Victoria gang-bangs
The taste of the crone lingers—salt and iron—before the narrow house dissolves like smoke in a gale. I am back on the velvet settee, chest heaving, my face slick with the phantom wetness of her release.
But the room is not still. The air hums, vibrating against my skin like the pluck of a low cello string.
Vicki stands over me, the leather folio open in her hands.
The page is no longer Lady Godiva. It is Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights—a riot of pink flesh, impossible fruit, and strange, glass vessels.
She looks down at me, her eyes dragging over my dishevelled hair, my flushed cheeks, the sheen of sweat on my chest. She doesn't mock me this time. She smiles, a dark, hungry curve of her lips that promises ruin.
"You are ready," she husks, her voice a raw scrape of sound.
She drops the book. It hits the floor with a heavy thud, but the sound doesn't register. The floor beneath the settee vanishes. We are falling, not into darkness, but into colour.
We land on soft, unnatural grass. The sky is a bruised purple, lit by a sun that bleeds gold. Around us, giant strawberries glisten like wet skin, and strange birds watch with human eyes. The air smells of overripe fruit and raw sex—musk, sweat, and the copper tang of arousal. Vicki is beside me, and she is naked, her pale skin glowing against the surreal landscape. She looks at me, and for the first time, I see the hunger in her eyes matches my own.
They emerge from the towering bushes. Men—no, beasts of men. Their skin glistens with oil, muscles coiling like pythons. Their cocks are thick, heavy, bobbing before them as they march toward us. There are so many of them. A wall of muscle and lust, silent and focused. My cunt clenches, a sudden, violent spasm of need. The eyes on my belly throb, reacting to the proximity of so much flesh.
They don't speak. They descend.
Hands grab me—rough, calloused palms that dig into my thighs, my waist, my hair. I am hauled onto my hands and knees, the grass pricking my skin. Vicki is thrown down beside me, her ass in the air, her face pressed into the earth. We are offerings, laid out on an altar of green.
A hand spreads my ass cheeks wide. I feel the cool air against my puckered hole, then the hot, wet swipe of a tongue. It's not gentle; it's a beast lapping at a water bowl. He eats my ass with a sloppy, wet fervour, spit dripping down my thighs. I moan, dropping my head, my spine arching. I need more. I need to be split open.
The tongue is replaced by a finger. Thick, insistent. It pushes in, lubing me with nothing but spit and hunger. He twists it, stretching the rim, preparing me for the main event. Beside me, Vicki is gasping, a man already buried balls-deep in her throat, her gagging sounds wet and rhythmic.
Then, the finger is gone. The blunt head of a cock presses against my asshole. It's massive, a battering ram of flesh. I gasp, my body tensing, then surrendering. He pushes in, slow and relentless, forcing my muscle to yield. The burn is exquisite, a sharp, bright pain that melts into pleasure. "Fuck," I scream, the word torn from my throat. He doesn't stop until he's balls deep, his hips slapping against my flesh, filling me.
Another cock appears in front of my face. I open my mouth, eager to be used. He shoves in, hitting the back of my throat, making me gag. My eyes water, blurring the strange, beautiful landscape into a watercolour of lust.
I am a spit-roast, a vessel for their pleasure, stuffed at both ends.
They switch. The cock in my ass pulls out with a wet pop, leaving me gaping, empty, desperate. Before I can whine, another one takes its place, thicker, rougher. He pounds into me, driving my face onto the dick in my mouth. The rhythm is brutal, a synchronised fucking that steals my breath. My vision swims. I am drowning in cock, surrounded by the scent of sweat and sex.
I glance over. Vicki is taking two at once, one in her cunt, one in her ass. Her eyes are rolled back, her mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. She looks beautiful like this—ruined, owned, a true creature of the Garden. She catches my eye, and a wicked grin splits her face, cum dripping from her chin.
The men are grunting now, losing control. The pace quickens. The man in my ass swells, pulsing. He pulls out and sprays his load across my back, hot and thick, marking me. The one in my mouth follows, coating my face, my eyes, my hair. I am blinded by cum. It drips down my chin, mixing with the spit and tears, a mask of depravity.
But they aren't done.
More men step forward, a never-ending parade of lust. They cover us. Vicki and I are writhing in the grass, slick with their seed, rubbing it into our skin, licking it off each other's faces. The pleasure is a tidal wave, crashing over me, dragging me under.
I cum, my cunt clenching around nothing, my ass twitching, screaming into the void of the garden.
We are drenched, drowning, ecstatic.
The Garden of lust has us, and it will never let us go.
Will never let us…
Will never let…
Will never…
Will,
willing,
willingly!
Do we care?
Open the image and join us there.