The Game's Origin
It started as a pact among nine friends--Lena, Sasha, Jade, Tara, Mia, Elise, Zara, Mei, and Kiona--bound by a shared hunger: they all craved motherhood, but none wanted the mess of relationships or the cold sterility of a clinic. Over wine-soaked nights, they devised a game they called "Fucking Russian Roulette," a twisted thrill where one man would fuck them all, and only one would get his seed, the chance of conception a delicious gamble. The rules were simple: they'd pick a guy together, seduce him into their den, and let him loose for hours--teasing, fucking, edging--until he'd choose one to fill, leaving the rest aching and empty. The winner carried the prize; the losers waited for the next round.
Their bodies were as diverse as their desires. Lena, a fair-skinned girl born in Russia, had long auburn hair cascading past her shoulders, a lithe frame with slender legs, small perky boobs, and a tight, pale ass. Sasha, boasted golden skin, blonde locks cut to her chin, muscular legs from years of dance, full breasts that jiggled with every move, and a round, firm ass. Jade, pale skinned girl had a shaved head that gleamed under light, lanky legs, flat boobs, and a bony but enticing ass. Tara, a freckled red head, flaunted a wild mane of copper curls, thick thighs, heavy boobs that swayed, and a plump, hairy ass., Petite Mia with rosy skin, had short black hair, dainty legs, small but shapely breasts, and a pert little ass.
Zara, a Black woman, was a vision of ebony strength--tall with powerful, sculpted legs, her jet-black braids falling to her waist, medium-sized boobs with dark nipples, and a high, muscular ass that begged to be grabbed. Mei was Chinese. She had porcelain skin, straight black hair to her hips, slim legs that tapered elegantly, modest boobs with a subtle curve, and a small, tight ass that glistened with sweat. Kiona carried a warm bronze complexion, her thick black hair in a single braid down her back, sturdy legs from outdoor life, large breasts that bounced, and a wide, toned ass that spoke of resilience.
They'd chosen men in wild ways before - plucking a bouncer from a club, luring a gym trainer after hours, even snagging a stranger from a late-night diner. Each time, they scouted as a pack, their criteria clear: stamina, raw masculinity, and a spark of danger. Marcus was their latest catch, spotted at a dive bar last week. He'd leaned against the counter, all broad shoulders and dark eyes, nursing a whiskey with a quiet intensity that made their pulses race. Lena had sidled up first, testing him with a flirty quip; Sasha followed, brushing his arm; Jade sealed it with a whispered invite. By night's end, he'd agreed, intrigued by their bold proposition, unaware of the marathon ahead. Tonight, in their basement lair, the game was on.
Round One: Doggy Style Tease
The air in the basement was thick with musk and tension, a concrete chamber lit only by a ring of flickering torches. The nine women knelt on all fours, arranged in a tight circle on a stained mattress, their naked bodies glistening with sweat and desire. Their asses were high, thighs parted, pussies dripping and swollen, each one a canvas of lust waiting to be painted. In the center stood Marcus, a hulking figure of raw power, his cock rigid and throbbing, veins pulsing along its thick length. His eyes burned with a predatory gleam as he surveyed his prey.
