The Night of Iris and Klaus

This story is about a true event involving a couple of my friends from A69, who live abroad and often come to Italy for their holidays. I apologize in advance for my imperfect English. The translation was done with the help of translator.

Iris, 28 years old, was a vision of pure lust in her Amsterdam loft, a den of debauchery overlooking the canals, with tall windows letting in the moonlight. Standing at 1.65 meters, weighing just 52 kg, her body was an explosion of curves: full breasts, a generous C-cup that defied gravity, pink nipples always erect, a round ass that begged to be defiled, and a shaved, tight, perpetually wet pussy ready to devour any cock. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves, her blue eyes gleamed with insatiable hunger, and her jasmine perfume was a call to sin. Klaus, her husband, 38 years old, robust, 1.80 meters, 85 kg, was a man with an extreme mind, a filthy pervert who turned every fantasy into an orgy of flesh and pleasure. His cock was hard, tireless, but what made him unique was his obsession: watching Iris fucked, possessed, filled, transformed into a toy for his gratification.
Klaus had devised the most savage plan of their life together. “I want my friends to get you pregnant, Iris,” he told her one evening, his voice a growl, his cock straining in his jeans, the smell of whisky on his breath. Iris, his perfect slut, moaned, her pussy soaking at the mere thought: a gang bang with five bulls, their cocks ravaging her, their cum filling her, and Klaus watching, jerking off, before claiming her at the end. “Yes, love, do it,” she replied, her voice trembling, her body already primed to be their altar of pleasure, the scent of her arousal filling the room.
The evening was set in their loft, an open space with exposed beams, dim neon lights, a king-size bed in the center draped in black silk sheets, and a leather sofa where Klaus would savor the show. Iris prepared herself like a porn queen: a sheer black lace babydoll, no panties, her bare thighs glistening under the lights, red stiletto heels clicking on the parquet, fire-red nail polish on her hands and feet, scarlet lipstick screaming “fuck me.” Her jasmine perfume mingled with the scent of her pussy, a pool already dripping down her thighs, the sound of her quickened breath echoing in the loft. Klaus watched her, his cock rock-hard, his eyes burning with lust. “You’re a perfect whore, Iris. They’ll tear you apart tonight,” he growled, and she smiled, her heart pounding like a drum, her pussy throbbing, ready to be destroyed.
At nine, the five bulls arrived, each a predator ready to mount her. Markus, 35, tall and muscular, with a 20 cm cock, thick, with pulsing veins; Lukas, 30, dark-haired, with a curved cock that promised to hit her G-spot; Stefan, 40, stocky, with a cock as wide as a can; Paul, 32, blond, with a long, thin cock perfect for her ass; and Dominik, 38, the roughest, with a stubby cock that reeked of pure male. Their eyes devoured her, their cocks already hard in their pants, the sound of their belts unbuckling, the smell of testosterone mixing with Iris’s jasmine. She felt her pussy clench, the babydoll clinging to her wet skin, the cold floor under her heels amplifying every step.
Klaus settled on the sofa, cock in hand, his hand sliding slowly, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the air. “Fuck my wife, fill her, make her come,” he commanded, his voice a roar that shook the glass. Markus moved first. He grabbed Iris by the hips, ripping the babydoll with a swift motion, the lace tearing with a sound that was an invitation. He threw her onto the bed on all fours, her ass in the air, her pussy dripping, and thrust his cock into her with a brutal plunge, his balls slapping against her skin, the wet sound echoing. “Fuck, what a slut,” he grunted, and Iris screamed, pleasure tearing through her, her pussy clenching around his cock, each thrust wrecking her, the smell of sex saturating the air. He fucked her hard, the bed creaking, his hands spanking her ass, leaving red marks. Iris turned her head toward Klaus, his eyes full of lust, his hand speeding up on his cock, and the first orgasm overwhelmed her, an explosion that made her scream: “Yes, I’m coming!” Her pussy squirted, a hot gush soaking the sheets, the smell of her squirt mingling with Markus’s sweat. He came inside her, his hot cum filling her, a powerful jet that made her tremble, his grunt a triumph, the sound reverberating in the loft.
Lukas took his place without hesitation. He flipped Iris onto her back, missionary style, her legs spread wide like wings, his curved cock sliding into her pussy, still full of Markus’s cum, the viscous sound a symphony. “Take it all, whore,” he said, his voice hoarse, and Iris moaned, his cock hitting her G-spot with every thrust, the smell of cum and juices intoxicating her, the heat of his flesh consuming her. Lukas pinched her nipples, pain blending with pleasure, the sound of her moans intertwining with Klaus’s breathing. Iris came again, the second orgasm shaking her, her pussy pulsing, another squirt splashing Lukas’s chest, the sheets now a lake, the smell of sex permeating everything. “Fuck, you’re a fountain,” Lukas grunted, and he shot his load inside her, his cum mixing with the first, a heat that filled her, his cock still throbbing, the sound of his pleasure echoing.
Stefan was the third, his thick cock stretching her pussy, an invasion that made her scream with pleasure and pain. He took her against one of the loft’s windows, her back against the cold glass, her legs wrapped around his hips, his cock filling her with deep thrusts, the sound of her flesh slapping against him, the musky smell of his sweat enveloping her. “Slut, I’ll break you,” he growled, and Iris lost herself, the third orgasm exploding, her pussy squirting endlessly, her squirt dripping onto the wooden floor, a roar shaking the room, the view of Amsterdam’s canals reflected in the glass. Stefan came with a grunt, his cum flooding her, another load joining the others, his cock stretching her, the pleasure a drug, the sound of his orgasm vibrating in the air.
Paul was the fourth, and he chose her ass. He positioned her on all fours on the bed, lubing her hole with cream from the nightstand, the chemical scent mixing with the smell of sex, the sound of the cap popping open. His long, thin cock slid into Iris’s ass, a pain that turned into pleasure, each thrust making her moan, the sound of penetration a symphony, the heat of his body enveloping her. “Fuck, what a tight hole,” Paul grunted, and Iris came again, the fourth orgasm wrecking her, her ass clenching, her pussy squirting without being touched, a gush soaking the sheets, the smell of her pleasure filling the loft. Paul came in her ass, his hot cum filling her, an explosion that made her tremble, his moan pure pleasure, the sound blending with Klaus’s breathing.
Dominik, the roughest, was the last of the bulls. He took her straddling him, his stubby cock forcing its way into her pussy, each thrust making her bounce, the wet sound echoing, the smell of raw male consuming her, the heat of his flesh burning her. “You’re a bitch in heat,” he growled, and Iris surrendered, the fifth orgasm hitting her, her pussy squirting like a fountain, her squirt soaking Dominik’s chest, a scream of liberation, the smell of sex everywhere. Dominik came inside her, his cum joining the others, a heat that filled her, his cock pulsing, his roar sealing the circle, the sound bouncing off the walls.
Klaus rose from the sofa, his cock hard as steel, his eyes burning with desire. The friends stepped aside, their cocks still dripping, and he took Iris, sprawled on the bed, her pussy full of cum, her ass still throbbing, the smell of all of them enveloping her. He penetrated her with a single thrust, his cock sliding into the mix of juices and cum, each thrust making her moan, the sound of their bodies joining, the obscene heat that was perfect. “You’re mine, slut,” he grunted, and Iris came again, the sixth orgasm wrecking her, her pussy squirting on his cock, a scream that was love and lust: “Yes, Klaus, fill me!” He came inside her, his cum mixing with the others, an explosion that bound them, his roar a claim, his cock pulsing, the pleasure eternal, the sound of their moans fading slowly.
Iris collapsed on the bed, her body trembling, her pussy and ass full, her breath ragged, the smell of cum and squirt saturating the loft, the sound of her heartbeat pounding. Klaus embraced her, his warm body against hers, a kiss that was love and depravity, the scent of them mingling. The bulls dressed, their gazes satisfied, and left the loft, the sound of their footsteps fading on Amsterdam’s cobblestones. Iris, Klaus’s slut, had been fucked, filled, and now carried the seed of all, a ritual that had bound them more than ever, an image etched into their bodies and minds.