It started with the dual invasion—two uncircumcised monsters, each over 12 inches of thick, veiny black cock, foreskins peeled back to reveal glistening heads the size of fists. They aligned at my entrance, my labia already swollen and dripping from earlier teasing, and thrust in tandem. The stretch was immediate Armageddon: my vulva lips parting like tearing silk, the majora and minora straining white-knuckled around their combined girth, veins bulging against the tender folds. I felt the burn—a deep, fiery rip as the vaginal introitus dilated beyond design, muscle fibers snapping with audible pops, blood vessels bursting in pinpoint hemorrhages that leaked warm crimson down my ass crack. Their heads ground together inside my canal, scraping the rugae—those ridged walls—flat and raw, abrading the sensitive epithelium until it wept mucus tinged with pink. 

     They didn’t hold back; vigorous pounding ensued, hips slamming with bone-jarring force, balls slapping my perineum like wet drums. Deeper they delved, past the G-spot into the fornices, the anterior and posterior walls ballooning outward, my bladder compressed until I squirted involuntarily in hot, forceful jets that soaked their pubes. The destruction escalated—one cock angled to batter my anterior wall, bruising the urethra and Skene’s glands, while the other hammered the posterior, compressing my rectum from the other side, forcing residual shit to shift in my distended belly. Micro-tears multiplied: the vaginal mucosa shredding like wet paper, exposing submucosal layers that throbbed with exposed nerves. My pubic bone ached from the pressure, the symphysis pubis creaking as if threatening to separate, my entire pelvis vibrating with each brutal plunge. 

     Then they amped it to triple vaginal—yes, a third cock cramming in, their foreskins bunching as they wedged alongside, stretching my hole to a cavernous gape four times its original size. The introitus was obliterated, no longer a tight seal but a floppy, prolapsed ring of swollen tissue, leaking a slurry of blood, squirt, and precum. Thrusts turned chaotic, their veiny shafts twisting and knotting inside me, displacing my vaginal barrel, the walls everting slightly with withdrawals before being shoved back in a prolapsing frenzy. I screamed hoarsely—”It’s splitting me—fuck—destroy my cunt”—as the pain crested, nerves firing in overload, my clit engorged and hypersensitive from the friction, hood retracted permanently from the abuse. 

     The mayhem was absolute: internal bruising blooming like ink in water, deep hematomas on the vaginal walls turning them purple-black; the fornices torn open wider, allowing glimpses of cervical descent; my perineum threatening to rupture into a full obstetric fistula, the thin barrier between vagina and anus thinning to transparency. Blood flowed freely now, mixing with my arousal into a slick, metallic lubricant that squelched obscenely with every motion. 

     Yet, despite the carnage—or inexorably because of it—the vaginal orgasms detonated like supernovas, alchemizing the destruction into waves of unholy, body-shattering bliss. 

     The first struck as the triple cocks bottomed out, filling me to bursting: a volcanic eruption from the ravaged introitus itself, nerves in the stretched labia and vestibule igniting in a chain reaction. It wasn’t shallow; it was vulvar-vaginal ecstasy, a clenching storm that milked their shafts with vise-like spasms, waves crashing from my entrance inward. I squirted explosively, a geyser that flooded the bed, my body arching rigid as the orgasm howled through me, tears blurring my vision behind fogged glasses, the pleasure a savage rebuke to the pain. 

     Deeper climaxes cascaded—the fornix-fueled kind, spawned from the mayhem in my vaginal depths. As their battering bruised the cul-de-sacs, a profound, hollow implosion built from the posterior wall forward. My vaginal muscles contracted around them so fiercely it bordered on cramping rupture, each spasm heightening the drag of veins on abraded tissue. The peak was apocalyptic: a full-canal convulsion that radiated ecstasy to my core, squirting in relentless streams as I sobbed, the uncanny bliss making me thrash in chains of rapture. The destruction amplified it—the tears and bruises sparking deeper highs, blood-slick friction turning agony into additive fuel. 

     They piled on in relentless succession—vaginal aftershocks linking into fornix tsunamis—leaving me a weeping, quivering husk. Even as my pussy gaped irreversibly, walls prolapsed and throbbing like an open wound, the orgasms endured, each more depraved, fusing torment to transcendence forever. By the finale, when they withdrew—my vagina a wrecked, bleeding chasm, forever altered—I lay in a lake of my own fluids, eternally enslaved to the ruin that spawned such forbidden euphoria.