The Naughty Collection

by Ruby City Books

  I began to work my wrists up against each throbbing prick, grinding fiercely as I pumped the warm, loose skin of their shafts back, forth, back, forth, back, forth, stretching the skin up to around their engorged purple tips, and then yanking it taut back down to around their bases, picking up speed as I slapped and pounded my grip against their pelvises, and sticky, streaming currents of jizz beginning to flow along their boners in tandem, so that my masturbatory efforts began to produce a steady, sexy squelching sound as I pumped and pumped and pumped. What was more, on frequent occasions when I yanked the skin back all the way to their bases, the men's erect cocks happened to touch tips from the force of my thrust, their pre-ejaculate mingling and banding out pleasantly from tip to tip, a sight which turned me on beyond the limits of what you can even begin to fathom.

  Unable to contain myself for much longer, I opened my jaws wide, doing my damnedest to suppress my gag reflex as I downed the cock of Billy the Boy whole, feeling it touch down against the back of my throat before pulling back off of him again, and switching over to my husband. Mind you, I'd never gone about sucking Wayne's penis before, thinking in the past that this would be way too sexy of a trick to indulge upon him, but I guess being in Billy the Boy's presence loosened up something in him, because I gobbled him up just as readily, my lips stretching a bit further to compensate for his incredible girth, without even a hint of protest on the behalf of my heretofore prudish and unsexual husband...

  I was experiencing none of the awkwardness or difficulty I had faced during the giving of my first head, and presently I went about sucking the two men's cocks like an absolute fucking boss, working my head into an intense, rhythmic bob up against the two men's receptive, distracted bodies, slamming my head into them with such force that I thought I might give myself a concussion. Back and forth and back and forth I swapped between the two of them, grunting and squealing like a fucking pig as I proceeded to drench my face with my own oral fluids, surely humiliating myself, and this same shame, this willing to be these two men's collective cumdumpster going a long, long way in turning me on even further.

  At last, after some time of this and a final swallow of each man's cock, I pulled them out of me, and continued on with masturbating them both furiously, both men occasionally taking control of their own weaponry and smacking their wet hard cocks up against the sides of my face, playing my hollow cheeks like a fucking bongo drum.

  And finally, each man held taut the skin of his shaft, mutually arriving at climax and nearly the precise same instant. Their cocks throbbed and bounced and exploded, and I, with my mouth wide open, received their loads readily. Their cum pulsed all over me, flashing across my cheeks, splooging up into my nostrils, tangling into my eyelashes and my hair, and a considerable percentage of the hot, tangy, nasty stuff landing squarely in the center of my tongue.

  Christ, how I loved it, smacking my lips as though I'd just had the pleasure of eating the tastiest meal of my life, and dabbing just enough of the gnarly stuff from my eyes with my hand to be able to see straight.

  I was proving myself a very, very naughty pregnant cowgirl, and the next thing I knew I was being treated in perfect accordance with the extent of my misdeeds.

  The two of them swept me into the office's vacant jail cell, and the door was slammed shut behind the three of us, locking us in, in a most erotic turn of events if I do say so myself.

  The two men melted from the fabric of the remainder of their clothes, peeling it from their bodies and tossing the articles heedlessly to the floor, kicking them to the side and leaving me in sheer awe of their glorious naked bodies when paired side by side- mind you, I had never fully seen my husband all the way undressed... They were absolutely immaculate, like gods standing their with their agonizing muscles and their long, veiny cocks, which were, mind you, instantly erect and ready for more, and more I was certainly prepared to give them.

  The two men proceeded to touch one another for a few moments, seizing one another's penises and turning me on like hell as they explored the previously untrodden grounds of male on male sexuality. This turned me on like all hell, mind you, but promptly enough their attentions had returned to yours truly, and I was about to find myself granted the fullest and most thorough gratification of my fucking life...

  The two men undressed me, effortlessly stripping me down to my tight white panties, and then pulling these down to around my ankles, at which point I stepped out of them, and allowed them to gaze in awe at my naked, pregnant body. The two men seemed positively enamored by my swollen, child-filled stomach, mesmerized by enormous, milk-flushed titties, my nipples perverse, dark brown parodies of their usual selves, so large, so pointed, and so damn sharp that one of them might have poked their eyes out on the thing if they weren't being careful and ended up getting too close.

  They closed in on me, positively ravishing my nude form, their hot, sweaty bodies conforming to the contours of my own to the extent that such an action was possible, their hands on my titties, squeezing hard on the immense nipples, liquid, molten kisses oozing along my body from both the front and the back, Billy the Boy grinding his cock against the sweaty crack of my ass behind me, squeezing my buttock tightly, and letting me know just precisely what it was he had in mind for me...

  Suddenly, I found myself being handcuffed to the bars of the jail cell, my body facing the bars and my spine arching to compensate for the odd angle. My swollen tits hung low from the force of gravity and my back hurt from the strenuous position, and pain surged through my scalp as my husband seized a brusque handful of my hair, and stuck his throbbing, aroused cock as far into my pussy as he could manage it.

  I moaned, and he began to fuck me hard, harder than he had ever done, I soon realized, my arms buckling repeatedly against the bars of the cell as his body sprang in and out, in and out, in and out of me. I turned around to face him, then, hoping to acknowledge this fact with a lusty smile, and let me tell you that what I saw next nearly knocked the wind out of me.

  Standing behind him, Billy the Boy was anally fucking my husband while Wayne himself fucked me, the force of Billy's thrusts smashing Wayne's own cock at the rate at which it was currently stuttering into my body. Wayne's face looked as though it was about to implode upon itself, the look of agony in his expression quite the thing to behold, and the confident motion of Billy as he butt-fucked him, hand on his head and fingers curled into his waist, turning me on like a motherfucker as my pregnant pussy continued to be pounded relentlessly.

  Finally, my body was lowered, face down, toward the floor of the cell, and after pooping out Billy's cock Wayne crept in beneath me, his cock still blazing fiercely, and ready to slice me in two up the gash. With tender care, I squatted down on top of him, lowering my body onto him and moaning as he curved even deeper into my pussy than before, the slight torment of my handcuffed arms held strenuously over my head filling me with incredible pleasure. And then, amplifying matters even further, Billy, at last, climbed on top of the pile, mounting me, and penetrating me anally. I struggled to breathe, to see straight as Billy's long blade pierced its way into my rectum, grinding up against Wayne's cock through the layers of my body, and turning me on like hell.

  And the two men then proceeded to screw my fucking lights out...

  Pushing, pumping, writhing atop and beneath me, they wriggled and gyrated and fucked their naked bodies into my own, our genitals a spectacular triad of wet, squelching bliss, clapping wildly together with the repeated force of their blows, and the sweet, liquid motion almost unbearable as they fucked and fucked and fucked me... Their penises kept accidentally popping out of my pregnant body, making me feel as though my body was just so damn full that it could scarcely contain even another additional ounce of flesh. But the instant they put themselves back inside me they then proceeded to redouble the force of their pounding, and before long I was absolute fucking putty in their hands.

  It had, thank God, turned out to be a shootout of quite a different nature than the viol
ent affair that had almost unfolded before the public in the town square, as each fully loaded penis began to ejaculate fiercely into my body, pulse after pulse of their hot sticky ammo coursing through my wet, overloaded orifices in such thickness and abundance that it began to spill back out of me almost instantly, dripping onto each man's still-grinding, throbbing cock.

  Crippling orgasm began to rage through my body, of a more intense variety than I had ever before experienced given that my pregnancy had engorged all of the appropriate sensitive bits, and I found myself screaming like a goddamn banshee with pleasure, my nude, handcuffed body shaking so hard that the restraints began to dig into my wrists, and the dual penetration of these two sexy studs suddenly feeling like the most wonderful thing in the world.

  No matter whose baby it turned out to be, I knew I could rest assured that, either way, I was in very competent hands in terms of having someone to help me raise it. This triadic, unconventional solution might just prove itself the most durable family unit in the entire wild wet west...

  THE END

  Dark Temptation (Book #3)

  Chapter One

  Tom tried Shana's phone again, opting not to leave a fourth voicemail. Words for a new message evaded him. He turned on the television and caught an Adam Sandler movie. It tickled him when Kevin James' character accidentally stapled his scrotum to a Snuggie, forcing him to wear the Snuggie on a hot date because he didn't have time to pry out the staple. “Man that's fucking rich,” said Tom to no one. Tom cracked open a Keystone Light. Tom tugged it to the thought of one of the motel cleaning women, who was kind of flat chested but had an ass that looked absolutely swollen. He finished within 90 seconds of starting. In the sadness that typically colored his post-orgasm deflation, Tom texted his fiancee again.

  Tom more or less wouldn't leave his hotel room today, because he was convinced that Cleveland, with its boarded up houses, rusted-over warehouses and derelict bars and torn up pavement, was a tremendously dangerous place.

  Shana hadn't been picking up her phone because she left it on silent all day. The state she was in could be diagnosed as schizophrenia if she were to experience for a long enough period of time. Half of her being was possessed by her infatuation for Baker, drunk on his sensual affection. The other half was consumed by worry: for her vanished nephew, for her sister and brother-in-law suffering through the ordeal, and for herself over Tom being the same city as she was right now. Reading did not quell Shana. Eating did not calm her. The television was just spouting information which evaded her attention completely.

  As she had taken to doing the past few days, Shana walked. She wouldn't be able to tell you where she wandered, drifting through the city streets like some ghost obsessed with its own unfinished business. When she found herself standing outside of a 7-Eleven in Lakewood, she was confounded by the number of miles she must have walked to get to this point. She found herself outside of a 7-Eleven in Lakewood because there she witnessed a man having a seizure on the pavement.

  Some instinct rose from a place inside of her which she was not aware of, some knowledge was remembered which she never learned in the first place. When she saw the man seizing on the Lakewood pavement - chunky black blood streaming from his nose and nylon track jacket tearing against the rough concrete, she grabbed a nail file from her purse and stuck in the man's mouth, depressing his tongue so that he wouldn't swallow it.

  Shana screamed to a passerby to help hold down the man's shoulders, but before the passerby could make it over, the seizing man flailed his arms and smacked Shana in the face. She managed to keep the nail file on his tongue, but her eye socket throbbed.

  The passerby was brawny and had no hair on his head whatsoever, not even eyebrows. If not for his leathery skin, his face would have bore an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Clean. He was not the leanest man in the world, but his arm's skin was pulled taught across bulky muscles, conforming to all sorts of unusual contours. Then again, Shana didn't ogle buff men all that often, so she wouldn't quite know the shapes that bone and muscles were supposed to make.

  After a couple of minutes, the man on the ground stopped seizing. After agreement through some telepathic link, Shana took the nail file out of his mouth and took out her phone to call 911 as Mr. Clean held down the man for safety. It was then that she noticed 14 missed calls and 6 text messages, all from Tom. She relished the fact that she was about to talk to call in an emergency instead of calling back the dolt.

  It amazed Shana how bored 911 operators always sounded. This specific one, Deb, kept telling Shana to keep calm even though Shana didn't think she sounded particularly distressed. Perhaps there was a note of disquiet in her voice when she noticed that Mr. Clean was still applying a great amount of pressure to the victim's shoulders. Shana leaned away from the phone.

  “I think you can let go,” she said.

  “What was that ma'am?” replied the operator, “You think I can let go of what?”

  “No I wasn't talking to you.”

  “Ma'am, the briefer we keep this conversation, the quicker an ambulance can get there. And I've got nothing to let go of, let me tell you.”

  Shana did not appreciate being called “ma'am.” While trying to ascertain the two-streets that made up the intersection where the 7-Eleven sat, Shana became more aware of her surroundings, and in turn Mr. Clean's tattoos. They were a series of strange glyphs: a pentagram on the right bicep, ram's head on the right, some text written backwards in Latin along his clavicle, an upside down crucifix behind his ear.

  Mr. Clean was courteous enough, just curt. When the EMTs showed up he provided little personal information. The EMTs rifled through the man's wallet looking for ID, and one of them attempted to pocket the cash. Mr. Clean caught this and started taking video on his phone as quickly as he could.

  “If you return the cash and put that wallet back in his pocket, I'll delete this video right now.”

  The EMT was mortified of Mr. Clean, the video, and the pentagram inked into his skin. You could see sunlight shimmer in the sweat that his skinny fingers left on the ten-dollar bill. As he slipped the wallet into the man's back pocket, the seized man groaned. “Ok, Mister?” asked the EMT.

  Mr. Clean fiddled with his phone and chuckled to himself. “Nah, I'm going to keep this video anyway. No telling when it could come in handy.” Shana corroborated.

  The man started to come to as the EMTs loaded him into the ambulance via gurney. He spit up that chunky black blood and it dribbled down his jaw.

  Shana looked toward Mr. Clean. “Do you know Baker?”

  He may have been caught off guard but his stony face didn't show it. “Yes.”

  “When's the last time he turned a woman?”

  Mr. Clean broke eye contact to stand. “Why do you care?” The flash of jealousy in Shana's face was all the answer that he needed. “Take my advice and stay away from Lake View Cemetery. These days the mortals that hang around that place are a lot more dangerous than the blood suckers.”

  With not so much as a goodbye, Mr. Clean started off.

  “I was chased,” Shana yelped when he was about a dozen steps away. Mr. Clean stopped but he did not turn around. His knee lifted to move him forward. “I was chased by some man, some man with a hobble. He broke the window of my car with an ice pick.”

  This got Mr. Clean to turn around, but he did not walk towards Shana. Shana approached him.

  “God knows where he wanted to stick that icepick, but I was done for.”

  Mr. Clean turned to give her a dead-eyed stare. One of his biceps twitched involuntarily. “You will stay away from Lake View Cemetery.”

  There was zero commitment on Shana's part. Just questions. “Do you know the man? His fingers were like little stubs. It's like he was missing parts of them, digits.”

  “Tiny sacrifice. Parts of bodies at a time. You don't want to know who, or rather what, they're worshipping. You don't.”

  “Do they kill people?”

  “Not at first, no. So
metimes the people die from the mutilations, sometimes they are killed because they try to escape.”

  Shana’s face was red hot and there was a three-pound stone in her chest. She hesitated a beat too long, but Mr. Clean waited. “Do they take children?”

  “No. Not often. Sometimes.” It was at this moment that Shana lost all the strength she conjured to save the seizing man, that she broke through her malaise of lust for the vampire. It was at this moment that Shana bawled. Mr. Clean did something expected for a musclebound, stoic man covered in glyphs. He hugged this strange woman that he met through chance alone.

  This was not a woman in good shape. The tears streaming out of her eyes lent a slick shimmer to the bruise forming around her eye where the seizing man had hit her. Her muscles loosened, human Shana morphing into a rag doll Shana. “My nephew... He's been gone since yesterday.” Mr. Clean rubbed her back with one hand and pressed her against him with the other.

  After a few minutes, “How familiar are you with the teachings of Anton LaVey, the Church of Satan?”

  Shana through tears and sniffles, “Satan? I've never worshipped Satan.”

  “I have not worshipped in the church since a hack neo-nazi took it over, but I still practice the teachings of LaVey. I will help you,” he paused as if to say a name, his way of asking for hers. She lent it. “I will help you Shana, on the principal of Satanic virtue.”

  Through her tears, a terror.

  Mr. Clean gave a hearty laugh at this. “Satanic virtue, LaVey's interpretation of lex talionis, states 'do unto others as they do unto you.'” He paused to see if Shana caught his drift. Her face said that she barely had. “You guided me to save a man's life today. I will guide you to saving your nephew.”

  Nothing made sense. Entrusting her nephew's well-being with a Satanist seemed like a bad move. But there was not much for anyone to lose in the proposition.