The wife gave herself to two movers

Mikhail quietly opened the door to his new apartment and paused on the threshold. The newly occupied building still smelled of fresh paint and cardboard from boxes. He'd returned from "work" two hours earlier than he'd promised—he wanted to surprise Marina. Six days without her, six days of business travel, and now he was practically burning with desire. He heard voices in the depths of the apartment and a heavy thud—apparently, the very same enormous bed they'd ordered the day before had finally arrived. Perfect. He crept down the hallway, quickly shed his suit in the entryway, threw on an old dressing gown hanging on a hook, and slipped silently into the next room—the one with the tall, half-assembled wardrobe. He climbed behind it, pressed himself against the wall, and held his breath. A crack between the panels offered a perfect view of the bedroom. Marina emerged from the bathroom wearing her short black silk robe—the very one he'd given her for their anniversary. The fabric barely covered the top third of her thighs, the thin straps taut over her smooth shoulders, and the low neckline revealed the cleavage between her full, firm breasts. Her hair was still damp from the shower, her legs glistening. She looked damn sexy. And at that moment, they walked into the bedroom. Two movers. Strong, rough-hewn men in their forties. The first, Viktor, about forty-seven, was as big as a cabinet, with a noticeable belly bulging from under a sweaty gray T-shirt, hairy arms, thick fingers, a balding head, and a heavy, red face. The second, Roman, was slightly younger, forty-three, stocky, with powerful shoulders, tattoos covering his forearms, sweaty from lifting furniture, his hair cut short, and an unshaven stubble. They were just finishing setting up a huge double bed. "That's it, mistress, the bed's assembled," Victor boomed in a low, smoky voice, wiping his hands on his pants. "The mattress is already on top. Where else should the boxes go?" Marina smiled, but Mikhail noticed immediately: she stood slightly tensely, shifting from foot to foot, and her robe was wrapped tighter than necessary. He knew this position. She was aroused. Already. From these two? From their rough appearance, the smell of sweat, their heavy gazes? Impossible. But he could feel it on his skin—the light, sweet scent of her desire already hung in the air. "Thank you so much, guys," she said softly. "I couldn't have done it without you. How about some... tea? Or something stronger? As a thank you." Roman grinned, looking her over from head to toe with a long, insolent gaze. "We wouldn't refuse, Marinochka. But... maybe you could help us with the 'gratitude' in a different way first?" Victor stepped closer and placed his heavy hand on her waist over the silk. — Your husband is at work, right? No one will disturb you. Mikhail stood behind the closet, his heart pounding so hard they thought they'd hear him. Really? Just like that? These two sweaty workers and his perfect, well-groomed Marina? She'd never... But she didn't pull away. On the contrary, her breathing deepened, her nipples showing through the thin silk. She was trembling. Not from fear. From desire. “I… I don’t know…” she whispered in a trembling voice, but when Victor slowly pulled the belt of her robe, she didn’t even try to hold on. The robe slid to the floor in one movement. Marina was left completely naked. Her body was perfect: high, full breasts with firm, pink nipples, a slender waist, rounded hips, a smoothly shaved pussy, and long, slender legs. Victor let out a satisfied growl and immediately grabbed her breast with one hand and her firm bottom with the other. “Oh, you’re so juicy, bitch…” he exhaled and sank his mouth into her nipple. Marina moaned and threw her head back. Roman stood behind her, pressed his now hard bulge in his pants against her, and slid his fingers between her legs. — It's already wet, damn it! Look, Vitya, it's flowing like a river! Mikhail couldn't take his eyes off her. His wife, his proud beauty, stood between two rough men, their bodies kneaded like dough. Victor unzipped his fly and pulled out a thick, heavy penis—a real, hard-working one, with a bulging vein and a large head. Without another word, he pressed down on Marina's shoulders. She obediently sank to her knees right on the new carpet. - Suck it, beauty. Show me how grateful you are. Marina grabbed his cock with both hands—it couldn't fit in one—and greedily took it into her mouth. Deeply. Immediately. With a wet smacking sound. Meanwhile, Roman pulled out his own—a little thinner, but long and curved—and poked her in the cheek. - Me too, slut. Take turns. She obediently moved onto him, swallowing him so hard that drool ran down her chin. The men grunted with pleasure, petted her head like a dog, and exchanged lustful grins. - Oh, fuck... What a throat! Your man has probably never seen anything like it. Mikhail stood paralyzed. It was madness. His wife was on her knees, naked, with two strangers' cocks in her mouth, one after the other, and she was dripping so hard that drops glistened on her thighs. She wanted it. She wanted it badly. Then they lifted her up and threw her onto the newly made bed. Victor got on top of her first, positioned her on top, and abruptly impaled her on his thick shaft. Marina screamed—loudly, drawn-out—and began bouncing, clutching his hairy chest. Roman knelt on the bed and thrust his cock into her mouth, fucking her from both sides at once. "That's it, fuck! Double thanks!" Victor growled, squeezing her hips and thrusting sharply upward. They switched places. They fucked her in turns in various positions: doggy style, sideways, and with her legs raised on their shoulders. Marina moaned, screamed, and bucked. When Victor entered her from behind, especially deeply, she came for the first time—hard, shaking all over. “And now in the ass,” said Roman, taking a small tube of lubricant out of his pocket (apparently he always carried it with him just in case). Marina didn't even object. She got on all fours and spread her beautiful buttocks. Victor entered her tight ass first, stretching it slowly but insistently. Meanwhile, Roman fucked her mouth. Then they flipped her over and made a classic slut-shaming: Victor lay underneath, entering her pussy, Roman on top, entering her ass. Marina found herself sandwiched between two sweaty, heavy bodies, and her screams filled the entire apartment. They fucked her for a long time. Hard. Mercilessly. They both came inside her—first Roman in her ass, then Victor in her pussy, flooding her with hot, thick seed. Marina lay between them, exhausted, with sperm spreading across her thighs, with red finger marks on her breasts and thighs. The men got dressed, patted her on the bottom goodbye and left, loudly slamming the door. Mikhail waited for everything to die down. He quietly emerged from his hiding place, changed back into his suit, and slipped out of the apartment. Outside, he got into his car, waited ten minutes, and… called his wife. - Hey, sunshine. I'm on my way home, I got off work early. I'll be there in half an hour. Marina's voice was slightly hoarse, but happy: - Oh, how wonderful! I'm waiting for you, my love. When he entered the apartment half an hour later, she greeted him in the same black robe—fresh from the shower. But Mikhail knew their semen still lingered beneath it. He didn't say anything. He simply scooped her up, carried her into the bedroom, and tossed her onto the new bed, which still smelled of sweat and sex. He tore off her robe, spread her legs, and greedily pressed his mouth to her pussy. He licked her long and deep, swallowing the thick mixture of their sperm and her juices. Marina moaned, clutching his hair. Then he entered her himself—hard, furious, like never before. He fucked her as if he wanted to erase all the previous ones. And she came under him, squeezing his cock inside her. Michael smiled, feeling her tremble in orgasm. He turned out better. Much better.