The streetlights cast long shadows on the wet pavement as Sharon hunched over her steering wheel, fingers tapping impatiently against leather. Rain lashed against the windshield in erratic bursts, each drop exploding like tiny liquid bombs against the glass. She hadn't planned on driving Teresa home tonight, but her friend's frantic text about car trouble left little choice. Sharon adjusted her skirt unconsciously as she waited, the fabric riding higher on her thighs.
Teresa practically tumbled into the passenger seat, shaking rainwater from her dark curls like a drenched terrier. "God, you're a lifesaver," she breathed, leaning over to squeeze Sharon's knee with startling intimacy. Her perfume—something musky and expensive—filled the cramped space. "Seriously, Mark's been useless since the divorce. Can't even change a tire." Teresa's laugh sounded sharp, almost brittle.
Sharon eased the car away from the curb, wipers slapping furiously. "Where to? Yours?" She kept her eyes fixed on the slick road, acutely aware of Teresa’s gaze lingering on her bare legs. The silence stretched a beat too long. "Sharon... don't hate me," Teresa whispered suddenly, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But I rerouted us. There's this place... a friend's apartment. He owes me a favor. We deserve a proper drink after tonight’s shitshow."
Sharon’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Something about Teresa’s tone—charged and breathless—sent a prickle down her spine. Before she could protest, Teresa jabbed a manicured finger at a nondescript brick building. "Right here! Park anywhere." Rain hammered the roof as Sharon killed the engine, the sudden quiet amplifying her own heartbeat. Teresa leaned close, her musky perfume overwhelming now. "Trust me," she murmured, her breath warm against Sharon’s ear. "Tonight’s about forgetting everything else." She pushed open her door, vanishing into the downpour without waiting.
Inside, Sharon blinked in the low light of a sleek apartment—low-slung leather couches, abstract art, the sharp tang of expensive whiskey lingering. Teresa embraced a towering Black man by the door, his easy laugh booming as he kissed her cheek. Another man materialized beside him, taller still, his gaze locking onto Sharon with unnerving intensity. "Sharon, meet Malik," Teresa gestured airily, "and his friend Jamal." Sharon forced a smile, suddenly hyperaware of her damp skirt clinging high on her thighs as Malik guided her to a couch.
Opposite them, Teresa curled instantly into her companion's lap, fingers tracing his jawline. Sharon perched stiffly beside Jamal, the leather cool against her skin. Teresa’s giggles turned breathy as her man’s hand slid boldly beneath her skirt—Sharon watched, frozen, as Teresa arched into him, moaning softly when his fingers found her. Jamal’s touch landed gently on Sharon’s knee, a feather-light stroke that burned through the thin fabric. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. Across the room, Teresa unzipped her partner’s jeans, freeing a thick, heavy shaft that glistened in the dim light. Sharon’s breath hitched.
Jamal’s hand crept higher, mirroring his friend’s movements with deliberate slowness. His thumb brushed the inside of Sharon’s thigh, igniting sparks where her skirt bunched. Teresa cried out sharply—her head thrown back, hips grinding—as her partner’s fingers worked deeper. Jamal leaned close, his voice a low rumble against Sharon’s temple: "Just relax." His fingertips slipped past her damp lace, finding slick heat. A gasp tore from Sharon’s throat, her spine arching off the sofa cushion. *Oh god*, she thought wildly, *he’s touching me—*
Sharon’s vision blurred as Jamal teased her swollen folds, circling her clit with maddening precision. Across the room, Teresa’s partner guided his cock toward her mouth—Sharon glimpsed thick veins pulsing against flushed skin before Teresa moaned around him. Jamal’s breath warmed Sharon’s neck. "Feel good?" he murmured. Her hips bucked ...... against his hand, every nerve screaming. She’d never felt this kind of pressure—like a coiled spring inside her tightening, tightening—
Jamal slid two fingers deep inside her, crooking them against her front wall. Sharon cried out, nails digging into leather as Teresa’s choked gasps echoed her own. The rhythm was hypnotic—rough denim rasping against Sharon’s thigh, Jamal’s thumb grinding her clit, Teresa’s wet slurps filling the air. Sharon’s thighs trembled. *Mark never touched me like this*, she thought wildly, *never made me feel—*
Across the room, Teresa’s bull gripped her hair, thrusting deeper down her throat. Jamal mirrored the motion, fingers plunging harder as Sharon’s hips lifted off the couch. A coil snapped low in her belly—heat flooded her veins, white noise drowning Teresa’s moans. Sharon arched, back bowing as her climax crashed through her in violent waves. She gasped Jamal’s name, voice breaking. Her vision tunneled; every nerve screamed as wetness soaked Jamal’s hand.
Jamal eased his touch as she shuddered, fingers stilling inside her while Teresa’s bull groaned above Teresa’s gagging sounds. Sharon slumped back, breaths ragged, legs trembling against Jamal’s thigh. Sweat prickled her temples. Across the coffee table, Teresa surfaced, wiping spit from her chin with a shaky grin. "See?" she rasped at Sharon. "Told you." Jamal withdrew his glistening fingers slowly, leaving Sharon aching and hollow.
Teresa twisted toward her bull, hiking her skirt higher as she straddled his lap. Her hand wrapped around his thick base, guiding the swollen head toward her wetness. Sharon watched, transfixed, as Teresa lowered herself—inch by agonizing inch—onto that impossible girth. A choked gasp escaped Teresa’s lips; her knuckles whitened on his shoulders. The stretch was visible, shocking, the dark shaft vanishing into pale flesh like a sword swallowed by velvet. Sharon’s own core clenched in phantom sympathy.
Jamal shifted beside her, his thigh pressing firmly against hers. His fingers traced idle patterns on Sharon’s damp lace-covered thigh. Then his other hand moved—a deliberate slide beneath his own waistband. Sharon froze as his fingers curled around something massive beneath the fabric, straining the denim. He guided her limp wrist toward the impossible bulge. Her palm flattened against it instinctively, heat radiating through the rough material. She felt it—ridged, impossibly thick, pulsing against her touch like a live thing. Her fingers curled tighter, unable to resist gripping the terrifying shape beneath his jeans.
Opposite them, Teresa’s bull gripped her hips, lifting her slightly before slamming her back down onto his shaft. A wet, rhythmic slap filled the room as Teresa’s cries sharpened—high and desperate. Her breasts bounced violently, her nails raking the man’s shoulders. Sharon felt Jamal’s zipper grind open beneath her trembling hand. His cock sprang free—heavy, veined, darker than mahogany—resting hot and thick against her palm. Her thumb brushed the swollen, silky head, smearing precum. A shudder tore through her. It dwarfed Mark’s. Dwarfed anything she’d imagined.
Without words, Jamal guided her knee onto the leather beside him, pulling her astride his lap. Her soaked lace scraped against his denim-clad thigh. Across the coffee table, Teresa arched backward, her bull driving upward into her with brutal precision. Sharon mirrored Teresa’s movement, sinking slowly onto Jamal’s shaft. The stretch was immediate, agonizing—a searing fullness that stole her breath. She gasped, fingers digging into Jamal’s shoulders. He held her hips firm, forsing her downward until she felt him buried to the hilt. A choked sob escaped her lips. Teresa met her wide-eyed stare, sweat-slicked and grinning, as she matched Sharon’s descent.
The rhythm built—slow, then punishing. Jamal thrust upward, grinding against her deepest spot. Sharon’s cries tangled with Teresa’s sharp gasps and the wet slap of flesh on flesh. The air thickened with musk and salt. Jamal’s hands slid beneath Sharon’s skirt, gripping her bare ass as he lifted her, then slammed her back down. Each plunge sent sparks behind her eyelids. Teresa’s bull gripped her hips, pounding upward so hard the couch groaned. Sharon felt Jamal’s cock swell inside her, the veins pulsing against her walls. Across the room, Teresa screamed—a raw, broken sound—as her body locked around her bull.
Jamal’s breath hissed through clenched teeth. "Now," he growled, fingers digging into Sharon’s hips. His thrusts turned frantic, brutal. Sharon’s thighs trembled—she was nothing but sensation: the slap of skin, the slick drag of Jamal inside her, Teresa’s shattered moans echoing her own. The coil snapped again—tighter, fiercer than before. Sharon arched backward, throat exposed, as Jamal hammered into her. Teresa mirrored her, spine bowing wildly. Their climaxes crashed in tandem—Sharon’s vision whited out as pleasure tore through her, wave after convulsing wave.
Jamal shuddered beneath her, hips jerking erratically. A hot flood pulsed deep inside Sharon—thicker, hotter than Mark ever managed. Across the room, Teresa’s bull groaned, head thrown back, as Teresa clenched around him. The air thickened with musk—salty sweat, sex, the coppery tang of exertion. Jamal eased Sharon down gently, his softening cock still nestled within her. She slumped against his chest, heart pounding against her ribs, listening to Teresa’s ragged giggles mix with the wet sounds of disengagement.
Teresa practically tumbled into the passenger seat, shaking rainwater from her dark curls like a drenched terrier. "God, you're a lifesaver," she breathed, leaning over to squeeze Sharon's knee with startling intimacy. Her perfume—something musky and expensive—filled the cramped space. "Seriously, Mark's been useless since the divorce. Can't even change a tire." Teresa's laugh sounded sharp, almost brittle.
Sharon eased the car away from the curb, wipers slapping furiously. "Where to? Yours?" She kept her eyes fixed on the slick road, acutely aware of Teresa’s gaze lingering on her bare legs. The silence stretched a beat too long. "Sharon... don't hate me," Teresa whispered suddenly, her voice low and conspiratorial. "But I rerouted us. There's this place... a friend's apartment. He owes me a favor. We deserve a proper drink after tonight’s shitshow."
Sharon’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Something about Teresa’s tone—charged and breathless—sent a prickle down her spine. Before she could protest, Teresa jabbed a manicured finger at a nondescript brick building. "Right here! Park anywhere." Rain hammered the roof as Sharon killed the engine, the sudden quiet amplifying her own heartbeat. Teresa leaned close, her musky perfume overwhelming now. "Trust me," she murmured, her breath warm against Sharon’s ear. "Tonight’s about forgetting everything else." She pushed open her door, vanishing into the downpour without waiting.
Inside, Sharon blinked in the low light of a sleek apartment—low-slung leather couches, abstract art, the sharp tang of expensive whiskey lingering. Teresa embraced a towering Black man by the door, his easy laugh booming as he kissed her cheek. Another man materialized beside him, taller still, his gaze locking onto Sharon with unnerving intensity. "Sharon, meet Malik," Teresa gestured airily, "and his friend Jamal." Sharon forced a smile, suddenly hyperaware of her damp skirt clinging high on her thighs as Malik guided her to a couch.
Opposite them, Teresa curled instantly into her companion's lap, fingers tracing his jawline. Sharon perched stiffly beside Jamal, the leather cool against her skin. Teresa’s giggles turned breathy as her man’s hand slid boldly beneath her skirt—Sharon watched, frozen, as Teresa arched into him, moaning softly when his fingers found her. Jamal’s touch landed gently on Sharon’s knee, a feather-light stroke that burned through the thin fabric. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. Across the room, Teresa unzipped her partner’s jeans, freeing a thick, heavy shaft that glistened in the dim light. Sharon’s breath hitched.
Jamal’s hand crept higher, mirroring his friend’s movements with deliberate slowness. His thumb brushed the inside of Sharon’s thigh, igniting sparks where her skirt bunched. Teresa cried out sharply—her head thrown back, hips grinding—as her partner’s fingers worked deeper. Jamal leaned close, his voice a low rumble against Sharon’s temple: "Just relax." His fingertips slipped past her damp lace, finding slick heat. A gasp tore from Sharon’s throat, her spine arching off the sofa cushion. *Oh god*, she thought wildly, *he’s touching me—*
Sharon’s vision blurred as Jamal teased her swollen folds, circling her clit with maddening precision. Across the room, Teresa’s partner guided his cock toward her mouth—Sharon glimpsed thick veins pulsing against flushed skin before Teresa moaned around him. Jamal’s breath warmed Sharon’s neck. "Feel good?" he murmured. Her hips bucked ...... against his hand, every nerve screaming. She’d never felt this kind of pressure—like a coiled spring inside her tightening, tightening—
Jamal slid two fingers deep inside her, crooking them against her front wall. Sharon cried out, nails digging into leather as Teresa’s choked gasps echoed her own. The rhythm was hypnotic—rough denim rasping against Sharon’s thigh, Jamal’s thumb grinding her clit, Teresa’s wet slurps filling the air. Sharon’s thighs trembled. *Mark never touched me like this*, she thought wildly, *never made me feel—*
Across the room, Teresa’s bull gripped her hair, thrusting deeper down her throat. Jamal mirrored the motion, fingers plunging harder as Sharon’s hips lifted off the couch. A coil snapped low in her belly—heat flooded her veins, white noise drowning Teresa’s moans. Sharon arched, back bowing as her climax crashed through her in violent waves. She gasped Jamal’s name, voice breaking. Her vision tunneled; every nerve screamed as wetness soaked Jamal’s hand.
Jamal eased his touch as she shuddered, fingers stilling inside her while Teresa’s bull groaned above Teresa’s gagging sounds. Sharon slumped back, breaths ragged, legs trembling against Jamal’s thigh. Sweat prickled her temples. Across the coffee table, Teresa surfaced, wiping spit from her chin with a shaky grin. "See?" she rasped at Sharon. "Told you." Jamal withdrew his glistening fingers slowly, leaving Sharon aching and hollow.
Teresa twisted toward her bull, hiking her skirt higher as she straddled his lap. Her hand wrapped around his thick base, guiding the swollen head toward her wetness. Sharon watched, transfixed, as Teresa lowered herself—inch by agonizing inch—onto that impossible girth. A choked gasp escaped Teresa’s lips; her knuckles whitened on his shoulders. The stretch was visible, shocking, the dark shaft vanishing into pale flesh like a sword swallowed by velvet. Sharon’s own core clenched in phantom sympathy.
Jamal shifted beside her, his thigh pressing firmly against hers. His fingers traced idle patterns on Sharon’s damp lace-covered thigh. Then his other hand moved—a deliberate slide beneath his own waistband. Sharon froze as his fingers curled around something massive beneath the fabric, straining the denim. He guided her limp wrist toward the impossible bulge. Her palm flattened against it instinctively, heat radiating through the rough material. She felt it—ridged, impossibly thick, pulsing against her touch like a live thing. Her fingers curled tighter, unable to resist gripping the terrifying shape beneath his jeans.
Opposite them, Teresa’s bull gripped her hips, lifting her slightly before slamming her back down onto his shaft. A wet, rhythmic slap filled the room as Teresa’s cries sharpened—high and desperate. Her breasts bounced violently, her nails raking the man’s shoulders. Sharon felt Jamal’s zipper grind open beneath her trembling hand. His cock sprang free—heavy, veined, darker than mahogany—resting hot and thick against her palm. Her thumb brushed the swollen, silky head, smearing precum. A shudder tore through her. It dwarfed Mark’s. Dwarfed anything she’d imagined.
Without words, Jamal guided her knee onto the leather beside him, pulling her astride his lap. Her soaked lace scraped against his denim-clad thigh. Across the coffee table, Teresa arched backward, her bull driving upward into her with brutal precision. Sharon mirrored Teresa’s movement, sinking slowly onto Jamal’s shaft. The stretch was immediate, agonizing—a searing fullness that stole her breath. She gasped, fingers digging into Jamal’s shoulders. He held her hips firm, forsing her downward until she felt him buried to the hilt. A choked sob escaped her lips. Teresa met her wide-eyed stare, sweat-slicked and grinning, as she matched Sharon’s descent.
The rhythm built—slow, then punishing. Jamal thrust upward, grinding against her deepest spot. Sharon’s cries tangled with Teresa’s sharp gasps and the wet slap of flesh on flesh. The air thickened with musk and salt. Jamal’s hands slid beneath Sharon’s skirt, gripping her bare ass as he lifted her, then slammed her back down. Each plunge sent sparks behind her eyelids. Teresa’s bull gripped her hips, pounding upward so hard the couch groaned. Sharon felt Jamal’s cock swell inside her, the veins pulsing against her walls. Across the room, Teresa screamed—a raw, broken sound—as her body locked around her bull.
Jamal’s breath hissed through clenched teeth. "Now," he growled, fingers digging into Sharon’s hips. His thrusts turned frantic, brutal. Sharon’s thighs trembled—she was nothing but sensation: the slap of skin, the slick drag of Jamal inside her, Teresa’s shattered moans echoing her own. The coil snapped again—tighter, fiercer than before. Sharon arched backward, throat exposed, as Jamal hammered into her. Teresa mirrored her, spine bowing wildly. Their climaxes crashed in tandem—Sharon’s vision whited out as pleasure tore through her, wave after convulsing wave.
Jamal shuddered beneath her, hips jerking erratically. A hot flood pulsed deep inside Sharon—thicker, hotter than Mark ever managed. Across the room, Teresa’s bull groaned, head thrown back, as Teresa clenched around him. The air thickened with musk—salty sweat, sex, the coppery tang of exertion. Jamal eased Sharon down gently, his softening cock still nestled within her. She slumped against his chest, heart pounding against her ribs, listening to Teresa’s ragged giggles mix with the wet sounds of disengagement.
