Cain's Ritual

She watched him fumbling with the aperture ring, and she couldn't help but smile at her husband insistence from behind the antique Cannon SLR as the boy fondled her tits. He looks so young, she thought, an observation borne out of the ease with which she had been able to seduce him.

She was sure Charlie had spoken to the boy, the way this kid was grabbing at her throat, the ease with which he squeezed as his hardness dug into bare ass, even through the roughness of his Levi button flies. That's the way Charlie likes it to start, she reminded herself, her bare cunt beneath the flimsy skirt framed by a French garter and black nylons, the tall sharp spikes which he demanded she keep on at all time, and so she complied.

You like that, slut? The boy whispers in her ear and she's overcome with a flash of heat that forces her moan. She's acutely aware that something that once sounded so trite and premeditated was now a natural response to the things she had come to crave. She opened her mouth with a sucking motion at Charlie and her eyes dropped to glimpse his hand rubbing his crotch. She put her little finger to her mouth and her lips sucked it until she swallowed it whole, a reminder of her oral gifts and his own lack of endowment. She knew her husband would cum the instant he saw the boy's manhood. He's huge, maybe too huge she thought, and she giggled at the absurdity of it.

The boy rolls her over and stretches out over pool table, her wrist still in his grip. He pulls her to the seam of his jeans, his eyes beckoning her to do her job. She understands. Her fingers strain to free the metal buttons from holes made smaller by the force of his erection against the fly. God, I'm like Niagara Falls, she muses and she smiles at the Pavlovian response. Charlie's trained this bitch well she muses as the power shutter begins to whirl.

Jesus Christ, she hears Charlie blurt out as the last button springs free and the boy's cock smacks the side of her cheek. She can feel its tip against the back of her head. “Kiss it.: the boy demands. “Kiss it.” Her mouth brushes the base at the crease of his balls, which she licks as well. She licks in one lingering stroke that travels the length of him, her hand grabbing the fatness firmly at the base. She can barely feel her fingertips touching. Her mouth opens wider than she had guessed and stills she manages to let him slide to her throat, a trick that comes with time and a lot of practice.

She slowly rocks back and forth along half his shaft and the kid acts like it’s more than he's had in a long time. “God,” he exclaims. “God,” Charlie agrees having concluded that she is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen.

Is this what you wanted, you old pervert? The kids snap at him and Charlie doesn't answer.... He’s humiliated she thinks. “Keep your eyes on your work, slut,” he tells her as he pushes the back of her head down firmly. She does her best to repress the gag, fight it until the reflex abates.

She feels the kid's hand brushing her wetness onto her inner thighs, and then a finger sliding in, followed by a second, and soon a third. He finger fucks her that way, his rhythm matching the motion of her head on mouth. She can barely stand it. “Please,” she whimpers. “Please? Please what? The boy teases her.

“Fuck me... fuck me now...”

“Fuck her.” Charlie says. “Fuck the slut.”

The boy grabs a handful of hair and pulls her aside as he rises to his knees, pulling her ass against him. He guides the bulb of his cock to her opening and pulls her down the rest of the way, and her moans quickly evolve to a scream, and soon a whimper, a reverie of whimpers, one for each thrust. He buries himself deep into her, loving her cunt through proclamations of ownership that serve feed her frenzy. His cunt, he calls it. His bitch, his whore, his slut, and he makes her say it. She can barely hear her own words.

Her glazed eyes hide behind narrow slits as she spies her Charlie jerking himself off, the shutter whirl now silent. She imagines it a dream, the sight repeated ad infinitum, to please him, to please her suitor, and in the end, though she would rarely admit it, to please herself

“Oh god,” she screams, the convulsive cry reverberates through the room as her body spasms uncontrollably and her pussy wraps hard around the intrusion. The fullness of it makes her cum harder, longer, until at last she falls off of him, rolling onto her back, her eyes struggling to keep pace with the swirling lights above, her body as lifeless as a rag doll’s.

The boy reaches down and opens the flap of her blouse. He straddles her, squats back and begins to squeeze her breast with one hand as he jacks himself off with the other, the end of his cock slapping her chin. She opens her mouth to steal a taste to the best of her abilities. The camera’s power shutter begins to whirl again and the kid pulls away from her stroking furiously. His groans grow louder and she smiles as she's been taught too and perhaps because she really does feel the conquest of it, the power she has over men. She feels the hot liquid splashing against her face and breasts, droplets landing against the corner of her mouth and her tongue instinctively laps them up and she smiles seductively. He never sucked my tits, she laments as the droplets roll down the steep sides those perfect tits, Charlie’s 10th anniversary present. The droplets stream across her rib cage and down to the small of her back. Charlie will suck them, she assures herself. Charlie will lick it all off….

“Now lick me, bitch, lick me clean.” The boy rams his cock back into her mouth and she sucks softly, swallowing the last remnants of the sweet salt..

Hmmm, you're a great little fuck the kid winks at Charlie as he stretches his way off the table as if he were dismounting a horse. He walks back to his chair and puts on his shoes, stands, and buttons up his fly. He casually strolls by the pool table and tosses the money at her, fifty dollars in crumpled tens that land sharply against her face. Charlie joins him on the other side of the table and they walk away, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Charlie unbolts the door and hands over the five crisp twenty-dollar bills. The kid smiles at the ritual. “Same time next week, Mr. Cain?”

“Same time next week, Billy. Drive safely.”

Cain closes the door behind him and walks back toward the lighted table like a fat cat having transacted the deal of a lifetime, his grin broadened by the sight of her bare leg. I love Friday nights, he tells himself.