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 violent 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
Big Black Cuckold
Chapter 1
I'd reached a point in my life where, quite honestly, everything had begun to feel stagnant around me. I don't know if this is just an inevitable juncture in a person's existence, if it's the way life is supposed to go or if people just arrive there by following a certain pattern, stepping from a spontaneous existence, loose and exciting and always leaving them wondering just what might happen next, into a more predictable, secure, but uninteresting pattern of behavior, so that every day seems like little more than the last, everything sort of just blending together as time progresses... Aberrations, at this point in my life, could only reasonably be expected to be negative, detrimental in nature, almost never positive, unless maybe I wound up expecting a baby or something... That would surely be a cause for celebration I suppose, or people would tell me it was, but then what? Would I just be biding my time until they vacated the house, until they got around to popping me out some grandkids in turn?
Christ... I'm sorry, I don't mean to get all mopey about things. But the crux of the matter was, I was feeling trapped by the daily grind, of just existing for its own sake without any purpose, without any excitement to keep things interesting. Things had been different once upon a time... Hell, I had been different once upon a time. I'd of course long shed that old self thinking that that was what was meant to happen to a woman my age, that I was at that crucial junction of maturity where you could no longer go around acting like the carefree girl you had once been, where the crucial burden of responsibility had at last found its way onto your shoulders, and where you accepted that fact unquestioningly, just let it be what it was going to be, because you knew sure as hell that there was little, if anything, that you could do to change your own fate.
I felt as though somehow, somewhere along the line, I'd been left out of something, as though I'd missed some golden opportunity, or as though, perhaps, I had at least scratched the surface of my real self before promptly abandoning any sort of individual self and chaining myself faithfully to the married life, my interests thereby shifting permanently, and any variation on the way that things were supposed to be clearly to be deemed a midlife crisis on my part, despite the fact that I had not yet even breached the ripe young age of thirty...
I was in the grocery store, the place where it became most difficult not to ruminate on such, honestly, dismal, unhopeful thoughts. I'd done the grocery shopping by myself for some time now, which in itself didn't bother me all that much. But, as I would walk around the aisles, I would see all the happy cohabiting couples who were, in truth only a good couple of years or so younger than myself, if at all, and I would seethe with jealousy for what I could clearly identify as a fresh, exciting new connection, a glowing, almost, at the fact of being in one another's company. And, Lord help me, I just couldn't stop thinking about the couples in question returning promptly home after their shopping trips, their bond strengthened as a result of this simplest of rituals, and tucking themselves perversely into bed, spending hours together in the sanctity of their bedrooms sweating the sheets, excited beyond description at the fact of their newly shared lives, lives, they think, of grocery shopping in the evenings and then fucking all night, absent of the responsibility of mortgages or the consideration of childbirth or any other number of things which would eventually plague them if the bonds they shared became long-term...
I let out an exasperated sigh as I walked through the produce section, absently running the palm of my hand along the long orange bodies of the carrots, as though somehow expecting them, although in reality I think I was making a far more phallic connection in my mind...
I thought of my husband.
Greg was a great guy... A great husband...
And yet...
Well, hell, maybe that was just my problem. The fact of his role in my life, a husband, conforming to the roles of a husband, much the same way I had taken it upon myself to conform to the role of a wife, both of us mere shadows of our former selves at this point. We'd reduced ourselves to little more than our responsibilities, the spark of fun and joy in our demeanors only ever occasionally resurfacing, and when it did manage to do so the excitement was decidedly short-lived, things lightening for a mome
nt before dripping back into the realm of the mundane, the average, not bad, but not that fucking celebratory, either.
I started suddenly.
I'd briefly caught a man's eyes leering over at me from across the produce apartment, a tall, dark, handsome specimen of man, and God, oh Christ almighty, what a specimen of man he was...
Fuck me... What the hell was I doing?
Rule number one of leading the dull, uninteresting life that I had dedicated myself to was that finding any other man than my husband attractive in even the remotest sense whatsoever was a big effing no-no. I could not even look at a man with anything but a severe degree of disinterest lest I be subjected to the infernal temptation of inescapable lust overtaking me, my thoughts clinging to sex with a stranger as though latching on for dear life to the hope that things might make themselves interesting for me again in life.
Though I was unaware of it as I was doing it, I began to gravitate toward fruits and veggies of a very specific variety as I traipsed absently through the produce department, my thoughts drifting aimlessly as I gave my potential purchases only the most thorough of manual inspections. I started at the bananas, seizing a single fruit from the bunch in my grip and slowly caressing it, feeling its stiffness, its girth, its length, squeezing it firmly, clasping the thing so hard that I must have nearly snapped it in two.
That was nice...
But, look over there- there were the cucumbers, and Christ, look how fresh they looked. They were long and stiff and absolutely tremendous, inches on the fairly standard sized bananas. As I began to touch these, savoring the ridges and the bumps and the variations from cuke to cuke, I began to imagine putting one of the things in my mouth. I doubted whether I could even fit the whole thing into me, and imagined choking on its immensity. I slid my grip up and down, up and down, up and down along its pickly shaft, contemplating it readily, and, moreover, opening my mouth without realizing it, subconsciously testing to see whether I could indeed swallow that wicked vegetable or whether it would, in fact, overwhelm me as suspected.
I could see the stranger's eyes burning into me from the corner of my periphery, though I tried not to notice it...
I shivered, and put the cucumber down, thinking it was almost what I wanted, but not quite what I was looking for at this point in time. I put it back onto the pile, and moved onward in my search, thinking that something amongst these ranks must surely be capable of suiting my produce-hungry needs, it was just a matter of figuring out what that thing was...
Ah, the eggplants... These... These, little fuckers made my mouth water, and by this I mean both sets of lips, though I would hardly acknowledge to myself the lower set of them doing so. These glorious things, these sheer monstrosities, were dark and glossy and absolutely immense, vegetables that could really fill a girl up. I swept my fingers along the glorious dark things from base to tip, stroking them lovingly, wishing I could just take the whole display full of them home with me and put them inside me all at once...
I actually quaked at the prospect of it, knees knocking and my throat stinging with the pure, unholy reality of my lust. I could actually feel sweat prickling out at the skin on the back of my neck, and with trembling hands I picked one of them up, holding onto its girth so tightly that my fingers practically sank into its wet, juicy meat. I placed it reverently into my shopping basket, my mind positively reeling with possibilities, and quite probably confusing one type of hunger for another without realizing it.
And then, I felt the breath lock up inside my lungs...
The stranger, that studly, dark-complected sexpot, now similarly had the palms of his hands splayed out upon the cantaloupe display, caressing the melons, one in each hand, feeling them for ripeness and readiness, as he rolled them around gently beneath his grip, the crotch of his pants seeming to tighten slightly as he progressed in his vegetable molestation, and his eyes, very suddenly, meeting mine. I gasped, and a smirk spread out across his face.
Holy mother of God...
I smiled back, very stupidly, I suppose, and then turned from him as quickly as I could possibly manage without knocking over an entire damn display of apples, rushing as though my very life depended upon it toward the front checkouts, ready to make as swift and as subtle an exit from the premises as I could before my libido got the best of me.
And yet...
Yet this was exactly what I had been missing... For so, so long, I had missed the sheer thrill of the chase, of being hunted and sprang upon, bitten into, and torn piece from piece by whatever predator managed to prove himself worthy of devouring my sweet, nubile flesh. The problem, of course, wasn't my husband. Greg, for the role he played in my life, was as wonderful a man as I could possibly have hoped to find. He was smart, kind, funny, and sexy as hell. He had a body like a fucking juggernaut, muscular and well-toned, and when he wrapped me in his arms I felt smothered and secure, precisely how a husband's arms should feel around his wife's body. And the two of us in bed, well... Greg, over the course of our relationship, had fucked me six ways to Sunday, the two of us regularly engaging in new positions, new techniques, new ideas for sharing our bodies' excitement with one another, and quite honestly he had enlivened my pussy with a higher ratio of orgasms than I had ever gotten to experience over the course of any past relationships whatsoever. By any reasonable standard of measurement, I should not have found myself the least bit discontent as long as the two of us shared a marital bed.
But yet the excitement of discovering a new body, of having an unfamiliar cock inside my cunt and an unfamiliar body piling down upon mine or writhing beneath my own felt completely absent. The danger, the sweet, sweet uncertainty of bedding a complete stranger felt absent these days, and no matter how vehemently the two of us fucked and writhed and squirmed beneath the sheets, I knew that he would be incapable of fulfilling that long forgotten excitement that my life had come to lack so sorely.
I had never, ever, ever talked to people about this, not even Greg himself, but I was a woman of many splendid and perverse fantasies... I loved, no, I trembled over the prospect of being busted open by a man, hell, several men for that matter, objectified and used as nothing but a cumdumpster, inhaling as much of their sperm as I possibly could and getting all of my holes plugged simultaneously with as many cocks as would fit in me. I rubbed my cunt to the sweet, sickening fantasies of being passed around by muscular hunks with tattoo-covered physiques, my body handled by men like some sort of commodity, vigorously fucked, bounced up and down until I was screaming bloody murder, until it was seriously physically painful to stay on any longer, and then slammed into while they shot their hot, molten sperm into my pussy, breeded bareback by roomfuls of men who had no other intentions for me but to pound my cunt and my throat and my anus into fucking pulp, and squirt their hot, sticky, steaming messes all over my battered, heaving, collapsed sweaty body.
Deep down, although I would never fess up to it if such personal questions were made of me, I more than likely verged on nymphomania at certain points throughout my days, craving sex so violent and taboo, so humiliating and so debasing, that it should have reasonably made me ashamed to even think about it, and, quite honestly, it very much did just that.
Despite how wild, how uninhibited I felt when it came to conjuring up images of juicy cocks being cleaved into my every tight hole, I had nonetheless, throughout all my life, never succumbed to my most lurid of fantasies, never given in to the ungodly desires of my body and allowed myself to be demolished, steamrolled to a wisp as I so desperately wished I could allow myself to be. I was, in spite of what my heart might have wanted, a good girl, demure to an extent and an abider by the rules of social propriety. Brutal, nasty ass sex might have turned my pussy on like there was no fucking tomorrow, but I had, nonetheless, painfully abstained from such opportunities for self-indulgence while the opportunity was still there to be had, while my cunt was still fresh and while the dicks of my peers were still stiff as fucking pipes and ready to be blasted furiously into
me. I had never, ever in my life made myself sexually available to more than a single man at a time, my cunt a warm haven for no more than a single prick at any given period, and my body, now irrevocably and indefinitely, the sexual property of my husband and my husband alone, to be accessed by no other man or woman alive in accordance with the terms of our marriage, 'til death or divorce do us part.
The gash of opportunity had closed forever for me, the lips of the pussy clamped tightly shut to allow no further entry into its deep, dank, tight pink chambers.
I had missed the chance for the life of excitement that I'd craved, and now all I had to look forward to was more of the same, day after day after day of this monotony until I shriveled up and died whenever such an occasion might befall me.
Christ, what a rosy picture I paint...
At present, I stood sadly in the least congested of checkout lines, shivering just a little bit from the chill of my own forbidden, unsatisfied lust. I wanted to be home so damn badly right now, at least in lieu of what I really wanted, to be taken home in the arms of the produce department predator and mercilessly fucked until I could scarcely sit down the next morning...
And suddenly, I felt a tremendous shock run through my spine, and I stood bolt upright without meaning to respond so abruptly to what was clearly meant to be a subtle exchange of communication.
There he was again- eggplant penis himself, his dark skin so mesmerizing that I thought I might lose myself in him, his eyes boring into me like lasers, his body so fine that its a damn astonishing marvel that I didn't lose my shit right there on the spot, jumping on him and taking him right square in the center of the grocery store.
He was smiling at me with the most devilish of smiles, working that tight, tremendous body of his without the least bit of effort. I noticed something in his hand, a sliver of white, and without saying a single word he slipped the paper into my hand, and walked away from me without a second glance.
Billionaire: Menage: Swinger: Let's Swing (MMF Bisexual Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Short Stories) Page 12