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My hotwife (curvy blonde, D-cups, thick ass) has had her beer-distributor bull—nicknamed “Beer Can” for his legitimately thick 7-inch uncut cock—as a semi-regular for a couple years now. He stretches her wide every time, and she loves texting me the filthy details.
Beer Can invited her to a close buddy’s wedding at a lake resort as his +1. Beach ceremony, fancy resort reception, big group of groomsmen. Tracy was thrilled: “I get to be his arm candy all day, then get railed in the suite after.” I told her to go wild and send whatever proof she could.
She met him at the resort. They were sharing a two-queen suite with one of his best friends from the groom’s side—also a groomsman. Both guys were in the wedding party.
Wedding went as expected, people wondered who she was, she wore a tight emerald dress—low-cut, clinging to every curve, no bra so her nipples showed when the breeze hit. She sent me a sneaky pic during the reception: grinding on Beer Can on the dance floor, his hand low on her ass, caption “He’s throbbing already.”
After-party shifted to the hotel bar. Around 1 a.m. she texted: “Beer Can’s trashed. Heading up to the room.”
Then silence for hours. I was edging like crazy.
Around 4 a.m. the update came:
“Beer Can passed out the second his head hit the pillow—while I was on my knees blowing him! His friend was on the other bed watching everything, stroking under the sheets. When Beer Can zonked, the friend whispered ‘Don’t stop… come finish on me if you’re still worked up.’ I was dripping and frustrated, so I crawled over. His cock was long—maybe 8 inches, thinner than Beer Can’s but rock hard. Sucked him a bit, then climbed on top. Rode him cowgirl right there while Beer Can snored 3 feet away. He came inside me fast and deep. Felt so fucking dirty and hot.”
Then I went back into Beer Can’s bed after, still leaking, and crashed. A few hours later Beer Can woke up horny, rolled me over half-asleep, and fucked me missionary—grunting, breeding me deep again. Didn’t seem to notice I was already full of his friend. Passed out right after.”
When morning came, she woke up alone in the bed—both guys had slipped out early, she was naked under the sheets, pussy sore and swollen from two loads, when the door beeped and opened.
It was another groomsman—one she’d met briefly at the reception the night before. He walked in, saw her naked and half-asleep, tits out, legs slightly parted, and didn’t hesitate. Tracy propped herself on her elbows, gave him that sleepy-slut smile, and said “You here for your turn?”
He locked the door, stripped, climbed on, and fucked her hard—first missionary, then flipped her onto her stomach and pounded her into the mattress from behind. Came inside her too, adding to the mess, then left with a grin and “Thanks for the wedding favor.”
Tracy drove home the next day and a few days later, after she’d recovered a bit, she got a casual text from Beer Can: something like “The guys are still talking about you. Told them you were game if it ever happens again.” Then little details started clicking: how Beer Can had been extra flirty with his friends around her all weekend, how he’d “accidentally” mentioned to a couple of them that “she’s open-minded,” how he’d handed off the room key to the third guy before leaving that morning with a knowing smirk.
Tracy pieced it together and confronted him playfully over text. His response? “Guilty. Knew you’d be the perfect slut for them. Wanted my boys to have a good time too. You looked so hot getting used while I ‘slept.’”
She admitted it turned her on even more knowing he’d orchestrated the whole thing—passed out on purpose (or at least timed his drinking), let his friend watch and take over, then slipped the key to another groomsman so she’d wake up to a fresh cock. It wasn’t random; it was Beer Can sharing my hot slutwife like a party favor for his wedding crew.
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