FRIDAY NIGHT
The Sarasota night draped itself in heat and salt, the ocean humming in the background as Marla (Big Red) stepped barefoot onto the second-floor balcony. Her sheer black cover-up clung to her soft flesh, exposing every lush curve beneath. No bra. No shame. Just a tiny black thong swallowed between the swell of her ass and nipples as hard as coral, poking through the fabric.
Behind her, her husband followed, eyes devouring every bounce of her fat, perfect tits.
"You're killing me in that thing," he muttered, voice a raw scrape of lust, his hand sliding up to palm her ass.
Marla turned, her crimson lips curled in a smirk. "You made me wear it, remember?"
"Yeah," he growled, squeezing harder. "And I'd do it again."
They drifted down to the beach, the breeze pressing her cover-up tighter, outlining every dimple, every jiggle. He couldn't keep his hands to himself--cupping her breasts, fingering the edge of her thong, slipping kisses down her neck. She giggled, then gasped as he dragged a fingertip between her thighs.
"Back to the room," he rasped. "Now."
They made it to their door in a tangled mess of laughter and groping only to stop cold.
"Shit," he said, patting his shorts. "No key card."
Marla cocked an eyebrow. "You're joking."
"Be right back." He kissed her hard. "Try not to get arrested."
And just like that, she was alone, barely clothed in a public hallway, her tits peeking through sheer black, thong lost in the meat of her ass, nipples slicing through the humid air.
That's when she heard it.
Footsteps. Slow. Heavy.
A maintenance worker rounded the corner, eyes widening. Early 30s, tan, broad shoulders under a tight polo, tool belt swinging low.
"Well damn," he muttered. "You need a hand, mami?"
Marla rested a hand on her hip. "I'm fine. My husband just went to get a new key."
His gaze dragged down her body. "Sure you don't need anything?"
She opened her mouth to dismiss him, but her nipples betrayed her, stiffening under his stare.
He stepped closer. "You look cold," he said. "Let me warm you up."
His hand brushed her arm, then slid lower, gripping the meat of her hip. He pulled her in, bold, dangerous, and hot as hell. His lips found her neck, his tongue teasing the soft skin as his hands claimed her body.
She gasped as he sucked one of her nipples through the fabric, tonguing it until it glistened. His fingers roamed, diving under her thong like he owned her.
"Fuck, you're soft," he growled, voice low.
Her back arched, a moan slipping from her lips, until his walkie crackled to life.
"Room 204. Now."
"Fuck," he hissed, stepping back. "Duty calls."
Before she could catch her breath, another worker rounded the corner.
He stopped. Blinked. Smirked. "Goddamn."
Marla rolled her eyes, but her smile said come closer. "You guys move fast."
He didn't waste time. His hands grabbed her hips, pulling her in for a kiss that slammed heat into her belly. His mouth was rough, tongue greedy, hands gripping her ass like dough.
She moaned into his mouth as he latched onto her nipple. Again. Again. Tongue swirling, fingers squeezing.
And then--
"Copy that. 207 needs backup."
The second man groaned, pulling away reluctantly. "Next time," he promised, licking his lips as he walked away.
Marla's skin still tingled from the hallway run-ins--two maintenance men, four filthy hands, and not nearly enough time. Her thighs were slick, nipples like bullets, and the black cover-up was soaked through with arousal.
Then the door creaked.
Two shirtless stoners leaned out of their hotel room, all sun-licked abs and weed-fueled grins. One had a beard and a glint in his eye that said trouble. The other, tattoos from wrist to shoulder, was already licking his lips.
"Cold out here," the bearded one said. "You wanna come warm up?"
Marla's instinct said run. But her body said open wide. She nodded.
"Just for a minute," she breathed, stepping inside.
The room was chaos, reeking of weed and sin. Neon lights blinked, bass thumped from a speaker, a bottle of tequila sweated on the nightstand beside crushed rolling papers and crumpled bills.
"You drink?" the tattooed one asked, already handing her a shot.
She downed it. It burned. She liked it.
"You're fucking unreal," the bearded one muttered, stepping in close, eyes glued to the way her nipples stabbed through sheer black like desperate punctuation marks. "Thick and wild... fuck."
Marla just smiled. "You gonna do something about it?"
The tattooed one didn't wait. His fingers slid up her arm, bold, possessive. "You didn't come here to stay warm," he whispered, breath hot against her cheek.
He kissed her like a man starved, tongue in her mouth, hands in her rolls, gripping flesh like it was a fucking prize.
She moaned, hips grinding against him. Behind her, the bearded one dropped to his knees, pulling the cover-up up around her waist. His tongue was on her ass, sloppy, greedy, licking her like a goddamn lollipop from behind.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he growled, face buried deep.
The tattooed one tugged the cover-up over her head, revealing her fat, creamy tits and sweat-slicked belly. Both men groaned in unison.
"On the bed," one barked.
She obeyed. On her back, legs spread, thong barely hanging on.
The bearded one lined up, cock hard and leaking. "You want this?" he asked, teasing her folds with the tip.
Marla grabbed the back of his head and hissed, "Put it the fuck in."
He did.
Hard.
Fast.
No warm-up, no patience. Just full-bodied slamming, his hips snapping as he pounded into her like a man on fire. Her back arched, her tits bouncing wildly with every thrust. Sweat dripped off her brow as she screamed for more.
The tattooed one climbed up, his cock pressed to her lips. "Open."
She did.
He slid in deep, his hand gripping her hair as he fucked her face. Spit and moans filled the room. Her body was being used from both ends, and she loved it. One was destroying her pussy, the other feeding her cock like a meal, and she was starving.
Fingers found her clit.
Tongues licked her nipples.
Hands slapped her ass, gripped her throat, twisted her hair.
They used her. Worshipped her. Ruined her.
She came mid-thrust--violently, loudly, cunt clenching around the bearded one like a vice, juices gushing, hips convulsing. He didn't stop. He slammed into her until his cock exploded inside.
The tattooed one came next, pulling out and painting her tits, her neck, her tongue.
When it was over, she was a mess. Hair wild. Skin glistening. Holes filled. Face marked.
"You're fucking nasty," the bearded one whispered, out of breath.
"Best fuck I've had in years," the tattooed one added, dragging his fingers down her thigh.
Marla sat up, body trembling, cum dripping down her inner thighs, nipples still hard.
She didn't say thank you.
She just smiled like the devil had come and left satisfied.
Marla stumbled back toward her hotel room, barefoot, used, and drenched. Her thighs glistened. Her tits bounced unrestrained, nipples flushed and raw from too much attention. The thong hung on for dear life, soaked and pulled sideways, her hole still twitching from being filled and used by two strangers.
Her husband stood at the door, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"You smell like cum," he said. "And weed."
Marla didn't flinch. "You left me out there."
"I hoped you'd get into trouble," he muttered, stepping forward.
She didn't resist. His hand gripped her hair. He yanked her in.
The kiss wasn't soft. It was teeth, tongue, and punishment. He devoured her like he was reclaiming his territory, gripping her love handles, pulling her tight, biting her lip, pressing her back toward the bed without a single fucking word.
"You're not walking in here dripping and thinking you don't answer for it."
She grinned. "So make me."
He spun her and bent her over the bed in one brutal motion. Her ass was red already, handprints from earlier, and he just added more. His palm cracked across her cheek. Again. And again.
"Count," he growled.
She did. Voice breathless. Body arched. Wetness leaking down her thigh.
He didn't warn her--two fingers slammed into her. He fingered her rough, deep, like she was just a hole to punish. She whimpered and pushed back.
"You're a fucking mess," he said, dragging his tongue up her thigh and sucking her clit.
Marla clawed the sheets, moaning so loud the headboard shook.
When he slammed his cock into her, it was pure brutality. No warm-up. Just a raw, savage thrust that knocked the air out of her lungs.
He used her like a toy, hips snapping, hands gripping her thick waist, pulling her into every slam. Her tits swung violently under her, her cunt clenching, body squirming under the force of it.
"You're mine," he hissed. "This used-up pussy? Still fucking mine."
She choked on moans, biting the sheets, ass bouncing as he slammed into her again, again, again.
He didn't slow down. Not even when she screamed. Not even when her legs gave out and she was just limp, mouth open, drool on the bedspread, begging him not to stop.
And he didn't.
He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, whispering filth in her ear as he rammed into her.
When he came, it was savage. Hot. Deep. Filling her with thick, angry ropes that dripped out the moment he pulled away.
He watched it ooze out. Then slapped her ass again.
"You fucking whore," he whispered, not as an insult, but a compliment she'd earned.
Marla collapsed. Barely breathing. Legs twitching. Pussy destroyed. Face red. Hair wild.
He bent low and said in her ear: "You think that was your punishment?"
Then--a knock at the door.
He stood, smirking.
Opened it.
The maintenance men were back. Eyes locked on Marla's ruined body.
The first one stepped inside without asking. "We came to finish the job."
The second closed the door behind them.
The door clicked shut. The room swelled with heat, sweat, and tension thick enough to choke on.
The two maintenance men stood there, eyes locked on Marla's dripping body like predators who skipped breakfast. Her tits jutted out, marked with dried spit and fresh bruises, nipples hard enough to cut glass. Her thong hung off one thigh like a surrender flag. Her husband watched it all unfold, arms crossed, smirking like the director of a porno he personally financed.
"We're not done," the first worker growled, stepping forward. "You didn't finish the job."
Marla didn't flinch. Her lips parted, her chest rising like she was ready to be split open all over again.
The second worker grabbed her by the hips and crashed his mouth into hers--tongue deep, filthy, uninvited. She responded instantly, her arms wrapping around his neck, hips grinding into him, devouring the taste of her own mess on his lips.
The first man dropped to his knees, latching onto her tit. He sucked hard, sloppy, his teeth grazing the bud before biting down. Marla moaned, her fingers digging into his hair.
