuring him for a few moments, I released the first man with a satisfying plop. As he slid from my mouth, I lifted my hand from the flabby haunch and wrapped it around his shaft. He moaned with pleasure; eyes closed. Tilting my head to the right, I took the member being proffered to me deep into the warm nest of my mouth.
Enthusiastically bobbing up and down on this second cock, I gripped the first with a tight fist and pumped it in time with the movements of my lips on the slick shaft. The balding man winced as my wedding ring dug into his muscle; to his right, the second man moaned, breathing slowly in an attempt to control himself. Meanwhile, the other two watched on in almost malevolent silence, slowly stroking themselves whilst waiting their turn.
Releasing the first two men, I shuffled around to my right to face the next in line, and applied my tongue to the underside of his swollen dome. He stiffened and let out a guttural cry. Taking my cue, I sunk down on the first few inches of his dick; working him eagerly for some time, my mouth filled with more and more saliva, until I needed to pull away. Looking up, I slowly let it dribble down onto his throbbing glans. “That’s it, spit on my knob, fucking slut,” he leered, before guiding me back down onto his thick shaft.
Working the glistening length with my mouth, I reached out for the cock immediately to my left. The man, who had
seemed the most nervous from the outset, twitched as my fingers closed around his meat, stroking him with long, determined, movements. I could feel him growing inside my hand; his breathing ragged and a slight panic in his eyes.
Much to irritation of its owner, I released the cock that was filling my mouth, and focused on the one in my hand. Adopting a reverse grip, I pumped it furiously, the silver bangles on my wrist jangling loudly in the echoing silence of the cavernous building. “Give it to me; cum on my face,” I urged, watching the glans turn purple in my vice-like grip. Almost immediately, he let out a strangled cry of anguish and exploded, splattering jizz over my rosy cheeks. His cry turned to a whimper and his knees buckled when I continued to milk his cock with a series of determined hand movements.
Spent, he backed away slightly. Fumbling with his trousers, he muttered embarrassed thanks and shuffled towards the door. Immediately, the remaining three men closed the gap he had left, pressing close around me as I knelt before them. Without a word, the one who had yet to receive my attention pressed forward, leaving no doubt that I was to attend to him next.
Encasing it in my slender fingers, I felt the heat coming from his manhood. Taking a deep breath, I leant forward and worked my tongue up and down its length. His beer belly pressed against my forehead, he sighed with pleasure, wrapping locks of my hair in his fists. “Take it all, bitch,” he snarled, pulling me down hard and ramming his cock deep into my throat. Gagging, I was held tight against his pelvic bone until, having beaten my little hands frantically against his fat thighs, he released me, coughing and spluttering; a viscous strand of slobber running from my plump lower lip to tip of his rampant dick.
“You love that, don’t you, you fucking slag,” he sneered. Recovering my breath, I slurped the spit string into my mouth and looked up, nodding in submissive agreement. Taking his dick in hand, the fat man slapped it hard against my face. “Ready for more,” he grunted.
“Much more,” I begged. Reaching around and grabbing handfuls of his wobbly arse, I pulled him towards me and engulfed his cock in my willing mouth. Throwing back his head, he let out a grunt of satisfaction and thrust his hips back and forward; the tip of his cock repeatedly banging against the back of my throat. Gagging on his meat, my eyes watered and mascara ran down my face to mix with the cum left smeared across my cheeks by the now absent nervous man.
Firm hands pulled me from the fat man and turned my face towards the next straining phallus. The sense of their dominance was palpable as they manhandled me, hemmed in beneath them. My pussy was on fire and my whole body pulsed with sexual electricity.
Moments later, I was torn from this latest cock and twisted round to accept the next. Gasping for air, I drooled a mouthful of slobber and pre-cum onto the angry domed head. “Fuckin’ ell, yes, you nasty bitch,” the recipient moaned. Grabbing the sides of my head, he plunged his cock back between my bruised lips and began rhythmically pushing himself into my throat. “Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck”, I gagged; my peripheral vision filled with the men flanking this latest assailant, hands working their cocks with slow determination, whilst simultaneously using their free hands to grope the pliant flesh of my pendulous breasts. My arousal was heightened to the point of being almost unbearable.
Suddenly I felt the cock swell against my tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the fat man bellowed, holding me firmly in place as he released his load deep into my throat. Pressing my face into his obscene belly, he listened to me gag and choke, having no choice other than to swallow his slimy discharge.
Like his predecessor, once he had sated himself, he retreated into the shadows. Unlike the first man, however, he waited and watched the remaining two men shuffle forward, still stroking themselves.
Desperate for my own release, I slipped fingers between my thighs. Looking at the men as they moved closer, I moaned and pressed two fingers hard against my clit. My gaze was locked on the first man’s hand, wanking himself with slow, deliberate movements; my breathing coming in short, shallow rasps in time with the fingers jammed against my nub. The man’s breathing seemed to mirror my own; his chest rising and falling, his cock twitching, his hand pumping in time with the gyration of my hips as I thrust them to increase the intensity of the feeling on my clit.
We both were so close now; the anticipation was palpable. My heart raced and I had to restrain the urge to beg him for his seed as, almost of their own volition, my fingers increased the pace on my bud. Then it happened. With a guttural cry of release, he exploded, launching rope after rope of hot sticky cum onto my flushed skin. The first few strands landed on my cheeks; the next splattered across my forehead and began to drip down onto my eyelashes; then, as his hips thrust forward and his aim went higher, globs of jizz coated my hair.
Almost immediately, the final man stepped forward, cock head glistening in his fist. It was too much; thighs clamped around my hand, my hips jammed forward and I whimpered with release as waves of exquisite pleasure crashed through my trembling body. Simultaneously, he twerked against his own hand: the first globule smacked into the bridge of my nose, the remainder dropping onto my lips and chin, with one outlier splatting against my collarbone.
Resting back on my heels, one eyelash gummed together, I watched them almost furtively pull trousers back up and straightened themselves out. Then, with a mumbled chorus of thanks, compliments, and requests to do it again, they beat a hasty withdrawal towards to door. In their wake, my husband pulled me to my feet and gathered up the picnic rug. “Car. Now,” he hissed, eyes flashing with a range of dark emotions. “No, you don’t,” he warned, when I made to pull the bright red top back up over my breasts.
The cool night air brought goosebumps to my exposed skin as John led me to our parked vehicle. Two more men were skulking in the shadows. John beckoned to them and they tentatively approached; hoods up and baseball caps pulled down over their eyes for anonymity.
His face a mask of sexual tension, my husband pulled me up so l that was sitting on the front of the car, then pushed my skirt up over my hips to reveal my shaven mound.
“I’ve been a bad wife; a very, very, bad wife,” I pouted, watching him fumble with his belt and trousers, which fell around his ankles with a gentle rustle. The two men had joined us, pulling their cocks out as they flanked the car bonnet.
“I let a group of complete strangers use me for their pleasure in a derelict building,” I continued, leaning back and spreading my thighs for my husband, who was positioning himself between my legs.
“I was on my knees with my tits exposed, sucking their dirty cocks,” I murmured. Furtively watching on, the men’s cocks grew hard in their hands at the sight of me, naked and exposed on the car bonnet; my face a ruin, with streaks of mascara running down to mix with globules of thick white cum and rivulets of slobber, which now were hanging glistening from my chin and dripping slowly to pool in the hollow of my neck.
“Your wife let them fuck her face, John. They used my throat and made me gag and choke on their smelly meat,” I admitted, feeling John lift my thighs and press his fat dome against my puffy labia; a look of humiliated arousal in his eyes. The two hooded voyeurs had themselves firmly and determinedly in hand whilst they watched and listened.
“Punish me for that. Punish me with your cock, John,” I moaned, feeling his helmet part the folds of my labia and push into my tunnel. The hooded men’s breathing was loud in my ears; their hands urgent on their shafts.
Leaning back on the cold metal, I wrapped my legs around my husband and felt him plunge deeper into me. Pussy muscles enveloping his manhood, I looked up. “They called your wife a fucking slag as they took turns with her,” I goaded, watching the heightened sense of excited self-loathing wash across his face.
Holding himself deep inside me, John reached behind and unwrapped my legs, pulling them around to the front and tight up against his chest. “Oh, that’s good, John; pinning her ankles up around your neck is just the way to treat a cheap slag,” I groaned.
“Whore,” he spat, thrusting himself against my cervix with a sudden, brutal invasion.
“Fuck me like one,” I begged, reaching up and dragging manicured fingernails down his chest and stomach, leaving vivid scratches in the flesh. With a sob of pent-up fury and desire, he began to take me with frantic movements of his hips, bouncing me off the metal bonnet, which deformed momentarily with a hollow clang in response to each thrust. In my peripheral vision, I could see the two spectators urgently working themselves either side of me. I could sense none of us would last long.
“Fucking ruin the slut, mate,” one of the bystanders snarled, lost in the moment; his eyes wild and pre-cum seeping from his engorged helmet, watching me slip a hand down and run a finger over my clit in time with my husband’s hard fucking.
“I…married…a…filthy…fucking…cumslut,” John panted, pounding me faster and faster; sweat pouring from him and dripping on my pendulous breasts, which were shuddering under his onslaught. As he swept me to the edge of my own climax, I could feel my tunnel stretch and shape around his cock, which was growing inside me as he also reached the point of no return.
Eyes locked on each other, my husband and I came together. My sex pulsing with each desperate movement of our bucking hips, John let out a series of anguished sobs as he pumped creamy, hot cum into my womb.
With a stifled moan, the first voyeur’s cock jerked in his fist, firing globs of cum onto the smooth flesh of my boobs; as he continued to shoot his jizz, it began to collect in the deep valley of my cleavage. His friend exploded seconds later, launching long ropes of sticky mess across my stomach, with one shot pooling in my belly button.
The ensuing silence was heavy, broken only by deep breathing. My cum-soaked body trembled, the aftershocks of an intense climax rippling through my core as my vision came back into focus. I looked around, my fingers involuntarily massaging my nipples and rubbing semen into the soft skin of my full breasts. The two strangers awkwardly rearranged their clothing and, with almost embarrassed nods of thanks, slunk away into the darkness, leaving my husband and I alone at last.
“Home,” he murmured lovingly, lifting me gently from the bonnet and pulling my top back over my cum-soaked breasts. “Try not to make a mess of the leather seats: I want you plastered with their cum whilst I reclaim you properly in bed.”
“You are such old-fashioned romantic, darling,” I winked, climbing carefully into the passenger seat with semen dripping from my chin.
