Loading...The engine ticked lightly, rhythmically, having only recently completed a twenty mile journey. Rain dripped from the frame of the car, from the edges of its bumpers. The windows were blurred, save for the two arches where the wipers had recently swept drops from the tempered glass.
The car didn’t belong there. Not in that parking lot. Not in that town.
The rain having passed, the titanium gloss of the newly acquired Mercedes S-class gleamed in the setting sun. Next to it, a rusty, seventies-vintage Ford Granada sat silent, its engine having long since cooled; its owner had pulled in hours ago.
Across the macadam parking lot – crumbled in places, weeds sprouting up through the cracks – was the front door of the tavern.
Frank’s Tavern. Green Bay Road. North Chicago.
Like the weather-beaten Granada in the parking lot, Frank’s owed it style to the seventies. It was dark and dank, some windows clouded from years of smoke and grime, others just simply blacked out. A long, scarred bar ran along one wall. Behind it, an elderly gentleman cleaned dirty, ten-ounce draft glasses, his furtive eyes occasionally scanning the patrons.
A few neon signs advertising alcoholic beverages – some of which were no longer available – along with heavily shaded overhead lighting provided scant light for the tables that were haphazardly arranged along the other walls.
From the rear of the tavern, the sound of a cue ball striking a blue-striped ball emanated throughout the space, somehow penetrating the smoke-laden and alcohol-tinged air.
In a corner, four aluminum-and-pleather chairs were set around a wobbly, Formica-topped table. A handbag – the latest offering from the Florence design house of Gucci – sat atop one of the chairs, and a sweating vodka gimlet floated on a pool of condensation on the table. The table was otherwise unoccupied.
Off to the side of the bar were the bathrooms. Behind a door marked with the universal symbol for ‘male’ stood Donna Morgan. She observed her image in the small mirror above the wall-mounted sink; the manicured index finger of her right hand traced the outlines of her left nostril before delving between her shiny, crimson-glossed lips.
“Mmm,” came the rumbling from deep in her slender throat as her silky tongue slithered around her delicate finger.
She gingerly lifted the rolled twenty dollar bill from the edge of the sink, twirled it to make the roll tighter and bent at the waist, feeling her heavy, bra-encased breasts sway beneath her slim torso. She put one end of the tube to her right nostril and bent further, bringing the other end to the thin white line of powder that stood out against the faded porcelain.
Closing her open nostril with a finger tipped in bright red polish, she inhaled deeply, the cocaine disappearing into the tube, exiting deep in her nostril. She stood upright again, dropping the rolled currency, not caring that it unraveled in the sink. She tossed her head back and savored the sensation of the cocaine sliding through her nasal passage and down her slender throat.
She righted her head and leaned in closer to the mirror. Her bright blue eyes, softened by lightly powdered cheeks, sparkled in the harsh light cast from the bare light bulb above. She brought her left hand to her face, a manicured finger extended, and gently ran the nail along the edges of her right nostril.
The diamonds of her engagement and wedding rings gleamed in the stark light. A decadent sneer masked her classic beauty.
Donna stood upright again, her pink tongue darting from between her full lips and swiping at her still extended finger. She ran her tongue across her gums and gleaming teeth, feeling them go numb, and stepped back from the filthy sink.
Smoothing her palms down her ample chest, the corrupt wife and mother felt her nipples thicken and throb. Her vagina moistened and she rubbed her wool-clad thighs together, hoping to quell – if only temporarily – the smoldering heat building deep within her pelvic bone.
Her lithe body knew what was in store. Shortly, the conservative oxford cloth top that hid the saline-injected breasts would be torn from that lithe, little body, the ivory buttons clattering across the worn hardwood floor of some apartment. The elegant wool pants would be bunched in a ball before being thrown in a dust-filled corner. In all likelihood, the thong that wrapped around her trim waist and hairless crotch would never do so again and the clasp on her overworked bra would be rendered useless.
Donna Morgan was somewhat of a regular at Frank’s. Once every two or three weeks, she would trek up to North Chicago from Winnetka, have a few drinks, and buy and eight-ball of cocaine to last her through her next visit.
More often than not, she received a discount for the eight-ball, paying only half-price. She used her sinful body, wicked mouth and utter depravity to make up the difference.
Not because her dealer required it of her, but because she enjoyed it, yearned for it. There were safer places for her to feed her habit, dealers more discreet and secure. But she came to Frank’s nonetheless. Not for the atmosphere or even the blow, really. She came for the discount. For earning it.
Rubbing her thighs together again, feeling her fluids saturate her vagina, the thumbs and forefingers of each of Donna’s dainty hands closed around her turgid nipples, pinching them lightly. In the mirror, she observed them elongate, tenting the fabric of her cotton top, casting a slight shadow against the bright white fabric. With a quick flick of each wrist, her lustful eyes nearly rolled into her head, her nipples twisted and deformed beneath the soon-to-be-discarded top.
A shudder having passed through her sexy body, satisfied for the moment, she released her nipples, smoothed the front of her top again, and departed the men’s room, the door clanging shut behind her. She sauntered across the room toward the empty, cigarette-blemished table, her heels a barely audible crack against the grimy tiled floor of the tavern.
Looking for her companion, her dealer, she swiveled her head left and right, her lustrous blonde hair whispering against her shoulders, before spotting him leaning against the pool table, talking to another patron.
Donna continued back to the table and sat. She pulled her cell phone from the bag to see if she had missed any calls; she hadn’t. She retrieved her drink from the table, crossed her lightly muscled legs, and leaned back. Taking a strong pull from the tumbler, her massive breasts pulled at the fabric of her shirt, her obscenely erect nipples readily apparent to anyone who glanced her way.
After a few minutes, her companion returned.
“Ready to go?” he grumbled, stuffing his wallet back into his grease-stained jeans.
“Where are we going?” Donna responded, a coy look passing across her face.
“You goin’ straight home? That what yer tellin’ me?”
“So what if I do?”
“Then you owe me another bill, that’s so what if.”
“And if I don’t want to pay you another hundred?”
“Quit fuckin’ around, slut. Let’s go.”
Donna stared at the man, her piercing eyes playful. After hesitating a moment, she gave him a curt nod, drained her drink down her throat and rose. She was a little unsteady atop the three-inch heels as the drug had rendered her joints weak, rubbery.
Her companion moved off, toward the door, and Donna, grabbing her purse, followed.
“Catch ya later, Frank,” he called out, pushing the door open and stepping into the humid evening air.
Donna caught up with him then.
“Should I follow you?” she asked. “Where are we going tonight?”
“Don’t you worry about where,” the young man responded, turning to look at the little North Shore housewife. With no effort to conceal his lecherous thoughts, his eyes traveled down and back up Donna’s sinuous body, pausing briefly at her protruding nipples. His cock stirred in his jeans, rubbing roughly against the denim and the cool steel of his zipper.
“How ’bout we just go in your car? You can drop me back here later,” he suggested, though it was more of a plan set in stone than a suggestion.
“Okay,” she allowed, her voice somewhat meek.
Donna led the twenty-year-old across the parking lot to the Mercedes, fishing the remote control from her purse and unlocking the doors.
“New car?” he asked, barely interested.
“Yes. We just got it two weeks ago.” Donna moved around the car to the driver’s side door as the young man opened his door and began to slide in.
“What’s this ‘we’ crap, huh? You and your husband buy this thing?”
“Of course,” she responded, tucking her sexy body behind the wheel, and inserted the key into the socket.
“He know you have one of his cars in North Chicago?”
Donna laughed, twisting the key to start the car. “I doubt it. I doubt it very much.”
“He know you gotta black kid in your car?”
“Of course not,” she began, putting the car in reverse and twisting her torso around to see out the rear window as she backed out of the parking spot. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
The boy’s eyes floated to Donna’s inflated chest again, to her engorged nipples. He brought his right arm across his muscular chest and closed two thick fingers on her right nipple. “Think he knows you gonna get fucked senseless tonight?” he asked rhetorically, roughly pinching the married woman’s nipple and twisting it viciously.
Donna’s right foot involuntarily goosed the gas pedal and a moan escaped her throat. The sudden acceleration pulled her nipple loose from the kid’s grip and the pleasure – momentary but pleasing nonetheless – passed.
He laughed at her shameless display and straightened himself in the seat, looking out the window. “Take a left outta the lot and then a right at the second light,” he commanded her.
Donna followed the young man’s directions and headed north on Green Bay for a few minutes before turning right on Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. As she took the turn, she saw from the corner of her eye her passenger raise his hips slightly, tug the zipper of his jeans down, and reach in. A moment later, he fished his fat cock from his pants, letting it flop against his left thigh.
She turned her head, tearing her gleaming eyes from the road for a moment, taking in the length of cock that lay mere inches from her small hand, poised as it was on the car’s gear selector.
“Take a left up here,” he ordered, and Donna returned her vision to the roadway. Her hand, however, slipped from the gear selector, away from her, her manicured nails scraping along the walnut trim before brushing his knee. Slowly, her slender fingers walked up his thigh, closer to the thickening length of meat.
She slid the pads of her soft fingers lightly over the spongy head, her middle finger incidentally gathering a smear of pre-cum that leaked from the tip. When her fingers cleared the ridge of his cockhead, she dragged her bright red nails lightly up its length.
At her touch, the kid’s cock twitched and elongated and thickened. He could feel the heat of it along his thigh, through the denim. He thoroughly enjoyed this woman, this arrogant little bitch from one of those wealthy suburbs south of the blighted neighborhoods of North Chicago. Her body was his playground.
“What do you want?” he asked her, his voice barely above a whisper.
“This,” she said, matching his tone, her shiny nails scraping back down the overheated shaft.
“Why?”
Donna’s heart pounded against her chest. “Because,” she began, swallowing hard. “Because I love . . . I love cock.”
The young man pointed in the direction of an upcoming street and Donna flashed her indicator for a right turn.
“Why’s that?” he continued.
Donna glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she made the right turn. “Because I’m . . . a . . . because I’m a whore?”
“You askin’, or you tellin’?”
“Telling. I’m telling you . . . I’m telling you I’m a whore,” she confessed (not for the first time), her cool fingers wedging themselves beneath the heated flesh of his cock. She wrapped her fingers around the girth of him, fingertips not able to touch, and tugged gently at the hardening rod.
“Not just any whore, either, huh? Tell me, what kind of whore are you?”
She gulped hard, clearing a lump from her elegant throat. She knew what he wanted to hear. He always wanted to hear it. She figured it gave him some sense of power over her, a feeling of control. Yet it was the one thing she really detested saying. It lowered her even further than demeaning words like ‘whore’ and ‘slut’ and ‘cunt.’ She pulled at his cock harder now, felt it thicken in the palm of her delicate hand, felt the veins criss-crossing the dark flesh pulse beneath her fingertips as blood rushed through them.
“I’m a . . . a coke whore,” she stuttered as the boy extended a thick finger, pointing at an illuminated house and driveway.
“In there,” he commanded and she released his cock from her grip.
Following the finger, Donna glided the Mercedes into the driveway and shut off the engine. When he made no move to get out, she looked at him inquiringly.
“You wanna suck me here, or go inside?”
“Inside,” she pleaded.
“Why not right here? What’s wrong with right here in the driveway?”
She paused before answering him. The car was silent and then the rain began again. A drop then another appeared on the windshield, and then increased exponentially until there was a steady thumping of raindrops against the car’s roof.
“I’d just rather go inside.”
“Come on. Just one suck. Then we’ll go inside.”
Donna looked at him skeptically.
After a few moments of hesitation, she shifted her tight little bottom in the seat, took in her surroundings to ensure no one was approaching, and leaned over the center console. With a deft touch, her cool, manicured fingers again wrapped around the semi-soft, thick shaft resting against the kid’s thigh, raising it to vertical.
With a last look around, Donna dipped her head. Her warm, smooth tongue snaked from her mouth and swiped across the spongy head of the young man’s sweaty penis. His thick fingers entwined themselves in her golden tresses, pulling her full, crimson lips toward the shaft.
Eager to feel the overheated flesh bumping against the back of her throat, Donna parted her lips, dragging them over the smooth, purple flesh of his cockhead. She felt the tube twitch in her wet mouth and clamped her lips tightly around the veiny flesh as they crowned the head, pulling it taut as she slowly, inexorably, shoved her shiny red lips down his length.
When the cockhead slid against the back of her throat, Donna fought her gag impulse, swirled her tongue around the shaft, and pulled back, leaving a shiny trail of spittle in her wake.
Before she could slide the young man’s lengthening cock back into her throat, he grabbed a handful of her blonde locks and pulled her sucking mouth off of him.
“Let’s go inside, slut,” he decided.
Stuffing his cock back into his jeans, he opened the car door and sauntered up the sidewalk, ignoring the rainstorm. Donna was quick to follow. He keyed the door, held it for the North Shore whore, and followed her in, the enticing scent of her perfume lingering in his nostrils. Closing it behind him, he took off the worn leather jacket and tossed it on the arm of the ratty couch that was pushed up against one wall of the bungalow’s front room.
“Get me a beer from the fridge. I’ll be in in a minute,” he commanded, emptying his pockets.
Wordlessly, Donna stepped into the kitchen, her heels cracking along the scarred hardwood planks beneath her small feet. Approaching the refrigerator, she pulled the door open and bent at the waist to survey the selection. Mickey’s Big Mouth, or Olde English 800. She had heard of neither.
As she straightened, she felt his presence behind her. Before she could turn, he stepped close to her, his sinewy arms snaking beneath hers, wrapping around her trim waist.
“How do you want it?” he whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending tingles up her spine. Awaiting her response, his hands slowly rose over her taut stomach and bulging breasts, his palms brushing against her aroused nipples, pausing there, enjoying the feeling of them rubbing against his calloused flesh.
Donna set the beer bottle on the counter and braced herself, one hand on the countertop and the other against the fingerprint-stained refrigerator. Her eyes eased shut as the young man’s strong fingers closed on each of her meaty nipples; his grip was light.
“The same as always,” she grunted, her mouth parched.
“You sure? Had a bad day today.” As he said this, he suddenly increased the pressure he was applying to the married woman’s swollen nipples. He twisted first one in a clockwise direction, then the other in the opposite direction.
Donna gasped at the abuse being levied upon her aching nipples, her body going momentarily rigid. “Yes,” she whimpered, her head falling forward, resting against the freezer door.
“One last chance,” he offered, savagely twisting her nipples in opposite directions.
Donna grunted as the pleasure-pain shot through her breasts and into her brain’s pain receptors. She turned her head to look at the kid standing behind her, her piercing eyes alight with lust.
“I said yes!” she hissed. “I want . . . it . . . rough! Abuse . . . my little . . . body!”
The words had barely spilled from Donna’s sensuous lips when the young man’s thick fingers curled and gathered the fabric of her oxford in his fists. Quick jerking motions with each hand sent the buttons of her top flying. The man yanked the tattered top off her tanned shoulders, allowing it to drop to the filthy kitchen floor.
He pushed the older woman hard against the refrigerator, jamming her soft cheek against the freezer. He slid his hands between her heaving body and the cool, burnt-orange aluminum and found her bra-encased breasts. Ignoring the triple-clasp between her lightly freckled shoulder blades, the young man gripped the top edges of her bra cups and ripped the bra downward, causing her inflated breasts to spill over the tops.
“We off to a good start?” he taunted the woman. “This rough enough for you, Donna?”
“Mm-hm,” she whimpered, the coolness of the refrigerator door soothing her throbbing nipples.
“Want me to call you ‘Donna’?” he inquired in a low voice, again gripping the older woman’s hardened buds – now bare to the stale air that permeated his little-used kitchen – between his fingers.
Pinned to the refrigerator, she remained motionless, silent save for her ragged breath.
The kid tugged at her left nipple, pulling the augmented breast to which it was attached form between her trim torso and the door of the refrigerator. She sobbed at the assault on the now tender teat.
“I said, you want me to call you ‘Donna’?”
It was barely perceptible, but she shook her head.
The young man brought his lips to her ear and inhaled her scent. “What should I call you then?” He knew the answer; he was simply taunting the woman, appealing to her prurient desires.
While she hesitated yet again – he figured it was all part of her game, creating the ability to deny her own debauchery – he sunk his fingers into her overblown right breast and pulled it, too, to her side. He kept his waist at the upturned cheeks of her bottom, holding her there, and lightly ran his fingers along the sides of her bulging breasts, reveling in the exquisite sensations of her soft, supple flesh.
“Mrs. . .,” he heard between pants. “Mrs. . . . Morgan.”
“What!?!” he intoned, feigning shock. “You want me to call you by your husband’s name?” As he spoke, the young man’s hands slid down her torso, over the ridges of her rib cage, to the waist line of her wool tweed pants. He wedged them between her crotch and the refrigerator, finding her belt buckle and pulling it loose.
“Yes,” she moaned, shivering as the kid ran the tips of his finger along her waist line, goose bumps appearing on arms bronzed in the Florida sun the week before.
“Reminds you that you nothin’ but a cheatin’ little coke whore, huh?” he goaded her as he brutally yanked the front of her pants open and shoved them down her shapely thighs.
“Oh, gawd.” Mrs. Morgan wiggled her hips sensuously, coaxing her pants further down her thighs. In a practiced move, she kicked first one and then the other heel from her manicured feet; the blood rushing through her ears drowned out the sound as they banged against the vintage oven.
“Reminds you that you shouldn’t be here, doesn’t it?” he continued, reaching over her shoulder to retrieve a kitchen knife from the counter.
Mrs. Morgan shivered when the cool blade contacted her hot flesh. Slowly, expertly it seemed, he maneuvered the blade beneath the rear strap of her strained bra and sliced through the silk fabric with ease before shoving it off her shoulders.
With his right hand, the kid stretched the silk of her thong and with his left, slid the blade beneath it. With a quick flick of his wrist, the ruined garment floated to the floor, leaving the married woman without clothing, bare to the lecherous eyes of her cocaine connection.
He tossed the knife back on the counter and whacked her right ass cheek with the open, calloused palm of his hand. “Turn around, Mrs. Morgan. I want you on your knees.”
Donna pushed herself off the refrigerator and turned, ready to fall to her soft knees, but the young man caught her bouncing breasts in his palms, sliding them up and over the jutting mounds. He captured her protruding nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and squeezed, pinched. He then tugged the turgid buds downward, guiding her to her knees.
While he pulled the sweat-stained tee-shirt over his head, Donna’s bright red nails found the button of his jeans and pulled it loose. She carefully, so as not to break a nail, pulled his zipper down and then tugged at the denim, forcing it over his trim waist and muscular thighs. The thick but not overly long tube sprang from the confines of his pants, bobbing before her pretty face as she dragged the material down his legs.
The kid stepped from his pooled jeans and kicked them out of the way. He then moved closer to the unfaithful woman that eagerly awaited the introduction of his thick cock to her warm mouth.
He put the palm of one hand on her smooth forehead and her bright blue eyes rolled up to look at him. Gently, he moved the back of her head against the refrigerator door and shuffled forward, the bright purple tip of his cock poised at her crimson-smeared lips.
“Open,” he commanded.
Donna’s sensuous lips parted and her jaw dropped. Her wet, pink tongue slid over her bottom teeth as her gaze remained fixed on the black kid standing above her. He leaned against the refrigerator, resting the head of his cock on her outstretched tongue.
Moving his hips forward, the head slid along her silky tongue and past her wide-stretched lips. Her upper lip grazed along the top edge of the thick shaft, leaving an red-lipstick streak as the cock invaded her mouth. Donna opened her jaw further to accommodate the kid and he pushed in further.
He stopped when the head of his cock bumped against the back of her throat. Her jaw still cranked open, she gagged slightly and he pulled back a little.
“Close.”
Donna relaxed her jaw. Her full, shiny red lips closed around the thick shaft, molding themselves to it. Her silky tongue remained below the shaft, pressing it against the roof of her mouth.
The young man pushed forward again until he felt the head slid against the back of her throat. He paused, but only momentarily, before pushing in further. Her tightly gripping lips pulled his foreskin back, eliciting a groan from deep in his throat.
Beneath him, Donna tried but failed to control her gag reflex. Her slender throat constricted, attempting to prevent the entry of the black kid’s veiny shaft. He put a hand on the top of her head, ensnaring his thick fingers in her golden tresses, holding her steady, and again pushed forward.
Donna’s throat resisted him at first and he pushed harder, rewarded when she relaxed. An inch or two of his shaft slid past her tonsils and into her throat, but she immediately gagged again, the muscles contracting around the head of his cock.
“Oh, shit,” he groaned. “Feels so . . . fuckin’ . . . nice.”
The kid pulled back and the lock of her lips around his shaft relaxed. She sucked in air as she fought the gag reflex. Saliva had collected in the well of her jaw and spilled over her stretched, crimson lips and down her chin before the young man pushed the length of his cock back into her mouth, back into her throat.
Her long, blonde hair still wrapped around the kid’s fist, Donna raised her manicured hands to his thighs, attempting to control the depth of his penetration, but she was a small woman. He was not a small man.
He yanked hard on her head and her eyes, tearing from the gagging, floated up to his, pleading for him to be gentle.
“You said rough, Mrs. Morgan.”
Without waiting for a response, the young man quickly plowed his cock back into her throat, her shiny lips stretched taut around his shaft.
“Yyeeaahh,” he hissed.
When he pulled back out, Donna’s full lips again relaxed and her collected spit poured from her mouth. It dripped from her chin to her heaving chest, coating her surgically enhanced breasts, leaving them slick and shiny. It collected at her nipples before falling to her thighs, oozing to the floor.
The young man reached to his left toward the countertop and into Donna’s purse. He dug around until he found the vial of cocaine he had sold her at Frank’s Tavern. He pulled it from the purse and jerked his hips, savagely sending the length of his thick, veiny cock into Donna’s throat.
She gagged violently and he pulled back. Saliva cascaded from her pretty, sucking mouth, coating his shaft and dripping from his balls, from her chin, to fall to her heaving tits.
The drug dealer turned the vial upside down, Donna’s tearing eyes watching his every move. He twisted the dispenser, then twisted it again, filling the chamber with blow. The head of his cock still buried in the adulterous woman’s wet mouth, he put the vial to her left nostril, using one of his free fingers to close the right one.
Donna snorted hard and her eyes eased shut. “Mmmm,” vibrated through the kid’s shaft.
“Feel good, Mrs. Morgan . . . my little coke whore?”
She didn’t respond, but instead slid her slender, manicured fingers around his hips to his ass cheeks. She cracked her jaw wide and dug her long nails into his flesh, pulling his cock into her. She gagged slightly as the thick shaft passed her tonsils but kept pulling, her esophagus relaxing, allowing the bloated cock head to enter.
She then swallowed, the muscles of her throat convulsing around the black shaft.
“Uuuggghhh,” she heard the young man moan above her.
He pulled his hips back, dragging his cock along her silky tongue. Pre-cum leaked from its tip and soaked into her taste buds.
“Mmmmm,” she moaned again.
The young man withdrew his fat cock from her mouth completely and Donna hunched forward, waiting for him to feed it back to her. Instead, he grabbed the shaft at the base and lifted. He then let it fall, where it made an audible slap against her forehead.
The shiny, deep purple mushroom head rested there for a moment, pre-cum oozing from the tip and collecting on Donna’s forehead. When the young man tilted his hips forward, the cockhead dragged down the bridge of her nose, leaving a trail of pre-cum. He grabbed at the base again, leaned slightly away from her, and slapped the head of his cock against her crimson lips. They parted, attempting to capture the bloated and overheated bulb, but the young man stepped back from her.
He bent from his waist, his hands beneath her armpits, and lifted the corrupt wife and mother to her feet. Wordlessly, he guided her a few feet to the battered kitchen table and turned her against it, lifting her ass cheeks up on to it.
“Brace yourself, bitch. I’m gonna pound the crap outta your filthy, cheatin’ cunt.”
Following the young man’s direction, Donna slid her lithe arms behind her, spreading her palms on the cheap tabletop, bracing herself.
Before her, the kid stepped between her tanned, widespread legs, the length of his thick shaft bobbing before him. Pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock. As he stepped closer, the bulbous head hovering over Donna’s inflamed cunt lips, a droplet of the fluid fell from the head and splattered on the creamy flesh just above her exposed clit.
“Want it, Mrs. Morgan?” he asked with a sneer, reaching out and grasping one of her throbbing nipples between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it savagely.
“Uuhhgg, yeah!” she grunted.
The young man leaned back and buckled his knees ever so slightly, dragging the head of his cock along the furrow of her shiny, bald cunt lips. Slowly, he pushed his hips forward, watching as his oversized purple cockhead parted the adulterous slut’s silky lips. He stopped just as they threatened to swallow the mushroom-shaped tip.
“Sure?” he sought to confirm, the fingers of his free hand latching onto her other meaty nipple, not twisting, put pinching brutally. The darkened flesh flared red, goose bumps appearing across the areola.
“Please,” she whimpered. Her eyes were screwed shut, her voice barely audible.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded, flicking his hips at her, his fat cock beginning to shove her cunt walls aside. When she failed to abide, he stopped and withdrew, leaving just the very tip of his cockhead ensconced in her overheated hole.
He tugged violently on Donna’s turgid nipples, distorting the saline-filled titflesh. “Open your eyes, cunt!” he hissed.
The command wasn’t needed. Pain shot through her when the kid yanked her store-bought tits and her eyelids flew open, revealing her lust-drenched baby blue orbs.
“Good girl,” he allowed, a condescending smile crossing his features, his large, strong hands closing on her pliant hips. “Good little wifey. Now watch as your little . . . married . . . cunt” – he bit hard on the word – “gets violated . . . by this . . . fat . . . cock!”
Donna’s eyes barely shifted from his face to their joinder before the young man shoved his entire length into her dripping hole.
Her head snapped back, her blonde locks whipping, and her stomach rumbled and twisted and heaved. “Uuuugggghhhh!” she screamed, her engorged nipples still trapped between the kid’s thick, dark fingers.
Just as quickly, he withdrew, his cock shiny again and dripping in her vaginal fluid.
Donna shuffled her hands closer to herself, trying to brace herself better for the next onslaught. Before she was stable, he slammed his meaty shaft into her again, causing her elbows to give out. She collapsed onto the plastic table top, her enormous tits rolling around her slim torso.
“That how you like it, Mrs. Morgan?” he inquired needlessly.
“Unh-uh,” she groaned, twisting her hips against the table as the young man withdrew again. Her dainty feet lifted and she wrapped her legs, bent at the knees, around his muscular ass.
When he felt her soft heels bump into her firm ass cheeks, the young man forcefully hammered his cock back into the cheating hole. He held himself there, grinding his pubic bone against her exposed and blood-engorged clit.
“Your nasty little hole . . . is going to be gaping . . . when I’m done with you,” he taunted through panted breath. “That what you want?”
Donna’s eyes eased open and burned into the black kid hunched over her. She matched his hip movements, adding to the already intense pressure at her inflamed clit, and nodded her head. Her left hand, limp at her side, floated to her tits, lightly pinching and twisting first one and then the other hardened nipple between her fire-engine-red nails.
Above her, the young man watched her wanton display. His eyes focused on the fingers toying with her inflated titflesh and inflamed nipple and he withdrew his cock slowly, leaving just the tip buried in her.
“Slam it in,” she mouthed, the tips of her manicured nails biting into the abused nipple. The obscene diamond of her engagement ring gleamed in the harsh light of the kitchen.
The kid’s lips curled into an evil smirk. He flicked his hips several times, fucking the unfaithful woman with just his cockhead.
“Slam it in me!” she screamed, spittle flying from her soft, pink lips. She twisted her left nipple hard, distorting the surrounding flesh. The pleasure was exquisite, the pain excruciating.
But instead of crashing his hips against her pelvic bone, the kid pulled back. The head of his cock popped free, leaving behind a cavernous hole, its surrounding lips shiny and slick with her free-flowing cunt juice. She whimpered at the empty feeling, the soft heels of her small feet digging into his ass cheeks, attempting to pull his punishing shaft back into her yielding cunt.
He held firm, his cunt-juice-soaked shaft bobbing lightly at her stretched-out opening, swiping along her burning clit. Slowly, he reached out, gently pulling her pinching and twisting fingers from her ravaged nipple. He pulled her elegant hand toward him, manicured fingers pointing his way.
He held her hand in the palm of one hand, and with the fingers of the other, lightly gripped her engagement ring and wedding band, wiggling them. After a few twists, they slipped over her second knuckle, and then easily over her first. He held them in the palm of his hand.
“What . . . what are you doing?” she panted.
The kid’s lecherous sneer remained.
He released her hand and his dark, thick fingers lifted the heavy platinum-and-diamond pieces from his other palm. He turned them around and around, noting the workmanship. His eyes then floated up to Donna’s questioning face.
“You’re a little cheating cunt, aren’t you?” he asked. It was actually a question. He wanted an answer.
Donna merely nodded her head affirmatively.
“Taking strange cock into your nasty, stretched-out cunt, Mrs. Morgan?”
She lifted herself onto her elbows, her massive tits thrust forward, reddened nipples acting as beacons. She nodded her head again, her blond tresses whispering across her tanned shoulders.
“Then let’s do this right.”
Donna watched as the black kid – her drug dealer – set the engagement ring on the table next to her sweaty hip and placed the pave-encrusted wedding band against the tip of his cock. His cockhead was too broad to actually slip the small ring onto it, so he held it there. His eyes found hers – clouded with lust, for she knew what he was about to do – and he raised an eyebrow, inviting her objection.
None came.
Instead, her pink tongue darted from between her soft lips, wetting them in her saliva. She mouthed, “Fuck me,” and nodded her head again.
Above her, the young man, his thick fingers still holding her wedding band against his mushroom head, leaned into her. She felt the cool metal and mineral and searing flesh of his cockhead against her sopping cunt lips. It was an odd sensation.
He removed his fingers and wiggled his hips a little. Her hairless lips parted, spreading over the dark purple head. The facets of the pave diamonds scraped lightly against the tender flesh of her labia.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, her smoldering, lust-filled eyes locked on his.
He pushed forward slightly and her battered cunt lips completely swallowed his bloated cockhead. He stopped and then pulled back, felt the ring separate from the tip of cock. He pulled back a little more and knew that Donna’s wedding band was now buried in her wickedly depraved cunt.
“Fuck me,” she commanded, louder this time. Her nipples throbbed and she closed her thumbs and forefingers around them, pinching again, tugging at the engorged teats, pulling them away from her slim torso and ballooned tits.
The kid pushed his fat shaft back into her. His sensitive head bumped into the wedding band, the platinum and diamonds no longer cool. He pushed further, shoving the band further into her sloppy cunt, until his shaft was half buried in her. He then withdrew.
“Goddammit! Fuck me, you asshole! Fuck me!!!” she wailed.
The words had barely slipped from Donna’s full, moistened lips when the young man jerked his hips forward and stuffed the entire length of his shaft in her overheated, saturated cunt.
“Ooooohhhhh, gggggaaaaawwwwwddddd!!!” she rumbled, her lithe torso twisting atop the table, trying to dislodge the thick shaft from her violated cunt while at the same time trying to pull it deeper within her.
Her vaginal walls strained at the sudden intrusion, twitched and convulsed as the small diamonds embedded in her wedding band scraped along the sensitive flesh. Her bright red nails dug into her swollen nipples, pinching and twisting and pulling and tugging. The hue of her abused teats soon matched the shade of her manicured nails.
The black kid pulled his cock from her sloppy folds, paused for a moment, and then crashed back into her. He felt her slick cunt walls contract around his battering shaft but didn’t pause to enjoy it.
Instead, he began jackhammering the wealthy housewife. The kitchen table squeaked and groaned as it scooted across the floor at each thrust into her unfaithful hole. Her bright red nails nearly lost their death grip on her inflamed nipples as the surgically enhanced titflesh rolled and wobbled and jiggled atop her rib cage.
“How you like it now, slut?” he hissed at her, his cock brutally pounding into her. He bent at the waist, nudged one of her elegant hands aside with his nose, and trapped a tender nipple between his sucking lips.
“Oohh, fuck,” she groaned, her back arched, shoving her inflated tits against him, trying to shove more of the oversized globe into his mouth. “So . . . fuckin’ . . . good.”
The adulterous woman, cocaine still flowing through her veins, lifted her tanned, lithe legs higher, crossing her ankles and squeezing them around the young man’s waist, encouraging him to penetrate her deeper, harder.
“You like . . . havin’ . . . this young . . . thick . . . cock . . . in you . . . Mrs. Morgan?” he breathed, sweat rolling down his cheeks and dripping to Donna’s chest, lending a silky sheen to her wobbling, overblown tits.
“Yyeeaahh,” she grunted as his teeth lightly bit down on her nipple, his tongue swirling around the aching bud, coating it with saliva, soothing it.
“Like that . . . wedding . . . band . . . shoved . . . in there?”
“Mm-hm,” she managed.
“Make your . . . husband . . . proud . . . huh?”
“Aaaggghhh.”
The groan came from deep in her throat, sending vibrations though her diaphragm. Her legs constricted around the young black kid’s waist, holding him tight. He ground his pubic bone against her highly agitated clit again and her body went rigid for a moment.
Then she bucked once, mashing her fiery clit between their respective pelvic bones.
She released and her hips jerked in staccato bursts against him, sending her exposed clit crashing against him.
The muscles of her cunt then went slack. But only for a moment. Then they tightened around the invading, abusive shaft, contracting in pulses, attempting to suck the cum from deep in his swinging balls.
“Uuuggghhh . . . cumming . . . cumming,” she moaned. Her eyes were screwed shut, her head lolling back and forth on the tabletop.
Her lithe body shook and quivered and quaked. In the black kid’s mouth, her nipple throbbed against his tongue, its heat evident as he clamped down on it, biting into her raw and tender flesh. Her lithe legs, still perched on his back, silky heels digging into her firm ass cheeks, trembled.
Above her, the young man remained relatively still. All that moved were his hips. They rotated in tight circles, clockwise then counterclockwise. They pulverized her clit between two, cunt-juice-soaked pubic bones.
And below him, Donna Morgan came and came and came. Unnatural sounds emanated from her slender throat as her body continued to shudder and tremble atop the table. Juice flowed from the weak seal her battered cunt formed around the kid’s invading shaft; it pooled on the tabletop before dripping off the edges, splattering on the worn hardwood flooring.
“Where you . . . want me . . . to cum . . . whore?” he inquired as Donna’s quivering body began to settle, as the convulsions in her cunt subsided.
“Inside me,” she breathed. “Cum . . . inside me.”
With effort, she lifted herself to her elbows, her sweat-soaked tits wobbling on her chest. Her nipples were a wreck: thickened; red and pink; glowing from their rawness.
She shifted her weight so that she was leaning on just one elbow, the saline packs injected beneath her titflesh rolling with her torso. She slid her free hand down her body, between their groins. Her slender fingers closed around the three or four inches of young meat that had been withdrawn from her now cavernous cunt, manicured nails scraping along the overheated tube of flesh.
She increased her grip on the shaft and vigorously stroked it, half the length still buried in her destroyed hole. Her eyes burned into his; though her cunt was satiated, her baby blues still dripped with unadulterated lust.
“Cum deep in my cunt,” she demand, her fist streaking up and down the thick shaft. “I want to feel . . . your hot cum . . . deep inside me . . . coating that . . . wedding band.”
The young man, knees weak and wobbly, watched Donna’s brazen and wicked display. Her small white hand and bright red nails were but a blur as they stroked the base of his cock. The quick movement of her hand had set her enormous, fake tits wobbling on her tight chest.
The image seared itself into his brain, but her words sent him over the edge. Her debauchery, immorality. The very corruptness of this wealthy wife and mother.
“Cum in my cunt!” she hissed. “All over . . . my wedding . . . band . . . drown it!”
The young man’s hips crashed into her, smashing her dainty hand between their pelvic bones. Her slender fingers squeezed tight around the base of his cock, the tip of her index finger pressing against the underside of his thick shaft.
He pulled back and Donna kept up the pressure, rubbing and squeezing and jerking.
“Give me your cum!” she screamed.
And he did. With the pad of her index finger jammed tightly against the sensitive underside of his cock, the young man’s black balls lurched. They released scalding sperm which coursed up the length of his shaft. Deep within Donna’s quivering cunt, the tip of his cock winked open and he shoved forward, embedding the full length of his shaft in her.
“Oh, fuck,” he grunted. “Oh, fuck, you fuckin’ cunt!”
When the deep purple cockhead banged against her wedding band, a torrent of cum spilled from his shaft, splattering against the stretched out walls of her cunt, coating the band in thick globs of sperm.
Still buried in her, his cock trembled and shook and lurched a second time and then a third, flooding her cavernous cunt hole with his cum. His strong hands, gripped tightly to her pliant hips, fingers sinking into her soft, supple flesh, lessened their hold on her as his orgasm subsided.
Panting, he nearly collapsed on the adulterous North Shore whore. He caught himself on his hands, palms down on the table, and remained there while he caught his breath.
“You are one . . . nasty . . . bitch, Mrs. Morgan,” he managed, sweat dripping from his brow, splashing on the tanned and taut flesh of her stomach.
He pushed himself up and backed away from the prone woman, his softening cock slipping from her destroyed, bald cunt lips with an audible pop.
“Only with you,” she muttered, her lithe body still lazily arranged on the young man’s kitchen table, his thick cum beginning to leak from her gaping cunt.
He chuckled. “Yeah. Right. I doubt it, bitch.”
The young man stepped to the refrigerator, pulled a cold beer from its confines and popped the top. He turned around to find Donna on her elbows again, her glimmering blue eyes dropping to the sticky shaft that hung limply against his thigh. He leaned against the Formica countertop.
He knew what she wanted. More of his fat cock. Probably wanted it buried in her rich-bitch asshole. But he wasn’t going to give it to her. Not tonight, anyway.
“Go on,” he said, tilting his head toward the living room and the run-down bungalow’s front door. “Get the fuck outta here.”
“Huh?” she asked, pushing ravaged body off the kitchen table.
“I said, get outta here. I’m done with you for now. Go home to your husband.”
Donna’s cheeks blushed a scarlet red, but she bent to pick up her clothes as the young man sauntered from the kitchen. As she pulled her pants over her panty-less and cum-filled cunt, she heard the shower turn on near the back of the house.
Embarrassed, ashamed, she slipped her tanned arms through the tattered oxford cloth blouse and held it closed over her cleavage. After slipping into her heels, Donna exited the bungalow into a torrential downpour. By the time she reached the door to her Mercedes, her blouse was soaked.
Sliding behind the wheel, she started the car to get the heat going. Her image in the rearview mirror caught her attention; hair drenched in sweat and rain; make-up ruined; her once crimson-streaked lips were now a soft, natural pink. She adjusted the mirror downward to her chest; her areola and thick nipples were clearly evident through the rain-soaked white fabric.
A smile of contentment creased her features as she put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.