Came home to my wife getting gangbanged

The fucking tires on my truck crunched over the gravel in the driveway, sounding way louder than usual in the dead quiet of the night. It was past ten, and my shift at the plant had run late again, leaving me with that deep, bone-tired ache that a six-pack and a blowjob usually fixes. But as I killed the engine, I saw I had company.

Bobby’s beat-up Honda Civic was parked next to Kelly’s minivan, which was normal. Ken’s big-ass Dodge Ram was there too, which was also… pretty normal, all things considered. Me, M31, and my wife Kelly, F42, we got an understanding. We’re open as fuck. She’s got this thing, this fucking insatiable hunger to be used, to be a cuck, to get stuffed full of cock until she can’t remember her own name. It works for us.

But then there was a third car, a little red sports car I’d never seen before in my fucking life. That got my attention. My tiredness kinda vanished, replaced by a low buzz of curiosity. I didn’t get mad, not my style. I just thought, “Alright, Kelly, what the hell did you get yourself into now?”

I didn’t even need my key. The front door was unlocked. The second I pushed it open, the sound hit me like a physical wave. It wasn’t just the TV. It was the real deal. Kelly’s moans, high and desperate, mixed with the raw, grunting sounds of men. And that sound… that wet, meaty, rhythmic slap of skin on skin. It was coming from the living room. I dropped my lunch pail by the door and followed the noise, my boots quiet on the fucking hallway carpet.

And then I saw it. The whole fucking picture. The coffee table was pushed aside, and right there on our big, worn-out rug, was the scene. Bobby was on his back, his jeans around his ankles, and Kelly was riding him, her ass bouncing up and down on his dick like her life depended on it. Her head was buried in Ken’s lap, and I could see from the way his head was thrown back and his hands were fisted in her hair that she was sucking him off, deep and messy.

But it was the third guy that made my eyebrows shoot up. He was kneeling next to Ken, and Kelly had one hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him fast while she serviced the other two. It took me a second to place him, with his face all fucked-up with pleasure, but then it clicked. It was Chris. Her fucking ex-boyfriend from way back when.

I just leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed, and watched for a minute. It was a hell of a sight. My wife, this fucking goddess in her forties, being the center of a goddamn porn scene in our own living room. Her tits were swaying, slick with sweat, and her face was a mask of pure, slutty bliss.

I let out a low whistle and finally spoke, my voice cutting through their grunts and moans. “Hey, Kelly. I see you’re busy.”

The effect was instant. Bobby froze underneath her, his hips stuttering to a halt. Ken’s eyes snapped open, and he looked right at me, a flicker of panic in them. Chris actually flinched, his dick twitching in Kelly’s hand. But Kelly… she was something else. She slowly turned her head, her lips still stretched around the head of Ken’s cock. She didn’t stop stroking Chris. She just looked at me, her eyes hazy and dark with lust, and pulled her mouth off Ken with a soft, wet pop.

“Oh, hey, baby,” she said, her voice breathy and raw. “I had some people over for dinner and, uh… things got a little out of hand.” She gave a little shrug, her body still seated firmly on Bobby’s hard-on. “I’m sorry. We can stop if you want?”

I couldn’t help it. I fucking laughed. A real, loud, from-the-gut laugh. “Stop? Fuck no,” I said, walking further into the room. I gestured towards her ass, which was clenching around nothing for a second. “Look at that thing. It looks lonely. And it looks like you got two more mouths to feed.”

That was all the permission they needed. The spell was broken, and the hunger came rushing back, twice as strong. Kelly let out this grateful, slutty moan and went back to sucking Ken like she was trying to find his soul. Bobby started thrusting up into her again, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. Chris shuffled closer, pushing his cock back towards her waiting mouth.

I took my time. I walked over to the couch, dropped my ass onto it, and just enjoyed the fucking show for a minute, unzipping my jeans. My own dick was rock hard, straining against my boxers. This was the shit that turned me on the most. Seeing my wife, the love of my fucking life, being the most perfect, used-up whore she could be. She was in her element, a fucking queen on her throne of cock.

After a few minutes of watching her get plowed from both ends, I decided it was my turn. I stood up, my cock springing free, and walked over to them. Ken saw me coming and shifted, giving me space. Kelly saw my dick in my hand and her eyes lit up. “You wanna switch it up, boys?” I grunted.

It was like a well-rehearsed dance, even with the new partner. Bobby rolled Kelly off him, her pussy making a wet, slick sound as she came off his shaft. She immediately got on all fours, that perfect, round ass pointing right at the ceiling.

Chris moved to her front, kneeling so she could take him back in her mouth. I got behind her, spat on my hand and slicked up my cock, then pressed the head against her soaked, stretched-out hole. She was so fucking wet and warm, it was unbelievable. I didn’t tease. I just grabbed her hips and shoved myself inside her in one long, deep thrust. She screamed around Chris’s dick, a muffled, guttural sound that vibrated through the whole room.

That was the start of it. We fucking destroyed her. We took turns, switching positions, using every hole. Bobby fucked her face while I pounded her from behind. Then Ken would bend her over the arm of the couch and take her while she jerked off Chris and me. We were all sweating, grunting, a tangle of limbs and欲望. The air was thick with the smell of sex, of her perfume and our sweat and the sharp, musky scent of her pussy. Kelly was just a babbling, moaning mess, begging for more, telling us how good she felt, how full she was, what a slut she was for our cocks.

It went on for what felt like hours. We came, and after a short break, we’d get hard again and go another round. We used her on the rug, on the couch, up against the fucking wall. She took every single inch we gave her, her body yielding and welcoming us every time.

Finally, we were all spent. We collapsed around her on the floor, a pile of exhausted, slick bodies. Kelly was on her back, her chest heaving, her body glistening with a sheen of sweat and our cum. She looked completely and utterly used, and she had this blissed-out, stupidly happy smile on her face.

I looked at Bobby, then at Ken, then at Chris. We were all thinking the same thing. We were all still hard enough for one last thing. We got on our knees around her head, our dicks in our hands. Kelly saw what was coming and opened her mouth wide, sticking out her tongue, her eyes begging for it.

“Alright, you fucking whore,” I said, my voice rough. “You wanna be painted? Let’s paint that pretty, slutty face.”

And we did. One after the other, we let go, groaning as thick, hot ropes of cum shot out, splattering across her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, her open mouth. She closed her eyes, lapping up what she could, letting the rest cover her like a second skin. When we were done, she was a fucking masterpiece. A used, filthy, beautiful masterpiece. She looked up at us, cum dripping from her eyelashes, and gave us a tired, fucked-out smile.

“Thank you, baby,” she slurred. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” I said, collapsing next to her and pulling her sticky body against mine. “I love you too, you fucking cuck.” And I meant it. Every fucking word.