MIKEY IS GONE A LONG TIME. Long enough for me to almost start to empathize with these pathetic excuses for men who delivered their wives here to be turned into whores for them. Not even man enough to do the job themselves.
"You don't deserve wives," I hiss. "You want your wife to be your whore? So you pay other men, bigger men, stronger men to do the job for you. You're pathetic."
One of them bucks, trying to work the tip of his cock into his balllickers mouth, but she scoots back, casting me a wary glance. It's the blonde one. Duane's wife.
"Careful with that," she says. "That'll earn you nothing but pain."
"What's that? Telling the truth?"
"Thinking about your husband that way."
I arch my back, press my tits forward, rock my clit against the leather bench. My pussy is throbbing, just imagining having one of those cocks inside me. I don't even care about the man, I realize. I just want to be filled.
"He's not my husband."
She glances at me sharply.
"I've divorced him mentally the minute he let another man rape me." I explain with a shrug.
"Mikey's pretty intense, huh?"
There's this weird surge of pride that courses through me. Whatever Mikey is, at least he's man enough to own it. Jay pretends to be so good, kind, decent. Mikey takes what he wants. There's honesty in that. Freedom. Not that I have to like it when I'm on the broken side of that freedom.
"So's Duane," I hum, grinding my hips on the leather bench.
She doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Yes. My man is strong. And mean and powerful."
"He shares you around here. You like that?"
She nods absently, trails her tongue up the cock in front of her, making the man buck against her. "I do. One cock isn't enough to satisfy me. He understands that, encourages it. He wants me to be happy."
"And that," I nod at her tongue slavering its way back down the cock shaft. "That makes you happy."
A sharp shoulder lifts. "I had a bad childhood. I lashed out. Slutted around town. Couldn't hold a job, kept fucking the boss or the bosses husband. I was lost. Duane found me."
This is the most fucked up conversation I've ever had. I turn to the redhead.
"Don't look at me," she says, in a silky voice, trailing off with a long satisfied hum as she drags her tongue along a ballsack attached to a short, chubby, hairy troll of a man.
He may be a troll, but his cock is the cock of a god. A big broad head, a thick veiny curved shaft. I want it inside me.
"I love this," she purrs.