The Perfect Wife by Duncan Cusic
Promiscuous… She was promiscuous; and before she was, she wanted the thrill of promiscuity… She had been intimate with silly boys on back seats of cars; sex with the handsome naughty man she called uncle was as close to fantastic as any drug high she ever experienced. Was it not incredible to be ordered about like common trailer trash, instead of catered to like a princess? These girls from West Virginia are off the street sluts, ripe for picking by the right man – wealthy man that is. From paid escort to wife, Paula agrees to the terms of a contract to become the wife of the filthy rich Roy Chambers – with the ceremony taking place in the Oval Office no less – doing Roy’s bidding while still fucking around, and living high far from her trashy past. Meanwhile, May Belle Livingston’s hope for stardom rests with Roy, while she enjoys the constant parade of horny men in her life. This story is one rollicking hot ride of slutty women, manhandling men, multiracial partners, and lots of sucking, fucking, hickeys, whores, pornos, drugs, and a whole lot more.
Promiscuous… She was promiscuous; and before she was, she wanted the thrill of promiscuity. The girl had read somewhere that tragedy sometimes leads to bizarre behavior, and she supposed the untimely death of parents was just such a life-changing event. She had been intimate with silly boys on back seats of cars; sex with the handsome naughty man she called uncle was as close to fantastic as any drug high she ever experienced. Was it not incredible to be ordered about like common trailer trash, instead of catered to like a princess?
Her uncle and she had circled each other for months. They touched each other at rare moments and kissed in secluded corners. And before getting right down to clandestine fucking, they snorted dope and made love on her gaily quilted canopy covered bed when her aunt shopped.
For the last several weeks, they had gotten high and stolen away in a cheap motel room. One of those afternoons delight places in the poor part of the city where one paid in cash and expected not much more than clean linens and privacy. A place she had longed to visit; a place reserved for dirty girls and crack whores. And when she resisted the needle, he pointed at the door and offered an option. “Leave, then.”
The girl coward, but didn’t go and her eyes didn’t waver. He loved her, didn’t he? Submission was what he wanted and what a promiscuous girl craved; gang fucked and strung out with needle marks between her toes?
“Okay…” Her mouth parted.
“Mighty fine,” greeted her answer. He clasped her shoulders and turned her to toward the bed. He pulled her green angora sweater off and tossed it on the only chair in the room. In the same brisk manner, he unsnapped her bra band and let the divisions hang. He pushed the shoulder straps from her arms and let the disassembled brassiere assembly fall to the floor. He spun her around and brushed a loose stand of silky blond hair from her forehead and claimed her mouth. His kiss, so deep and long and consuming that neither she nor he drafted oxygen until it ended. Nor had she buried her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re my dirty little whore, aren’t you, Sugar tits?”
The girl hated the name, groaned and yet reveled in its decadence.
His hands found her hips and pulled her to the bed. He lowered his mouth to her breasts and nipped her nipples, first one and then the other. His fingers roamed unimpeded and unsnapped her jeans. His hand worked into the spread wide opening of her zipper and then plunged beyond the waistband of her white cotton panties. He had barely cupped her pussy before her thighs eased apart and her pelted aperture became sodden to his touch. With a groan of satisfaction, he slid his middle finger up inside of her and pumped preparation in her channel. “Shall I have your name burned into your flesh?”
Branded, oh my, branded she thought. She moaned and her desperation grew more vibrant with each intimate caress and with every breath-extinguishing brush of his thumb. Would he love her afterward? Would she love him? “Must I?”
“Sluts have brands.”
“And the boys…”
“They’re good boys.” Her uncle stood and yanked off her tennis shoes. He pulled down her jeans and swept away her panties. With a flurry of movement, he pitched his clothes on the floor. And without considering her comfort was on top of her, then deep inside her, and then his cock was fucking her as hard as he knew how to fuck, and she drowned with fucking.
She moved with him, closed her arms around his shoulders, and slammed up against him as he slammed down against her. A knock sounded on the door. “Will they hurt me?” she asked.
“The boys will make you cum.”