Wet Mess in a cheap Hotel
The Hotel was an absolute shithole, but out of the way and we wasn’t there for the night. Hubby had whisked me off for a night of proper filthy fun, and I was already gagging for it. I looked like a right tart—glossy white leggings so tight they clung to my arse and fanny like clingfilm, a black satin blouse unbuttoned enough to flash my tits, nipples stiff as bullets, and sky-high stilettos that made my legs scream “fuck me.” We had a drink in the bar and we necked cheap shots the burn in my throat nothing compared to the fire in Hubby’s eyes as he eyed me up like he was gonna fuck me rotten right there.
We went up to the room and Hubby wasn’t mucking about. He grabbed my wrists, yanking them behind my back so hard I yelped, and tied them tight with rough rope. I whimpered, but he just smirked, stuffing a wadded-up satin scarf so deep in my mouth I choked, the slick fabric gagging. He knotted another scarf over it, pulling it so tight it bit into my lips, making my jaw throb. Then he blindfold over my eyes, plunging me into darkness, my world nothing but the pulse of my fanny and the drool seeping past the gag, dribbling down my chin.
He left me there, tied tightly sprawled on the carpet that reeked of cheap bleach. My shoulders burned, the rope cutting in, my wrists raw as I writhed, helpless. Drool soaked the gag, spilling over my lips. My pussy was a right mess, throbbing like mad, soaking my leggings till the shiny fabric stuck to my swollen lips, leaving a wet patch. Time dragged on—minutes seemed endless my body aching, my clit begging for a touch, while I lay there every creak of the floorboards making my heart race.
Finally, Hubby grabbed me, hauling me to my knees, . Then, a sharp knock at the door. My breath caught, a muffled moan choking past the gag. Voices—Hubby’s low growl and some stranger’s I didn’t know The door creaked, and he walked in I was about to get proper fucked up. My cunt clenched my leggings, the wet fabric a right state, sticking to my thighs.
The gag was ripped off, Before I could catch a breath, a massive, pulsing cock rammed into my mouth, so fat it stretched my jaw, It was the stranger, his dick, slamming down my throat till I gagged, my eyes streaming behind the blindfold. “fuck her face,” Hubby said, and they went at it. They took turns, Hubby’s thick cock next, then the stranger’s again, each thrust harder, deeper, no mercy. My throat was raw, drool and precum pouring down my chin, splattering my tits, soaking my blouse till it clung to my skin like a second spunk-stained skin. I choked, gurgled, my body shaking as they fucked my mouth senseless, their hands yanking my hair, slamming my head onto their cocks.
Not caring about my gagging, my choking—they laughed, called me a filthy slag, a cock-starved slut, as they pounded my throat till I could barely breathe. My leggings were fucked, the crotch drenched, my fanny lips outlined in the shiny fabric, my clit screaming for relief I couldn’t get. I was their bitch, their plaything my cunt so wet I could feel it dripping down my thighs.
Then they pulled and one after the other let rip a torrent of hot, thick spunk. It blasted my face, ropes of it splattering my cheeks, my lips, my blindfold, dripping down my neck, and onto my blouse, soaking the satin in sticky, creamy streaks. The cum kept coming, sliding down my chin, pooling on my tits, ruining the shiny fabric with their filthy load. I knelt there, bound, blind, my face a spunk-drenched mess, my leggings soaked with my own desperate juices, the room stinking of sex and filth. Hubby’s fingers smeared the cum across my cheek, his voice a low rasp. “Fuckin’ hell, you mucky little whore.”
I was still on my knees, face dripping with their spunk, my blouse a sodden, cum-stained mess, my leggings clinging to my thighs, soaked through with my own juices. Hubby wasn’t done with me yet. He grabbed the satin scarf, still damp from my drool, and shoved it back into my mouth, stuffing it deep until I gagged again, the slick fabric choking me. He tied the second scarf tight over my lips, the knot biting into my skin, making my jaw ache. The blindfold stayed on, keeping me in the dark.
He yanked me to my feet, my stilettos wobbling on the uneven floor, my bound wrists making me stumble.. The stranger’s hands were on me now, rough and greedy, running over my hips, my arse, then down to the wet patch between my legs. “Fuckin’ look at this sopping cunt,” he said, his fingers pressing hard against my leggings, rubbing the shiny fabric against my swollen fanny lips. I moaned into the gag, my body jerking as he teased my clit through the material, the friction driving me mental. Hubby joined in, his hands rougher, grinding against my pussy, the leggings slick and useless as they tormented me, making my thighs shake and my cunt throb harder.
Then they went further. The stranger’s fingers slipped under the waistband, finding my clit, swollen and desperate, and he pinched it hard, making me scream into the gag. Hubby wasn’t far behind, his thick fingers shoving into my dripping pussy, stretching me, pumping in and out while the stranger kept working my clit, flicking and rubbing until I was a trembling mess. They took turns, one fingering my cunt, the other torturing my clit, their hands relentless, no mercy, just driving me to the edge. My legs buckled, my muffled cries filling the room as my fanny clenched, my body shuddering through a brutal orgasm that left me gasping, drool soaking the scarf, my leggings even wetter, the fabric sticking to my thighs like a second skin.
The stranger laughed, gave my arse a hard slap, and I heard him leave leaving me with Hubby. I was still shaking, my cunt pulsing, when I felt his cock, hard again, pressing against my back. He didn’t say a word, just bent me over the rickety table, my bound wrists making me helpless as my tits pressed into the sticky surface, cum still dripping from my face onto my blouse. He yanked my leggings down, the wet fabric peeling off my thighs, exposing my dripping fanny. His cock slammed into me from behind, no warning, no gentleness, just pure, hard fucking. He pounded me, the table creaking, my gagged moans muffled as he fucked me like a man possessed, his hands gripping my hips, nails digging in. My pussy clenched around him, still sensitive from the orgasm, every thrust pushing me closer to another edge, I orgasmed hard and He didn’t last long—grunting like a beast, he unloaded deep in my cunt, hot spunk filling me, leaking out as he pulled away.
He left me there for a moment, bent over, gagged, blindfolded, cum dripping from my face and now my pussy, my leggings bunched around my thighs, my blouse a ruined, spunk-soaked mess. Finally, he pulled me up, tugged my leggings back into place, the wet fabric clinging to my cum-filled fanny. He untied the gag but left my wrists bound, the blindfold off so I could see the state of myself in the cracked mirror—face smeared with drying cum, blouse stained and sticky, leggings a sodden disaster. “Time to go,” he said, smirking.
We walked out, me stumbling in my heels, my bound wrists hidden under his jacket draped over my shoulders. The motel corridor was dim, the night clerk eyeing me like he knew exactly what I’d been up to. Every step made my thighs slick, my leggings wet with my juices and Hubby’s spunk leaking out, my blouse a blatant advert of my debauchery. We crossed the car park, passers by staring at the cum-drenched tart in stilettos, and I slid into our car, still tied, still reeking of sex, my body humming with the filthy thrill of it all.
