 |
|
||
| Submission of a Shrew | Back to M | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
|
|
||
| Submission of a Shrew | Back to M | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
Submission of a Shrew
(MM/f, nc, humil, BDsm)
By William Drake
"William Drake" <mast_1945@hotmail.com>
Lara Tompkins leaned back from her computer and stretched. It was
a movement she made frequently during the work day, and not only to relieve
her aching muscles. She was well aware of the way it accented her
voluminous breasts against the slightly tight blouses she favored. She was
equally aware of just how her stretching distracted her male co-workers.
She smiled wryly at the thought that there was no one there this time to
appreciate the view. It was hours past quitting time and she worked alone,
finishing off three contracts she'd promised her boss before leaving on two
week's vacation.
Besides, it wasn't as if any of the men at the office would ever
get any more than a look. Frankly, sex just wasn't that important to Lisa
Tompkins. Back in high school, she'd always been a little surprised at the
attitude some of her girlfriends had expressed toward the physical aspect of
their relations with boys. A few of them hated the grabbing ... the
intimacy. Of course the others had, with alarming frequency and enthusiasm,
vividly described the intense physical pleasures they'd received from their
boyfriends' hands ... their mouths ... even their eager teenage pricks.
Lara, however, had gone through her high school years a virgin.
Not that she hadn't dated. She had. She had been the most beautiful girl
in her class, so the opportunities had been legion. Every boy wanted to be
seen out with the head cheerleader, the prom queen, the most popular girl in
the school. And she had let some of them pet with her, paw her lovely
breasts, even run their hands a few inches above her knees. After all,
that was a part of dating.
But the only real pleasure she'd gotten was with a very select few
... the best looking ... the most popular ... most importantly, the ones
among those who'd shown a willingness to follow her lead. With those she
went the farthest she had allowed herself to go. If they'd been very, very
nice to her she'd learned to end their petting sessions by unzipping their
pants, taking out their straining, young organs, and stroking them off. The
pleasures that she'd found in that act weren't necessarily physical. Rather
there was something about the feeling of being in control ... the feel of
their hard, teenage dicks between her fingers as she stroked them up and
down ... the way their eyes closed in apparent helplessness in the last
moments before their sticky loads had shot between her pumping fingers.
Her virginity had not, of course, survived her college years. By
her sophomore year she had become curious enough that she almost
cold-bloodily selected a senior who had been sniffing after her and spread
her legs for him. The experience had been pretty much what she'd expected
... a bit painful when her hymen had been broken ... but interesting and
even having a bit of pleasure attached. But, after three sexual encounters
she'd dumped the guy and decided that she knew what she'd wanted to learn.
At the beginning of her own senior year she'd seduced a professor, more for
the good he could do for her than out of any physical attraction that he
held for her. Their affair had continued until her graduation.
So, when she met her husband Bill, she'd only truly possessed two
men. Bill was handsome, considerate, and, most important of all, already a
well established and financially successful lawyer. As far as Lara was
concerned, their sexual relationship was ideal. They made love two or three
times a week and she found more pleasure in the act than she'd experienced
with her other two lovers. Of course, her husband occasionally requested
acts which repelled her, such as when he begged her to actually put her
mouth on his penis ... the organ that he actually pissed through! She'd
quickly put an end to any thoughts of such perversity in no uncertain terms!
Lara stretched one last time as she put the finishing touches on
the last of the documents she'd been working on. As she printed out the
results, she smiled as she thought about the next two weeks. Bill had
wanted to spend the time on a fishing trip, but she'd put the kibosh on
that! She'd insisted instead on going to the Bahamas, and it had taken
cutting him off from her body for an extended period before he'd finally
agreed. Their plane left tomorrow afternoon, and she could already almost
feel the warm, tropical sun on her lush body.
+ + + + +
"Your wife is a beautiful woman."
Bill Tompkins smiled as he looked at the young woman. She looked
uncomfortable standing before his chair and staring at the picture of Lara
on their end table. He found he liked that. Betty Winston had been a real
find. Frankly, he had always been unhappy with the policy of his law firm,
Grassley, Conners & Winslauski, of requiring all junior partners to take a
few pro bono cases each year. Their thinking was that representing a few
poor slobs who were unable to hire a high priced firm made them look good to
their usual clients; rich people who sat at their private clubs bleeding
over the rights of the downtrodden masses while stiffing the waiters' on
their tips. He had only jumped at the case of the State vs. Tom Winston
because it had looked like one that could be wiped from the books with a
minimum of invested time.
That the man had been guilty there was no doubt. He had been at a
bar when a man made a pass at his young wife. Two witnesses had sworn that
Winston had gone out into the parking lot and had shot the man dead. What
had attracted Winston to the case was that the investigating cops had made a
stupid, basic mistake in both taking the witness' statements and in tying
Winston to the gun. The evidence couldn't possibly be introduced into
court. The judge knew it. The prosecutor knew it. Hell, the pimply-faced
young kid who delivered coffee to the court officers probably knew it! In
fact, only the client was too stupid to understand the problem.
Tompkins had been about to file the exclusionary motion when the
accused's wife had come to see him. To his surprise, the woman had pleaded
with him not to get her husband released. She had cried as she poured out
her life story. A brutal father ... a weak, vacillating mother ... being
reduced to the status of her father's sex slave at the age of thirteen ...
it was a story as old as time. When she was seventeen, she'd escaped into a
marriage that her father hadn't objected to because, by that time, he'd
transferred the bulk of his attentions to Betty's younger sister.
The marriage had, hardly to Tompkins' surprise, turned into a
disaster. Tom Winston was an alcoholic, and as vicious as her father had
been. Having lucked into a sweet, young wife who could have competed in any
beauty contest without disgracing herself, he took to bringing home every
drunken slut he could pick up, and even ordering Betty to bring them drinks
into the bedroom while he fucked them.
Now he had decided, correctly, Tompkins suspected, that Betty had
encouraged the attentions of the man he'd killed. He'd happily told his
young wife that, when he was released, she would be next. She was terrified
that, if he wasn't convicted, she'd not live out the week.
Tompkins recalled that interview with real pleasure. The
beautiful, young wife had cried when he'd explained that the case against
her husband was doomed to collapse. She'd begged him to find a way ... any
way ... to make the error go away. The meeting had ended with her on her
knees before him ... his cock out of his pants ... his hands wrapped in her
hair and her sweet, soft lips wrapped around his stiff, throbbing organ.
He'd crammed his full seven inches into her warm, wet mouth ... reveled in
the abject way she'd greedily swallowed every drop of his steaming scum.
"Did you do what I told you to?" he asked softly. The young woman
nodded silently.
"Show me," he demanded.
Betty Winston licked her lips nervously, looked again at his
wife's picture, and asked plaintively, "Aren't you worried that she'll come
home?"
"That's my problem, bitch," he growled menacingly. "I gave you an
order!"
Her eyes downcast in submission, Betty reached down to grasp her
skirt. Slowly she lifted the hem. Tompkins watched as her legs came into
view ... trim calves and full, fleshy thighs. She didn't stop as the skirt
rose enough to expose her crotch. She had been trained too well to be that
shy. The man seated before her nodded in approval when he saw she'd
followed both of his demands. She wore no panties, and her pubic bush had
been neatly shaved off. If he'd been able to ignore the way her breasts
swelled out her blouse and the way her hips fleshed out so nicely, the way
her bare labia lips peeked out from under her belly might have made her look
almost prepubescent.
Tompkins leaned forward and put his hand on the inside of her
knee. As he slowly moved it upward, Betty, rather than protesting,
actually shifted one foot to open her legs even further. As he'd expected,
when his finger finally reached the apex of her legs, it encountered the
dampness of her growing arousal. She shivered as he crooked that finger and
lightly massaged her clitoris.
"You're a hot little cunt, aren't you?" he smiled up at her.
Her eyes downcast, Betty Winston nodded her head. "I can't help
it, sir," she murmured. "Your fingers are so ..." She shook her head as
words failed her.
He knew what she meant, even if she didn't. Whether it was
genetic or the result of her background, he didn't know. Nor did he care.
What he did care about was that this little slut was incredibly turned on by
being slowly and patiently dominated. She didn't have, nor did she seem to
want, any degree of control over their relationship. She reveled in being
used ... even abused. That was the real reason that Tompkins had never
filed that motion. Tom Winston had been sentenced to twenty-five years to
life, and, knowing his propensity for getting into fights, Tompkins expected
that he wouldn't survive any significant fraction of that time.
"Turn around," he ordered gruffly. She obeyed without hesitation,
offering him a view of her best asset, an ass that ninety-nine percent of
young women would have died to possess. This time he reached out with both
hands, one each kneading a beautiful asscheek.
The discovery of this darling's weakness had been the turning
point. He had no desire to lose his even more beautiful wife, but he knew
he had to have this darling young thing at his disposal as well. That she
had no skills nor any way to support herself had immediately raised the
possibility in his mind of employing her as a maid. Of course, Lara would
have raised a fit. At least, in her current frame of mind, she would. That
had made it necessary to change that frame of mind.
As his fingers explored more deeply, Betty began to unconsciously
moan and sway her hips. As his cock began swelling in his slacks, Tompkins
rose from the chair and began to push her clumsily forward.
"Bend forward and put your hands on the coffee table, bitch," he
growled. She readily complied, jutting her naked ass back at him. The man
unzipped his fly and drew out his cock and balls. Happily, he began rubbing
them back and forth across the offered pillows of pliant flesh. He grinned
to himself as Betty began to return the motion ... to alternate between
rubbing her shapely flesh back against his sensitive cock and trying to
raise herself up to capture it between her legs.
"Please. Mr. Tompkins," she moaned. "Please!"
"Please what, cunt?"
"Please." She sobbed in resignation. "Please put it in me.
Please fuck me!"
Chuckling, Bill Tompkins bent his knees slightly, slipped his
rampant erection under her ass, and found her sopping wet hole. 'This is
the way it should be,' he thought as he raised his hips and plunged it home.
'This is where all the bitches deserve to be. On their knees ... or bent
over with their nice, round, full asses sticking out, begging for their men
to plow their tight, slutty holes!'
As Betty sank her hips down to fully absorb him and moaned in
pleasure at the sensation of his cock filling her, he realized how much he'd
wanted this type of submission from his beautiful, young wife ... and
thought about how soon it would become reality.
+ + + + +
Lara remained distracted as she cleaned up her work area, placed
the completed contracts on her boss's desk, and took the elevator down to
the basement of the parking garage. She hadn't even noticed that she wasn't
alone until she approached her car, started fishing in her purse for her
keys, and heard a soft, feminine voice behind her.
"Mrs. Tompkins?"
Lara started in alarm and turned to see a pretty young woman
standing about ten feet from her. She relaxed as she saw that she was no
threat. She appeared to be Eurasian, slightly built, and was several inches
shorter than her own five foot, seven inches in height. Lara's brow
wrinkled as she tried to place her. She never heard the sound of the man
moving up behind her. She was about to ask the woman what she wanted when
suddenly an arm crossed her body from behind, trapping her hands to her
sides. Her purse dropped to the concrete floor and she opened her mouth to
scream. Before she could utter a sound, a hand with a cloth over it covered
her mouth. Instinctively she inhaled and smelled something ... something
chemical.
Her body twisted once as she tried to escape the clutching arm.
Then the whole garage seemed to tilt and twist. Her eyes were still on the
woman who'd accosted her. The last thing she remembered as she sank into
the support of the encompassing arm was the woman's oriental looking face
... placid ... accepting ... totally non-reactive to her distress.
+ + + + +
The man picked her up in his arms easily.
"Get her purse," he directed his companion. "Make sure you've got
everything that fell out of it, especially her car keys. I'll meet you back
at the farm."
He didn't look back as he carried the limp form to the back of the
van, put her inside, and got in himself and closed the door. He knew that
his companion knew what her duty was, and he knew she'd carry it out without
a thought of not complying. After arranging his victim face down on the
floor of the van, he dug through the cooler in the corner and extracted the
medical kit. Laying it be the woman's hip, he pulled her skirt up to her
waist. He would have had to have been made out of stone not to take a
moment to look at the sight stretched out before him. Lara's bikini panties
barely covered half of her asscheeks, and she wore a garter belt to hold up
her stockings. The pure white skin between her panties and her stockings
would have drawn the eye of a dead man.
'There'll be plenty of time to look at this back at the farm,' he
reminded himself as he tugged her panties down to her knees, tearing them in
the process. He filled the syringe half-way, holding it upright in one hand
while the other swabbed the an area of her ass with a disinfectant. As he
plunged the needle home, he felt his cock stir in his slacks. After putting
the instruments away, he couldn't resist taking a moment to sink his hands
into the soft flesh of her behind.
He grinned to himself as he thought just how pleasant this job was
going to be.
+ + + + +
Lara Tompkins awoke slowly. She was completely disoriented. She
remembered she was starting home, ready to begin a long anticipated
vacation. She had been in the parking garage. A woman had addressed her.
Then ... somehow everything from that point on was a blur. Now all she
could sense was that she was naked ... her wrists were bound in her back ...
a blindfold covered her eyes ... and the room she had awakened in seemed to
be a basement of some kind ... concrete walls and floor. As she'd struggled
to her feet and stumbled around, she'd found it to be bare of any kind of
furniture.
The man seated in the adjoining room licked his lips as he watched
her efforts on the closed circuit television. This one was a real beauty!
He watched for a half hour until it became obvious to the woman that her
cries for help were not going to be answered and she hunkered down quietly
in a corner to rest.
Lara started when she heard the door open. "Who are you?" she
asked in alarm. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"
The only response she received was the sound of footsteps
approaching her. She tried unsuccessfully to hunch herself back even
further in the corner. Then she felt her hair being gently stroked. She
tried jerking her head away from the intrusive hand, but the fingers wrapped
themselves in her long mane.
The man jerked on her luxurious hair, painfully pulling her out
from the corner and onto her knees. As he reached down with his other hand
to unzip the fly of his pants, he knew she'd hear the sound and recognize it
for what it was. He gently reached into the opening and extracted his
swelling organ.
"Open your mouth, baby," he said softly.
Frantically, Lara shook her head. Her reaction didn't disappoint
him; it was what he'd expected. Bending her head back by her hair, he
released his cock, placed the cattle prod at the the base of the front of
her neck, and turned it on.
"AIGHHHHH!" Her scream of agony rent the air so loudly it seemed
to echo off the rough walls of the dungeon.
"Open your mouth, baby," he repeated. This time, she didn't
respond at all. She was gasping for breath, completely shocked at the
intense pain ... at suddenly finding her well protected life stripped from
her ... at the unbelievable nature of her current predicament.
He placed the tip of the prod immediately beneath the nipple of
her right tit. Before she could react, he turned it on again.
"Oh, SHIT!" she cried. "Oh, FUCK! It hurts. It hurts so much!
Please stop! Please ... DON'T!"
"Open your mouth, baby." This time his tone was just slightly
more insistent.
"Oh God," she sobbed. "Please don't. I don't do that. I CAN'T
do that!"
This time he placed the prod in the groove between her belly and
her thigh and prodded it around a bit. Lara bit her lower lip, praying that
he'd relent ... that he would spare her any more pain. Instead, her
tormentor pressed the tip firmly into the tender spot and turned it on.
This time her left it on for a full fifteen seconds. The woman's screams
were almost deafening.
"You have to understand, my dear," he intoned softly, "that I can
keep this up all day. Sooner or later, you're going to give up, and I
suggest you spare yourself any more pain."
Lara was unable to speak through her sobs, but by now she was
terrified. Not only had the pain been excruciating, but the proximity of
the tip had caused an unfamiliar and unwelcome tingling in her pussy.
Swallowing convulsively, she straightened up and opened her mouth.
The man smiled, took his hard cock in hand and placed the tip
between her lips. With one hand now on the back of her head to steady it,
he slipped the first three inches into her warm, wet mouth. "Now ... suck
it!" he commanded. As the young woman did her best to comply with his
perverse direction, he dropped the prod, put his other hand on her head as
well, and began slowly fucking her beautiful face. "Press your tongue up
hard against the bottom of it, slut. Ohhhhh ... that's the way! You're
going to be a good, little cocksucker!"
He let her have several minutes to adjust to the indignity he was
putting her through. Then he grabbed her head hard and brutally shoved the
full length of his erection into her gaping maw. Lara choked. She shrugged
her shoulders as if instinctively trying to bring her bound hands up to ward
off his body, but he was enjoying the feel of her gagging too much to
relent. The head of his cock was now firmly embedded in the tight
constriction at the top of her throat. He watched dispassionately as her
face turned gray. It was only when the gray started to fade to blue that he
withdrew a few inches, giving her a chance to take one deep breath, before
he began fucking brutally in and out.
The young woman's tormentor enjoyed the sound of the gagging as
much as the sensation of her wet oral tissues on his cock. After just a few
minutes, he found he couldn't hold back any more. He groaned out loudly as
his gummy load spurted directly down into the bound woman's open throat.
When he was done, he withdrew his organ, noting the string of mixed cum and
saliva that connected it to her gasping mouth. Then he visited one last
indignity on her. Taking a handful of her long tresses, he used them to
clean his now shrinking dick.
Then, without saying so much as a word, he turned and exited the
room, leaving his young victim kneeling on the concrete floor, sobbing.
+ + + + +
Bill Tompkins relaxed in the first class seat of the airplane that
was winging its way toward the Bahamas. His mind was clear and happy. He'd
checked with his contractor on the phone before departure, and everything
was going precisely as he'd been promised. Even better, in a sense. The
black stewardess with the cute French accent who served him and Betty had
been especially attentive and each time she'd inquired about what he wanted,
she'd pressed her her leg up against his shoulder. He'd learned the young
stewardess' name -- it was Dominique DeFeur -- and that she'd come from the
Caribbean island of St Martens.
He knew he was generally attractive to the opposite sex, but he
was every bit as aware that receiving such blatant attention from a female
while in the presence of another was a unique experience. He strongly
suspected it had something to do with something he was projecting; something
to do with the changes his life was undergoing. At any rate, he found he
enjoyed it.
He reached across and slowly raised the hem of Betty's skirt
almost to her crotch. "When that fucking stew comes back," he whispered to
her, "I want those legs of yours spread as wide as you can get them."
"Please, Bill," she whispered back. "Don't make me do that.
She'll think I'm a ..."
He pinched the inside of her thigh painfully. "She'll think
you're a whore, bitch! And she'll be right! That's all you are. You're my
new maid, and you're my new whore!" She cast her eyes down and bit her
lower lips, but as he pressed the call button for the stewardess, she spread
her knees.
When the negress arrived, she immediately looked down at his
companion's open. bare legs and smiled at Bill. She actually dropped to one
knee beside him and whispered in his ear, "Your wife has very attractive
legs, sir."
"She's not my wife," he responded conversationally. "She's just a
cheap slut I'm taking to the Bahamas." Turning to Betty, he whispered,
"Pull your skirt up higher, bitch. Let the nice woman really see you."
Betty blushed, but she raised the hem of her skirt even further.
The stew watched her until she actually saw that the young woman wore no
panties and had shaved her pussy. Then she squeezed Bill's shoulder,
smiled, and asked him, "And where are the two of you staying?"
+ + + + +
Lara had sobbed herself to sleep on the rough, cold floor. She
awoke stiff, hungry, terribly thirsty. But what was the worst was a less
direct, less rational feeling. It had something to do with the fact that
nothing in her life had prepared her fort this type of treatment. Since her
childhood, she'd been pampered, praised for her outstanding beauty, courted
with consideration by every man who'd ever been interested in her. And that
had included virtually every man she'd ever met. But the man who'd used her
mouth had done so as if she were a slave -- worse than a slave -- more like
she were a piece of furniture, designed and created for his own selfish
exploitation.
This time she almost panicked when the door opened again. She
crawled back into a corner and began whimpering, "No. No. Not again!
Please, don't!"
The footsteps crossing the room toward her were different. And
when a hand grasped her blindfold and pulled it off, the room was dim enough
that she wasn't blinded, but could see that the intruder this time was a
woman. She was several years older than Lara, and about thirty pounds
heavier. And there was no sympathy in her expression.
"Get up," she ordered brusquely.
"Why? Where are we going?"
The woman's frown was more one of resignation than of sadness.
She grabbed a handful of Lara's hair and dragged her to her feet, showing a
surprising amount of strength.
"Listen, bitch," she said. "Sooner or later you'll find out that,
around here, you do what you're told, when you're told!" She yanked the
handful of hair back painfully. "Understand?"
"Ye ... yes."
"Good!" Her grasp propelled Lara toward the doorway. Her hands
still bound behind her, Lara didn't even consider resisting. They entered a
corridor and turned left. As they passed another doorway, this one open,
Lara looked inside and stopped in shock. The woman who'd accosted her in
the garage lay face down, naked on a massage table. Her head rested on her
folded arms, her eyes were closed and her face was turned toward the door.
A woman stood by her head, gently massaging her shoulders. But it was the
third woman who captured Lara's attention.
She knelt at the foot of the table. Her hands gripped the
Eurasian's buttocks and held them apart. Her face was deeply buried between
the mounds of flesh. The way her head moved up and down made it clear she
was licking out the prone woman's asscrack. The woman being so carefully
attended to smiled beatifically, as if thoroughly enjoying the servile
lingual service being paid to her taut, firm behind.
Lara's guide noticed her charge's shocked attention. "Don't worry
about it, baby," she laughed. "In a few days, you'll be on those cute knees
of yours, begging to be allowed to eat ass!"
She put her hand back in Lara's back and propelled her forward
through the next door. It looked like a kind of primitive bathroom, with an
backless commode in the middle of the floor and an open shower in one
corner.
"Be a good girl and take a crap and a piss, slut," the woman said
as she released Lara's wrists. "Then wash yourself nice. There are some
men who want to meet you, and you want to be smelling all girly and dainty
for them, don't you?"
Lara shuddered, but she realized that she did need to relieve
herself. She stood next to the commode and waited for the woman to leave
... to close the door. Instead her guide leaned against the door jamb,
crossed her arms in front of herself, and grinned at the discomfited young
woman. Sighing, Lara squatted over the stool. As she released her bladder,
she thought back to the girl she'd just seen with her face buried in
another's ass. She remembered what this woman had said about her own
future, and she wondered ...
+ + + + +
The stewardess looked even more stunning clad only in her white
bra and panties, Bill decided as he watched her standing next to the bed in
the hotel room. In bare feet rather than the two inch heels she'd worn on
the plane, she was a bit shorter than he'd remembered, and her body carried
about ten pounds above her ideal weight, but that only caused a few
interesting bulges where her boobs bulged out of the cups of her bra and the
leg holes of her bikini panties cut into her soft, brown flesh.
She'd called as soon as they'd checked in and had simply announced
that she was coming over to see them. When she'd arrived, she'd not been
surprised to find Betty lying naked on the bed, and had quickly shed the
stewardess uniform she'd still been wearing. As she sipped the drink he'd
handed her, his only disappointment was that her eyes seemed more drawn to
Betty that they were to him. His traveling companion had originally
regarded the young negress with fear, then had turned on her side to face
away from her, evidently trying to ignore her presence.
"Do you prefer girls to men?" he asked her as he crossed the room
and put his arm around his self-invited guest's waist. She snuggled nicely
in the crook of his arm, looked up at him and smiled.
"Not really. At least, I don't think so. You see ... well, I was
brought up in a Catholic orphanage on St. Marten. I was always getting into
trouble. The nuns ... all of them white women from the mainland ... well,
their punishments could be quite ... how you say, viscous?" When he nodded,
she continued. "Once when i was just beginning to develop," she looked down
at her own bulging breasts, "... Sister Angela called me into her room to
punish me. She told me she'd have to use her whip. But she offered me a
chance to ... to make up for what I had done."
Bill smiled and slipped his hand down to caress the lower slope of
her ass where it protruded from her panties. When he squeezed, she merely
wiggled her ass against his fingers.
"She probably had some ... unique? ... ideas for how you could
avoid the whip?" he asked.
"Yes," she smiled up at him. "She took me by the hand and led me
to a chair. She left me standing there in front of her while she sat down.
I knew what she wanted when she raised the hem of her habit. Especially
when she spread her legs and I could see she had no panties on. I'd never
done it, but other girls had whispered to me of such things. I didn't want
the whip, so I knelt in front of her. And I didn't resist when her hands
took my head and guided my face to her pussy."
The mental image of this dark-skinned girl, young enough to be
barely developed, kneeling in front of an older white woman, her face under
the dark habit, her mouth lapping at a hairy, white pussy, caused Bill's
cock to grow. He pulled the stewardess to him and kissed her dark, full
lips. "Have you ever had it done to you?"
"Not by a white woman," she smiled up to him. "And I've always
wondered what it would be like." She slipped from his arms and sat in the
chair next to the bed. Still smiling, she set her drink down, raised her
hips, and slipped her panties off. Blatantly spreading her legs, she let
him feast his eyes on the bush of kinky black hair that grew along her belly
and the shiny, pink lips that showed through the forest. Then she slid her
hand down between her thighs and began openly stroking herself.
"Betty!" The woman on the bed jumped at the tone of his voice.
"Get out of that bed!"
The young woman looked at him with fear in her eyes. "No. Bill.
Please," she whined.
Bill reached a hand back and slapped her face hard. "I told you
to get your fat ass out of bed!"
Whimpering, the young woman complied. She stood next to him and
pled in her best little girl voice. "Please, Bill. I've never done
anything like this. Please don't make me."
Tompkins drew back his hand and slapped her face again. This time
the inside of her cheek was cut against her own teeth. A drop of blood was
visible at the corner of her mouth. "I told you to move, dammit! Now, get
down on your fucking knees and crawl over to her!"
Sobbing quietly, Betty dropped to her knees, put her hands on the
floor, and crawled slowly over to the chair where Dominique sat smiling
happily. Bill licked his lips as he watched her shapely ass swaying gently
from side to side. He visualized his wife Lara in this position ... doing
this. The very thought was enough to make his cock start to swell even
larger in his pants.
His little white slut reached the point she knelt between the
black woman's widely spread legs and stopped. She looked back over her
shoulder one more time, her expression pleading for a reprieve. When she
saw no mercy there, she leaned forward and kissed the inside of a
dark-skinned knee. As Tompkins watched her tongue trail slowly upward,
leaving a shiny, wet track along the brown flesh, he opened his fly, took
out his cock, and began stroking it.
He would have had the patience to watch this for some time, but
Dominique did not. When the tongue slowed at it neared her crotch, she used
the fingers of one hand to hold her labial lips wide, while the other
entangled itself in Betty's hair. Brutally, she yanked the tear-stained
face up into her own, weeping pussy.
"Oh, yes!" she moaned as she threw her head back and closed her
eyes. "Oh, God, yes! Eat that black cunt, you little whore. You know how
you like to be eaten, bitch! Now ... do it for me! Eat my cunt like that!"
Tompkins felt his cock swelling in his pants as he watched. The
scene struck him as erotic as anything he'd ever seen. Even the sound of
Betty gobbling the negress' crotch got to him. The way her white ass
wriggled as she dug in was especially appealing. He unzipped his fly and
drew out his hardening organ. He started to move behind her, ready to drop
to his knees and take her.
But Dominique had other plans. She grinned at him and gestured
him forward to her. "Bring that meat to baby, honey," she crooned happily.
"See my lips, honey?" She licked them, the tip of her soft, pink tongue
making them glisten. "See how soft and thick they are? Let me show you
what I've learned to do with them."
It was an offer too attractive to pass up. Bill stood next to
her, his hand reaching down to stroke her thick, straight mane of black
hair. "Have you ever been blown by a nigger woman, baby?" she asked. Her
question triggered his memory of the one event in his past. He had been at
college. One of his friends had been black. Bill tried unsuccessfully to
remember the guy's girl friend's name. All he remembered was that she'd
found her boy friend playing with a rather overweight white girl. She'd
decided on a unique form of revenge. She'd invited Bill out for a drive.
She'd stopped at a deserted point in the country and invited him into the
back seat. There she'd stripped to the waist and invited him to play with
her breasts to his heart's content. She'd only stopped him when he'd tried
to insert his hand beneath her skirt. Instead, she'd pushed him back,
pulled off his pants, and treated him to the longest, wettest, sweetest
blow-job he'd ever experienced.
Dominique didn't wait for an answer. She used her white-painted
nails to softly scratch the wrinkled skin of his scrotal sac. "Don't stop,
cunt," she growled at Betty as the white woman slowed in her efforts at her
crotch to watch her work on her man's meat. She raised her legs and put
them over Betty's back. As she squeezed them tight around the poor girl's
head, she shrieked, "I told you to eat my cunt and that means eat it!" When
the kneeling woman started slurping again, she began levering her wet crotch
up and down across her face, stuck out her tongue and licked slowly up the
length of the man's dick.
"I learned more than eating pussy at that school, you know," she
smiled up at him. I knew what I was doing was a sin. And I had to confess
it." She kissed the tip of his cock softly. "The priests ... well ... they
had some very original ideas of a proper penance."
The whole scene was too erotic for Bill to wait any longer. He
put his hand on the back of Dominique's head to steady it and slipped the
first four inches of cockmeat into her willing mouth. The young negress
didn't object. Instead, she began working her tongue back and forth across
the sensitive underside.
Bill groaned as he looked down at Betty's face, now soaked with
pussy juice. He pictured Lara in her place ... his wife's haughty,
beautiful face buried in the dark thigh flesh being squeezed out on either
side, in place of the cute face of this natural submissive woman. As he
began slowly fucking in and out, he wondered about his sexy wife ... how and
what she was going through.
To be continued ....
_________________________________________________________________