by Alexis Angel
I go up to my feet slowly, Tristan’s cock popping out of me, and Madden just pulls me into his arm fast. “Why are you getting up?” He asks me with a grin, a glint in his eyes. “You asked for more, you’ll get more,” he continues, and I feel my legs wobbling as my brain processes his words.
Collapsing under my own weight, I go down to my knees in front of Madden, his cock casting a shadow over my face. Still grinning, he walks around me and then, placing one forearm across my shoulders, he forces me to bend over and go on all fours. The moment the palm of my hands touch the floor, he grabs my hips and thrusts, his cock sliding inside of me so furiously that I see bright colors behind my eyelids.
This time, he doesn’t bother with building up a rhythm. No, he goes fast and hard right from the beginning, mercilessly fucking my pussy while his thighs slap my ass cheeks.
“Now,” Tristan whispers, now standing up in front of me, “I think this cock needs a bit of a cleanup.” With that, my eyes fall to his cock and I see his shaft glistening from juices, my creamy fluids coating his long inches. Grinning back at him as Madden fucks me, I just dive forward with my mouth open, gobbling up his cock in a fraction of a second. The musky scent of my juices crawls up to my brain, and that makes me bob my head back and forth over his cock as fast as I can, mirroring the pace of Madden’s thrusts.
I go until the muscles in my neck start to cramp, and this time no one takes over. Instead, I take Tristan’s cock out of my mouth and start stroking, my hand moving so fast that it becomes a blur as it traces the length of his shaft.
“More, I want more,” I whisper, looking up at him mischievously. He arches his eyebrows, and I can almost see the gears turning inside his head as he tries to think of how he can fulfill my request.
“More,” he repeats after me, a smile dawning on his lips. He takes one step back, still looking into my eyes, and then walks around my body. Lifting one leg over my body, he positions himself in front of Madden and right over my waist. Realizing what he’s about to do, I go down on my elbows and, bending over, I jut my ass up.
The moment I do it, Tristan bends his knees and, lowering himself while he grabs his cock with one hand, he presses its tip against my asshole. He rubs it up and down my ass crack, but inevitably he stops that coming and going motion and just starts pressing hard against my hole.
As Tristan readies himself to take over my ass, Madden never stops pistoning into me. In fact, his thrusts grow even more furious, the way his thighs slap my cheeks producing an almost obscene sound of flesh-on-flesh.
“Oh, fu --” I groan, choking as Tristan slides his mast inside my ass, stretching it wide. He drives all of his inches deep into my ass and then he rocks his hips hard, ravaging my ass with the same intensity with which Madden is demolishing my ass.
Propped up on my elbows, I close my eyes and just surrender to the movement of their cocks, their thickness stretching both my ass and pussy at the same time. They don’t say a word as they use my body, the present moment too valuable to waste their breath on words.
“I think I’m gonna come,” I say - or, rather, I try to say; in truth, the only thing that leaves my mouth is a quivering moan. My voice seems to echo through the whole house and, just a second later, I feel both my pussy and ass tightening up around their cocks. A shiver goes down my spine, slight spasms taking over my muscles, and then I just throw myself forward.
Their cocks jump out of me fast, and I lay down on the floor, my breasts pressed against the cold tiles. I flail my limbs as if I were having a seizure, the connection between my mind and body completely broken.
“AHH,” I moan hard, tears of joy streaming down my face as the most violent orgasm of my life rages through me, ecstasy racing through my bloodstream. “Oh, fuck,” I finally sigh as the incessant waves of that final orgasm start fading away. Rolling to my back, I look at Tristan and Madden and grin.
“I want your cum… Right now,” I whisper, not lifting a finger. It only takes them a second to decode what I want. Kneeling side by side, they grab their cocks and, wasting no time, they stroke themselves as their eyes wander all over my body.
I look at them as if I’m in a trance, watching as their muscles tense up and stretch their skin, their abs looking like bricks. And, better than all the rest, I watch them stroke themselves. There’s something wildly erotic about seeing a man pleasure himself, especially when he doesn’t even blink as he looks at your naked body.
“Fuck,” Madden groans and, as he does it, a rope of white cum jumps from his cock and hits me straight in the chest. A fraction of a second later another rope of cum hits my naked skin, tracing an arch in the air as it gushes out of Tristan’s cock.
I take my hands to my breasts as they cum all over me, smearing their semen over my skin. I told you I wanted to bathe in their cum, and that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.
Ah, it feels good to be a dirty girl.
By the time they finish cumming, I’m covered in cum from my head to my toes, thick strands of it dripping down my skin. Licking my cum-coated lips, I then swallow the seed I scooped up with my tongue, smiling as I feel their raw manly flavor going down my throat.
“Kitchen christened,” I laugh as I sit up, my heart still racing.
“Definitely,” Madden laughs as well, and then he crushes his mouth against mine, his hands grabbing at my cum covered breasts. When I pull back from him, I don’t even have the time to catch my breath - replacing Madden, Tristan kisses me as well, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth as he grabs me by at the ass.
They smear their cum all over, licking strands off my neck and breasts, and I just throw my head back and savor the moment.
“I need a bath,” I finally say, looking at them with a devilish grin.
“A bath, uh? That reminds me of something,” Madden laughs.
“Yeah, we still haven’t christened the master bathroom,” Tristan says, and then he goes up to his feet and pulls me up. Picking me up from the floor, he carries me into his arms and the three of us start walking out of the kitchen, heading upstairs toward the bathroom.
Yeah, I know, I’m exhausted - but I’m never too exhausted for a round two.
It’s been like this ever since we became a family of three. It’s just never enough, you know? And I’m not just talking about sex. More than sex, the love we feel for each other is so deep and intense that it overshadows everything else.
No doubt about it… I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
The Biggest Licker Season Update
Chase: Hello and welcome to the last installment of our analysis of The Biggest Licker – the most popular reality show on TV. I’m your host, Chase Worthington.
Nadia: And I’m your co-host, Nadia Moore. And what a season, folks! What a week! It’s all over now and I think Megan finally got the Happily Ever After she’s been looking for!
Chase: That’s right. What an ending. No one – myself or anyone on the production staff – could have ever imagined that such an ingenious solution would present itself to such a bad situation.
Nadia: That’s right. Although I’m sure the studio execs weren’t that happy considering that they didn’t give her the apartment, Chase.
Chase: I mean, come on. She won $2 billion. The apartment was only worth $150 million. I think where they ended up as well is a lot nicer than One57.
Nadia: But the producers lost the spinoff opportunity with both men going with Megan, didn’t they?
Chase: I think we need to say a big thank you to the producers and a big congratulations to the happy trio of Madden and Tristan and Megan.
Nadia: I know you actually want to say fuck you to the producers. But I don’t think you can say fuck you to the producers on live TV, babe. You might get fired?
Chase: I don’t think they’ll ever find television anchors as engaging and charming as us. Plus, they wouldn’t dare let us go. Not while you’re pregnant.
Nadia: Sigh. You just spilled the secret out to the milli
ons of people that are watching.
Chase: Actually I think the number was close to 1 billion people tuned in to see the finale of The Biggest Licker.
Nadia: Wow. All those people saw how Megan basically said fuck you to the producers and the crazy situation they had set up and chose love huh?
Chase: Well, the official line is audience, that love won. Megan didn’t win. Well, I guess she did. But more than anything, love won. It’s not about who lost. It’s about who won.
Nadia: Wait, isn’t it about who lost?
Chase: No, because think about it. Everyone who in some way touched The Biggest Licker or experienced any part of it came out the winner. Even if they got just a little bit of enjoyment from it. Whether they stayed for the whole thing or part way, they won. And that’s what we want. A lot of winners.
Nadia: I know. We don’t like losers.
Chasers: So audience, thank you for following us this season. We look forward to further pleasing you in the future. This has been a Naughty Angel Production!
Nadia: Ciao, everyone! Be sure to watch out for us! We might pop in throughout other stories just to say hello!
Chase: Until next time, this is…
Voiceover: THE BIGGEST LICKER!!!!!
Jailbait
A Secret Baby Bad Boy Romance
By Alexis Angel
Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Kerri
The house is quiet. I place my keys on the dining table and walk through the living room. It's dark, but I hear the steady hum of a fan. He must have left it on and then got called into work because I don't hear him, I think to myself. But then I hear a noise coming from an upstairs bedroom. Was that a giggle or a cough, or maybe something else? I can't tell. The sound is too far away.
I slowly make my way up the stairs. "Hello?" I call out. But I don't receive a response. Maybe Jonathan is home and taking a shower. I approach our bedroom. The door is closed but there is a light on. I turn the knob and push the door open. The stereo is on and I hear our familiar song playing its soulful melody:
"If the stars don't shine, if the moon won't rise, if I never see the setting sun again, you won't hear me cry, this I testify, please believe me, boy, you know I won't lie, you and me, you and me…"
I blink back the light of the room as my eyes adjust. At first nothing seems amiss. I notice our rumpled white comforter on the bed and it's moving rhythmically. "Jonathan?" I ask. But before I hear anything else, I now know what I'm looking at, and I'm having a hard time believing it. My eyes burn, and I blink, but when I open them again, I know everything is now changed. My life is irrevocably altered.
"Babe, what are you doing home? I thought you were working?" Jonathan stammers, holding the comforter up to his chin.
At first, I'm too stunned to say anything. And then I scream, and once I open my mouth, I can't stop. Words spill out of my mouth like water from a fire hose. "Get out! You bastard, get out! Now! Just get out!" Hot tears are spilling out of my eyes, and I hate myself for crying. I should be stronger than this. My strong-willed mother raised me, and if she were here right now, she'd tell me to be tougher than this. I can almost hear her voice in my ear, with its deep, serious tone, telling me that this man doesn't deserve me. He isn't worth crying about. But I'm devastated—there is no question about it—and the hurt that's coursing through me drowns that all out.
"We can work this out," Jonathan pleads. He's getting out of our bed, naked, and holding a pillow in front of his erect cock. His hair is a mess and he runs his fingers through it. His face is flush; he seems scared, but he's forcing his mouth into a smile, and I can't help but look at his rows of perfectly white, straight teeth. I used to think they were a thing of beauty, and now I think they make him look fake, like a real-life talking mannequin, which reminds me of a horror movie. He extends his hand to mine, but I don't let him touch me. I swat it away and turn my body before crossing my arms defensively.
Before this moment, I thought he was the perfect man, even the man of my dreams. I believed that the fairy tale was possible—I bought into the Disney dream that said everyone had their soul mate—their hero on a white horse would come along, so long as you waited for him. I pictured us in this house with kids. I pictured the wedding. I even found myself day dreaming about what kind of flowers I'd use for our arrangements. Hell, I even thought we'd eventually have the mini-van and the weekday soccer practices. It was such a clear picture.
"I made a mistake," he pleads. "I swear this'll never happen again." I snatch his pillow and throw it across the room. I want him to feel just as exposed and vulnerable as I do in this moment.
"You're joking, right?" I ask, not waiting for an answer. "It's over."
And then I look back to the bed, and I see a woman looking for her bra. Her hands are fumbling through the sheets. She's trying to hold her beasts in her hands, but her bra is on the floor and when she finally sees it, she has to reach down and pick it up. Her breasts spill out and I am disgusted with how perfect they look. She refuses to make eye contact with me and her discomfort is palpable. Her hair has that "just fucked" look and she doesn't bother touching it. She's not the one I'm mad it. It's clear she's an unknowing victim.
"Get out!" I scream again. It's the only thing I can say. It feels as if the walls are crumbling around me—the home Jonathan and I built together, the rainy nights spent in front of the TV cuddling up to a movie, the laughs, all of the good memories—that is all replaced with what feels like a punch to my gut. Everything feels dead and the only way I know how to staunch the pain is to remove these people—to get them out of my sight for good.
They scramble for their clothes, and hop around the room on one leg, quickly trying to pull their bodies through jeans. They aren't moving fast enough and I can't stop screaming. I'm seeing and feeling red. My entire body is pulsing. "Get out! Get out! Get the fuck out!" The minutes seem like an eternity and they finally leave with their shoes tucked under their arms. The woman runs down the stairs, and Jonathan follows after her. He stops mid-way and looks back at me one last time before leaving the house for good. It's a pathetic look and I hate him for it.
As soon as I hear the front door close, I slump down against the bedroom wall and sob. It feels like my chest is cracking in half. Everything feels dark and broken. I vow to never trust another man so easily again—maybe ever. Maybe there's no such thing as a Mr. Right. Maybe it's all a lie.
All I know is that there's now a before and after. I'm no longer the person I was yesterday, or even a few minutes ago. I was once blind and trusting, but time has split me in two. I don't even know who I am anymore. I'm a new person now—the kind of person who has to reconcile the fact that the man who I thought was my best friend is actually part of a betrayal. It's sort of like being slapped and hugged at the same time.
I don't know who I am any longer, or where I'm going, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let myself sit here, shattered.
Lucien
"—6, 7, 8, 9," I say out loud nearly spitting into the dirt next to me. Fuck, this place is hot. It must be 90 degrees out here. My arms and chest strain under the heaviness of the cast iron weights clanking against a steel bar. My muscles are shot and quivering, but I keep going at a steady pace. I feel myself growing stronger, and if I'm honest, lifting weights gives me the same euphoria as fucking beautiful women. Besides, I can't let myself get soft in a place like this.
There aren't many weights in the exercise yard anymore. It ain't like the movies. The ones left are decades old and rusting, and you practically have to nut up on everyone around you just to us
e them. I guess some high and mighty prick judge somewhere thought it was risky to let ex-cons get "intimidating muscles," and before anyone could so much as bat an eyelash, the media had its panties all in a ruffle. Everyone was "crapping in their cornflakes" so to speak. Just like that. Boom. Everyone was afraid. And now here we are resorting to lifting library books and doing pull ups on our bunk beds. Lucky for me, this shithole still has a set of weights, and if it's one thing I refuse to do, it's to let myself rot here.
I rest the weights back on the stand and wipe a thin line of sweat dripping down my temple. I blink back the Southern California sun. I catch my breath and grip the bar again. "One more rep," I tell myself. I release the bar from the stand and exhale sharply. It feels impossibly heavy and my veins are pulsing in my biceps. If this bar slips—if my arms give out—I will be in serious trouble. For a moment I wonder if I should call it quits for the day, but I shake the thought. Get your shit together, I tell myself. I start my new reps and count each press, "1, 2, and—"
As I count, my mind drifts back to the moment that haunts me every fucking time I close my eyes at night, and every time I open them in the morning. That apartment. That woman. I can still hear her screaming. I can still see that look of fear in her wide blue eyes as she clutched her baby to her chest. "Do it!" Billy yelled at me. "What the fuck are you waiting for?"
I remember holding the gun in my hand. My fingers frozen against the steel. That baby's perfectly round head nuzzled into her mother's neck like a fuzzy peach. I couldn't do it. I mean, not just in a moral sense, although only a sick fuck could make a move like that, but my entire body resisted too. I completely shut down.
