CAUTION:

This is a story based on experience, and honestly told; some details and names are fictionalized to obscure identities of real persons and events. The ages of most of the persons told in the story were technically legal ages of consent in the state of Minnesota (for that matter in almost all states at the time). While the sexual activities described here involve "teenagers," these boys were not preyed upon by anyone, or coerced in anyway. If anything, these " boys" were predators to my wife.

Installment 5 - - - The Fourth Week - - - Saturday Night: They Take Turns

He stood over Karen, looking down at her, who hearing this, had quieted and softly sobbing, listened as he told Jon: "And I want her for myself." Jon looked disappointed. "And you too. For us, Man." He paused and Karen had composed herself but was still crouched, her hands on her face, sniffling, and he said to her: "You got that Mom. You gonna fuck us and suck us all night long."

Jon wasted no time.

He stripped his undershorts down and his dick was stiff as ever and he got down crouched over my wife, who was still defensively cramped on the floor, her own underpants beside her where she had taken them off. Bending it and guiding it with his hand Jon slipped his prick quickly and easily and completely up inside her cunt, and he began fucking my wife with eager pleasure. Karen, seeming still stunned, did nothing to resist; she made no sounds and showed no feelings except that as I saw her face when I stepped closer and to the side of her to see this—to see the short shaft of this boy's penis poked into my willing pathetic naked wife—I saw that her mouth opened, wet as his slick dick. Wet with her own spittle, and, yes, I was sure, smeared with that other boy's cum, which I supposed she could still taste in her mouth. She was placid and submissive to this fucking—the first guy other than me to ever fuck her—her hands curled, tucked to her sides, her head laid on its cheek, facing me, eye-closed. His fucking shoved her, jostled her, but she made no sound or no response until at the moment Jon started to cum inside her she whimpered and lifted her head, as he grunted and ejaculated.

He stroked to spend himself, and grabbed her buttock and pumped a few more times, deep and hard, to get her to grunt too, then satisfied he pulled out and stood up, his dick still stiff, popping out of her lathery used hole and waggling free, wet in the light, and stood to admire proudly at what he'd done to her.

Frenchy who had watched all this with pleasure and encouraged it with nasty comments, and had himself been fondling his own dick as Jon fucked her, said: "I think she likes you Jon."

"I don't give a shit if she does . . . ." replied Jon, eyeing her hole with smug satisfaction, and left the room with his dick still stiff and upright, ready to fuck her again as I supposed.

Frenchy stood over my wife looking down at her as she remained abject, curled on the floor naked, and spoke to me: "Your wife is going to be fucked a lot, Dad. Okay?"

She did not respond. I looked at her with an ache of my own lust and anxiety for her, conflicted between feeling sorry, worried and wanting this to happen to her. Frenchy looked at me: "And she's gonna be sucking lots of cock." He waited for my reaction. I suppose my face gave away my feelings. Frenchy laughed at me and added: "And anything else I want:" then crouched over her and put his hand on my wife's back and stroked her, smoothed her hair, and said soothingly to her: "Did you like that, Mom? You like sucking cock?"

He took her hand and drawing it turned her to reluctantly sit up and as she did revealed her cunt, agape a moment, Jon's cum and her own wetness shone, before self-consciously she closed her legs and put her arms around her knees, her forehead on them, hiding her flushed and tear-stained face.

Frenchy repeated his question, then asked also: "You like it when he came in your mouth?" He waited for her reply. He was serious. He wanted an answer. He repeated the question. "What do you want?" Karen said, her face still hidden.

"Look at me," Frenchy insisted. He repeated it. She lifted her head. She had stopped crying but she still looked distressed. He asked again: "You like it when he came in your mouth?"

She hesitated and replied resentfully: "Yes . . . . Is that what you want?" I do not know if she meant this question for me or for Frenchy. Frenchy caught the ambiguity too and asked me: "You like it when he came in her mouth?"

Jon had returned with a beer and handed one to Frenchy. He did not bring me one. Karen looked at the beer as Frenchy awaited my reply. Jon goaded me: "Yeah, Dad, you like it when he came in your wife's mouth?" I did not reply but my feelings were obvious and Karen looked ashamed and put her face down again.

The two stood drinking beers and looking down at her. It was completely dark out now. I had almost not noticed that we stood in the lights of the room, and it was going on ten o'clock. Karen's clothes were strewn in front of the coffee table. Underpants beside her. Her bra in the center of the room. I realized she'd worn her bobby socks throughout it all.

Frenchy said: "Go get her a glass of water, Dad. So she can get the taste of cum out of her mouth." She looked up from the floor at him as I turned away to do as he asked. She responded to what he said. He told her to go sit on the sofa.

When I came back in I heard the TV which Jon had turned on and was standing and watching. They had turned off the pole-lamp on the far end of the room. They had turned off all the lights except the one in the corner by the sofa where my wife sat naked beside Frenchy who had put his arm up behind her and was leaning close, looking at her breasts as with the other hand he was toying with her erect nipple, lightly fingering it, flipping its rubbery tip, to see it, to make it jiggle.

Jon was watching a rerun of Dukes of Hazard. The General Lee was roaring in gravel road and the good ole boys were hooting it up. Jon said absently, "She's got nice tits," talking about cousin Daisy on the TV show; but Frenchy playing with my wife's tits replied: "Yes, she does."

I held the glass where I stood watching him. He knew I was there. My wife, looked at Frenchy's face, her eyes watching his, as he had his gaze fixed on her naked breasts and then on her crotch where his hand dropped and his fingers felt, fingers slipping into the slit of her cunt, rubbing, inserting. He looked at me and winked. Karen looked up at me too. She looked like she did not see me. I held out the glass. Frenchy said: "Thank you, Dad."

He held it and tipped it for Karen to sip from. She drank a lot of it. "She must have been thirsty," Frenchy said; handing it back to me, he asked me to get another glassful.

When I came back with the second glassful, Karen had lifted her feet to the sofa and holding them with her hands tightly had spread wide her legs, her knees falling open, her cunt splayed and displayed and Frenchy leaned closely over her belly and was carefully and sensitively feeling it, examining its features and wet folds, and putting fingers into the raw hole of her cunt, twisting them about inside, probing it, and then diddling the candy-pink hard button of her clit to make my wife jerk and gasp when he did. He laughed when she did this. She bit her lip, closed her eyes, and turned her head away from me. Jon had turned to watch this.

Jon held out his empty beer bottle toward Frenchy who laughed and took it, winked at me, and looking at Karen's face, watching her reaction, who still held her legs open for him, waiting, wanting. That is how she looked. So Frenchy put the neck of the beer bottle to the opening of her vagina and Karen turned, surprised, looked down between her legs, and he grinned at her expression while he pushed it up inside her, and began to use it to masturbate her in front of us. She tensed. She looked teary. But again she said nothing, did nothing but submitted. Her breath was ragged. She responded to the pumping. She took breaths with its strokes.

Frenchy teased her: "You want me to fuck you, Mom?" She closed her eyes. Tears again trickled. She endured her humiliation with silence.

He stopped and put the bottle on the coffee table. I was fascinated with the bottle, shiny with her juices. Karen opened her eyes and looked at Frenchy anxiously. He stood up and at last took off her undershorts. She had seen the outline of it but now she saw it clearly, long and thickish, but not upright like Jon's stick of wood, but sticking out straight and dangling heavily like a limber sausage; he only ever gets that sort of half-hardness, but he makes up for it in the long length, and by the uncanny mastery of his own ejaculations. I would see him withhold his ejaculations and entice them, tease them and explode them exactly as he wanted. He would do that now. He would nurse the ejaculations he would give up to her, just exactly so to exploit her sexually, to egg her on, to pique her, to get my desperate wife so sexually overwrought that she gasped for breath, and then bring her off to wild orgasms.

This was the first time that I saw that. And he did it in her mouth.

He motioned to me to come into the room and said: "Put the glass down. She'll want it after she sucks me off."

Karen looked at him with surprise and misgiving. She was already flushed, having been worked up by the bottle, and she was sweating like the rest of us from the heat. She put her feet to the floor and Frenchy sat back and put his hand on her face, caressing her mouth, putting a finger into it. And said: "You like sucking cock, Mom?"

She looked anxiously at him. She said nothing. He said: "Say you like sucking cock, Mom."

She nodded sheepishly. But he insisted that she say it. She said quietly: "Yes."

"Yes, what?" he teased her.

"I do," she said weakly.

He said: "Say it then."

"I like to suck cock," she said. Jon nodded his approval and grinned wickedly. "Yeah," he said.

"And you like the taste of cum . . . " Frenchy added.

"Yes," she said obediently

"Say it."

She looked at him and hesitated. Then in the same rote quiet voice she surrendered: "I like the taste of cum."

"Now look at your husband." She glanced at me, then back to him. "Look at him." He slapped her face. She was shocked and hurt more emotionally than physically. I was shocked too. He repeated: "Look at him."

She looked up at me and I thought she would cry again. Frenchy then told her what to say and she nodded. "Tell him."

She looked at me and I felt her helplessness but when she said these things I wanted them.

Repeating what Frenchy said, she told me: "I want to suck his cock. I want him to cum in my mouth."

"And when I am done with him, I will suck off Jon." Frenchy told her. She glanced at Jon who grinned and said: "Yeah."

"And then I will suck off Frenchy again. I will suck cock all night long and they will cum in my mouth over and over and I will swallow all of it."

Frenchy waited.

Karen sighed and added: "I will suck cock all night."

Frenchy turned her face to his and holding her cheeks kissed her warmly with a lot of tongue, and embraced her kissing her and put his hand between her legs and frigged her hard so that she gasped and pushed him away. He laughed and sat back.

He told Jon to go get him another beer. Then he scratched his nose and looked Karen's naked body up and down and then winked at me and pushed the coffee table away with his feet and told Karen to stand up. He positioned throw pillows against the arm of the sofa so that he could lay back and watch TV. He lay back. Jon handed him the beer and he asked him to turn on another channel. He wanted to watch a horror movie or something. They flipped channels.

Then he told Karen. "Okay. Get up here." And lifting his arm for her, he made room for her to lay beside him on the sofa, her back against it, and she straddled his leg and laid along the length of him, her crotch against his knee, where she wiggled and sighed, and laid her her head on his chest.

His prick lay long and swollen on his belly, the head of it near her face. She stared at it, and I stared at my wife staring at this boy's swollen prick.

He took her hand and put it on his prick. I watched her looking at his penis, feeling it. She caressed it. She fondled it tenderly as I remembered her fondling mine.

She held it up by the shaft, a loggy long dick, floppy like a rubber hose almost, but as long as the cardboard cylinder of a paper towel roll - - if you want to know, that's 11 inches at least and an inch and a half around - - and the head of his penis was large and uncircumcised, the size of a large hard-boiled egg, and like a rubber hose, his penis gets stiffer and stronger when the liquids shoot through it and then she has to bend her head to take it; but as it is idly erect she can lay with her head on his lap and idly toy with it, pleasing herself with it. She bent it toward her mouth, taking the egg up in her mouth, fitting her mouth nicely. She mouthed it and licked about, feeling it, tasting it, wetting it. She closed her eyes and suckled on the plump head of it with obvious pleasure and surrender.

Frenchy, seeing how intently I watched this, said to her: "Look at your husband, Karen." She looked up at me, without lifting her cheek from his chest, or taking her hand off her penis. Flushed. The wet head before her open mouth. A little girl caught with her stolen candy.

Jon turned to watch the fun. "Look at him." She looked up at me, as I have never seen her. She was not ashamed. She looked lecherous.

He said: " Lick my dick."

She licked slowly and feelingly about the whole ruddy rubbery head of his penis, big as purple plum, as she looked at me with a strange smile. Her tongue felt into the pee hole, teasing; and she tasted what she took with her tongue what seeped from there. She looked closer at it, lifting her head, and licked all around the head of it, lapping the slit of it with the tip of her tongue, where I saw she was tasting a generous flow of pre-ejaculation, which had been seeping continuously from it all along—one of Frenchy's many sexual feats. All the while slathering his dick head with her tongue, licking the seepage like melt on a popsicle, her intensity on the sight of it close her face, with nervous glances at me, ashamed and worried but seeing my lewd fixation on this—what should be a humiliation for me and an abuse of her—she smiled slightly and wickedly and returned a mocking expression, as if to say, "You want this? You want me to suck boy's cocks?"

She looked back at what she tasted with intensity and longing. She squeezed his penis, looking closely at the head of this penis as she did, and seeing precum bead up at the slit, she licked at the drop of it; she squeezed and licked again; she bathed the head with her tongue, and now with kissing lips sucked at the very tip of it. And then, still gripping his prick tightly, slowly returned her unfocused gaze on me, as if drunk, and licking her lips, looked back again at the head of it intensely, licked at it, and then looked back at me intensely and asked me sarcastically: "Is this what you wanted?"

Frenchy seeing my expression laughed. But Karen did not mean that she wanted to do this. She suddenly looked sick at heart.

Frenchy put his hand on his prick and started to masturbate, and she watched. He lifted himself up to look at her and said: "Put your mouth on it, Mom."

She slid her cheek on his chest until she had taken the head of it fully into her mouth. She closed her eyes. She began to suck him hard and bob her head on it. Frenchy stroked his cock.

Frenchy told her not to bob her head, just to hold her mouth on it. Then he guided her how he wanted her to use her tongue on it. He wanted her to fiddle her tongue in his "pee hole." He wanted her to dance her tongue around the "knob."

He meant to masturbate into her mouth. He did not want her to do anything but lay with her head on his lap, her mouth on his prick, and take shots of cum in her ready mouth and swallow it as it came.

As I expected he had been holding it a long time, and I thought he would naturally explode. But Frenchy either had great restraint or a great deal of cum.

He sighed, smiling, and it was obvious that he had spent himself in her mouth. She gulping, slurping noisily, on his little studied spouts of ejaculate, making pleasant sounds of relish as she tasted it, like a child might make. I felt ashamed for her, but she was not ashamed. She was having obvious little orgasms.

Frenchy winked at me slyly.

Frenchy lounged, sipping his beer, talking to Jon, watching TV, contemptuous of me, contemptuous of my pitiful wife, her mouth on his prick, suckling and tasting, and I was to see that all the while, from time to time, my wife was getting squirts of jism into her mouth which surprised her and which she readily and repeatedly swallowed. For Frenchy was one of those few men who seemed to have many seizures of cum off and on, almost at will, until he wanted to bring himself to a good juicy climax.

So he masturbated into my wife's mouth for most of an episode of Bonanza. Popping little squirts of cum into her mouth, which she slurped on and swallowed. I could actually hear it. The slurps and gulps. She in the meantime seemed more and more aroused by it, by the relentless ejaculations which usually signaled her own large pent-up orgasm and which I saw she was helplessly close but incomplete. Flushed, and aroused as she was, she whimpered when he came in her mouth, and felt a pang of her own near orgasm but was denied it; she squirmed; I knew what this meant, her rubbing her pubis against his knee, humping him. And when she looked up and gasped after eating a third morsel of semen, he patted her head and said: "Keep going, Mom. I'll tell you when to quit" and she closed her eyes and put her mouth on his prick again, and seemed very eager to have him cum in her mouth. I have never seen her so aroused and so unsatisfied. Frenchy thought it was funny. He had a wry sarcastic look. He stroked her head and promised: "When you done, we will fuck you good, Mom."

He stroked her head and asked her coyly, looking up at me as he did: "You want that? You want us to fuck you now?" She made a muffled sound of pleasure and capitulation. Frenchy winked at me.

Toward the end of the TV show Frenchy got serious about it and began to work his prick harder and promised her he was really going to do it now. When he did, Karen squealed with the big mouthful she got, and it was actually too much to swallow, though she gulped; she could not do it; she gasped and choked and it ran out of her mouth onto his belly. He shoved her head back onto his shaft so that she almost gagged and continued to gulp what she could. But really what looked like a spill of milk had run out of her mouth and puddled. It was astonishing. Jon nodded at me and mocked my astonishment: "He can cum like a horse."

And that is what it was like. He made Karen lap up the spill of cum off his belly before he would let her sit up and he himself sat up and handed her the glass of water that I had brought in.

She looked ashamed and spent. He looked triumphant. He said: "I can do that all night."

Jon laughed and said: "Yes, he can."

"Stand up, Mom. It's your turn," Frenchy pushed on Karen's shoulder.

She stood in front of the sofa.

Frenchy got up, his spent dick for the moment loose and long, dangling as he went to the kitchen to get another beer.

Jon stood in the center of the living room, admiring my naked wife, as she looked forlornly after Frenchy, not liking to be naked in front of Jon, as she told me later, and for good reason.

Jon, leering at Karen, and stepping closer, began to fondle her breasts while studying her expression and she looked away from him. He leaned and sucked up a nipple, sucked it hard, pulling it with his teeth, and stepped back to grin at her, biting her nipple and she looked at him worriedly, her hands put on his shoulder. He sucked up her other nipple and then stepped back to look at the spit shining nipples and looked again at her flushed face, which she turned away in shame.

He looked over at me, who had been viewing this from the side, and saw my erection in my pants and shook his head and asked me, genuinely and seriously wondering "Don't this bother you? Us taking took off your wife's clothes. Her being naked like this. Right in front of me." He nodded where my pathetic wife stood, abjectly looking at the floor, her hands at her sides, naked but for her socks and her wedding ring.

"My feeling her . . . " He reached out and squeezed her tits in both hands so to make her nipples pop. And striking that pose, and she turning her face to me helplessly, sadly, he looked at her, her tits, her face, her face, then back at my face and asked again: "Don't that bother you?"

I said nothing. Karen knew the answer. I knew the answer.

Frenchy had come back, standing behind me, was watching, sipping his beer. I might not have noticed except that Karen looked at him pleadingly.

Jon laughed at this. I turned. Frenchy winked at me.

"How do you wanna fuck her, Jon?" Frenchy said. Karen's looked pathetically submissive again, dropping her head, Jon still holding a grip on her tits. He slapped them as he let them go. She put her hands to them reflexively.

"What you think, Dad? Should we fuck her in the ass?"

I looked shocked. Karen looked anxious. I almost spoke.

"Yeah, lets fuck the pig in the butt, Man." Jon said.

Frenchy gestured to my wife with his beer bottle: "What you want, Karen? You want us to fuck you in the ass?"

She shook her head and Frenchy and Jon both laughed.

Frenchy said: "Just lean over and grab that coffee table. How 'bout that? That's a good way to fuck you . . . "

I suppose she expected them to violate her anus. I did. Nevertheless she sullenly did what he told her to do. I say again how poignantly sexual it is see how her tits hang under her, bent over as she was. She looked back at him from between those tits and her own spread legs, as Frenchy handed me his beer bottle and I saw he was ready to go at her again and stepped up behind her.

But when he lifted his prick to poke her he pointed it at her cunt and easily slipped it in, leaning, then taking her hips in both his hands, he pulled her back strongly against his belly, so that he plunged his prick into her deeply and hard and all at once. She gasped. She looked up to the opposite wall. Her eyes widened and surprised. Jon laughed. I ejaculated helplessly in my pants.

Frenchy then fucked her slowly and teasingly, while Jon sat on the sofa watching, and I stepped around to the center of the living room to see her getting fucked from the side, to see his slick dick pulling out of her puckering cunt, then pushing in, pushing in the folds of the cunt, in and out, in long strokes, while my wife closed her eyes, breathing with her mouth open, perspiring, both of them gleaming with perspiration from exertion and the heat. I was rapt. Jon was rapt. Frenchy was rapt. And my wife was lost. When at last he ejaculated, he did so with quiet drama. He told her he was going to cum inside her. He asked her if she could feel it, but he stopped fucking her, he simply put it into her slowly, as deeply as he could, holding her hips tightly, grabbing the flesh of them, and said: "You feel it?" And when he ejaculated, his jism must have felt like a hot jet because my wife loudly and shamelessly moaned in her pleasure. The boys thought this was the best ever. I could see the triumph they felt over making my wife openly and shamelessly cum on their cum. I was not surprised. It is what I guessed she always wanted.

Frenchy held her firmly as he did it. He grinned at Jon, who stood up, and while Karen's legs were wobbly, and she wanted to get down on her knees, Frenchy would not let her and said to hang on: "...'cause now it's Jon's turn."

And Jon was ready and tagged off and Frenchy withdrew his long wet dick and Jon was quickly into her from behind and grabbing her hips, fucking her vigorously and loudly, slapping his thighs against her jiggling buttock, and my wife, hardly having caught her breath, had dropped her head, was panting, her tits slopping underneath her with the jostling fucking she was getting.

Frenchy took the beer from me which I had been holding like his stooge the whole time, still rapt in my gaze of them fucking my wife.

Her expression especially, her raw sexual response. I was still hard myself.

So when Jon quickly did his job, shooting off inside her in matter of minutes, and let go of my wife who trembling stayed standing, waiting for another, Frenchy said: "You wanna fuck her too?"

I looked at him in horror. My wife has a small sarcastic smile, I thought. I shook my head.

"You sure? She don't mind . . . " Frenchy said, but he knew I would balk at it, and he only said it to humiliate me and shame her. So he handed back the empty beer bottle to me and stepped behind my wife and put his dick inside her again. And again he fucked her but now with vigor and urgency, wanting to make her make noises and whimper, which she did.

Fucking her now, she became very red-faced, and actually begged him to stop. She collapsed to her knees, leaning across the coffee table, but he persisted, a wide-stance over her, fucking her so that he shoved her on the table, where she flattened, exhausted, grunted submissively, until again with a loud groan open-mouthed groan took his shot of cum.

When he withdrew, his cock was gummy with the goo of it. And even from where I stood I could see how my wife used cunt was sloppy with the backflowing ooze of cum from the repeated fucks of these two boys. Like something from a porno movie.

She did not close her legs, her knees wide on the floor. Frenchy and Jon admired their work. I stood astonished and still aroused.

Frenchy told me to got get beers for everybody. "Bring Mom one too. She deserves it."

When I came back, holding them in a grip by two hands, I saw that Frenchy had knelt behind her and had put the neck of an empty beer bottle into my wife's anus and she was clutching the edge of the coffee table, but meek and mute, she frowned. Frenchy was smoothly coaxing her to accept it, to relax, saying: "See it ain't so bad." She shook her head and said: "Please . . . . Frenchy." He withdrew the bottle as I entered, and stood up holding it, he had got only a fraction of it up into her, but still her anus showed the punctured hole he had forced, reshaping, sealing.

"You ever fuck her in the butt?" Frenchy said taking two bottles of beer. He held out one for Karen who wearily pivoted and sat beside the coffee table, bringing her legs up to her chest, and embracing them, looking at the floor with a pout.

Frenchy said: "Here Mom." And she looked up at him testily and he said: "You said you wanted to try it . . . " and he laughed. Her furtive glance at me meant that there had been conversation I had missed. She took the beer. She sipped the beer and sighed and Frenchy chuckled. He sat on the sofa behind, reaching out and stroking her hair. He looked up at me and said: "I really do love my Mom." Karen looked away from my look at her face. She looked at the TV vacantly. Jon had turned to watch it. Frenchy looked at me intensely. He said: "I've been wanting to fuck her since I first saw her." Karen listened but pretended she was not. Jon did not seem to be listening. Frenchy was saying this for me and for my wife. He had a purpose. He caressed Karen's hair, and her shoulders, he leaned and looked over the top of her, and reached under and over her tit, to feel it, and kissed the top of her head, then looked up at me, feeling her tit as he spoke to me: "And I tried." He winked.

He felt her nipple. Her nipple responded, distended. Karen pretended not to notice.

"And I got close," he added, "You don't know how close."

He grinned. Karen blushed. I wondered what he meant. But he did not say. He reached further, leaning deeply and looking over her shoulder he put his hand to her crotch where she obligingly let her legs fall open and I saw fingers enter her gaping cunt, slathered with the wetness that it still showed.

Frenchy went on masturbating my wife in front of me, who had closed her eyes and leaned back against him, and the edge of the sofa, her head back. He kissed her. She kissed him. Then he lifted his head, still masturbating my wife, and said to me: "You go sleep in our bedroom tonight, Dad. Jon and I are gonna take Mom to your bed and fuck her some more."

I was stunned. He was serious. He got up. His cock recovered, ready to go again. Jon too had got half-hard again. Frenchy stood in front of my wife who looked up at his dangling turgid penis and then to his happy face—a look of surrender and shy pleasure on her own face—and he held his hand out for her and helped her to stand up. He put his arm about her shoulder and guided her out of the living room. He looked back over his shoulder as he led my willing naked wife away to our bedroom: "Good night, Dad." Jon looked at me sarcastically and shook his head and followed them. I heard the bedroom door shut. I heard them lock the door.

I saw as I passed to the bathroom what the light was on. I listened under the door. I mostly could hear only muffled conversation. Her soft voice intimate in reply to their own louder voices that teased her and mocked her, phrases that were crude and graphic. She cried out once like she had been slapped again. During the long silences I supposed they were fucking her or making her suck them off.

I slept on the sofa fitfully. I was hot and sweaty. I drank beers. I got up several times to pee or to sneak and listen at the door. The light stayed on until 3 am. They must have fucked her several times.