Intense BDSM 3some
my body poured into a shiny grey spandex dress, so tight it gripped my curves like a vice, its sleeveless cut baring my shoulders in a brazen invitation. The hem stopped just above my knees, hugging every inch of my thighs, a teasing veil that screamed “fuck me” with every sway of my hips. My legs shimmered in glossy hold-up stockings, their slick, reflective surface a wet dream in motion, catching every glint of light. Silver high heels strapped to my feet, their metallic sheen a defiant taunt, daring anyone to break me. I was a slutty masterpiece, and tonight, my husband was about to unleash a storm that would shatter me.
He’d been tormenting me for days, his voice dripping with filthy promises, each word stoking the fire between my legs. Two men were coming—strangers, his hand-picked wolves to tear me apart. My cunt pulsed, a sick cocktail of terror and hunger clawing at my insides. “Ready to be fucking destroyed?” he snarled, his hands bruising my hips, his eyes black holes of lust. I nodded, my breath already ragged. We’d laid out the rules—safe word, limits, all that shit—but tonight was about diving headfirst into the void, no holding back.
The doorbell went and My husband lead me to the living room, where the two men waited. One had eyes like a predator, dark and ravenous, his jaw set like he’d already tasted me. The other, lean and vicious, smirked like he was picturing me split open. Their gazes fucked me raw before they moved, lingering on the glossy stockings that gleamed on my thighs, the spandex dress stretched to its breaking point, the silver heels that screamed “use this whore.” My pussy was a soaking mess, and they hadn’t even touched me.
“Let’s unwrap our prize,” the dark-eyed one growled, his voice thick with hunger. He stepped forward, his hands deliberate, almost reverent, as he gripped the hem of the tight spandex dress. The fabric clung stubbornly, moulding to my curves, but he lifted it slowly, peeling it up my thighs, over my hips, and past my breasts with careful precision, ensuring not a single tear marred the shiny grey surface. He pulled it over my head, the dress sliding free in one intact piece, a trophy set aside with a smirk. The lean one knelt, his fingers deft as he hooked my lace panties, sliding them down my legs with equal care, leaving them whole. My naked body was bared, save for the glossy hold-up stockings that hugged my thighs, their slick surface shimmering like liquid sin, and the silver high heels that kept me teetering. My breasts were exposed, nipples hardening under their stares, my pussy slick with anticipation, the stockings and heels framing my vulnerability like a filthy masterpiece. Their eyes devoured me, the stockings glinting, the heels daring them to claim me. I was their prey, and I fucking craved the hunt. Ropes tore into my wrists, yanking them behind my back so hard my shoulders screamed, the bindings tight enough to leave marks. My ankles were spread wide, tied to keep me teetering in my heels, my body a trembling, open target. The stockings glinted like a second skin, the tops barely clinging to my thighs, my bare ass and pussy exposed
The dark-eyed one stalked behind me. “Fucking dripping already,” he said his fingers plunging into my slick cunt, rough, making me gasp. The other knelt in front, his teeth grazing the glossy stockings before biting my inner thighs, hard enough to leave marks. My heels scraped the floor, the ropes biting deeper as I squirmed, helpless and on fire.
Then it got fucking depraved. My husband stepped forward, his hand clamping around my throat, not teasing—dominating. “You want to feel the edge, don’t you, slut?” he hissed, his grip tightening until my breath was a thin thread. I nodded, choking out a whimper, my pulse hammering under his fingers. The others watched, their cocks straining, as he squeezed, cutting my air, my vision blurring as a thrill flooded my core. Each pulse of his grip sent my body into overdrive, my cunt clenching, desperate for more.
Hubby laid on the floor and the 2 guys lowered me onto his fat erect cock, The man behind me didn’t wait holding onto my hips, using his fingers he slide them into my arsehole, using some lube to get me ready, he then slammed his cock into my arse with a force that ripped a scream from my throat, muffled by my husband’s chokehold. The pain was raw, searing, blending with the dizzying rush of restricted breath. The one in front unzipped, his cock massive, throbbing, as he grabbed my hair and forced himself into my mouth. I gagged, spit and precum spilling down my chin, my lips stretched to their limit as he fucked my face with savage thrusts. My husband’s grip tightened, stealing my air for seconds that felt like eternity, then releasing just enough for a gasping, desperate breath. The world spun, every sensation razor-sharp—the glossy stockings chafing my thighs.
They fucked me like animals. The man in my arse pounded harder, his hands bruising my hips, each thrust a violent claim that made my body quake. The one in my mouth gripped my hair so tight my scalp burned, his cock choking me, spit dripping. My husband’s fingers found my clit, rubbing it with cruel, relentless precision, while his other hand played my breath like a weapon—squeezing, releasing, squeezing until I was a trembling, mindless mess. Each moment without air made the pleasure filthier, my body screaming as I teetered on the brink of blackout and bliss.
“Take it, you fucking whore,” my husband growled, his voice a dark command as he pinched my clit, sending a shockwave through me. The ropes burned my wrists raw, my stockings tore at the thighs, the tops barely clinging to my sweat-soaked skin. Every hole was theirs, filled with relentless, pounding force—my ass stretched, my throat raw, my cunt dripping down my legs. The man behind me roared, his thrusts brutal, while the one in my mouth fucked me until I couldn’t think, only feel. My husband’s chokehold tightened one last time, holding me in that breathless void as the orgasm hit—a violent, shattering explosion that tore a primal scream from my lungs when he let me breathe.
I came apart, my body convulsing. They didn’t stop, fucking me through the aftershocks, filling me with their cocks in every hole. They couldn’t keep the balancing up any longer to keep me airtight and we slowly untangled.
. My silver high heels lay scattered somewhere in the chaos, a reminder of the slut I’d become. I thought we were done, but the glint in my husband’s eyes told me this was just the prelude. The two men—those ravenous strangers—lounged nearby, their cocks still half-hard, their gazes locked on me.
“Time to take it further,” my husband growled, his voice a dark promise that made my cunt clench despite the exhaustion. He nodded to the men, and they moved like wolves, their hands rough and eager. They dragged me to the centre of the room, the cold floor biting my knees as they forced me down. Arms still tied behind me they yanked my wrists and ankles together behind me, binding them tight in a hog-tie that arched my back painfully, my body a helpless, trembling arc. The torn stockings chafed my skin, my bare pussy exposed and dripping, my breasts swaying beneath me.
The dark-eyed one produced a massive penis gag, its black silicone gleaming, obscene in its size. “Open wide, whore,” he snarled, gripping my jaw. I barely had time to comply before he forced it into my mouth, the thick, unyielding shape stretching my lips, filling my throat until I gagged. Spit dribbled down my chin as he buckled it tight, the gag muffling my moans into pathetic whimpers. My tongue pressed against the silicone cock, every breath a struggle, amplifying the sick thrill coursing through me.
Then came the hood. The lean one, his smirk pure venom, held up a tight BDSM spandex hood, its shiny black surface glinting ominously. It was blindfolded, no eye holes, just a suffocating promise of darkness. He pulled it over my head, the fabric stretching taut, moulding to my face like a second skin. It clung to my cheeks, my nose, stealing my sight and muffling the world. My breath hitched, the hood and gag together making every inhale a desperate act, the breath play now a constant, dizzying edge. I was lost in the dark, my body screaming from the hog-tie, my pussy throbbing, exposed to their stares.
Then I heard it—the low, menacing hum of a magic wand vibrator. My husband’s voice cut through the haze. “Let’s see how many times we can break her.” Rough hands tied the wand to my clit, the ropes biting into my thighs, securing the buzzing head right against my swollen, oversensitive nub. The first pulse hit like a lightning bolt, ripping a muffled scream from my gagged mouth, my body jerking against the ropes. The torn stockings scraped my skin, the gag choking my cries, the hood trapping my heat and sweat.
They didn’t touch me this time. They watched. I could feel their eyes, their presence, as I writhed on the floor, the wand’s relentless buzz driving me to the edge in seconds. The hog-tie kept me immobile, my bound limbs aching, my back arched like a bowstring. The first orgasm hit like a freight train, my cunt clenching, my muffled screams vibrating against the penis gag. Cum leaked down my thighs, soaking the stockings, but the wand didn’t stop. It buzzed harder, the ropes holding it tight, and I was powerless to escape.
“Fucking look at her,” the lean one growled, his voice thick with lust. “She’s a mess.” I couldn’t see them, couldn’t speak, could only feel—the spandex hood suffocating, the gag stretching my jaw, the ropes cutting into my wrists and ankles. The wand pushed me over again, a second orgasm tearing through me before the first had faded. My muffled sobs mixed with moans, spit pooling under the gag, my pussy a throbbing, dripping wreck. The men laughed, low and cruel, their voices circling me like vultures as they recovered, their cocks hardening again at the sight of my torment.
My husband’s hand grazed my cheek through the hood, a fleeting touch that grounded me in the chaos. “You’re ours,” he whispered, his voice a dark anchor. The wand buzzed on, relentless, forcing a third climax that made my vision—already black—explode with stars. My body shook, the ropes burning, the stockings slick with my own cum, the floor beneath me a mess of my surrender. I lost count after the fourth orgasm, each one more brutal, my muffled screams fading into whimpers as the wand drove me into a haze of overstimulation.
When they finally untied the vibrator, my clit was raw, my body a trembling, cum-drenched ruin. The hood came off, the gag unbuckled, and I gasped for air, my vision.
My glossy hold-up stockings were, streaked with my own juices, their once-sleek sheen a testament to the night’s debauchery. My silver high heels were gone, lost in the chaos of ropes and orgasms. I thought I was spent, but the fire in my husband’s eyes—and the hard cocks of the two strangers—told me the night was far from over.
“Get on your knees, slut,” my husband growled, his voice a blade that cut through my haze. My limbs ached, the ropes keeping my arms pinned behind my back. The men dragged me to my knees on the cold, sticky floor, my stockings scraping against it, my bare breasts swaying, nipples hard from the lingering thrill. I was their toy, their filthy canvas, and the thought made my cunt throb despite the ache.
The dark-eyed one stepped forward first, his cock thick and pulsing, still slick from earlier. He grabbed my hair, yanking my head back, his eyes burning with cruel hunger. “Open that fucking mouth,” he snarled. I obeyed, my lips parting, still raw from the gag. He didn’t wait, thrusting deep into my throat with a force that made me gag, my eyes watering as spit spilled down my chin, dripping onto my bare chest. The ropes bit into my wrists as I struggled to balance, my knees grinding into the floor, the stockings chafing my thighs. He fucked my mouth like he owned it, each thrust brutal, his cock hitting the back of my throat, choking me with every pump.
My husband was next, his familiar cock no less demanding. He gripped my face with both hands, his thumbs digging into my cheeks as he slammed into my mouth, his groans mixing with my muffled whimpers. “Take it all, you filthy whore,” he growled, his pace relentless, spit and precum dripping onto my breasts, soaking the tops of my shredded stockings. The lean one followed, his smirk vicious as he tangled his fingers in my hair, forcing himself deeper, my throat burning as I gagged around him. The three of them took turns, passing me like a toy, each one rougher than the last, my mouth stretched and used, my body trembling with the sick thrill of being their fuckhole.
The ropes kept me bound, my knees aching, the floor slick beneath me. The stockings, clinging to my thighs, a filthy reminder of my surrender. They fucked my mouth in a relentless cycle, my gasps for air desperate between thrusts, spit and precum coating my lips, dripping down my neck. The world was a blur of cocks, hands, and their guttural grunts, my body theirs to defile. My cunt dripped, untouched but aching, the degradation fuelling a dark, pulsing need.
Then they stepped back, forming a tight circle around me. I knelt, bound and gasping, my face a mess of spit and tears, my stockings shredded, my bare skin glistening with sweat. They stroked their cocks, their eyes locked on me, their breaths heavy with lust. “Beg for it,” my husband commanded, his voice a dark promise. I whimpered, my voice hoarse, “Please… cum on me… fucking cover me.” The words were barely out before they erupted, all three at once, their hot, thick cum splashing across my face one after the other. It hit my cheeks, my lips, my chin, dripping onto my ches. I moaned, the heat of it, the filth of it, sending a shiver through my bound, kneeling body.
They stood over me, panting, their cocks spent but their eyes still hungry. My husband knelt, his fingers brushing the cum-slicked skin of my face, smearing it across my lips. “Look at you,” he murmured, pride and possession in his voice. “Our perfect slut.” The ropes bit into my wrists, my knees burned, the stockings clung to my cum-drenched thighs.
My body was a canvas of debauchery, still quivering from the cum-soaked frenzy of their mouth fucking me. I knelt, wrists still bound behind me, my breath ragged, thinking the storm had passed. But the glint in my husband’s eyes and the hungry smirks of the two strangers told me they were far from done.
“Time to play with some new toys, slut,” my husband growled, his voice a dark promise that made my cunt pulse despite the ache. He nodded to the men, and they moved with predatory grace, dragging a pile of BDSM tools from the shadows. My pulse spiked, a mix of fear and craving twisting in my gut. The ropes on my wrists were untied but only to reposition me. They forced me to my feet, my legs wobbling, the stockings chafing my skin. The dark-eyed one produced a spreader bar, its cold metal gleaming as he locked it between my ankles, forcing my legs wide apart. The position left me vulnerable, my pussy exposed, my breasts bare and swaying.
The lean one held up a leather flogger, its tails swaying menacingly, the scent of leather hitting me like a drug. “Let’s see how you scream,” he sneered, his eyes glinting with cruel intent. Before I could brace myself, he swung, the flogger’s tails biting into my ass with a sharp crack. I gasped, the sting blooming into heat, my body jerking against the spreader bar. The glossy stockings amplified the sensation, their torn edges rubbing raw against my thighs. My husband watched, his cock hardening again, as the flogger struck again, harder, the pain a delicious edge that made my cunt drip onto the floor.
Then came the nipple clamps. My husband stepped forward, his fingers rough as he pinched my nipples, already hard, and snapped the clamps on, their silver bite sharp enough to rip a whimper from my throat. A thin chain connected them, glinting in the dim light, its constant tug sending jolts of pain-pleasure straight to my core. “You’re fucking ours,” he growled, yanking the chain lightly, making me moan as the clamps tightened, my body trembling in the spreader bar’s grip.
They didn’t stop. The dark-eyed one took the flogger, its tails dancing across my thighs, my stomach, each strike precise, leaving red welts that burned. The lean one knelt, his tongue flicking my clit, teasing but not satisfying, as the flogger’s blows kept coming. My husband tugged the nipple clamp chain, each pull a shockwave that made my pussy clench, my moans loud and desperate. The spreader bar kept me open, helpless, my body a playground for their tools. The stockings were soaked with sweat and cum.
They took turns, each man wielding a tool. The flogger’s sting alternated with the clamps’ bite, the chain yanked until my nipples throbbed, the spreader bar forcing me to endure every sensation. My husband’s hand found my throat again, squeezing just enough to blur my world, the breath play a dark thread weaving through the pain and pleasure. “Cum for us, whore,” he commanded, his fingers slipping into my dripping cunt, fucking me in time with the flogger’s strikes. The orgasm hit like a tidal wave, my screams echoing, my body convulsing against the spreader bar, the clamps tugging my nipples as I shook. Cum dripped down my thighs, soaking the torn stockings, pooling on the floor.
They didn’t let up. The flogger kept striking, the clamps stayed tight, the spreader bar held me open as a second climax ripped through me, then a third, each one more brutal, my body a trembling, overstimulated mess. When they finally stopped, my husband unhooked the clamps, the blood rushing back to my nipples with a pain that made me gasp. The spreader bar was unlocked, and I collapsed to my knees, the ropes retied loosely behind me. My stockings were a cum-drenched wreck, my body marked by welts and ecstasy.
If you want to add more chapters, introduce different BDSM tools, adjust the intensity, or shift the focus, let me know!
My silver high heels had been lost in the chaos, but my husband retrieved them, strapping them back onto my feet, their metallic glint a cruel reminder of the slut I’d become. My bare breasts and pussy were exposed, my skin marked by the night’s relentless assault. I thought the storm might be easing, but the glint in my husband’s eyes and the predatory smirks of the two strangers told me they were ready to push me further into submission.
“Time to serve us, slut,” my husband growled, his voice a dark command that made my cunt throb despite the exhaustion. He nodded to the men, who moved with predatory precision, pulling a new set of BDSM tools from the shadows. My pulse spiked, a mix of fear and craving twisting in my gut. The ropes on my wrists were undone, but only to be replaced with something new. The dark-eyed one produced a wide leather posture collar, its black surface thick and unyielding, studded with metal rivets that gleamed menacingly. He fastened it around my neck, the leather forcing my chin up, my posture rigid, the tight grip a possessive claim that made my breath hitch. Every swallow was a struggle, the collar’s pressure amplifying the submissive haze I was drowning in.
Next came the ball gag. The lean one, his smirk venomous, held up a red silicone ball, its size obscene, promising to stretch my mouth. “Open up, whore,” he sneered, forcing it between my lips. The ball filled my mouth, my jaw aching as he buckled it tight, spit already pooling at the corners of my lips. My moans were reduced to muffled grunts, the gag making every breath a reminder of my helplessness. The dark-eyed one wasn’t done. He produced a pair of leather cuffs, their edges lined with soft padding but locked with a small, cold padlock that clicked ominously. He cuffed my wrists in front of me, the leather tight, the padlock’s weight a constant reminder of my captivity. My hands were bound but mobile, just enough to serve their twisted desires.
“Get up,” my husband ordered, yanking me to my feet. My legs wobbled in the silver high heels, the glossy stockings torn and clinging to my thighs, their ripped edges chafing my welted skin. My bare breasts swayed, nipples still throbbing from the clamps, my pussy exposed and dripping. They led me to a tray of wine glasses glinting in the dim light. “Serve us, slut,” my husband commanded, his eyes burning with possession. I picked up the tray, my cuffed hands trembling, the padlock clinking as I moved. The posture collar forced my head high, my back straight, making every step in the heels a precarious act, my body a display for their hungry gazes.
As I served the drinks, they didn’t hold back. The dark-eyed one took his glass, his free hand roaming my body, squeezing my ass, his fingers grazing the welts left by the flogger. “Fucking perfect,” his thumb brushing the edge of my torn stockings before slipping between my thighs, teasing my dripping pussy. I gasped around the ball gag, spit dripping down my chin, my body trembling as I struggled to balance the tray. The lean one was next, his fingers pinching my nipple as he took his drink, his other hand sliding up my inner thigh, stopping just short of my clit, leaving me aching. “Look at this needy cunt,” he sneered, his fingers circling my entrance, teasing but not penetrating, driving me wild with unfulfilled need.
My husband watched, sipping his wine, his eyes locked on me as I served him last. He set his glass down, his hand immediately finding my pussy, his fingers plunging inside without warning. I moaned, muffled by the gag, my cuffed hands shaking, the tray nearly slipping as he fucked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate. “You’re our little servant now,” he growled, his thumb pressing my clit, sending shocks through my body. The posture collar kept my head up, forcing me to face their stares, the gag choking my cries, the cuffs clinking with every tremble. The stockings chafed my thighs, the silver heels clicked on the floor, each step a reminder of my exposure.
They took turns teasing me, their hands roaming as I stood there, tray in hand, a bound, gagged plaything. The dark-eyed one tugged at my nipples, his fingers slick with my own cum as he smeared it across my chest. The lean one slapped my ass, the sting sharp against the welts, his fingers dipping into my pussy just enough to make me buck, then pulling away. My husband’s touch was the cruellest, his fingers relentless, bringing me to the edge but stopping short, leaving me whimpering through the gag, my body a trembling mess of unspent desire. The tray shook, the glasses clinking, but I didn’t drop it, driven by the need to please them.
When they’d had their fill of drinks, my husband took the tray, setting it aside. “You’ve been a good slut,” he murmured, The glossy hold-up stockings clung to my thighs, their once-slick sheen now streaked with, cum, and sweat. The silver high heels remained strapped to my feet, their metallic glint a cruel reminder of the slut I’d become, each click a taunt in the dim light. The wide leather posture collar gripped my neck, its riveted surface forcing my chin up, my posture rigid, every swallow a struggle that amplified the submissive haze drowning me. My bare breasts and pussy were exposed, nipples throbbing, my cunt dripping with unspent need. I thought I’d plumbed the depths of their desires, but the fire in my husband’s eyes and the predatory smirks of the two strangers told me they were ready to break me further.
“Time to spread you wide, slut,” my husband growled, his voice a dark blade that sliced through my haze, making my pussy throb despite the exhaustion. He nodded to the men, who moved with predatory precision, dragging me to a large bed in the corner of the room, its frame sturdy, the sheets stark white against the depravity about to unfold. My pulse hammered, a sick mix of dread and craving twisting in my gut. They tossed me onto the mattress, the posture collar keeping my head high, the stockings chafing my thighs, the heels digging into the sheets. Ropes appeared, coarse and unyielding, their texture biting as they set to work.
The dark-eyed one grabbed my wrists, yanking them toward the bedposts, tying each with tight, intricate knots that burned my skin, securing my arms spread wide above my head. My shoulders strained, the posture collar forcing my neck straight, my breasts heaving with every ragged breath. The lean one took my legs, lifting them high, bending my knees to keep my thighs open, my pussy and ass exposed. They looped ropes around my ankles, tying them to a suspension point above the bed, keeping my legs in the air, spread and ready, the short chains of the knots rattling softly. The position left me utterly vulnerable, my cunt and ass open for their use, the glossy stockings shimmering on my thighs, the silver heels glinting as my feet dangled, the posture collar a constant reminder of my submission.
“Look at this fucktoy,” the lean one sneered, his eyes glinting with cruel intent as he slapped my inner thigh, the sting sharp against the torn stockings. My husband stepped forward, his cock already hard, his gaze locked on my spread body. “We’re gonna fill every hole until you’re dripping,” he growled, his voice thick with possession. The men didn’t wait, their cocks throbbing, their hands roaming my bound form, teasing my nipples, grazing my clit, making me whimper with need.
The dark-eyed one went first, positioning himself between my legs, his cock slick as he pressed it against my ass. He thrust in with a single, brutal stroke, the pain searing, ripping a muffled cry from my throat, the posture collar choking my moans. My ass stretched around him, the burn blending with the dizzying rush of exposure, my legs trembling in the ropes, the stockings chafing my thighs. He fucked me hard, his hands gripping my hips, each thrust a violent claim that made my body quake, the silver heels swaying with every brutal pump. He didn’t hold back, his grunts filling the room as he pounded my ass, his eyes locked on mine, feral and unyielding. When he came, his hot cum filled me, leaking out as he pulled away, leaving me gasping, my ass raw and dripping.
My husband was next, his familiar cock massive as he positioned himself at my pussy. He slid in slowly, deliberately, stretching me, the sensation overwhelming after the assault on my ass. “Take it, whore,” he growled, his hands squeezing my thighs, his thrusts building to a relentless rhythm. The ropes bit into my wrists and ankles, the posture collar forced my head up, making me face his dominating gaze. My pussy clenched around him, the stockings slick with sweat and cum, the heels teetering in the air. He fucked me with ruthless precision, his fingers pinching my clit, driving me to the edge. When he came, his cum flooded my pussy, spilling out as he groaned, his eyes burning with possession.
The lean one took his turn, his smirk vicious as he claimed my pussy, his cock plunging into the mess of my husband’s cum. “Fucking sloppy slut,” he snarled, his thrusts erratic, savage, his hands slapping my breasts, making them bounce. The ropes held me fast, my legs spread wide, the posture collar choking my moans as he fucked me, his pace unrelenting. My body was a trembling mess, the stockings torn and cum-soaked, the heels clicking softly as my bound legs shook. He came with a roar, his cum mixing with my husband’s, dripping down my thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath me.
They stepped back, panting, their cocks spent but their eyes still hungry. My body was a bound, cum-drenched ruin, my ass and pussy leaking, my wrists and ankles raw from the ropes, the posture collar a tight anchor to my submission. The glossy stockings clung to my thighs, streaked with filth, the silver heels a mocking reminder of my exposure. My husband knelt beside me, his fingers brushing my sweat-slicked face, his touch now gentle. “Our perfect slut,” he murmured, pride and possession in his voice. The men watched, their gazes smoldering, ready for more.
