THE DEBT (2)

Dante steps forward already unbuckling his belt,

And Vincent grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me upright on my knees so I’m facing Marcus because Vincent wants my husband to watch every expression that crosses my face.

“On your hands and knees,” Dante says, pressing one rough palm between my shoulder blades until I’m down on all fours.

He kneels behind me and talks right over my head to Vincent. “You weren’t kidding. She’s dripping before I even get inside her.

Her Husband must not be handling his business.”

He pushes into me in one long stroke and the stretch forces all the air out of my lungs because he’s thick, painfully thicker than Marcus,

And I feel every inch of him splitting me open while my husband watches my mouth fall open from across the room.

“Fuck,” I gasp, my fingers curling into the carpet. “Fuck, you’re so thick—”

“Hear that, Vince?”

Dante grabs my hips and starts slamming into me with deep, punishing strokes that rock my whole body forward, my tits swinging, my knees burning against the carpet.

“She’s already telling me I’m bigger than him and I didn’t even have to ask.”

“Look at your husband,” Vincent says from the couch, watching us with his legs crossed. “I want him to see what his wife looks like when she’s actually getting fucked.”

I lift my eyes to Marcus and his face is wet, his jaw so tight it looks wired shut, and the bulge in his pants is obvious and humiliating for both of us.

He’s hard. His wife is being fucked by another man and he’s hard and we both know it.

I mouth “I’m sorry” at him across the six feet of carpet between us and I mean it,

But right at that moment Dante hits something deep inside me that sends a white flash up my spine and the apology dissolves into a moan that fills the room and Marcus flinches.

“There it is,” Dante says, adjusting his angle to hit the same spot over and over. “That’s the sound her husband’s never pulled out of her.

Tell him how it feels, sweetheart.”

“It feels so good,” I hear myself say, and I’m looking directly at Marcus.

“I’m sorry, Marcus, it feels so fucking good and I can’t help it, don’t stop, Dante, please, harder—”

The orgasm rips through me and I come staring into my husband’s eyes with a sound I have never made in all our years together.

My body clamps down around Dante and he buries himself to the hilt with a groan and empties inside me in thick heavy pulses while Marcus watches every second.

Vincent grabs my chin, angles my face toward Marcus,

And uses his other hand to spread my pussy so the load oozes out, thick and white, running down my inner thigh onto our carpet.

“One down,” Vincent says, his voice as casual as someone reading a dinner menu. “Three to go.”

“Elise, be a good girl and clean Dante’s cock. Keep your eyes on Marcus.”

I take Dante into my mouth, tasting myself and him together, and a moan rolls out of me around his shaft because I want Marcus to hear it.

I am not performing this. I am savoring it.

Paul is next and he is a completely different animal.

He sits down on our couch, the couch where Marcus and I watch movies on Sunday nights, and guides me onto his lap facing my husband.

He slides into me slowly, one careful inch at a time.

“Take your time,” he murmurs against my shoulder, his voice so polite it makes the situation feel ten times more depraved. “Ride me at whatever pace feels comfortable.”

I start rolling my hips, Dante’s load leaking out of me around Paul’s cock, and the wet sounds fill the room.

“Does your husband know how beautifully you move?” Paul asks against my collarbone. “Has he ever once taken the time to just watch you?”

“He doesn’t know anything about me.” It comes out before I can catch it,

And it’s the most honest thing I’ve said all night because Marcus hasn’t asked me what I want in bed in years, hasn’t studied my body the way Paul is studying it right now.

His grip tightens and the politeness stays in his voice but disappears from his body as he starts bouncing me harder, driving up into me.

I throw my head back and ride him with everything I have,

And when he finishes inside me I lift off him and watch the combined mess drip from my body onto the couch cushion where Marcus sits every Sunday.

Ray moves toward me without a word. He is enormous up close, broad and solid, and he picks me up with hands that make me feel weightless.

He sits me on his face and pushes his tongue into my cum-filled pussy and I scream because being eaten out while full of two loads is a sensation my brain has no category for.

“Ride his face,” Vincent orders, already undressed, his cock thick and hard. “Grind down. Let your husband see what you look like when you actually enjoy yourself.”

I’m grinding on Ray’s mouth with one hand fisted in his hair, his tongue circling my clit while his thick fingers push inside me alongside the mess.

The build is fast and savage and when it hits I’m screaming and drenching his face.

While Vincent pushes his cock into my mouth and I’m coming on one man’s face with another filling my throat while Marcus sits frozen.

Ray speaks for the first time all night, his voice low and rumbling against my thigh, just one word: “More.”

Vincent pulls out of my throat, lifts me off Ray, and sets me on the floor.

I’m panting, covered in spit and cum and sweat, and Vincent looks at the other three and his voice drops into something final.

“Get her airtight.”