Chapter 2: The Training Begins
The knock came at ten in the morning. Britney was in the kitchen, still in her robe, coffee halfway to her lips. She set the mug down and went to the door.
Tyrone stood on the porch in a bright green sock. His cock hung heavy inside the fabric, the outline unmistakable, the weight of it pulling the mesh down. He didn't smile.
"Three days," he said. "You been restin' that tight little ass like I told you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Come on."
He turned and walked back toward his unit. Britney glanced over her shoulder at the bedroom where Jon was still sleeping. She stepped out in her robe and followed.
The air in Tyrone's unit was thick and still. Heavy wooden furniture crowded the small living room, dark tables and a worn leather couch. The curtains were drawn. A single lamp burned on an end table. Aaliyah was not in sight, but Britney could hear movement deeper in the house.
Tyrone stopped in the middle of the room and turned.
"Strip."
Britney untied the robe and let it fall. She stood naked, her big natural tits heavy and bare, the barbells gleaming in the lamplight. Her smooth waxed cunt was bare except for the thin landing strip above her clit. The silver rings in her lips caught the light.
Tyrone looked her over, slow.
"Kneel."
She lowered herself to her knees on the worn rug. The fibers scratched her bare shins. Her tits hung low, the weight of them pulling her nipples down.
"You know why we here?"
"To train me."
"That's right." He sat down on the leather couch, his socked cock at eye level. "I took your ass three times in the hot tub. You did good for a first time. But you wasn't ready. You was tight, and you cried."
Britney felt heat rise to her cheeks.
"I didn't cry."
"You did." He said it flat, no cruelty in it, just fact. "You cried when I first pushed in. That's fine. That's what this is for."
A door opened somewhere in the back of the house. Britney heard bare feet on the wood floor. Aaliyah appeared in the doorway to the hall, wrapped in a thin silk robe, her old thin body angular and sharp beneath it. She leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms.
"Look at her," Aaliyah said, her voice low and warm. "Little white wifey on her knees like she belong there."
The words settled over Britney like a blanket.
"Told you she'd be back," Tyrone said. "She got the mark on her tit. She got BBC SLUT tattooed above her tight little cunt. She comin' back for more."
"Mmm." Aaliyah's eyes traveled over Britney's body. "That's a fine little piece of white meat you got there. Those titties so heavy they pullin' her whole chest down."
Britney felt her nipples tighten. The barbells pressed against the wide white rings.
"Bring me the box," Tyrone said.
Aaliyah disappeared into the back room and returned with a wooden case. She set it on the end table and opened the lid. Britney craned her neck to see. Inside, lined up on red velvet, were three plugs. Black silicone, each one thicker than the last.
"These gonna be your friends today," Tyrone said. He picked up the smallest. It was about the thickness of two fingers, with a flared base. "We start slow. We work you open. By the time we done, you gonna take the big one."
Britney swallowed. The biggest plug looked like a fist at the base, tapering to a blunt rounded tip as thick as her wrist.
"You scared?" Tyrone asked.
"No."
"Good. You lyin', but that's fine. You gon' learn to tell the truth soon enough."
He held the small plug up to the lamplight.
"Turn around. Hands and knees on the floor."
Britney rotated, her knees grinding into the rug. She lowered herself to her forearms, her ass up, her tits swinging beneath her. She felt exposed, her bare wet cunt on display, her little pink asshole puckered tight in the dim light.
Aaliyah moved around to stand in front of her. She looked down at Britney's face, then at her dangling tits.
"Look at them jugs," she said. "So full and heavy. You been lactatin' or somethin'?"
"No."
"They look like a cow's udder. All full and milky." Aaliyah reached down and cupped one, weighing it in her palm. "Firm, too. That's real white girl titty."
"Leave her tits alone," Tyrone said. "We workin' on the other end today."
Aaliyah released her and stepped back.
Tyrone knelt behind Britney. She felt his hands on her ass cheeks, spreading them apart. The air hit her puckered hole, cool and sudden.
"Been keepin' it clean?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You been playin' with it at all?"
"No. You told me to rest."
"Good." He pressed a thumb to her hole and she tensed. "Relax. This ain't gonna hurt if you let it. You tight as a drum right now. That's your white girl ass tellin' me it ain't never been trained. That's fine. We gon' fix that."
His thumb circled her rim, slow and patient. Britney felt her body fighting it, the muscle clenching.
"Breathe out," Tyrone said. "Push against me."
She exhaled and pushed. His thumb slid in, just the tip. She gasped.
"That's it. That's the first lesson. You learn to open yourself, not wait for me to force it."
He worked his thumb in deeper, twisting it slow. The stretch was small, almost nothing, but the sensation was alien. She felt her asshole clenching around him, fighting every inch.
"I know it feel strange," he said. "White girl ass never had nothin' in it but my cock three days ago. You was tight. I felt you screamin' around me."
"Please," she breathed.
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop."
Tyrone chuckled, low. "I ain't stoppin'. We just gettin' started."
He pulled his thumb out and reached for the smallest plug. Britney felt the cool silicone touch her hole.
"This gon' go in easier than my thumb. It's smoother. But you still gotta relax."
He pressed the tip against her. She exhaled and pushed. The blunt head slid past her rim and her whole body shuddered.
"That's it," he said. "Take it."
The plug seated itself inside her, the flared base pressing against her cheeks. She felt full, stretched wider than anything but his cock had stretched her. Her asshole clenched around the shaft of the plug.
"How's that feel?" Aaliyah asked from the front.
"Weird," Britney admitted.
"You like it?"
"I don't know yet."
Tyrone left the plug in place. He ran his hands over her ass cheeks, slow, admiring.
"Now, you gon' sit with that for a while. Let your body get used to it. Then we go up a size."
"How long?"
"Twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. We got time."
He stood up and walked to the kitchen. Britney heard water running, the clink of a glass. She stayed on her hands and knees on the rug, the plug stretching her asshole, her tits hanging low and heavy beneath her chest.
Aaliyah crouched in front of her. She looked into Britney's eyes.
"You like this, don't you?"
"I like Tyrone."
"More than your husband?"
The question sat between them. Britney thought about Jon, asleep in their bed. She thought about the way he watched her, the hunger in his eyes when Marcus fucked her against the kitchen counter.
"My husband likes it too," she said.
"That ain't what I asked." Aaliyah's hand came up and stroked Britney's cheek. "You got a nice tight little cunt. I seen the tattoo. BBC SLUT. Right above your clit. That tell me you know what you are."
"I know what I am."
"Then why you ain't answerin' my question?"
Britney looked at the floor. The plug pulsed inside her, a constant pressure.
"I like Tyrone," she said again. "He took my ass. He made me cry. And I came back for more."
Aaliyah smiled slow.
"That's a good answer. You learnin'."
Tyrone came back from the kitchen with a glass of water. He set it on the end table and knelt behind her again.
"You ready for the next one?"
"Yes."
He worked the small plug out slow. Britney gasped as it passed her rim, the sudden emptiness almost worse than the fullness. Then the second plug pressed against her. It was thicker, maybe as thick as Tyrone's cock. She felt her body clench.
"Breathe, wifey."
She exhaled and pushed. The plug pushed back. For a moment she thought it wouldn't fit. Then her rim gave way, the head sliding past, and she felt herself stretch wide around the shaft.
"Fuck," she gasped.
"Good girl. That's the second one. You feel that stretch?"
"Yes."
"That's what my cock felt like when I first took your ass. That tight little white hole just barely makin' room. And then I pushed through anyway."
She moaned, her forehead against the rug. The plug was thick and heavy inside her. She could feel her own body trying to expel it, the muscle clenching and unclenching.
"Now you sit with that one," Tyrone said. "And we see how long you last before you start cryin'."
"I'm not gonna cry."
"We'll see."
He left her there again. Britney stayed on her hands and knees, the plug deep in her ass, her cunt dripping onto the rug. The silver rings in her lips glistened. The tattoo above her clit stood out in black letters, the ink still fresh.
Aaliyah watched her from the doorway.
"Your pussy so wet," she said. "I can see it runnin' down your thigh."
"My body likes it."
"Your mouth say one thing, but your pussy tell the truth." Aaliyah laughed soft. "That's how it always go with you white wifey types. All that talk about bein' nervous, but look at you. Drippin' on Tyrone's floor."
Britney said nothing. The plug pressed against her inner walls, a constant heavy reminder.
Tyrone returned after what felt like an hour. He knelt behind her and looked at her open, stretched hole.
"How's it feel?"
"Full."
"You want the big one?"
She thought about it. The biggest plug was thick as a fist, a solid black mass of silicone.
"I want whatever you want me to take."
"Good girl." He worked the second plug out slow. She felt the stretch and release of it, the emptiness after. "This last one gonna be the real test."
He held the big plug up. It was enormous, the tip blunt and rounded, the shaft thicker than Marcus's cock. Britney stared at it, her heart racing.
"You think you can take it?"
"I can try."
"Try ain't good enough. You gotta take it. All of it. Or we ain't done."
She exhaled and pushed against his fingers. He pressed the tip to her hole. It was so wide she didn't think it would fit. The pressure built, unrelenting.
"Breathe," Tyrone said. "And push."
She did. The tip pushed past her rim and she screamed, a raw animal sound torn from her throat. The stretch was blinding. She felt her body fight it, every muscle straining.
"Keep pushin'," Tyrone said. "Don't clench. You gonna tear yourself if you fight it."
A tear ran down her cheek. She pushed again, and the plug sank deeper. Her asshole stretched around the thick shaft, the base still outside.
"There we go. Almost there."
Another push and the widest part passed through. The plug seated itself inside her with a wet sound. Her whole body shuddered. She felt impossibly full, the pressure pushing against her guts, her cunt.
"Good girl," Tyrone breathed. "Good God."
He left it in. Britney stayed on her hands and knees, trembling. Her face was wet. She had cried.
"Now," Tyrone said, standing up, "you gon' sit with that and you gon' take it. We gon' eat some lunch. And when we come back, we gon' see if you can take a full hour without cryin'."
He walked toward the kitchen. Aaliyah followed him.
"That's my girl," Aaliyah said over her shoulder. "That's my little white wifey."
The door swung shut. Britney was alone in the dim living room, the big plug stretching her ass wide, her cunt dripping onto the rug. She heard the clink of dishes in the kitchen. She heard Aaliyah's low voice, then Tyrone's laugh.
She breathed. She pushed against the plug the way he taught her. And slowly, her body began to open around it.
She sat with the big one for a long time. The kitchen sounds faded. The lamp burned low. Her knees ached against the rug and her cunt soaked the fibers beneath her. She could feel the plug pressing against her insides, so deep and thick that she felt it in her throat. She breathed slow, the way he taught her. Push, not clench. Open, not fight.
Time lost its shape. Footsteps in the hall. The door swung open.
Tyrone came in first, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Aaliyah followed, her silk robe loose at the collar.
"Still on your knees," Tyrone said. "Good girl."
He crouched in front of her and looked her in the eye. She was still crying. Silent tears, but there.
"You took it," he said. "You took the big one. You sat with it through lunch. That's more than I thought you'd do."
Britney blinked up at him. The plug pulsed inside her, heavy and endless.
"Please," she said. "Please take it out."
"Not yet." He ran a hand over her hair, slow. "You did good. So I'm gon' give you your reward."
Her stomach turned. Her cunt throbbed.
"What reward?"
He smiled, slow and dark.
"You took my cock in the hot tub. Three times. You was tight, you cried, but you took it. That was the test. This." He touched the base of the plug, just enough to make her gasp. "This was the trainin'. Now I'm gon' take your ass again. And this time, you gon' thank me for it."
Britney's heart pounded. Her legs were numb. Her asshole was stretched wider than it had ever been, the plug still seated deep.
"I want it," she said. "I want your cock."
"I know you do, wifey. That's why you come back." He moved behind her. "Now, let's get this plug out and put somethin' better in."
He gripped the flared base with two fingers and pulled, slow and steady. The plug dragged against her inner walls, a thick impossible pressure. She cried out as the widest part passed her rim, the stretch turning into an ache, then a sudden empty drop. The plug came free with a wet sound and she collapsed onto her forearms, gasping, her asshole gaping open and clenching on nothing.
Aaliyah looked down at her from the front, a smile on her thin lips.
"Look at that hole," she said. "Open and ready. He trained you good."
Tyrone stood and pulled his sock off. His cock sprang free, thick and dark, already fully hard. The head was slick with a bead of precum. He stroked it once, slow.
"Turn over," he said. "I want to see your face when I take you."
Britney rolled onto her back. Her tits fell to either side of her chest, heavy and round, the barbells catching the lamplight. Her bare cunt was slick and pink, the tattoo above her clit dark against her pale skin. Her asshole was still open, a dark ring pulsing in the dim light.
He knelt between her legs. He lined the head of his cock up with her stretched hole, and pushed.
The head sank in with almost no resistance. Her asshole closed around the shaft behind it, gripping him, clenching. She felt every inch of him entering her, deep and thick and endless. The pressure built in her guts, a full and overwhelming heat. Her mouth fell open and she moaned.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Fuck, you're so big."
"That's the reward," he grunted. "You earned every inch."
He pulled out till just the tip was inside, then drove back in. The sound was wet, obscene. Her tits bounced with each thrust, the barbells jingling, the wide white rings bright in the dim light.
Aaliyah moved around them, watching. She crouched by Britney's head and looked down at her face.
"Look at you," she said. "White wifey on her back, takin' her bull's cock in her ass. You like that, don't you, baby?"
"Yes," Britney gasped. "Yes, I like it."
"Tell him. Tell him how much you like it."
"I like your cock, Tyrone. I like it in my ass. I like it so much."
He fucked her harder. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her onto him, holding her open. The stretch was deep and constant, not like the first time in the hot tub when she'd fought and cried. Now her body was open. Now she took him.
"You feel that?" he said. "That's your bull. That's the man that trained your tight white ass. You feel how deep I am?"
"Yes. I feel you. I feel everything."
"I'm gonna come inside you," he said. "Right in this stretched hole. And you're gonna thank me for it. You're gonna say thank you for fillin' my ass."
"Yes. Please. Please come inside me."
He drove into her, deep and harder, his rhythm losing its shape. His breath came in low grunts. The lamplight caught the sheen of sweat on his dark skin. Britney felt the pressure building inside her, the edge of her own climax clawing up through her body.
"Come for me," she begged. "Please come, Tyrone. Fill my ass. Make me yours."
"I'm 'bout to," he said, his voice ragged. "Take it. Take every drop."
He slammed into her one final time, driving his cock as deep as it would go, and came with a long guttural groan. Britney felt the heat flood her, a thick hot surge deep in her bowels, and she came with him. Her body arched, her tits pointing at the ceiling, her cunt clenching empty, her asshole gripping his cock in wave after wave.
He stayed inside her till he was done, then pulled out slowly. His come ran out of her gaping hole, thick and white, streaking down her ass and pooling on the rug.
Aaliyah looked down at the mess, then at Britney.
"That's a good snowbunny," she said. "That's a good white wifey."
Tyrone stood, his cock still wet. He looked at Britney lying on the rug, her assful of his come, her tits heaving, her face flushed.
"This is your hole now," he said. "This is my hole. Marcus can have your cunt, but your ass is mine. You understand?"
"Yes," Britney whispered. "I understand."
"Good." He crouched and ran a hand over her hair, gentler now. "You did real good today. You earned that. Now, on your knees. Clean me off, then you can go home."
She pushed herself up. Her ass throbbed, full of his come. She crawled to him on her hands and knees, past Aaliyah's bare feet, and took his wet cock in her mouth. She tasted her own ass, salt and heat, and under it the thick bitter load he'd left deep inside her. She worked him slow, swallowing every drop, her tongue cleaning the underside of his shaft.
Aaliyah watched, arms folded, a small smile on her lips.
"That's my girl," she said. "That's my little white wifey."
When Tyrone pulled out of her mouth, his cock was clean and soft. He tucked himself back into the green sock. Britney stayed on her knees, her ass still leaking his come onto the rug.
"You go home now," he said. "Rest that hole. We got more trainin' tomorrow."
"Yes, Tyrone."
She crawled to her robe and pulled it on, wincing as the fabric touched her raw stretched hole. Her legs were shaky. Her cunt was still soaked. She stood at the door, her hand on the knob, and looked back at them.
Tyrone was on the couch, his socked cock at ease. Aaliyah stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder.
"Thank you," Britney said.
"For what?"
"For training me. For taking my ass. For making me yours."
Tyrone smiled slow.
"You welcome, wifey. You welcome."
She opened the door and stepped out into the sun. The air was bright and warm, and she felt his come running down the inside of her thigh as she crossed the grass to her own unit. Jon was at the kitchen window. He saw her walk across the yard in her robe, saw the wobble in her step, the way she held herself different.
She came in through the front door. Jon was there, waiting.
"Baby," he said. "Are you okay?"
She looked at him. Her eyes were red, her lips swollen. She could feel Tyrone's come still deep inside her, a thick pressure in her ass.
"I'm fine," she said. And she smiled. "I'm perfect."
She walked past him toward the shower. Jon watched her go. Her robe swung open for a second and he saw it. Her bare cunt, the tattoo above it, and the thick white streak of come running down the inside of her thigh.
He said nothing. He just stood at the window, watching the way she walked now, different than this morning. Like something had changed in her. Like the shape of her body had remembered something it never knew.
The hot water washed over her but did nothing to cool the ache between her legs. She pressed her palm flat against the tile and let the spray beat against her shoulders. Her ass was sore deep inside, the lingering shape of the plug still echoing. But her cunt was worse. A ravenous, hollow hunger that had been building all through the training. She could still feel the wetness running down her thigh when Tyrone pulled out of her mouth. That had been her own, not his.
She stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself. Her legs were shaky. She crossed the hall into the bedroom. Jon was sitting on the edge of the mattress, bare-chested, his hands folded.
"How was it?" he asked.
"It was intense. He trained my ass with plugs. Three of them. The biggest one hurt."
"And you took it?"
"I took it. He fucked me in my ass after. Thank god that hole is sore." She sat down next to him. The towel fell open. "But it's my cunt that's aching, Jon. It's been too long. Marcus filled it this weekend. Tyrone touched it. But my pussy wants more."
Jon looked at her, his eyes dropping to the bare crease between her legs. She spread her knees slightly. The pink fold of her tight cunt showed through the gap in the towel.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"I want Marcus. Right now. I need his cock in me."
"He just drove you back."
"I know. Which is why I'm soaking wet already." She took his hand and pressed it between her legs. His fingers found her slick opening. "Do you feel that? That's not from the plugs. It's from my cunt. I want to be fucked."
Jon swallowed. "You want me to call him?"
"Yes. Tell him I need him. Tell him to come over."
Jon pulled out his phone and dialed. It rang once. Twice.
"Marcus," he said. "Britney needs you. She's back from Tyrone's and she's real needy right now."
A pause. Jon's face was blank while he listened.
"Yeah. Okay. See you in five."
He hung up and looked at her.
"He's on his way."
"Good." She stood up and let the towel drop. "I'm gonna wait for him on the bed. On my back. This pussy open and ready."
She lay down and spread her legs, hooking her knees wide. The tattoo above her clit was dark against her pale skin. The silver rings in her lips glinted in the afternoon light.
The front door opened. Heavy footsteps crossed the living room. Marcus filled the bedroom doorway in a bright yellow sock, his cock heavy against the mesh, clearly half-hard already.
"Well now," he said, looking down at her spread open. "Look what we got here. White wifey on her back, cunt open and winking at me."
"Please," she said. "My cunt is starving."
"Tyrone wore out your ass, did he?"
"My pussy needs you, Marcus. I need you to fill me up. I can't think straight anymore."
Marcus pulled his sock off. His cock sprung free, heavy and dark, hardening in seconds. The head was already glistening.
"You want me to fuck this tight pink cunt?"
"Yes. Please. Put it in me."
He climbed onto the bed between her legs. The mattress dipped under his weight. He pressed the head of his cock against her wet slit, sliding it up and down along her slick folds, catching her clit.
"I asked you a question," he said. "You want me to fuck this tight white pussy?"
"I want you to fuck my tight little cunt till I scream."
"Good girl."
He drove in, one hard stroke, burying his thick black cock to the root. Britney screamed, her back arching, her tits pointing at the ceiling. The barbells swung wild.
"Fuck!" she cried out. "Yes. That's it. That's what I needed."
"Yeah? This what your pussy was craving?"
"Yes. Oh God, yes."
He pulled out and drove back in, hard, the slap of his hips against her wet skin filling the room. Her cunt gripped him tight, slick and shaven, the silver rings stretching wide around his shaft.
"You hear that?" he grunted. "That's your pussy talking to me. Telling me it missed me."
"I did miss you," she gasped. "I missed your cock so much."
Jon sat in the chair by the window, watching. His hand was at his crotch. He watched his wife take the bull bareback, his mouth open, his eyes hungry.
Marcus lifted her legs onto his shoulders and drove deeper, the head of his cock pressing against her cervix. She clawed at the sheets, her eyes rolled back.
"Harder," she begged. "Please, Marcus. Harder. Fuck me harder. I need it."
He did. He fucked her with everything he had, his rhythm fast and punishing, his balls slapping against her smooth stretched lips. Her tits bounced with each stroke, her heavy naturals jiggling with the force of his hips.
"Look at me," he said. "I want you to watch my cock going in and out of your white pussy."
She forced her eyes down. She saw the thick dark shaft sliding in and out of her pink wet cunt, her own slick coating it, the tattoo above her clit dark and smeared.
"Oh my God," she breathed. "I can see it. I can see you in me."
"Whose pussy is this?"
"Yours. It's yours. It's your white wifey's pussy."
"That's right." He drove in deep and stayed there. "And this pussy gonna be so full of my come you gonna feel it in your throat."
"Please. Please fill me up. I want to feel it."
He fucked her hard for another ten minutes, changing angles, driving deep, his rough hands gripping her waist. She came twice on his cock, her tight cunt clenching around him in violent waves.
"Please," she gasped the third time. "Please come inside me."
"Gon' give it to you now. Take it."
He buried himself deep and let go. She felt the hot surge flood her, thick and endless, filling her stretched cunt to overflowing. She came with him, screaming, her whole body locking up around his cock.
When he finally pulled out, his come ran out of her in a thick stream. It pooled on the sheets under her ass.
Marcus looked down at the mess, then at her.
"Feel better now?"
"Yes." She was breathing hard, her tits heaving, her cunt gaping and leaking. "I needed that so bad."
"You gonna need it again. Tomorrow. You gonna come over and thank Xenia for loanin' me out to you." He pulled his sock back on. "You got a good tight cunt, wifey. We gon' keep it that way."
He walked out of the bedroom, leaving the front door open. Britney stayed on the bed, his come running down her thighs, a lazy smile on her face. Jon stood and walked to her.
"Baby," he said.
She looked up at him, her eyes bright.
"Don't you ever wonder what it would be like if it was me filling you up instead?"
"It was you filling me up earlier." She reached out and took his hand, pressing it back between her legs. "Feel that? That's Marcus. That's my bull. This pussy belongs to him now, Jon. I told you that. All three of them. I belong to them."
Jon's face was a mix of conflict and weak arousal. He let her press his fingers against the slick mess of their two loads.
"At least you're happy," he said.
"I'm more than happy. I'm where I belong."
She pulled him down onto the bed and kissed him, tasting Marcus's sweat on her own lips. She was still full, still stretched, still satisfied. And yet she already felt the hunger building again deep in her tight cunt, ready for tomorrow.
The sheets were still damp with Marcus's come when Britney heard the front door open again. Heavy boots on the wood floor. Two sets of them.
Marcus appeared in the bedroom doorway, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Tyrone stood behind him, the green sock bulging against his thigh.
"Get up," Marcus said. "We goin' to the beach."
Britney sat up, the sheet falling away from her tits. "What beach?"
"The nude one, up the coast. Two hours, private cove, no rules." Marcus tossed a small bag onto the bed. "I packed you a swimsuit. Barely anything in it. We leavin' in ten."
Jon stood by the window, watching. Britney swung her legs off the bed and opened the bag. Inside was a white thong so thin it was almost transparent, and a triangle top that would cover maybe a third of each tit.
"Put it on," Tyrone said. "We got a full day planned."
She pulled the thong up her legs. The fabric disappeared between her cheeks. The top barely covered her nipples, the barbells pressing against the thin material. She smoothed the strings and turned to them.
"Good girl," Marcus said. "Now let's go."
Jon stepped forward. "Should I come?"
"Not yet," Tyrone said. "She gon' be real worn out when we bring her back. You gon' have a full night of cleanin' her up."
Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. Britney kissed him on the cheek as she passed.
"I'll see you tonight," she said. "I'll be full."
Marcus drove. Britney sat in the middle, Tyrone on the passenger side, his hand on her bare thigh. The truck hummed along the coast road. She watched the ocean flash past between the pines.
"You ever been to a nude beach?" Tyrone asked.
"No."
"It's just a beach. People ain't wearin' clothes." He squeezed her thigh. "Cept us. We gon' be the only ones wearin' socks. Every other man on that beach gon' be free, and they gon' see you walkin' in with two bulls in cock socks."
Britney felt her cunt pulse. The thong was soaked through by the time they turned off the highway.
The cove was a half circle of pale sand, bounded by rocks on both ends. A handful of people dotted the beach, mostly old couples, a few single men. All naked. Britney stepped out of the truck in her tiny white suit, and every head on the beach turned.
"There she is," Marcus said, loud enough for the nearest group to hear. "That's my white wifey. Brought her down here to show her off."
A gray-haired man in a sun hat let his eyes crawl over her body. His cock stirred against his thigh. Britney felt a hot flush spread up her neck.
"Look at them stripper tits," he said, his voice cracked with age. "Got the whole package, don't she?"
"That's right," Tyrone said. "We brought the bimbo to the beach. White wifey showpiece. Gon' be here all day."
They set up a blanket near the waterline. Britney knelt on it while Marcus worked sunscreen into her shoulders. His hands slid down to her tits, working the lotion into the undersides, her nipples hardening under his fingers. The old men watched. Two more had wandered closer, their eyes fixed on her bent back.
"Turn over," Tyrone said.
She lay on her back. He worked the sunscreen into her stomach, her thighs, the inside of her legs. The sun beat down. Her tits glistened with oil, the white rings around her nipples bright against her tanned skin.
"Heard you got tattooed," the gray-haired man said, moving closer. "Show us what you got."
Britney looked at Marcus. He nodded.
She hooked her fingers into the sides of the thong and pulled it down. The old man sucked in a breath. Above her bare waxed slit, the dark letters spelled BBC SLUT. Her silver lip rings caught the light.
"Sweet Jesus," the man breathed. "You got a real one there, son."
"I told you," Marcus said. "She's our snowbunny."
The old man's hand went to his cock. He stroked it slow, watching her.
You don't see a piece like that every day."
Britney lay back, her legs open, showing them everything. The old man advanced, his knees popping as he knelt at the edge of the blanket.
"Can I touch her?"
"Not yet," Tyrone said. "We got plans for her first."
He pulled Britney to her feet and walked her into the water. The waves lapped at her waist, cold for a second, then warm. Marcus followed. They flanked her, one hand each on her hips. The tiny white top did nothing to keep her tits from floating up, the barbells bobbing at the surface.
"You feel that?" Marcus murmured. "Every man on this beach is watchin' you right now. You're the show."
"I know," she breathed. "I love it."
"Good. Ten hours of this, then we take you home full."
They walked her back to the blanket. The crowd had grown. Eight men now, two women. All naked. All staring at the tiny white woman in the barely-there bikini.
"Time for the first round," Tyrone said, loud enough for them all to hear. "We gon' take her right here on the sand. Gon' stuff every hole she got."
Britney knelt on the blanket. Marcus pulled her top off, her tits swinging free. The barbells glinted in the sun. The men groaned. The side ties of the thong gave with nothing but a tug at her hip.
She was naked on the beach, nine strangers watching her.
"On your back," Marcus said.
She lay down. The sand was warm beneath her. Marcus knelt between her legs, Tyrone at her head. Her cunt was slick within seconds, the sight of them both above her pushing her past any nerves. The crowd gathered closer, a semicircle of hungry eyes.
"This is what a bull does to his white wifey," Marcus announced. "He shares her. He fills her. And then he sends her home to her husband all messy."
He pressed his cock to her wet slit. She arched up to meet him and he drove in, a single hard thrust that made her cry out. The men murmured approval. He fucked her slow at first, drawing gasps, her tits jiggling with each stroke.
"Look at that tight white pussy," one of the old men said. "Suckin' that black dick right in."
Britney's head swam. The sun, the salt air, the dozen watching eyes. Tyrone moved between her tits, his cock at her mouth. She opened for him and he pushed in, the taste of his skin salty and thick. She worked her tongue along the underside of his shaft while Marcus pounded her cunt.
"Both holes at once," Tyrone grunted. "That's what we trained her for."
Marcus pulled out of her cunt and lifted her legs higher, exposing her ass. The hole was still loose and slick from the plugs. Tyrone pulled out of her mouth and moved down.
"You ready for both of us?"
"Yes," she gasped. "Please. Fill my holes."
Marcus lined up at her cunt. Tyrone pressed his cock to her ass. They pushed together. Britney felt herself stretch impossibly wide, two thick shafts side by side, the walls between her holes thin as paper. She screamed. The sound echoed off the rocks.
"Sweet mother," one of the men whispered. "Double barreled."
They fucked her like that, slow and deep, their hips finding a rhythm together. Marcus drove into her cunt, Tyrone into her ass. Every stroke pushed them against each other through her thin inner walls. Britney was beyond speech, beyond thought. She was just holes, just flesh, stretched and full and burning.
"Gon' fill you both at once," Marcus grunted.
"From both ends," Tyrone added.
Their rhythm sped up. Britney felt her climax building, massive and blind. She came with a broken scream. Her whole body clenched around them. They kept going, riding her through it, and then Marcus came first, a hot flood in her cunt, followed seconds later by Tyrone, his load firing deep in her ass. They came together, filling her from both ends, their come meeting somewhere inside her.
When they pulled out, a thick mixture of their loads ran out of both holes, pooling on the sand beneath her.
"Round one," Marcus said. "Seven more hours to go."
The men clapped. A woman in a straw hat bit her lip. Britney lay panting, her holes gaping, her body slick with sweat and their come.
They gave her water. They let her lie in the sun for a few minutes. Then Tyrone pulled her up and guided her to her knees.
"Clean us off," he said.
She took Marcus first, slow and thorough, licking every drop of their mixed come from his shaft. Then Tyrone, the taste of her own ass thick on her tongue. The old men watched, hands on themselves. Two of them were jerking off openly.
"You want seconds?" Marcus called to the crowd. "You want some this little white wifey?"
"Fuck yeah," the gray-haired man said.
"Then get over here. She got two more holes."
The old man advanced. He was thin, weathered, his cock hard and veined. He knelt in front of Britney.
"You gon' take my cock in your mouth, girl?"
"Yes," she said, her voice hoarse.
"I'm old. I ain't young like these bulls. But I got some come in me still."
"I want it. I want your old come in my mouth."
She took him. His cock was smaller than Marcus's, but he knew how to fuck a mouth. He gripped her hair and drove deep, one hand sliding down to her tits, squeezing the heavy flesh. The other men watched. Marcus and Tyrone sat back, arms folded, smiling.
"Good girl," the old man breathed. "Swallow it all."
He came with a shudder, his load thin but hot. Britney swallowed every drop, keeping eye contact the whole time.
"Another," Marcus said.
A second man took her cunt. He was younger, built, with a thick cock that made her gasp on entry. He fucked her hard on the sand while the old man watched, stroking his wet cock. Her tits bounced. The men crowed.
"Look at her take it," someone said. "Born for this."
The younger man came inside her, painting her cervix with a load that ran down her thighs. Then a third man took her ass while she sucked the fourth. By mid-morning she had taken six cocks in her mouth, four in her cunt, three in her ass. Her holes were raw and loose and streaming with come.
"This is what happens when you bring a bimbo to the beach," Tyrone announced. "She just keeps takin' it."
Britney lay in the sun, her body coated in drying come, her eyes half closed. The tide had come in and washed the sand clean around her. She was barely able to move.
"That was the morning," Marcus said. "We got from noon to sundown still."
"Oh god," she breathed.
"Oh god yes," Tyrone corrected. He pulled her up and led her onto the blanket. "We gon' feed you lunch first. Then we start round three."
They fed her sandwiches and fruit, held water to her lips. Her hands trembled. Her cunt leaked a thin stream of come onto the blanket.
"You ever been this full?" Marcus asked.
"Never," she whispered.
"That's just gonna get fuller."
The sun climbed. More people drifted to the cove. By one o'clock, the beach was packed. Twenty naked bodies. Every single one of them gravitated toward the blanket where the tiny white woman lay between two black men in cock socks.
They fucked her through the afternoon in every combination. Marcus took her cunt while Tyrone took her mouth. Then they switched. Then both took her ass, one after the other, until her hole was a gaping dark ring. A woman knelt in the sand and licked her come-covered slit while a man took her mouth. The crowd grew bigger. Hands touched her. Finger found her. She was passed from body to body, filled and refilled.
At four o'clock, Marcus pulled her up and walked her into the shallow water. He bent her over a half-submerged rock and took her from behind while Tyrone stood in front, feeding her his cock. The tide lapped at her thighs. The salt water stung her raw stretched holes.
"We gon' come in you one more time," Marcus said. "Both of us. Then we bring you home."
"Please," she gasped. "Please fill me up. I need it."
They did. Tyrone finished in her mouth, pulling out just in time to spray her face and tits. Marcus came deep in her cunt, flooding her again. When they both pulled out, she sagged against the rock. The sun was dropping toward the horizon.
"Eight hours," Tyrone said. "You did good, wifey."
They carried her back to the truck. She was barely conscious, her skin slick with sunscreen and come, her holes streaming. They wrapped her in a towel and laid her on the back seat. She fell asleep before they reached the highway.
The engine hummed. The windows fogged with her body heat. Every bump in the road made her moan, her full holes shifting with the weight of all that come. She surfaced once, halfway home, and felt Marcus's hand on her thigh.
"You still full, baby?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Good. That's how we like you."
She slept again. When they pulled into the triplex, the sun was gone. The yard lights were on. Jon was at the kitchen window. He saw her slide out of the truck, naked under the towel, her legs wobbling.
Marcus carried her to the door. Jon opened it. He stared at the mess of his wife. Strands of dried come crusted her thighs. Her belly was swollen and tight. Her eyes were glassy and far away.
"She's all yours," Marcus said, handing her over. "Full and covered, just like we promised."
Jon took her weight. She buried her face in his chest.
"Baby," he said.
"I'm so full," she breathed. "I'm so full, Jon."
He carried her to the bedroom and laid her on the bed. The towel fell away. In the lamplight he saw it all. The come on her stomach, her tits, her chin. The swollen pink lips of her cunt. The dark ring of her ass, still open, a slow thread of mixed come seeping out onto the sheets.
"I need help," she whispered. "I can't walk."
"I'll clean you up."
"Don't." She caught his wrist. "I want to sit with it a little longer. I want to feel it inside me. Just for a little while."
Jon sat on the edge of the bed. He watched her hands drift to her belly, pressing the swell of it.
"This is what I am now," she said. "This is what they made me."
"What they made you is a mess," he said softly.
She laughed, a tired, loose sound.
"A happy mess." She turned her head to look at him. "Tomorrow you're gonna help me do my laundry. My thong came back with us but I don't think I can walk that far to get it."
Jon looked at the clothes piled by the door. The tiny white triangle of fabric lay on top, stained dark with sweat and come.
"I'll get it," he said.
He stood and fetched it. She held it up, broke the strap that had already torn. The fabric was stiff with dried fluid.
"I think I'm gonna need a new one," she said. "Maybe buy me a few more. The ones they keep picking out for me."
She reached out and pulled him down onto the bed beside her. Her body was hot and slick. She pressed her come-covered lips to his.
"They're gonna take me again," she said. "Soon. Maybe tomorrow. And I want you to come with me next time. I want you to watch me get filled up on the beach. I want you to see what I mean when I say I belong to them."
Jon looked at her belly, swollen and tight with the loads of a dozen men.
"Okay," he said. "I'll watch."
She smiled, slow and sleepy. She pulled his hand to her stomach, pressing it against the full swell.
"You can feel it," she whispered. "They filled me so full I'm heavy with it."
He could feel it. The hard tight curve of her belly beneath his palm, like she was pregnant with every load she'd taken. She sighed and closed her eyes.
"I'm gonna keep it in all night," she said. "I'm gonna sleep with it inside me. And in the morning, you're gonna watch it run out of me onto our sheets."
Jon said nothing. He just lay there in the dark beside his wife, his hand on her full belly, listening to her breathe slow into sleep.
Britney woke the next afternoon to the smell of her own skin, salt and come and sunscreen baked together. The sheets were crusted under her. She pushed herself up slow, her belly still tight and heavy, and padded to the bathroom. The shower ran hot. She stood under it for a long time, letting the water beat the dried layers off her thighs and belly, watching it swirl pink down the drain.
Jon brought her coffee and toast. She ate sitting on the edge of the bed in a towel, her legs still shaky.
"Marcus called," Jon said. "He wants to see you tonight. Said he's got a surprise."
"What kind of surprise?"
"He didn't say. Just said to be ready at eight and wear something easy to take off."
The day passed slow. She cleaned the apartment, did laundry, tried to read. Her cunt ached with a hollow need that wouldn't settle. By seven she was pacing. She chose a white sundress, short and loose, nothing underneath. The fabric brushed her bare thighs when she walked.
At eight sharp, the knock came. Britney opened the door. Marcus stood on the porch in a red sock, his cock heavy against the mesh. Behind him was a man she'd never seen. Taller than Marcus, leaner, with a shaved head and a thick gold chain at his neck. He wore a blue sock that bulged even harder than Marcus's.
"Britney," Marcus said. "This is Dre. My cousin from the city. He came down for the week."
Dre looked at her slowly, from her face to her tits to the hem of the dress. His eyes lingered where the fabric ended high on her thighs.
"This her?" he said. "This the white wifey you been talkin' about?"
"This is her." Marcus stepped inside, pulling Dre after him. "Told him all about you, baby. Your bimbo tits. Your tight pink pussy. How you been trained good."
Britney felt her face flush. The dress was thin and white. She could feel her nipples harden against the fabric.
"You want to see her properly?" Marcus said to Dre. "Go ahead. Look at your fill."
Dre circled her slow. His hand came up and brushed the hem of the dress. He lifted it, just a little. She was bare underneath. Her cunt glistened in the porch light.
"No panties," Dre said. "You keep her ready like this?"
"Always," Marcus said. "She's a showpiece. Ready when we are."
Jon came out of the bedroom. He stopped in the hall, watching.
"Jon, this is Dre," Marcus said. "He's here to help me use your wife."
Jon looked at the new man, then at Britney. She saw the flash of heat in his eyes, the way his hand moved to his pocket.
"Hello, Dre," Jon said.
"Mister." Dre nodded at him, then turned back to Britney. "Marcus say you take two at once. At the beach. That true?"
"Yes," she said.
"Good. Tonight we gon' take you slow. Just the two of us. But we gon' fuck that cunt till you can't walk."
Britney felt her knees weaken. The dress was already damp between her thighs.
"Living room," Marcus said. "Get comfortable."
He led them into the living room. Britney stood in the middle of the rug, the same one from her training with Tyrone. Marcus sat on the couch. Dre stood by the window, arms folded, watching her.
"Take the dress off," Marcus said. "Slow."
She reached behind her neck and pulled the strap. The dress slid down her body, over her tits, her belly, her hips. It pooled at her feet. She stood naked between them, her barbells glinting, her cunt bare and pink.
"Christ," Dre breathed. "Look at those tits. Heavy proper. And look at that little cunt. Tight and pink like a virgin's."
"Turn around," Marcus said.
She turned. Dre let out a low whistle.
"That ass. Marcus, you didn't say nothin' about that ass. Fit and round as a peach."
"Now, we got something to show you," Marcus said. He stood and walked to her. "Get on your knees."
She knelt. Marcus took her chin and tilted her head up. He leaned in and pressed his thumb against her bottom lip.
"Open up. Show Dre what you got in that little mouth of yours."
She opened. The tongue studs glinted. The studs in her nipples and her cunt lips caught the lamplight.
"That's it. That's my snowbunny." He stepped back. "Now come here and worship my cock through the sock. Show Dre how you beg."
She crawled to him on her hands and knees, past Dre's boots, and pressed her face to the red sock. The shape of his cock was clear through the mesh. She mouthed it through the fabric, her tongue working the head, her hands cupping his balls.
"That's good," Marcus grunted. "That's what I like. You got a mouth for this, wifey."
Dre stepped closer. He stood behind her, looking down at her ass. His hand came down and stroked her bare cheeks. She felt his thumb trace the line between them.
"Marcus, you mind if I put my fingers in this little white cunt while she does that?"
"Go ahead. She's for you."
Dre knelt behind her and slid two fingers into her wet slit. She moaned around Marcus's cock. The fingers were thick and rough, knuckled deep, working her open.
"You feel that?" Dre said. "This pussy so tight. Just barely got room for two fingers. This little bitch never gon' hold a real cock."
"She holds ours," Marcus said. "Three loads in a row, no problem."
"Guess we gon' see about that."
Dre pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth. He sucked them clean, watching her face.
"Tastes good. Sweet and wet."
"Time for the main event," Marcus said. He pulled his sock off. His cock sprang free, heavy and hard. "On your back, wifey. On the rug."
She lay down on her back, spreading her legs wide. The tattoo above her clit was dark against her pale skin. Her cunt was slick, her lips swollen and pink.
"Jon," Marcus called. "Come watch. See what real men do with your wife."
Jon moved to the doorway. He stood with his hand at his crotch, his eyes fixed on her spread body.
Dre pulled his sock off. His cock was longer than Marcus's, thinner but with a thick vein along the underside. It curved slightly. He stroked it, watching her.
"Nice and wet," he said. "You ready for this, little white bitch?"
"Yes," she breathed. "I'm ready."
He knelt between her legs. He pressed the head against her slit, sliding it up, catching her clit. She gasped.
"Look at me," he said. "Look at me when I take you."
She met his eyes. He drove in, one hard thrust, burying himself to the root. Her cunt stretched around him, slick and tight, the silver rings flexing wide. She cried out, her back arching.
"Fuck," Dre breathed. "Marcus, you wasn't lyin'. This cunt is perfect. Tight as a fist around my cock."
"And there's more where that came from," Marcus said. He knelt beside them, his cock in his hand, stroking slow as he watched Dre fuck her.
Dre pulled out and drove back in, hard. Her tits bounced with each stroke, the barbells jingling. He set a brutal rhythm, his hips slapping her bare pussy.
"How long you been poundin' this for?" Dre asked.
"Three weekends," Marcus said. "She got hungry for it fast. Trained her like a little snowbunny."
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.