The hiss of steam swallowed the cabin whole as Elena bent forward, the ladle dripping in her hand, the hot stones cracking under the water. Her bare ass caught the cool air of the room—a flash of olive skin, the curve of her hips, the slick heat of the sauna clinging to her thighs. She straightened too fast, the ladle clattering against the bucket, her cheeks burning as she caught Jeroen's grin in the corner of her eye.
He was already rising from the bench, his broad shoulders blocking the dim light from the window. "You're tense," he said, his voice low, scraping through the steam. His hands found her shoulders before she could step back, thumbs pressing into the knot between her shoulder blades. Elena's breath hitched—a sound she didn't mean to make, her body answering before her mind could catch up.
Arjan and Ryan shifted on the bench behind her, the cedar creaking under their weight. She could feel their eyes on her skin, tracing the line of her spine, the swell of her hips where the towel had fallen away. She didn't remember dropping it. She didn't remember letting any of this happen. But Jeroen's hands were on her now, and she wasn't pulling away.
"You've been hiking all week," he murmured, his thumbs circling the base of her neck. "Your shoulders are rock." His fingers dug deeper, finding the ache she'd been carrying since the trail. A small sound escaped her throat—half moan, half protest—and she felt his smile against her hair. "See? You needed this."
Behind her, Ryan cleared his throat. "She's got good skin," he said, his voice flat, deliberate. "Soft."
Elena's stomach flipped. She opened her mouth to say something—to stop this, to remind them who she was—but Jeroen's hands slid down her back, his thumbs tracing the curve of her waist, the dip above her ass. Her skin prickled under his touch, every nerve ending awake and screaming. She was trembling. She could feel it in her knees, in the ache between her thighs.
"She's shaking," Arjan said from the bench. Not a question. An observation, quiet and knowing.
Jeroen's hands stopped at the small of her back. He leaned close, his breath hot against her ear. "You want us to stop?"
The steam coiled around them, thick and wet. Elena could feel the weight of the pause, the three of them waiting, her heart hammering against her ribs. She should say yes. She should walk out, grab her towel, pretend this never happened. But her body held still, and her voice stayed locked in her throat, and Jeroen's hands began to move again—slower now, lower, slipping beneath the curve of her ass.
Jeroen's fingers curled against the soft flesh of her ass, not pushing, just resting there, claiming the space. Elena's breath came in shallow gasps, the steam thick in her lungs, her knees threatening to buckle. "Lay down," he said, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Face down. Let us work on you properly."
She should say no. The word was right there, burning on her tongue. But her body was already moving, her hands finding the warm cedar bench, her knees pressing into the rough wood as she lowered herself. The wood grain bit into her palms. She stretched out, her cheek against the bench, her spine a long exposed line from her neck to the swell of her ass.
The bench creaked as the three of them shifted around her. Ryan's weight settled near her head, his thick thighs brushing her shoulder. Arjan's footsteps circled behind her, and she heard the soft thud of a towel dropping to the floor. Jeroen's hands found her again, palms flat on her lower back, spreading heat across her skin.
"Good girl," Jeroen murmured, and the words sent a flush through her chest, hot and shameful. His hands slid down, over the curve of her ass, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, spreading her open. The cool air hit her there, where she was wet and exposed, and she heard his sharp exhale. "Look at that. She's already dripping."
Arjan's hand landed on her calf, warm and sure, sliding up the back of her thigh. His fingers traced the sensitive skin behind her knee, and she jerked, a small sound escaping her throat. "Easy," he said, his voice quiet, almost gentle. "We're just getting started." His hand continued upward, reaching the swell of her ass, joining Jeroen's.
Then Ryan moved. His massive hand landed on the back of her neck, not hard, just present, a weight that pinned her to the bench. She felt his thumb stroke the base of her skull, once, twice, grounding her. "Breathe," he said, his voice low and rough. "You're gonna need it."
Three sets of hands now. Ryan's on her neck and shoulders, working the tension from her traps. Arjan's on her thighs, kneading the muscle, his fingers brushing higher each time, grazing the slick heat between her legs. Jeroen's hands owned her ass, spreading her, his thumbs pressing into the tight ring of her hole, not entering, just circling, testing.
Elena's fingers curled against the bench, her nails scraping the wood. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming, her cunt clenching around nothing, her ass twitching under Jeroen's touch. She was making sounds now, small whimpers she couldn't control, her hips pressing back against his hands without permission.
"She's pushing back," Arjan said, his voice carrying a hint of surprise, of hunger. "She wants it."
"She wants it," Jeroen agreed, his thumb pressing harder against her asshole, not slipping in, just threatening to. "Don't you, Elena?"
Her voice was gone. She could only nod, her face pressed against the cedar, tears or sweat or steam on her cheeks, she couldn't tell. Her body was trembling, spread open under three men who weren't her husband, and she couldn't remember why that was supposed to matter. She wanted. That was all she knew. She wanted.
Ryan's hand tightened on her neck, a possessive squeeze. "Then lay still," he said. "And let us take what you're offering."
Elena felt the pressure change before she understood what it meant—Jeroen's thumb pressing harder against the tight ring of her asshole, not circling anymore, not testing, just pushing. The muscle resisted for a breath, two, her body holding the line that her voice couldn't. Then her hips pressed back, a small surrender she didn't authorize, and the seal broke.
The first knuckle slid through, and she gasped, her mouth open against the cedar, her vision blurring. The stretch was sharp and full, a burn that radiated through her pelvis, her cunt clenching around nothing, her thighs trembling against the bench. Jeroen's breath caught above her, a sound of raw surprise, of triumph.
"There she goes," he murmured, his voice rough, almost reverent. His thumb pushed deeper, the second knuckle sliding past the ring, and Elena's whole body arched, a sound tearing from her throat—half sob, half moan, all surrender. Ryan's hand tightened on her neck, holding her down, grounding her through the wave of sensation that rolled through her.
Arjan's fingers were still inside her pussy, and she felt them curl, felt him press up against the thin wall that separated his touch from Jeroen's. The sensation sent a shock through her, a deep ache that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. Her cunt flooded, slick and hot, dripping down her thighs.
"Feel that?" Arjan asked, his voice quiet, almost clinical. "Feel him through the wall? That's your ass, Elena. He's inside your ass."
She couldn't answer. Her voice was gone, lost somewhere in the steam. Her nails scraped the wood, her hips pressing back against Jeroen's thumb, taking him deeper. The stretch was everything—full and burning and wrong and perfect, the thing she'd never given her husband, the thing she was giving to a man who hadn't even asked.
Jeroen's thumb was fully seated now, buried to the base, the thick heel of his hand pressed against her ass. He held there, letting her feel the fullness, letting her body adjust. The sauna hummed around them, the stones cracking softly, the only sound her ragged breath and the wet slick of Arjan's fingers moving inside her.
Ryan leaned down, his mouth close to her ear, his beard brushing her skin. "You wanted this," he said, his voice a low rumble against her temple. "You've been wanting this since the first time you saw us look at you. Admit it."
Elena shook her head, a tiny motion against the wood, but her hips pressed back, grinding against Jeroen's hand, and the lie dissolved in the steam. Her cunt clenched around Arjan's fingers, and she heard a sound escape her—the beginning of a word, a name, she didn't know whose.
"That's it," Jeroen breathed, his thumb beginning to move, a slow rotation inside her, stretching her open from the inside. "You're taking it. You're taking all of it."
And Elena's body answered before her mind could catch up—her back arching, her mouth open, her cunt gripping Arjan's fingers, her ass clenching around Jeroen's thumb, three men holding her open, and the steam swallowing her like a sacrament.
Jeroen's thumb withdrew slow, deliberate, the seal breaking with a wet sound that echoed in the steam. Elena's body clenched around the sudden emptiness, her asshole fluttering, desperate to hold something. The burn of the stretch faded to an ache, a hollow space that felt colder than the air around her. She heard him shift behind her, felt the heat of his hands move, and then two fingers pressed flat against the ring she'd just surrendered.
Two. She felt the width even before he pushed—thick and blunt, side by side against her most private place. Her breath caught, her hips pressing back before she could stop them, a small sound escaping her throat. Arjan's fingers curled inside her pussy, a reminder that she was already full in one place, and now she would be fuller in another.
"Two now," Jeroen murmured, his voice rough, almost wondering. "Think you can take two?"
Elena couldn't answer. Her face pressed into the cedar, her nails scraping the wood, her whole body trembling as she felt the pressure increase. His fingers didn't push yet—just rested there, testing, letting her feel the weight of what he was asking. Ryan's hand tightened on her neck, grounding her, holding her still while the moment stretched.
Then Jeroen applied pressure. The tips of his fingers pressed against the tight ring, and Elena felt the resistance—her body trying to hold the line, the muscle flexing against the intrusion. Her hips bucked, a reflex, and she heard herself whimper, a sound she didn't recognize. Arjan's fingers stilled inside her, waiting.
"Breathe," Ryan said, his voice low against her ear. "Let him in."
She breathed. A ragged inhale, the steam filling her lungs, and in that moment of surrender, the pressure broke. The tips of Jeroen's fingers slid through the ring, breaching her, a sharp stretch that radiated through her pelvis, her cunt, her thighs. Her back arched off the bench, a cry tearing from her throat—half pain, half pleasure, all shock.
The world narrowed to that point of intrusion. Two fingers, just the tips, seated at the rim of her ass, holding her open from the inside. She could feel every ridge of his fingerprints, the heat of his skin, the weight of the rest waiting to follow. Her asshole clenched around the breach, trying to push them out, but her hips pressed back, trying to pull them deeper.
"She's fighting it," Arjan said quietly. "But she wants it."
Jeroen didn't move. He held there, letting her body adjust to the new fullness, the stretch of two where there had been one. Elena's breath came in short gasps, her chest heaving against the cedar, her cunt flooding, slick and hot, coating Arjan's fingers. She was split open, held at the edge, three men watching her tremble on the bench.
The steam coiled around them, thick and silent, as Jeroen's fingers began to rotate, a slow, grinding motion against the tight ring. Elena's back arched again, her mouth open, a sound caught in her throat—not a word, not a name, just the raw sound of a woman being taken apart from the inside.
Ryan's thumb stroked the base of her skull, a gesture almost tender against the violence of what was happening to her body. "That's it," he said. "That's your second finger. You're taking it."
And Elena nodded against the wood, her tears or sweat or steam blurring her vision, her body spread open under three men who weren't her husband, her ass clenching around two fingers that had barely begun to push deeper. The horror of it mixed with the hunger, and she couldn't tell which one was winning.
Jeroen's fingers began to move—a slow push deeper, the stretch widening as the second knuckle breached her ring. Elena's cry was muffled against the cedar, her back arching, her cunt clenching around Arjan's fingers. The pressure built in her ass, full and burning, and she felt her body open, the muscle surrendering inch by inch, until his fingers were seated to the palm.
"Look at that," Jeroen breathed. "She's taking both." His fingers rotated inside her, grinding against the tight channel, and Elena's legs trembled, her toes curling against the bench. Ryan's hand stayed on her neck, grounding her through the waves of sensation that rolled through her pelvis—the fullness in her ass, the stretch in her cunt, the heat of three men surrounding her.
Arjan's fingers began to move inside her pussy in counterpoint to Jeroen's thrusts—one pushing in while the other withdrew, creating a rhythm that filled her from both sides. The thin wall between them pressed and flexed, and Elena felt a pressure building deep in her belly, something she couldn't name rising through the heat.
"You feel that?" Arjan asked, his voice tight. "Feel us inside you at the same time? Your ass is clenching around Jeroen's fingers, and your pussy is dripping on mine."
Elena nodded, a broken sound escaping her throat, her hips pressing back into the rhythm. Ryan's thumb stroked her neck, his voice low and rough. "You're close. I can feel it in your breathing. You're gonna come for us, aren't you?" Then, lower, almost claiming: "Gonna come on their fingers while I hold you down."
She was going to. The pressure was building, coiling in her pelvis, her cunt clenching around Arjan's fingers, her ass gripping Jeroen's. The steam wrapped around them, thick and wet, and she could taste salt on her lips—sweat or tears, she couldn't tell. Her hips moved on their own, grinding back against Jeroen's hands, forward onto Arjan's, taking them deeper.
"That's it," Jeroen said, his voice rough and hungry. "Ride our fingers. Take what you need."
The pressure built higher, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her nails scraping the wood. Ryan's hand tightened on her neck, a possessive squeeze that pushed her over the edge, and she came with a cry that tore through the steam—her body arching, her cunt clenching around Arjan's fingers, her ass fluttering around Jeroen's, the orgasm ripping through her in waves that she couldn't control, couldn't stop, didn't want to stop.
Her thighs shook against the bench. Her voice broke on a sound that might have been a word—might have been a name, might have been nothing. The three of them held her through it, fingers still inside her, Ryan's hand still on her neck, the steam swallowing her surrender.
The waves faded slowly, leaving her trembling on the bench, her body slick with sweat and steam, her ass and cunt still full of fingers that hadn't withdrawn. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by her ragged breaths. Then Jeroen's fingers slid out of her ass with a wet sound, and Arjan's followed from her cunt, and she felt empty—hollow and cold and desperately empty.
They shifted around her. She heard the wet sounds of hands being wiped, the creak of the bench as they stood. Ryan's hand left her neck. The absence of his weight felt like falling.
Then Jeroen's voice, rough and deliberate: "Now it's our turn."
Elena's body moved before her mind caught up—a slow roll onto her back, the cedar cool against her skin, her arms falling above her head like surrender. The steam curled around her breasts, her nipples hard in the humid air, her stomach tight with anticipation. She didn't open her eyes. She couldn't. If she looked at them now, she'd see what she was becoming—a woman spread open on a sauna bench, waiting for three men who weren't her husband.
Jeroen's breath caught above her. She felt him move, felt the bench dip as he stepped between her thighs, spreading them wider with his knees. His hands landed on her hips, rough and sure, pulling her down the bench until her ass rested against his thighs. She was exposed completely now—her cunt slick and open, her asshole still tender from his fingers, the wet evidence of her orgasm cooling on her skin.
Arjan's hands found her ribs, sliding up her torso, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice low and wondering. "Laying there like you were made for this." His fingers circled her nipples, teasing them to harder peaks, and she felt her hips press up against Jeroen's groin, seeking contact.
Ryan moved to her head, his massive thighs framing her face. She felt him lower himself, felt the heat of his body as he leaned over her, his dark stubble grazing her forehead. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face up, forcing her to open her eyes. The steam had thinned, and she could see him—hazel eyes burning down at her, his jaw tight with hunger. "Look at me while they take you," he said. "I want to see your face when you give it up."
Elena's throat tightened. She should speak. Should say something—a protest, a plea, anything. But her voice was buried somewhere in the steam, and her body was already answering for her, her legs falling wider apart, her hips tilting up in silent offering. Jeroen's hands slid from her hips, and she heard the wet sound of him spitting into his palm, the rough stroke of his hand on his cock.
"You ready for this?" Jeroen asked, his voice rough, almost gentle. His cock pressed against her cunt lips, not pushing in, just resting there, the head slick and heavy against her. She felt the heat of him, the weight, the promise. Her body trembled, her cunt clenching around nothing, her asshole fluttering with the memory of being filled.
Elena's eyes stayed locked on Ryan's. She nodded once, a small motion that felt like the biggest thing she'd ever done. Her lips parted, a sound trying to form—yes, please, anything—but what came out was a broken breath, a surrender that needed no words.
Jeroen's hand wrapped around the base of his cock, guiding it to her entrance. She felt the head press against her, the first stretch of intrusion, the slick heat of him threatening to push through. He held there, just at the threshold, his breath ragged above her, his thighs trembling against hers.
"Please," she whispered. The word escaped before she could stop it, a single syllable of need that hung in the steam between them. Her hips pressed up against him, trying to pull him in, but he held still, denying her the fullness she craved.
Ryan's thumb traced her lower lip, pressing gently until her mouth opened. "Say it again," he said. "Say it like you mean it."
Elena's eyes burned. Her body was open, offered, spread on a bench for three men while her husband was somewhere on a trail, trusting her. The guilt was a blade in her chest, but the hunger was a fire that burned through everything else. "Please," she said again, her voice breaking. "Please, Jeroen."
Jeroen's cock pressed harder against her entrance, the head stretching her open, the first inch sliding in. Elena's back arched off the bench, a sound tearing from her throat—half sob, half moan—as she felt herself being filled, the stretch of him spreading her open from the inside. He held there, just the tip inside her, letting her feel the weight of what was about to happen.
Ryan's hand tightened on her jaw, holding her gaze. "Look at me," he said. "I want you to watch while he fucks you."
Elena's gaze shattered first—her eyes sliding off Ryan's, dropping to the cedar grain beneath her cheek, the wood blurring through salt and steam. She turned her face against the bench, pressing her temple to the warm wood, one hand curling open beside her head. A surrender folded into a smaller shape, a woman trying to disappear into the space she'd already given away.
Ryan's hand stayed on her jaw for a beat, then another, the pressure not quite forcing her back. His thumb traced the bone beneath her ear, a slow deliberate stroke that felt like a sentence. "Look at me," he said, and his voice had dropped lower, rougher, something scraping under the words. "I told you to watch."
Elena shook her head against the bench. A tiny motion, barely a refusal, her teeth catching her lower lip as a sob tried to climb out of her chest. Ryan's thumb pressed harder against her jaw, not enough to turn her face back, just enough to let her feel the weight of his patience. He could force it. He didn't. The choice sat between them, hot and sharp, and she felt it cutting through every nerve she had left.
Between her thighs, Jeroen's cock was still pressed against her cunt, the head slick and heavy at her entrance, not pushing in. She could feel him breathing—short, ragged pulls of air that matched her own. His hands gripped her hips, thumbs pressing into the bone, holding her open for a threshold she hadn't given but couldn't deny. The silence stretched, thick as the steam curling around them, and Elena felt the weight of three men waiting on her small, broken refusal.
"Please," she whispered, and didn't know what she was asking for—mercy or more, stillness or the end. The word hung in the air, raw and honest, tasting like salt and shame. Ryan's hand on her jaw loosened, just slightly, and she felt the shift as he made a decision.
"Fine," he said, the word flat and final. "Keep your eyes on the wood. But you're going to feel every inch of this. Every. Single. Inch." His hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, heavy and grounding, pinning her face to the bench. "You don't get to look away from what happens to your body. You just don't get to see it coming."
The words settled into her spine like a verdict. Elena's breath hitched, her fingers curling against the cedar, her whole body trembling as the reality of what she'd chosen sank into the steam around them. She was going to let them take her without watching. She was going to lie here, face-down, and feel it happen—every stretch, every thrust, every moment of being filled by men who weren't her husband.
Jeroen's cock pressed harder at her entrance, the head stretching her open, breaching the first ring of muscle. Elena's back arched, a broken sound escaping her throat as she felt herself being entered—the slick heat of him, the resistance of her body yielding inch by inch. Jeroen held at the first knuckle, letting her feel the fullness, letting her body adjust to the intrusion.
"That's it," he breathed, his voice rough and reverent. "That's the first inch. You feel that, Elena? That's my cock, right where you wanted it." He waited, his hips still, his hands gripping her ass, letting the sensation settle into her bones. "You're gonna feel every inch of me before I'm done. And you're gonna take it."
Ryan's hand tightened on her neck, grounding her through the stretch. "Eyes on the wood," he reminded her, low and deliberate. "And feel."
Elena's fingers scraped the cedar, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her body split open on the bench between three men who weren't her husband. Jeroen's cock was inside her—just the head, just the beginning—and she could feel every ridge, every pulse, every breath he took above her. The world had narrowed to the heat between her thighs and the weight of Ryan's hand on her neck and the sound of Arjan's voice, quiet and hungry, saying, "Give her the rest."
Jeroen's hips pushed forward, a slow steady press that stretched her open inch by inch, the thick head of his cock sliding through her slick heat until he was seated deep inside her cunt. Elena's cry was muffled against the cedar, her fingers scraping the wood, her body arching as she felt herself filled—not just entered, but claimed, the fullness of him reaching places that made her see stars behind her closed eyes. He held there, letting her feel the weight of his intrusion, his thighs pressed against the backs of hers, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck," Jeroen breathed, his voice ragged with surprise, with hunger. "She's so fucking tight. And wet. God, she's dripping." He pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, then pushed back in, deeper this time, his hips meeting her ass with a wet slap that echoed through the steam. Elena's legs trembled, her cunt gripping him, trying to hold him, and she heard herself make a sound—a broken whimper that turned into a moan as he began to move.
Ryan's hand stayed on her neck, grounding her through the rhythm, his thumb stroking the base of her skull. "That's it," he said, his voice low and rough against her ear. "Feel him. Feel how deep he is. You're taking him like you were made for it." His other hand moved to her ass, spreading her open, and she felt the cool air hit her most private place, still tender from his fingers.
Elena's breath came in short gasps, her face pressed against the wood, her body rocking with each of Jeroen's thrusts. He was fucking her now, a steady rhythm that built heat in her pelvis, his balls slapping against her clit with every push. Her cunt flooded around him, slick and hot, and she could hear the wet sounds of his cock sliding through her, the sound of her own surrender.
Then Ryan's hand shifted. She felt his thumb press against her asshole, the tight ring still loose from Jeroen's fingers, and she jerked, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. "Easy," Ryan murmured, his voice flat and deliberate. "I'm just getting you ready." His thumb circled the rim, spreading the wetness that had leaked from her cunt, and she felt the pressure build as he pressed gently, testing the give she'd already surrendered.
"She's loose enough," Arjan said from somewhere behind her, his voice carrying a note of dark wonder. "She took two fingers. She can take more."
Ryan's thumb pushed deeper, breaching her asshole with a slick sound that made her whole body clench. The stretch was sharp and full, a different kind of invasion than Jeroen's cock in her cunt—deeper, more intimate, the place her husband had begged for and never received. Elena's fingers scraped the cedar, a sob breaking from her throat as Ryan's thumb seated itself to the base inside her ass while Jeroen continued to fuck her cunt.
"Look at that," Ryan said, his voice low and reverent. "She's taking both at the same time. My thumb in her ass and Jeroen's cock in her cunt, and she's still pushing back for more." His thumb began to move, a slow rotation inside her, stretching her open from the inside while Jeroen's cock slid through her from below. The sensation was overwhelming—fullness in both holes, the thin wall between them pressing and flexing, her body split open and filled on two fronts.
Elena's hips pressed back into the double intrusion, a motion she didn't authorize, her body moving on its own toward the pleasure that was building in her core. Jeroen grunted above her, his rhythm faltering as he felt her push back. "She wants more," he said, his voice rough and wondering. "She's not running. She's asking for it."
Ryan's thumb withdrew from her ass with a wet sound, and Elena felt the sudden emptiness, her asshole clenching around nothing. She heard him shift behind her, heard the wet sound of him spitting into his palm, the rough stroke of his hand on his cock. The sound was different from Jeroen's—heavier, thicker, the sound of something massive being prepared.
"You ready for this?" Ryan asked, his voice flat and dark, the question hanging in the steam between them. "You've never taken anything this big in your ass. I know you haven't. Your husband never got this far." His voice dropped lower, almost tender against the brutality of his words. "But you're going to take it now. You're going to feel every inch of me opening you up."
Elena's breath caught. Her body was trembling, her cunt still full of Jeroen's cock, her asshole fluttering with anticipation and fear. She could feel Ryan's cock pressing against her entrance, the head thick and blunt, the sheer size of him threatening even before he pushed. It was bigger than anything she'd ever felt, bigger than her husband, bigger than the fingers that had opened her, and she knew—with a certainty that settled into her bones like a verdict—that she was going to take it.
Jeroen's hand found hers on the bench, his fingers lacing through hers, an anchor in the storm of sensation. "Breathe," he said, his voice rough but steady. "Let him in. Let us fill you."
Ryan's cock pressed harder against her asshole, the head stretching the tight ring beyond anything she'd felt before. Elena's whole body tensed, her muscles locking, her breath held in her chest. The pressure built—a slow, relentless push that felt like it would split her open, the ring of her asshole resisting, holding, then beginning to give as Ryan applied steady force.
The head breached her. A sharp, burning stretch that radiated through her pelvis, her cunt clenching around Jeroen's cock, her fingers gripping his hand, a cry tearing from her throat that was half pain, half raw astonishment. Ryan held at the crown, letting her body adjust to the impossible fullness, his breath ragged above her. "That's the head," he said, his voice strained. "Just the head. There's more."
Elena's vision blurred. She was split open, filled in both holes, Ryan's massive cock seated at the first ring of her ass while Jeroen's cock pulsed inside her cunt, and she could feel the thin wall between them pressing against each other, the two intrusions separated by a membrane of flesh that felt like the only thing holding her together. Her body was trembling, her breath coming in short gasps, and she felt a tear slide down her cheek—not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming fact of what she was letting happen.
Ryan began to push deeper, the thick shaft sliding into her ass inch by impossible inch, the stretch building until she thought she would break apart. But her body kept opening, kept accepting, the muscle yielding to his size as he pushed past the second ring, the third, until she felt his hips press against her ass, fully seated. He held there, letting her feel the fullness, the weight of him buried in her most private place.
"Fuck," Ryan breathed, his voice raw with surprise. "She took all of it. She's clenching around me like she's been waiting for this her whole life."
Jeroen's hips began to move again, a slow rhythm inside her cunt, and the sensation was indescribable—Ryan's cock filling her ass, Jeroen's cock sliding through her cunt, the two of them separated by a thin wall that pressed and flexed with every movement. Elena's body arched off the bench, a sound tearing from her throat that was half sob, half scream, the pleasure and pain and wrongness and rightness all merging into a single overwhelming wave that crashed through her.
And outside, in the light of the dying sun, a pair of dark eyes watched through the sauna window—a hiker returned early, his hands still gripping his walking poles, his breath caught in his chest as he saw his wife on the cedar bench, filled by two men while a third stood ready, and felt something crack open in his chest that he didn't have a name for yet.
Rolf's knuckles went white on the walking poles. Through the fogged glass he watched Arjan move—not toward her cunt or her ass like the other two, but circling to her head, his lean swimmer's body casting a shadow across her face. Elena's eyes were closed, her lips parted, her breath coming in ragged gasps against the cedar. Arjan's hand found her jaw, tilting her face toward him, and she didn't resist.
"You've had their cocks," Arjan said, his voice quiet, almost gentle against the wet slap of Jeroen's thrusts. "Now you get mine." His thumb traced her lower lip, pressing down until her mouth fell open, and Elena felt the weight of his gaze on her face, the heat of his cock brushing her cheek. "Open wider."
Her jaw trembled. Her throat ached with the effort of breathing, of keeping her mouth open while Jeroen drove into her from behind, each thrust pushing her face against the cedar. But she obeyed—her lips falling wider, her tongue flattening against the wood, a space prepared for something she'd never done for her husband. Arjan's hand guided his cock to her lips, the head slick with his own spit, and she could smell him—clean salt and sweat and the lingering steam of the sauna.
"Look at me," he said, and her eyes opened, meeting his green gaze through the haze. He was smiling, that easy charming smile, but his eyes were dark with hunger. "Take it slow. All the way."
His cock pressed against her lips, and she opened for him, her mouth accepting the head, the salt of his skin hitting her tongue. He slid forward, filling her mouth inch by inch, and Elena felt her throat contract, her gag reflex rising, her eyes watering as he pressed deeper. He didn't stop until the head touched the back of her throat, his hips flush against her lips, his fingers still cradling her jaw.
Jeroen's rhythm faltered above her. She felt him pause, felt the weight of his gaze on the sight of her—mouth full, ass full, cunt full—and she heard him exhale, a sound of raw wonder. "Look at that," he breathed. "She's taking all three of us. Her mouth, her cunt, her ass—every hole filled."
Ryan's hand tightened on her ass, his cock pulsing deep inside her, and she felt him lean forward, his chest pressing against her back. "Elena," he said, his voice low and rough, "you're going to suck him while I fuck you. You're going to take all of us at the same time, and you're going to love it."
Arjan began to move, a slow push-pull rhythm that matched Jeroen's thrusts, and Elena felt herself caught in a double rhythm—his cock sliding in and out of her mouth while Jeroen's slid in and out of her cunt, Ryan's massive cock still buried in her ass, holding her open. Her body was a vessel, filled on three fronts, the sensations overlapping and merging until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
Her hands found the cedar, her nails scraping the wood, her whole body trembling with the effort of taking all of them. Saliva dripped from her lips, pooling on the bench beneath her cheek, and she tasted salt and sweat and the musk of Arjan's cock against her tongue. He was thicker than she'd expected, the weight of him pressing her jaw wide, and she felt her throat work around him, trying to accommodate his depth.
"That's it," Arjan murmured, his voice tight with pleasure. "Take me deeper. Let me feel your throat." His hand slid to the back of her head, pressing gently, guiding her down until her nose touched his groin, his full length buried in her mouth. She gagged, her eyes streaming, her body convulsing against the intrusion, but he held there, letting her feel the fullness, letting her throat learn to accept him.
Ryan began to move again, a slow grind inside her ass, his massive cock stretching her in ways that made her see stars. Each thrust pushed her mouth deeper onto Arjan's cock, a perfect counterpoint of pressure and release. Jeroen's rhythm quickened, his breath coming in short grunts, and she felt the heat building in all three of them—the tension rising, the room filling with the sounds of wet flesh and ragged breath and the low growl of men taking what they wanted.
Arjan's hips rocked against her lips, his fingers tangled in her hair, his voice low and broken. "You feel that, Elena? You feel my cock in your throat? You're sucking me while two other men fuck you, and you're not running. You're not saying no. You're taking it like you were born for this."
Elena couldn't answer. Her mouth was full, her throat stretched, her body impaled on three men who weren't her husband. But her hips pressed back against Ryan's thrusts, and her tongue curled around Arjan's shaft, and her cunt clenched around Jeroen's cock, and every motion was a word she didn't have to say.
Outside, Rolf's hands slipped from the walking poles. They hit the gravel with a soft sound, lost in the steam that curled around the sauna window. He didn't feel them go. His eyes were fixed on his wife's face, on the shape of another man's cock sliding between her lips, on the way her throat worked to take him, on the tears or sweat or steam that blurred her cheeks. He should turn away. He should walk into the cabin, should stop this, should remind her who she belonged to. But his feet were rooted to the gravel, and something dark and hungry was unfurling in his chest, something that watched and wanted and didn't know its own name.
Arjan's rhythm quickened, his grip tightening in her hair, his breathing ragged. "I'm close," he said, his voice strained. "You want it in your mouth? You want me to fill your throat?"
Elena's eyes met his, and she nodded—a small motion against the cedar, her mouth still stretched around his cock. The consent was barely visible, barely anything, but it was there, a thread of choice in the fabric of her surrender. Arjan's hips drove forward, his cock pulsing at the back of her throat, and she felt the first hot jet of his release—bitter and thick, flooding her mouth, her throat working to swallow, to keep up with the force of his orgasm.
He held her there, his cock buried to the hilt, his breath coming in shuddering gasps, his hand still tangled in her hair. "Swallow," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "All of it."
And Elena swallowed, her throat contracting around him, the taste of him sliding down her throat, her body still rocking between Jeroen and Ryan, still filled and fucked and claimed on every front. She swallowed again, and again, until there was nothing left, until his cock softened slightly in her mouth, and she let him slide out, her lips closing with a wet sound that hung in the steam.
Rolf's breath fogged the glass in slow pulses, his forehead pressed against the cool pane, his hands empty at his sides where the poles had fallen. Inside, Arjan was pulling back from Elena's face, his cock sliding free of her lips with a wet shine, his hand still cradling her jaw. Her mouth stayed open, a thread of saliva connecting her to the head of his shaft, and Rolf watched her tongue dart out to catch it—a reflex, a hunger, a thing she did without thinking.
Arjan's hand slid from her jaw to her shoulder, guiding her, and Elena moved without resistance—her palms pressing against the cedar, her knees finding the bench as she pushed herself up onto all fours. The position was brutal in its clarity: her ass in the air, still spread from Ryan's cock, her cunt glistening between her thighs, her breasts swinging beneath her as she settled into the pose. Rolf's throat tightened. He knew that position. He'd asked her for it a hundred times, and she'd always laughed, always rolled away, always said something about being too tired or too sore or too self-conscious. Now she was offering it to three men she'd known for six days.
Jeroen's cock slid out of her cunt with a wet sound, and she swayed at the sudden emptiness, her head hanging between her shoulders. Ryan's massive shaft withdrew from her ass, and Rolf saw her whole body tremble at the loss, her asshole clenching around nothing, a pearl of white leaking from the stretched rim. She was marked. Open. Used. And still she stayed on her knees, waiting for whatever came next.
Arjan moved behind her, his hands finding her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above her ass. His cock was hard again, the blond hair at its base dark with her saliva, and Rolf watched him guide the head to her cunt—not her ass, not the hole Ryan had just vacated, but her pussy, slick and swollen and desperate. Arjan pushed in with one smooth motion, and Elena's back arched, a sound escaping her throat that carried through the glass—a high, keening moan that Rolf felt in his own chest.
"That's it," Arjan murmured, his voice carrying through the steam. "You're going to take me the same way you took Jeroen. And then you're going to take Ryan again." His hips began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that pulled her ass against his groin with every thrust. "We're not done with you yet. We're going to fill every hole twice before we let you go."
Rolf's hand moved without his permission, sliding down his stomach, pressing against the growing hardness in his hiking pants. He didn't realize he'd done it until he felt the pressure of his own palm through the fabric, felt the heat of his own arousal, and the shame hit him like a wave—cold and sharp and clarifying. He was watching his wife get fucked by his friends, and he was hard. The thought should have disgusted him. It did disgust him. But his hand didn't move away.
Inside, Arjan's rhythm quickened, his fingers digging into Elena's hips as he drove into her. Her hands gripped the bench, her knuckles white, her face pressed against the wood, and Rolf could see her mouth moving—words she was saying, sounds she was making, names she was calling. He couldn't hear them through the glass, but he could imagine them. He could imagine her voice, that soft trembling voice, saying Jeroen's name, saying Ryan's name, saying Arjan's name. Saying anything but his.
Ryan moved behind Arjan, his massive cock still slick, still hard, his hand wrapping around the base as he waited. Jeroen circled to Elena's head, his hand finding her hair, pulling her face up from the wood. "Open," he said, and she did—her mouth falling open, her tongue extending, her eyes finding his through the haze. Jeroen's cock slid between her lips, and Rolf watched his wife's throat work around the familiar shape of another man's shaft while another man fucked her from behind and a third waited his turn.
Rolf's hand pressed harder against his own cock, the pressure a dull anchor in the storm of his thoughts. He should stop watching. He should walk away. He should do something—anything—that wasn't standing here, frozen, hard, watching his wife become something he'd never seen before. But his feet stayed rooted to the gravel, and his eyes stayed fixed on the glass, and his hand stayed pressed against the growing heat in his pants.
Arjan's hips slammed against Elena's ass, his rhythm losing its control, his breath coming in short grunts that Rolf could almost hear through the glass. "Fuck," Arjan gasped, his voice carrying faintly through the steam. "I'm going to—" His body tensed, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, and Rolf saw his wife's body shudder as Arjan emptied himself inside her cunt, his cock pulsing, his breath ragged, his forehead dropping to her spine.
Elena's mouth stayed stretched around Jeroen's cock, her throat working, her eyes streaming, and Rolf saw her hips press back against Arjan's spent shaft, grinding, taking every drop. A sound escaped her—a muffled whimper that carried through the glass, that found its way to Rolf's ears like a verdict. She was still hungry. Even after all of it—the fingers, the double penetration, the throat, the cum—she was still pressing back, still asking for more.
Arjan pulled out, his cock sliding free with a wet sound, and Ryan stepped forward to take his place. His massive hand landed on Elena's ass, spreading her open, and Rolf saw the evidence of everything she'd taken—the stretched rim of her asshole, the slick mess of her cunt, the way her body trembled as Ryan's cock pressed against her most private place. He pushed in without hesitation, the thick head breaching her ass in one smooth motion, and Elena's body arched, a cry tearing from her throat that sent her mouth sliding off Jeroen's cock.
"Stay," Jeroen said, his hand tightening in her hair, guiding her mouth back to him. "You're not done yet."
Elena's lips closed around him again, her eyes fluttering shut, her body caught between the two of them—Ryan's massive cock stretching her ass, Jeroen's cock filling her throat, the rhythm of two men taking her from both ends. Rolf's hand moved faster against his own cock, the pressure building, the shame and arousal merging into something he couldn't name, something that felt like it was cracking him open from the inside.
Ryan's thrusts were slower than Jeroen's, deeper, each one grinding against Elena's spine, pushing her face deeper onto Jeroen's cock. His hand gripped her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and Rolf watched his wife's body yield to the intrusion—her asshole stretching around the massive shaft, her thighs trembling, her cunt dripping onto the cedar below. She was taking all of him. She was taking everything they gave her.
Jeroen's rhythm quickened, his grip tightening in Elena's hair, and Rolf saw the tension building in his thighs, in his stomach, in the way his hips drove forward. "Swallow this one too," he growled, and his body tensed, his cock pulsing against her throat, his release flooding her mouth while Ryan continued to fuck her ass. Elena's throat worked, swallowing, taking, her eyes still closed, her body still caught between two men who weren't her husband.
Rolf's hand stopped moving. He stood there, his palm pressed against his own hardness, his breath fogging the glass, his eyes fixed on the sight of his wife on her knees—mouth full, ass full, her body marked and claimed and used in ways he'd only dreamed of. The jealousy was a hot blade in his chest, but underneath it, something darker stirred, something that watched his wife take two cocks at once and felt not rage but a terrible, aching hunger.
He wanted to see more. He wanted to see her take all three at the same time. He wanted to see what she looked like when she was completely full, completely claimed, completely his—even if he wasn't the one inside her. Even if he was just the man watching from the dark.
Ryan's hand found Elena's hip, his rhythm steady, his massive cock sliding in and out of her ass with a wet sound that carried through the glass. Jeroen's cock slid free of her mouth, a trail of saliva and cum connecting his tip to her lips, and she stayed there, on all fours, her mouth open, her body trembling, waiting for whatever came next. Jeroen's hand stroked her cheek, a gesture almost tender, and Rolf saw his wife's lips press against his palm—a kiss, soft and grateful, given to a man who'd just finished in her throat.
Rolf's hand pressed harder against his own cock, the heat building, the shame and hunger and jealousy and lust all fusing into a single relentless pressure that had nowhere to go. He didn't move. He didn't turn away. He watched Ryan fuck his wife's ass, and he felt himself harden, and he hated himself for it, and he didn't stop. His knuckles whitened against his thigh, but he did not move, did not turn away.
Ryan's massive cock slid free of Elena's ass with a wet, sucking sound that carried through the steam. Her body trembled, a raw sob escaping her lips as she felt the sudden emptiness—her asshole clenching around nothing, the stretched rim burning, a pearl of white leaking down her thigh. She stayed on all fours, her forehead pressed against the cedar, her breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged the wood beneath her cheek.
Jeroen's hand stroked her hair, a gesture that felt almost tender against the brutality of what had just happened. "You took that well," he murmured. "But we're not done yet. Ryan's got something else for you."
Rolf's throat tightened. Through the glass, he watched Ryan step back, watched him reach for the bottle of oil on the bench—the one they'd brought for massages, now slick with evidence of everything they'd done. Ryan poured a generous amount into his palm, his thick fingers working the oil into his skin, coating his hand until it gleamed in the dim light. The gesture was deliberate, methodical, and Rolf felt a chill run down his spine as he realized what was coming.
Elena's head lifted, her eyes finding Ryan's face through the haze. She saw his oiled hand, saw the deliberate way he worked the lubricant between his fingers, and her breath caught in her throat. "No," she whispered, but the word was soft, almost a question, and her hips stayed in place, her body still offered, still waiting.
Ryan's hand landed on her ass, spreading her open, his thumb pressing against the tight ring that was still loose from his cock. "You've taken fingers," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "You've taken my cock. Now you're going to take my whole hand."
Elena's fingers scraped the wood, her whole body trembling as she felt his thumb breach her, the familiar stretch of intrusion, the oil slick and warm. "I can't," she said, her voice breaking. "It's too much. It's—"
"You can," Ryan said, cutting her off. His thumb curled inside her, stretching the muscle, and his index finger pressed against the rim alongside it. "And you will."
The pressure built as he worked his second finger in, the stretch widening, the oil easing the slide. Elena's mouth fell open, a sound tearing from her throat—half whimper, half moan—as she felt herself being opened beyond anything she'd experienced. Her cunt clenched around nothing, her thighs trembling, her whole body caught between the urge to pull away and the desperate need to be filled.
"That's two," Ryan said, his voice flat and patient. "Now three." His ring finger joined the others, the width of three digits pressing against the tight ring, and Elena's body arched, a cry escaping her as she felt the muscle stretch, felt the burn of being opened so wide. Her hips pressed back without permission, trying to take them deeper, and Ryan's free hand landed on her hip, holding her still.
"Easy," he said. "We go slow. You'll take all of it." He began to rotate his fingers inside her, a grinding motion that stretched her asshole in a circle, loosening the muscle, preparing it for the final intrusion. Elena's breath came in short, ragged gasps, her nails scraping the wood, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Look at me," Ryan said, and she did—her eyes finding his, dark and hungry, through the haze of steam. "You're going to take my whole hand. And you're going to love it. Because your body knows what it needs, even if your mind won't admit it."
Elena shook her head, a tiny denial, but her hips pressed back against his fingers, and she heard herself say, "Please." The word escaped before she could stop it, a surrender that hung in the air between them. Ryan's hand stilled, and for a long moment, nothing moved but the steam curling around them.
Then his hand withdrew, three fingers sliding free with a wet sound, leaving her hollow and aching. He spat into his palm, working the saliva into the oil, coating his hand one last time. Then he positioned his thumb against her asshole, the rest of his hand curled into a cone, and began to push.
The pressure was immense—the width of his hand pressing against the tight ring, the thickest part of his fist reaching her entrance. Elena's body locked, every muscle tensing, her breath held in her chest as she felt the impossible stretch. Ryan pushed steadily, relentlessly, his knuckles breaching the rim one by one, his hand sliding deeper until the widest part—the knuckles of his fist—was seated inside her ass.
Elena screamed. It was a raw, broken sound that carried through the glass, that found Rolf's ears like a blade. Her body arched, her back bowing, her cunt clenching, her hands gripping the wood so hard the grain bit into her palms. She was full—fuller than she'd ever been—her ass stretched around Ryan's fist, the base of his arm pressed against her thighs.
"Breathe," Ryan said, his voice strained, his own body trembling with the effort of holding still. "Just breathe. Let your body accept it."
Elena's chest heaved, a sob escaping her as she forced herself to inhale, the steam filling her lungs. The stretch was a constant, burning pressure that radiated through her pelvis, her thighs, her spine. She could feel every knuckle, every ridge of his hand inside her, the sheer size of him occupying a space she hadn't known existed. But underneath the pain, something deeper stirred—a pleasure that coiled in her belly, a dark hunger that had been awakened and couldn't be silenced.
"She's taking it," Jeroen said, his voice reverent. He was kneeling beside her now, his hand on her shoulder, grounding her through the overwhelming sensation. "Look at her. She's taking his whole fucking fist."
Rolf's hand pressed harder against his own cock, the fabric of his hiking pants rough against his palm. He was hard—painfully hard—his breath fogging the glass as he watched his wife take a man's fist in her ass, watched her body yield to something he'd never even dreamed of asking for. The jealousy was a hot blade, but the hunger was a fire, and it was consuming everything else.
Inside, Ryan's fist began to move—a slow, grinding rotation inside Elena's ass, stretching her from the inside, the motion sending waves of sensation through her body. Her hips pressed back against his hand, a motion she didn't control, her body seeking more even as her mind screamed for it to stop. She was split open, claimed, filled in ways she'd never imagined, and outside the window, her husband watched with eyes that burned with shame and desire and the first embers of something he didn't have a name for yet.
Ryan's fist began its slow retreat, the knuckles dragging against Elena's stretched rim, each ridge a separate burn that made her whole body shake. She felt the widest part of his hand pass through the tight ring—a moment of impossible pressure that pulled a raw sound from her throat, half sob, half relief—and then his fingers slid free with a wet sound that seemed to echo in the sudden emptiness. Her asshole clenched around nothing, fluttering, the ghost of his fist still present in the burning stretch that remained. A pearl of oil and white leaked down her thigh, and she felt herself trembling from the inside out, hollowed and marked and desperately empty.
Ryan stepped back, his slick hand gleaming in the dim light, his breath coming in short, ragged pulls. He looked down at what he'd done—the gaping hole of her ass, the way her body still trembled, the wet evidence of her surrender cooling on his skin—and a sound escaped him, low and reverent. "Your turn," he said, his voice rough, carrying through the steam. "She promised every hole twice."
Jeroen moved without hesitation, his hand landing on Elena's hip, his thumb pressing into the soft curve of her ass. She was still on all fours, her face pressed against the cedar, her body open and waiting, and he guided her into a higher arch—her hips tilting up, her spine curving deeper, her cunt presented to him like an offering. He spat into his palm, working the saliva over his cock, the sound wet and deliberate in the silence.
Elena's fingers scraped the wood. She felt the heat of him behind her, the weight of his gaze on the place where he was about to enter, and her body responded before her mind could catch up—her hips pressing back, a small motion of invitation that made Jeroen's breath catch. "That's right," he murmured. "You know what you need."
Jeroen's cock pressed against her cunt, the head sliding through the slick mess that Arjan and her own body had left behind. The sensation was familiar and foreign—the stretch of him at her entrance, the heat of his skin, the way her body opened to accept him after everything it had been through. He pushed in with one smooth motion, and Elena's back arched, a broken moan escaping her as she felt herself filled again.
Her cunt gripped him, still tight despite everything, and Jeroen's hands tightened on her hips as he seated himself fully. "Fuck," he breathed. "She's still so tight. After all of that, she's still gripping me like it's the first time." He began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm that pulled her ass against his groin with every thrust, the wet sounds of his cock sliding through her filling the steam.
Ryan moved to her head, his massive cock still hard, slick with oil and her own arousal. He didn't ask. He didn't speak. His hand found her jaw, tilting her face up from the wood, and she opened for him without hesitation—her mouth falling open, her tongue extending, her eyes finding his through the haze of steam and tears. His cock pressed against her lips, the head thick and heavy, and she tasted herself on him—the salt, the oil, the musk of three men who had claimed her.
"Take it," Ryan said, his voice flat and deliberate. "All of it."
Elena's mouth closed around him, her throat working as she took him deeper, the familiar stretch of his cock filling her throat, her nose pressing against his groin as he pushed to the hilt. He held there, letting her feel the fullness, letting her throat learn to accept him while Jeroen fucked her from behind. Her body was a bridge between two men, her mouth full of Ryan's cock, her cunt full of Jeroen's, her ass still burning and empty behind her.
Jeroen's rhythm quickened, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, his breath coming in short grunts that matched the slap of his thighs against her ass. "She's taking us both again," he said, his voice carrying a note of wonder. "Look at her. She was just fisted and she's still hungry."
Ryan's hand found her hair, his fingers tangling in the damp strands as he began to move, a slow push-pull rhythm that matched Jeroen's thrusts. Elena's body was caught between them, every nerve ending alive, every hole filled, her mind floating somewhere above the steam, watching herself become something she didn't recognize. The pleasure built in waves, overlapping and merging, and she felt the pressure coiling in her pelvis, her cunt clenching around Jeroen's cock, her throat working around Ryan's.
Jeroen's hips slammed against her, his rhythm losing its control, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "I'm close," he said, his voice strained. "Where do you want it?"
But Elena couldn't answer—her mouth was full, her throat stretched, her body caught in the rhythm of two men taking their pleasure from her. Ryan's hand tightened in her hair, holding her in place, and Jeroen's hips drove forward one last time, his cock pulsing deep inside her, his release flooding her cunt in hot, thick waves. She felt each pulse, each jet of his cum filling her, and her body responded with a orgasm of its own—her cunt clenching around him, her thighs trembling, a muffled cry escaping her throat as she came around his cock.
Jeroen held there, his forehead dropping to her spine, his breath shuddering against her skin as the last waves of his release emptied into her. The steam curled around them, thick and wet, carrying the sounds of ragged breathing and the slow drip of cum leaking from her cunt onto the cedar below. He stayed inside her, softening, his hands still gripping her hips, and Elena felt the weight of his spent body against hers, the warmth of his cum leaking down her thighs.
Ryan's cock slid free of her mouth with a wet sound, and she gasped for air, her throat raw, her lips slick with saliva and the taste of him. She hung there, on all fours, between two spent men, her body marked and claimed and leaking evidence of everything they'd done. Outside the window, Rolf's hand pressed harder against his own cock, his breath fogging the glass, his eyes fixed on his wife's trembling form—and on the third man, Arjan, who was stepping forward again, his cock hard, his eyes dark with hunger, ready to take the turn he'd been promised.