Big Red 6 Sarasota Florida U S A

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.

"Get this rag off," the second barked, yanking the thong the rest of the way down. It hit the floor with a wet slap.

No compliments. No praise. Just heavy breathing and cocks growing harder by the second.

The first man shoved her onto the bed face-first. "Knees up. Ass out."

She obeyed, crazed and soaking.

He mounted her like a beast, no warning, no gentleness, just the thick slap of cock plunging into cunt. She howled. Not from pain. From need.

The second climbed onto the bed and shoved his cock against her lips. "Use your throat, not your teeth."

Marla opened wide.

One man drilled her pussy, snapping his hips like he wanted to break her in half. The other fucked her face, balls slapping her chin with each brutal thrust. Their hands grabbed everything--hair, tits, thighs, throat. Her body wasn't hers anymore. It was theirs to wreck.

Fingers found her clit and didn't stop. She screamed around the cock in her throat, gagging, drooling, eyes rolled back.

They didn't slow down. Not once.

Her orgasm hit like a seizure--hips jerking, pussy gushing, body locking up like she'd been electrocuted.

They didn't give her time to recover.

"Get up," one snapped, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet. "You're not done."

They marched her to the balcony. Night air kissed her wet skin. Anyone could see. Anyone could hear. And she didn't give a fuck.

"Bend over, slut."

One behind her.

One in front.

Again.

The first slammed into her from behind, hands bruising her hips. She gripped the railing, tits flattening against the cold metal, her voice reduced to guttural moans.

The second fed her his cock. "Look at me while I fuck your mouth."

She looked up. Eyes wild. Lips stretched.

The world spun around her.

Moans. Slaps. Skin against skin. She didn't just take it, she devoured it. Every stroke. Every command. Every filthy whisper.

And when they both came--one filling her pussy with thick, punishing warmth, the other painting her mouth and cheeks--she collapsed to the floor of the balcony, shaking, wrecked, and glowing.

Her husband stepped outside, crouched beside her, ran a finger through the cum on her cheek and brought it to her lips.

She sucked it clean.

"You're obscene," he whispered, voice thick with pride.

Marla smiled, still breathless. "And you fucking love it."

He leaned in close. "Next time," he growled, "we invite the entire cleaning staff."

SATURDAY NIGHT

The hot tub hissed and bubbled.

Marla lounged with her arms stretched along the edge, soaking and nearly see-through in a soaked white tee clinging to every curve. Her nipples were hard, her thighs spread lazily. The night air cooled her flushed skin while the water jets pulsed against the base of her spine. Her husband sat perched on the rim, drink in hand, eyes locked on her like he was starving.

"You comin' in or just gonna watch?" Marla teased, tilting her hips just enough to make waves.

He grinned. "Going for another drink. Try not to fuck the pool guy while I'm gone."

Marla smirked as he walked off. She closed her eyes. Breathed deep. Let the night crawl across her skin.

Then--footsteps.

When she opened her eyes, there stood a couple. Older. Confident.

The man was broad--heavyset but powerful, thick arms, belly like a shield, and shoulders that could crush. His shorts did nothing to hide what looked like a third thigh. The wife was short, tight-bodied, and looked like she gave orders in bed and the boardroom.

"Mind if we get in?" the man asked. Voice deep, easy. But his eyes were hard and focused on her.

"Plenty of room," Marla said, smirking, already shifting to make space.

They sank into the tub.

"I'm Marcus. This is Bren."

Bren's smile was sharp. "We saw you last night... on the balcony."

Marla raised a brow. "And you stayed away?"

"We were being polite," Marcus said. "We're done with that now."

Marla opened her legs slightly under the water. Invitation extended.

Bren moved first. She drifted across the bubbles and pressed herself against Marla's side, her hand sliding under the water and cupping Marla's thigh.

"You're soaked," she whispered. "And not from the jets."

Marcus shifted closer, massive and slow-moving. His hand cupped the back of Marla's neck, and his lips found hers--warm, full, demanding.

Marla moaned into his mouth as Bren's hand slid up and found her clit beneath the water. Two fingers. Skilled. Unrelenting.

Marcus broke the kiss. "Get on the edge," he said.

It wasn't a request.

Marla obeyed. She crawled onto the stone lip, tits bouncing, shirt now transparent and plastered to her belly. Bren reached up, peeled it off, and tossed it aside.

Then Marla saw it.

Marcus dropped his shorts, and what fell out made her gasp.

Thick.

Dark.

Long.

Fat in a way that made her jaw hurt just looking at it.

Bren chuckled. "It doesn't look like it fits. But it does."

Marla's legs trembled.

He stepped between them, guiding the monster toward her soaked opening. It didn't slide in. It forced its way. Slowly. Insistently.

She cried out, back arching, legs wide. "Fuck! He's splitting me--"

Bren was behind her now, holding her open. Spreading her cheeks. Whispering filth into her ear.

"He likes it when you struggle," she said. "Let him ruin it."

And he did.

Marcus began to move. Slow, heavy thrusts that knocked the breath from Marla's lungs. Every inch felt like a battering ram, her pussy stretching, gripping, leaking down his length.

Bren straddled the tub ledge in front of her, lifting Marla's face. "Your mouth now."

She fed Marla her clit, holding her hair, grinding her slick folds over her face. "Lick like you're dying," she hissed.

Marla was drowning in it.

One cock in her guts, one cunt in her mouth.

She was pulled apart--moaning, choking, cumming.

Her nails scraped the ledge.

Marcus slammed harder.

Bren came with a sharp gasp, hips jerking against Marla's face. "Don't waste a drop."

And Marla didn't.

When Marcus came, he shoved in deep, roaring, emptying a flood inside her that made her knees buckle. She collapsed on the stone, twitching, soaked from the inside out.

They stood over her, chests heaving, eyes gleaming.

"You took it better than most," Marcus muttered, cock still twitching.

Bren leaned down and kissed Marla's forehead. "You ever want to be owned, you know where to find us."

Marla didn't respond.

She couldn't.

She just moaned.

SUNDAY MORNING

Sunday morning. No birdsong. Just the low throb in Marla's body from being fucked in half the night before.

She rolled over in the hotel bed, tits heavy and swollen, legs still trembling. A crisp white envelope had been shoved under the door. She tore it open with lazy fingers.

"Ms. Marla. Please report to the manager's office. Immediately."

Her husband read over her shoulder, chuckled. "Sounds official."

Marla grinned, throat still sore. "Guess I've got a complaint to handle."

She threw on a wrinkled tee and nothing else. No bra. No panties. Just wet thighs and anticipation.

The office was dimly lit. Smelled like cedar, leather, and cologne soaked into the wood grain. The hotel manager stood behind a massive desk, thick arms folded, belly pushing against his button-down shirt. His bald head gleamed. His shirt was tight. But it was the scent that hit her--fresh cologne, musk, a little sweat.

She was already wet.

"You're late," he grumbled.

"You didn't give a time."

"You smell that?" he asked.

Marla blinked. "What?"

He stepped around the desk, close enough to drown her in his scent. "You. Sex. Need. It's leaking out of you."

His hand cupped her throat.

Not choking, but owning.

And Marla melted.

He kissed her and his gut pushed against her belly. She grabbed fistfuls of his shirt.

"Shirt off. Now."

She stripped in one motion. Her tits fell out, swollen and marked from the night before.

She dropped to her knees.

He pulled out a thick veiny cock, followed by two fat balls, low-hanging, hairy, musky. She moaned and took one into her mouth, eyes wide, tongue swirling. She gagged trying to fit both in.

He growled. "You're a good little pig. You like the taste, don't you?"

Marla slobbered down his shaft, face red, drool running down her chin. He slapped her ass mid-suck and flipped her onto all fours.

He ate her out like a savage--tongue deep in her hole, fingers in her pussy, spit everywhere. Her thighs quivered. Her voice broke. She was shaking, begging, panting.

Then he flipped her again.

"Ride it."

His cock was monstrous. Wide. Heavy. Angry.

She tried. Failed.

He grabbed her hips and forced her down. She screamed, squirted, screamed again. Reverse cowgirl. His hands spreading her cheeks, slapping her ass as she bounced.