Friday. That long-awaited day when the work week ends and two days lie ahead that can be spent on anything. We were sitting in the living room: me, my wife Lera, and two of my friends, Sergey and Igor. We'd known each other for what felt like ages, gone to school together, been hooligans together. Now, here we were, drinking beer together at home, lounging on the couch. There was a certain tension. And it was all Lera's fault. She was dressed in a peculiar way: a short black dress, barely covering her hips, which perfectly hugged her firm butt and small but beautiful breasts. She was braless. I'd noticed this earlier in the day, when she bent over to pick something up and her dark aureola showed through the thin fabric. Back then, it had only given me a rush of lust and the thought, "It's going to be hot tonight." But now, under Sergey and Igor's gaze, this thought became alarming. They stared at her without restraint. Igor, stocky and strong, his arms covered in tattoos, watched her every move like a predator. And Sergey, tall and wiry, with a sly grin, made ambiguous jokes that made Lera blush, but didn't anger her. No, she seemed to thrive under the attention. "Come on, just one more," Igor said hoarsely, handing me a fourth, maybe even a fifth, can. I felt myself getting carried away, but I was too lazy to resist. The relaxation, the warmth in my stomach, the sense of camaraderie—it all felt so good. “I think that’s enough,” I muttered, but my hand automatically reached for the cold jar. Lera sat opposite me, her legs tucked under her, and her dress had ridden up so high that I could see the bottom of her thighs, almost all the way down to her panties. She saw it. She saw it and didn't try to fix it. "Guys, let's drink to our Lera! The most beautiful!" Sergei proclaimed, and they clinked glasses, while Igor slapped her on the knee, holding his hand a second longer than was appropriate. My head was pounding. I leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling. Their voices became distant, a hum somewhere far away. The last thing I remember clearly was Lera's laughter, particularly ringing and excited, and Igor's heavy hand on my shoulder: "Sleep, my friend, everything's okay." Everything started to float. I came to by strange sounds. Quiet, but persistent. A dull, muffled moan. A wet smacking sound. Heavy breathing. My head was splitting, my body felt like cotton wool. I was lying on the same sofa, on my side, facing the back. The lights were dim, only a floor lamp in the corner was on. I turned my head slowly, with difficulty. And he was stunned. She was lying on the floor, on the terry rug Lera and I had bought at Ikea. Her black dress was hiked up to her neck, bunched under her arms. She was naked except for a pair of black lace panties, which someone had pulled aside, revealing the dark, smooth skin of her pubic area. Igor was kneeling above her. His pants were pulled down to his knees, and protruding from them was his enormous, hard penis, dark and glistening in the light. It was thick, with a powerful head that glistened with moisture. Lera, flushed and disheveled, wrapped her arms around his powerful hips and... sucked him. Yes, she, my wife, greedily, with a kind of animalistic frenzy, took him into her mouth. Her lips, covered in faded lipstick, were stretched tight around his shaft, her tongue tracing his frenulum, her cheeks hollowing with the effort. The sound was both disgusting and arousing—slurping, wet, interrupted by her attempts to catch her breath through her nose. “Yes, that’s it, swallow it, slut,” Igor said hoarsely, placing his palm on the back of her head and helping her move. I froze, pretending to be asleep. Everything inside me boiled. Anger, shame, wild, uncontrollable excitement. My own penis strained painfully, pressing against the fabric of my pants. Sergey sat next to Lera, at her feet. He was completely naked, his thin but sinewy body pale in the dim light. He stroked Lera's legs, kissing the inside of her thighs, moving ever higher. “Your mouth is busy, but you have another hole,” he whispered, and his fingers slid under the elastic of her panties, there, to her anus. Lera moaned, but didn't pull away; instead, she spread her legs wider. Her eyes were closed, her expression a mask of ecstasy and complete self-forgetfulness. "I can't take it anymore," Igor croaked and abruptly pulled his cock out of her mouth. He was covered in drool. He turned Lera onto her stomach, roughly slapping her buttock. She obediently rose to all fours. Her butt, round and firm, swayed in the air. Sergey instantly appeared in front of her, thrusting his cock into her mouth. Lera eagerly accepted it, wrapping her lips around it and beginning to bob her head vigorously. Igor, kneeling behind her, spat on his fingers and ran them between her legs, preparing her. Then he spat directly onto her crotch. I saw his large, thick cock press against her narrow, dark slit. He pressed—and entered. Not immediately, with resistance, but he entered her deeply, with one powerful thrust. Lera screamed, but it was muffled by Sergei's cock in her mouth. Her body tensed, then arched her back. "Oh yeah, that pussy... tight..." Igor moaned and began to fuck her. Slowly, at first, taking in all of her, then faster and harder. His balls slapped against her clit with a wet sound. He held her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. Meanwhile, Sergei was fucking her mouth. He held her head, guiding her movements. "Deeper, bitch, deeper, yes, like this," he said through clenched teeth. Drool dripped down her chin, her makeup was smeared, her eyes rolled back in her head. I lay two meters away from them, unable to move. I watched as Igor's cock, glistening with her juices, withdrew almost completely and then forcefully slammed back into her wet, stretched flesh. I heard every sound: the squelching, their heavy breathing, her muffled moans, the lustful words they whispered to her. Then Sergei pulled away, his cock slipping from her mouth. "Let's do it for real, like an adult," he told Igor. Igor understood. Without pulling out, he shifted position and lay on his side next to her. Sergey came up behind her. He took a small bottle of lubricant from a vase on the table (how did he know?!), squeezed some onto his fingers, and began rubbing it into her anus. Lera squirmed and moaned, but Igor, still thrusting in and out of her pussy, said roughly, "Don't struggle, princess. You like it." Sergei aimed his thinner but longer penis at her anus. He pressed. Lera screamed, her body shaking. I watched as her anus, initially tight and closed, slowly, with incredible effort, began to stretch, engulfing the head of his penis. “She’s accepting…,” Sergei exhaled, his face contorted into a grimace of pleasure. And now they were both inside her. Igor in her pussy, Sergey in her ass. She was filled to the brim with them, sandwiched between two male bodies. They began moving out of sync, then in unison. It was unreal. Her body trembled, she moaned with every breath, her breasts swaying in time with their thrusts. “Take this off, take it off with your phone,” Igor said to Sergey. Sergei, without removing his penis, reached for his phone on the table. He turned on the camera and began filming close-ups of their connection, where both cocks entered her stretched, wet orifices. The flash lit up the room. Lera closed her eyes. "I'm cumming!" Igor screamed, his body tensing in a spasm. I could see his cock pulsing inside her. He pulled it out, covered in white slime, and immediately, almost without aiming, covered her back and buttocks in thick, hot sperm. Sergei, still filming, sped up his movements. "And I... take it all, slut!" He pulled his cock out of her ass and, standing in front of her face, began to cum all over her. Thick white drops of bukvoeb.run fell on her cheeks, lips, and eyelids. Some got into her hair. Lera sat on her knees, covered in sperm, trembling, her eyes glassy. She licked her lips, where Sergei's sperm had landed, and smiled sweetly. It was a smile of complete, utter victory and pleasure. I couldn't resist. My hand instinctively reached for my fly. I unzipped my pants, pulled out my rock-hard cock, and began frantically jerking off under the covers, looking at my wife covered in the sperm of two other men. My breathing was ragged. It was the most intense, filthy, and shameful arousal of my life. I came almost immediately, quietly, covering my mouth with my hand, feeling the hot sperm drenching my stomach and arm. I lay there, unable to move, in a pool of my own shame and lust. They got dressed without looking at each other. They picked up Lera, and she staggered into the bathroom. They whispered. Then I heard the front door slam. The morning was brutal. The sunlight hurt my eyes. My head was splitting. I lay on the couch, covered in dried semen, stinking of beer and shame. Lera came out of the bedroom. She was wearing her dressing gown, her hair was washed, her face was fresh. She placed a cup of coffee in front of me. "How's your head?" she asked in a casual, everyday voice. There wasn't a hint of embarrassment or shame in her eyes. Just a hint of fatigue. “Nothing,” I muttered, looking away. "You drank a lot yesterday. Sergey and Igor helped you get to the couch." She said it so naturally, as if she were talking about the weather. As if all that I had seen hadn't happened. As if it was just another drunken evening. I looked at her, at this beautiful, calm woman, my wife, and realized that I didn't understand anything. And that we would never talk about this. Ever. She smiled at me with her usual gentle smile and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. And I sat and looked at the very carpet where all this happened. It was clean. As if nothing had happened.