The feel of being gangbanged

I'm 20. Brown. Curvy. The kind of body that gets attention whether I want it or not.

I lost my virginity at eighteen to the married man next door. Forty-three. White. A dad. A husband. He started with compliments and lingering looks. I ended up in his bedroom while his wife was at my 18th birthday party next door.

After that, there were three more. A coworker. A dad I worked for. A one-night stand at a bar. Two meant something. Two didn't. But every single one had a wedding band.

I know what I like. Older men. Taken men. The secrecy. The stolen hours.

But now I want more. I want all of them at once.

A gangbang. But not just any gangbang. Only married dads. White. Older. Wearing their rings.

I want to be in the middle of them. On my knees. On my back. On all fours. Surrounded by gold bands and rough hands and bodies that haven't been touched like this in years.

I want to feel fingers pulling my hair. Hands gripping my hips. Palms smacking my ass. Wedding rings pressing into my brown skin from every angle, my thighs, my stomach, my throat, my lower back.

I want to taste one while another is inside me. I want to feel a third against my ass, pushing slow, stretching me open while I'm already full. I want to be used. Passed around. A tight brown body for all of them to take turns with.

I want to hear them. The grunts. The groans. The way married men sound when they finally let go, desperate and grateful and a little ashamed.

I want to feel them come. One after another. Inside me. On me. Marking me.

I want to look up at the end, sweaty, sore, completely ruined, and see four wedding bands catching the light.

I want to be the brown homewrecker they all share. I want to feel those rings on every part of my body.

And I want to know their wives will never be enough again.