My wife Leslie was married before me—not a happy marriage, but it happens. Essentially, she had only “known” one man before me, thanks to the strict restrictions her family had imposed on her life. When I met her, she’d been sexless for six years after the divorce.

We got married, and we’re a happy couple. Good god, this woman transformed into a volcano in two years.

During one of our steamy fuck-fests, I couldn’t resist asking her—mid-frenzy—if she wouldn’t like more cocks to play with. She responded with an instant orgasm.

So, through careful coaxing, conversations, and some gentle persistence, she finally admitted that maybe… one day… she might try it.

I had no intention of waiting for that vague “one day,” so I decided to arrange a very perverse night out.

We went drinking. Our city has several bars frequented mostly by white men looking for a night out, a few drinks, and—if possible—pussy.

After sharing some breezers at home, we headed out. We chose to sit at a table already occupied by two guys. Both stared at my wife the moment she sat down. I knew it wouldn’t take much to put them in the right mood.

We started talking, had a few more drinks, and Leslie began visibly getting turned on.

I decided to go to the bathroom. One of the guys came to piss too. While we were at the urinals, I casually asked if he’d like to fuck my wife.

He thought about it for maybe two seconds before a massive grin spread across his face.

I asked if he could involve his friend too. He assured me he could do even better—how about four guys?

I agreed. He made a quick call, then we returned to the table.

My wife was deep in conversation with the other man. My new co-conspirator sat on her other side, whispered something to his friend, and both began flattering her, refilling her drinks, and casually touching her here and there. Leslie responded with enthusiastic nods and bright smiles.

I decided to hang back and observe for a while.

Less than half an hour passed before my wife became very playful. The guys groped her legs under her skirt, squeezed her ass, even stroked her tits—all with her clear encouragement.

It was an incredible spectacle, watching her bask in the attention and react with such fervor.

I told her I needed to buy some things and would be back later, but if she wanted to go have fun, one of the guys would be happy to join her. Then I left.

I waited outside, curious to see what would happen.

About thirty minutes later, Leslie walked out of the bar, affectionately supported by the two guys. A car pulled up—already occupied by two more men. She climbed into the back seat between the original pair.

The car drove off. I went home.

I went to bed around seven in the morning. Leslie still hadn’t returned. I fell asleep.

Around noon, the sound of a tuktuk woke me. I looked out the window and saw her paying the driver. A moment later, I heard her come in.

After a few minutes, she entered the bedroom. I pretended she’d just woken me.

I watched her. She was a total mess—and reeked of sex.

I asked why she’d come back so late and where she’d been. At first, she clammed up, but I insisted she tell me the truth.

It took some convincing, but eventually the story spilled out.

Sometime after I’d left the bar, the guys started groping her—happily—and she admitted she liked it. She encouraged them.

After a while, one of them called a car. It arrived already occupied by two other guys.

She climbed in between the original pair. They began touching her immediately—with her full consent. The man in the front seat turned around and pulled her legs until she was lying on the back seat.

Three pairs of hands roamed everywhere—under her skirt, inside her blouse, all over her body—as she moaned in approval.

One guy suggested continuing at someone’s place. When they arrived, Leslie was eagerly brought to bed, stripped, penetrated with fingers until she was dripping, then thoroughly fucked.

All four men took her, each multiple times. Cum dripped from her pussy.

After hours of relentless fucking, everyone collapsed from exhaustion.

In the morning, the party resumed. She was fucked several more times, participating with wild enthusiasm.

Two more guys showed up later. They fucked her too, and she welcomed them eagerly.

The final round ended around eleven. After that, Leslie was thanked and sent home.

In total, by her count, she’d been fucked about twenty times. Most of the cum had been dumped deep in her pussy.

My wife was deeply ashamed and terrified I’d be angry. Instead, I pulled her into my arms, told her I loved her, and fucked her hard.

Afterward, I asked if she’d enjoyed the sex.

Oh, she had—immensely. She hadn’t even counted how many times she came; it was one long cascade of explosions.

I asked if she wanted more.

“Oh yes!” she whispered.

Since then, we’ve visited a couples-and-singles club during a vacation… and there I watched her do her thing.