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 Β½ 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.