When I married her, I’d heard whispers of my wife’s family tradition, but I brushed it off as a playful jest. That is, until our wedding night, when she led me to our room to reveal the true meaning of joining her lineage. There she stood, a vision of raw seduction in the most tantalizing lingerie I’d ever seen, her veil trailing like a whisper of temptation. My pulse raced, aching to ravish her, but she wasn’t alone. Her stepmother and stepdaughter stood beside her, their eyes glinting with shared intent. To truly become part of their family, I had to claim each generation, one by one, in a ritual of unbridled passion.With sultry smiles, they professed their love for me, guiding me to the bed and stripping away my clothes with slow, deliberate touches. Their hands roamed every inch of my body, igniting fire in my veins. As their lips and tongues teased my balls and enveloped my cock in a symphony of wet, eager sucks, they asked if I could feel the primal, sexual energy of their ancestors coursing through us. Honestly? I did. I’d never been so rock-hard, so consumed by raw, animalistic desire. I could’ve pounded them into eternity.Bound by duty to honor their sacred tradition—and my burning need to be the husband she deserved—I surrendered to the moment. My cock slid into each of them, one after another, as I devoured every pussy with fervent licks, ensuring no one was left untouched. Their moans wove a tapestry of ecstasy, binding me to their lineage in a night of relentless, soul-shaking pleasure.
