After the F1 Sunday, Muffin’s appetite only grew. The house felt too quiet between visits from friends. She started spending evenings on her phone—scrolling Fab Swingers, chatting with guys, always with my permission and my oversight. She’d read messages aloud to me in bed, show me photos, ask my opinion on profiles. It became a ritual: her excitement building as she found men who matched her craving for intensity, size, and stamina.
One night she turned to me, eyes bright.
“There are four guys I’ve really hit it off with,” she said. “They’re all… well-endowed. Over 9 inches, one’s pushing 10. They know I’m engaged, know you’ll be watching, know I want to be used hard. I want to invite them all here. One night. All four of them. While you watch.”
I felt the familiar heat coil in my gut—jealousy mixed with arousal, the way it always did when she pushed the edge.
“Tell me more,” I said.
She showed me their profiles—four black men, all in their 30s, fit, respectful, experienced. They’d exchanged messages for weeks, sent proof of tests, talked boundaries. She’d teased them with photos of her in lingerie, told them how she wanted to be stretched, filled, left gaping.
“I want them to come over,” she whispered, hand already stroking me under the sheets. “I want to dress up like a little white dress and heels. I want them to use me until I can’t think straight. Then I want you to make love to me after—slow, deep, reclaiming.”
I kissed her hard.
“Book it,” I said.
---
Two weeks later, Saturday night.
Muffin spent the afternoon getting ready. She chose a tiny white dress—stretchy cotton, low neckline, hem barely covering her ass. No bra, no panties. White lace garter belt and sheer thigh-high stockings underneath. White stilettos with thin ankle straps. Her red hair loose and wild, light makeup, glossy lips.
She looked like sin wrapped in innocence.
The four men arrived within ten minutes of each other—Jamal, Marcus, Trey, and Devon. All tall, all built, all dark-skinned, all carrying themselves with quiet confidence. They shook my hand at the door, eyes flicking to Muffin standing behind me in that dress, already flushed.
“Thanks for having us,” Jamal said—deep voice, easy smile. “We’ve been looking forward to this.”
I led them to the living room. Muffin followed—hips swaying, dress riding higher with every step. She poured drinks, bent forward to hand them out, giving them all a clear view down the neckline.
She didn’t waste time.
“I want this to be simple,” she said, voice steady but thick with need. “I want all four of you to use me. Stretch me. Fill me. Leave me gaping and breathless. My fiancé watches. He joins when he wants. No condoms. Cum wherever you want, but I’d love it inside me.”
They looked at me. I nodded.
She walked to the center of the room—dropped to her knees on the rug.
“Come here,” she said.
They surrounded her.
Jamal unzipped first—cock springing free—thick, veiny, easily 9.5 inches. Muffin’s eyes widened. She took him in her mouth—slow, deep—gagging softly as she worked to take more. Marcus next—10 inches, heavy, dark. She switched to him—lips stretching wide, drool running down her chin onto her dress.
Trey and Devon stroked themselves—both over 9—waiting their turn.
She worked all four—rotating between mouths, hands stroking the others. Spit dripped, dress soaked, her moans muffled around cock.
After ten minutes she stood—pulled the dress over her head—stood naked except stockings and heels.
“Bedroom,” she said. “Now.”
We moved upstairs. The super-king bed waited—sheets already turned down.
She lay on her back—legs spread wide—pussy glistening, ready.
Jamal went first—climbed between her thighs, rubbed the head along her slit, then pushed in slow.
Muffin gasped—back arching—hands gripping the sheets.
“Oh fuck—yes—so thick—stretch me—”
He thrust deep—steady, powerful—hips meeting hers. She moaned loud—voice echoing off the walls—pushing back to take every inch.
Marcus moved to her mouth—she sucked him eagerly while Jamal fucked her.
Trey and Devon stroked—waiting.
Jamal came first—groaning—buried deep, unloading thick ropes inside her. When he pulled out, cum poured from her—creamy, thick—running down her ass crack onto the sheets.
Marcus took his place—10 inches sliding in—making her cry out.
“God—yes—deeper—stretch me wider—”
He fucked her hard—hips slamming—her tits bouncing, moans rising. She came hard—body shaking—pussy spasming around him. He pulled out—came across her stomach—ropes landing in white streaks.
Trey next—thick, curved—slid in easily on the slick mess. Fucked her steady—deep—making her whimper with every stroke. She begged “Harder—fill me—give it to me—”
He came inside her—deep pulses adding to the flood.
Devon last—9.5 inches, girthy—pushed in slow. She moaned—voice hoarse—legs wrapping around him.
“Yes—yes—stretch me—fill me—make me gape—”
He fucked her hard—relentless—bed creaking, her cries filling the room. She came again—shuddering, pussy clamping down—milking him until he groaned and unloaded deep—thick ropes mixing with the others.
When he pulled out, her pussy gaped slightly—cum pouring out in a steady stream—running down her thighs, soaking the sheets.
She lay there—breathless, trembling, stockings laddered, body glistening with sweat and cum—smiling up at us.
I stepped forward—cock hard again.
She opened her legs wider.
“Your turn,” she whispered. “Reclaim me.”
I slid into her—groaning at how slick, how stretched, how full she was. She wrapped her legs around me—heels digging in—moaning softly.
“Make love to me,” she said. “Slow. Deep. Yours.”
I did—slow, deliberate—each thrust gentle but deep, her body rocking with mine. She clung to me—arms around my neck—kissing me softly.
The others watched—quiet now—stroking themselves slowly.
She came again—softly this time—shuddering around me, whispering my name.
I followed—deep inside her—adding my load to the mess.
When I pulled out, cum leaked from her in thick, creamy rivers—pooling on the sheets.
She lay there—breathless, gaping, fulfilled—smiling up at me.
The four men dressed quietly—thanked us—left with dazed grins.
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