North Shore Coke Whore

Above her, the young man remained relatively still. All that moved were his hips. They rotated in tight circles, clockwise then counterclockwise. They pulverized her clit between two, cunt-juice-soaked pubic bones.

And below him, Donna Morgan came and came and came. Unnatural sounds emanated from her slender throat as her body continued to shudder and tremble atop the table. Juice flowed from the weak seal her battered cunt formed around the kid's invading shaft; it pooled on the tabletop before dripping off the edges, splattering on the worn hardwood flooring.

"Where you . . . want me . . . to cum . . . whore?" he inquired as Donna's quivering body began to settle, as the convulsions in her cunt subsided.

"Inside me," she breathed. "Cum . . . inside me."

With effort, she lifted herself to her elbows, her sweat-soaked tits wobbling on her chest. Her nipples were a wreck: thickened; red and pink; glowing from their rawness.

She shifted her weight so that she was leaning on just one elbow, the saline packs injected beneath her titflesh rolling with her torso. She slid her free hand down her body, between their groins. Her slender fingers closed around the three or four inches of young meat that had been withdrawn from her now cavernous cunt, manicured nails scraping along the overheated tube of flesh.

She increased her grip on the shaft and vigorously stroked it, half the length still buried in her destroyed hole. Her eyes burned into his; though her cunt was satiated, her baby blues still dripped with unadulterated lust.

"Cum deep in my cunt," she demand, her fist streaking up and down the thick shaft. "I want to feel . . . your hot cum . . . deep inside me . . . coating that . . . wedding band."

The young man, knees weak and wobbly, watched Donna's brazen and wicked display. Her small white hand and bright red nails were but a blur as they stroked the base of his cock. The quick movement of her hand had set her enormous, fake tits wobbling on her tight chest.

The image seared itself into his brain, but her words sent him over the edge. Her debauchery, immorality. The very corruptness of this wealthy wife and mother.

"Cum in my cunt!" she hissed. "All over . . . my wedding . . . band . . . drown it!"

The young man's hips crashed into her, smashing her dainty hand between their pelvic bones. Her slender fingers squeezed tight around the base of his cock, the tip of her index finger pressing against the underside of his thick shaft.

He pulled back and Donna kept up the pressure, rubbing and squeezing and jerking.

"Give me your cum!" she screamed.

And he did. With the pad of her index finger jammed tightly against the sensitive underside of his cock, the young man's black balls lurched. They released scalding sperm which coursed up the length of his shaft. Deep within Donna's quivering cunt, the tip of his cock winked open and he shoved forward, embedding the full length of his shaft in her.

"Oh, fuck," he grunted. "Oh, fuck, you fuckin' cunt!"

When the deep purple cockhead banged against her wedding band, a torrent of cum spilled from his shaft, splattering against the stretched out walls of her cunt, coating the band in thick globs of sperm.

Still buried in her, his cock trembled and shook and lurched a second time and then a third, flooding her cavernous cunt hole with his cum. His strong hands, gripped tightly to her pliant hips, fingers sinking into her soft, supple flesh, lessened their hold on her as his orgasm subsided.

Panting, he nearly collapsed on the adulterous North Shore whore. He caught himself on his hands, palms down on the table, and remained there while he caught his breath.

"You are one . . . nasty . . . bitch, Mrs. Morgan," he managed, sweat dripping from his brow, splashing on the tanned and taut flesh of her stomach.

He pushed himself up and backed away from the prone woman, his softening cock slipping from her destroyed, bald cunt lips with an audible pop.

"Only with you," she muttered, her lithe body still lazily arranged on the young man's kitchen table, his thick cum beginning to leak from her gaping cunt.

He chuckled. "Yeah. Right. I doubt it, bitch."

The young man stepped to the refrigerator, pulled a cold beer from its confines and popped the top. He turned around to find Donna on her elbows again, her glimmering blue eyes dropping to the sticky shaft that hung limply against his thigh. He leaned against the Formica countertop.

He knew what she wanted. More of his fat cock. Probably wanted it buried in her rich-bitch asshole. But he wasn't going to give it to her. Not tonight, anyway.

"Go on," he said, tilting his head toward the living room and the run-down bungalow's front door. "Get the fuck outta here."

"Huh?" she asked, pushing ravaged body off the kitchen table.

"I said, get outta here. I'm done with you for now. Go home to your husband."

Donna's cheeks blushed a scarlet red, but she bent to pick up her clothes as the young man sauntered from the kitchen. As she pulled her pants over her panty-less and cum-filled cunt, she heard the shower turn on near the back of the house.

Embarrassed, ashamed, she slipped her tanned arms through the tattered oxford cloth blouse and held it closed over her cleavage. After slipping into her heels, Donna exited the bungalow into a torrential downpour. By the time she reached the door to her Mercedes, her blouse was soaked.

Sliding behind the wheel, she started the car to get the heat going. Her image in the rearview mirror caught her attention; hair drenched in sweat and rain; make-up ruined; her once crimson-streaked lips were now a soft, natural pink. She adjusted the mirror downward to her chest; her areola and thick nipples were clearly evident through the rain-soaked white fabric.

A smile of contentment creased her features as she put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.