Unexpected Consequences

As if energized by the attention, Hendrickson began, once again, to spew verbal abuse at her, as he rhythmically pummeled her rectum. "Look at you, you married harlot! Nothing but a slut—a whore! You're an awful, immoral excuse for a mother and a wife!" And Gwen's awareness slowly pierced her building orgasmic bubble. Comprehension of his taunts dawned, dimming her sexually charged field for the moment; her sense of disgust caused the climactic high to dip—still, elemental carnal pleasure soon overcame dismay, and Gwen's base arousal climbed sharply, again.

Gwen refused to give them the satisfaction of watching her struggle or protest, instead, she deliberately let herself go; besides, she really was, somehow, keenly aroused—sharply stimulated. His forced insertion had lit up an unwelcome arousal that independently grew.

When the old fucker finally went rigid, slamming himself into her, then held still, the fronts of his thighs sweaty against her buttocks as spurt upon spurt erupted from the jolting penis, splashing her inner walls and filling her womb, Gwen, albeit reluctantly, found herself climaxing. The liquid warmth, pooling deep within, triggered an orgasm that even surprised the hell out of her—running up through her fundament to explode in her brain. Her body shook against its restraints; her head fell forward in its harness as she alternately bit and sucked the latex phallus of the dildo-gag. Having reached yet another crisis, Gwen surfed the wave of orgasmic pleasure for what seemed like hours, her long, long peak persisting.

Hendrickson howled in delight. "Did you see that? She just came—had the big 'O'! I made her cum." Holding himself within, he began babbling about giving her butt regular exercise, and how he was just the guy to do it!

Despite the deep disgust she felt for her sodomizer, Gwen couldn't deny that at some primal level the climax was delicious—deliciously naughty. Still, an objectively lucid corner of her overwrought psyche, thought, "I really might have been able to work through this, accepting Mark's attempt to 'get even', despite being based on faulty assumptions, if he had just stuck with his fucking buddies. And, as if her overwhelming sensual response to the gang fornication wasn't bad enough—they'll never let me live that down—"The fact that I climaxed while being sodomized...! That my dear husband has let this awful, awful man debase me, in front of an audience, is... totally... unforgivable." Furthermore, she knew it would hang over her like some sort of 'sword of Damocles'. "He will never respect me again. He will always have, in his pocket, the idea, 'Well, a woman who could respond like that...!' He'll never again give me the benefit of the doubt. And I, surely, couldn't live like that! The whole situation has become so absolutely unacceptable that we could never, ever, I think, not in a million years, get past this!"

Mark maybe couldn't see it, but it was clear to her; he had just rendered the recovery of their long-lived relationship—their marriage—irretrievable! It was like a knife slashing the fabric of their love—terminally irreparable. And, in some ways, it felt like part of her had been shattered into a gazillion pieces. Gasping and panting around the phallus that still filled her mouth, she hung her head, as far as she could, as the old fucker moved away; then she just collapsed—limp with fatigue and disgust.

Mark moved up beside her, as she slowly retrieved her composure—if, indeed, it could be considered that—and began fiddling with the harness buckles behind her head. "I'm gonna remove this gag," Mark hissed, in a stage-whisper, "as we're gonna want to put some other things, now, in your mouth." He chuckled with a nasty sort of sleaze in his voice that Gwen had never heard before. Then he went on menacingly, "Don't even think about biting. If you do, I promise you'll lose teeth." With a mean laugh, he added, "...and probably get a broken jaw, to boot!"

"Already?" The threat, even as much as it was most probably an empty threat, struck yet another blow to her core. It was, she actually knew, the beginning of the end. He had started, already, not giving her the benefit of the doubt.

Looking up, as he removed the phallic gag, he added gleefully, "She'll have to be her own fluffer, as she's the only qualified one around." Everyone—excepting Gwen, of course—had a good laugh about that. Meanwhile, Gwen could see that protest and complaint would, for the time being at least, be completely futile. Something shifted inside her mind. More than just resigned, she silently decided that if she had to wear the name, she might as well play the game—why not?

Memories of her previous gangbangs shimmered like vistas through the desert heat—recalled waves of pleasure coming into focus, like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, the hedonist within her emerged from the smothering folds of middle class. She glanced up at the screen just long enough to discern herself being helped into position for what was probably her first double penetration of a great many. For most of those present, the screen was now nothing more than flickering mood-lighting, illuminating the object of their lust.

The men drifted, milling about, surrounding her, and the first to present himself for her to blow was the next-door neighbour's obnoxious nineteen-year-old son. Having decided to let herself go, she rocked forward forcefully, fully engulfing the rampant tool—pushing on until her nose nestling in his pubic beard. Her apparent capitulation was so sudden that she had to fight her reflexes to successfully avoid gagging. At that very moment, someone stabbed deep and hard into her swampy twat and began pounding, setting, for her, the rhythm for her fellatio, as well. Surreptitiously, so as not to interfere with the fornication in progress, her bonds were loosened, and the cuffs fell away. Unrestrained, Gwen really let go. In less than a half dozen strokes, she was surrendering, again, to the intense carnal pleasure of the same long-wave orgasms she had enjoyed earlier, with the additional stimulation of active cock-sucking. Furthermore, this time it was all her, without the loosening effects of alcohol, nor any other sort of chemical encouragement. She redoubled her oral efforts. "More than a fluffer," she said to herself, reaching around to pull the ropy butt in tight, she managed to hold him deep in her throat as he stiffened and sputtered.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm... I'm... c-c-c-cumming!" With the volume and intensity of youth, the kid flooded her gullet with torrents of semen. Pulling back, as Gwen released her pressure-grip on his backside, he spurted the last volley onto her face, dripping down her nose. Before he had completely vacated, another bouncing shaft was impatiently pushing into her mouth.

In the interim, someone had opened the hide-a-bed, and Gwen, and the action were moved onto and around it, her supine body constantly occupied. The guys continued on for several rounds, Gwen's partners changing in a sort of loose rotation, her arousal undulating—crests and trough; long and peaky, short and shallow. Every once in a while, one or both of the guys currently active would reach under Gwen's chest to maul her hanging tits or tease her nipples, increasing the growing erotic pressure. Soon, they began changing positions—writhing and contorting in a cloud of satisfying intensity—taking inspiration from the still rolling video. Gwen gradually lost herself in the freedom of being wickedly erotic, in the thrill of being unpredictably lewd and lascivious—in short, in being a slut. She delighted in every shock she precipitated, in every new position she proposed. Very versatile, sometimes docile and accepting, sometimes aggressive and demanding, Gwen took on the role of director. The moving image of herself, flitting across the screen, taking on all comers in any number of positions with any number of cocks became, once again, inspiring.

Oddly, enough, when Old Man Hendrickson shoved his way, for a second time, into position behind Gwen, while she rested on all fours during a brief pause in the action, the rest of the party stood aside and passively watched him commandeering her rear. Once again smearing his erection with seepage from his earlier foray, before he stabbed brutishly at Gwen's upturned rosebud. "Fuck, this piece of ass is so tight, it must be almost brand-new!" Shaking his head, he looked over at Mark and muttered, "Don't you ever use this thing?" After three or four more forceful thrusts, he held himself in deep and looked about. After a brief, but pregnant pause, he announced formally, "I, Gerald Hendrickson, hereby claim title and ownership of this heretofore neglected ass. Any objections?"

In the subsequent hush that descended over the room, all eyes turned to Mark, who laughed and, surprising everyone, said, "Take it. It's yours!"

Gwen couldn't believe her ears. Her husband had just carelessly—care-less-ly: as in couldn't care less—given a part of her away; just let go of a piece of her being. Something inside Gwen sank and broke. "He's not only objectified my, he's actually breaking me up...!"

Looking down at her suddenly quivering buttocks, Hendrickson exclaimed, self-assuredly, "You hear that? I own your ass, girl!" He pulled back slightly, then, with a peremptory shove, he inserted himself again, fully up her bum. Holding his tool in tight, he demanded, "Who owns your ass?" He started rocking in and out with long steady strokes, as he waited. Then, insistently, "Tell me!" His thrusting became harder and faster. He bellowed, "Say it!"

Answering almost unconsciously, Gwen hissed, "You. Own. My. Ass."

"Who?"

Rocking her hips in counter-point to his rhythm, she said again, "You own my ass." Her arousal rose with his vocal demands, punctuated by her own staccato responses, until she wobbled and shook, and was blindsided by another surprise orgasm. At that very instant, Hendrickson's rigid pencil-dick jolted, too, as his hips spasmed—and, indeed, they climaxed together. Threaded fully up her butt, as the old man sprayed his warm fluid deep within her fundament, Gwen heard herself yell out in confirmation, "YOU own my ass, you bastard!"

She dropped to her elbows, her head resting on a throw cushion, and felt him slowly softening inside her. After a smattering of applause from the surrounding audience, Hendrickson proclaimed, "As I am now the owner of this lovely ass..." Giving her a sharp smack on the buttock, as he limply fell out of her, he continued, holding her up by her hips, "from this moment on, no one can use it—her ass—MY ass—without my permission." Humouring him, nobody said a word, so he went on. "As this is such a special occasion, I'll share her tight ass, just this once. Just one taste each. I give permission to each of you present here today to use her anally once each this afternoon, only." It was almost comical how seriously he took himself, as he concluded, "Just once each, you understand. I can't abide the stretching big cocks visit upon a nice tight anus!"

After that, Hendrickson noisily monitored, as best he could, who was reaming Gwen's ass at any given time—always chirping, ripe with vitriol. "Fuck that married harlot! Make her cum! Pump her so full of jism she cries sperm! Give her a natural, organic enema! Make her squeal like the slut she is!" While he pushed in for a few strokes now and then, he didn't cum in her again until much later. Meanwhile, the potpourri of sexual intercourse and intrigue had roared back into full action.

Shortly thereafter, and inevitably, Gwen was triple teamed—three-holed as it were, just as she had been seen to do on the video screen. The activity in the family room became increasingly raucous—filled with cries of encouragement and opinion. They tried all manner of positions and contortions, copying what they saw in the video. While she may have begun offering only passive compliance, Gwen was, by then, not just joining in with willing participation, but demanding fulfillment.

The video feature—Gwen's film debut—ended well before the live action was ready to wrap up, so, other offerings from the Holiday Fun site were played. As the 'party' progressed, it was discovered that Gwen was also featured in the compilation entitled Airtight Anthology. "I must have missed this part in my 'feature' film," she chuckled to herself, astounded that she could, by then, be so blasé about it. Still, she watched with interest as, on screen, one of the Latino Lotharios—Gwen couldn't remember any names—save for Carlos, the ringleader, and Miguel, the first one up her bum—laid down on the bed, and had Gwen suck him hard, again. With help, she moved up to straddle his abdomen, then, lowered herself onto his vertical, vibrating manhood. A look of pure ecstasy radiated from her face as her pussy touched down against his pubic beard. She leaned forward until her boobs dangled over his chest and began swinging like pendulums as she bounced gingerly on his stiff member. He reached up to cup them and began to massage her mammaries, pausing now and then to pinch or twist or flick one or both of the puffy buds. Someone kneeled up between her feet had seated his cockhead against her brown eye. Spreading spit by hand, on his rod, for lubrication, he began to push. Applying a steady force, he popped into Gwen's rectum without, apparently, undue discomfort, and, after leaning all the way in, his thighs against her cheeks, he began to stroke, looking to match the rhythm of her bouncing hips.

Here, at home, Gwen realized in retrospect that her compliance had been, at the very least, pharmaceutically-enhanced; notwithstanding, she could not recall ever voicing any serious objection throughout the whole ordeal—if it, in fact, could even be seen as an ordeal. Mulling that about, she knelt, still on the bed, transfixed by the action on the screen and oblivious of the action surrounding and including her—planning and positioning. As the images on the TV matched tempo with one another, establishing a relaxed cadence, the recorded Gwen turned to the woodie bouncing at her cheek, opened her mouth and accepted the third member into her body. The foursome carried on for a short while before winding up into a frenzied tangle of cum and sweat—everyone cumming at once, or so the edit made it seem.

This was much to the viewing pleasure of the present company, who hooted and hollered, and began insisting on each getting a chance to join in making Gwen airtight, just like in the video. Gwen was in almost constant motion, sucking soft cocks hard again, with hard cocks cumming and going, she bounced energetically on the erection of her supine partner, while rearing back to meet the stiffie pummeling her rear. Whenever one of them came, they were quickly replaced. With the unending over-stimulation, Gwen sailed from climax to climax. Panting and squealing, she clung tenaciously to her awareness, riding the orgasmic crests like an expert surfer, holding any indication of fatigue at bay. Most of the crew had lost count of how many times they'd cum, and, as happy as they were, could hardly raise a smile.

In the lull following the airtight extravaganza, while Gwen lay supine on the bed catching her breath, one of their long-time neighbours leaned over her and whispered, "I've wanted to do this since the very first time I laid eyes on you!"

"So now you've decided to realize your fantasy by joining in a gang-rape," Gwen thought, but wisely kept to herself. "Great." He shuffled himself about, then climbed aboard in a classic male-on-top 69 position. Dropping his hips, his semi-erect penis slipped smoothly into her mouth, then, he plunged his face into Gwen's crotch and latched onto her quim like a lamprey, his lips caressing her labia, his tongue circling her clitoris. Her exhaustion magically dissipated as arousal exploded into a starburst of sensation. Legs kicking, mouth slurping, erection stiffening—Gwen's climax roared through her faster than anyone expected. At the same time, her topper pushed in deep, splashing copiously down her throat, giving her no option but to swallow. Rising off, he left her coughing and sputtering, but her respite was very short lived, as, then, mostly everyone wanted a taste. In quick succession, several others followed suit.

Soon, however, things began to change, and the next few participants started cunnilingus somewhat before swinging into the saddle and feeding her their dicks. This went on until, finally, one particularly adventurous type, Gwen didn't know who—and didn't really care—worked into soixante-neuf with Gwen on top. He made a big production, to a loud chorus of "Oohs," and "Eeews," of drinking deeply from her dripping box. Following her ensuing orgasm, Gwen rolled off, and lay still for a spell, limp on the bed.

She hardly had time to gather herself, before one of Mark's louder friends approached from the foot of the bed, and lined himself up for straight cunnilingus. "Clear the decks! I'm goin' down!" With the "Ah-oo-gah!" of a submarine's dive-siren, he dove face-first into her crotch! Gwen had never really liked him—too loud and obnoxious—but she loved what he did with his tongue, as he slowly wrung yet another climax out of her dwindling energy reserves.

As Gwen slowly came out of orbit, and looked around her, it seemed the posse was completely done for, too; as evidenced by an abundance of limp, dangling meat. With a subtle feeling of pride, Gwen had to accept that she'd worn out the last of the erections.

All except, as it turned out, Old Man Hendrickson. He had not partaken of any of her other orifices. He was strictly an ass-man. He lifted her wordlessly off the bed, pulling her to standing, bent at the waist, leaning, arms straight, with her hands bracing against the arm of the sofa-bed. Satisfied with her position, he moved behind, placed his hands on her hips, and unceremoniously shoved himself deep into her rectum—which was dripping with lubrication. Initially, he had to hold her up during his frenzied pounding, but Gwen quickly picked up the rhythm. Whimpering and gasping, her arousal rapidly becoming obvious, she shuddered, tilting her pelvis as she heaved back against him. The sensations of long-stroking through the firm grip of her anus, coupled with the insistent bumping and pushing at her intestinal walls had her quickly rising towards crisis.

The spectators were amused as the old man addressed them. "Look at her. She's loving it—the married slut whore cum-dump!" And during this parting shot, his balls swinging repeatedly against her clitoris was more than she could take. Gwen's exploding orgasm seized him by the nuts and pulled him over, too. Hendrickson bellowed out his ejaculation, leaving them both enervated and limp. He raised himself off her back, and, with a sharp slap to her behind, pulled out, leaving her with a clear red handprint on her asscheek! "Don't forget, my little cum-bum! Remember who now owns your ass!"

It occurred to Gwen that no one, at any point in the afternoon, had challenged him. His claim went totally uncontested. It was like they were all somehow afraid of—or awed by him. Then he announced, "That's it. I'm going home now. The back door is now officially closed for the evening." Smacking her cheek again, he leaned down, next to her ear and hissed, "Remember, bitch, don't you go giving away what's mine!" Standing back up, he added to all and sundry, "I claimed it! Fair 'n square." And glancing about, he queried, "Don't nobody got a butt-plug or something I can use—to guard my property?" As an aside to himself, he muttered, "I'll definitely need to get one for future use."

The rapists, for that's what they were, began taking their leaves in ones and twos. Finally, when the very last 'guest' left, Gwen looked at Mark—watching her, as she lay dripping with cum and sweat. It occurred to her that, really, Mark had not been much involved in most of the later part of the affair. After his original fuck, he had stepped back, just offering cheers and encouragement as his bunch of cronies carried out her gang-rape. Then, after her restraints had been released, he'd slipped into the background. For pretty well the rest of the evening, whenever Gwen caught sight of him, he was quietly watching—either watching her responses to the continuing gang-bang, or watching the recorded images of her lascivious video performance.