by Selena Kitt
She wished she could speak, if only to urge him on. She wanted to feel his seed inside her. She was still young enough. Maybe she could even bear another child.
“Oh, fuck, yeah!”
Adam’s eyes rolled back and his fingers clenched in her soft ass. He thrust deeply inside her and she felt his cock pulse as he pumped out wave after wave of hot cum, filling her to the brim and spilling down her thighs. More dribbled down as he pulled out of her, stepping back.
Immediately another young man moved in to replace him, a roguish Latino guy with a slender build and tattoos on his arms. He slid inside her and immediately started to fuck her, leaving her no time to even catch her breath.
Damon moved closer beside her, still stroking his massive black cock. “Suck it,” he instructed.
She turned her head and he shoved his fat member through her mouth, held wide by the gag. Drool spilled down her open mouth to the floor.
The other guys moved in closer, jerking off over her as she bounced on the sex swing.
The Latino guy tensed and squeezed her massive breasts as he came—another huge load inside her. Already the cum was overflowing out of her sore pussy, dripping down her curvy thighs and spattering the hardwood floor beneath the swing.
The next guy moved in, and then the next.
As time slipped away into blissful oblivion, she became less and less aware of who was between her legs, who was fucking her throat. All she knew was the sweet, sore ache growing inside her. It was a transforming experience. She’d never felt so perfectly fulfilled and totally degraded at the same time. This was how a woman was supposed to feel, she thought. Submissive, helpless, yearning only to please these rugged, alpha men.
She felt more and more bitter toward her husband with every moment, for only now did she know what real satisfaction meant. The bitterness fueled her lust. She rocked her hips, fucking back and moaning.
The orgasm building inside her broke like a sudden storm, wracking her bound, suspended body. She felt a pulse of heat and a gush of fresh wetness, pumping out with each thrust of the anonymous cock inside her. Her orgasms came like dominos, one after another. First she was coming in sync with each man; then she was coming constantly, her gushing pussy leaking onto the floor, forming a puddle beneath the swing.
Finally, Damon moved in last with his handsome smile. “Now that you’re all loosened up for me,” he whispered. “I hope you’re ready.”
Squeezing her tits—hard—he slid his huge black cock inside her. With little preamble he started fucking her, hardest of all. His hands explored her trapped and helpless body. Her pussy pulsed and throbbed around him.
“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?”
His deep, calm command brought her over the edge. The whole world seemed to white out as the most powerful orgasm yet—maybe ever—exploded from her core, spreading warmth through her trembling limbs. She screamed through the gag as a hot gush pulsed out of her over Damon’s cock.
“Oh, yeah!” Damon groaned.
She felt his cock erupt as he came inside her, seeming to pump and pulse with endless spurts of hot semen. Finally he sagged down on top of her on the swaying swing, kissing her and holding her close as they both caught their breath. When he pulled out, a great gush of cum spilled from Kelly’s gaping pussy, adding to the puddle on the floor.
Stepping up beside her, Damon took the gag from her mouth at last and she closed her sore jaw. Then he released her from the sex swing, helping her to her feet. Her shaking legs immediately gave out beneath her. She collapsed into her own puddle, a dozen massive loads still dribbling down her inner thighs in thick white gobs.
Someone handed her a towel. Dazed and dumbfounded after the epic series of orgasms, Kelly slowly wiped the drool and cum from her face and breasts, then started dabbing up the mess between her thighs.
“Well.” Damon checked a gold pocket watch by his discarded suit, and looked up with a smile. “Good timing, gang. Exactly one hour.” Stooping naked over his clothes, he fished out an alligator-skin checkbook and wrote a quick check, ripping it out and handing it to Kelly. “Here you go. Ten million, as promised.”
She looked at the check, confused. “From the Billionaire Gang Foundation?”
Damon smiled. “That’s our organization. A philanthropic cause, to improve the lives of select women who exhibit the right combination of need, talent, and drive. You’ve proven yourself to be just such a woman.” He tilted his head. “How would you like to work for us full-time?”
Kelly blinked up at him, confused. Damon started to get dressed, continuing, “You would have every need met. We can make your wildest dreams come true. You’ll fly with us on our private jets, escort us on high-powered business and political trips, and whenever we have the slightest need, you’ll service us until we get release.”
Kelly swallowed. Her throat felt rough and raw after deep throating so many cocks. “You mean… you want me to leave my husband?”
Damon shrugged. “I didn’t say that. I don’t care if you’re married. Around here, that sort of thing is don’t ask, don’t tell.” Some of the other guys laughed with him. “Your husband’s not a factor to us. This is your decision.”
She chewed her lip. “Can I think about it?”
He smiled. “You’d better, but don’t take too long. What can I say? We like filling openings.”
Kelly laughed. “How will I meet you again?”
“Oh, we’ll be in touch. But I’d like to see you here in the club again. Here’s a tip.” He held out a wad of cash. “For cab fare. New panties. Whatever.”
She nodded vigorously. She finished cleaning herself up, gathered her things, and got dressed. Her legs were still a little weak, but by the time she’d finished crossing the long hallway back to the front of the nightclub, she was walking taller than ever.
Her husband Joe and Ted were waiting for her, while—to Kelly’s vague satisfaction—Ted’s airheaded wife Melinda sat bored and ignored at the bar.
Kelly brushed off the angry questions.
“Where've you been?” Joe demanded.
“Oh, I was just in the bathroom.”
“For an hour?”
“Yeah. Oh, then some of the owners wanted to talk to me. You know, the billionaires.”
That really made their eyes pop, and Kelly felt a fresh little spasm of pleasure inside at their reaction. She was in control, now.
“What's the matter?” she asked innocently. “You’re not jealous, are you? Although, you’d have every right to be! You would not believe these guys. They were like gods. Seriously. Greek gods. And they sure know how to talk your ear off.”
And fuck your ass off.
“Anyway, I'm really tired,” she said, getting her purse. “I think I'm ready to call it a night, guys.”
“Huh? What about the wife swap?” Ted protested.
“Oh, I'm too tired,” said Kelly. “Really, I’m beat. Those guys really did a number on me. Maybe some other time? Joe, you can take me home now. Or, I can get a cab…”
She took out the wad of cash Damon had given her—easily ten thousand dollars. With that and a check for ten million in her pocket, she didn't need to worry about money, or much of anything, ever again.
Their dumbfounded expressions pleased her even more—so much so that she couldn't tell whether the fresh moisture in her panties was cum, still dribbling out of her, or a fresh wave of wetness. Her pussy was still aching from the pounding the Billionaire Gang had given her. She could almost feel their cocks still inside her. She had a feeling she’d remember it for some time.
Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have to settle for remembering it.
As she stepped out into the street, the other three struggled to follow, seemingly at a loss for words. Kelly turned to look at them, and saw the camera above the door of the nightclub. She was sure Damon was watching her there, seeing her off. She winked at the camera, then looked back at her husband and his friends.
“So
rry, guys,” she said, starting to smile. “I have an idea! I had so much fun tonight. Why don't we come back tomorrow?”
The End
About the Author
Based in NYC, Sharon is a twenty-something author of steamy menage and group erotica. She has an office job by day and spends her time dreaming up scenes and stories that would blow her coworkers’ minds if they knew! Featuring curvy, lovable heroines and the hot alpha heroes who share them, Sharon’s stories are sure to heat up your e-reader.
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Coffee Shop Girl by Molly Synthia
Coffee Shop Girl by Molly Synthia
As I sat and watched the kids clicking on their keyboards or their mice, enraptured by the opportunity to take advantage of the coffee shop’s free Wi-Fi access after days of travel in the RV, I breathed a sigh of relief as the telltale signs of calm descended over them. Arizona, our third state in as many weeks, and the last stretch had been long on the travel and short on the hotel rooms or RV parks, so they were bursting with energy and running me ragged. The two hours or so I’d give them here while I sipped my frozen drink and Clarence worked on his great American novel, though, would calm them and make the next six hour leg of our journey bearable. I was looking forward to a ride without bickering pre-teens and letting the cold burst of vanilla and cream overpower my tongue when she walked in.
It’s the wrong word, but wholesome is the only one I can use to describe her. She had hair that hung in waves to her shoulders, golden hair—the real golden that movie producers try to create when they make films with princesses. She wore a white collarless pullover, not quite a shirt and not quite a sweater, but it fit beautifully around her breasts, which seemed perfectly proportioned to her body, ample and firm and lovely in the vague outline of her bra, which was visible by the impression it left against the fabric and not because of any color showing through. She wore very tight and short shorts, and maybe that’s why it seems wrong to describe her as wholesome. Her perfect slender legs rose from her sports trainers up over her ankles and it was only at the very place they reached the curve of her perfect heart shaped ass that I stopped seeing her smooth and flawless skin and saw the denim of the shorts. And though I knew that Clarence would have instantly strained against his pants had he saw her, the effect, though it elicited lust wasn’t one of sluttiness.
Instead, she had an air of sweetness about her. I judged her to be eighteen or nineteen years old, so maybe it was her youth that made her seem wholesome. It certainly wasn’t innocence though. I didn’t look at her and imagine her to be inexperienced or virginal, just…wholesome. She was all I’d desired and been unable to express. From the very day Clarence and I had agreed that we would have a threesome, I’d tried to picture the woman I would want for it, and though he pointed out nearly every attractive woman we came across, it was never quite right. I’d pointed out some of my own, and I suppose it was my desire to see my husband behind the girl, pushing into her while her mouth worked on me that made me pay particular attention to their asses. Still, none of the women with the lovely apple cheeked asses I’d pointed out or he’d pointed out were perfect. They were only acceptable. This one was perfect.
At the time, Clarence was picking up fast food for the kids, and when he returned, I brought him to the RV while the kids played their online games and fucked him right there in the parking lot, moving myself above him and telling him he was sexy and manly though all the while my pussy clenched around his cock not because of my desire or my love for him but because of visions of the girl’s blonde waves brushing over my thighs as her tongue worked my clit and my man pushed up and into her. When we finished, Clarence held me, and I thrilled to know I had made him feel desirable and special and needed, but the remnants of the orgasm still sending chills of delight over me came from thoughts of the blonde coffee drinker and not of my mate of twenty-one years.
I didn’t tell him about it, but each night as we made our way to Texas, thoughts of her filled my head. I’m sure he noticed I was more aggressive. I focused on routine so the boys would be occupied with their movies in the back of the RV and the girls would be asleep on their converted beds in the front so I could climb up to the bunk above the cab and move furiously atop him in the evenings. I would wake him in the mornings before we had to drive by putting my mouth on him and imagining it was the princess-haired girl’s lips the head of his cock travelled through and that it was her back and ass he caressed as his shaft pushed in and out. In the daytime, while he drove, I stole away to the bathroom and ran my hand furiously over my clit, imagining it was her tongue that drove me to a shattering orgasm while I watched her soft green eyes stare up at me.
During the two weeks we meandered our way to and then into the Lone Star State, Clarence came every morning in my mouth while his hand drove me to my own climax. Every night he pushed up into me. And every day, more often than not twice per day, I would touch myself while the RV vibrated over Arizona, New Mexico, and Texas highways until my body erupted in the sensations of pleasure I sought. By then, her face was etched into my mind indelibly, and I couldn’t kiss my husband or touch him or touch myself without seeing her face and imaging her. It was all consuming, and no sooner would I finish and feel my spasms squeezing my fingers before the desire started again, and I think I would have turned the RV around and camped right in the coffee shop parking lot just for an opportunity for a one more chance glimpse of her.
In fact, on a soft Tuesday morning, the day after our arrival in San Angelo, I sat in another coffee shop location waiting for the barista to call out “Rose” to announce that my drink was ready and contemplated potential excuses for a return to Flagstaff. We’d bypassed the Grand Canyon because of holiday events that were expected to fill the park to bursting and neither Clarence nor I trusted ourselves to keep hold of our eight year old in the midst of a crowd. Still, we’d both been relieved to avoid bringing five children anywhere near that ledge and such an excuse wouldn’t work. Clarence was in the RV typing his latest masterpiece, and the kids still slept, so I sat alone in the shop with warmth between my legs that still remained in memory of Clarence’s fingers within me and the lingering taste of his culmination on my tongue. I closed my eyes as I recalled the swelling before he finished and the expected shock as he spurted into my mouth while I was lost in my own orgasm imagining it was she whose cheeks bulged when he cried out at the end.
My eyes were closed when I heard her voice, and I silently mouthed her order, grande drip with a shot of hazelnut and half and half. My eyes flew open when I realized the voice wasn’t just a particularly vivid phantom from my memory, and just as I heard my name on the lips of the young man holding my drink, I saw her standing at the counter. Her hair was just as gold and set off more by the navy tee shirt she wore tucked into tight, bleached jeans that accentuated her legs and her ass even more than the shorts she’d worn in Flagstaff. I stared unabashedly until the barista called me again and I jumped up, nearly stumbling on my way to the counter. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and when she carried her coffee toward the door, she stopped and stared back. I felt my face flush with embarrassment and a sudden heart-pounding fear, but she walked up to me and said, “Do I know you?”
She didn’t ask it in a way that suggested I was making her uncomfortable, but earnestly, as though we’d once worked together or gone to high school together, though I graduated high school at least one year and maybe four or more before she was born. To hear her voice while the flavor of my husband’s semen still echoed in my
mouth sent sensations through my clit that almost made me moan out loud, but I gained control of my body and told her she looked familiar, hoping that would satisfy her. My cheeks were burning and I shifted uncomfortably as I stood, and then in order to do something, anything other than simply standing idle; I sipped the drink and let the creamy vanilla shock of flavor give me something other than the taste of Clarence to consider. As I swallowed the icy liquid down, her eyes opened wide, and she asked me if I’d ever been to Flagstaff.
And suddenly, we were fast friends. She’d seen me with the kids and something about me had stuck with her, she said, and how remarkable it was that I should be drinking coffee in her home town just upon her return for the summer. Her name was Caitlin, and even the name sent tremors through me, and before I could stop myself, I invited her to lunch. When she smiled and accepted, I felt nervous in ways I hadn’t since the first days of my relationship with Clarence, and when we exchanged phone numbers, I had to concentrate to keep my hands from shaking. When I watched her leave, my eyes lingered on her, and I imagined Clarence’s hands on her waist or mine on her back or…or any touch at all. I stood for long enough to feel a flush of embarrassment on my neck and my cheeks and an unreasonable certainty that everyone in the shop was aware of my infatuation.