The ropes bit into my wrists, securing me to our sturdy dining chair. My wife, Lena, circled me, her heels clicking on the hardwood. "All these years," she purred, her fingers tracing my jaw. "All those secret browser histories. That ache." She squeezed my cheeks, forcing my mouth open. "Tonight, you don't have to hide."

The first knock at the door made my dick twitch in my pants. Lena answered, and in walked Marcus. God, he was a brick shithouse—tall, broad, with a confident swagger. His jeans were already straining. "He ready?" Marcus asked, his voice a low rumble.

Lena nodded, unbuttoning his fly. "Open wide, baby," she commanded me.

Marcus's thick, uncut cock sprang out, already leaking. The musky scent hit me first. Lena guided the fat, purple head to my lips. "Suck." I obeyed, my tongue flattening against his salty slit. I took him deeper, my throat relaxing as he filled my mouth. The feel of his heavy balls against my chin, the sound of his guttural groan—it was everything I’d craved. He fucked my face slowly, then with building roughness. "Gonna paint that throat," he grunted. I whimpered around his shaft, a plea for it. His release was hot and bitter, spurting in thick ropes. I gulped it down, every swallow a surrender.

Before I could catch my breath, Lena snapped her fingers. "Next."

This was Javier, lean and tattooed, with a long, veiny monster. He didn't wait for an invitation. He shoved his