Chapter 19: The Ride Home

The heavy oak door of the mansion clicked shut behind them like the final seal on a night that had rewritten Elena’s entire existence. The cool night air kissed her naked skin, raising goosebumps across her cum-glazed breasts and the slick curves of her fat ass. She was completely bare except for the delicate silver ankle bracelet still sparkling on her left foot, every inch of her body glistening with layer after layer of dried and fresh mess—thick ropes of twenty men’s cum streaking her slim face, heavy tits, soft belly, and running in slow rivers down her inner thighs to pool between her swollen, gaping pussy lips. Her rosebud pulsed with the same delicious ache, still leaking creamy white evidence of the double-anal poundings that had left her trembling and triumphant.

Victor and Rico guided her gently but firmly down the marble steps, one on each side, their strong hands steadying her wobbly legs. Marco was already being carried by two other bosses behind them—his big frame limp and snoring softly, completely oblivious, head lolling against a broad shoulder like a sleeping child. They had dressed him quickly, zipped his pants, wiped the drool from his chin, and now he looked exactly like a tired husband who’d had one too many at the company party. Elena glanced back once, heart twisting with a strange cocktail of guilt and dark thrill. Her loving Marco. The man who still thought she was the same devoted wife who left for the sewing factory every morning. He had no idea his wife had just become the center of a twenty-cock gangbang filmed for thousands of strangers ... and loved every filthy second.

A sleek black SUV waited at the curb, engine purring low. Victor opened the rear door. “In you go, queen,” he murmured, voice still rough from hours of groaning her name. Elena slid onto the cool leather backseat completely naked, the sticky mess on her ass and thighs making obscene wet sounds as she settled. The leather clung to her skin instantly, cum and squirt smearing across the seat. She didn’t care. She spread her legs slightly, letting the cool night air kiss her tender, well-fucked holes, and leaned back with a soft, satisfied sigh.

Rico took the wheel. Victor climbed into the passenger seat. The second car—Marco’s own—pulled out behind them with two more men inside, Marco stretched across the back seat like cargo. The little convoy slipped into the quiet Chicago streets, city lights streaking past the tinted windows like golden comets.