Chapter 2: Invitation Upstairs
The lift chimed at fifteen and Marcus walked her out with his hand flat against her back, guiding her down the corridor past numbered doors until she fished the key card from her cleavage. Suite 23. The lock clicked green.
Inside, the suite opened wide and dim, city lights bleeding through sheer curtains. Hannah didn't look at any of it. She caught Marcus's collar and pulled him toward the bedroom door, heels loud on the carpet.
"In here," she said. "Now."
He laughed once, low, and let her drag him. She shoved the bedroom door open, pulled them both through, and kicked it shut behind her. The sound of it closing was final. Just her, and him, and the huge white bed waiting.
"Alone with a strange man in my bedroom," she breathed, backing toward the mattress. "Christ. What are you going to do to me?"
"Everything your husband will eventually hear through that door and can't give you." Marcus caught the strap of her dress at the shoulder. "Arms up."
She raised them. He peeled the dress down slowly, baring her a fraction at a time, his eyes feast-wide. The black fabric caught on her huge breasts and he tugged it free, letting them spill out heavy and pale in the low light, nipples stiff and aching.
"Fuck me, those are perfect." His big hands closed over them, warm and heavy, thumbs rolling her nipples until she gasped. "Gold pendant and these tits. Your husband's a lucky man tonight, and he doesn't even know how lucky."
"He knows." Hannah reached for his belt. "He's downstairs counting the seconds."
The dress dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of it, naked but for the pendant, soft and curvy and dripping in front of him. Marcus pulled his henley over his head and her mouth went dry at the spread of his chest, the muscle, the sheer size of him.
"Get on the bed," he said. "On your back. I want to taste that married cunt before I ruin it."
She scrambled up onto the white sheets and opened her thighs for him, shameless, her pink slit glistening. Marcus knelt between them, unbuttoning his jeans.
"You ready for me, Hannah?"
"I've been ready my whole life."
Marcus didn't undress gently. He shoved her back onto the sheets with one flat hand between her breasts, hard enough that she bounced, and stood over her while he kicked off his jeans and boxers in two rough movements.
His cock sprang free and Hannah's breath left her in a rush. Thick, black, veined, hanging heavy and half hard against his thigh, bigger soft than her husband was hard.
"Oh my God," she whispered.
"Told you." He climbed onto the bed and his whole body came down over her, chest to chest, belly to belly, pinning her into the mattress with sheer weight. She couldn't have moved if she'd wanted to. She didn't want to. The trapped feeling went straight to her cunt and she felt herself gush against his thigh.
His mouth closed over her left nipple and he sucked it hard, dragging the stiff peak deep, tongue swirling. She cried out and arched up into him. His teeth scraped. His cock lay along the soft crease where her thigh met her hip, and he began to grind, slow and deliberate, the solid length of it dragging against her skin, smearing her with precum.
She could feel it growing against her. Thicker with every roll of his hips, hardening from heavy to iron, and the more it grew the more insane she became.
"Fuck, it's getting bigger," she panted, staring down between them. "Marcus, it keeps getting bigger."
"Still growing, baby." He switched to her right nipple, biting softly, and ground harder. "Want to feel it at full length?"
"I want it inside me. Christ, I need it inside me."
"Not yet." His hips rolled again, that huge shaft sliding through her wetness. "Look at you. Dripping all over my cock and it's not even in you. How bad do you want it?"
"So bad. Please, Marcus. Please."
Marcus dropped his head to her chest without hurry, like a man sitting down to a meal he'd earned. He took her left nipple between his lips and sucked, slow and deep, drawing the whole stiff peak into the wet heat of his mouth until she felt it in her clit.
"Oh, fuck," Hannah moaned, loud, not even trying to be quiet.
He pulled off with a soft pop and circled the swollen bud with his tongue, feather-light, then flattened his tongue over it and laved the whole areola. Her back arched off the sheets. He pinched the other nipple between finger and thumb, rolling it, tugging, while his mouth worked the first.
"Nobody's ever..." She lost the sentence. His teeth closed on her nipple, gentle, then firmer, a slow bite that sent a jolt straight through her. "Christ, Marcus."
"Mm." He didn't let go. He hummed around her flesh, the vibration buzzing through her chest into her ribs, and switched sides, sucking her right nipple red and raw and going back to torment the left. Back and forth, unhurried, an expert with all night.
"Someone's going to hear me," Hannah gasped, writhing under him.
"Good. Let the whole floor hear what a married slut sounds like."
Down the corridor, the outer door of the suite clicked and eased shut.
Max stood in the darkened lounge with his coat still on. Twenty minutes, she'd whispered. It had been twelve. He hadn't been able to wait. Through the bedroom door came the sounds: the wet rhythm of a mouth on flesh, the creak of the bed, and his wife's voice, ragged and begging in a way he'd never heard in fifteen years of marriage.
"Oh God, yes, bite it, bite my tit."
Max pressed his ear to the wood. His hand found his cock through his jeans, rock hard and aching, and he rubbed himself slowly as a man groaned behind the door, deep and satisfied, followed by Hannah's whimper.
"You like that, baby?" Marcus's voice, low and rumbling through the door.
"Yes. Please don't stop. I've never been touched like this."
Max's breath caught. He pressed his palm harder against his jeans, listening to his wife beg a stranger.
Marcus kissed his way down her belly, slow, dragging his beard across her soft skin until she squirmed. He hooked her thick thighs over his shoulders and spread her wide with both hands, thumbs pulling her lips apart, and just looked.
"Don't stare at it, eat it," Hannah begged, hips lifting off the sheets.
"Patience, baby." He blew cool air across her swollen clit and watched it thicken under his breath. "God, look at this pretty white pussy. All wet and married and waiting."
Then his mouth covered her whole cunt and she screamed.
His tongue was broad and hot and relentless, lapping from her hole up to her clit in one long flat stroke, again, again, then wrapping around the bud and sucking. Her hands flew to his cropped hair and gripped. Her thighs clenched around his ears.
"Oh my God. Oh my GOD."
He ate her like he was starving, tongue fucking into her entrance, plunging deep, then dragging back up to swirl her clit in tight circles. She felt her slick running down over his chin and didn't care.
Hannah pressed his head harder into her cunt, grinding up onto his mouth. "Yes, right there, don't you dare stop, lick my clit, lick my married clit, oh fuck, Marcus."
"Mm-hm," he growled against her, the vibration buzzing straight through her clit into her spine.
She was close already, embarrassingly fast, her whole body shaking on his tongue. "I'm going to come. Christ, I'm going to come on a stranger's face in my own bed."
"Come for me," he said into her, lips brushing her clit with every word. "Want to feel you soak my beard before I stretch you open."
Outside the door Max stood with his forehead against the wood, his cock out in his fist now, stroking himself in slow, shaking pulls. He could hear everything. The wet sounds of another man's mouth on his wife, the slap of her hand pushing that head down, her voice breaking into pants he'd never heard in fifteen years.
"Please," Hannah sobbed, thighs trembling. "Please make me come, please, I need it so bad."
Max bit his own knuckle and kept listening.
Her orgasm tore through her before she could warn anyone. Hannah's back arched clean off the sheets, her thighs clamping around Marcus's head, and she screamed, loud and raw, no shame left in the room at all.
"Oh God, oh fuck, you're so good, you're so much better than him, nobody's ever licked my cunt like this!"
Marcus held her through it, tongue working her clit in steady circles until she was shuddering and slapping the mattress, sobbing his name. He only eased off when she went limp, her chest heaving, curls stuck to her flushed face.
"There it is," he said, wiping his wet beard with the back of his hand. "Told you I'd taste you first."
Hannah caught her breath in three gulps and reached for him, greedy, hands scrabbling at his shoulders. "Get up here. Get up here and fuck me. I need your cock, Marcus, please, I can't wait anymore, put that big black cock in me right now."
He rose onto his knees, fisting that thick heavy length, and she stared at it, licking her lips, spreading her own thighs wider with her hands.
The bedroom door opened.
Max stood in it, flushed, coat gone, jeans unzipped, his cock in his fist and his eyes wrecked. Hannah didn't even startle. She smiled at him, slow and cruel, over the shoulder of the man between her legs.
"There you are, sweetheart. Took you long enough." She pointed one finger at the chair at the foot of the bed. "Sit down. Right there. You're going to watch."
"Hannah..."
"Sit." Her voice sharpened. "Look at you, pathetic, cock in your hand. You're just going to sit and watch your own wife get fucked by another man. A bigger man. A better man. And you're going to love every second, aren't you?"
Max crossed the room like a man in a trance and dropped into the chair.
"That's it," Hannah breathed, “sit in the little cuck chair like the good little cuckold husband you are and watch how I get fucked by the type of cock I really need, the type of cock I fantasise about when you’re trying to satisfy me with that pathetic little white dick,”Hannah finished, eyes on Max's flushed face. "Now look at me, sweetheart. Look at what you're going to see happen."
Marcus spat into his palm and ran it down the length of his cock, thickening it further, glistening black in the low light. He pressed the swollen head against her slick entrance and paused there, letting her feel it, letting Max see it.
"Ready, married girl?"
"Christ, yes. Put it in me."
Max made a small sound from the chair, half protest, half prayer. Hannah didn't glance at him. She held Marcus's gaze one second more, then turned her head so she could look straight at her husband when it happened. She wanted his eyes on her face. She wanted him to see everything.
Marcus pushed.
The head spread her open, stretching her lips wide around the thick black girth, and Hannah's mouth fell open in a silent O. Her hips lifted. Her fingers twisted into the white sheets.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "Oh my God, it's going in. Max, look. Look at it going into me."
Max leaned forward in the chair, knuckles white on his knees, cock twitching untouched against his belly. "Christ, baby."
"It's so thick. So fucking thick. I can feel every vein."
Marcus rocked his hips, feeding her an inch, easing back, feeding another. Slow, patient, watching his shaft disappear into her pink white pussy centimetre by centimetre. Her inner lips clung to him, dragged inward on every stroke, stretched shiny around the girth of him.
"Take it, baby. Take my cock. There it is. Look how you're opening up for me."
Hannah's eyes rolled back, then snapped to Max, wide, glazed, lit up with something feral. "He's inside me. Honey, he's inside me and he's barely started. You can see it, can't you? You can see how much of him I've got and how much is left?"
Marcus looked down at the two inches still showing outside her and snorted, low and pleased. "Half of it, Hannah. Half my cock's still outside you."
"I don't care. More. Give me more."
He pressed deeper, one long steady push, and she moaned from low in her chest, a sound Max had never heard in fifteen years of marriage. Not pain. Not struggle. Pure gluttony.
Then something happened that Marcus did not expect. Her hips rolled up to meet him, her soft thighs wrapped around his waist, and her cunt swallowed him. Greedy, wet, hungry, she pulled him in, the last thick inches sinking home until his heavy balls rested against her arse.
Marcus stopped. He stared down at where they joined, genuinely surprised. "Well, fuck me."
"What?" Hannah panted.
"Baby, I was going to spend ten minutes working you open. You just took the whole thing." He drew back and slid in again, deep, easy, her slickness gushing around him. "Like a glove. Like you were built for this. Built for big black cock."
Hannah laughed, breathless and wicked, and turned her head to Max. "You hear that, honey? I'm built for much bigger, better cock than yours. Look how easily I can take a real cock. No wonder I can never feel you."
Max's jaw worked. His hand had found his cock again and he was stroking it slowly, helplessly, unable to look away from the place where another man's shaft moved in and out of his wife.
"Seven inches, sweetheart," Hannah went on, voice honeyed and cruel. "Seven thick inches and I've never once come from you fucking me. And look at me now. Look at my face."
She made sure he could. She kept her eyes open, locked on his, and let him watch the pleasure move through her expression with every deep stroke. Her brows knitted. Her lips parted. Her whole face softened into something undone and ecstatic, and Marcus drove in deep and she gasped, loud and helpless.
"That. That face. That's what you've never given me, Max. That's what seven inches can't do."
"If this is what I need to get pleasure," she breathed, hips rising to meet Marcus's next stroke, "imagine what I feel with that pathetic little white dick inside me. You don't compare. You'll never compare."
Max groaned, fist tightening, and she smiled at the sound. She knew that groan. She'd been hearing it through the pillow for months, in the dark, while she rode the big black dildo and told him what a useless little cock he had. Now it was happening with a real man inside her, and it was a thousand times better.
Marcus set a rhythm. Long, deep, unhurried strokes, dragging his cock out until only the head remained, then sinking back into her soft wet heat until his balls kissed her arse. The bed creaked. Her huge tits swayed on her chest with every thrust, and Marcus leaned down and caught one nipple in his teeth as he fucked her.
"Tell your husband how it feels," he said against her breast.
"It feels like being split open." Hannah's hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in. "It feels like my cunt's finally being used the way it's meant to be. Marcus, harder, please, fuck me harder."
"Not yet. I want you begging."
"I am begging. Can't you hear me? Max, tell him. Tell him what a begging slut his wife is."
Max's voice came out cracked. "She's a slut. She's always been a slut."
"That's right." Marcus rose up onto his hands, changing the angle, and drove in deep enough that Hannah cried out and clutched the sheets. "And now everybody knows it. She's got my cock buried in her married pussy and her husband's beating off two feet away."
"He's not beating off." Hannah craned her neck, peering down her own body at Max. "Look at his little dick, Marcus. Look at it. Seven inches when it's hard, and right now it looks like a sausage next to you. I used to think that was big. Christ, I used to be proud of it."
Marcus laughed, deep and rumbling, and the vibration of it moved through his chest into her cunt where he was pressed fully inside her. She shuddered.
"You feel that, Max? That laugh? His whole body's bigger than yours. His cock reaches places you've never touched." She reached down between them and spread her own lips with two fingers, showing her husband the stretched pink ring of her cunt wrapped around black shaft. "Look how wide I am. Look how deep. You see that bulge in my belly when he pushes in?"
Max saw it. A slight swell in her soft lower belly, rising and falling with each stroke, and the sight of it nearly finished him on the spot. He squeezed the base of his cock hard and bit his lip.
"You're not allowed to come," Hannah said, sharp. "Not yet. You come when I say. You sit there and you watch and you keep that pathetic thing hard, because tonight is about me and him and you're just the audience."
"Yes," Max breathed.
"Yes what?"
"Yes, Hannah."
"Good boy." She turned back to Marcus, hooked her heels behind his back, and pulled him into her. "Now fuck me properly. I've waited long enough."
Marcus gathered her thick thighs into his hands, pushed them back and wide, folding her plush body beneath him, and started to fuck in earnest. Deep, driving strokes, the slap of his hips against her arse loud in the room, her cries rising with every one.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, that's it, that's the spot, don't stop, don't you dare stop."
"Look at him, Hannah. Eyes on your husband. I want him watching when you scream."
She found Max's eyes and held them. Her face was wrecked now, sweat-damp curls stuck to her forehead, lipstick smeared, cheeks blazing. Marcus fucked her through it, relentless, and she never looked away from her husband once.
"Nobody's ever," she gasped, words breaking apart. "Nobody's ever fucked me like this. Fifteen years, Max. Fifteen years and one night with a real man and I already know I can't go back."
"You're mine now, girl," Marcus growled, sweat rolling down his chest. "Say it. Tell your husband who owns this cunt."
"You own it. Oh God, Marcus, you own my pussy. It's yours."
"And what's he?"
Hannah smiled, breath ragged, eyes shining into her husband's. "He's my little cuckold clean up husband. That's all he is now. Maybe I'm BBC only from tonight, Max.”
Max made a sound like a wounded animal and his cock leaked, a bead of clear fluid running down his shaft. Hannah saw it and laughed.
"Look at him, Marcus. He's leaking from watching you fuck me. He loves it. He's humiliated and he loves it, don't you, sweetheart? Say it. Tell Marcus you love watching."
"I love watching." Max's voice broke on the word.
"He loves watching," Hannah repeated to Marcus, delighted, cruel. "He's going to watch you come inside me, aren't you? You're going to sit there and watch another man pump his cum into your wife's unprotected pussy."
"Fuck," Marcus groaned, and his rhythm stuttered for a beat before he recovered it, deeper now, grinding into her at the bottom of every stroke.
"That's right, I'm not on anything," Hannah panted, riding up into him. "I'm fertile, Marcus. Middle of my cycle. And I want you to come in me. I want you to breed me. I want your big black baby in my belly while my husband watches."
Marcus's jaw tightened. "You want my cum, you married white slut?"
"I need it. Please. I need to feel you flood me. I've had rubbers and pull-outs and my husband's little load for fifteen years and I've never once felt a man come deep inside me where it counts. Do it. Give me every drop. Give me that potent black cum and let it take."
Max stood up from the chair. He couldn't help it. He crossed the last two steps and dropped to his knees at the side of the bed, close enough that he could see everything now, the lewd stretch of her cunt around Marcus's shaft, the wet froth of her arousal at the base of it, her enormous breasts bouncing.
"I want to see it," Max said hoarsely. "I want to see him come in you."
"Then look, you sad little pervert." Hannah reached down and took her husband's hand, squeezed it, her wedding ring pressing into his palm, and held his eyes while Marcus's strokes turned ragged. "You're my good little husband. You're going to be so good at this. Now watch a real man breed your wife."
Marcus was close. His thrusts lost their patience, turned short and brutal, driving her up the mattress until her head pressed the headboard. Her cries came with every impact now, broken, throaty, constant.
"Yes, yes, yes, fuck, I'm going to come again, come with me, come inside me, breed me, breed your white slut, please, please, please."
Marcus buried himself to the hilt with a roar and Hannah felt it happen. She felt his cock swell impossibly thicker inside her, felt it pulse once, twice, and then the heat of him, a heavy spurt of cum painting her womb in thick ropes. His hips jerked, grinding, unloading spurt after spurt, his balls drawing up against her.
"Take it," he growled. "Take every drop, you married bitch. There it is. There's my baby."
Hannah came apart. The feeling of another man's cum flooding her unprotected cunt while her husband knelt at the bedside tore her orgasm out of her, bigger than the first, her whole body arching and shuddering, her thighs clamped around Marcus's hips, milking him.
"Yes, oh God, yes, I feel it, I feel it filling me up, it's so hot, it's so much!"
Max watched his wife's face through all of it, the utter ruin and rapture of it, and his hand flew on his cock and stroke, desperate to cum but stopping himself, while his wife sobbed through her climax around a stranger's spurting cock.
Marcus ground into her through the last pulses, then slowly, carefully, settled his weight down over her soft body, still buried deep, still hard, cum welling out around the seal of them with every small shift. He kissed her collarbone, unhurried again, a man restoring his patience.
"That's a full load," he said. "Right up against your cervix. You felt it."
"I felt everything." Hannah stroked his back with one hand. With the other she reached down and found Max's hair, guided her husband's head gently against her thigh, like petting a dog. "And now I've got a decision to make, sweetheart. You remember what I said downstairs. Clean up husband. That's your new job title if you want it."
Max knelt there, trembling, his hard cock aching and slick with pre-cum, and looked at the white mess seeping from his wife's well-fucked cunt around the base of another man's shaft.
"Say yes, Max," Hannah whispered, cruel and warm at once. "Show me you mean it."
"Or," Marcus added lazily, lifting his head to grin at the kneeling husband, "you can just watch me go again. Because I'm not finished with her yet. Not even close."
Hannah stroked Marcus's chest with one hand, lazy, still full of him, and turned her head toward her husband kneeling at the bed's edge.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart," she said. "Thank Marcus. Thank him properly for what he just gave me. And then ask him nicely. Ask him to do it again."
Max's face burned. His hand was still sticky with his own mess and he knelt there like a man at an altar he'd never been allowed inside until tonight.
"Thank you," he managed. "Thank you for fucking my wife."
"Good start," Hannah murmured. "Keep going."
"Please. Please fuck her again, Marcus. Fuck Hannah again. She's never looked like that. I want to watch you do it to her again."
Marcus chuckled from deep in his chest, still buried inside her, cum seeping around the seal of them onto the white sheets. "You hear that, baby? Your husband's asking for you. Asking me, not you."
"I heard it." Hannah reached down and tangled her fingers in Max's hair again, tugging his head back so he looked up at her. "Pathetic little cuck. Begging another man to fuck his own wife with your pathetic little cock in your hand. I should make you say it a hundred times."
She loosened her grip and smiled down at him, warm and vicious at once.
"But since you asked so nicely, I'll let you choose something. Pick the position. Pick how your wife gets fucked next. Go on. This is the only decision you get tonight, so make it count."
Max's mouth opened and closed. His eyes went from her face to the place where Marcus's thick shaft stretched her open, slick and white with froth, and something in him settled, some deep submissive piece clicking into place that he'd only ever found in the dark with the big black dildo pressed into his hands.
"Doggy," he said hoarsely. "Take her from behind."
Hannah raised an eyebrow. "Doggy. Really, Max?"
"You love it," Max said. His voice was low, almost ashamed. "You've always loved it. You come hardest like that. And I want to see him pound into you. I want to see your tits swing. I want to see it from behind."
"Oh, sweetheart." Hannah laughed, rich and delighted, and squeezed Marcus's shoulder. "You realise that's the position. Deep angle. He'll be hitting my cervix with every stroke, dumping his cum right up against it. If that first load doesn't take, this one definitely will. You've just picked the position most likely to knock your wife up with another man's baby."
Max's throat worked. He said nothing. But his spent cock gave a tired twitch against his thigh, and Hannah saw it and saw the flicker behind his eyes, and her smile went slow and knowing.
"Unless," she said softly, "that's exactly what you want. You filthy, wonderful pervert. You want him to breed me. Don't you?"
"Get on your hands and knees," Marcus said, and pulled out of her with a wet suck, cum running down over her arsehole and pooling on the sheet.
Hannah rolled over and crawled up the bed on her knees, arse high, face down in the pillows, her huge tits hanging heavy beneath her. She reached back and spread herself with both hands, showing Max the wrecked, gaping pink of her cunt, Marcus's cum already dribbling from it.
"Look at that, honey. Look what you're sending me into. Look how sloppy your wife already is and he hasn't even started the second round."
Marcus knelt behind her, fisting his cock back to full hardness, glistening with her and with himself. Max climbed off his knees and made his way back to the chair at the foot of the bed, then stopped halfway, frozen by the sight, and Hannah lifted her head from the pillow to look back at him.
"No, wait. Not yet." She pointed at the floor beside the bed. "Come here first. There's one more job for you, since you begged so prettily. Put his cock in me."
Max's breath left him. "What?"
"You heard me. You picked the position. Now you finish the job. Take his big black cock in your hand and push it inside your wife's cunt. Go on. Feel it. Feel what a real cock weighs."
Marcus grinned over Hannah's arse at the standing husband and shifted his hips forward, presenting himself. Max came around the bed on legs that didn't feel like his own. He knelt behind his wife, inches from her dripping, stretched cunt, and Marcus's cock hung there beside her, thick as a forearm, dark and veined and still slick.
"Go on," Hannah urged from the pillows, looking back under her own body at him. "Touch it, Max. I know you want to. You've been staring at it all night."
Max reached out with a shaking hand and wrapped his fingers around the shaft. The heat of it shocked him. The weight of it shocked him more. His fist closed around the thick column of flesh and there was still inches of it showing either side, skin hot and iron-hard and alive under his palm, pulsing faintly with the man's heartbeat. His own wedding band pressed against the veined skin.
"Christ," Max whispered.
"I know," Hannah said, soft and gloating. "Feels different from yours, doesn't it, sweetheart? Heavier. Hotter. Bigger than your whole hand can cover. And in a second you're going to slide every inch of it into me. Go on. Line him up."
Max pressed the swollen head against his wife's open cunt. Her lips, slack and shining with cum and slick, wrapped around the dark crown, and Marcus groaned low above her.
"Fuck, that's nice. Husband's aim for me. Polite little cucks make the best guides."
Max pushed. The head slipped through the stretched ring of her entrance and sank in, dragging through his own grip, and he fed the shaft forward inch by inch, feeling it plough through the soaked heat of his wife's cunt, feeling her muscles ripple around the intrusion through the cock in his hand.
"Oh God," Hannah moaned into the pillow, hips pushing back to swallow more. "Oh, that's it, that's it. Your husband's putting your cock in me, Marcus. He's filling me up with it himself. He can feel how deep you go, can't you, Max? You can feel my cunt stretching around him through your own fingers."
Max could. He could feel everything, the girth forcing her wide under his palm, the way her body yielded to it so much more easily than it ever had to him. He pushed until his knuckles pressed against her soaked arse and the heavy balls swung against his wrist, and then he let go and stepped back like a man releasing something dangerous.
"All the way in," he said, wrecked. "I put it all the way in."
"Yes, you did." Hannah turned her head and grinned at him, curls plastered to her cheek, eyes glittering. "Best thing you've ever done for me. Now sit down in your chair like a good boy and watch what happens to your wife."
Max backed away on unsteady legs and dropped into the chair at the foot of the bed. From there he had the perfect view, his wife's wide arse raised and waiting, Marcus's shaft buried to the hilt inside her, her heavy tits hanging and swaying beneath her soft belly.
Marcus gripped her hips in both big hands and began to move.
The first stroke was slow, dragging out until the crown caught, then driving back in hard, and Hannah howled into the pillow. The second was faster. By the fifth Marcus had found his rhythm and was fucking her properly from behind, deep hammering strokes that clapped his hips against her arse and shook her whole soft body forward on the bed.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, yes, this is why I wanted doggy, this is it, this is how you fuck me."
"Look at those tits swing," Marcus said to Max over her back. "Your wife's tits are bouncing for me, man. Every stroke."
Max watched them. Her enormous breasts swung beneath her in long heavy arcs, slapping together with every thrust, her nipples dragging across the sheets. Her arse rippled where Marcus's hips met it. Her cunt gushed around the shaft plunging into her, squelching loud in the room, frothed white with the first load still inside her.
"Look at me, Max," Hannah demanded, and he did.
She had turned her head on the pillow, cheek pressed down, eyes fixed on him in the chair, and her face was already coming apart. Mouth open, eyes glazed, brows knotted, the look he'd never put there in fifteen years.
"I'm such a slut," she panted between thrusts. "I'm such a slut for other men, Max. For any man with a bigger cock than yours. Strangers. Any stranger who looks at me right. This is what I am. Your wife is a big black cock slut and you just put it inside me yourself."
Her voice broke as Marcus drove deep and ground his hips against her arse.
"And this pussy," she gasped, "belongs to Marcus now. You heard me say it. It's his. He owns it. You're just the man who pays for the hotel room and watches. Aren't you?"
"Yes," Max breathed, fisting his half-hard cock back to life.
"Say it louder."
"Yes. It's yours, Marcus. Her pussy's yours."
"Damn right it is." Marcus slowed, cruel, pulling almost all the way out and holding there, her lips stretched pink around the flared head. "And you know what owners do to their property, Hannah?"
"Breed it," Hannah whimpered, pushing back onto him, desperate, taking him deep again herself. "Please. Give me another load. Fill me up again. Second load, right in my married cunt, deep where it counts, so my husband has to clean it up after. Please, Marcus, I need it. I need your cum again."
Marcus laughed and smacked her arse, the crack of it sharp in the room, a red handprint blooming on the pale flesh, and fucked her harder.
The room filled with it. The slap of flesh, the creak of the bed, the wet roar of her cunt, her cries rising higher with every stroke. Max sat in the chair and drank it in, three feet away, his cock rigid and leaking again, unable to stop touching himself, unable to look away from the bulge that rose in his wife's soft belly every time Marcus bottomed out.
Time stretched. Marcus fucked her through positions of speed, slow deep grinding that made her sob, then brutal short pounding that punched the cries out of her, and he never let her settle, never let her catch up. Sweat rolled down his chest and dripped onto her arse. Her make-up had gone completely, black streaks down her cheeks, and she didn't care, she wanted it, she was riding the edge of something huge and she told Max about it the whole way.
"Twenty minutes," she panted at one point, checking nothing, just knowing. "He's been fucking me twenty minutes, Max, and you normally last two. Do you understand now? Do you understand what I've been missing?"
"I understand," Max groaned.
"You're going to eat every drop out of me," Hannah went on, hips slamming back to meet Marcus now, meeting him stroke for stroke, her arse clapping against him. "Both loads. Every last bit of his cum out of your wife's cunt with your tongue. And you're going to thank me for it. Aren't you? Say you will."
"I'll clean it up. I'll eat it all. I promise."
"That's my good little cuck."
Marcus tightened his grip on her hips and shifted his stance, driving upward now, angled, and Hannah's cry cracked into something new. He was hitting the deepest part of her with every thrust, the head of his cock battering her cervix through the flood of cum already coating her, and her thighs began to shake.
"That's it," Marcus growled. "There's your spot, isn't it? Right there."
"There, THERE, don't move, don't you dare change anything." Hannah's voice climbed. Her hands fisted the sheets. "I'm going to come, Max, watch me, watch your wife come on another man's cock, watch him make me come, you never, no one ever."
She came apart like something breaking. Her whole body seized, back bowing, arse jammed hard against Marcus, and she screamed, raw and continuous, a scream that had no shame in it at all. Her cunt clamped and fluttered around him and something more came with it, a hot gush that squirted past his shaft and sprayed the sheets, running down over her thighs in shiny trails, dripping off her knees onto the bed.
"She's squirting," Marcus announced, delighted, fucking her through it without mercy. "Your wife's squirting on my cock, man. You seeing this?"
Max was seeing it. His wife, his prim, dominant, controlled wife, shaking and screaming and gushing around a stranger's shaft, her fluids running down her own thighs, her face wrecked beyond anything he'd ever dreamed. He was stroking himself frantically and didn't dare come, holding the base of his cock, jaw clenched, tears standing in his eyes from the effort.
Marcus lasted through her climax and kept going, driving her up the bed, her cries fading into broken whimpers, her body gone slack and used, taking it. His rhythm shortened. His breathing roughened. His balls drew up heavy against her clit.
"Here it comes, baby. Second load. You ready?"
"Give it to me." Hannah pushed back against him, shameless, reaching under herself to cup his balls, feeling them tighten. "Breed me again. Flood my fertile pussy. Do it while my husband watches."
Marcus slammed in to the hilt and roared. His cock swelled inside her and pulsed, and Hannah felt the second flood, hotter and thicker than the first, spurting against her cervix in heavy pulses, spurt after spurt after spurt, so much of it that it had nowhere to go and backed out around his shaft in creamy white streams down her thighs.
"Take it, take it, take every drop of my cum, married slut. There's your baby-maker. Right up against the womb."
"Yes, God, yes, fill me, fill me, I feel it, I feel so much of it, get me pregnant, breed my slut pussy!"
Max nearly came without even touching himself, just hearing his wife like this, watching another man's cum pump into his wife from three feet away. He couldn't look away from the place they were joined, the white froth churning around Marcus's pistoning shaft, the rivulets running down the soft backs of his wife's thighs.
Marcus ground deep through the last pulses, hip circles, pushing every drop as far into her as it would go. Then he let go of her hips and she sagged forward flat onto the bed, both loads churning inside her, and he draped himself over her back, still buried, kissing the sweat off her shoulder.
"That's two," he said into her ear. "Deep ones. Both of them right where they need to be."
Hannah turned her face on the sheets. Her eyes found Max, sat in his chair, watching transfixed, and she smiled, slow and syrupy and utterly shameless, cum still seeping from between her thighs around the shaft of the man pinning her down.
"Two loads, sweetheart," she said softly. "And there's a lot of it. Better get over here before it all leaks out of me cuck."