It was then that I reached out with my other hand and tried to reach my husband’s hands, either of them but they were tied together and too far away so instead I placed it up on the back of his head and sort of pulled my husband’s head toward me a few inches.
I wanted to kiss him, and maybe have him share in the pleasure I was starting to feel, but my husband did not help me as I tried to pull him closer. I don’t know, maybe he didn’t want to get too close to my rapist, whose head was right there.
I was trying, in my own way, to let my husband know that I cared about him and his feelings even as the pleasure started to build from my rapist.
I heard my poor husband murmur ‘Not again,’ as he heard me start making sounds. Fortunately I was quite wet inside from the first man because the second man was even larger, maybe not longer, but thicker.
Thicker for sure because I was aware of every bit of the feel of his penis as he drug it in and out of me. Well, not really out, but almost. When I say he was dragging it, I mean it, because the fit was so tight between us.
The fit was tight but he had lots of energy and I was grunting from the force of his deep strokes and gasping because he was sort of knocking the wind out of me and my husband again thought I was enjoying it and started crying.
I guess the fact that I had pulled my hand away from my husband’s head so as to better hold the rapist close to me while at the same time again raising my legs up up and around another man’s waist to better take all of him might have been a clue to my husband as to what I was feeling.
To be honest, I again sort of forgot about my husband and gave my concentration, all of it to this new man. I wanted to cum this time and hoped that he would last.
He did. Oh I came, How I came, so hard, so intense. It was something I had not known possible, this pleasure.
Again I heard my husband whimper. No way, no way would I be able to convince my husband now that I had been faking it. He knew. I had climaxed, and intensely, with this man.
Even better, he was still lasting, holding back maybe.
My rapist’s face was close to mine, beside my face and I used my hand to guide him around. He knew, and our lips met. He was still pumping, trying to hold back I think and make this last, but I had orgasmed and I think my lips on his, our tongues joined, set him off.
He had started on a climb that could not be stopped. He gave me several hard and quick pumps, each one making me grunt, and I felt his cock, already huge, grow larger it felt like as his orgasm began.
He was able to cum harder it seemed, then the first man. Maybe it just seemed that way, but I felt his every throb. I almost came too, close. Another minute, a few more pumps, and I would have came a second time.
As he seemed to slow his movements, I reached down between our bodies and started rubbing my clit. Surprised, he began pumping again, his cock still being large enough soft to thrill me.
I was right on the edge, and when that wonderful penis started caressing me on the inside again, that set me off. With a loud groan I came, and again I heard my husband whimper as my rapist again laid his body on mine.
He didn’t get hard again, fully, but it had risen some while I had been stroking my clitoris. I think, right then, that the rapist and I achieved some form of closeness, some form of understanding at how we had enjoyed using each other’s bodies.
Yes, I had used his body just like he had used mine.
Then, after he had stayed on me for a bit. I wanted to kiss again, but he kept his head down beside mine, and our lips were out of reach. I wondered. Are all men like this? They are romantic. So involved. They cum, They’re done.
My husband, over the past two nights had been that way. The rapist before, and now this one. All the same. They get it up, they get it in, they get it off, and they get it out. I have learned so much about men after just three days of marriage.
When he finally climbed off of me there was quite a mess on the sheets. Instead of closing my legs like I had done when the first man had climbed off, I remained spread. Opened wide so he could see what he might have done to me.
To my blonde, white woman, veddy British pussy.
I think I probably looked like a mess, down there. Two black men had known and enjoyed the feel of my blonde womanhood. Two men had came inside me, powerfully, and I am sure that now, as this second man stared down at me, that he might have been able to look inside me, because I had been stretched, wide.
As he was putting that cock away, I kept my eye on it until it had disappeared under his pants. He knew. He knew what I was thinking, that man, and he grinned when he saw and heard me sigh as his cock was no longer visible to me.
Then with a grin at my husband, yes my husband, he started to walk out. Then, like as an afterthought, he turned to look at my husband again, laughed, and walked out.
I wondered what that was about, but I didn’t look at my husband as I continued to lay with my legs wide, wet pussy opened, and seeing who might come next. You want some of this? Enjoy your sloppy thirds.
While not really wanting to do it since I was so satisfied, I was expecting the other two to come in and rape me and thank goodness they didn’t come back into the bedroom.
After a few minutes, when it became obvious by the quiet that they all might have left, I closed my legs and looked toward my husband. He was not looking at me, but rather staring up at the ceiling.
And then I looked at his shriveled cock and saw why the rapist had looked and laughed. It was still shriveled, but there in front of him, three or four inches in front, on his thigh, cum! A big wet spot of cum, shining in the light.
I had never seen my husband’s cum outside of a rubber. Even then, I never really had seen his cum because when he finished making love to me, each time, let me count, maybe five times total over the past two nights before this one, my husband had turned his back to me as he stood up and removed the rubber.
Then, before I could really see it, he had placed it in the trash in the bathroom.
Now there it was, on his leg and running down. Is it possible? Was it possible? My husband had achieved an erection and climaxed while watching me fucking the second black man? He must have, otherwise, how did that cum get there, that cum that is now turning watery and running down his inner thigh and staining the already stained mattress?
Still, as I stared, at his shriveled and looking so small cock, he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Before undoing his bonds, I walked, or rather staggered to the front of the house to check. Shit! Cum started running out of me as I walked and I had to place my hand under to catch it. Still, I kept walking.