Dana Swanson - Blackmailed Into Swapping

Slock-slurp; slock-slock.

"It's heaven to fuck!" Mavis squalled with delight, rotating her ass faster and faster and hunching her tensed buttocks back at him as he slammed his meat tusk to the limit in her greedy cunt.

"You're a good, red-hot piece!" Hank panted, huffing and puffing as he hunched.

"This is a good position," Mavis murmured. "My ass is just the right height for you to pump your prick into me!"

She felt he really was making her snatch smoke as he fucked her with long, fast pumps. "I'm gonna cum again!" she wailed, voice shrill. And she felt her entire vaginal cavity was being shattered by the violence of her orgasm. "Hold it in deep and let meeee cum!" she begged, trying to capture his thick, rapacious cock with her coital muscles. But Hank fucked her faster, really banging his prick into her cunt.

He was cumming, too. "Aaaaaagggghhhhh!" Mavis gurgled with appreciation as his sex hydrant began flooding her innards. It was like a liquid fire that was consuming her pussy and her ecstasy knew no bounds. She thought-hoped-he would never stop hosing his jizz into her. It was sooooo heavenly, having his cock fairly blowing her snatch full of thick, creamy cum.

She hardly knew when Hank slowly extracted his spent member. The erotic pleasure continued with her and she remained bent over the bar in the ready position, knowing Hank or anyone else who might enter the house could see her bare ass and gaping, gored puss. Even an inexperienced kid could tell she had been thoroughly fucked.

"Where does Phil keep his cigars?" she heard Hank ask and she knew he had backed his prick out of her.

"In the refrigerator, in one of the vegetable drawers," she finally managed to mumble, still reveling in the glory of his peckering.

"There's only three," she heard Hank say.

She heard his barefooted approach. "One for you and two for Phil," she heard him chortle. He pushed her up on tiptoe as he suddenly inserted a ten-inch-long panatella all the way into her throbbing pussy still in its cellophane wrapper.

For a moment, Mavis was dismayed. Then she started giggling. A cigar in her snatch. She thought her pussy-fire was still hot enough to burn it to a cinder.

"We better get back," Hank said realistically.

"Yes," Mavis agreed, straightening. She kicked her panties into the utility room and followed him out into the night. If she got fucked again that night, whoever pumped the prick to her would have to extricate the cigar first!

As Mavis followed Hank across the dark back yards, she was assailed by a variety of emotions. She seemed to be tagging after her illicit lover like a docile servant girl; she couldn't understand how she could submit to other men without even a show of resistance, then be flooded with remorse after they had had their way with her body; and as they approached the Quentin home, a sense of reluctance almost caused her to turn and bolt for her own house-she didn't want to see her husband wrapped in another woman's arms in the throes of passion.

But she padded on after Henry Carr and followed him into the house and the Quentin den where the men had played poker. She wondered if Willie could read in her face that Hank had humped her in her own kitchen, bent over the serving bar. He gave no sign as he wordlessly mixed three drinks and handed her and Hank a glass.

Mavis glanced about the room and squirmed with dismay when she found the others weren't there. Had Miriam succeeded in luring Phil away?

Already, their naked bodies might be entwined, Phil struggling between her sleek thighs, shoving his horn into her body, giving Miriam the pleasure that should be hers?

She didn't give a damn if Mickey Lewis were fucking Connie-but the thought of her husband pumping his wonderful prick into Miriam's hairless pussy almost made her cry.

Mavis attempted to concentrate on Willie and Hank, take her mind from disturbing thoughts. How could they be so unconcerned, sitting here and sopping up whiskey while their wives were being fucked elsewhere in the house? Maybe they were. But, to Mavis, it appeared all they were interested in was getting drunk. They seemed oblivious to her presence-at least she didn't have to worry about being taken again by Willie or having them taking turns ravaging her body.

"I'll get to that Terry." Willie mumbled, replenishing his and Hank's drinks from a bottle of bourbon. "And I'll shag that Becky Samon, too," he vowed, nodding his head as if to add emphasis.

"I'll bet she's a virgin, Will," Hank shook his head, disputing Willie,

"and I'll bet you don't even get a whiff of her pure pussy."

"Yer on and how much?" Willie challenged, grinning drunkenly with good nature.

"Name it!" Hank responded. "A case of Scotch?"

"A bet!" Willie grinned, gulping straight whiskey and wiping the dribblings from his chin with the back of his free hand.

Mavis slipped away from them, suddenly wondering where Ben Glover, the grayish, haggard man with the lecherous eves, was. A chill shivered through her. He must still be about. He was the one she would have to avoid encountering: he wanted her! His eyes, earlier had, unmistakably, told her that!

Lights in the dining room had been doused but there was a table lamp on somewhere in the living room where they had put Terry Lewis when she passed out. Silently, Mavis made her way toward the large, luxuriously furnished living room. Maybe Mickey had taken his little wife and gone home and Phil had Connie and Miriam in bed with him somewhere. Oh God! she fretted miserably.

Suddenly, Mavis stopped cold, all of the hot liquor she had drunk turning to ice water in her veins. She cowered into heavy shadows along one wall and hunkered behind a large easy chair.

Not ten feet away was Ben Glover, hovering over the sleeping Terry. His teeth seemed long and wolfish in his leering mouth and Mavis thought saliva was drooling from his foul lips.

He was going to take and defile the dainty Terry! How could a man get any satisfaction fucking an unresponsive, passed-out woman?

What was he going to do next? Mavis wondered as Glover turned and peered about. The dim light struck him just right and Mavis could see the massive ridge in his clothes, extending upward nearly to his belt buckle. Ben Glover had a hard-on of sufficient girth and length to service a young cow! He would rip and tear and ruin the small Terry!

Mavis felt, no way, could the young woman take what he had into her body without being horribly damaged.

Mavis frowned, alarmed at the warm quiverings in her vagina, unable to control the clutching cunny muscles around the cellophane-wrapped cigar Hank had inserted into her.

Although she was nearly overwhelmed by revulsion, she knew she was going to remain where she was and watch Ben Glover impale the helpless Terry on his giant lance. Then Mavis was appalled at the thought that burned in her brain…she wished Glover would disrobe so she could see his big sausage. She wanted to look at his hard cock, see his lusting flesh without the obstruction of his clothes.

She held her breath while Glover removed his shoes and socks, then stripped to the waist, taking off his shirt and undershirt. But she wouldn't see his mammoth phallus for a while. He wasn't going to disrobe completely for the time being.

Terry hadn't moved since she had been placed on the couch. Her right foot, drawn up still rested on the seat. Her left was on the floor knee sprawled wide. Ben Glover had a clear view of her panty-sheathed crotch. Mavis watched the vile man bend over the girl and she could see him clearly as he sniffed at her relaxed pussy.

He was in no hurry to get on with his depraved venture. He seemed to be savoring time, gloating over the defenseless little beauty. There was an air of knowledgeable confidence in the way he went about defiling his prey.