by West, Sam
“Shut up,” he said, jumping to his feet and turning his back to her. “You ain’t got nothin’ to hide, have ya? Don’t mind if I take a squiz, do ya?”
“Give it back, Mark, I’m warning you.”
“Fuck off,” he said, his fingers working the buttons of the phone, frowning in concentration.
Crystal gave up trying to retrieve her phone, and just stood there staring miserably at his turned back. Stevie’s gaze was involuntarily drawn to the heavy curves of her backside. She was on the stocky side, but she was still sexy. Pear-shaped, he believed her body-type was called. She was short – chunky from the hips down but with a tiny waist, small breasts and slim arms.
Fleetingly, he wondered what it would be like to fuck her and his cock twitched.
Stop it, he chided himself, tearing his gaze away from her well-padded rump in the white mini-skirt, and her small, braless tits in the red halter-neck top.
“You fucking slag,” Mark said in a dangerously low voice. “You fucking skanky little cunt-whore.”
For a second, Stevie’s heart stopped beating, then resumed again at twice normal speed. He held his breath; Mark was about to throw a wobbly.
“What’s the matter?” Crystal stammered.
In a split second, Mark was on her, grabbing the tightly coiled bun on the top of her head. Something between a gasp and a scream escaped her lips, and her hands flew up to her hair, her pink talons clawing at his hands.
“I’ll tell you what the matter is, you dumb fucking cunt, you’re fucking shagging around behind my back, that’s what the fucking matter is.”
He walked the wailing girl over to the sofa and shoved her down on it, face-first with her arse in the air. Her skirt rode up past her hips, exposing the fleshy orbs of her buttocks in the red thong. Sure enough, just as Stevie had suspected, her cheeks were blotched with yellowing, old bruises.
Despite feeling bad for the girl, Stevie’s cock stirred again…
End Of Sample.