CHEATING I INTERRACIAL I CRUSH I SUBMISSIVE
Kendra’s Indiscretions: The Whores Night Out — Part 3
Whoring is not just a kink to her but a necessity. Something she has to do just to survive
This is the third part of this story. The second part is here:
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“You have fifteen minutes to use me together,” I tell them, “then it’s over for tonight.” I retreat into the booth as they join me inside. It’s a small space, not meant for six people. We are all cramped together, but it’s perfect for the simultaneous cum showering of a kneeling slut. The sound of zippers opening is usually music to my ears. But this time I can hardly hear them because my eyes are glued to the black guy’s crotch as he pulls his junk out. I gasped quietly.
He is uncut, with above-average girth and a big, swollen head, just slightly protruding from his foreskin. There is a rubber ring around his hairy balls. His cock is gorgeous, even semi-hard. Fully erect, it must be divine. I still can’t see his face because of the hood, but judging by his hands, he is at least twenty years younger than me. A young stud like him can probably cum multiple times. I want to test that assumption without haste, but I need his approval.
“I want to give you special attention,” I say to him, briefly glancing at his face and then returning my gaze to his impressive rod. It’s difficult to avert my eyes from it. Other men are already jerking their pricks in my face. “Can you wait till I finish these guys?” I say, smiling and looking at him again. “I want to give you royal treatment.” He remains silent, and just as I start to think he will deny me that pleasure, he nods and steps out of the booth. He doesn’t put his cock back in the baggy trousers. I like that. The door stays open.
The four remaining guys come closer. I grab, suck, and lick greedily everything they put in front of my face—cocks, balls, and assholes—indiscriminately, occasionally glancing between them at the black hunk waiting outside. He looks menacing, watching me from the shadows. I want to finish these guys fast so I can give myself completely to the black youngster.
Finally, the first of them unloads on my face. I move my head in a circle so the thick, warm drops of cum evenly coat my face and mouth. Three more to go, and I will get my black prize. I scoop the cum from my face with my fingers and smear it all over the remaining cocks. “Oh, you dirty bitch,” groans the bearded white guy as he spurts cum all over my right shoulder and my back. I smile at him as I squeeze the last couple of drops from his twitching sausage and lick them off my fingers. He wipes his dick on my hair and leaves.
I am struggling to make the last two men cum. Usually, I would love extra time since they both have nice, hard cocks, but I am yearning for that young black candy outside. After ten minutes of passionate deepthroating and ball-sucking, it became obvious to me that they were in no hurry. But I am. I glance at the black hunk waiting patiently outside, silently observing my every move. His cock is semi-hard and mouth-watering.
I will not be in a rush when I get my hands on him.
“Guys, I’ve had enough,” I tell them, faking exhaustion. “It’s time for you to leave.” I let go of their dicks and started to rise. A big, strong hand on my left side pushes me back down. I fall hard on my knees and yell in pain. “We will leave when we want,” says the owner of the hand, “and you will have enough when I say you have enough.”
His grip tightens until I whimper in pain. I look up at him. He is a mean-looking, chubby, pale guy with a smooth, smiling face. He looked so innocent in his business suit just a second ago. If I had met him on the street, I would have never said he could be dangerous.
The other guy sneers. I turn my head to look at him. He is the total opposite of the suit. Beard, long, dirty-looking brown hair, a leather jacket, and jeans. “I advise you to obey him,” he says, pulling out a small, double-edged knife. Fast as lightning, he presses the knife under my chin. I utter a yelp and start sobbing. “He is not a patient guy. And neither am I.”
They are together. I am doomed. The tears start to swell in my eyes as cold fear starts to climb up my spine. I look at the black guy outside. He is tucking his cock back in his pants and walking away.
No! Don’t leave! I scream inside. But I am so terrified that nothing comes out of my mouth.
Trembling from head to toe, I take their hard cocks in my hands. “Yeaaaah, bitch, you finally know your place,” says one of them, “and we’ll make sure you remember where you belong.” I may be imagining it, but it seems to me that their dicks are much harder than before. My fear excites them. Did they plan this all along? Will I end up in some back alley, dumped in the container, inside the black plastic bag, and torn to pieces for the kinks of two psychopaths?
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whimper as the tears swell in my eyes. They both laugh in delight.
The guy in the leather jacket leans down and puts his knife under my left eye, watching my tears uncontrollably flow over it and down my cheeks. “Wet pussy and wet eyes,” he smirks, joyfully sliding his knife over my breast. “It makes me hard every time.”
“Get out,” comes the flat, calm voice from outside.
All three of us look in the direction of the voice. The black guy. He returned. A desperate thought comes to mind: If they turn their attention to him, I’m going to run out naked and scream like crazy.
“Oh yeah?” says the suit as the guy in the leather jacket slowly walks toward the black guy, a knife clenched in his right hand. The suit stays beside me. I can’t escape past him. And there’s nothing else I can do. There’s no other plan. Paralyzed, I helplessly watched their confrontation.
“Yeah,” says the black guy, calmly lifting his sweater.
There’s a piece tucked into his belt. He takes the handle in his right hand and waits. It looks like a Glock. My husband has the same model. Even scared to death, I notice under his sweater the six-packs of a dedicated weightlifter. He doesn’t wear a jersey.
The knife guy stops in his tracks. He looks stupid holding the knife with his dick hanging out. Then he chuckles.
Am I saved? Desperate hope lights up in my head. Did he just save me?
“It’s your lucky night, honey,” says calmly the guy in the leather jacket as he puts the knife away and tucks his dick back in the trousers. He looks at me kneeling, covered with cum, and adds, “Let’s say you owe us one, ok? If we ever get the honor of meeting you again.” He chuckles once more, a smile spreading across his face. Fucking psychopath.
The next moment, they were gone. I start to shake. I can’t stop shaking. The tears still flow freely. They have soaked my tits, dampening the thick layers of cum covering them. I try to wipe them with my hands, but I just mix tears with cum, and it’s all slippery again. I give up and just stay on the floor.
“Are you going to be okay?” asks my rescuer. He is still in the same pose, leaning on the wall with his hand on the gun. He has a really deep, sexy voice.
“Yes,” I reply as I nod with my trembling head, “if you stay with me.”.
“I’ll leave the door open,” he says, walking into the booth. “I don’t want to be trapped here if those bastards return.”
Abruptly, I crawl to him and embrace his legs, shaking like a leaf. In all my years, I have never felt such sincere gratitude towards anyone. I tremble uncontrollably. I take off the wig in disgust and toss it angrily into the faraway corner. The mask goes away next.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” I keep repeating as I kiss and hug his legs. “You saved me. You saved me. Thank you.”
“It’s ok. They probably won’t return.”
He is gently stroking my hair as I keep watching the entrance to the booth. My mind tells me that they would be stupid to return after they saw his gun, but I am still in panic mode. It takes me a long time to stop shaking and calm down. When I finally release my grip and sink back on the floor, he moves away and sits on the only bench in the booth, placing his gun where he can reach him quickly.
“Come on,” he says, taking off his hood, “take your clothes on, and I’ll escort you to your car.”
I can finally see his face. It’s kind, but he has the eyes of a feral beast, of someone capable of anything if trapped in the corner. There is a deep, faint scar along his left cheek, going down to his jaw. It looks many years old. He is dangerously handsome.
With that face, he could take to bed any woman he chooses. Why is he in this place?
