Nighttime gatherings
It all happened on my birthday. Or rather, at the continuation of my birthday celebration at work. As usual, I planned to get home not too late, but the situation unfolded according to the principle "we're having a good time sitting here." The least resilient ones went home after about three hours, and I stayed with two of my colleagues to finish off the remaining alcohol. Naturally, I texted my wife not to wait up and to go to bed—like, I'll be home late, drunk, and not alone. Well, I was joking about the "not alone" part, of course. Anyway, with a clear conscience, I was seeing off Friday.
It was already around midnight when the three of us, already standing at the bus stop, were drinking beer and arguing over each other about the chances of our
national football team. Despite the fact that it was already quite late, we really didn't want to part ways, especially since I, as the youngest in the organization, felt that such informal communication could bring me tangible benefits—one of the interlocutors, Anton, was a friend of the director and was respected in the team. The second, Seryoga, was a couple of years older than me but was known in the team as the life of the party—not a day without jokes and quips. And Anton was hard to call boring, despite his substantial belly and a certain arrogance. We found common ground with him on that first smoke break during the drinking session.Anyway, the soul demanded the continuation of the banquet, and it was already getting chilly outside. And I suggested we all go to my place and sit a little longer in the kitchen. Like, my wife is already asleep, she won't yell, and my birthday has already started and who's the boss in the house—me or not me. And besides—today I'm treating! The guys liked this arrangement, and amidst shouts of approval, I stocked up on beer while Seryoga energetically hailed a cab. On the way, we stopped at a store where the guys bought a couple of bottles of cognac—so as not to come empty-handed, as they say.
Fifteen minutes later we were at my entrance—the light in the apartment was off, which I took with some relief. So Lenka wasn't waiting and was already asleep. In front of the door, I shushed the guys to be quiet and carefully opened the door, then closed the bedroom door and tiptoed the guests to the kitchen. Now we could sit and talk freely in warmth and peace. The main thing—don't shout, which I warned my colleagues about.
Soon I noticed how Seryoga, animatedly telling about how he fucked his neighbor the other day when she asked him to fix her faucet, suddenly faltered and stared somewhere over my shoulder. Turning around, I saw Lenka there. Naturally, I concluded that he reacted that way to her appearance. Anton was also looking at her, not taking his eyes off her and with some stupid smile.
The thing is, my Lenka, at 24, looked no older than 18. They even asked for her ID in bars often—they thought she was underage. At the same time, she had a very exciting body—despite her slimness, she had quite impressive breasts and rounded hips. Add to that her short stature, a perky little nose, and huge dark eyes. In short, over the three years of our life together, I had already gotten used to such reactions from the surrounding men. And considering that she was wearing a sleep T-shirt, which, while covering her body down to mid-thigh, nevertheless very favorably emphasized her charms, clinging to them. And naturally, my wife was not thrilled about such a late-night gathering, looking at me quite eloquently. To our offers to join us, she just snorted and went to the bedroom, and I very clearly saw Anton staring at her ass.
Anyway, when I came to make peace, I was told that I was sleeping on the couch tonight and if I tried, drunk, to pester her with offers to reconcile, I could blame myself. Sighing, I went back to the guys. My mood was so-so, and the alcohol was already starting to take its toll. In short, after about forty minutes, I realized I was completely wasted. Telling my colleagues that I'd probably go to sleep, I expected they'd take the hint that it was time for them to go—after all, I couldn't just tell them to leave outright. Seryoga told me not to worry—they'd, like, finish their beer now and quietly leave, slamming the door, and looked at Anton with some expression. He drunkenly nodded his head and mumbled for me not to worry.
I went to the bedroom, lay down on the couch, and practically passed out immediately. I woke up from a terrible thirst—the clock showed 3 a.m., meaning I'd slept just over an hour. I felt even drunker than before, my head was buzzing. Some kind of moaning was coming from the kitchen, and it seemed to me it was my wife's voice. Looking at the bed, I saw it was empty. Didn't understand! I cautiously approached the door to the hallway and, opening it slightly, looked in the mirror hanging on the wall—it reflected the entrance to the kitchen. And immediately all the drunkenness was swept from my head. Through the glass of the kitchen door, I saw that Lenka was on her knees in front of Anton, sucking him off. Her T-shirt was nowhere to be seen, nor were her panties. Only her favorite woolen socks. And even those were probably left on so they wouldn't get in the way. Her face was red, either from strain or from disgust—fat guys weren't her taste, and I distinctly remembered Anton complaining that he hadn't had water at home for about four days. So the shock was doubly strong—Lenka would never, under any circumstances, get under a guy like Anton. Although, right now she wasn't under him but on her knees, sticking her butt out. From around the corner, I could hear Seryoga's voice—I couldn't see him, but I heard him commanding my wife—legs wider, arch your back. And the most astonishing thing—my headstrong wife obediently listened. From her mouth, occupied by Anton's not-small cock, only moaning came. Precisely the fact that such a scene was impossible to even imagine made me stay hidden in the role of an observer. It was unclear what had pushed my wife to this. You couldn't say she was doing it with desire, but she was doing it!
"Hey, you, shut her mouth with your dick, or she might wake up the birthday boy," Anton said to Seryoga, getting on his knees behind my wife, blocking her with his body. Seryoga lifted Lenka by the hair, and by the sound, I understood he had shoved his cock down her throat again. Meanwhile, gripping the doorframe, I watched Anton's hairy ass with his pants down, trying to understand from his movements if he was inside her or not. For a while, he fumbled, quietly cursing—couldn't get it in, but then his forward movement coincided with Lenka letting out a stifled squeak. He was in. All I saw for about ten minutes was his ass going back and forth, my wife's legs in a doggy-style position, and Seryoga, who was shoving it into Lenka's mouth again, grinning nastily and occasionally glancing into the hallway. Lenka wasn't moaning—she was whimpering and quietly moaning.
I went back to the couch. Lay down, closing my eyes—I had already made the decision not to intervene because it was clear that, despite the fact that my wife was being treated like a whore, it didn't elicit strong objections from her. Moreover, to the sounds coming from my wife's mouth, where a stranger's cock was now working proprietarily, were added the squelching sounds of her shaved pussy. I lay there, and her wet hole, which a fat cock with hairy balls was now pounding, stood vividly before my eyes. By the accelerating pace of the sounds coming from the kitchen, I understood the guys had decided to fuck my wife thoroughly.
After five minutes, the sounds of fucking died down. Only Lenka's whimpers reached me. "Hey, let's pour more booze into her—let her relax," Anton's whisper reached me. Apparently, Lenka was refusing because suddenly there was the sound of a slap, gulps, and soon she started coughing. I quietly approached the door, opened it slightly again, and saw the guys sitting on stools and smoking, with Seryoga, holding Lenka by the face as she knelt, pouring cognac into her straight from the bottle. She wasn't quite managing to swallow, and some of the booze ran down her body. After swallowing, she said, "You've completely worn me out, you freaks." By her slurred speech, I understood this was far from the first "pouring." I decided this bacchanalia would end soon, closed the door, and pretended to be asleep. And for good reason. Soon I heard cautious steps in the hallway, realized someone was peeking into the bedroom. Then came the sound of a stream from the toilet. One of them decided to take a piss and on the way checked if I was asleep. I lay there, running through options for the conversation with my wife the next day in my head, when muffled moans reached me. So not the end yet. I looked out at the mirror again and saw Lenka standing, leaning on the table, her mouth stuffed with her own panties, and Seryoga diligently pounding her from behind. Anton was sitting on a stool at this time, a cigarette in his teeth and with a satisfied face, kneading my wife's breasts. Now I had no doubt that she herself was enjoying what was happening—her stifled moans and the fact that she even stood on tiptoes, arching her back for the fucker's convenience spoke too eloquently about it. And when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her towards him, she let out a drawn-out moan and the panties fell out of her mouth. Anton said, "Hey, Seryog, put her in doggy style—need to plug her mouth." And so, my wife is already on her knees, resting her hands on the hairy fat guy's thighs, and her mouth is working on his thick dick. And she seems absolutely indifferent that his unwashed balls smell. I can't see Seryoga. I only see his hands gripping Lenka's waist—the rest is hidden from my view. I can judge the pace only by my wife's moaning and by how often she rocks back and forth. In short, they were giving her a quality double-team. But suddenly my wife pulled away from the cock and started making some energetic hand movements behind her. That's something new. I saw Seryoga twist her arm behind her back. "Antokh, hold her—I want to mark my territory in her ass too." It was no trouble for Anton to grab both her wrists with one hand and, grabbing her hair with the other, press her head to his crotch. Lenka's muffled, cock-stifled, squeaky moaning and her tense body indicated that a desperate struggle was now happening outside my field of vision. Lena energetically and sharply moved her ass, hoping Seryoga wouldn't be able to get in. Then Anton, taking her panties again, stuffed them into her mouth, roughly grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and like a kitten, pressed her to the floor, for good measure also pinning her shoulders to the floor with his feet. My wife's breasts were simply flattened against the floor, her arms twisted, her back arched, and her legs spread wide simply left her no chance to prevent this. By the thrust that made Lenka squeal and lurch forward as much as Anton's bulk allowed, I understood Seryoga had succeeded in his plan. Of course, she tried to break free, twisted her ass, but in vain. Judging by the movements of Lenka's body and the sounds coming from her stuffed mouth, Seryoga was pounding her ass with gusto. I was about to intervene because this was now rape in its pure form, but then in these moans, I heard notes of pleasure. And her movements became somehow… less protesting, so to speak… After five minutes, she was frankly thrusting back.
Anton, seeing this situation, let her go and, lighting a cigarette, sat on a stool. And what's most interesting, Lenka made no attempt to get up. She remained standing, sticking her butt out, which Seryoga's cock was drilling, and pressing her face to the floor. Her eyes were closed. Anton took his phone and started filming again. At the same time, he spat on her face a couple of times. And again—no reaction. Then he grabbed her by the hair and shoved his dick into her mouth. At that moment, from around the corner, hidden from my view, Seryoga's heavy breathing became audible. I understood he was about to cum. The pace of his thrusts into Lenka increased. He was cumming. "Just let it be in her ass," I thought. The last thing needed was for Lenka to get pregnant. I saw Seryoga's hands squeezing my wife's firm tits, who in turn was very diligently pushing Anton's cock down her throat, speeding up the movements of her head. Apparently, she understood that the better and more diligently she sucked—the faster he'd cum and all this would end. I saw how Anton reacted to these movements—he leaned forward, his legs tensed. He was close to orgasm. Then Lenka made a gurgling sound, her cheeks puffed out—Anton was cumming. Realizing she wanted to pull away, the fat guy grabbed her head, jumped up from the stool, and started energetically impaling my wife's head on his cock. From her mouth flowed what she couldn't swallow—a mixture of sperm and saliva. And there seemed to be a lot of sperm. It was clear from my wife that she was trying to fight the urge to vomit. Anton saw this too and pushed Lenka away. She coughed, covered her mouth with her hand. Swallowed. Next, they ordered her to get on all fours, leaning on a stool, and spread her ass cheeks with her hands—apparently Seryoga was filming again. With submissive resignation, she obeyed. I, however, turned and lay down on the couch. After a couple of minutes, I heard the guys come out of the kitchen
and started getting ready. "And how did you know she was so compliant?" Anton whispered. "What's the big deal? She resists at first, but then fucks like a cat. It's always like that with her," I heard a casual reply, in which a smirk could be felt. ALWAYS? So this wasn't the first time? This changed everything fundamentally. Waiting until the front door slammed, I slipped out of the bedroom and cautiously approached the kitchen door. My wife was still standing, leaning her chest on the stool, with her legs wide apart. From her shoulders, I could see she was quietly crying. But I couldn't take my eyes off her asshole. There was no other way to call that wrecked hole. Instead of a neat ring, there was a gaping red opening, the edges of which didn't even close completely. To my relief, I saw that sperm was flowing out of it, not from her vagina. It ran down her swollen lips and dripped onto the floor, forming a quite substantial puddle. I opened the door.
— I saw everything.
— I know — she replied without turning around.
— How?
— Well, you snore like a tank when you're drunk. And you were snoring today. When they dragged me into the kitchen. Then you stopped. These drunks were—didn't get it. But I understood you woke up. And if you didn't come out—it means you were peeping.
— So you were fucking them and knew I was watching you? And didn't give a sign to help? Why?
— Are you completely stupid? If you're watching and not coming out—it means you like it! Didn't you like it?
— That's not the point! Seryoga said you're always like that! What, this isn't the first time?! And turn around to me already!
During this dialogue, Lenka remained standing in the pose I found her in. Now she snorted: "What? Had your fill of looking at my ass? Now want to look at my face?" and turned around. Her eyes were red—either from tears or from having to choke on impressively sized cocks. She had already wiped the sperm off her face, but there was quite a lot on her chest and arms.
— Yes. I know him.
— From where? Tell me!
— A long time ago. When I was in school. His younger sister was my classmate.
— And? What does that have to do with it?!
— Don't shout… I was in love with our classmate back then. He was also into me. And Svetka, his sister, also had her eye on him. And decided to eliminate the competition.
Here my wife smiled sadly and got up from the floor. Taking a towel, she started wiping herself off. Calmly and unhurriedly. Even somewhat thoughtfully.
— Anyway, she invited me to some party. Now I understand there must have been something like diphenhydramine or something else in the glass with booze. In short, I passed out. And Seryoga, her brother, fucked me. When I came to—I understood everything. Moreover, a little later, when I was coming out of the bathroom, Svetka approached me and said that her brother not only fucked me but also took pictures of the process. And that if I didn't back off from our classmate, these photos would be seen by everyone, including my parents. Well, I dumped the guy.