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One-up
I was stupid. All the signs were there. Despite the warnings, I barreled forward, weaving side to side, rolling along like an oak cask filled with bourbon, which I was; I could hear my belly sloshing, mini tidal waves of 90-proof booze crashing against the walls of my thirsty stomach lining. I imbibed one too many mint Julips, or did I?
Unable to hold my line, I careened and crashed. I hit what seemed like a wall; thankfully the bouncer’s instincts were catlike, he caught me as I fell, catching me by grabbing my biceps, holding me upright after I slammed right into his muscled chest. His hands were huge and strong. My shoulders rolled forward, my arms almost crossed before me in his clutches. He looked down my pinched dress at my now exposed breasts. He smiled an appreciative smirk. I could barely stand. My head started spinning. Where was my hubby?
When I awoke, I was naked in bed. I felt the familiar sensation of cum oozing from my stretched pussy. My bruised asshole ached. No holes barred last night I concluded, I exhaled deeply. Everything was fuzzy; my head was pounding like a bass drummer in a marching band.
I rolled over onto my back from the fetal position. Staring at the ceiling, I tried to remember what happened the night before. But it was a total blank. I never drink too much but evidently I did last night. So this is what they call “blackout drunk,” whoever “they” are.
The sheets were so luxurious, obviously we had checked into a nice hotel. But where?
I crawled from the bed, leaving the rumpled sheet behind and padded across the room to the floor to ceiling window. I was drawn to the morning light streaming in like a moth to the flame. Standing naked in the window, high above the street below; I scanned the skyline, hopeful to recognize a landmark or building so I could discern my whereabouts. Nothing seemed familiar. Where was my hubby?
My pussy got a work-out last night; I was sore and cum dribbled down leg through my matted, cum-caked pubic hair.
Sometimes my hubby can be a little exuberant and last night clearly he indulged himself repeatedly. The sound of a shower running drew my attention. When I turned toward the bathroom, I noticed the video camera on a tripod aimed at the bed. It wasn’t the first time we recorded our escapades but the camera setup was much more elaborate than usual. In the past, our recordings were jumpy amateurish videos that sometimes caught the action, but mostly not, using a cell phone camera.
Curiosity got the best of me and I pressed play.
I was surprised to see myself enveloped by chiseled studs alternately thrusting their stout pricks into my pussy and asshole, pistoning into me like an old-time steam locomotive. I straddled the man pumping my pussy while another reamed my asshole doggy-style, their cocks jousting inside me, all the while I was sucking feverishly on a third man’s swollen peg. My face was clearly visible on the HD video. I was enjoying myself. But I couldn’t remember anything now. It was surreal to watch myself in the center of the action but be unable to recall it.
The shower turned off. My hubby would hopefully fill in the missing blanks (not that every blank hadn’t been filled last night, repeatedly, judging from my soreness). Steam filled the bathroom but I could see him drying off in the shower enclosure, his back was facing me. He does have a nice ass. I am a lucky girl.
When he turned to face me, my eyes dropped to his flaccid penis. Satisfied as I was, I couldn’t resist the temptation to sneak a peek at his pleasure pole. But it wasn’t my hubby’s cock. I sucked in air, instinctually inflating my lungs to unleash a scream. My heart raced and my hands u*********sly clasped over my breasts to keep my heart from leaping from my chest.
He smiled. His cock began to twitching to life and began hardening to erection. Before I could say a word, he kissed me deeply on my mouth, gently probing with his tongue. Dazed and confused, my mind replayed the video of the three men but he wasn’t one of them. And where was my hubby?!?
He took me by the hand and led me back to the bed and shoved me playfully onto my back. I just laid there propped up on my elbows with my legs slightly parted. Then he adjusted the camera and hit record before bounding back onto the bed, landing next to me. His mouth latched on to my nipple and he began suckling me. My mind was numb.
His fingers pried my pussy lips apart; crumbling dried cum flaked away as my thatched pubic hair untangled to reveal the dripping opening of my lubricated pleasure tunnel, my juices mixing with the cum of countless loads pumped into me throughout the night. I would be his cum receptacle.
I closed my eyes and laid back, floating away in a sea of cotton sheets. His swollen cock slipped into me with no resistance offered. In one long stroke his cock was buried deeply in me to its hilt. He was big and thick; I felt full and stretched despite all the cum bubbling up from within me to grease his entry.
He fucked me vigorously, slamming his hips into me, pummeling me; it felt like his thrusting bat would permanently rearrange my internal organs. I accepted his pounding and shifted my hips to let him drill deeper into me.
He came hard flooding me with his goo; adding his voluminous load to the deposits of other donors. I was a sperm bank and I was obviously open for business.
He turned off the camera and checked his watch. He thanked me for my invitation and wished me well in achieving “my personal best.” The next guy should be waiting outside. He said he was bashful and while watching DP aroused him, he was uncomfortable and self-conscious with other men in the room, let alone impaling the same woman.
I returned a blank stare of bewilderment. Then he asked me how many more loads I needed because he was ready again and he would be quick. He promised.
Then it all came back to me in a snap. My hubby had been bragging about how many women he fucked in a single day before we were married. I said whatever he could do, I could do better. But unlike his unsubstantiated boast, I promised proof.
Six more to go. Baker’s dozen.
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