The Beast in Control

The story you are about to read is a continuing work of total and pure fiction. The names do not refer to any actual persons, living or deceased. As a work of fiction, the content is not intended to be considered, viewed or understood as an actual plan or attempt to commit the deeds described. This work is designed for the reading pleasure of consenting adults and should not be read if the idea of non-consensual sexual contacts offend.

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I stood there in the middle of the room, remote in one hand, my furry cock in the other and felt my mouth gaping wide open. What in the hell had I just witnessed? Why had I never noticed these tapes before? Was my mind so set on accepting Mrs. Whitman as being devoid of any sexual urges that I simply discounted any other possibilities? And to whom did the black cock belong? Was her husband aware of the situation? He must have been because the tapes were not locked up or hidden in a secret location. How could I have misjudged this family so much?

Moving rapidly, I rewound the tape and selected another. This was the very first tape in the series, recorded more than two years ago. I inserted it into the machine and punched the play button. Immediately the camera was focused on a bedroom - the master bedroom, I recognized - and Mrs. Whitman spread-eagled on the bed, but across it rather than along the length of it. Her legs hung over the edge and her hairy blonde pussy rested right on that edge. Her breasts had puddled on her chest and appeared to be two pink fried eggs, sunny side up. God, right then I wanted to suck and bite on one of them!

She was softly stroking the hair of her pussy with a long-handled brush. Up and down, up and down went the bristles, and as I watched, the camera moved closer to the bed and then zoomed in on her crotch. I could see droplets of her own dew glistening on the hair around her pussy entrance. I could see the bristles of the brush becoming wetter and wetter with this secretion. I thought I knew what was coming next as the camera zoomed to within inches of her now wide-open cunt lips. I figured the brush handle would insinuate itself into her pussy and slide deeply into her heated chasm.

Again, I was wrong! As I watched the screen, the bristle end of the brush - some 2 ½ to 3 inches in diameter approached the slippery entrance to her love grotto. And it slid inside with little or no difficulty. I listened to the soundtrack and heard her screech and mew and moan and groan in rotation as the bristled head disappeared entirely within her puffed-up lips. Then, I heard her say, "I can't do it! It is driving me crazy! I can't" And she began to withdraw the brush, very gingerly.

At that very moment, a hand appeared in the frame of the camera and slapped her fingers from the brush handle. "I'll do it!" a male voice growled. I quickly took notice that the hand was white, not black. So, she has made tapes with at least two different men. I wondered if this was her husband. The hand took the brush and almost roughly moved it in and out of her pussy, spreading and scratching the inner lips as they protruded with each withdrawal stroke. I could hear her becoming nearly hysterical as her ass jumped up and down in the frame. The camera shook and became harder to control, but a bark from the man calmed her and the brush-fucking continued. I watched copious amounts of liquid almost pour out of her slit and down her ass crack. I listened to her crying and whimpering. But I also noticed her ass could not hold still. She humped higher and harder with each down stroke of the brush and when the camera operator sensed she was close to the edge, he began to rotate the brush inside her wet cunt.

She went ballistic, screamed, jumped and climaxed violently. Her climax was so violent and prolonged that she could not even breathe for a long stretch of seconds. The hand that held the brush pushed it so deep that the entire handle almost disappeared. He held it there, pushing against her resistance, until she had stopped heaving and her breathing was nearly back to normal.

I watched very closely, then, as he began to withdraw the brush with a wide-circling motion, stretching her already limp pussy lips. At the same time, he again twirled the brush, causing the bristles to go round and round, scratching her pussy walls and lips as it emerged, soaked, slick and - I could almost swear - steaming.

Her clit was hugely engorged and had slipped far from its protective sheath. Of course - and I knew this was coming when I got a look at where the camera was focused - the hand could not ignore this particular condition. The brush detoured from its planned course away from her pussy and slid upwards to scrape over the length of her slit and her clit, pulling it upwards toward her bush. She screamed loudly, shrilly and went totally silent and limp. My God, she had fainted! That was evident from the slackness of her thighs and the fact that a large amount of pussy nectar was released from its reservoir to slide down along the crack between her lovely white cheeks.

The last thing on the tape was the cameraman's voice murmuring, "Sleep well, my love; for your road to pleasure has just begun." And the tape clicked off.

Sleep well!?!? Damn! With these scenes on my mind, I doubted if I would ever sleep again. My cock was a throbbing, furry staff of sexual abandonment. It nearly took on a life of its own, almost begging me to masturbate. I could not, however, afford that luxury right here and right now. I wanted to see more.

I selected a tape from just this summer, and after replacing the previous tape in its assigned slot, inserted it into the VCR. As the picture formed on the screen, I could see Mrs. Whitman lying by the pool behind the house. The pool is completely screened from any prying eyes on all sides by the house and by huge, rambling hedges nearly 9 feet tall. I was immediately struck by the fact that Mrs. Whitman was not sunbathing in the nude. She was wearing a - what else? - white string bikini that looked absolutely fabulous against her darkly-tanned skin. The top consisted of two white triangles connected by a very thin string. The bottom was, again, a larger white triangle that covered her bush but hugged her crotch very tightly and showed the clefted bulge of her pussy lips. She was very still, lying on a cushioned chaise lounge. Her breathing was slow and even. Perhaps she was asleep? Perhaps this was an act? The camera angle changed as the operator moved to stand below her feet, panning up from her feet along her oiled legs and to her puffy crotch, where it hesitated and then moved to her also-oiled stomach and then to her beautiful breasts. When the focus zoomed in closer, you could see that her nipples were taut and pushing against the material of her top. The top was wet from her perspiration and the oil that had been lavishly applied to her flesh and allowed her skin color to show through. She was not tanned beneath the tiny triangles. She was creamy white and I imagined the tan lines as being beautiful in their contrast. By looking carefully, you could see her darker aureoles showing through. I was concerned that I would cum on the floor without actually doing anything.

As I watched the camera's panning motions, I could see exactly how beautiful this female creature really was. Everything about her face and features was in perfect symmetry. She was truly a gorgeous woman.

At that very moment, as I was becoming enamored of her looks, the camera pulled back to include the door to the small pool house that sat at the rear of the Whitman's property. The door opened and I caught my breath in my throat as I watched a huge black man exit the pool house. He was totally naked and his cock hung down to mid-thigh, looking to be all of 10" long in a turgid but limp state. Behind him came another man, also black, with a tool that looked more like the end of a baseball bat than a cock. It was not long, really; perhaps 6 or 7 inches, but I had never seen anything like the thickness of it. It was almost freakish in its size.

But this was not the end of the parade. Three more black men, all of different cock sizes, appeared out of the pool house. I had to chuckle, honestly, at how crowded five naked men must have felt in that tiny space. They quietly moved to stand around and behind the chaise on which Mrs. Whitman was sunning herself. The smallest of them, appearing to be no more than 17 or 18 years old, bent and kissed Mrs. Whitman directly on the lips.

She jumped and opened her eyes to the sight surrounding her. She screamed. She lurched up as if to get out of the chaise, but one of the men put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back. Was this all an act for the camera? Had her husband (presumably the camera operator) arranged all this for her or for himself? Or was this an honest-to-God non-consent situation for the husband's enjoyment alone?

I had little time to ponder that thought as Mrs. Whitman was assaulted from all sides by pairs of black hands. This was to be no soft, warm sexual experience. Her pussy was probed by fingers; her face was kissed by black lips; her tits were rolled, pinched, massaged and squeezed by other sets of black hands; her suit was ripped from her body in a few small pieces and tossed into the pool to float with the circular movement of the water caused by the filter apparatus.

When she tried to scream again, the youngest of the men slipped his cock directly into her mouth and held her chin. I could see him speaking to her, but could not hear what he was saying. Most likely she was being warned about screaming - or about biting.

I hit the pause button to survey the scene before anything else changed. There she was, in all her blonde glory, with a black cock stuffed into her mouth about three inches, a pair of black balls hanging just above her eyes, a black hand squeezing each of her swollen breasts, two black cocks hovering just above her nipples, another pair of black hands thrusting fingers into her hugely-hairy cunt while spreading her lips obscenely and one black man standing back, aloof, not taking part in the action at all. He was the one with the monstrous horse-cock I had seen earlier.

Mrs. Whitman struggled and bucked, but did not manage to dislodge even one set of hands. A voice - her husband's? - spoke and reminded her that she had told him she dreamed of this. He offered details about her being terrified of being raped by a black man or more than one, he said. So, he continued, he had arranged to have her fantasy dream fulfilled here and now. She shook her head violently back and forth and waved her hands in the air and tried to speak around the cock in her mouth, but nothing other than muffled cries came out. Obviously, she had not been a part of the planning for this event. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

The biggest of the five now moved to the chaise and ordered the others to step back. He bent and lifted her body as if it were a feather pillow and tucked her under one arm as he turned and straddled the chaise and sat down, pulling her onto his lap with one leg on either side of the chaise, her feet on the grass.

It was as if she knew exactly what was coming. She let out a screech and struggled with him to escape; but to no avail. Instead, the young man whose cock had been in her mouth a minute ago, now stepped to the head end of the chaise and pulled her by the hair so that she bent forward and had to put her hands on the huge black man's chest to keep from falling into him. In doing so, her face was directly in front of the young man's cock, which he proceeded to stuff back into her open mouth and hold her by the hair at her ears.

She emitted another muffled cry as she felt the man below her place his hands on both her tits and squeeze them into bulbous, fleshy masses with her nipples bulging out toward his face. He opened his lips and sucked a gloriously large nipple into his mouth and bit down on it. At that very moment, her hands were removed from the big man's chest and two black cocks were stuffed into them, one on either side of the chaise. The big man beneath her held her up and she felt suspended by cocks on three sides. I could only imagine what was going through her mind at this point. I have no idea if she had actually seen and taken account of the size of the two cocks that were not occupied. If she had, real fear ought to have been coursing through her veins.

As this thought flew through my mind, the big man released one of her tits and lifted his huge erection, now such a staff that I could not believe my eyes, to rub the monstrous head along her pussy slit. There was no doubt that he was lubricating the head, because with the constant changing of camera angles - the cameraman was moving to every conceivable angle - I could see the slick wetness collecting there. What I could not ascertain was whether that slickness was as a result of oil Mrs. Whitman had applied to her body or whether it was a direct result of her own arousal and lubrication. I suppose the question was academic. It mattered not in the least to the man who was about to spear this luscious blond pussy with the most outlandish weapon I have ever seen.

She knew at that moment she was in trouble, but could do nothing about it. I watched, as her entire body seemed to relax. Muscles that were tense and knotted, slipped into a stretched-out posture and allowed her to sink downward an inch, impaling herself directly on the fat head of the man's cock. She had had no idea about its size, I could tell, because she let out a horrendous yelp around the black cock now stuffed some four inches into her mouth.

But the yelp did little to deflect her oncoming experience. The man moved his hands to her waist, still holding her up, and angled his hips a bit differently. He murmured something to the others and counted, one - two - three, and dropped her onto his cock. She slid some six or seven inches down the shaft before her screams could be heard on the tape. She stopped at about seven inches and was breathing heavily around the cock in her mouth. She was trying to hold her weight up on her two feet, but the man under her continued to lift her ass and then drop her again and again and again. On the third or fourth lift-and-drop maneuver, he did not let go of her hips and pulled her entire body down tightly against his. I could see her eyes bug out of her head and her face turn a bloody red color. I thought she was going to have a stroke, until the camera moved to look down at the space between the two bodies - one snowy alabaster white, and the other jet-black.

There was no space between their bodies. Her cunt had swallowed the entire length of his cock. She was hardly breathing and could not have moved if she wanted to. I was certain she was going to pass out, but with an incredible full-body shudder, she again relaxed every muscle and seemed to sink yet even farther down into his crotch. I could see the cords in her neck tighten as the young man slipped another inch of his cock into her mouth, now probably probing the beginning of her throat. Another relaxation move, and the length of his cock disappeared into her mouth leaving his curly pubic hair against her lips, chin and nose. She moved her head back and forth in a small movement to gain breathing room, but did not make an effort to remove the cock from her throat. Her eyes closed and I could almost see the defeat as she asked herself, "What else?"

What else? Her throat was stuffed with a young, thin, black cock; her two hands were wrapped around thicker versions of the same, moving in and out of her clenched fingers, seemingly fucking her hands; her cunt was stretched and filled beyond all reasonable estimates. What else could there be? Apparently she and I and the cameraman had all forgotten the heavy-set man with the cock as thick as the end of Sammy Sosa's black baseball bat. He now stepped into the picture, taking up a position directly behind her ass. The cameraman moved closer to get a good angle on what was to come. The monster underneath her began a series of long, slow, pussy-punishing strokes in and out of her pussy, pulling at least ten inches of hard, black meat out each time he lifted her off his hips. And each time, he slammed her back down, hard, to the very limits of his monster cock. I could hear the sounds of her pussy sucking and slurping around that black tool and I could only marvel at the limits to which a woman's flesh will go to accommodate a man.

The man standing behind her ass, lifted the bottle of suntan oil and liberally coated his thick wand with its creamy-white contents. I could see the palm tree logo on the bottle and could almost smell the coconut in it. He looked to the man below who re-adjusted his grip on her hips and squirted a huge quantity onto Mrs. Whitman's puckered rosebud orifice. She immediately knew what was to come and began to scream and squirm, but the black giant below her held on so tightly she could not move her ass an inch to either side.

The thick-cocked conspirator moved his head to her opening and with one incredibly swift motion, smacked her hard on one ass cheek while he rammed the head inside her backdoor love entrance. She screamed again and tried to escape, but with black hands holding onto her from all angles, it was impossible. I could hear her sobs, but the men took no notice as all five of them began a concentrated rhythm of thrusting and pulling their cocks in and out of whatever piece of flesh they had claimed.

The fat cock that was imbedded in her ass now sunk itself to its full 7" limit and caused her ass to stretch and swell in a manner unbelievable. Her cunt was being pulled nearly inside out with each withdrawal of the first black behemoth, and then slammed back inside itself with each re-entry. The thin, black rod that probed her throat now moved in and out at leisure, with her breathing controlled by the rhythm her own body had adapted to. The man below her now held her breasts again and crushed them into mushy melons as the man on either side of her stroked in and out of her clenched fists, which they held tightly together with their own hands.

She was being fucked. And she was being fucked royally. The thought immediately came to my mind as to what in the world I could ever do to her if she finally did wind up under my control. Once again, I had little time to worry about this because the men indicated they were all reaching their peaks. What surprised me, though, was Mrs. Whitman also appeared to be near an orgasm. I had not expected this. I had expected humiliation and sexual abuse, yes; but I had not figured on her body taking over and reacting in a positive manner to that abuse and humiliation.

Her eyes were closed, her breathing ragged, her muscles spasming and trembling. The men also realized this and increased the speed and force of their thrusting. And she exploded. Or, rather, they exploded. Within a space of fifteen or twenty seconds, every one of the six participants - five willing and one unwilling - orgasmed with a ferocity I had not seen in porn films, ever. Cum shot, seeped, ran and bubbled from every possible orifice and covered the woman's body. The men arched and spasmed violently as they came and deposited their treasures onto and into her body as they did. She was near collapse, sobbing and crying, as the cocks were withdrawn from her body, one at a time. I could hear the obscene sounds they made as they slurped and slopped out of her insides. The man beneath her stood and flipped her onto her back on the chaise and they all lined up beside her so that she could lick and suck their cocks clean, one at a time. She cried the entire time, but did not refuse one of them. She could not, of course, get either of these two larger members into her mouth, but satisfied their need by licking and sucking them perfectly clean with her lips and tongue.