Savage Urges

by Poppy Deveaux

  And Karen exploded, her entire body shaking with a swirling rage of anal and vaginal orgasms, her flesh convulsing, her knees knocking, her fingers curling into Kevin's wet flesh as she struggled to contain herself, but failing miserably, her form writhing between the three bodies as though possessed by a demon, a long, agonized moan seeping out from her lips around the girth of the strangers cock, the semen and saliva bubbling as she cried, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!”

  And all three of them pulled out of her, with long sticky strings of their ejaculate cording out of their respective orifices as they extricated themselves, and she started hacking up her lungs as she choked on the fluids in her throat, her face turning red and shimmering with sweat where it wasn't otherwise coated with miscellaneous fluids, and it was some time before she could see straight again, struggling to stand back upright, but stopping on her knees as she took note of what was happening around her pretty, dizzy head.

  All seven of the guys, including the three that had just ejaculated their hot sticky cum inside her, were now standing around her pretty head in a circle, each with their erect penises in their fists, working the skin insanely around on their thick, veiny shafts, pumping and pumping and pumping, her three fuckers having apparently made a leap through the world's shortest refractory periods as they jacked themselves off. And despite her weariness, she decided, what the hell, and elected to lend a hand or two, as well as a throat, pleasuring the men manually, running the loose skin of their cocks through her fingers as though kneading them up like bread, leapfrogging back and forth and back and forth and back and forth between a few of them with her mouth, giving rapidfire blowjobs, her lips dissolving around the bulbous head of an erection, her tongue twirling down along the great expanse of a shaft, and her face pressing up against any number of bushy pubes, before slowly sucking off again, building up suction, until at last POPping loudly away and moving to the next guy in the procession, one after the other after the other, their tastes losing their distinction as she kept on, until at long, long last she pulled away from them all, and let them all finish off on her of their own volitions.

  She opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue, and let the wrath of seven young, erect penises rain down upon her, dozens and dozens and dozens of long, quick spurts of ejaculate blasting her pretty head, the hot sticky stuff cording through the air, glazing her face with a nearly solid spray of semen, only a small fraction of the nasty, bitter stuff making its way onto her receptive tongue, and the rest plastering her to excess, pouring down her cheeks, tangling up in her eyelashes and obscuring her so perversely it was like her face became lost underneath the layers of cum.

  At long, long last Karen's facial was over, and she sighed contentedly with the fact that these new young neighbors had finally managed to tear her from her stagnant discontent on this dead end cul-de-sac of a neighborhood.

  She already couldn't wait for the chance to do it again...

  THE END

  Hot For Teacher

  Chapter 1

  God, what a long, harrowing day. At long, long last, around seven o'clock or so in the evening, I found myself collapsing back in my desk chair, head throbbing and vision blurring, trying to see straight as I reached up and shut off my computer, thinking sadly that it would be scarcely twelve hours before I was right back at the office again, rebooting the damn thing, day in and day out.

  It was just too much for me to consider.

  Once the screen had faded to black, I couldn't help myself, couldn't force myself to do anything more, and I found myself closing my eyes, head tilted toward the ceiling, and fingers pinching tight around the bridge of my nose, as though somehow this might aid me in reducing the migraine that was threatening to smash into me like an oncoming train.

  It seemed like no matter how hard I worked, no matter for how damn long I stayed over at the office typing away and developing eye strain and carpel tunnel at my desk, I was always just barely keeping up with the pace at which I truly needed to be, and in fact I tended to be several paces behind the mark of where I really wanted.

  What was worse, even though I should have been feeling an immense degree of relief that I could finally drag my ass to the car and head for home after one of the worst days of my career, I felt more trepidation than anything, and for a reason that I felt ashamed as hell in myself to even admit.

  As horrible as it sounded, I didn't want to go home and have to deal with my family. I just didn't. My headache intensified as I thought more and more about the prospect of doing so, as did my guilt, and the guilt, conversely, worsened the headache in turn.

  I could just picture it, coming through the door and my eight year old racing for me, screaming, wanting to tell me everything that had gone on during her day at school. And Christ, I should have wanted to hear what was happening in her life. This should be my entire reason for living, and knowing how she was progressing should have thrilled the hell out of me, my little pride and joy growing up and developing the way that kids are supposed to, and excited about it, no less.

  I loved her to death, of course. I would have done anything for her, as evident by my late hours at the office and my dedication to a job that I was truly beginning to hate. I mean hell, if it had just been me I was providing for, I would have been out of this awful place in a heartbeat, the blink of an eye, on to greener pastures and a job that didn't make it seem impossible for me to drag my ass out of bed every day to get up and face it.

  God help me, even the thought of hearing her voice tonight made me cringe, and I wondered what the hell was wrong with me as a mother. When my head felt like it did, her innocent angel's voice could seem like the shrillest, most agonizing sound in the world, and once my migraines got past a certain level, it made it really hard for me to get any sleep afterward.

  And then there was my husband... God, some nights facing him could be even worse. He worked hard for our family, I knew, but when he came home he was just so damn lazy. Completely lacking in emotional investment, unwilling to do even the bare minimum to even try to help keep up with things around the house. Maybe I would have understood it a little bit more if he was the sole provider of the household, and I was a stay-at-home mom instead of a working one. But in actuality, I worked as hard as he did, and in fact harder, most nights, and so I couldn't figure out where the hell he got the nerve to go on thinking that all the chores around the house were my responsibility and mine alone.

  Regardless, I never really put my foot down about it. Because really, what the hell was the point? If I tried to protest, or I refused to do his share of the things that needed to be done around the house, it would all just end up piling up around me. He could just as easily live in a puddle of his own filth without seeing a damn thing wrong with it, and it would be Emily and I who suffered for my own efforts at equalizing our marriage.

  I honestly felt so, so trapped by the crummy life that I'd been building up for myself these past ten years... I just couldn't help it. That was honest to God how I felt. On the outside, I had most of the things that a person should value in life- a loving spouse, a beautiful child, a home, a well paying job... And like I said, I loved my family, to death. Rob, with all his annoyances, was still a pretty amazing man, handsome, strong in a number of ways, and I knew in his way he cared deeply about me. By and large, I was extremely lucky to have him.

  But, I don't know... maybe our mistake was that we had married young. We'd only been nineteen, and then it had kind of been a rash decision. We'd thought we were as in love as two young people could ever be, and that it would last from then until the end of eternity, just like all dumb young lovers believe.

  And honestly, we sort of had some social pressure leading us into marriage, too. We came from a small community, the kind that valued chastity before marriage, and I think both of us had kind of gotten fed up with sexual frustration by the time we came into one another's lives. Marriage was the one and only legitimate way that we could start having sex as far as we were concerne
d, and we just got so swept up in one another that it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

  He'd been with another girl or two before me in spite of the things the people around him tried to enforce on him. When the two of us started dating, though, I made it very clear that I wasn't that kind of girl, even though I might have secretly wanted to be, and after a while he ended up wanting me so badly that he ended up on one knee, and I, in my own eagerness for consummating with this sexy stud, accepted in a heartbeat.

  He'd been the only man I'd ever known intimacy with. At first, it had been like a dream come true, as he explored my body and pleased me in ways that I'd only ever had the opportunity to imagine. As far as I could compare him to anyone else, too, he was an exquisitely skilled lover, touching me in ways that I didn't think a man could possibly know how to touch a woman, filling me with so much pleasure, and making me feel so very, very close to him, that I honestly really believed that whatever it was the two of us shared was going to last for the rest of our lives together.

  And then Emily had been born, my beautiful little pride and joy. Both of us were thrilled, though me far more than Rob, and I guess to some extent I should have recognized some of the early signs of fracturing between the two of us right about that time.

  A lot like marriage, I think Rob had stumbled into having a child with me out of a sense of obligation more than anything. It was just what was expected of him as far as he was concerned, and who was he to go against the grain? I think he'd only ever considered the prospect of a baby from a safe, sterile distance, but once he became confronted with the reality of dirty diapers and spit-up, early morning feedings and ear piercing screams at all hours of the night, things sort of sank in for him in a fashion that was just a little bit too real, and that took place entirely too late.

  And so, the years had gone by, and this rift between the two of us just kept getting wider and wider and wider. So now, I was staying late at the office on my weeknights, dreading my once dreamed about domestic life, and trying to think of any damn way on earth that I could ease myself back home without my head positively bursting.

  I knew damn well I couldn't stay in this place all night, sleeping under my damn desk for fear of going home and confronting my loved ones. It was well past time for me to get headed back in the direction of home.

  At last, I opened my eyes and stretched, pushing my body forward and flexing my spine, moaning a little bit as I tried to wake myself up, and then sighing as I stood up to go and fetch my coat.

  I stepped out into the night, letting the cold air nip my cheeks as I stared out into the parking lot, and watching the foggy clouds of my breath pool up before my eyes. I was the last one here, the only car in the lot, and something about that made me feel really down about things, or at least more so than I'd already been.

  I sighed again, clicking the unlock button on my keys, and stepped down the stairs as the lights flashed on and the horn did its couple of abbreviated honks, indicating that the doors were now open.

  I took off down the highway, happy at first to have the road largely to myself at this time of evening having waited out the rush hour traffic, but then loneliness setting in, forcing me to turn on the radio to maintain some illusion of human presence. I flipped through a few shitty songs in the vain hopes of finding one that was just a little bit less shitty, but then settling on an oldies station instead, knowing that was about the best I was going to find.

  I only lived about twenty-five minutes away from the office, but for some reason the drive was beginning to feel as though it would span on for eternity tonight, and I began to let my mind wander wildly for any excuse to prolong my arrival back home.

  God, I could use a drink...

  Hey, that wasn't a bad excuse at all, I decided. Or, well... Maybe it was, actually. It wasn't so much an excuse as it was a distraction, although in my present state I thought I would probably welcome a distraction with arms as open as they would be for an excuse. I needed something, anything to get me through the remainder of the night, even if it was only something that would take the edge off.

  Around fifteen minutes from home, I made a turn off and pulled into a bar a couple of miles down the road, the whole thing feeling a little bit alien to me since I'd never been that much of a drinker, much less a public one.

  Still, though, I needed this so badly that I didn't care that much how out of character it was for me. I just needed some kind of distraction...

  I made my way into the bar, ambling up to the counter and ordering a modest but effective drink from the bartender. I needed to keep my blood alcohol content low, I knew- I wasn't about to drive home drunk or anything. But maybe I could at least get myself started so that, whenever I did manage to crawl my way back to the house, I could finish the job up right with a few of my husband's beers from the fridge. Hell, at this point I didn't give a damn if I woke up hung over for work tomorrow. As fed up and frustrated as I may have just been about trying to get caught up with everything at the office, I was in such a mood that I didn't think it would matter all that much if I wound up calling in sick altogether in the morning, and just staying in bed naked beneath the covers all day. It would be even better if I could keep Emily and Rob out of the house in order to avoid them disturbing me the whole time, but I knew I had that damn parent teacher conference to go to at Emily's school in the evening, and that one fly pretty much effed up the whole ointment of my plan as far as I was concerned.

  But, first things first, that drink.

  I slowly brought it to my lips, tilting back the glass, and let the liquids come flooding in. And God the light sting of alcohol, warming up my system…. I'd been so long without a drop of anything in my system, and I inhaled deeply, savoring every last drop of the stuff as I slowly drained the glass, and at last set it back down on the countertop, to stare at the drained container, and the clinking ice cubes swirling around in the bottom of the cup.

  I thought, or let my mind wander, rather, getting pretty lost in my unfocused stupor, to the point that I was more or less staring out into space. God, I didn't want to go home... God, how I didn't want to go home... God, what an awful person I was for thinking this...

  And then, suddenly, the bartender sat another glass down in front of me.

  I blinked at it in a daze, trying to figure out some explanation, as though it was some complicated problem that would take an immense degree of effort to solve. When I came up short, I brought my eyes up toward the bartender, silently asking for an explanation. Just as silently, then, he offered me one, extending an index finger, and pointing me in the direction of the other side of the bar.

  There, staring at me, was a man, a staggeringly attractive one at that, with dark skin, black eyes, and a penetrating gaze. His luscious lips were brought up into a smirk of want, and I found myself momentarily entranced by him, unable to look away. God, he was sexy...

  Almost reflexively, without wholly meaning to, I brought the hand with my wedding ring on it down into my lap, as though to conceal it from view.

  I looked slightly to the side as I fantasized about all the wonderful places this one donated drink could lead.

  I imagined kissing the man on the lips, in his bedroom, both of his naked, his black skin contrasting fiercely with my own bright flesh as he smothered me with his weight. I would be moaning, my body trembling as he pushed himself up inside me, so tight, the friction astounding, and him riding me hard until I began to scream at the top of my lungs with pleasure...

  And then what?

  Suddenly, the fantasy hit a snag, and I started thinking about all the things that could go wrong.

  He cums inside me, or the condom breaks, and I end up with an STD or another man's baby.

  My husband finds out, and the two of us end up divorced, and I'm a single mother, and the family implodes.

  And Emily... Poor, poor Emily...

  Christ... God damn it...

  The one thing I wanted. The one thing that, for whate
ver reason, I thought would save me from the things I'd been dreading all evening- and I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that I could make it happen for real. It was the type of ridiculous, absurd daydream that can only ever be just that- a dream.

  I sighed, shuddered as I indulged myself with a last fleeting thought of letting the man cum in me, and picked up the drink, downing the whole thing curtly, in one gulp. Hopefully, he would take the hint of my feigned disinterest...

  I paid the bartender for the one drink I'd purchased myself, then nodded sadly at my disappointed suitor, thanking him for the drink all the same, and trying to let him down as gently as I possibly could.

  If my circumstances were any different, then hell yes... You bet your beautiful ass I would...

  Then I made my way back to the car, took a deep, painful breath, and hit the road for home all over again.

  Chapter 2

  “Hon'? That you?”

  Jesus Christ, Rob... I'd sat in the driveway for nearly ten minutes after pulling in, dreading the idea of walking inside and having to hear this clearly disinterested greeting of his. He said it to me every damn night, and there was just something I found so irritating about it, as unreasonable as it may have been of me. There was just this sort of inherent lack of concern to it. Like he didn't really care, he wasn't actually excited that I was home- he just wanted to make sure I wasn't a fucking burglar, and past that it didn't really matter all that much who the hell I was. He used to greet me at the door and kiss me on the lips the moment I walked inside, and some days even have dinner made for me by the time I got in. Now I was lucky if there were still cold leftovers from the weekend in the fridge for me.