14 comments/ 40561 views/ 11 favorites It Gets Nasty in Nice By: geronimo_appleby OK, here's another one for you LW fans out there. A cheating slut-wife, a black man with an enormous cock, and a twist ... *wink* After A Dish Best Served Cold went up on Lit, I got a lot of feedback. Thanks, I enjoyed reading it. As usual, send feedback – I look forward to the PCs. GA – Langkawi, Malaysia – 31st of January 21013. One. Heather Parker regarded her reflection in the big mirror fixed to the wall of her hotel room. "Oh God, Heather," she murmured to the platinum blonde who smirked back at her. "Who are you going to fuck tonight?" She cupped her breasts in her palms, examining the cosmetic surgeon's work with a critical eye. "Perfect she purred, satisfied that her tits were the best her husband's money could buy. Jubilation surged through her and overwhelmed Heather's senses, her tummy fluttering with anticipation at the first night of her two-week holiday in Nice. Alone. Without him for two weeks! Free to indulge her dirty kitty's desires. It had cost her husband a small fortune in pampering, with a whole day in the spa having her hair dyed and styled, her arms and pussy waxed, her eyebrows threaded to almost invisible arches. Heather had endured hours in the home gym at the mercy of her personal trainer, Michael, a hard-bodied Swede with an impressive cock and endless stamina. On the very first session, without even working out, Heather had dragged the beautiful Adonis to the bed she shared with her husband, kneeling and offering her cunt to him before he filled her with dick and then his semen. Looking at herself in the mirror, Heather decided she looked fucking gorgeous, even at forty-four she knew she'd turn heads when she sauntered into the bar downstairs. The sun-bed had done the trick, ten sessions and she was ready to lounge by the pool the following day in the briefest bikini that modesty and public decency allowed. She couldn't wait to get mildly fizzy on rum and coke before she picked up some hard dick for some afternoon delight. As she dressed Heather couldn't decide who to go for on her first night – a handsome rich man, a fellow guest at the hotel, or whether to go slumming it and just fuck one of the waiters or barmen? Maybe she could latch onto a nice young couple to corrupt, perhaps seducing the female partner while not allowing the male to fuck her? It had been a few months, before the boob-job in fact, since she'd been licked to orgasm by another woman. The choices were endless, and even as she selected a scrap of soft cotton that posed as a thong from a drawer, a dribble of arousal slid from Heather's opening. "We'll wait and see," she muttered after lighting a cigarette and sitting on the bed to phone her husband. Five minutes later, after a banal conversation about her flight and how much the needle-dicked millionaire missed his wife, Heather slid into the simple but oh-so-expensive little black dress, checked her appearance critically, and walked out of the room towards the lift on her towering heels. As she sauntered casually into the bar she spotted him immediately. Expensive clothes, short hair and skin the colour of dark chocolate. Their eyes met and Heather felt desire burst inside her as her pussy clenched and siped more juice into her underwear. Feigning indifference she let her eyes slip away from his belligerent stare, selected a vacant table, and eased into the soft, low chair. A waiter immediately approached and Heather ordered a white wine. She took a packet of cigarettes out of the small bag she carried and lit up. Besides cigarettes, the bag also contained a finger-sized vibrator and three condoms – just in case. He was standing next to her as Heather blew smoke towards the ceiling. "May I?" the man asked in accented English. He indicated the seat next to Heather with a tilt of his head. "Help yourself," Heather replied in an off-hand manner that belied the churning in the pit of her stomach. The man was absolutely fucking gorgeous: liquid brown eyes and a voice so deep it made Heather's already leaking pussy trickle with yearning. When the man spoke she immediately imagined huge, dangling balls, associating large testicles with the deep, rich timbre of his voice. She glanced at his hands, noticing they were huge – was his cock in proportion? Heather decided she would find out. "I'm Samson," the man said as the waiter returned with Heather's wine. "Heather," the woman replied. She thanked the waiter who then left to collect the Jack Daniel's that Samson requested. "English?" the man asked. Heather nodded. "Yes, and what about you?" "I am from Mozambique," Samson replied in very formal English. "And what brings you to this part of the world?" Heather asked. The waiter appeared and handed Samson his drink. The black man sipped at the JD, his eyes fixed on the blonde's face. The intensity of the stare unsettled Heather and caused her insides to clench again. She squirmed against the seat and considered a quick trip to the loo so she could run the angry buzz of the finger-vibe over her clit. Samson shrugged and said, as though it was the most mundane occupation in the world, "I meet ladies and I fuck them." Heather, despite her vast experience as a cheating spouse, and with hundreds of lovers under the hem of her brief skirts blinked, nonplussed by the unexpectedly forthright reply. If she had a notch on her bedpost for every guy she'd fucked behind her husband's back the bed would be a matchstick, but this man was more direct than anyone she'd ever met before. Recovering quickly, and after a healthy swig of wine, Heather pouted and said, "That's a very to-the-point way of putting it, Samson." The man shrugged. "It is what I do," he said. "You ask, I tell you." "And I assume you get paid for this ... service?" Samson pulled a face and stroked his chin. "The lady pays me what she thinks I'm worth. I don't have a price like that. I let the lady decide." "Is that why you came over here to sit with me?" Heather asked. "You think I might be interested?" Samson shrugged again while Heather took a drag on her cigarette. "Because I'm not interested Samson," Heather lied. "And what's more, my husband will be joining me very soon." The man stared at Heather for several beats. He shook his head and leaned forward in the seat, his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his knees. "You are alone here," he said. "I watched you arrive. You had no husband." He grinned and eased back, hands behind his head. "Even if you did have a husband with you, I have fucked a lot of white women while the husband watched." Samson gave Heather an amused look. "And you are very interested, Heather. I know you are." He jerked his chin at the blonde. "I can almost smell how interested you are." Oh God, the confident bastard, Heather thought. She wriggled in the chair again in an attempt to scratch the insistent itch between her legs. I just fucking bet you can almost smell me, you lovely fucker. I'm soaked. "Where?" Heather croaked, her voice creaking with lust. Samson smirked and shrugged. Experiencing the quiver of excitement she felt whenever she did something outrageously sluttish, Heather ground her cigarette out in the ashtray and placed her wine on the table in front of her. "The ladies restroom," she murmured, rising to her feet. Heather led the way, and as soon as the door swung shut behind them Heather turned and hiked up the hem of her dress. Samson tore the febrile thong from Heather's body after, with no effort at all, lifting her bodily and placing her down on the sink counter. Then he knelt, forced her thighs apart and delved into the gooey folds of her sodden labia. "Oh fuck ..." Heather sighed when Samson's tongue slid into her opening, teasing her there with a few dabs before he sucked on the pink nub of her clit. "Lick my cunt, you lovely fucker," the woman groaned lewdly. After a minute of wriggling his tongue into Heather's opening, Samson rose and leaned in to kiss her mouth. The woman gasped and moaned, her mouth full of Samson's insistently probing tongue while his fingers probed at her sex. "Let me see your cock," Heather hissed through gritted teeth when Samson eventually stopped kissing her mouth. "Oh my fucking GOD!" she cried when the man stepped back and pulled his tailored shorts to his knees. "That belongs on a fucking HORSE." Samson came at her, cock in hand to kiss Heather again. The woman eased her buttocks towards the precipice of the counter edge, her legs widening. She offered herself to her new black lover with a gasp. He filled her in one thick glide, the meat of him opening her spongy softness while Heather grunted and winced, swearing and gasping again when she accommodated the entire length of Samson's long, thick cock. "Feel me there, you white bitch," Samson grunted, his eyes challenging and fixed on Heather's in a hot stare. "You had a black cock before, eh? I'm gonna fuck you and tear that white cunt apart." "Please!" Heather wailed. "Yes please. Give me nigger dick. All of it. Fuck ... It's huge. Fuck me, darling. Fuck me hard." When Samson came, his semen gushing out of him in vehement spurts that flooded Heather's insides with viscous jizm, his pulsing cock sent the woman over the edge as well. Heather sucked her lover's tongue, gasping and moaning while the tide of his copious outpouring fluttered inside her. "Jesus," Heather blasphemed. "Let's just go to my room. I want more of that big fucking cock." Heather's heels clacked onto the tiles as, on unsteady legs, she tottered around and pulled the hem of her dress to a respectable level. Samson followed her out of the toilet and through the bar towards the lift. As soon as the door closed behind them Heather wriggled out of her dress and flaunted herself at the black man. "Will I do?" she asked, eyes glinting in the subdued light from the bedside lamp as she posed with her hands on her hips. "Come here," Samson said in his deep, rumbling voice. He slid his shorts off and sat on the bed. "I want to suck your breasts." When Heather went to him, her tits in her palms, squeezing her jugs together in invitation, Samson lifted her by the waist and sat her in his lap. Heather positioned herself to accept Samson and his cock penetrated her, making the woman gasp and moan while Samson sucked hard at an elongated nipple. "Do you always stay hard?" Heather groaned. "You just creamed my pussy, my thighs are smeared with the stuff ... do you always stay hard after you've cum?" "Not every time," Samson replied, one arm encircling Heather's waist. He rose to his feet, lifting the blonde as he stood with his cock embedded deep in her cunt. "Only when the lady is very beautiful and very sexy." Samson's girth stretched Heather open. "Am I beautiful and sexy?" she groaned. My God, he's going to come out of the top of my head he's so fucking deep. "Don't play games with me," Samson growled, his long, dark fingers holding Heather wide open with the back of the woman's knees hooked over his arms. "You know exactly what you are, a spoilt wife who wants her cunt filled with black meat." Samson kissed her, his tongue invading Heather's mouth. "Am I right?" he snarled, easing the woman up and down the long length. "You are very desirable, but if you were my wife you would not look at another man. I would keep you satisfied. I would put sperm into you and keep you with children. You would not ever look at another. Samson would be enough." The thought of this man putting a baby inside her sent tingles down Heather's spine. "Who says I'm married?" she replied. Samson lifted Heather's left hand. "The rings on your fingers." "You are enough," Heather groaned. Better than my husband, better than any man I've known. If you were my man I'd never have the need to fuck anyone else." And it was true. Heather was surprised to find herself fantasising about living with Samson all the time. She could see herself all swollen with his seed, her belly distended with a brown baby growing inside her. Just as long as he fucked her like this every day. She came and came with Samson pounding into her cunt that squelched and farted with displaced semen from the man's earlier deposit. She rode Samson's dick before he took her on her back and then standing up facing the mirror, her leg raised so she could watch her pussy stretched around the girth of the black cock sliding in and out. Heather came, the leg taking her weight almost buckling when she saw her lover's root smeared with a mix of jizm and her desire, a thick, creamy ooze that slid out of her and clung to the man's shaft. She climaxed again as she knelt on the bed and Samson crouched low over her back so he could maul her big tits while his balls slapped against her thighs. "I'm cumming," the black man groaned, his arm tightening around Heather's waist. 'Inside you, again," he moaned. "All night," Heather sighed several minutes later, lay on her back on the bed. Her heart pounded as she recovered enough to light a cigarette. "Stay with me tonight. I'll get room service. Order anything you like and stay here with me. Fuck me again ... I want you all night." Samson grinned and nodded before his expression turned serious and he stared intently into Heather's eyes. "You are my woman?" he said in that deep voice. "While you stay here; you are mine. You do as I say. You don't let another man touch you – not unless I allow it." Heather gazed at her new lover. She looked at his proud, serious face, skimmed her eyes over his muscled torso and took in the sight of his cock – so brutal and so fucking satisfying. Lust burst through her and she decided that yes, she would keep herself faithful to this beautiful black man. She would do anything he asked of her. It would be quite a thrill to walk around with Samson. Heather found the thought of people looking at her and judging her as a slut, the black man's white meat, made her pussy clench with desire again. As well fucked as she was, filled with double cream from Samson's big balls, with her pussy already swollen, Heather wanted to feel the man's cock inside her again. "Yes," Heather sighed. "I think I could get to enjoy that. Anything you say, darling. I won't even look at another man. I'm yours ... Do what you want with me." Samson grinned and took the burning cylinder from between Heather's fingers. He sucked at the cigarette and then crushed it into the ashtray. He held his cock upright. "Suck it and then get on it," he growled. "Make it big and ride it." "You mean make it bigger." Heather smirked. She rolled onto her side to comply, using her mouth and her hand to goad the long black cock into the form she needed to sit on it so it filled her. "You're already huge." The woman lost count of the number of her orgasms. She rode and bounced on Samson's dick, her breasts in the man's hands as her blonde hair swung and her climax seemed to melt into one long glorious sensation – the heat suffusing out from her core, right where Samson filled her so completely, her thighs shivering as she groaned and mewled and offered her tits to his mouth. Finally Heather fell away, collapsing in a heap onto the bed. "No more," she panted, with wide, staring eyes. "Please, Samson ... my pussy ..." But the man only gave her a baleful look and positioned himself between Heather's legs. "Mine," he grunted. Heather could only moan and claw the bed sheets as her climax ripped through her again and Samson pumped a third load of spunk inside her. *** The following day Heather lounged by the pool, a pair of huge sunglasses on her face to cover eyes red from lack of sleep. Samson had been like a machine, relentless in his overwhelming domination. He'd finally left her alone with her pussy feeling ravaged and filled to overflowing with his seed so she could sleep. But at 8am he was there, sliding into her from behind as they spooned together. Heather came when Samson forced her head round to kiss her mouth, and in that awkward position, her neck twisted while the man's cock moved slowly inside her and she fingered her own clitoris, Heather felt completely filled with Samson. They ate a simple breakfast of croissants and black coffee before Heather slipped into her miniscule bikini and wrapped herself in a blue, patterned sarong. Samson left her briefly, saying he needed to go to his apartment to change clothes. To her surprise, true to her word, heather found she had absolutely no interest in anyone else – none of the males caught her eye, which was a first for her as she soaked up the sun and dozed, day-dreaming about her black lover, his awesome cock, and amazing stamina. An hour later and Samson returned. The couple basted in the sun under a sky of endless blue for two hours before Heather wrapped the sarong around her body and they went into the bar next to the pool. "Go and talk to that girl," Samson instructed after Heather had indulged in a rum and coke. Heather sat up and surveyed the growing number of patrons taking refuge in the air-conditioned luxury of the sumptuous bar. "Who?" she asked. "What do I talk to her about?" "The one with the long dark hair. Tiny breasts. Go and tell her I want to talk to her." Heather identified the girl, who looked to be nineteen, a pouty-lipped, spoilt bitch if Heather wasn't mistaken. But what did Samson want to talk to her for? Voicing her thoughts, Heather asked, "What do you want to talk to her about?" "Just go and tell her," Samson responded with a sudden flare of anger. Electrified by the man's ire, Heather stood up quickly. After an uncertain glance at the girl and then at Samson, she walked across the room. Samson watched, with his eyes fixed on the sullen looking girl as she turned to face Heather. He saw Heather talk and then point, the girl's eyes following Heather's finger. A few words later and the girl shrugged, following Heather back to where Samson waited. "You go back to the room," Samson said, dismissing Heather with a double flick of his wrist, as though his fingers were brushing her away. "What?" Heather said, unused to being treated in such an off-hand manner. Besides, she wasn't too keen on leaving Samson alone with the girl; she might be a sullen-faced bitch but she was undeniably pretty. No boobs but great legs and a backside like an upturned heart. Heather felt a slide of jealousy, acidic and burning, corrosive in her guts. "Go to the room," Samson snapped. "You have forgotten already? You do as I say." He fixed his stare on Heather's face. "You go now. To the room. You can drink rum if you like but you wait for me in the room." Heather's voice quavered as she spoke. "Huh ... how long will you be?" She glanced at the girl who was watching the exchange with a nasty smirk on her face. "As long as I want to be," Samson replied. He turned his back on Heather, which left her feeling abandoned and foolish. "You bastard," she muttered, even as she walked away from the pair. She took a final, backward glance and saw the girl put her hand on Samson's shoulder. "You absolute cunt," she swore. Twenty minutes later Heather heard the sound of a key-card snicking into the slot outside. The door swung open and Samson walked into the room. The girl followed him. "This is Magda," Samson informed Heather while the girl took in her surroundings. "She is from Poland ... And I'm going to fuck her while you watch." "Oh my God!" Heather cried. "I don't want you to do that. I thought we ... we ... I thought we were together." Samson laughed and sneered. "You're my woman," he said as he slid his shorts down his legs. Heather heard the girl gasp when she saw the size of Samson's cock. "You do what I say, but you do not control me. I am the man, and if I want to fuck this girl while you watch ... then that's what I will do." It Gets Nasty in Nice "Oh God, Samson ..." Heather mewled when she saw the man split the folds of Magda's labia with his tongue. The girl arched her back and groaned in a sound that curdled in Heather's stomach and left a cupreous taste at the back of her throat. It was the unfamiliar essence of Jealousy again. Samson slurped at the girl's cunt, licking her clitoris and bringing forth a series of short yelps and sighing mewls. Heather watched, morbidly fascinated at the contrast between Samson's dark skin and the girl's pale flesh. She saw the man slide one, then a second finger into the girl's cerise core. Magda grunted and winced and babbled in her native tongue when Samson curled the digits inside her and rubbed at her spongy insides. Without realising it, Heather had risen to her feet and approached the bed. She stared down at her lover and the skinny girl and rubbed her own pussy, fingers mushing against her sodden labia as she slid a forefinger over the greasy nub of her clit. "You fucking bastard," Heather moaned, eyes glazed and heavy-lidded when Samson knelt and penetrated Magda with the long black cock Heather wanted for herself. "Fuck her," she whispered, her orgasm coming at her like a tsunami wave, a freight train of paradoxical emotions that surged through her. Heather sobbed as she climaxed, hating what she saw, Magda's cunt stretched tight around Samson's girth, the girl's face a mask of surprise and delight, eyes wide while her jaw hung slack. "I fucking HATE you for doing this," Heather grunted even as her fingers slid into her own opening and she mauled at one breast with her free hand. "You love it," Samson insisted as he slid out of the girl and then manoeuvred Magda to his liking. Samson lay on his back and held his dick perpendicular so the skinny girl could squat and lower herself onto the thick root. "It looks like you already like seeing me fuck another white woman," Samson grunted when Magda began to bounce with enthusiasm. "I think you should kiss her. Kiss her while I fuck. Then you can suck her juice off my cock ... Yes," Samson added with a long sigh. His hands came up to completely cover the bee stings of Magda's tiny tits. "You suck her off my cock. Taste her pussy." Magda cried out in frustrated disappointment when Samson flipped her off his penis. The man stroked his length and taunted Heather with his eyes, daring her not to come to him. "I've never let anyone control me before," Heather murmured as she knelt on the bed and held Samson's cock in her fist. "I don't know if I like it." "I will tell you to like it. Suck me," Samson hissed. Lick her off me and then kiss her mouth." He beckoned to Magda who moved to him immediately. Heather watched when Samson's tongue slid into Magda's mouth. The jealousy curdled inside her again, but she pushed the emotion aside and leaned down to slurped at Samson's dick, licking the girl's essence from it with long, sweeping glides of her tongue. Samson watched the women kiss. He chuckled when Magda's hands came up to squeeze and massage the blonde's tits, their tongues swirling while Heather groaned into the girl's mouth. Then Samson moved between them, wedging his hard body between soft, female flesh. He kissed Heather, making the older woman gasp when he pulled at her hair and crushed his lips against hers. Then he kissed Magda, lifting her and holding her close so the girl's legs went around his waist. He was inside her in one quick slide. Samson clambered of the bed and stood with the girl clinging to him like a monkey. "You're going to lick her after I do it inside her," he snarled, his erection fully embedded inside the girl's lithe body. "Get ready for it," the man spat, his jaw clenched, teeth gritted with exertion. Magda wailed and Heather saw Samson's cock pulse. "You're cumming inside her!" Heather cried. The woman imagined Magda's belly full of Samson's baby. "That's so fucking sexy. Oh my GOD, I want to feel you in my cunt again, Samson. Please, please fuck me too. Fuck my pussy, darling. Pump your seed into me again." Heather's fingers moved against her sex as her orgasm exploded. "You lucky little bitch," Heather gurgled, her eyes fixed on where gooey spunk dribbled from Magda and trickled over Samson's shaft and swinging balls as the man fucked into the girl's climax. Heather moved quickly, eager to comply with Samson's command to lick his cum from Magda's hot and swollen pussy. "And for being such a good girl," the man said, grinning as he moved behind Heather, I'm going to fuck you again." "Thank you," Heather moaned, lifting her face from between Magda's legs for a second when she felt Samson filling her pussy with gristle. She slurped at the semen dribbling from the skinny girl's body, tasting her lover's cum and Magda's essence in one creamy cocktail. Magda gurgled in Polish, her hips jerking. She rubbed her cum-soaked pussy over Heather's face, the goo dribbling out of her as her insides clenched and another orgasm hit her. With the girl bucking at her face and with Samson thrusting behind her, Heather came again, mindless to everything but the sex and how good it felt. When she calmed and the three of them lay sprawled on the bed in a tangle of limbs, Heather knew she was completely enthralled by her lover; she'd do anything for him – anything he asked. "I have something in mind for you tonight," Samson said to Heather. He grinned and kissed Magda's mouth. "It will be something completely different to our friend here," he added. "I can't wait," Heather replied with a grin of her own. *** Heather wore her highest heels, an elegant dress that clasped around the nape of her neck to leave her back exposed. She went braless and without underwear, naked except for the dress, shoes and velvet collar studded with tiny diamonds around her throat. She met Samson in the bar and drank two rums and coke. After the drinks and three cigarettes, Samson took Heather's arm and led her out of the hotel. Heather never returned. Two. Zack Parker flew to Nice two days later when his wife failed to answer his calls or to phone him as arranged. The police were indifferent at first, until Zack utilised his considerable fortune and influenced the British authorities to pull some strings in France. Eventually, after ten days, the day before Heather was due to fly home, an official from the French authorities reported that no trace could be found of Zack's wife. The Frenchman, significantly embarrassed, told Zack that his wife had been seen in the company of a man – black, estimated to be aged between thirty-five and forty-five. It appeared that Heather had taken the man as a lover. "The housekeeper assigned to your wife's room told us it appeared that Mrs Parker had ... entertained somebody." He looked away from Zack's face and added, "The bedding was very rumpled and there were ... ah ... stains on the sheets. Also she saw your wife, the black man, and another woman – the one we identified in the bar from the video footage; the girl with long hair – going to the room together in the afternoon. "CCTV showed Mrs Parker with the man by the pool and in the bar. Efforts to locate the slim girl with long hair have proved fruitless. "The last record we have of your wife being at the hotel was the footage that showed her and the black man outside the hotel entrance before they climbed into a taxi. The driver of the taxi remembered the couple and said he'd dropped them at a bar near the beach. "After that," the Frenchman shrugged, "nothing. No sign of your wife or the man." Zack Parker flew back to England, wondering what fate had befallen his wife, Heather. A month later he received a phone call. Three. "Where are we going?" Heather asked Samson as the cab drove off. "Wait a minute," Samson replied, his tone telling Heather she'd be better off keeping her mouth shut. A dark van pulled up to the kerb, old, rusty – a non-descript workhorse of some cowboy builder stolen a few minutes before. "Get in," Samson ordered when one of the two rear doors creaked open. Heather hesitated for a moment. She glanced at Samson and then decided that she'd play along with the game – it was likely to be something kinky with her dressed to the nines, hair immaculate, subtly made-up in a dirty old van. What did Samson have in mind? Heather's pussy tightened with anticipation. The three men waiting inside the van leered at her, and if it hadn't been for Samson's considerable bulk Heather would have been truly frightened. As it was, with Samson along, Heather found the thought of being fucked in the back of the van quite a thrill. The first man fished out his cock, running his own fist along its length until it jutted out of his dirty trousers. "Lift your dress," Samson ordered while the van trundled into the night towards Monaco. "Show them your pussy." There were mutters and nods of approval from the assembly when Heather complied. Then another of the men pulled at the clasp at the nape of Heather's neck and the dress fell away to reveal her breasts. She heard the men gasp and smiled. "Do they want to touch me?" Heather asked Samson. The next thing Heather knew they had their hands all over her. Her breasts were mauled and squeezed and slapped, the nipples pulled while fingers slid between her legs and searched for her pussy. Heather gasped and lay on an old mattress while the men pawed at her. Then, without preamble, one climbed between her thighs and yanked on a thick erection all knobbly and gnarled with bulging veins. The man grunted after thrusting and entering Heather's body, and one of his friends removed his trousers completely before he moved to Heather's head and rubbed her face with the end of his cock. The blonde opened her mouth to accept the man's hard-on between her lips. If she'd been a slut in the past this was a completely new game for her – four men in the back of a van. Three of them complete strangers! Condoms, she thought vaguely, but it was already too late since one man was already dumping semen into her pussy. It wasn't pregnancy Heather feared, it was the ever-present threat of disease, but by then, with one load of jizm inside her, Heather was too far gone to worry. The man in her mouth moved to where he too could stab at her cunt with his cock. Heather accommodated him by opening her legs wider and tilting her pussy up to him. "Are they all going to fuck me?" Heather gasped. "Oh yes," Samson grinned. "And I'm going to take your anus," he added. Heather experienced a shiver of fear when she heard Samson threaten her tight, puckered ring. There was no way he was sticking his huge dick up her arse – no fucking way. She might have succumbed to his will and fucked him, and she might be allowing these smelly, unkempt men to gang-fuck her, but up her arse? That big black cock? No way ... Not going to happen. Or so she thought. Over the coming weeks, after Samson passed her on to the Arabs and he melted away from sight, returning to the African continent – a single black face in a sea of millions – Heather would learn that having her back doors kicked in by a huge cock was nothing to the torment and degradation her Master could inflict. If she thought being filled with dick – one man in her cunt while another used her throat and Samson fucked her anus – was the ultimate act of degradation, then Heather would soon learn that being forced to accommodate a real horse's cock put what happened to her in the back of that van into the shade. By the time she reached Monaco and was taken to one of the luxury yachts moored along the front, Heather was seeping jizm from every orifice. Her pussy and tits and anus were ravaged and bruised, and it had suddenly dawned on her that this was no kinky game thought up for her entertainment by a perverted lover. This was something a lot more sinister and terrifying. Epilogue. Zack picked up the phone, a throw-away mobile that he'd purchased for this one phone-call. "Hello?" he said. "She is with the Arabs," a deep, rich voice replied. "I used her and sold her to some people who will take very bad care of her. Arabs, Zack thought. So that's what he did with her. He'd played the game, gone to France at the first hint of trouble, made a fuss when the local coppers dragged their feet. He'd acted like the shocked husband whose wife had gone missing, playing a blinder when the poor French bloke had the shitty job of revealing what a slut Zack's wife had been in Nice during her short, curtailed visit – a fact Zack was already fully aware of. Zack lit a cigarette and asked, "Did you enjoy her?" He heard a chuckle. "Oh yes," the voice responded. "I used her for the night myself. Then the next day I used her and a Polish prostitute. After that I did as you asked. Four of us ... We filled every hole. Check the internet. The pictures will be available for two minutes." "Thanks," Zack said. "I'm just checking now." When Zack saw the images of his wife he stared at them for long seconds, absorbing every detail of her face, a gag wedged into her mouth, her eyes huge and terrified, naked and covered in filth. He spoke into the phone. "The money's yours," he said, and hung up. In Nairobi, Kenya, a country Samson liked because of the easy pickings – horny white women on holiday on the coast at Malindi and Watamu – the man smiled and dropped the phone from the bridge into the river water below.