The grand hall had emptied hours ago, leaving only the echo of laughter and clinking glasses behind. Slayer stood in the doorway of their new home, his arm around Ellara's waist, her long scarlet curls brushing his thigh as she leaned into him. At twenty-seven, he was tall and steady, his heart still racing from the vows they'd exchanged. Ellara, twenty-four and radiant in her simple gown, looked up with eyes full of love. "Tonight's ours," she whispered, her voice husky. "Just us and that perfect sync we always find." Their five closest friends lounged in the living room, the air thick with the remnants of a wild reception bet. Slayer had lost badly—poker hands gone wrong—and the terms were clear: his new wife would be their free-use plaything until dawn. He loved her too deeply to back out, though it twisted his gut. "Guys, this is insane," he said with a wry grin, trying to keep it light like their usual banter. "But a bet's a bet. No harsh stuff, right?" His friend Marcus chuckled, clapping his shoulder. "Lighten up, Slayer. We know it's your wife. We'll bully you the old way—tease you for losing the jackpot—but we're not monsters. Just... opportunistic." Ellara's brow furrowed, her strong frame tense. She hadn't agreed, yet she didn't pull away as the men approached. "Slayer, what is this?" she asked sharply, her 34DD curves pressing against him. The tension built as hands reached for her, witty jabs flying. "Come on, Ellara," one friend teased, "your husband's got a soft spot for bad luck. Let's see if those curves handle real heat." She shot back, voice steady and unyielding, "You think you can just claim me? I'm no one's toy." Yet the air crackled with forbidden spark. Clothes fell away slowly, revealing her perfect 90-60-90 form, long hair cascading like fire. Slayer watched, heart syncing with hers in that familiar rhythm even as the others took over. Dialogue sparked: "Your cock's no match for these," a friend laughed at Slayer, who retorted, "Keep talking, but remember who she chose." Ellara's resistance melted into gasps as thick shafts—21 to 27 cm of hard manhood—pressed against her. They took turns, her pussy growing wet and dripping as they stretched her. "Fuck, she's tight," one groaned, thrusting deep. She moaned, then screamed as pleasure overtook, her body betraying her with the first squirt from her cunt, soaking them. "This... this isn't us," she panted, but her hips bucked. The men fucked her for hours without pause, each unloading up to 100ml of thick, dense cum in powerful shots. Slayer's smaller 13cm cock could only manage watery trickles every three days, but these were relentless. They crushed against her cervix, then pierced through, claiming her womb directly. "Your wife's cunt is ours now," they said not cruelly, but with friendly edge. "Their cunt, their womb," she screamed in ecstasy, squirting from both her pussy and udders, belly swelling like five months pregnant from their cum. She came repeatedly, body glistening with sweat, panting like a bitch in heat, no sync with Slayer but raw hunger for their girth. Her ass clenched as they filled every hole, blowjob after blowjob leaving her lips dripping. By the night's peak, she was their gapped mold, womb property, screaming through endless orgasms. Slayer held her aftercare softly, but the damage was done. "She's still my wife," he said quietly. A friend grinned, "And our cock-sleeve. Best friends share, right?" As dawn broke, Ellara's body molded forever, her heart torn but her core addicted. The room smelled of sex and sweat, her form marked. "This is just the start," one whispered, hinting at more nights to claim what they'd made theirs.
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