Chapter 1: The Sudden Void 🔥
The phone buzzed like a hornet trapped in my pocket, pulling me from the lazy haze of a Sunday morning. I was sprawled on the couch, feet up, nursing a lukewarm coffee that tasted like regret from last night’s whiskey. Min—my Green-eyes, as I called her—was in the kitchen, humming some old tune from her Soviet days, the scent of frying bacon wafting through the air, thick and greasy, making my stomach rumble. She moved with that effortless sway, her ass cheeks peeking from under those tiny shorts, the ones that rode up just enough to tease.
“Who the fuck’s calling this early?” I muttered, fishing out the phone. Maurine’s name flashed on the screen. Shit. Her voice message from yesterday still echoed in my head—shaky, broken. I hit answer, and her sobs hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Kevin… Tom… he’s gone. Heart attack on the golf course. Come over, please. I need you.”
The line went dead. My heart thudded, not just from the news, but from the raw edge in her voice. Tom. The man who’d known about every filthy thing I’d done to his wife and given his blessing. I glanced at Min, her green eyes locking onto mine, reading the storm before I could speak.
“Maurine?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel, the fabric rasping against her skin.
“Tom’s dead,” I said flatly, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.
She crossed the room in two strides, her bare feet padding softly on the hardwood, and wrapped her arms around me. Her body pressed close, warm and yielding, the faint salt of her skin mixing with the bacon smoke. “We go now,” she whispered, her accent thickening with emotion. No questions, no hesitation. That’s what I loved about her—the way she dove into the mess without flinching.
We grabbed our jackets, the leather creaking as I shrugged mine on, and headed out to the bike. The engine roared to life under me, vibrating through my thighs like a promise of escape. Min climbed on behind, her legs straddling mine, her pussy heat seeping through our jeans as she leaned in, chin on my shoulder. The wind whipped our faces as we tore down the road to Arbinger Hammer, the world blurring into streaks of green and gray.
Maurine’s house loomed at the end of the lane, that big Victorian beast with its sagging porch and overgrown garden. The door was ajar, and the smell hit us first—stale air mixed with the sharp tang of grief-sweat. Inside, she was a wreck, curled on the couch in a ratty robe that gaped open, revealing the heavy swell of her breasts, nipples dark and peaked against the fabric.
“Oh, Kevin,” she wailed, launching into my arms. Her body shook, hot tears soaking my shirt, her perfume—something floral and faded—clinging to me like a memory.
Min hovered, then knelt beside us, her hand stroking Maurine’s back in slow circles. “We here. For you.”
We held her like that for what felt like hours, the clock ticking mockingly in the silence. Tom’s absence hung heavy, a void that sucked the air from the room. But beneath the sorrow, there was something else stirring—Maurine’s hand tightening on my thigh, her breath hitching not just from sobs.
“He knew,” she murmured finally, pulling back, eyes red-rimmed but fierce. “About us. Everything. He wanted this for me.”
I nodded, throat tight. Tom had been a good man, more than I deserved. And now, with him gone, the rules had shifted. Maurine leaned in, her lips brushing mine, tasting of salt and desperation. “Fuck me, Kevin. Make me feel alive.”
Min’s eyes darkened, and she joined us, her fingers tracing Maurine’s collarbone. The room heated up, the air thick with the musk of arousal cutting through the grief. I kissed Maurine harder, my tongue invading her mouth, while Min’s hand slipped under the robe, cupping a breast, thumb flicking the nipple until Maurine moaned—a low, guttural sound that vibrated against my lips.
We stripped her slowly, the robe pooling like spilled wine on the floor. Her skin was pale, marked by faint stretch marks from years of life, but soft, inviting. I pushed her back onto the couch, knees spreading wide, exposing the wet pink of her cunt, glistening under the dim lamp light. The scent hit me—earthy, aroused, mixed with the faint soap from her morning shower.
“God, you’re soaked,” I growled, dipping a finger in, feeling the slick heat clench around me.
“For you,” she gasped. “Always for you and Min.”
Min knelt between her legs, tongue darting out to taste, lapping at the folds with sloppy, eager strokes. Maurine arched, fingers tangling in Min’s red hair—those wild curls that begged to be pulled. I watched, cock straining against my jeans, the zipper biting into me. The sounds filled the room: wet slurps, Maurine’s whimpers, Min’s soft hums of pleasure.
I freed myself, stroking slow, the velvety skin sliding under my palm, pre-cum beading at the tip. Maurine reached for me, mouth opening wide, and I fed her my cock, inch by inch, until her throat bulged. She gagged, eyes watering, but didn’t pull back—sucking hard, tongue swirling, the suction pulling groans from deep in my chest.
“That’s it, slut,” I rasped. “Suck it like you mean it.”
Min’s fingers joined her tongue, plunging into Maurine, the squelch audible, juices dripping down her chin. Maurine’s hips bucked, muffled cries vibrating around my shaft. The orgasm hit her like a freight train—body convulsing, nails digging into my thighs, a flood of tangy fluid coating Min’s face.
We didn’t stop there. Not even close. Grief twisted into something primal, and we fucked through the afternoon, bodies slick with sweat, the couch creaking under our weight. Min rode my face while Maurine bounced on my cock, their breasts brushing, nipples grazing like sparks. The taste of Min’s pussy—sweet and sharp—exploded on my tongue as she ground down, smothering me in bliss.
By evening, we collapsed in a heap, limbs entangled, breaths ragged. Tom’s death had cracked something open, but in the raw ache, we’d found a fierce connection. Little did I know, it was just the beginning.
Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past 💋
The funeral was a blur of black suits and murmured condolences, the church smelling of polished wood and wilted lilies. Tom lay in his casket, looking smaller than life, his face waxy under the harsh lights. Maurine clung to my arm, her grip bruising, nails painted a defiant red that matched the flush creeping up her neck. Min stood on her other side, a silent sentinel, her green eyes scanning the crowd like she was guarding treasures.
Afterward, at the wake in their sprawling kitchen—that massive space with the butcher’s block island—I poured drinks, the clink of glasses echoing off the tiles. The air was heavy with cigar smoke from Tom’s old golf buddies, their laughter forced, voices gravelly from too many years of bullshit stories.
Maurine pulled me aside into the pantry, the door clicking shut behind us. Shelves lined with jars pressed against my back, the faint spice of cumin and paprika tickling my nose. Her eyes were wild, pupils blown.
“I can’t breathe in there,” she whispered, pressing her body to mine, the heat of her radiating through her dress. “Fuck me here. Now.”
My cock twitched, hardening instantly. “We’re supposed to be grieving,” I said, but my hands were already hiking up her skirt, fingers finding lace panties soaked through.
“Grieving makes me wet,” she hissed, nipping my earlobe, the sting sharp and electric. “Tom would want this.”
I spun her around, bending her over a crate of canned goods, the metal edges digging into her palms. Her ass cheeks spread invitingly, the thong pulled aside to reveal her puckered hole and dripping slit. I spat on my fingers, rubbing the saliva over her asshole, feeling it clench in anticipation.
“You want it rough?” I asked, voice low, unzipping.
“Harder than you’ve ever given it,” she begged, pushing back.
I slammed into her cunt first, the wet slap of flesh on flesh ringing out, her walls gripping me like a vice. She bit her lip to stifle a scream, but it escaped anyway—a throaty moan that made my balls tighten. I pounded her, each thrust jolting her forward, jars rattling on the shelves. The scent of her arousal mingled with the pantry’s dry goods, heady and intoxicating.
Min slipped in then, unnoticed at first, her presence a shadow. She watched, hand down her pants, rubbing circles over her clit. “My turn,” she murmured, voice husky.
I pulled out, slick with Maurine’s juices, and Min dropped to her knees, sucking me clean—tongue tracing veins, lips stretching wide. The taste of Maurine on my skin must have been salty-sweet to her, because she hummed approval, vibrations shooting up my spine.
“Bend over with her,” I commanded Min. She complied, ass next to Maurine’s, both women side by side, pussies exposed like offerings. I alternated, thrusting into one, then the other, the contrast dizzying—Maurine’s plush heat versus Min’s tighter, rippling grip. Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining, moans syncing into a filthy chorus.
“Deeper, Kevin!” Maurine cried, voice cracking. “Fill me up!”
Min gasped, “Yes, fuck us both… make us yours.”
I did, railing them until my thighs burned, sweat dripping down my back, stinging my eyes. When I came, it was explosive—ropes of cum painting their asses, hot and sticky, dripping down thighs. They turned, licking each other clean, tongues delving into folds, the slurping sounds obscene in the confined space.
We emerged flushed, disheveled, but the crowd was too drunk to notice. That night, back at my place, we replayed it all—bodies entwined on my king-sized bed, the sheets tangling like lovers’ limbs. Min’s brand—the scarred mark from Pavel—peeked from under her shirt, a reminder of her darkness, but she rode me with abandon, pussy clenching in waves.
“Tell me about him,” I said later, as Maurine traced patterns on my chest, her nail scraping lightly, sending shivers.
“Pavel?” Min shook her head, eyes distant. “Not yet. But fuck me instead.”
And we did, through the night, chasing away shadows with sweat and screams.
Chapter 3: The Letter’s Secret
Days blurred into a haze of paperwork and whispers. Tom’s will was read in a stuffy lawyer’s office, the air conditioning humming like a distant storm, carrying the faint must of old books. Maurine sat rigid, her hand in mine, knuckles white. Min fidgeted beside her, legs crossed, the hem of her skirt riding up to show a glimpse of thigh.
The lawyer cleared his throat, spectacles glinting. “To Kevin, I bequeath my Jaguar, golf clubs, and… a letter.”
Maurine’s eyes widened as he handed it over, the envelope crisp, Tom’s scrawl on the front. We waited until home, in that kitchen where so much had happened. The butcher’s block gleamed under the lights, a silent witness.
I tore it open, reading aloud, voice steady despite the lump in my throat.
“If you’re reading this, I’ve shuffled off. Don’t let them cry too much. Kevin, you’re a good bloke—honest, even if you fuck my wife like a beast. I knew. Approved. Maurine needs it rough, needs you. And Min… tell her Pavel was a bastard, but she’s free now.”
Maurine sobbed, but there was heat in it. “He knew about Annette too.”
Annette. The assistant at the charity shop, that curvy redhead with the perpetual smirk. I’d seen them together, lingering touches, but never pieced it.
“Bring her here,” Min suggested, eyes gleaming. “We share.”
We called Annette that evening. She arrived hesitant, perfume wafting—jasmine and something darker. But one look at Maurine’s tear-streaked face, and she softened, pulling her into a hug that turned heated fast.
“I’m so sorry,” Annette murmured, but her hands roamed, cupping Maurine’s ass.
“Show me,” Maurine said, voice breaking. “Show me you care.”
Clothes hit the floor in a frenzy, the rustle of fabric loud in the quiet kitchen. Annette’s body was a revelation—full breasts with pierced nipples, silver glinting as they hardened. She pushed Maurine onto the block, spreading her legs wide, the cool wood contrasting her fevered skin.
I watched, cock throbbing, as Annette dove in, tongue flicking clit with expert precision. Maurine’s cries echoed, “Yes, lick it, you dirty bitch!” The taste must have been divine—Maurine’s perpetual wetness, tangy and addictive.
Min joined, kissing Annette deeply, their tongues dueling, saliva trailing. I couldn’t hold back—stripping, I positioned behind Annette, her ass high, pussy exposed and dripping. One thrust, and she yelped into Maurine’s folds, the vibration making Maurine buck.
“Fuck her hard, Kevin,” Maurine panted. “Make her scream on my cunt.”
I did, hips snapping, balls slapping against her. Annette’s walls fluttered, milking me, her moans muffled but intense. The kitchen filled with the symphony: wet smacks, gasps, the creak of the block. Sweat beaded on our skins, salty when Min licked it off my neck.
We rotated, a tangle of limbs. Annette on her back, Min straddling her face, grinding down as I fucked Annette’s tits—soft pillows enveloping my shaft, her tongue darting out to lap pre-cum. Maurine fingered herself watching, then joined, scissoring with Annette, clits rubbing in slick friction.
“Cum with me,” Annette gasped, voice strained. “All of us.”
The climax built like thunder, crashing over us—bodies shuddering, fluids mixing, the air thick with the scent of sex, sharp and primal. We collapsed, panting, Tom’s letter crumpled nearby, his blessing etched in our ecstasy.
Chapter 4: Annette’s Hidden Flames
Annette became a fixture after that, slipping into our rhythm like she’d always belonged. The charity shop closed for “renovations,” but really, it was our playground. One afternoon, the bell tinkled as I locked up, the air inside dim and dusty, shelves of donated clothes casting long shadows.
Maurine was behind the counter, sorting knick-knacks, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to tease cleavage. Min lounged on a stool, legs dangling, while Annette vacuumed, the machine’s whine drowning out the world.
“Turn that off,” I said, flipping the switch. Silence rushed in, broken only by Annette’s heavy breathing.
She straightened, wiping sweat from her brow, the motion lifting her shirt to reveal a lacy bra. “What’s up, boss?”
“You,” Maurine said, hopping down, sauntering over. “On your knees.”
Annette’s eyes lit with mischief. She dropped, the carpet rough under her knees, and unzipped me with eager fingers. My cock sprang free, heavy and veined, and she engulfed it, throat relaxing to take me deep. The suction was vacuum-tight, her gag reflex trained, saliva dribbling down her chin.
“Good girl,” I groaned, hand fisting her hair, guiding her rhythm. The scent of her shampoo—coconut—mixed with the shop’s musty odor.
Min and Maurine stripped, a rustle of clothes, then joined. Min behind Annette, hands spreading her cheeks, tongue probing her asshole, rimming with wet circles. Annette moaned around my dick, vibrations humming through me.
Maurine knelt beside, kissing me fiercely, her tongue tasting of mint gum, sharp and cool. “Watch them,” she whispered. “My sluts.”
I did, thrusting into Annette’s mouth, feeling her throat bulge. Min’s fingers joined her tongue, two plunging into Annette’s pussy, the squelch wet and obscene. Annette bucked, ass clenching, and I pulled out, strings of spit connecting us.
“Bend over the counter,” I ordered. She did, ass high, pussy lips swollen and parted. I entered her in one go, the heat enveloping me, her cry sharp in the empty shop.
“Fuck yes!” she yelled. “Pound me!”
Min climbed onto the counter, pussy in Annette’s face. Annette lapped hungrily, nose buried in red curls, inhaling Min’s musky scent. Maurine fingered herself beside, then reached under to pinch Annette’s clit, rolling it until she screamed into Min’s folds.
The pace built, frantic—my hips slamming, skin slapping, the counter rocking. Sweat slicked us, tasting salty when I licked Annette’s back. Orgasms chained: Annette first, squirting onto the floor in a puddle that smelled of arousal; Min grinding down, flooding Annette’s mouth; Maurine shuddering beside, fingers buried deep.
I pulled out, stroking, cum erupting across Annette’s ass—hot jets painting her skin. We laughed, breathless, collapsing amid the donations, bodies a heap of satisfaction.
But Annette had secrets. Later, over wine in the back room, the glasses clinking softly, she confessed. “Tom knew about me and Maurine. Even watched once. Said it turned him on, even if he couldn’t join.”
Maurine’s eyes softened. “He was kinky like that.”
We toasted to him, then fucked again—slower this time, on the worn couch, exploring every inch. Min’s brand burned under my touch, a scar I kissed, vowing silent revenge on Pavel. The night stretched, filled with whispers and moans, binding us tighter.
Chapter 5: Bound in Ecstasy
The Jaguar purred under me like a contented beast as we cruised the coast road, wind tousling our hair, salt spray kissing our skin. Maurine in the passenger seat, her hand on my thigh, inching higher with each curve. Min and Annette in the back, giggling, their whispers laced with promise.
We’d planned this getaway—Tom’s car a gift turned ritual. A secluded cabin waited, nestled in pines that whispered secrets, the air crisp with resin and earth.
Inside, the fire crackled, casting flickering shadows on log walls, the scent of burning wood warming the chill. We unpacked toys—ropes from my stash, vibrators humming to life, lube glistening like dew.
“Tie me first,” Min begged, stripping naked, her body lithe and marked, nipples erect in the firelight.
I bound her in shibari, ropes biting into pale skin, creating diamond patterns that made her gasp—the rough hemp scratching deliciously. Her arms behind, frog-tied legs spread, pussy exposed and weeping.
“Beautiful,” Annette murmured, tracing the ropes with fingers, then tongue.
Maurine attached the O-ring gag, Min’s mouth stretched wide, drool already pooling. I fitted the plug, twisting it into her ass, the pop audible, her muffled moan vibrating the air.
“Now you,” I said to Maurine, binding her wrists to a beam, body arched, breasts thrust forward. Annette and I took turns—whipping lightly with a flogger, the leather snaps stinging, leaving red welts that bloomed like roses.
“Harder!” Maurine cried, hips writhing.
Annette knelt, vibrator buzzing against Maurine’s clit, the hum mingling with her pleas. I fucked Annette from behind, her face buried in Maurine’s pussy, tongue and toy working in tandem. The tastes blended—Min’s drool, Maurine’s juices—slick and heady.
Min watched, helpless, eyes pleading. I released her plug, replacing it with my cock, the tight ring yielding slowly, her ass clenching in waves. She rocked back, gagged cries desperate.
“Take it all,” I grunted, pounding deep, balls slapping.
We unbound them in turns, a frenzy of release. Annette on all fours, Min fisting her gently, hand disappearing into slick heat, Annette’s screams echoing off walls. Maurine rode my face, grinding, her weight pinning me, thighs quivering around my ears, the musk overwhelming.
Dialogues flew—crude, urgent. “Fuck my ass, Kevin—stretch it wide!” from Annette. “Lick my cum out,” Min demanded, post-orgasm. Maurine: “Piss on me if you want—mark me yours.”
We did everything—no taboos. Golden showers in the tub, warm streams mixing with soap suds, tasting faintly acrid. Fisting, double penetration with toys and cocks, bodies stretched to limits. Sensory overload: the crackle of fire, wet slaps, scents of cum and pine, tastes of skin and fluid, touches from silk-soft to rope-burn rough.
Nights blurred into days, the cabin our den of depravity. Tom’s spirit lingered, approving in our abandon. By week’s end, exhausted, sated, we drove back—bonds forged in fire and flesh, unbreakable.
The life we’d built pulsed with new intensity, a tapestry of loss and lust, weaving us forever.
