An Almighty Fucking
With C.J. Perry AKA Lana
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob, Cuckold, Interracial,
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.
(https://thumbs2.imgbox.com/ad/e9/n3Lczb84_t.jpg) (https://imgbox.com/n3Lczb84)
(Pix of Lana and Bobby Lashley)
Lana adjusted slightly beneath the comforter, the white fabric bunching at her waist as she leaned more comfortably against Bobby’s side. He did not move away. If anything, he leaned in, relaxed, unbothered, as though the bed belonged to him by default.
Lana turned her head, her eyes drifting toward the chair off to the side of the room.
Rusev sat exactly where he had been told to sit. The chair faced the bed at a slight angle, close enough that there was no escaping the view, far enough that he remained separate from it. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight. He looked like a man bracing himself for something he already knew was inevitable.
“This is what you wanted,” Lana said at last, her voice calm, almost conversational.
Rusev swallowed. He didn’t answer right away.
Lana smiled, but there was nothing warm about it. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” she continued. “Long before tonight. Long before that chair.” She gestured in his direction. “You were the one who kept pushing, remember? The one who wanted to know what it would be like to watch me with someone who wasn’t you.”
She leaned back against Bobby, clearly comfortable there. “Turns out, I like the idea more than you ever did.”
Bobby let out a chuckle, deep and unbothered. He didn’t bother lowering his voice. “Man really thought he was gonna enjoy this,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s the funniest part.”
Lana laughed softly at that, placing a hand against Bobby’s chest as if she belonged there. The gesture was casual, intimate, and unmistakably intentional.
“There’s no going back now,” she told Rusev. “Not tonight. Not after this.”
Rusev shifted in the chair, his hands gripping the edges of the seat. “Lana...”
She raised a finger, stopping him. “No. You don’t get to stop this.” Her gaze held his, steady and unflinching. “You wanted to see me wanted. You wanted to watch someone else take control.” She paused. “This is that moment.”
Bobby smiled wider, clearly enjoying the exchange. He leaned closer to Lana, his voice lowering just enough to feel private, even though it wasn’t. “You okay?” he asked her.
Lana turned toward him fully now, her smile warmer, more genuine. “I’m more than okay.”
That was all Bobby needed to hear.
He looked back at Rusev, his tone still calm, still assured. “I’m going to give her the time of her life,” he said plainly. No bravado. No rush. Just certainty. “And you’re going to sit right there and understand exactly what that means.”
Rusev said nothing.
Lana reached for Bobby’s hand beneath the covers, her fingers lacing with his. She didn’t look back at her husband this time. She didn’t need to. The roles in the room were already locked in place.
Lana exhaled slowly, almost theatrically, as if she had been holding that breath for a long time. She glanced down at herself, then back up at Bobby, a small, anticipatory smile tugging at her lips.
“Well,” she said lightly, “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
Bobby raised an eyebrow, amused. “That so?”
She nodded. “For us.” Then she turned her head toward the chair. “Which makes this even better, honestly.”
Rusev stiffened. “Better?”
Lana laughed, sharp and unapologetic. “Yes, better.” She shifted again, making no effort to hide her comfort beside Bobby. “You really thought I’d be nervous? That I’d hesitate?” She shook her head. “I’ve been curious for a long time. You just happened to give me permission.”
“That wasn’t...” Rusev started.
“Oh, it absolutely was,” she cut in. Her voice hardened. “You don’t get to act wounded now. You opened this door, and I walked through it happily.”
Bobby leaned back slightly, arms relaxed, watching Rusev with open disdain. “Man,” he said, “you’re watching your wife enjoy her first time with someone else, and you’re still trying to negotiate?”
He shook his head. “That’s weak.”
Lana’s smile widened at that. She turned back to Bobby. “See? This is what I like. No second-guessing. No begging.”
She looked at Rusev again, her tone cool, almost bored. “And just so we’re clear... this being our first time?” She gestured subtly between herself and Bobby. “This is going to be special.”
Rusev’s hands clenched in his lap. “Lana, please...”
Bobby leaned forward just enough to command attention. “Let me explain something to you,” he said evenly. “She’s gonna remember this night, for the rest of her life.”
Lana didn’t argue. Instead, she nodded slightly, as if the thought pleased her.
“You wanted to watch me cross a line,” she said to Rusev. “Congratulations. I’m going to enjoy it more than you imagined.” Her eyes narrowed.
Bobby glanced at her. “Still good?”
She answered without hesitation. “More than good.”
That was enough.
Bobby looked back at Rusev one last time, his voice firm and dismissive. “You don’t get a say in how this goes. You’re here to witness what happens when curiosity turns into reality.”
Lana turned away from the chair completely then, her attention fully on the bed, on the man beside her, on the moment she had clearly been ready for.
And Rusev, stuck in the chair he’d agreed to sit in, finally understood something too late.
This wasn’t a fantasy anymore. It was just the beginning.
Lana didn’t say anything before she moved.
She simply shifted her weight, turning toward Bobby with a calm certainty that made it clear the decision had already been made. One hand pressed lightly into the mattress beside him as she leaned closer, close enough that he could feel her breath before her lips reached his.
Bobby didn’t rush her.
He watched her the entire time, eyes steady, expression unreadable but focused. When her lips finally met his, the kiss was slow, and it carried the weight of something long anticipated rather than something impulsive.
Lana lingered there for a moment, as if grounding herself in it.
Then she pulled back just slightly, close enough that her smile brushed his mouth. “That’s been on my mind longer than you think,” she murmured.
Bobby smiled back, low and confident. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I can tell.”
From the chair, Rusev shifted sharply. The sound of it cut through the room.
Lana didn’t look at him right away. Instead, she leaned in again, pressing another kiss to Bobby’s lips, longer this time, more assured. When she finally pulled away, she turned her head just enough to address her husband without breaking the closeness between herself and Bobby.
“You see?” she said coolly. “No nerves. No regrets.”
Rusev’s voice was tight. “Lana... that was...”
“That was real,” she interrupted. Her tone sharpened. “Which is what you said you wanted.”
Bobby finally glanced toward the chair, a faint smirk forming. “First kiss,” he said casually. “And she didn’t even look at you once.”
Lana rested her forehead briefly against Bobby’s, relaxed. “Because I wasn’t thinking about him,” she added. “I was thinking about this.”
She leaned back just enough to look at Bobby again.
From the chair, Rusev sucked in a sharp breath before he could stop himself.
The sound carried.
Lana heard it this time. She turned her head just enough to look at him, her lips still close to Bobby’s.
“This is the part you used to talk about,” she said coolly. “Watching. Remember?”
Rusev’s hands clenched hard around the arms of the chair. His chest rose and fell too quickly, eyes locked on the bed as if looking away would make it worse. “I didn’t think you’d...” he stopped, voice breaking. “Not like that.”
Bobby glanced at him briefly, unimpressed. “You mean like she actually wants it?”
He tightened his hold on Lana just slightly, not enough to be forceful. Lana didn’t resist. If anything, she leaned into it, her body aligning with his without thought.
She kissed him again, slower this time but deeper, her fingers curling lightly at the back of his neck. When she finally pulled away, she looked over at Rusev with a calm that stung more than anger ever could.
“This isn’t pretend,” she said. “And I’m not performing for you.”
Bobby smirked. “That’s just a bonus.”
Rusev swallowed hard, his gaze flicking between them, unable to look away and unable to intervene.
Lana turned fully back to Bobby, her voice softer, more personal. “I’m glad it’s you,” she admitted.
Bobby held her gaze, confident, steady. “Me too.”
A moment later, Bobby was already shucking the comforter aside, unveiling that massive cock, thicker and darker than she remembered from the hundred times she’d pictured it, daydreaming at the gym or in Rusev’s hotel rooms while he dozed, spent and snoring. It curved upward, the head broad and swollen, so heavy it barely bobbed when he moved. For a moment Lana just sat there and watched, mouth parted, unable to hide her fascination, even with the gaze burning from the chair.
She curled her hand around the root, skin smooth as glass where it met his body, the shaft radiating heat and some silken, almost intimidating density. Bobby grinned, as if pleased by her awe, but Lana ignored that. She gave it a testing squeeze, feeling the hardness just beneath the skin.
Lana could hear Rusev breathing, on the other side of the room.
Lana licked her lips, then bent to kiss the tip, tasting salt and musk. She opened her mouth and let the thick crown press across her lips, stretching them wider than any cock ever had before. Bobby’s hand landed at the back of her head, forearm warm and solid where it pressed against her cheek. Lana loved the stretch, the sudden weight, the way her jaw had to unhinge to fit him. There was no gentle start. She let her lips sink down the shaft, inch by slow inch, until the dark, veined length filled her mouth, then her throat, choking her for half a second before she forced her gag reflex down and swallowed him to the base.
Bobby made a low, approving noise, a rumble from deep in his chest.
Lana glanced up at the chair, lips shiny-stretched around Bobby’s cock, and she felt a surge of mean pride. He was too big for her, and he knew it, and she wanted to prove she could handle it, wanted to show Rusev especially, who was watching with the tense stillness she’d come to recognize as his lizard-brain defense, every muscle locked, eyes glazed, trying not to process the sight in front of him.
She pulled back, lips looping slick around Bobby’s cock, the head escaping with a faint pop. Lana glanced to the side, not at Rusev but at the ambiguous dark haze of the space between bed and chair, pretending not to see the way his hand dug into his own thigh, strangling some forbidden urge. She palmed Bobby’s length, pumping it slow, marveling at how her own fingers looked so small and white around that thickness of his massive black cock.
“You want to see how much I like it?” she said, pitching her voice for the room, for her husband. “How much I can take?” She didn’t wait for Rusev’s answer.
Bobby did, though. “Show him,” he said, almost gentle, though there was an edge to his voice. He used his hand to guide her back to his cock.
She swallowed his cock, slow and then sudden, her tongue and palate flattening against the underside as she took him all the way, deeper than before. Tears slicked her lashes as she forced herself past the initial shock, determined not to gag, refusing to be anything less than spectacular. The sound in the room changed, a low, slick smacking and the shudder of Bobby’s exhale. He tensed, just slightly, hand heavy on her head as he held her there. Lana’s lip curled against his skin, claiming the flavor as her own.
When she came up for air, Lana locked eyes with Bobby first, and the look he gave back an approving appraisal, flooded her with something that felt nothing like shame. She reached out, braced herself against his chest, the tension in his pecs rigid beneath her palm.
A glance toward Rusev. His eyes ringed with disbelief.
Bobby watched her, eyes half-closed, a knowing smirk growing across his face. “Goddamn, that mouth is something else,” he said, loud enough for her husband to hear every syllable. “You ever see her do that before?” He didn’t wait for Rusev to answer. “Didn’t think so. Don’t look like a woman’s first time to me.”
Lana felt the praise bloom inside her, unexpected and immediate. She pressed herself harder, shallow-breathing through her nose as she worked her lips down the shaft, taking more each time, losing herself to the singular rhythm of flesh and spit and Bobby’s low, approving commentary. Her jaw burned. Her eyes watered. Still, she didn’t stop, driven by a need to impress, to show she was more than just a spectator in the story that was being told about her.
Bobby’s hand guided her, sometimes gentle, sometimes with the bracing certainty of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. “There it is,” he said at one point, her nose buried in a nest of trimmed hair, his cock blocking out every other sense. “Every fucking inch.” A deep laugh, and then “She’s a natural, man. You shoulda let her off the leash years ago.
Lana twisted her fist around the base of his shaft and winked up at Bobby, tongue flicking and swirling, mapping the shape of him like she was memorizing it for later. “Mmmph,” she hummed in her throat, so the sound vibrated straight through him, and Bobby grinned down at her, teeth white and wolfish. “Keep going, babe,” he said. “You’re killing it. Shit.”
Lana let her mouth slide off with a slow, slurping tug, strings of spit stretching from her lip to the head of his cock. “You taste filthy,” she said to Bobby, breathless and amused, then glanced back at Rusev, voice rising. “Way better than you, honestly.” She could feel how true it was, the rawness left at the back of her tongue, the throb in her jaw.
She loved the devastation she could cause, how every obscene grip and swirl of her tongue was a story written for the man in the chair, stakes raised with each glistening inch. Lana clamped her hand around the base and squeezed, twisting at the end of every stroke so her knuckles flashed white and her palm bloomed pink with the pressure. She let the head of Bobby’s black cock bounce across her lips, taunting, rolling it like a hard candy, then burying it in her cheek until she could feel the stretch against her molar, the smack of wet skin on her own chin. Bobby’s voice was pure appreciation, the kind she’d always wanted to hear.
Lana’s scalp prickled hot from the drag and release of Bobby’s grip, a strange paroxysm of pain and reward. She’d never known her body could betray her so absolutely, her nostrils running, throat stinging with the urge to lose control, thighs squeezed tight around a urge of anticipation that had nothing to do with Rusev at all. The memory of her husband’s touch was pale in comparison, a faded Polaroid beside the newness punching against her lips and the lap of spit she was trying her best to contain.
She looked up at Rusev, eyes glassy with the flood of slick and the heat in her cheeks. “Look at this cock,” she said bluntly, her hand cranking Bobby’s length so the head shone dark and spit-slicked. “Look at the size of it. God, it’s perfect. They don’t make them like this in Bulgaria, do they?” She stroked Bobby slow and long with both hands, like she was milking it for maximum effect. “You see that? So thick and beautiful. I could do this all night.”
Rusev stared, unmoving, his whole body a single straining muscle. It made Lana want to keep going, to see just how far she could bend the night.
Lana turned her head, tilting Bobby’s cock so it laid heavy across her cheek, almost the length of her face, deep, proud, impossible to ignore. “So big,” she said, as though she was talking to herself. Lana opened her lips and let the glans drag slow along her tongue, shivering at the weight of it, the faint tang of Bobby and her own arousal mixing in spit. It wasn’t just about showing off for the man in the chair anymore. She was high on the attention, the filthy joy of doing something she’d fantasized about but never allowed herself, until now.
“You want to taste?” she asked, flashing her eyes at Rusev, motioning him closer with a slow curl of her finger. She knew he wouldn’t.
Rusev didn’t answer.
Bobby’s laugh was deep, a growl that radiated through her jaw as she sucked him back into her mouth, this time bobbing her head in a practiced rhythm, each stroke a taunt, a dare, a lesson in what she’d been missing.
She swallowed Bobby’s cock again, deeper than before, hand in his lap to steady herself, then came up spluttering, spit smearing her chin. Her mascara was already half-slid from her lashes, stinging the corners of her eyes. She let herself enjoy the mess, felt a twisted thrill at the way it blurred the clean lines of her face.
Bobby flexed his hips and she took it, mouth spread wide, barely able to keep up. He started fucking her face slow and deliberate, setting the pace, eyes never leaving hers. Lana moaned into the movement, tongue slick against the underside, and with each deep drive the room filled with the wet, ugly sound of her mouth being used. She could taste the precum now, slightly bitter, and she swallowed it down without complaint, even as her throat began to ache.
Within an instant, Lana crawled up onto Bobby, straddling his hips with both knees. For a moment she just hovered there, cheek wet, jaw ached-out, hands braced flat on the warm, shining slope of his pecs. His cock, still spit-coated, thudded upright between her thighs, prodding against her like something hungry.
Lana set herself low, the tip already too thick, already fighting her. But she let it stretch her, languid, incremental, her breath catching as the head of his cock forced past the grip of her body, splitting her open in a way that nothing, no one, ever had. She gasped. Not in pain, not in surprise, just in that wonder of what a body could withstand. Bobby’s hands caught her ass and held her steady. She could feel the tremor in her own thighs.
The first inch took patience. The second hit a sharp spot, the crown cleaving into her, her legs quivering as she rocked back and forth, breath leaking through her teeth. Bobby didn’t thrust, he let her handle it. It was the first courtesy she’d ever wanted from a man.
She glanced over her shoulder, gaze catching Rusev’s expression.
Lana could see the strain in Rusev’s eyes, the fight in every muscle not to let this break him in half. It made Lana smile, teeth bared, and she sank lower on Bobby’s cock, savoring the throbbing of it splitting her inch by inch.
“You see this?” she asked, looking directly at her husband, knowing she was giving him a memory he’d never outrun. “You want to tell me to stop now?” The tone was cruel on purpose, a part of her wanting to make him suffer.
Rusev didn’t reply. He just held her gaze, a twitch in his jaw.
“Thought so,” Lana muttered, turning back to Bobby, whose grin was all teeth and simple satisfaction. She began to rock her hips, forward and back, using her own momentum to work herself deeper, to force her body to open, to stretch, to swallow him all the way down to the root.
Bobby braced a hand on her lower back, the other flexing on her hip, a suggestion of control that made her gut flutter and clench around the thick intrusion. His voice was a buzz in her ear, “You’re tight as fuck, girl. ‘S like you’ve never even…” He didn’t finish, just exhaled hard, smiling with the kind of pleased arrogance, a man like him was entitled to.
Lana rolled her hips in slow, grinding circles, working herself down that impossible shaft one shallow inch at a time, voice unsteady with the start of a moan. “Real men like him take their time.”
She arched her back, feeling Bobby’s cock stretch her until her muscles trembled with the effort of it. “All those years of empty promises, baby. You finally delivered something worth having in the bedroom.”
Lana flexed her hips, adjusting the angle, feeling the stretch intensify and then, somehow, relent, her muscles accommodating Bobby’s size like it had always been inevitable. She felt herself around him and shifted again, sinking further, until his pelvis flattened against her own. She let out a low, incredulous moan. “Full, fucking finally,” she muttered, splaying her hands against the breadth of his chest, relishing the wall of muscle holding her upright.
She moved, an instinctive rocking, the sensation like nothing she’d been prepared for, not even in the most blasphemous, late-night fantasies that had sometimes left her ashamed in the morning, and, as she found a rhythm, the wet, organic noise of it echoed in the space between the bed and chair where Rusev was sitting. Lana tried not to look at Rusev, but she caught the periphery of his stare, cold and feral, and it only spurred her on. She arched her back, grinding down, making herself louder than she needed to be.
Bobby ran his palm up her spine, fingernails light, coaxing a shudder from somewhere beneath her skin. “That’s it,” he said, voice deep.
She risked a look at the chair. Rusev’s lips drawn hard enough to blanch. She could tell from the angle of his jaw that he was grinding his teeth, barely holding it together.
Lana’s thighs burned as she picked up the pace, each bounce landing her harder, deeper on Bobby’s cock, taking more with every stroke. She could feel herself stretching around him, every thrust an electric pulse that ran up her spine and rattled loose a sound that was too loud for how little she’d ever let herself want, before tonight. She planted her palms on the shelf of his shoulders, nails dimpling the skin, half for leverage and half because she liked the way the muscles tensed under her hands. Bobby’s arms came around her waist, not to control her but to hold steady, a counterweight as her body clapped down, again and again, against his.
Sweat beaded at her brow, a slick line crawling from between her breasts down the center of her torso. She could hear air rasping from her nose, the wet slap of skin-on-skin and Bobby’s low, approving hum.
She put more weight into the next roll of her hips, feeling the thick, impossible friction every millimeter as she drove down on him. The noise of her body meeting his was obscene, wet, sharp, and insistent. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tremor run up Rusev’s forearm, his fingers carving white dents into the chair’s arms. For the first time in her adult life, the thought of her husband’s hurt didn’t bother her. It didn’t even register. All she could think about was the raw, slow drag of Bobby’s cock splitting her, the ache knitting through her pelvis, the way he stayed perfectly still, challenging her to do all the work.
With every thrust, she braced harder against his chest, her own body learning the geometry of his. Lana bounced once, a sharp and graceless move, and a gasp shuddered out of her throat. She caught it in her teeth, lips curling, then did it again, finding in the pain a new kind of triumph.
Lana wondered if Rusev could see the way her cunt clench and release, the pure physicality of it, the surrender. She wanted Rusev to see every quiver, every ripple in her thigh, as she took Bobby’s impressive shaft. She wanted him to understand what it meant to take something she’d never wanted to give before, to feel herself stretched so perfectly around another man’s cock, wanton and grinding, more like a whore than a wife.
Bobby’s hands tightened on her hips, and with a single upward jolt, so sudden her vision pixelated, he yanked her all the way down, burying himself to the base. Lana yelped, a sound that would have shamed her in any other context, but here it was punctuation, proof of how far she’d gone.
For a second Lana thought he would let her keep working him, let her ride out the scene until her own stamina collapsed and she melted into the bed. But he shifted, almost imperceptibly at first, then tensed, and a split second later, with no warning, he lifted her clean off with just his arms and flipped her.
Lana caught her own gasp as her back met the mattress. She landed with a skitter of silk and a muffled bounce that sent her hair fanned wild across the sheets. Bobby’s cock slipped free on the way over, slapping wetly against her belly, leaving a trail of spit and her own slickness up her navel.
Bobby followed, looming above her, bracing his palms to either side of her face. He stared down at her for a fraction of a second, a ghost of tender calculation fluttering across his features, then pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance and drove forward, slow but relentless, as if to pour every inch of himself into her until she was a container built for nothing else. Lana bit her lip, that sharp, gritted pain quickly dissolving into something else, wetter and hungrier. She hooked her calves around Bobby’s hips, locking herself down.
The mattress squealed in protest, the bed’s legs grumbling against the floor. Sweat beaded in the hollow of Bobby’s spine. He pushed faster now, each thrust a promise that there would be no stopping, not even for her husband in the chair. Lana lost count of the thrusts. She lost count of her own noises, too, half of them involuntary, punched out of her gut, half of them performed, a show for Rusev.
She felt her own legs splay wider with each motion, a helpless reflex, thighs trembling with every piston-move of his hips. He was big enough that every thrust rearranged her insides. Lana gripped his forearms, nails biting the skin, holding on for dear life. His shoulders were wide enough that her hands never met, only the stretch of biceps and the slick of his sweat. She liked the solidness of him, the weight and the authority, there was no fantasy here about who had the control, or where it left her, or who was watching. All of it was now, and all of it was real.
His cock went so deep she could feel it in her chest, in her teeth. Lana tried to keep her composure, but the noise built in her throat. Something inside her snapped then, not with pain or revulsion, but the shock of wanting more, the greed of it, the way her own body matched him thrust for thrust and then demanded even harder.
“Damn, Rusev. You seeing this?” Bobby’s voice crawled along the edge of amusement, the kind that didn’t bother hiding its purpose.
Each word landed with more weight than the last. Bobby drove in again, harder, making the springs of the mattress cough out another protest as the force of their bodies rattled the bed’s frame. Lana’s breath caught in her throat, a gasp that dissolved into a wet moan she couldn’t have contained even if she tried.
His hands anchored at her waist, pinning her flat to the mattress. She tried to match his movement, but her body only rocked in response, surrendered to the physicality, if Bobby wanted to break her in for her husband, she would let him. There was a sick pride in that. She moaned, openly now, her own noises folding into the crowding friction and sweat.
“Look at her,” Bobby said, voice rolling out toward the chair. “That’s what she looks like when she doesn’t gotta fake an orgasm.” He punctuated it with a sharp thrust.
She heard the words like a dare, felt them vibrate through her body and settle somewhere in her chest, bright and mean. Lana bared her teeth, wanted to say something back but Bobby, grinning wide, used his thumb to smooth a streak of tears from her cheek, then caught her chin and leaned down so only she could hear, “That feel good, baby?”
Lana tried answering and failed, voice dissolved to panting. The slap of Bobby’s skin on hers was relentless, loud enough she wondered if the whole fucking floor could hear it. Maybe that was what she wanted. Maybe she wanted Rusev to remember this sound, to hear it in his nightmares.
“You hear that, baby?” she gasped, tossing her head back into the pillow, purposely dramatizing the ragged noises that Bobby forced out of her. “This cock is fucking perfect. So much better than I ever imagined.” It came out slurred, almost a laugh, the truth too ugly to be anything but funny. “You think I could ever go back to yours after...” She bit down on her own lip, cut the words, let them hang.
Bobby huffed out a breath, thrusting deeper, and brought his mouth to her ear. “Say it,” he growled, low, so only she could hear it. “Say what you want.”
Lana’s hips bucked, legs thrown wide, toes curling. She wanted to be ruined. She wanted this to leave a mark on her, something that would outlast the night, maybe even outlast the marriage. “Oh, fuck,” she said, voice breaking. “More. I want more. You’re the only one I need.”
She felt Bobby’s hand on her chin, his thumb pressing at the edge of her lip. “Let him watch what a real man does to you,” he said, loud and clear. “Let him see the difference.”
Lana’s mind spun on the word, the way “real man” knifed into the air and cut Rusev straight down the middle.
She wondered if that was how it felt to be truly dominated, not just the mechanics but the humiliation, the being made obsolete while another man made your wife sing for it. Lana tilted her hips up, meeting Bobby’s thrust with a grind that had her seeing sparks behind her eyelids.
He was bigger, much bigger, the thick, full head of his cock plunging into her with a shudder that lit up the nerves in her spine. Bobby didn’t have to go fast, the steady, stretching drag was more than enough to drown every past lover in memory. Lana let out another groan. She couldn’t help it. Even the pain at her entrance had changed, blurring with pleasure into something she couldn’t, and didn’t want to, name.
Bobby braced himself over her, still fucking her deep, digging his knees into the mattress. Then, without warning, he wrenched himself free, leaving her suddenly empty. Lana barely caught her breath before he grabbed her by the hips, both hands, and flipped her onto her stomach. He wasn’t gentle about it, not with the way he manhandled her, dragging her up onto her knees, ass in the air, hair in her face, belly in the sheets. Her thighs snapped open, ass arched instinctively, like he’d taken her apart and put her back together for his own use.
Lana could hear herself pant, not the measured gasps she cynically performed for Rusev but something else. Bobby ran a palm up her back, forcing her into a hard, precise angle, then pressed the dark, spit-slick head of his cock against the swollen mouth of her cunt and rammed it in, splitting her again from behind, so deep Lana felt herself lurch forward involuntarily and bite the pillow to keep from crying out.
Bobby held her there, his cock pounding into her, working her against the mattress, the bedframe letting out a chorus of hollow metallic sounds with every slap of his hips. Lana’s world narrowed to pleasure and the sound of her own moans and gasps, ragged and helpless. Her skin prickled, sweat blooming at her neck, a cold rush every time Bobby bottomed out and dragged her back with both hands as if he’d stake her to the mattress with nothing but cock and muscle.
“So good,” Lana moaned, voice muffled by the pillow. Bobby’s hand curled in her hair, twisted it into a leash and yanked her head back so the next words came out clear, loud enough to fill the room, to paint the walls with humiliation. “So fucking good. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck...”
He didn’t give her time to ride the pleasure; he bullied it in, driving her up the incline of sensation with each pounding thrust. With every stroke, Lana could feel the ridges and veins of him, his cock physically reshaping her, reality buckling around the single, exquisite stretch of it.
“Getting louder, babe,” Bobby said, voice right at her ear. “Wanna show off for your man, huh?” He punctuated it by slamming her back with another forceful drive, making her gasp loud enough that the pain twisted up right through her spine and out her mouth in an animalistic sound. “He never got you like this, did he?”
He yanked hard on her hair, and Lana felt the edge of pain flare, the mix of sensation nearly enough to send her clenching around the girth of Bobby’s cock. “Tell the man,” Bobby growled, every word landing in her ear like a punch. “Tell him how good you got it now.”
Lana’s mouth worked, but nothing came at first, just a whimper, a palmed clutch at the sheets. Then she managed a single word, “Better.”
Bobby barked a laugh, relishing it. “That’s right. You like my cock better. You like it because it ruins you, don’t you?”
She nodded, the motion ragged, his grip on her scalp so tight she thought it might rip hair loose. “Yes, yes. Fuck, yes,” she said, no longer caring what shape her voice made, only that the words reached the other end of the room.
Lana rolled her hips in time with the slap of his body, finding a cadence, losing herself in the monotony of sensation. He jack hammered into her, with each hard thrust. The noises from her mouth didn’t even make sense to her anymore. She hoped Rusev was listening. She hoped it was destroying him.
“Look at you, clenching so tight. You were made for this cock, weren’t you.,” Bobby grunted.
Lana slammed her hips back with a desperation that verged on self-destruction. She didn’t care about pain. She didn’t care about decorum, or marriage, or what would happen when the sun came up. She wanted more, wanted it to hurt, wanted Bobby to come so hard he forgot the name of any woman that came before her.
He must have felt it. The way she clenched and trembled, muscles seizing in time with every hard thrust. Bobby let out a grunt, deep in his chest. “Fuck,” he spat, voice tight. “Gonna cum soon. Goddamn, you suck me in like you want to keep my cock forever.”
Bobby drilled her harder, both hands welded to her hips, holding her open while the threat built inside him. Lana planted her elbows, arching her back so she could take every inch.
His grip on Lana’s hips went vice-tight, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks and bruises, for days. He slammed forward one last time, and she felt his cock throb, then an impossible hot flood that spiked through her nerves like a second, sharper orgasm. She could feel it, the thick, liquid mess spilling out inside her, each twitch of Bobby’s cock painted with a gush of cum, the sensation outrageous, more monstrous than anything she and Rusev had ever managed at home. For a split second, Lana almost couldn’t breathe, unprepared for just how much there was, no chance to clench and hold, only the slippery, overflow of spunk.
He held there, unmoving, for a count, hips flush to her ass, and then let out a slow, cavernous sigh. He pulled free, and his cock popped loose with a noise so obscene that Lana bit down a giggle.
Bobby grunted. “See that, Rusev?” His voice, ragged. “That’s your woman, blacked for real. You see how she begging for it?” The word was a cudgel in the room, a blow to the solar plexus. Lana shivered, a hot thrill burrowing inside her gut. She didn’t look at her husband. She didn’t need to. The sound of his shallow, unsteady breathing from the chair was all she required to know he was drowning.
Bobby stood first, and looked directly at Rusev. The expression on his face was dismissive, as if the decision had already been made and no further discussion was required.
“Alright,” Bobby said evenly. “That’s enough.”
Rusev looked up, confused. “Enough of what?”
“Enough of you being in this room,” Bobby replied. He stepped aside and nodded toward the door. “Night’s over for you.”
Rusev pushed himself up from the chair slowly. “You can’t just...”
“Yes, I can,” Bobby cut in. “And you’re going to walk out without making this harder than it already is.”
Lana sat up against the headboard, completely composed. She didn’t rush to intervene.
“He’s right,” she said calmly. “This room is ours for the weekend.” She met Rusev’s eyes without flinching. “I booked it that way on purpose.”
Rusev stared at her. “The whole weekend?”
Lana nodded once. “I’m not done,” she said plainly. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow.” A brief, unapologetic pause. “And I don’t intend to spend any of it explaining myself.”
Bobby opened the door and stood there, waiting.
The message was unmistakable.
Rusev hesitated, then finally stepped past him. He didn’t look back as he crossed the threshold. The door closed behind him, the sound final in a way that words never could be.
Bobby locked it.
When he turned around, Lana was already watching him.
“Now,” she said, settling back into the pillows, “we don’t have an audience.”
Bobby smiled, slow and confident. “Good.”
She reached for his hand, pulling him back toward the bed. “We’ve got time,” she added. “Plenty of it.”
The End