Gangbanging The Bride

Her big day blew up the second her groom bounced. Aften Opal stood in her frock, mascara dripping, ring box empty, while Tee Reel, her would-be father-in-law, did the math. One spurned bride, five horny groomsmen, zero downside. He rounded them up like naughty schoolboys and sent them straight to the bridal suite. Aften barely got the door open before five fat cocks bobbed around her head, twitching, searching, already leaking. She sank to her knees without a word and let the first one slap her tongue. Wet slaps echoed off the vanity mirrors as they took turns stuffing her throat, the slobber dripping down between her tits like cheap champagne. When they flipped her onto the honeymoon bed, the line formed fast. The first cock slid straight in, hot and heavy, and she groaned so loud the hallway security guy chuckled. Cock two slid across her cheek, smearing pre-cum, waiting its turn. She rode the first dick like it owed her money, hips snapping, little tits bouncing, makeup running for a fresh reason. Every new thrust knocked a breathy moan out of her; the bed frame squeaked complaints. When number three drilled in, he clapped her ass so hard the red handprints looked like wedding garters. She came the first time right there, quick and mean, pussy clamping like she wanted to break the guy. They didn’t let her rest. The rotation got faster, heavier—balls slapping her clit, thick shafts stretching her wide, her juices shining on every inch. Sweat poured down her back while she babbled incoherently, riding whoever was on the bottom, shoving back harder, chasing each next orgasm like rent was due. By the time the last two stood over her open mouth she was already trembling. One after another they painted her tongue, cheeks, and lashes with hot spurts. Some hit the back of her throat, some slid down her chin onto the lace between her tits. She swallowed like she’d missed breakfast. The hotel card reader blinked green one last time as the crew slipped out; the suite reeked of sex and frosting. Aften lay sprawled, cum pooling in the hollow of her collarbone, dress bunched at her waist. Her groom might have ghosted, but she’d gotten the only thing that mattered that day: five rounds of forget-the-bastard dick, no RSVP required.