Hotel Room 3 some
The hotel room buzzed with tension, the king-sized bed looming like a stage in the centre. I stood at its edge, my short, low-cut red dress clinging to every curve, the hem teasing the tops of my black stockings. My high heels sank into the carpet as I glanced at Hubby, already sprawled in the armchair across the room, wine in hand. His eyes were dark, predatory, locked on me with a hunger that made my pulse race. He didn’t need to speak—I knew he was ready to watch me unravel.
The door swung open, and there they were: Jack and Mike, two towering figures with cocks I’d chosen for their sheer size. They didn’t hesitate, their gazes raking over me—my plunging neckline, the way the dress barely contained my tits, the flash of lace above my heels. “Stay dressed,” Jack rasped, his voice thick with lust as he grabbed my waist and shoved me onto the bed. I landed on my back, the mattress dipping under my weight, my dress riding up to expose the tops of my stockings as I got on all 4s. Mike was behind me in an instant, kneeling on the bed, his hands yanking my shoulders up so I was propped on my elbows.
Hubby shifted in his chair, leaning forward now, his breath audible as Jack climbed onto the bed in front of me. He unzipped his pants, unleashing a cock so thick it made my mouth water—and my throat tighten with anticipation. “Open wide,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I barely had time to obey before he thrust himself past my lips, hitting the back of my throat in one brutal push. I gagged hard, the sound wet and obscene, spit spilling from the corners of my mouth as he fucked my face without mercy.
Behind me, Mike didn’t hold back either. He shoved my dress up just enough, leaving the stockings and heels intact, and ripped my panties aside. His cock—long, veiny, and impossibly hard—slammed into me, stretching me so wide I choked out another gag around Jack. The bed creaked under us as they spit-roasted me, relentless and raw. Mike’s hands dug into my hips, pulling me back onto him with every thrust, while Jack held my head still, forcing me to take every inch. My gag reflex kicked in over and over, my eyes watering, drool dripping down my chin to stain the red dress, but I didn’t care—I was their slut, and I loved it.
The dress stayed on, the neckline slipping lower with every jolt, my tits bouncing free, nipples hard against the fabric. The stockings rubbed my thighs as Mike pounded me, my heels scraping the sheets. I was a mess—gagging, moaning, my throat raw from Jack’s cock, my pussy clenching around Mike’s. They didn’t let up, turning me into a lewd, dripping spectacle for ages, the wet slaps and choked sounds filling the room.
Hubby’s eyes never left me. His hand gripped the armrest, knuckles white, his chest heaving as he watched his wife get wrecked. I caught his gaze between gags, saw the fire there, and it pushed me over the edge. My body shook, pleasure ripping through me as I came, muffled screams vibrating around Jack’s cock. He groaned, thrusting deeper, and exploded down my throat, making me choke and sputter when he came in my mouth as I swallowed what I could, the rest spilling out. Mike followed, slamming into me one last time, filling me hot spunk with a growl that rattled the bed.
They pulled out, leaving me panting, trembling, a drooling, cum-soaked mess on the sheets. The dress was wet with spit and sweat, the stockings wonky—but I felt fucking alive. I crawled to the edge of the bed, heels still on, and looked at Hubby. His grin was feral as I rasped, “Enjoy the show?” He nodded, slow and deliberate, already reaching for me.
The air in the hotel room still hummed with the aftermath, my body buzzing from Jack and Mike’s relentless spit-roasting. They’d left me a trembling wreck on the bed, my short red dress soaked with spit and sweat, black stockings still on as were my, high heels. The two of them had slipped out, smirking, leaving me alone with Hubby. He hadn’t moved from the armchair, but his eyes were wild now, his hand no longer on the wine glass but clenched into a fist. I could see the bulge in his Jeans, straining, begging for release after watching me get ruined.
I slid off the bed, my knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. The dress clung to me, the neckline sagging, my tits half-out, glistening with the mess of the night. I crawled to him, heels dragging, stockings rubbing my thighs, until I knelt between his legs. His breath hitched as I reached for his zipper, freeing his cock—hard, throbbing, and already leaking for me. I looked up at him, locking eyes, and parted my lips, taking him in slow. My tongue swirled around the tip, tasting him, teasing him, drawing out a low groan. I went deeper, inch by inch, sucking him with a deliberate, torturous pace, my hands braced on his thighs.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough, his control slipping. I kept it slow, savoring the way he twitched in my mouth, the way his hips bucked just a little, begging for more. But it was too much for him—watching me gag on those cocks had lit something feral in him. His hands shot to my hair, fingers twisting tight, and he yanked my head forward, shoving himself deep. I gagged hard, the sound wet and filthy, spit bubbling at the corners of my mouth as he took over. He face-fucked me with a fury, hips thrusting, cock slamming into my throat until my eyes streamed and my moans were choked off. It was brutal, messy, and I loved every second, my body still aching from the first round, now trembling for him.
He didn’t last long—not after the show I’d given him. With a growl, he pulled me off, my lips swollen and dripping, and threw me onto the bed. I landed on my back, legs splayed, the dress riding up to expose my soaked, cum-slick pussy. He was on me in an instant, tearing what was left of my panties away, his cock plunging into me without warning. I screamed, the stretch overwhelming, my walls clenching around him as he fucked me hard. The bed shook, my heels digging into the mattress, stockings rubbing against him with every thrust. He pounded me, relentless, his hands pinning my wrists above my head, his breath hot against my neck.
“Mine,” he snarled, and that was it—I came again, shaking beneath him, my cries echoing off the walls. He didn’t stop, driving deeper, faster, until he buried himself to the hilt and exploded. His cum flooded me, thick and hot, a creampie that mixed with what Mike had left behind, spilling out around him as he collapsed onto me, panting.
We stayed like that for a moment, breathless, wrecked. Then he pulled out, and I felt it—warmth dripping down my thighs, soaking into the stockings. He grinned, dark and satisfied, and stood, offering me his hand. “Let’s go.”
I didn’t fix myself. The dress hung off me, stained and wrinkled, my tits barely contained, my stockings tops on show, Cum trickled down my legs as we walked out. We left the mess behind—sheets ruined, air thick with sex—and walked out. Through the hotel reception, I strutted, dripping, a slut on full display. Heads turned, whispers followed, but I didn’t care. Hubby’s hand rested on my lower back, possessive, proud, as we crossed the polished floor. My thighs were slick, the evidence of the night seeping out with every step, pooling slightly at the tops of my stockings.
We reached the car, and I slid into the passenger seat, the leather cool against my skin. Hubby started the engine, glancing at me with that same feral grin. “Best fucking night,” he said, and I smirked, knowing we’d do it again.
