Neighbors: Jeannie's Night Out

Author's Note: the following fictional story involves a married woman participating in a rough gang-bang after a girl's night out. So, if you don't like that sort of story, skip it. Thanks!

"Woman, stop your yapping and put your mouth to good use," said Hugh, grabbing her hair and forcing her forward, bending her over the sofa in the middle of the room.

Too shocked to fight much, Jeannie was totally perplexed by what was happening. Hugh held her head, and she felt Henry pull down her lacy black underwear and undo her skirt. Henry's hand scooped between her knees, up her thighs, clamping his fingers on her pubic mound, caressing her - she was now bare from the waist down. Hugh unbuttoned his jeans with one hand and held her head down to his crotch with the other. Moving to the side of the sofa, Clyde grabbed her top. He momentarily shoved Hugh aside, quickly pulled it over her head, unhooked and removed her bra, and in a minute she was naked except for her shoes, surrounded by three big guys, pushed prone against the couch.

Behind her, she heard Henry's jeans hit the floor with a thud, his belt buckle clattering loudly. Clyde's rough hands roamed her bare body. Hugh was still yanking at his briefs with one hand while restraining her with the other, frantically struggling to get them all the way down, his semi-hard coal cock waving in her face.

She remembered the warnings from Val, Missy, and Leslie not to flirt too much with these three strangers, but the men had been charming, their smiles sincere, their compliments and praise just what she desired. They had bonded over pitcher after pitcher of margaritas and shots of tequila, and it had been so much fun to be out and about and doted on by men. Why the hell had she gone to their apartment? Now, she understood. She was the main event for the evening - they were going to fuck her senseless. She lay naked across the sofa - totally exposed, her breath first catching, and then inhaling deeply; her breasts - guys always ogled - felt full, nipples hard as hell, that little strip down there recently trimmed, like she'd planned on cucking Stan. "I just wanted to look sexy," she thought defensively.

Jeannie gripped the sofa cushions with one hand, the other pushing weakly against Hugh's solid thigh. Henry's fingers explored her slick folds, drawing a moan from deep within her. Clyde's teeth grazed her shoulder, his rough hands kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples, sending jolts of pleasure-pain through her body. Hugh's hardening rod beckoned, swinging before her eyes as he kicked off his underpants. She was scared, she was angry, and god help her, she was turned on. The men stared into her eyes, making sure she was really willing.

Time stood still as she stared back. She had married Stan young and had little sexual experience - she'd never had two men at a time, much less three. In fact, she'd never even seen naked men like this before, outside of porn. She'd taken dildos larger than Stan, but not real flesh and blood cocks of this size. She smelled her own arousal - usually faint and subtle when she was in the mood, but now the scent was overpowering. She felt her breasts swelling - they'd never felt like this before. Was she really willing? Her body was. Is this what she wanted? She might never get a chance to experience something like this again. It might be painful, and it would be degrading, but it wouldn't be dull. Was she a cheating slut? She felt herself spread her legs further apart as she drew another deep breath.

Henry stroked her slit, feeling her arousal, and then holding up a hand drenched in the white creamy froth for all to see. "Damn, girl. You're dripping." He rubbed the helmet of his cock against her entrance, holding it there, letting her feel it against her slit.

Jeannie reached out, not really knowing what she was doing, wrapping her hand around Hugh's tool, steadying herself as she took him into her mouth. She didn't mean to; she just did it.

"Swallow it, you little tease," Hugh purred, fingers tight in her hair. He pushed her head down, forcing her to take him deeper. She gagged a little, but only a little. Hugh didn't relent, "Take it deeper, you wanted this."

Henry's cock, now slick with her arousal, slowly slid in, parting her tight cunt. She felt like she was losing her virginity all over again, the bittersweet pain and pleasure. She gasped as she felt his thick member filling her completely, and Hugh took advantage of her open mouth and throat to go deeper still.

Clyde watched, studying her reactions, slowly stroking his dick and waiting his turn. He leaned down near her ear as she whimpered. "I'd bet this is your first spit roast. Your man never got you like this. You won't want his dick once you've been fucked by us.

Jeannie moaned, her body betraying her as they pounded it. Why did this humiliation feel so fucking good? She was close, so close. The sensations were overwhelming: the taste of Hugh in her mouth, the feel of Henry pounding into her, the degrading sound of Clyde's dirty talk. They were like machines - they'd done this to many women before, and knew what each would do, when and how, and she felt dirty and common, but her body responded by instinct, ignoring her fear and shame.

She gagged on one of Hugh's deep thrusts, but he took no notice. She wasn't sure how long the ravaging lasted - it felt both too short and too long - the sensations of her mouth and cunt so intense she couldn't keep them straight, and it all seemed like one. Finally, she couldn't hold back any longer. She came, her screams muffled by Hugh's cock. She'd never climaxed so fast or so hard before.

Henry pulled out, his semen splashing first across the sofa, her hair, and then finally her back. Wasting no time, Clyde shoved him aside, his long tool sliding deep into her pussy. No longer patient, he roughly spread her legs wider and she winced at the pain, but once in his thrusts were slow and deliberate. She could feel every inch as it slid in and out of her core, overwhelming her. Hugh pulled out of her mouth, his penis throbbing in her hand. She closed her eyes as he came, his seed painting her face with streaks of white goo.

Now, it was just Clyde. He had waited for this, a chance to have her to himself, a chance to fuck this woman as she'd never been fucked before, a chance to teach her how sex with a real man would be. He leaned over, whispering in her ear. "You've never been fucked this good," he jeered. He shoved in fast, then dragged it out slow, sometimes missing the rhythm, her clit scraping the sofa 'til she gasped. "It's so tight here; I can tell my cock is exploring virgin territory."

She felt guilt slam her, pleasure drowning it out - nothing like a cold dildo or duty sex with Stan. She spread her legs wider, pulling him in, hating how much she wanted it. He noticed - "That's it, sweetheart, you're mine now. You'll dream of this, babe." He was right - damn him, she would.

As he rode her, he'd slap her ass, leaving bright red marks. He'd go all the way in, pull out, grinding her clit against the sofa. With each stroke, she'd never felt so full or empty, longing for the next one to fill her again. She gave herself to him entirely, relishing how he fucked her, how he talked dirty to her as he did, telling her how he was the best she'd ever had or ever would, and she knew it to be true. Stan flashed in her mind - he'd go insane if he knew what a slut his wife was.

With one hand, he began tweaking her clit while choking her with the other. She struggled to breathe and briefly panicked, but he carefully kept her restrained with his muscular arms. She felt the onslaught of another orgasm; it was all so much, all so fast. Oh fuck. The clit teases timed with his cock's penetration of her utmost depths, all while she grew more lightheaded. She began to softly mew, a plea for mercy and release. Not the release of his hand on her neck, but of her pussy into orgasm. "Oh god, oh, oh god, I... I... I'm going to come", she pleaded with what little breath she had left.

"I know", he whispered back. "Now breathe deep as I let go."

She came, and it was all she could think of, her mind going black, expecting to feel her womb flooded with his seed, but she felt a sudden emptiness as her cunt contracted on nothing. The choking stopped, air filled her lungs, and the pressing of the clit continued as she felt wave after wave of climax, but her pussy felt empty and void. He had pulled out. Then she felt the globs of warm liquid all over her back and ass as he sprayed her down. God, I'm a mess - his mess now, she thought, the stickiness sinking into her skin like a brand.

But they weren't done with her yet. Not by a long shot.

The door banged open, and this huge guy loomed in, head shaved, shirtless, tattoo sleeves covering his trunk-link arms and chest. The Big Dog had arrived. Jeannie's eyes widened in fear and awe as the men greeted him with cheers and hollers.

"What do we have here?" the Big Dog rumbled as he eyed Jeannie's naked body. She lay there, her body still pressed against the sofa, her long brown hair splayed out around her, cum splattered on her pale face.

"Flip her over, boys," he commanded, "Let me see what I'm working with."

Clyde, Hugh, and Henry eagerly complied, their rough hands gripping her shoulders and hips, flipping her onto her back in one swift motion. He could see her luscious tits, spouting nipples hard as diamonds, and the landing strip above her pussy. Jeannie shuddered as the air hit her exposed twat, emphasizing that her naked body was on display.

BD undid his pants, revealing a prick that made Jeannie's eyes widen. He positioned himself between her legs, his giant frame forcing her thighs even further apart than she had spread for Clyde. "'Hold still, princess"' he muttered, trying to kick off his pants. From his breath, he'd been drinking a lot and he clutched at her bare thighs. She felt small and vulnerable beneath him. She placed her heels on his shoulders, drawing him in.

"Mmm, that's a pretty little pussy," he murmured. "Let's see how it handles the Big Dog."

She could feel his cock throbbing against her inner thigh. Her body tensed, vulnerable, defenseless, but reluctantly eager. "Please," she begged in a whisper. "It's too big." She didn't quite believe her own protest.

BD chuckled, a deep, menacing sound. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make it fit."

He filled her, relentless, like nothing she'd taken before - endlessly, painfully, joyously deep. Her walls stretched, too tight, too full, and panic spiked through her. He's splitting me in half - oh fuck, he's tearing me apart! A sob choked out, tears streaking her cum-smeared face as she thrashed under him, heels digging into his shoulders. "No - stop - it's too much!" she cried, voice cracking, hands shoving at his chest. BD's hand cracked across her cheek, a sharp slap that snapped her head to the side. "Shut up, bitch," he growled, breath hot with whiskey. "Spread those legs wider and beg for it - beg for my cock to go all the way."

She whimpered, tears burning, but his weight pinned her, his prick still lodged deep, stretching her beyond reason. Her thighs quivered as she forced them apart, pain searing through her core. "Please," she gasped, voice small, broken, "please - fuck me - all the way." The words tasted like ash, but her pussy clenched around him, traitorously eager. He grinned, feral, and pulled out, then rammed back in - hard, uneven, like he couldn't decide how bad he wanted to break her, each thrust sending shockwaves through her like a jackhammer. She clawed at the sofa, at the firm, muscular arms of the men surrounding her, desperate for something - anything - to steady herself as BD took her.

Her walls clenched around him, the friction of his shaft burning even with her pussy juices coating it in a white froth. She felt him grinding into her, deeper and deeper, without care - only lust. It felt so good, so fucking good, despite the ache, despite the terror. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth open, her tongue hanging out, utterly debasing herself in pleasure. It seemed to go on forever, thrust after thrust, each one deep to her core.

She surrendered and came again, the orgasm ripping through her, her body jerking as she came, a wail tearing out of her that she barely recognized. She screamed joyous obscenities, tearing at the sofa as she clawed at it in mindless ecstasy, feeling her being shattered into a million pieces.

BD pulled out, his cock pulsing in his hand as he came across her stomach, hot and thick. The others followed, splattering her chest, thighs, face - a sticky mess of man glue that marked her as theirs.

She lay there, panting and trembling, her body covered in their cum, her pussy still throbbing. She felt utterly spent, utterly demeaned, both vulnerable and desired, both violated and liberated. The men turned away, laughing and jawing at each other, oblivious to her crumpled form now that they were satiated.

"Fuck, boys, we tore that pussy up!" Hugh crowed, wiping his dick on his jeans. "Little tease thought she could flirt and walk away - nah, she's our cum-rag now."

Henry snorted, zipping up with a grin. "Did you see her creaming for it? Bitch was gagging for cock the second I got in there."

"Slut took it like a champ, though," Clyde said, smirking as he lit a cigarette. "Bet she's still twitching down there, dreaming of my dick. Never had it that good with her limp-dick hubs."

BD rumbled a laugh, cracking his knuckles. "You pussies barely warmed her up. I split that tight cunt wide open - she'll be hobbling home bowlegged, dreaming of me in her sleep."

Hugh slapped Clyde's shoulder, howling. "Hear that? BD talking tough for taking our sloppy seconds now?"

"Seconds?" Henry cut in, smirking. "More like fourths. We hosed her down good - look at her, fucking mess dripping everywhere."

Clyde blew out smoke, eyeing her sprawled body with a sneer. "Yeah, toss her out already. Panties are mine, like always."

BD grunted, already heading for the door. "Worthless now anyway. Used-up whores don't get a second round - just pavement."

They carried her to the door, still laughing and joking, dumping her naked and trembling on the pavement. Clyde tossed her clothes out after her, keeping her black lace panties - another trophy for his drawer, stuffed with God knows how many others. She lay there on the sidewalk outside their apartment, the concrete biting into her skin, her breath ragged. Semen clung to her - sticky on her thighs, matting her hair, streaking her blouse as she fumbled to pull it on. She snatched her skirt, hands shaking, desperate to cover herself before some stranger rounded the corner and saw her like this.

She stumbled into the shadows, her breath hitching - half sob, half snarl. They used me. Tossed me out like trash. Hugh's smirk flashed, Clyde's slap stung fresh, BD's cock still burned in her core. She hated them - hated their grunts, their hands, the way they'd known she'd break. Hated herself more. Stan's wife. Stan's loyal little wife. He'd smell them on her, see the marks: red handprints, teeth dents, cum crusting her hair. He'd kill her. Or worse, he'd cry. She gagged, bile rising, but her nipples stayed hard under the blouse, her clit aching like it hadn't had enough. She'd go to Leslie and Missy, spend the night, shower, borrow clothes. Anything but home.

Am I this now? she thought, legs buckling as she sank against a dumpster. A whore who comes for strangers? The shame was a fist in her gut, but the thrill - fuck, the thrill - was a live wire up her spine. She'd never been that - alive, wanted, wrecked. Not with Stan's polite pumps and "you okay, hon?" She'd clawed the sofa, wailed like an animal, and they'd given it to her - hard, dirty, dominant. Why did it feel so fucking good? She pressed her thighs together, wincing at the soreness, the wet drips still leaking. She wanted to puke. She used her bra to scrape off the worst of the cum puddles from her body, and tossed it to the ground in disgust.

But god help her, she'd loved it. That scared her most - that dark, greedy part of her that still pulsed between her legs, whispering "more". She glared at the apartment door, half-expecting them to laugh through the window, and her fists clenched. They'd taken her panties, her dignity, left her dripping with their mess. She should hate them. She did - hated them for treating her like a whore slut. But her body wanted more.

She dragged her sleeve across her face, smearing cum and tears, and staggered to her feet. Her legs wobbled, knees scraping the pavement as she tried to stand, cum dripping down her thighs like damn glue. She reached for the dirty bra again to wipe more off. She'd been used, thoroughly and completely, and it'd shattered her - into something filthy, something free, something she didn't recognize.

Her mind was a goddamn storm. Why did this humiliation feel so fucking good? The question clawed at her, looping like a broken record. She'd screamed for it - screamed - her body splitting open, begging, while her brain yelled slut. But her pussy still throbbed, a traitor pulsing more, more, more. She tried to focus: call Missy, she'd understand, or at least help. They hadn't taken her phone, just her soul. She stumbled toward the shadows, skirt crooked, blouse half-buttoned, wondering if she'd ever outrun the desire - or if she even wanted to, or if she just wanted them to fuck her again.