Deborah dug the way her husband Kenny didn’t dare stop after he came but went right on rodding and reaming her country crock until every ounce of the hot cream was beaten into butt-butter. She was rocking forward on her knees to his top-speed tempo, slobbering and smiling into the stiff white hotel room pillow. She loved the jerky splatter of his cum inside her cunt, loved the anxious snarl of the blond moustache on Kenny’s face as his dick went semi-soft and she took control away from him and got him started tending to her own business. Deborah was kicking and thrashing with urgency, her rump tipped high up and jolting juicily along his boner. Keeping a guy going when he thought he was coming. That was just one of the things she had learned in the ten years since high school. It was all part of getting into slut mode.
“Hurry up, Deb. You’re gonna be late,” Kenny gasped. He was squeezing her tight rear-end tight around his fat ten-incher, trying to put a fuck-lock on her furry fundaments. But Deborah fought back. She wouldn’t let him make her. He had no right. No right at all. Not when she was just finally getting her ass into slut mode.
The best part was, he actually could do it, if she could just keep his prick hard long enough. He was pounding her veal cutlets flat and hot and tender, tickling her titties, taking her right downstream no matter how hard she swam away. Deb knew there was more than one reason she had married this fucking stud–she just couldn’t remember what the other one was. “Oh GOD, yes. SCREW me!” He had her by the ankles now, running her chin crazily down the mattress like a wheelbarrow race.
(…)
Read the rest of Slut Mode (3,338 words)
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