Mr. Castellanos leans down, his breath hot and rank in your ear. "Look at your husband," he whispers, his voice a mix of taunt and glee. "He's too drunk to even know you're being fucked like the cheap whore you are." You want to spit in his face, to tell him to go to hell, but the gag in your mouth and the cock down your throat make it impossible. Instead, you moan around Mr. Smith's shaft, your hips bucking up to meet Mr. Reeshi's thrusts. You can feel your husband's body jostle slightly with each impact, but he remains blissfully unaware, lost in his drunken slumber. The men's hands roam over your body, groping and pinching your breasts and ass, adding to the symphony of pain and pleasure that's driving you closer to another orgasm. You hate them for what they're doing to you, but you can't deny the dark thrill that's coursing through your veins, the knowledge that you're being used and degraded in front of everyone, especially your husband.