Bare Behind Bars / Isabella Gets Nailed / Stuck in the Window: 3 Stories of Interracial Infidelity in Dangerous Situations

by Felicity Fleming

  The crowd of itinerant workers roared with approval as ‘Juan’ fucked Isabella. The door rattled as she was jerked back and forth, just like the big stranger’s cock in her cunt was sliding in and out of her.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. She groaned with shame.

  “Aww, check it out, man,” Miguel was roaring. “I told you all the bitch needed was a good fucking.” And then the stairs creaked, as he knelt down and pressed his face against the door.

  “Yo, blanquito,” Miguel hissed through the door. “You like this?”

  “Uuuuughh,” was all Isabella could respond with.

  “Yeah,” Miguel’s hand slid through the bottom part of the doggy door, and she felt him grope one of her hanging breasts through her blouse. “Yeah, you like it you little slut.”

  He squeezed her breasts and pinched her nipples, while Juan fucked her. The door rattled as the force of the Mexican’s thrusts hammered it back and forth on its hinges.

  “Ohhh, estoy por acabar!” Juan suddenly announced, and Isabella didn’t need a translation. His cock was swelling up inside of her, and Miguel spanked her on the ass and told Juan: “Cum in the bitch!”

  And so Juan did.

  Isabella moaned as she felt herself filled for a second time, with burning hot spurts of cum.

  She felt like such a common whore – like a bitch in heat, being bred. As Juan pulled his softening cock from her cunt, she could feel the cum dripping down her thighs. She’d had two loads pumped inside her in as many minutes.

  And then the stairs creaked again, and she realized that this was just the beginning.

  “Get in there, Hernandez,” Miguel ordered, as another faceless stranger knelt down and unzipped his pants. “Fill this bitch up.” Miguel pinched her ass. “Get your money’s worth, hermano.”

  And whoever Hernandez was, he did get his money’s worth.

  And so did the guy after that.

  And the one after that.

  By the third time she was fucked, Isabella stopped bothering to remember the names. After the fourth time she’d felt herself filled with a stranger’s cum, she even stopped counting.

  She just closed her eyes, and rode the wave of cock after cock. She just braced herself, as one big dick after another stretched and filled her; and then pumped her full of burning, sticky seed.

  “Damn,” Miguel roared, long after Isabella had stopped keeping count. “I think the bitch is gonna cum again!”

  And to her shame, she did. The motion of those cocks sliding in and out of her, and the constant repetitive pressure on her g-spot, sent her wailing into another body-shuddering climax that made her quiver and clench like an animal in heat.

  Finally, one of the long line of faceless strangers pulled his flaccid cock from her freshly-fucked pussy, and she felt a deluge of wet cum running down her thighs.

  “Aww, man,” it was yet another voice, and yet another man kneeling down behind her. “Jesus, man. The bitch is all sloppy.” She felt fingers sink inside her overflowing cunt; filled with God-knows how many loads of cum. “I can’t fuck this! It’d be like fucking a bowl of queso, man!”

  “Well, she told us to take what we owed out of her ass, man,” Miguel growled. “So put this little puta’s ass to work.”

  Isabella’s eyes widened. They couldn’t mean…?

  But apparently they did.

  Like he was scooping up salsa, the man kneeling behind Isabella dug two fingers inside her sloppy pussy, and scooped out a fistful of cum. Then she heard a wet slathering noise as the stranger stroked it up and down his straining cock.

  “No!” Isabella cried, as she felt that same cock pressed between the cheeks of her ass. “Nooo!”

  But her cries fell on deaf ears.

  The stranger pressed the head of his cum-lubed cock against the tight little knot of Isabella’s virginal asshole – and pushed.

  “Aiiiiie!” She screamed. “Oh, God, no!”

  But the stranger was remorseless. Gripping the base of his cock, he forced it against Isabella’s ass until her tight little tush surrendered; and the head of the stranger’s semen-slick dick ‘popped’ past the tightly clenched ring of her sphincter.

  “Aiiiiiie!” Isabella arched her back, and wailed as she felt her ass stretched and filled. Inch by inch, the stranger forced his cock inside her tight backside; and she was sure only the thick, slick cum slathered all over his shaft prevented him from tearing her in two.

  “Aww, man,” finally, he was buried balls-deep inside Isabella’s virginal ass. “She’s tight, bro.” And then he started fucking her. “Man, I haven’t had a piece of ass like this since I fucked that maricon in prison.”

  After three or four more thrusts, Isabella stopped screaming. The discomfort abided; and she just braced herself against the doorframe and tried to endure the brutal ass-fucking.

  “Here,” Miguel’s voice was unmistakable. “This is something I taught my ex-wife.” And then, to Isabella’s shame, she felt the foreman’s calloused fingers between her thighs, and his thumb press against her red and throbbing clitoris.

  He began to rub.

  “When I used to fuck her in the ass,” Miguel explained, as he started pleasuring Isabella with his fingers, “that bitch used to complain. So I started doing this,” his thumb rubbed faster and faster, until Isabella had to bite her lip to stop herself moaning.

  It was intense. The feeling of being fucked in the ass, all while her clitoris was being goaded towards another orgasm.

  “I taught that bitch to cum on my cock,” Miguel boasted, as he felt Isabella’s body start to quiver. “In the end, I had her trained so good, you could make her cum just by sticking your dick in her ass.”

  “Unnnnngh,” Isabella groaned.

  “Yeah,” Miguel heard her grunts and moaning. “Just like that.” And then he tipped her over the edge.

  Isabella wailed, and she came.

  Like a common whore, with a stranger’s dick buried in her ass, Isabella orgasmed. It was the most intense climax of her life; and when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, she flopped lifelessly; her legs and body going limp.

  “Awwww, fuck,” the man fucking her ass groaned, and his cock swelled. “I’m cumming in the bitch.” And he did. Barely conscious, Isabella felt the bulge and throb of his cock inside her tight little ass; as he flooded her backside with cum.

  “Aww, boys,” Miguel purred, rubbing Isabella’s back as the cock was pulled from her ass with a wet-sounding ‘schlurp.’ “I think we broke her, boys.”

  Isabella lay there limply – barely acknowledging another man spreading her thighs, and another cock pressing against the gaping hole of her freshly-fucked ass. She could barely muster enough energy to moan, as she felt her ass filled and stretched for a second time.

  “C’mon,” Miguel laughed, as the stranger began to fuck her ass. “Let’s see if we can get this bitch to cum again.” And then his fingers started rubbing her clitoris again, and Isabella moaned as her body betrayed her, and responded.

  Over the course of the next half hour, three more men fucked her in the ass; and Miguel forced her to cum each and every time. By the time the final stranger had blown his load inside her, and another river of cum had gone gushing down her sticky thighs, Isabella was an incoherent mess.

  She just lay there, gasping and groaning; her whole body quivering in post-orgasmic shock.

  Finally, it was over.

  The last of the construction workers had taken their turn with her. She’d never be sure, but it felt like some had gone more than once.

  She felt thoroughly despoiled. A disgusting, cum-filled mess. Her thighs were gloopy with the seed of countless strangers. Her pussy and ass were overflowing.

  And she’d come more times than she could remember.

  So ashamed at the way her body had betrayed her, she barely registered Miguel and his crew struggling with the door, and a ‘crack’ as they bust open the lock.

  Gently, they lifted the door off its
hinges, and cracked open the frame to the doggy door.

  With a sob, the half-naked Isabella slithered free.

  She landed on her sticky, bare ass on the porch. Wearing nothing but her bra and blouse, the freshly-fucked real estate developer looked around in shame at the assembled crowd of workers.

  There must have been a dozen of them. Unshaven, and swarthy, and all looking at her with disgusting self-satisfaction.

  Every one of them had seen her naked. Every one of them had fucked her.

  Her cheeks burned red.

  “Here,” it was Miguel, with a blanket from his truck. He threw it over Isabella’s shoulders. “Come on up, chica. Let’s take you inside.”

  And bemused and dazed, Isabella allowed herself to be hauled to her unsteady feet, and led into the dark, empty house.

  * * *

  Isabella had heard the expression ‘he fucked her brains out’ before, but after her experience in the doggy door of that luxurious house, she honestly did feel like she’d had her brains fucked out of her head. Everything was fuzzy, and confused.

  She didn’t even remember driving home that day.

  She barely remembered taking a long, hot bath that night, and seeing the handprints on her body; and the strings of spent cum floating in the bathtub as she washed herself.

  All that she did remember was lying in bed, exhausted, a few minutes later. And her fingers slipping between her bare thighs as she recalled the events of that afternoon.

  She stroked herself to two orgasms before she finally fell asleep.

  The next day, she picked up the phone and called Miguel.

  “Hey, you rapist wetback son of a bitch,” she snapped.

  “Nice to talk to you too, Ms. Scalia.”

  Isabella took a deep breath.

  “Why the fuck aren’t you at the house?”

  This time, it was Miguel’s turn to sound worried.

  “I-I though you fired up, right?”

  Isabella’s eyes narrowed.

  “You said you wanted the contract back,” she hissed. “With 30% more for materials, and double the labor costs.”

  When Miguel said nothing, she added:

  “If I’m paying you more, I expect you to work more. Tell your boys to get their ass down to the house.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” replied Miguel – who’d been expecting her first call to be to the police, rather than to his work number. “I’ll get down there right away.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” Isabella hissed, as she fiddled with the tie of her bathrobe. “You’re going to come around here. You need to pick up that check for the twenty grand I owe you.”

  Miguel paused. Isabella felt like she could read his mind; he was wondering if it was a trick or not.

  But Isabella wasn’t fooling.

  “Get your ass around here to pick up your check,” she repeated, and then reached into her robe to squeeze one of her full, ripe breasts. “And after you’ve done that, I want you to fuck my brains out.”

  She heard him scrabble for his car keys and lurch for the door even more he’d pressed ‘hang up’ on his cell phone.

  Isabella smiled.

  As far as she was concerned, Miguel still was a sleazy, dirtbag contractor.

  But perhaps he’d had a point about her needing to get properly fucked.

  She felt more alive this morning than she had ever since her husband had left her. More of a woman. More of a person.

  And, dammit, she wanted to feel like that again.

  With a smile, Isabella headed to the shower. She needed to pamper herself before Miguel turned up.

  Stuck in the Window

  Don't get me wrong. I love my husband - but sometimes, it's kind of nice to have a weekend without him.

  So when he was sent to Philadelphia on business, I made the most of it. That Saturday, I got up late, lounging deliciously in my big, fluffy bed. It seemed so much larger and more luxurious without his dead weight taking up half of it. Then I had a long, leisurely breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes and syrup - and didn't have to make any for him, so mine were fluffy and delicious, right off the griddle. Finally, I took a long, hot shower - able to take all the time I wanted without him banging on the door, telling me to hurry up.

  By the time I emerged, all pink and pristine, I was feeling wonderfully relaxed. And despite thoroughly enjoying not having hubby home, I wasn't entirely selfish. During my hour long shower, I'd at least taken the time to shave every inch of my long legs and smooth snatch ready for his return.

  I was just blow drying my long, black hair when the doorbell rang.

  Typical!

  Rolling my eyes, I put down the hair-dryer and pulled on my fluffy pink bath-robe, padding barefoot to the door.

  I arrived just in time to see the mailman strolling down the driveway. Tucked under his arm was what I assumed to be the special delivery I'd been waiting for.

  "Hey! Wait up!"

  I swung open the door and ran after him, wincing as my bare feet hit the gravel.

  Fortunately, I didn't have to run far. The mailman wheeled around at the sound of my voice: "Sorry, ma'am. I thought nobody was home."

  A likely story! He just didn't want to wait around.

  Irritated, I snatched my special delivery and signed for it with a flourish. Then, as Mr Mailman drove off in his silly little van, I painfully tip-toed across the gravel driveway back to the front door.

  Which was locked.

  I rattled the handle. It didn't budge.

  I must have pulled the latch as I ran out. Force of habit, since I do the same thing every morning on my way to work.

  Rattling the front door again didn't help - and I remembered that the deadbolt on the back door was locked as well.

  This was just wonderful! Here I was, stuck in nothing but my bathrobe - trapped outside my own house!

  Fortunately, it was nice out. The breeze was gentle and the sun was warm.

  Wrapping my robe tighter around myself, I braved the driveway barefoot. Wincing as I trod on the sharp gravel, I crept around to the side of the house and breathed a sigh of relief. One of the basement windows was still open, left up on its latch. It looked like a tight fit, but I was pretty sure I could squeeze my way through the window into the basement.

  I lifted up the hem of my robe and knelt down in the flower bed, feeling the soft soil squish around my knees. Typical, I scoffed. I'd need another shower after all this.

  Wrenching open the rusty basement window, I pondered how best to enter.

  Feet-first, my robe would ride up around my waist and my feet wouldn't be able to touch the floor. If I went head-first, at least I'd be able to stretch out my hands to reach the shelves and pull myself safely through.

  It was a bit daunting, climbing in head first, but it looked like the best way to do it.

  So hefting up the window sash, I got on my knees and slid my head and shoulders through the narrow window.

  I made it maybe a foot. Then there was a sickening crunch.

  I felt the wind knocked out of my lungs.

  The rusty old clasp had broken. No sooner had I forced the front half of my body through the narrow window than the sash came crashing down on my shoulder blades - painlessly pinning me in the window frame. Fortunately, I hadn't injured myself - but it still knocked the wind out of me.

  And it was a fine mess to be in.

  Now the window had broken, my head and shoulders were stuck in the basement, while the rest of me was stuck outside. I was still on my knees, too - bottom stuck straight up in the air.

  I struggled back and forth, trying to get free. It was no good.

  Squeezing forward dug the sash into my spine, while pulling back wedged it up against my shoulder blades. With my arms hanging uselessly inside the window, I couldn't even get enough leverage to push my torso up and raise the sash.

  And believe me, I tried. I flattened my palms and tried to `climb' up the rough concrete wall, but all I'd end up doing is sliding down
again.

  Stuck in this embarrassing position, I did what any girl would do. I cried for help.

  I've got quite a set of lungs on me, which was fortunate since most of my voice was muffled by the basement walls. But eventually, I heard the sound of feet crunching on the gravel driveway and a worried voice demand: "Hello? Did you shout for help?"

  I recognized the voice. It was Armstrong, my next door neighbor. He was a lovely guy - a big, handsome black man with a warm laugh.

  "Armstrong!" I cried. "Please help me! I'm stuck!"

  It must have looked pretty weird. All Armstrong would have been able to see would be my butt, sticking up into the air and covered by my fluffy pink bathrobe.

  "Mrs McBride?" His chuckle rumbled. "Is that you?"

  "Well, I'm hardly a burglar," I scoffed. "They don't normally wear pink bathrobes."

  "No, ma'am, they don't," he laughed. I heard his boots crunch in the gravel as he took a step closer. "Looks like you've got yourself into a dilly of a pickle there."

  "Could you help me up?" I asked - surprised that the thought hadn't already occurred to him.

  He laughed again - it was a lovely noise, like logs crackling on a roaring fire.

  To be honest, I was feeling a little flustered. Armstrong was a very handsome and attractive guy - quite the favorite with the housewives on our street. It was pretty weird to be in such a vulnerable position. It wasn't just that I was totally trapped. With my ass stuck up into the air, it was almost like I was offering my butt to him. Not to mention, I might as well have been naked, apart from that thin, fluffy bathrobe.

  "Now, before I help you out," Armstrong considered in that warm, sexy voice of his, "I had a quick question."

  "Can't it wait?"

  "Not really," Armstrong continued. "In fact, quite the opposite. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to find you in a position like this again."

  I blushed. Not that he'd have been able to notice.

  "I was just remembering," Armstrong purred, "that Christmas party last year."

  I blushed even harder.

  "I remember," I admitted. It had been the street's Christmas party and Armstrong had held it at his place, inviting the whole block for drinks. He'd even gone so far as to dress up as Santa Claus for the kids - and as the evening had worn on (and more drinks had been poured) there were some not-so-little girls who decided to sit on Santa's lap. I'd been one of them.