Ravenous Cunt Gets Fed By Construction Crew

Sabine had given up on the sheets before dawn. At twenty-eight she lay with one knee hitched and her palm cupped over a cunt that would not settle, slick gathering against her skin every time she breathed. The hunger had a word she only used when she was alone and mean with need. Ravenous. Her pussy clenched on nothing and leaked anyway, a slow drip that had soaked the cotton under her ass and left her thighs shining when she finally sat up. Her husband Stefan, thirty and stationed abroad on military duty, had been gone four months. His voice arrived late and thin through the phone, and the absence had turned an ordinary appetite into a bruise she kept pressing.

He had agreed to the open marriage the way a man agrees to a thing that already owns him. Reluctantly, jaw tight on the last video call, eyes fixed on the wet stripe she had drawn down her stomach with two fingers. The condition was not a suggestion. She could take other men. She could feed the starving clutch between her legs as often as it demanded. But every encounter had to be recorded and sent to him, unedited, so he could watch his wife get used while he sat in a barracks and came into his fist like the cuckold he had volunteered to be. The bargain lived in her chest and in her cunt at once. Every day she failed to keep it, the dripping need grew meaner. Every message — Record it. I want to see who puts it in you. — made her pulse until she had to squeeze her thighs and fail.

This morning she dressed for the ache she could no longer outwait. A short summer dress, pale and thin, hem high enough to be an invitation if she bent. No panties. Cloth against her swollen lips only teased her worse, and she was done being teased. Her nipples showed through the fabric. Between her legs she was already open, inner folds flushed and glossy, a thread of arousal cooling on her skin as she crossed to the counter and checked her phone. Full battery. Stefan’s last text still open. She read it until her cunt gave a hard empty squeeze, then she left the apartment before courage could thin out.

Downtown was bright, loud, and hot. She walked because sitting still had become impossible. Each step shifted the dress against the tops of her thighs and rubbed nothing where the hunger lived. She needed sex badly. Not her fingers. Not the toy that left her sore and still starving. A cock. Several, if she was honest with what she was carrying. Her husband was half a world away and hard for the idea of other men finishing what he could not reach. She meant to give him the video. She meant to be fed until her legs forgot how to lock. The construction site on the next block rose in scaffolding and orange mesh, hammers ringing, and she aimed herself at the noise with the phone tight in her fist.

Wolf whistles cut across the traffic the moment she drew even with the gate. Three men had stopped beside a stack of planks, hard hats off, shirts stuck to them with sweat and dust. The rest of the crew had gone for an early lunch. The fenced corner held only these three. The tallest looked thirty-two, broad through the shoulders, sun-dark, FOREMAN stenciled over a name tape that read GRANT. He whistled low and appreciative, eyes on the swing of her hem. Beside him a stockier man of thirty-one — Owen, by the elbow Grant gave him — let out a sharper whistle and grinned without apology. The third, lean and thirty, dark hair damp at his temples, Derek, just stared, one hand on his belt as if his body had already voted.

“Hell of a dress,” Grant called. “You lost, or you hunting?”

“Keep walking like that,” Owen said, “and somebody’s gonna forget he’s on the clock.”

“Jesus, look at those legs,” Derek added, rough and plain. “That little dress is fighting a losing war.”

The crude attention went through Sabine like a hand. Her cunt flooded. Fresh slick poured out so fast she felt it break over her lips and run, hot then cooling, down one thigh. Her pulse jumped into her throat and her clit together. She had walked out of the apartment starving, and the sound of grown men wanting her in the open daylight finished the last of her patience. She slowed. The dress clung where she was wet. Grant’s gaze dropped, caught the shine high on her leg, and the blunt hunger on his face undid whatever scrap of waiting she had left.

She stopped on the sidewalk and turned fully toward them. Heat poured off the concrete. Her breath came short. For a moment she only stood there, thighs pressed and useless, feeling another trickle slide free while they looked at her like a job they intended to take. Then she lifted the hem with both hands. Slow, so they could watch the summer dress climb her thighs, clear her hips, and leave her bare. Her soaked pussy faced them in hard daylight, lips swollen and parted, clit flushed, arousal smeared glossy across her skin and stringing when she set her feet wider. She held the fabric bunched at her waist and let them look until the whistles died into something thicker.

“Line up boys,” she said.

Grant’s grin went sharp. Owen swore under his breath. Derek’s hand tightened on his belt. None of them laughed it off. Grant glanced at the empty fencing, then at her face, then at the dripping cunt she was offering like work they were meant to finish.

“You sure?” he asked. He was already walking to the gate.

“I’m sure.” Her voice held. “I’m Sabine. Twenty-eight. Married. My husband Stefan is stationed overseas, and he agreed to an open marriage as long as I video it and send it to him. You three line up, you fuck me, and you film it on my phone. I want it. I need it. If you don’t want to feed a ravenous married cunt, say so and get back to your lumber.”

Grant looked at his men. Owen nodded, already thick against his zipper. Derek said, “Hell yes,” and meant every word. Grant swung the gate wide.

“Then get in here,” he said. “We’ll feed you. Your husband can watch every second of it.”

She stepped through. Hot metal and cut wood. Grant didn’t make her beg twice. He backed her into the shade of the scaffolding, hands sure of the yes she had given, and when she dropped to her knees on a folded tarp the move felt like mercy. The dress stayed bunched at her waist. She set the phone in Owen’s palm herself.

“Film it,” she said. “He has to see my face and my cunt. Don’t miss a thing.”

Owen angled the camera down as Grant opened his pants. His cock came out thick and heavy, flushed dark, already shining at the head. Sabine’s mouth watered. She wrapped a hand around the base, felt the heat and the weight of a real man after months of nothing, and took him in with a hungry sound the phone would catch clean. Salt and skin. The stretch of her lips. She sucked him deep, cheeks hollowing, tongue working the underside, spit slicking her chin as she bobbed and moaned around him like the desperate wife she was. Grant’s hand settled in her hair, guiding, not forcing, and he groaned when she swallowed him to the back of her throat and held there, eyes wet, wedding band bright on the fist at his base.

“Look at her,” he said for the lens. “Married and starving for it.”

Derek had his cock out, stroking slow, watching her lips drag up Grant’s shaft. Owen kept the phone steady and fisted himself with his free hand, frame tight on her mouth, her flushed cheeks, the way she chased the head with her tongue when she pulled off. Strings of spit connected her to Grant. She licked him from base to tip so Stefan would see how eagerly she worshipped a stranger’s cock, then took him down again, faster, sloppier, one hand between her own legs because the ache would not wait. Her fingers slipped through soaked folds. She whimpered around the thickness filling her mouth and rocked against her palm, clit throbbing, cunt clutching at nothing and furious about it.

“Scaffolding,” Grant rasped. “I need that cunt. Now.”

They moved her two steps to the stack of planks. She bent over it willingly, ass up, cheek near the wood, and reached back to spread herself so the camera could see how open and dripping she was. Grant lined up and pushed in with one long stroke that knocked a broken cry out of her. The stretch was perfect and obscene. Her ravenous cunt gripped him and flooded harder, sucking him deeper, and he swore and started to fuck her in earnest. Hard. The slap of his hips against her ass rang under the scaffolding. Each thrust shoved her forward and dragged a fresh gush around his cock, the wet sound filthy enough for the phone to love.

“Listen to that,” Owen said, filming where they joined, the way her pussy clung and shone. “Desperate married slut. Taking the foreman’s cock like she’s been waiting on a job site all week.”

“Cuckold’s whore,” Derek said, voice rough, stroking faster. “Husband’s overseas and she’s bent over lumber getting pounded. He gonna jerk off to every inch of this?”

“Yes,” Sabine gasped, pushing back to meet the thrusts. “He’s going to watch you use me. Don’t stop. Fuck me. Feed it.”

Grant gripped her hips and drove into her until her legs shook and her cunt spasmed, a sharp orgasm that made her sob and clamp down around him. He lasted through it, teeth bared, then buried himself and came with a groan, pumping the first thick load deep. Heat flooded her. She felt every pulse. When he pulled out, cum and her own slick spilled down her thighs in a glossy trail, and Owen swung the phone to catch the mess trying to leak free of her well-fucked hole.

“Next,” she said, wrecked and greedy. “Owen. I need another.”

Owen passed the phone to Derek and stepped in while she was still fluttering. He was thick in a different way, curved, and he sank into her used cunt with a grateful curse, Grant’s load easing the way and squelching out around him. He fucked her hard and talkative, calling her a desperate married slut every time she moaned, a cuckold’s whore when she begged him deeper. Sabine came again with her forehead on her arm, pussy milking him, and he did not gentle it. He pounded through the clench until he shoved in to the root and unloaded, a second hot flood mixing with the first, spilling in heavy white strings when he withdrew.

Derek was shaking from how long he had waited. Sabine climbed onto the stack and straddled him facing away, reverse cowgirl, so the camera Grant now held could see every inch. She reached down, lined his cock up with her overflowing pussy, and sank. The phone caught it all: her swollen lips stretching around him, the creamy mess coating his shaft, the slow drop until her ass met his hips and she was full again. She rode him like that, lifting until the head nearly slipped free, then dropping, again and again, so Stefan would see every inch sliding in and out of his wife’s ravenous cunt. Cum frothed at the seal of their bodies. Her tits bounced under the thin dress. She was loud, and she wanted the recording to keep her that way.

“Get over here,” she told Grant, mouth open, eyes on the lens. “He should see me take two.”

Grant stepped in front of her, cock thickening again from the sight, and she took him into her mouth while she rode Derek. Spit and the taste of herself. She sucked him sloppy and deep, moaning around his shaft every time Derek thrust up and hit the end of her. Owen stroked beside them, filthy praise spilling out, telling her what a desperate married slut she looked with a crew cock in her throat and another stuffing her cunt. Derek’s hands held her hips. He called her a cuckold’s whore while he fucked up into her, and she nodded around Grant like the name fit and she wanted it louder for her husband.

She came a third time with both of them in her, shaking, cunt gushing down Derek’s balls. He followed, groaning, pumping his load into the mess the others had left. She didn’t climb off until the camera had watched the creampie fail to hold, white leaking around him in thick pulses.

They were not finished with her. Grant bent her over the planks again and fucked a second load into her while Owen filmed her slack, blissed face and the obscene squelch of a cunt already packed full. Then Owen took her mouth until she was drooling, turned her, and finished deep inside with a hoarse shout, another thick rush joining the rest. Derek, hard again under her hand and her hungry praise, pushed back into her from behind and added one more, grinding through it, stuffing her until her pussy couldn’t keep it and cum ran freely down her thighs onto the wood. Three men. Multiple loads. Her ravenous cunt finally fed, stuffed and overflowing, still fluttering when the last cock slipped free.

Sabine stood on shaky legs, one hand braced on the scaffolding, dress falling crooked, cum running in warm rivulets down her thighs and dripping onto the concrete between her feet. The crew grinned at her, spent and proud, chests heaving. She laughed once, breathless, and meant it.

“Thank you,” she said, looking at each of them. “Thank you for finally feeding my starving cunt. I needed that more than I know how to say.”

Grant handed her the phone. The recording was still going. She angled the lens down herself, close between her spread thighs, so Stefan would get an unflinching view of his wife’s well-used pussy: puffy, flushed, leaking their combined loads in thick white trails that slid over her lips and toward her ass. She held the shot until a fresh pulse welled out and fell. Then she ended the video, attached the full recording, and sent it to her husband before shyness could find her. Delivered. Somewhere overseas he was about to watch a construction crew fuck her senseless and leave her dripping on a job site in the middle of the day.

Grant watched her face, still grinning. “He really wants all of that?”

Sabine met his eyes, cum cooling on her skin, and smiled like a woman who had finally been fed. “Stefan, did you see how full they left me, or do I need them to do it again while you watch live?”