White Wife's BBC Gangbang at the Company Retreat

The resort’s lakeside lights shimmered across the water like scattered diamonds as Emily adjusted the hem of her short white sundress for the tenth time. At twenty-eight, the slender blonde still turned heads without effort, but tonight Mark had insisted she dress to be noticed. The dress clung to her perky C-cup breasts and barely reached mid-thigh, its thin fabric doing nothing to hide the absence of a bra or the lacy white thong underneath. Mark’s hand rested possessively on the small of her back as they entered the open-air bar where the company retreat’s after-hours party was already in full swing.

Most of the tech firm’s two hundred employees were men. Among them, four tall, powerfully built Black executives and top salesmen had become impossible to ignore over the last two years. Darius, six-four with a shaved head and deep voice, oversaw enterprise sales. Jamal, equally tall and thickly muscled, ran product strategy. Marcus, the quietest but most intimidating with tree-trunk arms, led the engineering team. And Tyrone, the smooth-talking VP of partnerships, moved like a panther in tailored linen.

All four had flirted openly with Emily at every previous event. Mark never stopped it. In fact, he encouraged it, whispering in her ear how hard it made him to watch them devour her with their eyes.

Tonight the hunger in those eyes was unmistakable.

Drinks flowed. Music pulsed. Emily danced, first with Mark, then, at his urging, with each of the four men in turn. Their big hands felt scalding on her waist. Their hard bodies pressed close enough that she could feel the heavy weight of their cocks shifting against her through their slacks. By the time the dance floor grew crowded, her nipples were stiff peaks against the thin white fabric and her thong was soaked.

Mark’s phone rang at a little after midnight. An emergency server outage demanded his immediate attention back in the main conference room. He kissed Emily hard, told her to stay and enjoy herself, and disappeared into the night.

She was suddenly alone with them.

The four men closed in around her at the bar like lions around a gazelle. Darius handed her another mojito, his fingers brushing hers deliberately.

“You look dangerous in that little dress, Emily,” he rumbled, voice low. “White dress, white wife, and all that smooth white skin on display. You trying to start something tonight?”

Her cheeks flushed. She took a long sip instead of answering.