Chapter-100: a boxed massage on the road
Oh, fack, right there! He said I was too beautiful to be alone." She panted, the memories fueling her arousal, making her slicker for the man currently devouring her. "He… he touched me. Then Brutus came in. My brother in law… They said it was a… a family tradition!"
George's rhythm never faltered, his groans of pleasure vibrating through her. "And the photographers?" he mumbled, his words muffled by her flesh. "Zeke and Luther…" she gasped, her vision starting to blur at the edges.
"They were still packing… their equipment. They saw. Markus invited them to… to stay. To document the real celebration..." She lied even at this time pushing her plans to her father in law even when she was close, so close.
Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the slick wood of the desk. "I have it… the raw footage… I'll get you the high clarity video! You can watch everything!" That was all he needed to hear.
A guttural sound ripped from his throat and he drove his tongue deep inside her, pushing her violently over the edge. Her climax crashed through her, a silent scream on her lips as her body convulsed, clenching around nothing.
Yes, yes, YES! Before the last tremor had even subsided, he was fumbling with his belt, his meat rod springing free, thick and demanding. He wasn't gentle. He pushed her legs wider, not bothering to remove her Lehenga and plunged into her in one brutal, filling thrust.
She screamed and the sensation of being so utterly full wiping her mind clean of any thought. He started to fack her with a powerful, piston like rhythm and the desk creaking in protest with every drive of his hips.
Her large melons, freed from her choli now, bounced and jiggled with each impact, a sight that made him groan and pound into her harder. "You filthy, perfect whore," he gritted out, his hands squeezing her hips hard enough to bruise.
Yes! I am! Her mind screamed in agreement. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, meeting his thrusts with her own. The feel of him, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the raw, brutal power of it, it was everything.
He drove into her, again and again, until with a final, ragged roar, he spilled into her, a hot, pumping flood that seemed to go on forever. He collapsed over her, his weight pinning her to the desk, both of them slick with sweat and spent.
Later, straightened but still humming with the feel of him inside her, she accepted the thick envelope he slid across the desk, it is her bonus. She gave him a sly, knowing smile. "The video will be in your private drop box by tonight, George."
Her next stop was a wedding photo studio downtown. Zeke and Luther were hunched over a glowing monitor. Their eyes lit up when she entered, immediately dropping to the deep cleft of her melons displayed by her saree.
"Just checking on my wedding video…" she said with her voice sweet and wifely. "Of course, Mrs. Martin," Luther said his voice a little too high. "We were just… polishing the edits. In here."
He led her to their "special" room where they took wedding photos before, the one with the two way mirror that looked out into the main studio. From the outside, it was just a mirror. From the inside, it was a window.
The moment the door clicked shut, their hands were on her. Zeke cupped her melon, his thumb brushing over her cherry through the silk, and she let out a long, Ooooh… her head falling back. Luther's mouth found hers, his kiss hungry.
They played with their hands and mouths exploring her body with a familiarity her husband had never managed. They worshipped her melons, sucking and kneading the full, heavy weights until her moans were a constant symphony.
She came again, shuddering between them, before gently pushing them away. "The video, boys…" she reminded them, her voice breathy. "Make me look hot..."
She used a wet wipe from her purse to clean the evidence of George from her thighs and their saliva from her skin and then left them dazed and hard in the editing bay. Walking down the street she felt powerful, a live wire of mating and secrets.
That's when she saw it, a sleek, black truck with "THERAPEUTIC GLASSHOUSE MASSAGES" written in discreet lettering. The entire side was made of one-way glass. Perfect. Inside, it was lavishly appointed.
Two muscular men in pristine uniforms greeted her. She played the innocent newlywed to perfection, sighing about her aching muscles, blushing when they offered the full-body, oil-based treatment.
She lay face down on the table, and their strong hands went to work. But soon, their touches drifted. A thumb tracing the line of her spine dipped a little too low.
A palm smoothing over her shoulder grazed the side of her melon, and she whimpered, Mmmph… oh… a sound that was anything but protest. They turned her over. Their eyes were locked on her magnificent chest, the oil making her skin gleam under the soft lights.
The innocent wife act continued, with wide eyes and a fluttering voice. "Oh my… is that… part of the treatment?" Their hands, slick with warm oil, were all over her, kneading her melons, pinching her cherries, sliding down her stomach.
Ah! Ah! Yes… She arched her back, offering herself to them. The seduction was a game, a pantomime they were all playing, and it was unbearably hot.
When one of them finally sheathed himself in latex and pushed his way inside her, she cried out, not in surprise, but in pure, restrained relief.
They took turns, one facking her deeply while the other watched from the chair, his hand stroking his meat rod, the entire sordid scene visible to anyone on the street who cared to look at their own reflection in the dark glass.
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