Dildo

The air in my gym still smelled of her sweat, but the real fire started at home. There, through the attic window, I saw it—my husband, Dick, on his knees, his mouth working over the thick, pulsing cock of our stepson, Ron. Anger burned hot, then melted into a throbbing, undeniable lust. My hairless pussy slicked instantly, juices coating my inner thighs.

I didn’t interrupt. I watched, then joined, bringing my buzzing 8-inch dildo into the forbidden space. What followed wasn’t just voyeurism; it was a delicious, mutual corruption. Tongues, cocks, and dildos found every eager hole—ass, mouth, cunt—blurring lines I never thought we’d cross. Andie’s arrival added her tight, virgin asshole to the feast, her face buried in my dripping pussy as her father and brother filled her.

Now, with the taste of multiple climaxes still on my tongue, one question burns hotter than the shame: Where does our family’s hunger go from here?

She opened an eye, but her whole world was still one of darkness. She felt something around her face, like a mask. It killed her with fear when she regained consciousness. Ronnie tried to move, but couldn’t.

She felt the rope around and around her body, firmly attached to a narrow couch. Her wrists were tightly tied together and pulled behind her head where they were stuck at the back of the couch.