Wife Pretends to Sleep: Husband Exposes Her to Friends for Raw Gangbang

Dim bedroom light. We’d drunk too much. Marie-Laure, 42, blonde bombshell, 1.58m, 45kg, heavy firm tits, metro-ticket trimmed blonde pussy, slipped under sheets in pyjama. Reading magazine. Friends downstairs push to continue at one’s place. I check with her. She’s cool but hesitant. Friend knocks soft. She slams eyes shut, fakes sleep.

Door cracks. Faces peer. Me beside her on bed. They slip in, eyes questioning. Hand on her shoulder. Shake. Nothing. Booze fuels me. Little spite. ‘Isn’t she gorgeous asleep?’ Yank sheet down. Pyjama clings to curves. She freezes.

The Fever Ignites in Our Bedroom

Heart hammers. Defy top button. Slow. Eyes lock on her. I throb hard against thigh. She knows. Second button pops. Third. Peel jacket. Left tit bursts free—heavy, nipple peaked. Pause. Offer it to them. Stares burn. She pinches my thigh hidden, eyes sealed.

All buttons gone. Jacket flares. Both tits naked, heaving slight. She rolls side, hides them coy. Friends’ faces crumple—pure loss. Grin inside. Tug pyjama pants. Ass cheeks glow pale. She clutches front desperate. Beckon them. ‘Help.’ Bernard, Philippe near.

She releases. Pants whoosh down. Full ass bare, round. Bernard yanks further. She’s side-turned, cheeks spread slight. Philippe grips shoulder. Pierre hands on hips. They flip her. On back now. Jacket splayed. Tits sprawl. Belly flat. Pussy mound trimmed neat.

Their gazes rake—face, tits, slit. Hearts race audible. Bernard grabs ankles. Spreads wide. Pink lips part tiny. Alain eyes me. ‘Can we?’ Silence screams yes. His hand dives. Fingers split folds. Plunge deep. Pump. Pull out slick. ‘Look, she’s soaked.’ Gleam catches light.

Three more hands verify. Probe. Stretch. Philippe kneels. Tongue lashes clit. She bucks wild. Arches. Cums hard. Hands clamp his head. Body quakes. No return.

Bernard’s cock taps her lips. Thick vein pulse. Eyes flick mine—question. I grin. Free my steel shaft. She parts mouth. He slides in slow. I love it—not mine. Her hand grabs me. Strokes firm.

Nightstand drawer. Condom to Philippe. Pierre kneads tits, tugs nipples stiff. Philippe rolls it on. Legs over arms. Gland kisses slit. Lips suck him. Inch by inch vanishes. Groan escapes her. He thrusts deep. Pulls out glossy. Plunges again. Hypnotic rhythm.

Blaze of Forbidden Ecstasy

Bernard grunts. Fills mouth. Spills jets. Over lips, face. She chases cock, mouth full, dribbles white. Pierre straddles chest. Cock in tit valley. She squeezes globes tight. Philippe hammers. Explodes inside. She cums again, walls clench.

Pierre unloads—neck, face, mouth flooded. She’s glazed cum queen. Rises. Bathroom water rushes. We four bare on bed, cocks rise again. Awkward. ‘Super.’ ‘Hell yeah.’ ‘Lucky bastard.’ Laughter erupts.

Marie-Laure returns. Eyes our hard-ons. ‘No regrets.’ Spots mine. ‘Poor baby, last.’ Straddles Philippe. Hovers pussy over me. Impales slow. Heat grips. Ondulates hips. Philippe, Pierre stand. She strokes, sucks alternate.

Bernard condoms up. Bends her forward. Ass resists— not her fave. I hug tight. Whisper go. Head on shoulder. Mirror shows Pierre, Philippe part cheeks. Gland nudges rosebud. She pants hot in neck. He breaches. Through wall, I feel him fill.

‘Hue, cocotte!’ Slaps echo. She stirs slow. Bernard reams ass. Pussy milks me. They egg: ‘Shake that ass, slut. Feel those cocks?’ ‘Yes! Fuck me hard!’ Frenzy builds. We three erupt—sync pulse.

Bernard swaps Pierre ass. Philippe mouth. Mirror magic: cocks ravage holes. Pierre blows first. Philippe next—surplus drools on my chest. She collapses on me. Eyes shut bliss.

Wake alone. Friends gone. Lipstick on her ass: ‘Merci.’ Laughter booms. Shower calls. Skin still scorches. Unforgettable burn.