My Desert Odyssey
Copyright 2005 by Stormbringer
Revised 2025
Part 1: The Cyclops
The Nevada desert stretched endlessly before me, a furnace
of sand turning to sin, as I gunned my Mazda convertible toward Las Vegas.
Every weekend, I made this four-hour pilgrimage to see my fiancé, Homer, who’d
left our dusty Arizona town for a better job in Henderson, a suburb outside sin
city. We were both 19, two years deep in love, planning a wedding in a year’s
time. I lived with my parents, saving every penny, but the desert drive was my
escape. Homer had claimed my virginity after our third date, and our sex was
enjoyable, though he played it safe, never pushing boundaries. I was satisfied
or so I thought.
Hot wind lashed my blonde hair, the sun searing my skin
through my white blouse, already damp with sweat. The road was a monotonous
blur, but the promise of Homer’s touch kept me going. I’d strip to my bikini
ten minutes out of town, letting the desert tan my curves. Homer loved my
bronzed skin, marred only by faint white lines from my bikini. Today, clouds
dulled the sky, so I kept my blouse on, its fabric clinging to my full breasts,
my tight white shorts translucent with sweat, revealing my blue string bikini
beneath.
Halfway through, my gas gauge plummeted. Panic prickled my
spine, but I remembered a small town with a diner I sometimes hit for a burger.
Just outside was a decrepit gas station, Johnson’s Auto, its sign peeling like
old skin. As my car sputtered, I coasted into the lot, tires crunching gravel.
The place was a ruin—a rusty pickup from the fifties, a mountain of old tires,
the air thick with oil and decay. The pumps were old, but working. A few sheep
were in a pen nearby. An old man with an eye patch rocked in a chair on the
porch, his mutt sprawled at his feet. He was 70, maybe more, wearing a baseball
cap and shirtless beneath overalls, a shaggy white beard covered his chin and
more shaggy white hair covered the visible areas of his chest. His toothless
grin was predatory as he ogled my sweat-soaked figure. My blouse outlined every
curve around my large DD-cup breasts as it clung to my flesh, stuck tightly to
my flat tummy while dipping into my bellybutton and I felt his gaze strip me
bare. “Well, who do we have here?” he asked, looking me up and down,
unashamedly.
“Penelope,” I replied.
“What’s a pretty thing like you need, Penelope?” he rasped,
his voice like sandpaper.
I explained my car’s issue, and he promised to check it,
whistling an eerie old jazz tune that set my nerves on edge. I asked for the
bathroom and slipped inside. The room was a nightmare—grime-caked sink, cracked
mirror reflecting my flushed face in shards. I splashed water on my cheeks,
avoiding the filth. My reflection stared back: large breasts, full hips, lean
legs, a body Homer called his wet dream. He’d once compared me to a famous
blonde porn star I’d never heard of and rented a video to show me. My blue-eyed
face was more angelic and innocent, but our bodies were similar. The memory of
the things I’d watched her do had made me blush. In high school, I’d dodged
boys’ stares, covering what skin I could, but losing to the Arizona heat. I’d watched girls wield their bodies like
weapons, men fawning on them, putty in their hands. Homer and I were flat
broke, saving for the wedding, and a repair bill could crush us. An idea born
of desperation sparked. I untied my bikini top, letting it fall, and unbuttoned
my blouse until my nipples’ shadows teased through the fabric. I tucked my top
into my pocket. My pulse raced—not just from nerves, but from a dark thrill.
Outside, Johnson rocked, still whistling, my car’s hood open
like a wound. “Can you fix it?” I asked, leaning forward, my breasts straining
against the blouse.
“Sure can,” he said, eyes devouring me. “If I had the part.”
Frustration boiled over. He explained he’d need to drive several
hours, fetch the part, and work into the night. I was trapped, snared by this
old one-eyed monster. “Isn’t there anything you can do, Mr. Johnson?” I asked,
batting my eyes, trying to work some tears out. “I really need to get to
Henderson to see my boyfriend.”
“Possibly,” he muttered, pink tongue sliding out to lick his
upper lip. “Possibly,” he said again, leaning forward and pushing himself up
out of the rocking chair.
He waved me inside, where the air conditioner’s chill
hardened my nipples, making them ache against the thin fabric. His mutt
sprawled by the door, watching me like a sentinel. I asked the cost, and when
he named a price that would gut our savings, I let tears spill, thinking of
Homer’s worried voice. I buried my face in my hands, praying my act worked.
When I looked up, my breath caught.
Johnson had unbuttoned his coveralls, revealing a monstrous
erection, a gnarled beast nearly a foot long bursting out of a shaggy patch of
white pubic hair that matched his beard, its shaft marred by two grotesque
brown warts—one near the base, one right on the flare of the glans above a long
eye-shaped gaping urethra. It pulsed, both hideous and hypnotic, twice the size
of Homer’s modest length. My mouth went dry, my thighs clenching as heat
flooded my core, my pussy lips swelling with arousal.
“Girl, you’ve got my blood flowing for the first time in
five years,” he growled, stroking himself, his gnarled hand sliding over the
warty shaft. “Them big white tits bouncing free under that blouse brought the
old one-eyed monster back to life. Take care of my old Johnson, and I’ll fix
your car for half what I quoted.”
“No way am I touching that thing. I’m engaged, Mr. Johnson.”
Still, I couldn’t take my eyes off the old man’s cock. It was so big.
“Parts shop is gonna close soon, so ya better make up your
mind, gal. Suck me off and I’ll fix your car for free.”
I wanted to flee, but the desert’s silence pressed in,
amplifying my heartbeat. Homer’s face flashed in my mind—his gentle smile, his
safe touch—but the craving deep inside me screamed for something more,
something depraved.
“Free?” I asked nervously, staring at the monstrously large
cock. The balls dangling beneath it were heavy, sagging with age, sized to
match the grotesque shaft, each the size of my fist.
“Yep,” he answered, nodding. “Take it or leave it, but I
suggest you take it.” Johnson whistled, and his mutt growled, hackles raised.
The dog moved to block the door.
Fear and desire warred within me. A plan formed. I’d play
his game, but on my terms. “Call off your dog; you had me at free,” I said, my
voice steady. “But you keep your hands to yourself.”
“Argos, heel,” he ordered, and the dog lay down, still
blocking the exit. His grin widened as I knelt before him, the floor gritty
under my knees. His shaft loomed, its ugly warts glistening with precum, the
scent of musk and sweat overwhelming. I’d done this for Homer after watching
the porn, mimicking the lookalike actress. It hadn’t been hard, and Homer was
putty in my hands. I’d been angry when he came in my mouth, the nasty taste of
his seed lingering after I’d spit it out. I’d blown my boyfriend since then,
but only after he’d promised to warn me before he came.
Johnson was going to be a much bigger challenge. I traced
the tip with my tongue, tasting the salty, bitter precum leaking from his
gaping urethra, then took the head into my mouth, my lips stretching painfully
wide around the swollen glans. The wart on the flare scraped the roof of my
mouth, its rough texture making me shudder as I forced myself to suck. He
groaned, his chair creaking as I swirled my tongue, teasing the sensitive ridge
while my hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into weathered skin. I sucked
harder, my throat relaxing to take him deeper, gagging as the wart near the
base grazed my lips. Damn, this thing was a monster. His moans filled the room,
raw and desperate, his hips bucking slightly as I deepthroated him, my nose
buried in his wiry, gray pubes, the stench of sweat and oil making my eyes
water. I pulled back, spitting a thick wad of saliva onto his shaft, watching
it drip down the thick length, then plunged down again, my throat convulsing as
I took him to the hilt, my lips stretched to their limit, my nose buried in his
white pubes, the scent of his musk filling my nostrils.
His old hands grabbed my head, fingers tangling in my hair,
defying my rules. He held me down, my throat choking on the base of his cock as
I gagged, drool spilling down my chin, my eyes tearing up. He guided my head up
and down, fucking my face with slow, deliberate thrusts, the wart on the glans
scraping my throat with each pass. His stamina impressed me—Homer never lasted
this long. I reached up and grabbed his arms, pulling his hands off my head so
I could pull up, gasping for air, a string of spit connecting my lips to his
hard cock.
“Finish the job, slut,” he growled, his voice thick with
lust. The dog raised its head, echoing his growl.
“I said, keep your hands to yourself,” I reminded him as I
unbuttoned my blouse. He looked pissed, but his eyes followed my fingers,
button by button, widening as I freed my breasts. His Johnson twitched with
lust as I hefted my porn-sized breasts and pressed them around his slick shaft,
my nipples hard against his heat. I titty-fucked him, my heavy DD-cups
squeezing his warty cock, the rough texture of the warts scraping my soft skin
as I moved. My tongue lapped the tip with each thrust, tasting the salty precum
that smeared my chin, my breasts bouncing with the rhythm.
“Anyone tell you that you look like that porn star?” he
asked, breathing heavily, his eyes locked on my jiggling breasts.
“Once or twice,” I replied, bending my head and sucking the
tip of his cock into my mouth as I masturbated him with my breasts, just like
I’d seen that porn star do in one scene. I swirled my tongue around the head of
his cock, teasing it, feeling it pulse as his cock throbbed between my tits.
His hands twitched, but he obeyed, keeping them on the
chair. My pussy throbbed, soaking my shorts, the craving begging for release. I
began to wonder what a big one would feel like stretching me open as I worked
him faster, my breasts bouncing harder, the sound of wet flesh slapping filling
the room. He roared, his cock pulsing violently, and hot semen blasted my
throat, filling my mouth with thick, bitter cum. I involuntarily swallowed a
mouthful, the taste musky and overpowering, but more sprayed my face and
breasts, coating me in his release, dripping down my chin and pooling in my
cleavage. Little geysers of white spat from his wide urethra covering the tops
of my tits with his semen, more eruptions pushing the previous release to run
down the slopes of my tits. I rubbed his softening shaft across my chest,
smearing the cum over my nipples, licking the last drops from the tip,
surprised that his thick, voluminous seed was not that unpleasant—certainly
better than Homer’s runny seed.
“Goddamn, Penny,” he panted, his chest heaving. “That’s five
years’ worth of cum you took.”
He promised to fetch the part and fix my car by morning,
hinting at teaching me about his “magic warts” if I stayed. He drove off in a
rattling truck that backfired as it left the lot, and I collapsed, tears mixing
with his semen on my skin. I’d just gotten a disgusting old man off in exchange
for a free car repair. What had I become?
I cleaned up in the filthy bathroom, retied my bikini top,
and tied my blouse into a knot to leave my belly bare. I headed to the diner,
my legs shaky from kneeling. A Cadillac sat in the lot, two Black guys eyeing
me from a booth. Their gazes lingered, promising more trouble.
Part 2: The Lotus Eaters
The diner’s neon buzzed, its greasy scent clinging to the
air as I slid into a booth. The Cadillac guys watched me, staring at my body as
I walked in. I ordered a burger, my mind replaying Johnson’s monstrous shaft,
the way it stretched my throat, the feel of his warty cock pulsing in my mouth.
Was I a slut? An exhibitionist? The urge pulsed deep in my pussy, a mental
hunger only a massive cock could sate. I thought of Homer, his steady love, his
lovemaking bland, but this cursed trip had awakened something primal in me.
The waitress delivered my food, noticing my distress. “You
okay, hon?” she asked.
I spilled about my car, my voice cracking as I mentioned
Homer’s worry. She patted my shoulder and left. One of the Black guys approached,
his muscular frame filling the booth as he sat. “Heard your troubles, missy. I’m
James, Ryan and I can drive you to the Vegas fork if you need a lift.”
They were beefy, football-player types, dressed sharp, their
charm disarming. I hesitated, remembering Johnson’s trap, but staying meant
facing that urge again. “I’ll let you know,” I said with no intention of
accepting their offer. I didn’t have much experience with Black men; they were
virtually nonexistent in my part of Arizona, but Homer didn’t like them, and he
certainly wouldn’t want his fiancée riding in a car with two muscular and
handsome Black men. James returned to his table, and I ate, my resolve
hardening. I couldn’t risk another encounter with Johnson’s warty old one-eyed
monster, the more I thought of it, the more curious and aroused I was becoming.
I thought accepting a ride with the Black men would be safer. I told James I’d
take them up on their offer and asked them to pick me up at the gas station.
I called Homer from a payphone, leaving a message about my
car and asking him to meet me at the fork, where a budget motel waited. Back at
the station, I grabbed my bags, noticing semen stains on Johnson’s couch. My
tongue darted across my lips, and I cursed myself. James and Ryan pulled up,
their luggage crammed in the front, forcing me into the back with Ryan. I
thanked them again as we sped into the dusk, the desert cooling around us.
Ten minutes out, Ryan’s hand grazed my knee. I brushed it
off, reminding him I was engaged. “Sorry, Penelope,” he said, his voice smooth.
“You’re just so damn gorgeous; you can’t blame me for trying.”
James glanced at Ryan in the rearview mirror, a silent
signal passing between them. My pulse quickened—stranded in the desert with two
Black strangers was a risk I hadn’t thought of. Ryan’s hand returned, bolder,
and I let it linger, the urge stirring. I’d never had a black man touch me
before and stared down at his large dark black hand cupping my knee, his dark
fingers teasing up the inside of my pale white thigh. James pulled a joint from
under the dash, lit it, and passed it back. Smoke filled the Cadillac, sweet
and heavy. I waved it away, saying I didn’t do drugs, but the Cadillac quickly
filled with the sweet-smelling smoke. The windows were locked and wouldn’t
budge, and James claimed the one by my seat was broken. My head swam as the
smoke enveloped me, the desert blurring outside, my brain going as foggy as the
interior of the car.
Soon, their banter turned hilarious, my laughter
uncontrollable. These two guys were great, and I blamed my latent racism for
being wary of them. James lit another joint, and Ryan’s hand rubbing my thigh
felt wonderful. “Try it, white girl,” Ryan urged. “No one’ll know.”
I hesitated, Homer’s voice faint in my mind, then took a
hit, the smoke burning my lungs. I held it, exhaled slowly, and all my troubles
faded away. We passed the joint, my hits deeper than theirs, each passing me
the joint so that I was taking twice as many hits as they were. Ryan’s hand
slid up my thigh, and I didn’t stop him, my skin electric under his touch. He
was just being friendly, after all. I asked about their Vegas plans, and James
said they aimed to be show-guys, their muscles and large dicks were always in
demand. “We strip, too,” he added. “A good-sized BBC can make good money, but
not as much as a female stripper. Gurl, with a tight white body and big titties
like yours, you’d make a fortune.”
“Oh, stop, you guys aren’t strippers,” I said, giggling at
their silly joke. I’d stripped for Homer, but the thought of dancing naked for
strangers set my nipples aching, my pussy dripping. The hunger screamed, and I
was tempted to ask them to turn around and take me back to the gas station to
await Johnson’s return.
“Sure we are,” said James. “I wouldn’t say we’re
professionals yet, but we’re getting there.”
“To be honest, our act could use some improvement,” added
Ryan, squeezing my knee.
“Yeah, we need an audience to give us feedback,” said James,
staring at me in the rearview mirror.
“I’d love to see your act,” I said, half-dazed.
James pulled over, the desert now a purple haze. “Why not
now?” he grinned.
They changed in the trunk, telling me to face away. I was
suppressing a laugh, still thinking they were pulling my leg. When they called,
I turned, jaw dropping. James was an African witch doctor—bone in nose,
feathered headdress, straw skirt, claw necklace on his chiseled chest. Ryan was
a Masai warrior, leopard-skin loincloth barely covering his bulge, war paint
streaking his face, a spear and shield in hand. I sat on the hood, and they
stood in front of me, the headlights illuminating their sweaty, muscular Black
bodies. They stood side by side, setting a boombox blaring tribal beats. Their
dance was primal, muscles rippling under moonlight, their synchronized flips
drawing my gasps. They stripped, revealing G-strings straining against massive
bulges. The next song was slower, seductive, their hips thrusting as they tore
off their underwear, revealing thick, eight- or nine-inch cocks dangling like
pendulums, their ebony skin glistening with sweat. I clapped, my pussy
throbbing, the hunger unbearable, eyes focused on those two long black bananas
slapping from thigh to thigh.
“Why don’t you give it a try, Penelope?” Ryan said, his
voice a challenge. “Thank us for the ride by letting us see some white skin.”
I told them to turn around, my heart pounding. From my bag,
I pulled a blue miniskirt, swapped my shorts, and left my blouse tied to show
my flat belly. I grabbed James’s headdress as pom-poms, a cheerleader reborn. I
hit play, and they turned, mouths agape. I danced, high school cheer routines
giving way to sensual sways as I let the tribal beat flow through me, the
pounding of the drums aligning with the beating of my heart. I unbuttoned my
blouse, tossing it over James’s head, my bikini top straining against my
breasts. I bent over, lifting my skirt to flash my G-stringed ass, then untied
my top, covering my breasts with my arms.
“Show your tits, white girl!” they chanted, their cocks
twitching as they stroked themselves.
I dropped my arms, my heavy breasts bouncing free, nipples
hard as bullets. Their cocks rose, James’s at least ten inches and as thick as
my wrist, Ryan’s closer to eleven, but not quite as thick, huge, not as big as
Johnson’s, but they were black sculpted perfection, their dark shafts
glistening with precum. I slid off my bikini bottoms under the skirt, flashing
my wet pussy, then licked my nipples, the hunger screaming for their Black
shafts. The music stopped, but my body didn’t and I let the skirt drop, letting
these two black strangers become the first men other than Homer to see me
naked.
“Well, that was exciting,” I said, bending for my top, more
eager than ever to get to Henderson to see Homer. I couldn’t recall ever being
this aroused and I needed a dick in me- bad.
Ryan grabbed my hips, I felt the head of his massive cock
probing against my pussy lips. I moaned, trying to squeeze my thighs to keep
him out, but my resolve was crumbling. “Please, I’m engaged,” I gasped.
“Gurl, this white pussy is begging for some black meat,” he
growled, pushing forward, his cockhead spreading my pussy lips open, half of it
slipping inside. He probed deeper and I embarrassingly pushed back into it with
lust. “That’s it white gurl, work that pussy.”
I clenched up again, squeezing and pulling away. “It’s not
safe for me. You need to wear a condom.”
Ryan pulled back and let me stand up. “I ain’t got no
rubbers.”
“I have some Trojans,” I said. He held my arm, leading me
back to the Caddy. I froze as we neared the hood. “Shit,” I said, staring off
into space. “They’re in my car.”
“Too bad,” he said, grabbing my hips again.
This time he lifted me onto the hood, the Cadillac symbol
pushing into the small of my back as he spread my legs open, black eleven-inch
cock poised like a battering ram, but he didn’t push forward. Instead, Ryan
knelt and his tongue plunged into my pussy, lapping my clit with relentless
hunger. I screamed, my orgasm shattering me, intensified by the pot. I hooked
my legs over James’s shoulders, grinding against his face, another climax
ripping through me as his thick tongue fucked my cunt, his lips sucking my clit
hard. Homer couldn’t eat pussy like this, nor had he ever made me cum this
hard.
He left me dazed and confused as he planted a kiss on my
pussy and stood, cupping my knees in his arms. Ryan spread my thighs, his
cockhead teasing my entrance. He wasn’t wearing a condom, and it was risky, but
I couldn’t think straight anymore, and I wanted it. He spread open my pussy
lips, and I sighed with bliss as this Black stranger became the first man to
enter me bareback. He thrust slowly, each inch stretching my walls, my pussy
lips gripping his thick shaft as he buried all eleven inches in me, balls deep,
his heavy sack slapping against my ass. I begged for more, and he fucked me
hard, his balls slapping my ass with wet smacks, my breasts bouncing wildly
with each brutal slam. My screams echoed through the desert.
“How you likin’ that Black dick, white slut?” he asked,
smirking down at me as he gave me the fucking of my life, his cockhead slamming
against my cervix with each thrust.
“It’s so big. I love it. Fuck me. Keep fucking me with that
big black dick,” I begged, the yearning finally finding satisfaction.
“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” grunted Ryan, fucking
me faster. “Gonna turn this pussy out for the black man.”
I needed to tell him to pull out, but my orgasms chained, my
screams echoing, every nerve ending in my body crying out in pleasure. He
buried his cock in me and flooded my unprotected pussy with a soda bottle’s
worth of cum, his hot seed spraying deep inside me, coating my walls as I came
so hard I nearly passed out. When I recovered, I still felt full. James was
working his Black cock in, his thicker shaft splitting me wider, the girth
stretching my pussy to its limits as he pounded me, his thrusts even harder,
his cockhead battering my cervix until I lost count of my climaxes, his larger,
thicker cock taking me to new heights of pleasure. I no longer wanted him to
pull out. I wanted his seed. “Please I want more, cum in me,” I moaned, my
voice hoarse from screaming. He came, his seed mixing with James’s, a torrent
of hot cum dripping down my thighs, pooling beneath me on the trunk.
But they weren’t done with me. James grabbed a blanket from
the trunk and spread it on the desert ground beside the Cadillac, the sand
still warm beneath it. “Get on your knees, white girl,” he ordered, his voice
thick with lust. I obeyed, kneeling. He pushed my back and I fell forward,
dropped to all fours, my ass raised, my cum-soaked pussy dripping with their
seed. Ryan knelt behind me, his thick cock slapping against my ass as he
positioned himself, while James stood in front of me, his eleven-inch shaft
bobbing in my face, still slick with my juices and his cum.
Ryan slammed into me from behind, his cock stretching my
pussy again, the angle hitting deeper as he fucked me doggy style, his hands
gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. Each thrust made my breasts swing
beneath me, my nipples grazing the blanket, the friction sending sparks through
me. James grabbed my hair, yanking my head up, and shoved his cock into my
mouth, the taste of my pussy and his cum flooding my senses. “Suck that Black
dick, like a good white slut,” he growled, fucking my face as Ryan pounded me
from behind, their rhythms syncing as they used me like a fucktoy. My gags and
moans filled the desert air, my throat stretching around James’s shaft while
Ryan’s cock slammed into my cunt, his balls slapping my clit with each thrust.
I came hard, my pussy clenching around Ryan’s cock, my screams muffled by
James’s shaft as they both roared, their orgasms hitting at the same time.
James’s cum flooded my throat, thick and hot, spilling out of my mouth as I
choked, while Ryan’s seed sprayed deep into my pussy, mixing with the mess
already inside me.
They switched positions, their cocks still hard, their
stamina inhuman. James lay on the blanket, pulling me onto him, my cum-slick
pussy sliding down his eleven-inch shaft as I straddled him, riding him hard,
my breasts bouncing in his face. He grabbed them, squeezing hard, his teeth
biting my nipples as I screamed, my pussy clenching around his cock with each
thrust. Ryan knelt behind me, spitting on my asshole, his thick fingers probing
my tight ring before he pressed his cockhead against it. “Time to take this
white ass,” he growled, pushing in slowly, the stretch burning as my ass opened
for his massive Black cock. I screamed, the pain mixing with pleasure as he
buried himself balls deep in my ass, my high masking the pain, the two Black
cocks filling me completely, stretching both my holes to their limits. They
fucked me in unison, James thrusting up into my pussy while Ryan pounded my
ass, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin wall between my
holes. My orgasms came in waves, my body shaking as I screamed, my pussy and
ass clenching around their shafts. “Take it, you white whore,” Ryan grunted,
slapping my ass hard as he fucked me, his cock slamming into my ass with brutal
force. James groaned beneath me, his hands bruising my hips as he thrust
harder, his cockhead battering my cervix. They came together again, James
flooding my pussy with another load of hot cum while Ryan filled my ass, his
seed spilling out as he pulled out, dripping down my thighs.
They helped me to my feet and I used the blanket to clean
up, dropping the crusty blanket to the ground, abandoning it to the desert.
They let me put my bikini on and led me back t their car. In the backseat, I
sucked their cocks clean, gagging on their lengths, swallowing the last of
their loads as the other drove, my lips coated in their cum. I licked my lips,
quickly beginning to enjoy the taste of their man seed, the musky flavor of
their Black cocks lingering on my tongue.
At the motel, Homer’s Trans Am waited. They begged me to
come with them, join their act, but I politely declined. I kissed James and
Ryan, my tongue dancing with theirs, thanking them for the ride, my body still
trembling from their brutal fucking. The manager eyed me warily through the
window, staring at bikini clad body. He stuck his head out the lobby, “Pools
closed,” he said.
I waved him off, his
eyes following me as a carried my weekend bag to the door in front of the Trans
Am. Expecting me, the door was open, the latch flipped to keep it from locking.
Homer’s room was empty, so I collapsed naked on the bed, reeking of sweat and
cum, rolling on my stomach, I buried my face in the pillow, the pot dragging me
into sleep.
Part 3: Circe
I stirred as the motel room light flicked on; my head buried
in the pillow. “Homer, turn it off,” I mumbled, assuming my fiancé had returned
from the bar. The covers slid back, and a body climbed in. Hands gripped my
waist, pulling me to my knees, my ass raised, cum still dripping from my pussy
and ass from James and Ryan’s brutal fucking. A cock probed my pussy, thicker
than Homer’s, and I moaned, my cunt still swollen and sensitive. It pushed past
six inches, then deeper, filling me as well as Ryan’s Black cock had, the
thickness stretching my walls as it slammed into me. The stranger fucked me
like a machine, each thrust slamming my core, my breasts swinging beneath me,
their weight dragging me down, my screams filling the room. The cock was
unnaturally hard, unyielding, driving me to a shattering orgasm, my pussy
clenching around it as I came, my juices mixing with the cum already inside me.
“Fuck me, Mr. Big Cock!” I cried, my body betraying Homer,
images of a muscular Hercules kneeling behind me, fucking me with his huge manly
cock.
The stranger pulled out, and I rolled over, panting. “Don’t
you want to cum?” I asked, then froze. It wasn’t a man. A woman knelt over me,
her long, dyed purple-black hair cascading over her shoulders, her full lips
painted with black lipstick, her nails polished a glossy black. A silver
pentagram necklace dangled from her neck, glinting in the dim light, resting
between her large, impressive breasts—DD-cups like mine, pale and perky, dusted
with a scattering of freckles across her chest. A large strap-on dildo tied
around her waist. Her name, she told me later, was Circe, a Wiccan and the lead
singer of an all-girl goth band called the Sirens, headed for a Vegas gig, and
it was her black Trans Am that I’d mistaken for Homer’s. Despite her dark,
gothic style, she was stunningly beautiful—high cheekbones, piercing green eyes
that seemed to glow with an otherworldly intensity, and an athletic, toned body
that radiated raw sensuality, her freckles adding a soft contrast to her pale
skin. She untied the strap-on, my eyes zooming in on her crotch, it was shaved,
the word, BITCH tattooed across her crotch. Her laugh was low and wicked, her
eyes gleaming with sapphic lust as she stared at my body, her gaze lingering on
my cum-stained thighs and swollen pussy.
“You’re a lesbian?” I asked in shock.
“No shit, sister,” she laughed, her voice sultry, almost
hypnotic. “Men are pigs and I don’t fuck pigs. What’s your name and why are you
in my room?”
“I’m Penelope,” I stammered, my stomach churning. I’d never
been with a woman, but her beauty and dominance stirred a yearning, my pussy
throbbing despite the abuse it had already taken. “I thought my boyfriend’s
Trans Am was outside.”
“Penelope, huh?” Circe purred, her black-painted lips
curling into a smirk. “You’re mine tonight.” She reached down and picked up a
whip-like riding crop, smacking it in her palm as she stared at me, her green
eyes dark with lust, the pentagram necklace swaying between her impressive
breasts.
“Sorry, I’m not into girls,” I said.
I grabbed my clothes, but she blocked me, her whip cracking
against my ass. Pain seared, but my pussy clenched, craving her control. Before
I could protest further, she leaned down, her purple-black hair brushing my
skin, and latched onto my left nipple with her black-painted lips, sucking
hard. I moaned, writhing sensuously on the bed, the sensation sending jolts of
pleasure through me as her tongue swirled around the sensitive bud, her teeth
grazing it lightly. When she pulled back, a perfect black lipstick imprint
circled my nipple, a stark contrast against my bronzed skin, marking me as
hers. “Eat my pussy, slut,” she commanded, cracking the whip across my breasts,
the sting making my nipples harden further. I sobbed, nodding, as she straddled
my face, her shaved cunt dripping with arousal, the scent musky and sweet,
tinged with a faint herbal note that hinted at her Wiccan rituals. I licked her
clit, her taste overwhelming, then plunged my tongue deep, mimicking Ryan’s
technique, fucking her with my tongue as she ground against me, her moans
filling the room. Her climax flooded my mouth, her juices coating my face as
she came, her thighs trembling around my head, her large breasts heaving with
each breath. I felt pride, my own pussy aching, dripping with need.
For hours, we fucked with her dildo collection, each toy
more depraved than the last. We scissored with a two headed dildo in each of
us, grinding our crotches together. She handcuffed me over the table, the
two-pronged strap-on filling my pussy and ass, stretching me to my limits, the
rubber cocks thicker than Ryan’s, the ridges scraping my walls as she pounded
both holes. I screamed, orgasming hard as she fucked me, her black-polished
nails raking my back, leaving red welts when she wasn’t slapping my ass. She
pulled out, replacing the dildo with a massive, studded one, the studs scraping
my pussy walls as she slammed it into me, the pain mixing with pleasure as I
came again, my screams echoing. We swapped roles, and I fucked her, my thrusts
savage, her screams matching mine as I pounded her cunt with a ribbed dildo,
her juices squirting onto my thighs, her freckled breasts bouncing with each
thrust. She grabbed a whip, lashing my ass as I fucked her, the pain driving me
to thrust harder, her body shaking as she came. The neighbor banged the wall,
but we didn’t stop. Before I left, I kissed her, our tongues battling, her
black lipstick smearing on my lips, then knelt to kiss her BITCH tattoo, my
lips lingering on her skin, tasting her sweat and the faint herbal scent of her
body. She slammed the door without a word, leaving me reeling.
I snorted when I saw the black Trans Am in front of Circe’s
room. It had a vanity tag that read, SIRENS, and a bumper sticker, MY OTHER
CARS A BROOM. I shook my head too tired to laugh.
Homer’s car was parked at another building—two black Trans
Ams in one motel? Not that surprising, he’d bought his because of Knight Rider
and liked to hum the theme tune when driving. I couldn’t face him, my body
marked by welts, cum crusted on my thighs, my pussy and ass sore from the
relentless fucking, the black lipstick imprint on my nipple a stark reminder of
Circe’s claim. I dove into the pool, scrubbing James, Ryan, and Circe from my
skin, but the yearning remained, whispering Johnson’s name. I loved Homer, but
the desert had claimed me. I vowed fidelity, knowing I’d break it. My ordeal
felt incomplete without having tried Johnson’s one-eyed monster.
Epilogue: Return to the Cyclops
Homer let me into his room at 2 a.m., his arms tight around
me. He’d been frantic, and I lied about missing my ride, lying about my period
to keep him from discovering my infidelity. The weekend passed, I blew Homer to
keep him happy, but I hid my welts, blaming faded marks on a desert bush.
Sunday, Homer drove me to Johnson’s. The old man rocked, his mutt at his feet,
whistling that jazz tune. I stayed in the car, heart pounding. Would he tell
Homer I’d sucked his massive shaft, loved his cum on my breasts? Homer paid him
sixty bucks, and I cursed—Johnson had promised a free fix. His eyes never left
me as I kissed Homer goodbye and slipped into my Mazda. The tank was full, at
least the old man had filled it for me.
We sped off, but the yearning was a fire, Johnson’s warty
cock haunting me. Twenty minutes out, I turned back, hands shaking, still
trying to fight the urge even as I pulled back into Johnson’s Auto. The mutt
growled but let me pass. Inside, Johnson sat naked on the couch, his foot-long
cock sticking out, slightly bent, leaking a long string of precum, waiting,
warts shining in the light. “Took you long enough, Penny,” he cackled.
I stripped slowly, my body burning under his approving gaze,
my pussy already wet at the thought of his monstrous cock. I straddled him, my
pussy lips kissing his cockhead, the wart on the glans teasing my clit as I
sank down, gasping at the stretch, inch by agonizing inch. At ten inches, I
paused, trying to catch my breath, my walls clenching around his shaft.
Finally, I slammed down, the lower wart scraping my clit, the head finally
satisfying the craving as it probed my womb, the wart on the glans rubbing
against my G-spot, the one at the base rubbing my sensitive clit. I screamed,
my orgasm a tidal wave, my body convulsing as I rode him, my breasts bouncing
wildly, my juices soaking his lap. His warts worked magic, stimulating my clit,
sparking climax after climax as I fucked him harder, my pussy gushing with each
thrust. We fucked in every position—doggy, missionary, reverse cowgirl—his
shaft relentless, the warts scraping my walls, my screams filling the room. He
flipped me onto my stomach, spreading my ass cheeks, and spit on my asshole,
his warty cockhead pressing against my tight ring. “Time to take this ass,
Penny,” he growled, pushing in, the stretch burning as my ass opened for his
massive cock. I screamed, the pain intense as he buried himself balls deep, the
warts scraping my anal walls as he fucked me, his balls slapping my pussy with
each thrust. I came again, my ass clenching around his shaft, my pussy
squirting onto the couch. After forty minutes, he erupted, his cum flooding my
ass, triggering another orgasm, his hot seed spilling out as he pulled out, dripping
down my thighs. Applause startled me.
A shirtless hunk stood there, his presence commanding like a
Greek god, mid-thirties, muscles rippling, dirty coveralls hanging down over
his jeans. He stripped, pulling his jeans and briefs down at the same time. His
cock was an inch bigger than the old man’s, magnificent, sculpted perfection,
and wart free.
“My grandson, Ares,” Johnson said. “Told ya I had some pussy
lined up.”
“Good for you, pops,” he replied, voice deep.
“Well don’t just stand there, fuck her, boy.”
Ares stepped forward, his body a god’s, his cock a monster,
bobbing before him. I noticed he had a long wide urethra like his grandfather’s,
another one-eyed cyclops. I’d wondered what Johnson was like young—now I’d
know. He grabbed me, bending me over the couch, and slammed his cock into my
pussy, ruining me for Homer’s little dick, his thrusts even harder than his
grandfather’s, his cockhead battering my cervix. He pulled out, flipping me
onto my back, and spread my legs wide, his tongue diving into my pussy, lapping
up the cum and juices as he sucked my clit, his fingers fucking my ass,
squishing in his grandfather’s semen. I screamed, cumming on his face, my body
shaking as he mounted me again, fucking me missionary style, his powerful cock
driving me to another climax. He came, bellowing like a bull, flooding my pussy
with his seed, his groans mixing with my screams as we collapsed, his cum
dripping from my abused cunt. I laid there, rubbing his biceps, planting gentle
kisses on his chest, a part of me hoping he’d just bred me with his voluminous
seed.
Thankfully, my period came, and I went on birth control as
soon as I could. For a year, I stopped at the garage every Friday on my way to
see Homer and Sunday on my way home, fucking Ares while Johnson watched, his
cock rarely rising, but when it did, I serviced the old man with as much lust
as I showed his grandson, his warty cock more satisfying than his grandson’s.
Homer and I married, but I visited Ares under the guise of seeing my parents.
When Johnson died, Ares took over, and I still see him, letting him fuck me
raw, his cock satisfying me better than my husband ever could. When Homer and I
did decide to start a family, I knew that it would be Ares that fathered my
child.
My sales job takes me to Vegas, where I found James and Ryan
stripping at a club. I joined them onstage once, and a rich creep paid $500
each to watch us fuck. We took the money, following his orders in his high
roller suite, the three of us fucking for hours, their Black cocks filling me
as the creep watched, jerking off to the sight of a white girl being ruined by
Black studs. I agreed to perform with them whenever I was in town.
Years later, by a Vegas pool, I lounged on a cot, shielding
my eyes from the sun as Homer went to the bar to get us drinks. My gaze drifted
to a stunning woman in a green micro bikini, her natural red hair cascading in
loose waves down her back, her skin pale with a light dusting of freckles. Her
body was as toned as ever, her breasts still large and impressive, barely
contained by the tiny bikini top. She caught me staring, her green eyes locking
onto mine with a knowing glint, and she approached, her hips swaying
confidently. I couldn’t place her, but something about her felt familiar—those
piercing eyes, the curve of her lips, a flutter of desire growing in my womb.
“Sorry for staring, but you look familiar,” I said,
squinting up at her, my heart racing as a flicker of recognition stirred.
She smirked, a hint of that old wickedness in her
expression, and tugged down the top of her bikini bottom just enough to reveal
the BITCH tattoo on her crotch. My breath caught—it was Circe, transformed.
Gone was the Wiccan goth identity, the purple-black hair, the black lipstick
and nail polish. She’d shed that persona entirely, embracing her natural
redheaded beauty, but the tattoo and those eyes confirmed it was her.
“Circe?” I whispered, my voice trembling with a mix of shock
and arousal, memories of her dominating me flooding back, my only time with a
woman.
“I go by Calypso now. It’s been a while, Penelope,” she
purred, her voice still sultry, though softer now, eyes traveling down the
curves of my bikini clad body. She handed me a business card with her number
and email. “Give me a call if you want to have some fun.” She glanced at Homer
approaching and added, “I still have my toys, if you were wondering,” before
turning to walk away, her bare ass barely covered by the green thong bikini.
“Who was that?” asked my husband, handing me my drink, his
eyes lingering on her retreating figure.
“An old friend I haven’t seen in a while,” I replied, my
mind racing. “She wanted to reconnect.”
“You should give her a call,” he said, oblivious to the heat
pooling in my core. “You could use a friend here in town.”
“I think I will,” I said, slipping her card into my little
purse, my pussy already wet at the thought of her dildos stretching me again,
her lips marking me once more. “Some female companionship would be nice.”
My odyssey wasn’t over.
The End
I love it.
ReplyDeleteThis is a GREAT story!!!
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