Peter Sandier drew his dick out and slammed it back in. Karen thought she was going to die. It had been so long, so incredibly long, since she had had a cock filling her cunt. She blocked from her mind the knowledge that the man ramming into her pussy was not her husband. His cock felt titanic, monstrous, delicious, as it pistoned in her velvet tunnel. Harsh pubic hair scratched her butt every time the cock jammed into her twat.
Karen imagined she could hear the cries of the woman below. Karen could see the woman's chest rising, see her throat straining as she orgasmed. The woman was lifted off her feet each time the man entered her. Her breasts jiggled erotically with each impact.
Karen's own titties were swaying as her body was rocked by Peter Sandier's drives. Her head was jammed against the cold pane of glass as he jolted against her. His balls swung up, slapping her pussy folds. He clutched her waist as he rammed into her. She was coming. It was a long, slow rushing coming. She reached down to pinch her clit, and felt the slippery pole of Peter's pecker where it entered her hole. Her fingers pressed the speeding length of his dick.
Peter rammed at her, added a twisting thrust to his hips, and she felt his cock fountaining in her gut. She felt as if she were rotating around the jerking, sizzling length of his dick as her coming raged on and on. She was being cremated by ecstasy.
Down below, on the roof, glittering gobbets of creamy come dribbled down between the spread thighs of the woman as the man filled her hole. She was suspended in mid-air, doweled to him, as he pumped her full of jism.
Karen's hand was flooded with the MC's come, and her own, as she writhed in the grip of her coming. She tried desperately to keep the pleasure going, tried to use it to shield herself from her agonizing guilt.
She shuddered-shuddered again, and then fell into an undertow of suicidal regret. The dick in her aunt gave its last lurch. Then the prick was shrinking and she was dying as she felt her innards slashing with thick sex-juices. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She fought her racking sobs. The cock left her cunt, and hot, wet, stickiness spattered her butt.
Frantic to escape, Karen staggered toward the bathroom door that had swung open on one wall of the posh office. Inside, she hung her head and heaved her lunch into the toilet. She sobbed and retched for a long time. Finally, she washed her face, and her pussy. When she was done her muff was fluffy and soft.
Her clothes were still out in the man's office. She thought of asking for them, started to, then slumped down in defeat. She knew he was waiting for her. She knew where he was waiting for her, and how. The knowledge made her twat again drool with blind lust.
She told herself that it was because she and Mark needed the money. But that only made her feel worse. Because that made her a whore. It was all Mark's fault. It was what he deserved, and that was that.
With a shiver, her tits hardening, Karen opened the door. For the first time she got a look at the cock that had pumped her so full. Even limp and drained, it was big. She was right. Peter Sandier was hung like a horse. He was sitting in his chair, feet up on the windowsill, gazing down at the roof below. Feeling crazy, and sexy, Karen slowly crossed the office to him. She was aware of the heavy swaying of her unfettered titties, the silky feel of naked thigh against naked thigh, the touch of cool air against her pussy.
Below, the couple had moved to the small patch of shade cast by the stairwell tower. They were both naked. Their clothes were baking in the sun. The man was leaning back against the wall. The woman was on her knees in front of him. She was sucking his cock! Her fingers cupped his balls. Her lips circled his dick. Her head was moving slowly back and forth. Her eyes were closed, and she looked as if she was enjoying what she was doing.
Standing submissively beside the TV host, Karen stared down at the scene. Lust simmered in her guts as she watched. She hardly stirred when Sandier reached up and slid a finger into her come-sodden twat. As she stood by his shoulder, he pistoned his finger in and out of her flooded cunt.
The woman on the roof was taking half, more than half, of the man's towering hard-on into her mouth. As she fondled the man's nuts, she drove her head forward. Then she pulled backward, then drove forward again. His dick was slick, and shining wet with spit, and cunt juices and semen.
"Suck my cock," Peter Sandier said softly, confidently.
Karen bit her lip, wondered why she was doing what she was doing, and leaned over the arm of his chair toward his dick. She lifted its semi-hard mass, smelled the mingled juices – his and hers – on his hot meat.
The blonde hair of the woman on the roof was thrashing with the violence of her cock-sucking. She had to be ramming that hard dick against the back of her throat. Her titties rose and fell as she sucked in air between drives on the cock. The scene made Karen's mouth and cunt both water.
Karen slurped in the dusky purple head of Peter Sandier's pecker. Her mouth was flooded with the taste of his come and her cunt drippings. She swirled her tongue around his swelling cock, felt the blood rush in to fill its chamber. His finger was still stirring in her pussy as she sucked his prick to life.
By straining both her eyes and her neck, Karen could watch out the window while she sucked on the hot sausage in her mouth. She stroked the dick with her tongue, felt hot seepings sting her throat. The man on the roof was gripping the rail now, dragging her toward him as he thrust his hips at her.
Karen took more of the TV star's monster cock into her mouth, and gagged. Tears streaking her cheeks, she drew up, sucked in a breath of air and tried to steady her shuddering guts. The woman on the roof didn't have any trouble taking more than half a cock. Why should she?
Karen returned to the dick, slid it back along her tongue. She was beginning to like the taste of it. She liked the feel of Peter's finger in her pussy, too. His hips were beginning to shift and squirm in the chair. She wondered why her cunt was flowing so thickly and heavily from a cock in her mouth. She was a cock-sucker, she realized, and the vile word made her excitement all the greater.
The man on the roof was jerking his prick into the woman's mouth. Her head snapped back with each deep thrust, every time his cock slammed against the back of her throat. The woman's expression was mingled lust and pain. She absorbed the brutal treatment, seemed to welcome it.
Karen forced down her gag reflex, and corked her throat with Peter's cock. She tried to swallow his cock, and felt the knobby, rubbery head ease into her gullet. To breathe, she backed off a little and inhaled through her nose. Then she swallowed the head of his dick again, and worked her lips, dragged another fraction of it into her mouth.
"Fantastic," Sandier grunted. Karen thought he was talking about the couple on the roof. Then his hand came down on the back of her head, and she knew he was referring to how much of his pecker she had taken. Her ego boosted, she swallowed still more of his dick. Her glottis spasmed around the monster tower. Her throat had began aching. She wished she could somehow get his cock all the way down to her stomach.
"Wait," the television host hissed. "Look, he's coming!"
Karen looked. The man was coming. His cock had slipped out of the woman's mouth and was spattering her face with glittering drops of his jizz. Frantically, her eyes shut against the spray, the woman sought his fountaining hard-on with her mouth, found it, and sucked the jerking, pumping tool, slurping up his creamy come.
Karen's gut heaved at the thought of swallowing semen, and her clit clenched. The woman's throat worked and worked as she swallowed and swallowed. She writhed as if she were wallowing in thick gooey liquid. She didn't stop swallowing until the man's dick was all shriveled and shrunken and drained.