The second day, as Abhishek napped off jet lag, I ventured to the hotel pool, my bikini hugging my curves, tits spilling slightly from the top, ass cheeks peeking from the bottoms. There they were, lounging by the water, muscles rippling as they swam. “Hey, it’s the honeymoon girl,” the leader, Jamal, called, his eyes raking over me like a predator. They flirted shamelessly—complimenting my “exotic beauty,” one brushing my arm as he handed me a towel, another whispering, “You look like you need some real fun.” Their interest was palpable, cocks stirring in their swim trunks, and my pussy dripped at the sight. Since school days, when I’d first stumbled on porn—black cocks stretching white pussies in gangbangs, women screaming in ecstasy as they were filled in every hole—I’d dreamed of this: African men, their massive shafts claiming me, turning me into a cum-soaked slut.
That night, while Abhishek slept, I slipped out, knocking on their door with a bottle of wine as “thanks” for the pool chat. They welcomed me in, eyes hungry, and the flirtation escalated—hands on my thighs, lips brushing my neck. “We want you,” Jamal growled, his cock hard against my hip. I confessed my fantasy, my voice trembling with lust: “Gangbang me. Fuck me like the slut I am.” They didn’t hesitate. Jamal stripped me first, his mouth on my tits, sucking my nipples hard as another, Kwame, spread my legs, his tongue diving into my pussy, licking my clit until I moaned. The others watched, stroking their enormous cocks—thick, veined, 10 inches each, dark and throbbing. They took turns: one in my mouth, stretching my lips as I sucked deep, tasting their salty pre-cum; another slamming into my pussy, the stretch burning into bliss, his balls slapping my ass; a third claiming my tight asshole, the double penetration making me scream, pain melting into ecstasy as they pounded in rhythm. “Take our black cocks, you white slut,” they growled, hands everywhere—pinching, slapping, filling me with their girth. Cum flooded me—down my throat, in my pussy, up my ass, ropes spraying across my tits and face as I came endlessly, my body convulsing, juices squirting. It was my dream realized, raw and filthy, leaving me spent, covered in their seed.
Abhishek never knew, but the guilt and thrill sealed it—this marriage couldn’t contain my slutty soul. We broke up soon after, my heart heavy but free, as I embraced the erotic limitless. And you, can you feel the heat of that gangbang, the way their cocks claimed me, fulfilling the fantasy that had simmered since my innocent school days?
The fourth day dawned with Paris’s sun filtering through our hotel curtains, casting golden patterns on the rumpled sheets where Abhishek and I had fucked the night before—tender at first, his cock sliding into my pussy with loving strokes, but building to a frenzy where he’d pinned me down, thrusting hard as I moaned his name, my tits bouncing, my clit rubbed raw until we both came in a sweaty tangle. But as we lounged in bed, his fingers tracing lazy circles on my thigh, his touch froze. “Sana, what’s this?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion, pushing my silk robe aside to reveal the faint purple bite marks marring the soft flesh of my inner thighs—souvenirs from my secret encounter two nights prior, when those African gods had sunk their teeth into me during our illicit poolside flirtation that escalated into a quick, hidden fuck in a cabana. I felt a jolt of panic, my pussy clenching at the memory of their massive cocks teasing me, but I played innocent, batting my lashes. “Oh, that? Must be from you, darling—last night got a bit rough, remember?” But Abhishek’s eyes narrowed, doubt clouding his kind features. “I didn’t bite you there, Sana. I would remember.” His words hung heavy, a seed of suspicion planted, as he pulled away, his brow furrowed in quiet turmoil.