Regime Change Pt. 01-02

"You sure?" Del Toro asked in a neutral tone.

Sandra nodded demurely, her throat too choked up with craving to speak, spreading her legs wider.

"I'm going to impale you," the lawyer pronounced.

Sandra sat bolt upright, her panting sharpened, "Impale?" A distant memory of her Turkish grandma came back to Mrs. Smith. "Impalement...that's how the Sultan punished people in the old days, especially women in his harem who--"

"Dishonored him," Del Toro butted in. Sandra's field of vision was filled by the enraged cock. The ugly thing was...throbbing.

Del Toro shook the bottle in his right hand. The red letters got her attention.

Suddenly Sandra was the millionaire's wife berating a waitress at a pricey restaurant: arrogant, entitled, clueless. Wagging her right forefinger, tossing her hair, she announced: "I don't do anal--end of story--not with my husband, not with any of my," Sandra had the presence of mind to clam up. Some of the boys she flinged with had asked for anal; they all took "No" for an answer.

"Do you enjoy spending your husband's money?"asked Del Toro like a prosecutor, his muscled, hard body, rippling with barely contained demonic energy.

Mrs. Smith's eyes widened, she blew out a blast of air as if she'd been punched in the guts and sagged back into the couch, her tits heaving-ho and snarled hoarsely, "You fucking prick."

Del Toro popped the cap off the black bottle of Vlad's Lube with his right thumb. Like a cop, he said: "Turn around--get on your knees--bend over." Sandra knew these weren't requests, they were orders. Del Toro didn't ask, he took.

My ass is grass. Sandra was filled with fear. Fear both dreadful and exciting. Her hands and her lips trembled with lust provoked by blackmail. Her cunt quivered. With a deep moan Sandra got on her knees and bent over the back off the couch, presently her round bronzed ass to Del Toro. Driven by a deep compulsion, she spread her thighs, so her husband's lawyer could see her all.

Del Toro relished the compromised position he'd put Mrs. Smith in. Del Toro relished the sight of Sandra's big round ass, her pink cunt, the puckered brown ass hole. He rubbed two finger nails up from the back of her knees to the small of her back. It made Sandra's whole body quiver. His hot strong hands caressed her tits and then her ass, he squeezed and cupped each ass cheek in turn.

Sandra whimpered when Del Toro's fingertips touched her pussy. Del Toro spread her cunt lips open and looked deep inside Alexandra Cappadocia. The vivid pinkness and profound creamy wetness of Sandra's cunt, proved to Del Toro how intensely his rough treatment had aroused her. The beast was yet to come. The besting was yet to come.

Moving her hips back and forth, Sandra pleaded pathetically, "Just shove it into my pussy please, you own it."

Del Toro was tempted to plow her cunt but his stern sense of mission overcame temptation. He quickly, thoroughly, lubricated his right forefinger. Sandra felt her ass cheeks spread open around her ass hole. She tensed up in anticipation of the pain that would surely come.

She winced when something hard and wet pressed gently on her ass hole. Behind her back, Del Toro sneered, "I like to be thoroughly prepared--I don't do anything half-assed Sandy," and then slide his slick blunt index finger inside her ass hole.

Sandy sobbed. The lube helped but it still hurt. "It hurts," Sandy sobbed some more.

"Good," said Del Toro, ruthlessly.

"You fucking prick," Sandra screamed, clamping her ass cheeks around Del Toro's finger.

"For a loose woman, you have a surprising uptight little ass hole Sandy." Del Toro spent the next five minutes sliding his lubed finger in and out of the ass hole of the bent over woman, her pendulous tits bobbing, her tousled head arched back, clenching her teeth, each time going deeper into Sandy.

He gently inserted the well-lubed small nozzle of the black bottle into Sandra's ass hole and nosily squirted lube into her three times, giving her a nasty surprise, that radiated out from her ass hole throughout her pelvis and her pussy and got her back up. He then slid his finger its full length repeatedly into Mrs. Smith's ass, until everything was to his satisfaction.

"Get up off the couch." Again, it was order, not a request.

When Sandra was standing in front of the couch, Del Toro lay back on to it, his head and shoulders on a cushion, his enraged cock ram rod straight and ogled Sandra as if she was chattel in an ancient Roman slave market. He eyed her up and down, inside and out, rubbing lube on his prick until it was a greasy pole.

It didn't seem possible to Sandra, but she could swear Del Toro's blunt instrument was thicker, uglier, more enraged than when she had first laid eyes on it 15 minutes before, which seemed a lifetime ago. It was her impalement spike.

Sandra's emotions split her in half: on one side, there was the pain in her ass, the humiliation Del Toro's "preparation" made her feel, the fear of being completely exposed by Del Toro and being stripped of everything, even the cloths on her back, and--eyeing her impalement spike, her lips involuntarily parting--the pain that was to come.

On the other side--eyeing his greasy pole, her pussy lips twitched--none of her flings (though admittedly a lot of them were a blur) had made her crave so hard. Her lush body writhed, her cunt was soaking wet, her mouth was parched. Contemplating the full length, the full measure of the beast on the couch, made part of Sandra want to go to the bitter end.

"Step up on the couch--straddle my waist--squat reverse cowgirl style and impale yourself on my spike." A sob involuntarily escaped Sandra's lips. Spike? Can he read my mind?

After the slightest hesitation Sandra obeyed Del Toro's commands.

When she climb on to the couch and lifted her legs Del Toro noticed the soles of Sandy's feet were dirty. She turned her back to Del Toro, straddled his waist and began to squat, her body trembling.

If I get his cock in my pussy, he won't be able to control himself, Sandra told herself.

Del Toro reached up and spread Sandra's ass cheeks.

"Balance yourself with your left arm and hold my cock, just under the tip, with your right hand." Sandra reach down under her ass and wrapped the first two fingers of her right hand around Del Toro's hot rod. By pushing and pulling Sandra's ass cheeks he maneuvered her ass hole so it was right over his ramrod.

"Impale yourself now."

Whimpering, Sandra squatted deeper and the slippery, hard, bulbous head of his prick was push into her ass hole. It felt Alexander the Great to Del Toro. Comically Sandra let out an "Ouch" as she yelped in pain, her right hand let go of Del Toro's cock as if stung by a bee. But it was all for nought because Del Toro's shaft was firmly implanted in Sandra's ass. "This feels soooo good," moaned the euphoric man.

Sandra was gasping for breath, trying to absorb the shock, balancing on her arms which were rigid beside of her hips. Sandra felt bitterly humiliated. She tried not to move a muscle.

Del Toro received exquisite pleasure from Sandra's uptight little ass hole. Del Toro also got exquisite pleasure from the mutual knowledge of how degraded he made Sandra feel. For his balls were full to bursting from the frustration of five years of cock teasing by Mrs Smith.

Del Toro's large, blunt, strong, hot hands clamped around Sandra's waist, holding her firmly in place. This stranglehold made it impossible for Mrs Smith to go in any direction but down, which meant getting more of Del Toro's red hot poker up her ass. Sandra bent her head back, her eyes clamped tightly shut, gritting her teeth, her face and chest flushed, sweating profusely, trying to stay precariously perched on the crown of Del Toro's mace, pushing up with her toes.

Sandra's felt Del Toro's hot breath on her back, he was groaning with delight. His strong hands slide from her waist to her hips.

As if an answer to a prayer, Del Toro surprised Sandra by smoothly saying, "Move your arms back, lean back."

He's letting me get off his cock! Sandra told herself quixotically.

As Sandra jaggedly moved her arms back, Del Toro's hands slide down her hips like boa constrictors to the outside of her knees and slid his hands under each of them. In the blink of an all-seeing eye, in one inexorable motion, he pulled Sandra's legs into the air. Her ass was pinned against his Barbecue grill stomach. Sandra's legs were splayed open, held in place by a vise-like grip.

Someone facing Sandra thought her raised legs formed a fleshy, wobbling upper-case V. Her bare naked cunt was on display for all to see. Sandra's new posture made it possible for Del Toro's ugly, enraged cock to piston her ass hole.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck you're so deep inside my ass hole!" Sandra cried out in shocked disbelief, her back and head curled forward, bent at the waist. Her ass was dominated by a burning sensation.

"You stupid, fat whore!" Del Toro yelled with utter contempt, reveling in each thrust into Mrs Smith's fat ass.

Each word was like a slap across her face. They stung. The truth hurts. No one had ever called her such words. They felt like red hot branding on her tits and ass. None of the boys of her flings had treated her this way. None of those boys had made her feel this way. But there's the thing: Del Toro wasn't a boy, he was a man--a real man. He was an assassin.

Two worlds collided inside Sandra's pelvis: a world of hurt and a world of pleasure. Someone watching Sandra's face saw a kaleidoscope of sensations and emotions and expressions rippling through it: pain, fear, humiliation, desperate craving, and an arousal of a red hot intensity.

The tight knitting of her brows evinced deep strain. Her mouth hung open. Bent forward, the flesh of her belly folded like an accordion, her saggy tits slamming the top of her raised wide-open thighs, Sandra's eyes filled with morbid fascination as she stared down at the unwavering penetration of her ass hole by Del Toro's enraged prick.

Each thrust up her ass made her pussy bulge. Del Toro's ram rod filled her to bursting. It forced to her look inside. Each time the lawyer's ugly dick was shoved deeper into Sandra's ass hole, her inner gaze look deeper and deeper into herself. It ripped away all the veils. It brought her face-to-face with her innermost self. And what did Sandra see there? A fat stupid whore.

Sandra screamed.

The Rec Room resonated with the squishAH-squishAH sound made when Del Toro's fat cock stuffed Sandra's fat ass. It made Sandra cringe. Her mind raced desperately to the finish line:

I'm just a piece of ass. He's possessing me. I'm his possession. I'm just a piece of property. He owns me. He owns my ass.

When this crazy train of thought went off the rails Sandra, compelled by her nature, reached down between her legs and started twirling her right forefinger tip around her X-rated clit. When Del Toro's thrashing of her ass made her hand fly off, she stuffed her first two fingers into her pussy and put her clit under her thumb.

The compounding interest came to a crisis. Like a bolt of lightning from the blue Sandra had the hardest come of her life. She screamed incoherent obscenities, stuffing a third finger into her spasming foamy cunt, the muscles of her belly clenching, un-clenching, twitching. Sandra's head spun, the pounding in her ears doubly matched by the pounding in her ass, her long hair flying every which way. For some reason Sandra didn't understand, the flame tattoos around her ankles briefly held her attention.

Del Toro felt the spasming of Sandra's cunt. It raised his hackles. It raised Cain. It raised the stakes. Holding her legs in an iron grip, Del Toro's shaft pounded Mrs Smith's ass like a pile driver. He thrust his lance deep into her guts. The demonic roller coaster Sandra was on sped up, plunging deeper, riding higher. Del Toro body slammed Sandra's ass cheeks, which shuddered like palm trees in a typhoon.

"Take it you fat stupid whore, I'm going to make you take it all!" Del Toro shouted to the roof tops. Each fully engorged invasion of Sandy's tight ass gave Del Toro boundless immense intense pleasure on many levels. His diamond-headed drill sparkled as it burrowed deep into the bowels of the fat stupid whore. Sandra's mouth opened widely but no sound came out. She was hypnotized by the sight of the power plunging into her ass. Her face looked feverish, large patches of red mottled the top of her chest, sweat trickled between her heavy bouncing sagging tits, her nipples were grinding into to top of her upraised thighs. Sandra was impaled.

"Fat--stuPID--WHORE!" Del Toro stentorian voice triumphantly roared as he shot his heavy load deep into Alexandra Cappidocio's ass, who thrashed around like a tattered flag on top of a pole in a storm.

"Oh God he's coming up my ass, oh God he's coming up my ass!" The words burst out of Sandy from a place deep inside her soul.

Del Toro shoved and shoved and shoved his spike in to Sandy's ass hole. She was flooded with thick ropes of his heavy load, sparing no expense. She took his heavy load. He gave her his all, his body an ode to joy. Sandra was well and truly shafted. Sandra had got her so richly deserved comeuppance.

Only when he was satisfied that he had completely emptied his balls into Sandy's ass, did he pull her legs down and make her lay on top of him on her back. They lay that way for a time, a beast with two backs: Sandy with a groggy expression absentmindedly fingering her cunt, their mutual panting slowly subsiding,

Del Toro effortlessly lifted Sandra' off him and sat her on the couch. He sat up beside her. Their bodies were slick with sweat. Del Toro smiled like a crocodile that had just finished swallowing a naked, red-headed, big-breasted 20 year old environmentalist--feet first. Sandra, glassy-eyed, looked like a newly minted stuffed rabbit on a taxidermist's bench, the trophy of a skilled hunter.

Del Toro slowly slid his right index finger into Sandy's soaked cunt up to the knuckle. "The silly goose is cooked," he growled. He then took his finger out of Sandra and licked it clean of her dirtiness.

Del Toro began to squeeze each of Sandra's tits, kneading them as they were bread dough. Sandra did not resist. Her mouth went slack. Her eyelashes fluttered briefly. Putting his palms under each of her saggy tits, he lifted them up and down. Looking into Mrs. Smith's now questioning eyes, Del Toro lips sneered and he declared: "Thou are weighed in the balances, and art found wanting."

Without warning, Del Toro slapped Sandra's left nipple hard, then even harder, he slapped her right nipple. The slapping made Sandra's tits jiggle like two large bowls of jello overturned on a platter.

Sandra was flabbergasted. Then anger contorted her features.

"You fucking prick!"

Del Toro laughed in her face.

"You..." Sandra's swearing was cut short by a sharp pain in her bowels. She hunched her shoulders and clutched her stomach with both hands. Growing alarm spread across her haggard face. Del Toro laughed raucously.

"Oh God--I've got to--go--now!" Sandra whimpered and rose unsteadily to her feet, wind-milling her arms to keep upright. As Sandra wobbled to the Rec Room's bathroom Del Toro uproariously laughed at the sight of her bouncy reddened booty. Sandra slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Alone in the Rec Room Del Toro dressed quickly. He left the black bottle on the floor by the couch where he dropped it after he had finished lubricating his rod. The bottle and the mess made on the white couch by her impalement was Sandy's problem.

Del Toro found "Carmen Burana" on the Rec Room's sound system and turned up the volume.

When he was leaving he put Sandy's bikini bottom into one of his jacket's pocket. Del Toro then drove home to his wife to prepare to make an appearance at the fifth anniversary dinner party of Mr and Mrs Smith. It would be good for business.

***

Mrs. John Smith sat on the toilet of one her husband's marble bathrooms, clutching her belly with both hands. Her ripe body drenched with sweat she sobbed with her eyes shut: "O God--I am a whore--I want more!" She didn't hear the music coming through door from the Rec Room.

To be continued in Part 3: COWED