5 comments/ 29763 views/ 23 favorites Unfair Negotiating Tactics By: beaugueste It was late summer - a miserably hot, humid season in the city. The fact that I was stuck at an outdoor baby shower for someone I barely knew compounded my unhappiness. Even in a seersucker skirt and white V-neck t-shirt, I was sweating freely in the sticky afternoon heat. One saving grace was that there was plenty of wine (I'd brought a few bottles myself as a "gift"). In the months since John and I had been dating, I'd been drawn into his tightly-knit family, culminating in today's pregnancy purgatory. The shower was for his younger sister – a year and a half younger than me, it had been pointed out by one of his aunts – and I was one of four unmarried women in attendance. One of the other "old maids" was a nineteen year old cousin. I appreciated that his family was so close, but as an "outsider," a large, emotional event like this was difficult to bear. I had probably said a dozen words all day that weren't some hollow variation of "Yeah, I love babies." I tilted my head back and swallowed the last two mouthfuls of wine left in my glass in a single gulp. "Why do I let myself get talked into these things?" I muttered as I poured myself another brimming goblet and grabbed an unladylike fistful of goldfish crackers. I wandered across the yard towards the host's Labrador, presently tormented by two of the many small children in attendance. As I finished my snack, the children's mother called them away from the dog, which collapsed in the shade of a tree. I squatted indelicately next to him, whispering, "You know, boy, maybe we should just find a nice quiet bar together." He panted happily as I stroked his head and seemed on board with my plan for desertion. "Sarah...? Oh! Sarah! There you are!" Nuts! John's mother had spotted me. "You need to come meet our friend, Mrs. Kutchner! Her son and John have been friends since first grade!" I gave the dog a farewell pat on the head. "Don't wait for me. Save yourself." I whispered as I planted my sandaled feet and stood, walking across the yard with my wine glass in hand. The vessel was empty within a minute of joining the older women's conversation, as Mrs. Kutchner jumped right in to the deep end, asking whether John and I would be raising our children in the church. A half-hearted rescue by his mother was all that prevented me from turning on my heel and going home with the rest of the bar table's offerings. Instead, I nodded patiently for the longest six minutes of my life before I was excused. My escape route was a bee-line to the wine table. John had asked me to come to this gathering of his family's female members and their closest, nosiest friends as a favor. He said it would endear me to his mother, put me in his sister's good graces, and give me the opportunity to feel out how I fit with the larger family. He had said he understood it was still early in our relationship, and that he wouldn't hold it against me if I didn't want to attend. He said I could say no. I repeated this to myself as I overfilled another wine glass. I was further aggravated at the fact that John was safely out of town at a bachelor party while I was braving his family's collective baby-mania. This meant that while I was enduring the emotional probing of his aunts, John was most likely receiving a lap dance or – I didn't want to think about the other possibilities. This issue had actually boiled over the week before into our first substantive fight. John knew I didn't like strippers, and that I felt what "those women" were willing to do for money was pathetic and sad. I knew I shouldn't be upset with him though; he hadn't made the plan for his weekend trip, and again, he'd given me the opportunity to decline the invitation to the baby shower. And besides, I knew I wasn't in a position to play the jealous role. Still, the timing irked me. "Why can I never say no to anyone?" I was still stewing over the intrusive old nutcase's interrogation and the question of "who-was-doing-what-on-John" when my phone buzzed in my pocket with a text. 'I'll be in your hood tonight. See you then.' Mr. Dalton was always succinct – vague, even - in his messages. He also never asked, but rather declared his own invitation at a time that fit his schedule. Not that he was rude or unkind in our encounters, but rather he treated them almost as he would any other business appointment; he was professionally courteous in his booty-calls, and expected professionalism in return. As my relationship with John had developed, my engagements with Mr. Dalton had grown more intense. While John and my sex life was satisfying, Mr. Dalton drove me to an entirely different level of sexual desire. When I was with him, I became a searing, frothing, extra-bodily mass of rabid lust, aching to be consumed and filled until I was exhausted. Standing at the snack table in this stranger's suburban back yard, staring at my phone screen that set the course for my evening, I felt a warmth spreading inside me and a bead of moisture seeped from between my lower lips. I strode across the yard into the house, bypassing the bathroom nearest the back door that was primarily used by party guests, and found a more private commode near the living room. I locked the door and leaned against the sink, hiking up the front of my skirt to expose the pink flowered pattern of my panties. Holding my skirt with my left hand, I slowly pushed the fingers of my right hand under the waistband and across my smooth skin until my fingertips reached my clean-shaved snatch. I let out a small gasp at the first contact, wetting the ends of my fingers between the moist lips, before bringing them up to the button of my clit. Rolling the nub rhythmically beneath my fingertips, my body churned with thoughts of Mr. Dalton's cock and how and where he would be using it on me in just a few short hours. I swallowed a moan as tiny pre-climax bubbles worked their way through my nerve-endings. I was about to stroke myself to orgasm in a stranger's bathroom at a baby shower! The taboo of the act pushed me over the edge and my body tensed as I clenched to cum. I was almost th- "Sarah? Are you in there?" John's mother knocked on the door as she spoke. "Monica's about to open presents, but we don't want you to miss it. Everyone's waiting." A blue-hot wave of panic flashed through my brain, softening slightly into boiling humiliation. Had John's mother just caught me masturbating? I wrenched my hand from my panties and straightened my clothes as I looked in the mirror. Flushing the toilet, I forced my voice to normalize as I responded. "Th-thanks, Cheryl. I'll be right out." I eyed the small window as an escape path, but resigned myself to returning to the party. I opened the door and his mother, who was standing a few feet away, turned and smiled at me. "There's always such a line at the one near the back door. I'm glad you found another option." She said as she hurried by me and entered the bathroom. Relief washed over me with the realization that the older woman was merely anxious to use the loo. I returned to the backyard and poured another glass of wine as I braced for the gift opening ritual. I faked my way through a couple rounds of girlish coos and sighs as the expecting mother unwrapped bibs and socks, before slowly backing my way to the edge of the estrogen fueled crowd. I felt another buzz in my pocket. "You need to look professional." I scrunched my brow in confusion, then as I turned, I found John's mother. I muttered an excuse of not feeling well and made my escape into the dimming light of the early evening. "What does he mean 'look professional'?" I asked out loud in my empty apartment as I turned on the shower. I walked to the bedroom and tossed my t-shirt and skirt into the hamper. Was this some secretary fantasy he wanted to play out? Were we going to role-play a job interview? I reached to my back and unhooked my bra, letting the cups fall casually from my round, firm breasts as I pushed my panties down my legs to the floor. Or did Mr. Dalton just want to stick it to a buttoned-up white girl? I blushed as I stepped into the steamy spray of the shower, mentally surveying my wardrobe and assembling an appropriately prissy outfit. Dragging the soapy luffa across my skin, I scrubbed away the irritation and boredom of the afternoon. My body felt recharged in the hot wash, and I grinned eagerly to myself at what the evening held in store for me. Turning off the water and wrapping myself in a towel, I stood in front of the mirror as I blow-dried and straightened my hair. Selecting an alarmingly bright shade of pink lipstick, I contorted my mouth into an exaggerated "O" as I applied the balm. I pressed my lips firmly together to even the coverage, then blew a kiss to the mirror. My full, pouty lips – plump and inviting in normal circumstances – were now transformed into a bright, attention-grabbing center of my pale face. I finished by applying my eyeshadow and mascara, giving my eyes a light smoked frame for their cock-hungry gleam. Moving from the bathroom to the bedroom, I walked to the dresser and let my towel drop to the floor as I opened the top drawer and pulled out a matching white lace bra and thong. I stepped into the delicate panties, pulling the waist band until the elastic rested at my hips. Holding the D cups of the bra over my breasts as I looped its straps around my arms, I reached back to fasten its rear hooks. The translucent white mesh of the bra's cups was overlaid with a white lace flower pattern, providing a tantalizing glimpse of the creamy flesh of my breasts while discretely obscuring my pale pink nipples which stiffened slightly in the cool air of my room. I went to my closet and selected a simple tight, white, three-quarter sleeved blouse. I slipped my arms into the shirt and buttoned the front – leaving the top two undone - and smoothed the small pockets over my boobs as I pulled a tweed pencil skirt off the hanger and pulled on the garment. I tucked the tails of my blouse into the waist, then fastened the zipper at the back of the skirt. The material of the shirt gripped my flat stomach and generous chest and, when pulled tight, gave a clear outline of the white lace of my bra. When I leaned over, the undone buttons at the top provided a mouthwatering view of the fleshy tops of my breasts, as well as the scalloped lace edges of my bra cups. After stepping into a pair of three-inch black patent heels and completing the outfit with a string of pearls around my neck, I walked to the mirror to assess my appearance. I sized up my reflection; the image cried out 'secretary ready to take dictation', and I hoped Mr. Dalton would be pleased. I hung up the towel and straightened the apartment, then looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was already a quarter after ten, and there had been no word from Mr. Dalton since I left the party a little after six. I sat on the couch with an impatient huff, my body and mind teetering between arousal and irritation. Pulling out my phone, I checked the timestamp of his last message again, then absentmindedly pulled up an internet article to put my mind elsewhere. Finally, at almost eleven, there was a knock at my door. I leapt to my feet – too eagerly, I thought – and started towards the door. Forcing myself to relax, I called out "Coming!" and paused to check myself in the mirror one last time. I smoothed the wrinkles from my skirt, checked the profile of my underwire-enhanced breasts, and puckered my lips a final time to inspect my makeup. I took a final deep breath, then turned the doorknob. I was greeted by a surprise upon opening the door. Mr. Dalton towered at the entry to my apartment, dapper as always in a lavish sport coat with no tie, carrying a bottle of expensive looking liquor and wearing a strange smile on his face. Beside him stood two other large, well-dressed black men, each staring intently at their phones. My gaze moved from Mr. Dalton to his companions and back; I was at a loss for words in my confusion and he offered no elucidation. Breaking momentarily from their phones, the two men purposefully looked over my body, then brushed past me into my apartment without so much as a "Hello." My mouth fell slightly agape and I stared blankly at Mr. Dalton, seeking explanation. He moved towards me, but rather than a greeting, he handed me the bottle. "Pour us some drinks, please." His words were delivered in an instructional manner – not asking, but civilly explaining what he expected of me – as he moved to join his friends in the living room. I turned slowly as I shut the door, and saw the two men had settled on my couch as Mr. Dalton headed toward a plush chair next to them. I went to the kitchen and poured three glasses of the cognac. From the living room, I heard someone – Mr. Dalton, I assumed – turn the radio to an R&B station. I reached into the cabinet above my refrigerator to find a tray for the drinks, my breasts straining the tight fabric of my shirt as I extended my body to access the high shelf. With the soulful voice of Keith Sweat floating softly through my apartment, I brought the tray of cocktails out to the assembled group of men. I found them engaged in a playfully heated debate regarding their apparently failed post-dinner plans. "If this cheap motherfucker would just tip a bouncer, we would have a table at Jazz right now." The man at the far end of the couch said while laughing and pointing at Mr. Dalton, referring to a high-end club a few blocks away. I set the tray on the coffee table and bent across it to hand the two strangers their drinks. Both men unabashedly trained their eyes down the unbuttoned opening to my blouse and the inviting glimpse offered of my lace-swathed melons. As I handed Mr. Dalton his glass, he motioned that I should pull up a nearby chair and sit across the coffee table from "our" guests as he responded to the jesting criticism. "I know that you spend most of your weekends corralling club rats, Mr. Farmer," Mr. Dalton quipped with a grin, "but Mr. Mills and I have a serious business matter to discuss. And this – with the hospitality of our lovely hostess – is a place where serious business can get done." He gestured towards me as I sat down and crossed my legs, quietly half-tuning-in to their discussion. From what I heard of their banter, I gathered that Mr. Farmer was a business partner of Mr. Dalton's and Mr. Mills was a distribution manager from a major supplier. Earlier in the evening, the three had gone to dinner at a nearby steakhouse to set out the conditions of an agreement. Now, here in my living room, the three were apparently finalizing terms for the deal that had been particularized before their arrival, although I found the details of the seemingly complex transaction difficult to follow. "I'm more than willing to make the initial investment offer to get things started if the two of you don't want the risky exposure early on. But I need to know that if my tender is accepted, one of you will be there with the follow-up capital to keep things moving." Mr. Farmer looked from me to Mr. Mills to me and finally to Mr. Dalton. "I'll fund Stage Two after your initial offer is accepted." Mr. Mills responded, tipping his glass in salute to Mr. Farmer's brave trailblazing role while casting a sideways glance at my chest. "I think the rewards are full and ripe enough to be worth any risk." "And I'll make sure, Mr. Farmer, that you are first to enjoy the rewards. It would be wise for us to maintain funding levels for all stages of the project to ensure we all reap the early benefits. After the initial payoff, however, I think we'll find the payoffs will come easily, and there will be any number of nice opportunities to slip into." The guys raised their glasses and enthusiastically toasted their arrangement. I giggled half-heartedly, pretending to follow their discussion. I'd grown bored with the conversation and allowed my disappointed mind to wander to what I needed from the store and how I could reach the stray strand of dust that clung to the popcorn of my twelve-foot ceiling. With my legs crossed, I absentmindedly jiggled the high-heeled shoe from my toes as I agitatedly bounced my leg at the knee. I took a deep breath and let out a high-pitched sigh of boredom, feeling my plump breasts strain my shirt as they rose atop my expanding ribcage. It took me a moment to realize that their conversation had ceased, and that three pairs of eyes were now trained on me, my bare leg, the tight shirt stretched across my swollen mounds. Each of them had finished their cognac, and Mr. Dalton signaled that I should fetch a fresh round. I smiled as I stood and bent over the low table to pick up the empty glasses, sensing as Mr. Farmer and Mr. Mills craned their necks to again peer down the opening of my shirt and into my deep cleavage. As I straightened with the tray in my hands and turned to head back to the kitchen, Mr. Farmer cleared his throat to get my attention. "We... ahem, uh, Sarah, is it? We appreciate your hospitality, having us here tonight." He said as his gaze slowly traveled upwards from my boobs to make eye contact with me for the first time. "Well, I wasn't given a choi-..." My eyes shifted to Mr. Dalton whose look directed me to change my response mid-sentence to a mumbled "It's been my pleasure" before I started back towards the kitchen. Mr. Farmer cleared his throat to regain my attention. "So, I was thinking we might reach a mutually beneficial arrangement..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out a startlingly thick money clip. My eyes widened at the staggering wad of cash, which he took as his cue to continue. "I'll give you five hundred dollars, and how about you fetch those drinks in your bra and panties." He peeled five notes from the bundle and extended his hand towards me. Suspecting a trick, I looked hesitantly to Mr. Dalton for reassurance, who nodded his concurrence. I quickly did the analysis in my head: five hundred dollars could go a long way on a graduate student budget, and it's just underwear – basically the same as a swimsuit! – so it seemed I was getting the better end of the bargain. My small fingers extended towards Mr. Farmer's large, dark hand and took the folded bills. I discretely fanned them apart to confirm they composed the promised amount, and tucked the money into the breast pocket of my blouse. As my three guests stared on intently, I set about undoing the five buttons of my blouse. The gap of exposed skin on my chest widened as my shirt fell open with the downward progress of my fingers, finally reaching the waist of my skirt. Leaving the halves of my shirt hanging apart – exposing the lace edges of my bra cups – I rotated my fingers to my back and unfastened the hook-and-eye clasp and zipper of my skirt. Its closures released, the garment slid freely from my hips and pooled on the floor around my feet. I stepped out of the flattened skirt, bent and picked it from the ground, and folded it neatly over the back of my chair. All eyes in the room focused ravenously on the last cotton barrier protecting my flesh. I undid the final buttons of my shirt and the fabric peeled away from my pale skin, revealing my supple body shrouded in only the most crucial of coverings. I pulled the shirt back from my tummy, innocently shrugged my shoulders out of the sleeves, folded the blouse over the chair with the skirt, and turned to face my guests. Three pairs of eyes were pinned to my pale breasts veiled by thin, patterned white lace. I bent at my knees to pick up the tray, then turned and made my way to the kitchen. As I walked, the back of my thong was pulled between my cheeks and was nearly lost in my round ass. I poured the drinks and returned to the table. On my return, I found that Mr. Farmer and Mr. Mills had moved to clear space in the middle of the couch and they gave the open spot an inviting pat as I approached. I placed the tray on the table and stooped to sit between the men, feeling a few grazing touches of their fingers at my back and butt as I came down. Each of the gentlemen reached to grab their own drink from the table this time, and as I settled between the two large men on the sofa, Mr. Farmer draped his arm around my shoulder. Unfair Negotiating Tactics The men returned to their financial discussion, but their eyes were glued to the rise and fall of the swollen orbs on my chest. Mr. Farmer's wrist perched on the edge of my shoulder, his long fingers dangled to casually toy with the delicate bow affixed where the strap and cup of my bra joined. I shifted on the couch as the room grew quiet and the mood of the group grew restless. Mr. Mills cleared his throat to break the silence. "So that first arrangement seems to have been, uh, mutually beneficial," his hand reached into his pocket and returned with a wad of cash just as thick as Mr. Farmer's, "so for five hundred dollars, why don't you take off your bra and give us a look at those titties." Mr. Mills pulled five bills from the stack and offered them to me. "But, if I took off my bra, I wouldn't have anywhere to put my money..." I joked nervously, hungrily eyeing the notes. Between this and the cash in my blouse pocket, I thought, I could have my rent for the month paid, and all just for letting a couple guys see my breasts. Besides, this wasn't half as bad as the kind of show that John was enjoying this weekend. Mr. Mills answered my question by tucking the bills into the waist of my thong as Mr. Farmer's hand slid down my back and deftly plucked apart the clasp of my bra in a single, smooth motion. The restraint loosened, each man grabbed a strap and tugged, releasing my pale melons into the cool air of the room. Mr. Mills took the bra and laid it over the arm of the couch before grabbing my right breast in his large hand. Mr. Farmer followed suit, cupping my left breast, handling the firm weight of my naked globe. "I thought you were just going to look?" I sucked in a sharp breath through my teeth as my body began to respond to the intimate attention. My toes twisted inside my high heels at the intense dual sensation. "For that kind of dough, we get to do more than look." Mr. Mills replied as he lowered his mouth to my breast, eliciting a throaty groan from me. Mr. Farmer's lips joined at my other teat and my hands went instinctively to the backs of their heads. The stimulation built and spread from my tits, down my body, and between my legs as the men sucked and nibbled at my sensitive nipples. Abruptly, they broke away and I whimpered as I rubbed my saliva-covered nubs. "You've been such a fine, gorgeous, generous hostess, Sarah." Mr. Dalton was speaking as he stood from his chair and stepped towards the couch. "I think you could be even more accommodating." He pulled the coffee table away, widening the space in front of the sofa, then took my hand and helped me to my feet. "I'll give you five hundred dollars, and how about you suck Mr. Farmer's dick." Without waiting for my reply, Mr. Dalton slipped five bills into the waistband of my thong. I looked from Mr. Dalton's hand at my hip, to his resolute eyes, to Mr. Farmer's lap and the twitching black erection nearly the size of a rolling pin that he had pulled from his unfastened pants. I obediently sank to my knees in front of him, grasping his thick member and giving it a few firm strokes. Not wanting to make Mr. Farmer impatient, I leaned forward, taking a deep breath and wetting my lips before stretching my mouth around his bulbous head. The reaction was immediate and he groaned his appreciation of my efforts as my lips slid their slippery way down his thick pipe. I continued to take him deeper into my mouth until his head struck the back of my throat, causing me to gag up viscous saliva that coated his pole and pooled amidst my fingers at the base of his shaft. I quickened my pace, bobbing my head as my stretched lips squeezed his rigid cock. Mr. Farmer's groans gained a sense of urgency and one of his massive hands went to the back of my head, pushing my face further down on his prick. His dick jerked in my mouth, and he released his grip on my head just as a torrent of heavy cum exploded from the head of his cock. I swallowed frantically, pulling his seed down my throat as quickly as possible to meet the impossible flow seeping from his dick. Mr. Farmer spurted a final stream of milky semen into my throat and pulled his still-rigid cock from my lips, towing a sticky line of cum out of my mouth and down my chin. I held his eye contact as I scooped the stray remnant of his orgasm with my finger and licked my digit clean. Mr. Farmer - his pants around his ankles and his saliva-drenched cock resting across his thigh – caught his breath as he gawked at my panting topless form between his knees. Leaning forward, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his money clip. "Damn, that was just as good as I heard. Now, for five hundred dollars, how about you give my man that same treatment." He tucked the bills into the strap of my thong and gestured to Mr. Mills. The other man already had his dick out; another long, thick tube of black meat swaying impatiently as it awaited my attention. I shuffled on my knees until I knelt between his parted legs. Grasping his hard-on in my tiny hand, I gently tugged his member as I licked my lips. After the earlier attention paid to my breasts – and from servicing Mr. Farmer – I was already aroused to the point of soaking through my panties. Bracing his erection with my hand at its base, I plunged my mouth over and down his shaft until he bottomed out in the back of my throat. Wrapping my lips tight around his cock, I bucked my head excitedly, eagerly pleasing this second stranger. He reached his large hands to my head, brushing and gathering my hair away from my face. "You have beautiful hair, baby," he said collecting my red locks into a bunch behind my head, "but it's blocking my friends from seeing all the hard work you're putting in." Mr. Mills used the ponytail he had gathered as a handle, dictating the pace of my head-bobs as my lips traveled the length of his shaft. My tempo quickened as he rotated his hips to more fully insert his rigid dick into my mouth. As my wet lips wrapped around the base of his cock, Mr. Mills grunted and clasped the back of my head, pressing my nose to his stomach as his cock spurted creamy cum deep into my throat. I moaned and swallowed, taking his milky loads into my belly and licking his head clean as he grunted his appreciation. Mr. Mills took a few deeps breaths as he looked down at me, then reached into his pocket and took out five bills. Without a word, he stuck the money into my thong and pointed to Mr. Dalton before planting a stinging slap on my ass to get me moving. I crawled on my hands and knees across the room, passing in front of the two men I had already blown. I was certain the other men could see the wetness leaking down my legs as my thighs rubbed against each other. I stopped in front of Mr. Dalton, who had been slowly stroking his rigid cock while watching me suck off his companions. I arrived between Mr. Dalton's splayed knees, his familiar erection loomed in front of me as I took his girth in my hand. I could feel its energy as I gripped the veiny pole, and I leaned in to place a few light, tender licks along the head's ridge. Opening my jaw, I stretched my lips around his hard-on, slowly taking his full length down my throat before releasing him and gasping for air. Mr. Dalton reached forward and tenderly brushed a strand of my hair away from my face before placing his large hand at the back of my head and guiding my mouth onto his hard prick. He continued forcing his meat into my jaws, past my lips, through my mouth, and finally into the back of my throat where his dick head struck my larynx. I sputtered and gagged, lubing his throbbing pole with a thick coating of spittle as I worked my face in service of his cock. Increasing my pace, I wrapped my tongue around his head and kneaded the base of his shaft. His breathing became ragged as he reached out his free hand to cup my swaying tits. He let out a growl as the first rope of ejaculate splashed deep inside my mouth. Mr. Dalton's erection spasmed again and again, and I struggled to swallow to keep pace as my mouth flooded with sticky cum. Overwhelmed by the volume of his liquid, my tired lips let a trickle of saliva and semen dribble from between them, across my chin, and down to my heaving left tit as I released Mr. Dalton's depleted cock from my mouth. Looking up at him from my knees, I lifted my cummy breast to my mouth and lapped up the stray drops of his seed with my tongue. I rose from my knees and stood in my high heels with wobbly legs. Steadying myself on the edge of the coffee table, I walked to the chair that held my folded clothes. I reached into the pocket of my discarded blouse, pulled out the folded stack from earlier and, collecting the bills stuck in my thong, tucked all of the money I'd received into the drawer of my desk. I smiled at my windfall, rationalizing that I hadn't done anything "too bad" to earn it. Yes, I'd taken money for lewd acts, but a blowjob wasn't really sex; I certainly hadn't done anything that would cause "that sort of girl" to bat an eye. Besides, why should John be the only one to have any fun this weekend? With my head full of dollar signs and my belly full of cum, I didn't hear them sneaking up on me... Without warning, one of them lifted and spun me, slinging me over his shoulder. "We're gonna keep this party going in the bedroom, baby!" Mr. Mills hollered merrily as he carried me. Mr. Farmer arrived behind my suspended position. Deftly avoiding the light-hearted kicks of my high-heels, he gripped my flimsy, soaked panties by their lace-string waist band and tugged them down my flailing legs. "I'm gonna keep these as a souvenir of that sweet, white pussy." He announced with a chuckle. I weakly continued to kick in faux-protest as Mr. Mills carried me towards the bedroom with Mr. Farmer and Mr. Dalton close behind. Mr. Mills stopped on the near side of the bed, as Mr. Farmer walked to the far end and Mr. Dalton settled into a chair in the corner. Effortlessly, like I was a toy, Mr. Mills tossed me onto the mattress. I giggled as my tits wobbled with the bouncing springs as I settled on my back with my knees slightly parted. I craned my neck to look to Mr. Dalton, who was calmly seated to the side, slowly stroking his half-hard tool while he eyed me on the bed. Turning my gaze towards my feet and then above my head, I saw that I was surrounded on both sides of the bed by Mr. Dalton's large, naked friends. The springs shifted as Mr. Mills climbed onto the mattress and kneeled between my legs. He gripped my calves, then spun and lifted me to my hands and knees with one swift motion. Licking his fingers, he ran his hand over the outer folds of my pussy before surging forward with his hips and impaling me on his giant cock. I gasped at the massive insertion as my body rocked forward with his momentum, carrying my open mouth directly onto Mr. Farmer's erection. I moaned softly as I was skewered at both ends by giant black cocks. Behind me, Mr. Mills grabbed my hips and pushed his dick further into my quivering pussy; in front, Mr. Farmer's two-handed grip on the back of my head and neck pulled my wet mouth along the full length of his hard prick. While the men had been courteous – businesslike – in their manner earlier while I fellated them, now they were clearly set on fucking me for sport. I rocked on my hands and knees to meet their thrusts, a rumbling pleasure building deep in my womb as I thought of the three loads of cum already nestled in my belly. My tits swung like heavy round pendulums, marking the steady pace of Mr. Mills' powerful fucking. The thrill of being forcefully used by a pair of strangers overwhelmed my tiny body and my tight cunny burst as an orgasm that had been welled up inside me since the afternoon was finally loosed. I tried to collapse, weak-kneed after my release, but the men held me up as they continued their violent thrusts into my warm, wet holes. As my climax subsided, Mr. Mills withdrew from my stretched slit, chuckling softly as he patted my trembling buttocks. "Glad I negotiated for the first turn in her sweet pussy." He laughed to Mr. Farmer who had slowed his pace at my mouth, but still patiently stroked his cock in and out of my pursed lips. Cupping my chin in his large hand, he slowly pulled his erection all the way from my mouth as I gasped for breath. A single beaded strand of saliva hung suspended between my lips and the tip of his cock, catching the light from a street lamp below my window and shimmering like the pearls I wore around my neck. "Yeah, but if she's as enthusiastic as you've said," he turned his gaze and nodded to Mr. Dalton, "I think she'll have more than enough energy left for me." With that, he flipped me onto my back; my head hung over the edge of the bed as Mr. Mills stood over me, lowering the tip of his cock into my open mouth. Mr. Farmer cradled my knees in the crooks of his elbows as he pushed the head of his penis through my wet opening. I let out of a sharp cry as he penetrated deeply into my sensitive cunt, the sound muffled by Mr. Mills' thick erection filling my mouth. As Mr. Farmer increased the pace of his drives, I panted like a bitch in heat, slobbering and moaning around Mr. Mills' thick pole. I pumped Mr. Mills' shaft with my hand while I worked my lips and tongue around his head. My tits rolled on my chest with each impact of Mr. Farmer's plunges. He reached down and grabbed both of my firm mounds, clutching them hard enough to leave red welts in the pattern of his fingertips. Using my breasts as handles, he pulled himself further and harder into me, leveraging his hips to reach deeper into my pussy. Holding only the head of Mr. Mills' cock in my mouth, I rapidly stroked his shaft in my fist, groaning as my body approached a second climax from Mr. Farmer's rough fucking. As I gasped and groaned around Mr. Mills' erection, my pussy clamped down around Mr. Farmer's dick. A wave of pleasure flowed through my body from my quim to my head and back through to the tips of my fingers and toes. I convulsed, kicking away the pumps from my feet as my legs were pinned in mid-air by Mr. Farmer's arms. My body shook as the orgasm wracked my nerve endings from top to bottom. I screamed a garbled string of gibberish, but my message was understood. "Damn! You've got her speaking in tongues!" Mr. Mills snickered. "What was that last part, baby?" I repeated my last syllable. "Mo-! More!" I gasped desperately. "She says she wants more. Let's give her more!" Mr. Farmer grinned over his shoulder at Mr. Dalton, who had stood and was walking to the bed. As he pulled his cock from inside me, Mr. Farmer lifted me from the mattress. I hung limp and useless like a ragdoll as he manipulated me. Mr. Dalton lay on his back on the bed, and I was placed down straddling him. Not wasting any time, Mr. Dalton inserted his cock into my loosened hole without ceremony. I sucked in a hissing breath through clenched teeth as my tender orifice was stretched for the third time. As the lips of my pussy settled around his base of his cock, he began to move his hips under me, grinding the head of his dick deeper into my body. As I rode Mr. Dalton, Mr. Mills stood in front of me and pressed his cock to my lips. I accepted the head of his dick into my mouth, bracing the base of his shaft with my hand as I bounced on Mr. Dalton's rod. By now I had grown accustomed to servicing two men simultaneously, and the stimulation of Mr. Dalton's thick erection in my slit combined with the thrill of sucking Mr. Mills to send miniature climactic waves rolling through my body. I had nearly lost myself in these mini-orgasms when Mr. Farmer approached from behind me. Mr. Farmer placed his large hands on my back, forcing me to lean forward and raising my ass into the air. I heard him expectorate into his hand and, after a brief pause, he rammed his spit-lubed cock against (Into! Through!) my tight asshole. My first instinct was to flee the excruciating pain of this concurrent invasion, but Mr. Dalton's hands on my hips – and tongue at my breast – held me in place as Mr. Farmer overextended the inelastic rim with his girth. I clenched my eyes against the sting as the two giants fought for control of my insides. My lipstick pink lips flexed into a firm ring as my mouth worked furiously along Mr. Mills' shaft. Beneath me, as the two men fell into a rhythm with their thrusts, the initial pain and shock of simultaneous penetration built into an intense pleasure, traveling up my body until it burst from my mouth. Mr. Mills' dick fell from my lips as I fell forward and let out gasping wails of rapture. As my orgasm subsided, I righted myself and looked up apologetically to Mr. Mills as I took his neglected prick back into my mouth. Still cooing softly around his thick member, I bucked my hips in time to match the others' thrusts into my tender holes. Placing his large hand at my hairline, Mr. Mills slowly pushed my head away from him, my plump lips dragging slowly along the length of his shaft until the round head slipped free of my jaws. "I want my turn in that ass." He said as he leered down at me, smacking his hard knob against my nose and mouth. Mr. Farmer slowed his stabs into my backdoor and leisurely withdrew. "Goddamn! You gotta try it! You weren't lying, Dalton! That is one fine, thick ass for such a pretty white girl!" Mr. Farmer celebrated as Mr. Dalton paused his hammering from below, but kept his cock inside of my slickened quim. "I don't want to hurt you, girl, so you better lube up this dick." Mr. Mills instructed me. I dutifully filled my mouth with viscous saliva and slathered his glans with a thick coating of slobber. With his cock slick with spit to his satisfaction, Mr. Mills traded places with Mr. Farmer. Mr. Mills knelt behind me and I leaned forward, resting my heaving breasts against Mr. Dalton's muscular chest both from exhaustion and to offer a better angle for penetration. As Mr. Mills' erection pierced my clenched rosebud, I let out of a soft, broken chain of whimpers. Mr. Dalton shushed me quietly, patting my head as he slowly resumed his thrusts into my pussy from below. Gradually, the pleasure building in my cunny mingled with the pain from Mr. Mills' dick in my asshole, and I uttered a moan of approval. Mr. Farmer pushed his erection to my slightly parted lips and I widened the opening to accept him into my mouth – only later considering that his prick had been buried in my asshole only moments before. The massive cocks strained my lower holes, pummeling and tugging my sensitive body as I felt another fiery orgasm building. The first electric snaps of my impending climax began to flash deep in the pit of my stomach as Mr. Mills plunged his cock deeper and faster into my pucker, grabbing me by my shoulders to pull himself harder into my asshole. The icy climactic tingling began spreading to my extremities, funneling through my shoulders, and to my fingers and toes. As I was roughly used by the three black hulks, my body began to tear itself apart in pleasure. I let out a bellow as the first searing orgasm hit me, but as the second swept through me immediately after, I collapsed. The three men continued simultaneously pumping my holes, but I was reduced to a drooping mass, managing only a weak series of choked, cooing sobs around Mr. Farmer's enormous dick. Seeing that my contribution to the team effort had ended, the men separated from me in turn and spread me out on my back, my legs hanging over the edge of the bed. After my debilitating series of orgasms, I was bordering on catatonic with exhaustion. The buzz in my head nearly drowned out the three voices, which seemed to echo over great distance. Through my hazy vision, I saw Mr. Farmer approach me, pushing my knees apart and tapping his rigid member at the opening to my loose, dripping gash. Unfair Negotiating Tactics He plunged his tool back into me. Leaning into his effort, he rammed my cunny with all the force he could muster. The wide tip struck deep inside of me and a new surge of stinging pleasure began to build, but all I could muster was a wheezing gasp. My own weak vocalizations were drowned out as Mr. Farmer howled at his own approaching climax. Dragging his dick from my moist pit, he pumped his shaft once then fired a torrent of jism that cascaded across my stomach and ribs, spilled around my round breasts, and finally dripped down my shoulders and neck, pooling on the bedspread below me. After his initial release, he cranked his pole furiously, spurting a frothy spray of cum that landed in a Pollack-ian pattern on my tits and face. As I hesitantly wiped the jizz from my half-open eyelids, Mr. Farmer let out a whistling exhale and moved aside to allow the next man his turn. Mr. Mills approached me next, sliding the full length of his thick rod into my wet slit with one hasty motion. I stammered out an utterance of appreciation as my body accepted its newest invader. He pumped his cock into my cunt, quickening his pace as he grabbed my tit with one hand and my shoulder with the other. His dick pushed into my pussy as he pounded himself deep into me at a frantic pace, driven by his sole purpose of using my body for his pleasure. He groaned, pulling his cock from me at the last second as a wave of cum splashed onto my ribs and tits. Another volley followed close behind, splattering in a wide pattern of drops on my stomach and breasts. His last two releases left short lines of semen, tracing down from my belly button and dripping from my inner thighs to the blanket. Mr. Mills smacked his spent, softening tool against my pelvis as he muttered a gruff approval, then ambled off to give Mr. Dalton access to me. Taking one of my ankles in each of his enormous mitts, Mr. Dalton splayed and lifted my legs as he tugged my butt to the edge of the bed. He rested one of my feet on his shoulder then, taking his erection in his free hand, rammed his entire length into my quaking cunt. I let out a sharp, panting howl as his head struck deep inside of me and my pussy clamped down on him as my full body spasmed. He withdrew his dick and pressed the head – now slick with my juices – to my pucker. As he pressed his thick, slippery cock into my asshole my jaw locked open as a silent gasping shriek escaped my lungs. The throbbing member pulsed against the walls of my sphincter as he rhythmically bucked his hips. With my legs still perched on his shoulder, he gripped my flopping tits in his massive paws, using the fleshy mounds as handles to drag his dick harder into my puckered knot. Finally, after abusing my tender ass to his satisfaction, Mr. Dalton gritted his teeth and withdrew his cock. He climbed on top of me on the bed, positioning the tip of his erection at my lips and releasing a load of hot, sticky cum that ricocheted off the roof of my mouth and down my throat. Pulling his hard-on from my lips, he cranked his shaft again and shot two ropes of jism that coated my cheeks and forehead, a stream of cum trickling down my face and mingling among my hair on the bedspread. "Clean me." He instructed as he placed the head of his cock back at my lips, and I obediently accepted him into my mouth, licking and washing the remnants of ejaculate from his tip. My duty completed, he climbed off of me and stood up from the bed, giving me an affectionate pat on top of my cum-crusted head as he left. The three men returned to the living room to retrieve their clothes. I lay on my back on the bed, naked and perfectly still, trying not to spill the pooled cum from my stomach and chest onto the quilt. My breasts were bruised and sore from rough treatment, my mouth and throat were tacky and raw from accommodating cocks and swallowing cum, and my lower holes ached from repeated harsh penetration. I recognized that I was weighing the money I had been paid against the discomfort I was enduring. But this didn't seem like me; this was more like the reasoning of... "one of them"! But I was different... I had to be! I shook my head to push the humiliating realization from my mind. As my breathing steadied, I caught portions of the conversation from the living room-turned-locker room. "Holy shit! I thought you had to be bullshitting at least a little," I couldn't tell which of the guests was speaking, "but you were right, she just loves black dick." "I never lie about pussy." Mr. Dalton responded succinctly. "We'll never doubt you again, Homes. A girl with a body like that, who'll suck and fuck three brothas for a couple Benjamins... she's a special breed." The other friend was speaking this time. "We got a deal or not?" Mr. Dalton redirected the conversation. "I delivered what I said." This was followed by a low murmur and rustling that culminated with the sound of a belt buckle fastening. "Shit... maybe fucking your latest big-titted white girl has got me all soft inside, but yeah, we've got a deal. I'll have legal send over the paperwork Monday." It was Mr. Mills' voice, Mr. Dalton's product supplier. "You aren't gonna start including this chick in all our contract negotiations, are you? That sounds like an unfair tactic." This was met with uproarious laughter from the group as they returned to my bedroom. Mr. Mills was the first to approach me for a farewell. "It was a pleasure making your, um, acquaintance." He smiled broadly as his eyes swept over my naked, cum-spattered body. I managed a weak wave of my hand in reply. "I guess I should pay for my souvenir." Mr. Farmer flashed a devilish grin as he dangled my damp, white lace thong between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled two bills from his pocket and pressed one to each of my breasts, where they stuck in the gooey pattern of cum. "That's a hundred for the panties, and another hundred for the smell." He inhaled deeply from the moist crotch and laughed as he turned before pausing at the door. "You know, if you've got a boyfriend, you should put some of that towards something nice for him. As a little 'thank you' from all of us." Mr. Mills pounded him on the back as they laughed and walked to the front door. Mr. Dalton approached last, wearing a casual expression. "I appreciate your help. You were really professional tonight. We'll talk soon." With his simple message delivered, he exited the bedroom and exited the apartment with the others. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Monday afternoon, John's head lolled to the side, his body tensing as he frantically grabbed my shoulder. His cock erupted and spurted ropes of cum into my mouth as he groaned his appreciation. As he finished, I straightened up on my knees in front of him as he struggled to catch his breath on the couch. "So I guess this means you're not mad at me after Saturday." He said in panting relief. Behind me on the coffee table sat his pint of beer and a small, neatly wrapped box adorned with a large white bow. "Saturday? Oh, Saturday was ok... I made due." I replied as I wiped a stray trace of jism from the corner of my mouth and buttoned my shirt as I sat gingerly on the edge of the couch cushion. Slung over a large bookshelf, my comforter dried after spending Sunday in the washing machine. I handed him the box. As John peeled away the paper, the name of a Swiss watch company was revealed stamped into the top of the dark leather box. John looked up at me with surprise at the expensive gift, then opened the case. The shimmering silver and glass of the watch face gave an impression of efficient luxury. He placed the box on the coffee table and took my hands in his. "Shouldn't I be the one getting you gifts after abandoning you to my female relatives this weekend while I got lap dan-" He stopped short as he blushed and looked down, feeling guilty after stating the obvious about his bachelor party experience. "Oh... Sorry... I know how you feel about girls who do that sort of thing for money." "It's fine!" I blurted out, perhaps a little too forcefully. "I came around on the issue. It was a bachelor party... I was being too judgmental." "Well, ok. Anyway, why am I the one getting a present?" "Oh, you know," I smiled sweetly as I replied, "it's just a little 'thank you.'"