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Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies Novel Cover

Six-Nine Dripping Fantasies

**WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT 21+** + + My name doesn't matter. My filthy urges do. I came home from work. The bedroom door was half open. My husband was there, pounding into some woman on our bed, his c**k slamming in and out, deep and rough. I should have screamed. Instead my p**sy clenched hard. I stood frozen, watching every thrust. My hand slipped under my skirt on its own. Fingers circled my cl*t as he f**ked her right in front of me. He glanced over. "You like watching my c**k stretch her?" I rubbed faster. "Don't stop," I whispered. Then I came shaking, eyes locked on him pounding her. *** 69 Dripping Fantasies is sixty-nine raw taboo stories. Wives catching husbands cheating and getting soaked instead of angry. Step-family secrets whispered in quiet. Glory holes that fill fast. Honeymoon wife swaps sparked by one dumb dare. Older rich men taking total control. Professors crossing every forbidden line. Husband's best friends sneaking in. Strangers who follow, then f**k hard. Group nights in dark clubs. Cucks cleaning up every last drop. *** I'm on my knees. One thick c**k buried deep in my throat, making me gag. The woman behind me squeezes my t*ts until it hurts so good. Her tongue between my ass, teasing, no c**k has filled my p**sy or a*s yet. But I'm trembling, dripping, seconds from squirting everywhere. Two massive black c**ks wait their turn, and her presence makes it filthier... hotter. I never knew I craved this so badly. *** No soft romance. Just dirty yeses where no should be. Sixty-nine stories. Sixty-nine surrenders. Read if you're brave. These pages might leave you wet, jealous, horny... or secretly think of your own filthy fantasies when nobody's watching. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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Chapter 2

I don't know what got into me, but I came. Even knowing the sinful thoughts I had about her husband, I still did.

Millie had sent me the address, and the party was surprisingly empty. Just Millie, her husband, and a man she said was her husband's friend. Right now we were seated at the dining table having dinner.

"Oh stop," Millie said playfully as her husband's friend tried to feed her with his spoon. I noticed the two were very close, and yeah, the only thing keeping me busy was thoughts of my shitty life, minimum-wage bullshit, how alone I was.

Everything was going okay. My method of not thinking about the BBC of a married man was actually working... up until I felt a hand on my leg. I nearly jumped. When I looked up, Lucan was staring right at me. He winked. I quickly turned to his wife, but she seemed occupied with his friend.

Lucan's hand didn't leave my leg. Instead it slowly dragged up my thigh. I was wearing a long skirt with a matching top, I chose long for a specific reason, but he didn't seem to mind now, and weirdly his touch felt good. Too good.

For a second I closed my eyes as my heart started racing. His hand circled higher, fingers brushing the edge of my panties under the tablecloth.

The table hid everything, but the danger of his wife being two feet away made my clit throb harder than it should have. Then it clicked his wife was literally sitting with us. I stood up fast and excused myself, saying I was headed to the bathroom, the one she'd shown me earlier.

Inside, I went straight for the sink and splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wake up from the lust. But the door opened. The person I was both afraid and dying to see stepped in.

"It's occupied, hehe..." I said nervously.

He just looked at me, closed the door behind him, and locked it. I almost moved, but he strode toward me, staring like I was a little kitten he was about to devour. My pussy clenched so hard I almost came again right there.

"I know you feel it too," he said, now standing right in front of me. He brought one hand up and rested it on the side of my face. I tried not to look in his eyes, so I looked down, and there it was. His trousers were bricked up, the thick outline straining against the fabric. I couldn't look away. I could literally see the shape of it through there, heavy and ready. My heart stopped. "You can touch it."

"I..." I wanted to. So I did. I dropped to my knees and felt it through the cloth first, hot, thick, pulsing under my palm. Then, needing to see it for real, I quickly undid his zip and pulled it out. I literally gasped.

It was beautiful. Made my tits ache and go rock-hard instantly. The musky dick smell hit me like a drug. That little visible slit on the tip was already glistening. The pale blue veins stood out even more now, thick and angry as it throbbed in my hand. My heart stopped again.

"Take it," he whispered. I didn't hesitate. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took the tip first. The salty pre-cum taste exploded on my tongue and made me go crazy.

I pushed forward, forcing as much as I could until it hit the back of my throat. I gagged hard. "Ohh," he groaned, reaching for my head. He guided me, fucking my mouth slow at first, then deeper. It was too huge, my jaw ached, spit ran down my chin, dripping onto my tits as I coughed and sputtered around it.

"Oh my god," I gasped, pulling off for air, strings of saliva connecting my lips to his cock. "It's so big."

"And it will all go in you," he said, voice low and sure. My pussy clenched so hard it hurt. He told me to stand. I did. He looked me up and down. "Little white slut." I wasn't even offended, for this cock I'd be anything. "I love fucking white women," he said, eyes stripping me bare.

Then, without warning, he yanked me closer. I thought it was a kiss, but instead he growled, "Open your mouth." I did. I stuck my tongue out. He spat right on it, thick and warm. I swallowed fast. That filthy act turned me on so much my thighs were slick.

He ripped my top open, and went straight for my boobs, sucking one nipple hard while his big hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my head spin. I moaned loud, legs quivering, pressure building fast in my core.

"Ahh." I bit my bottom lip, not able to take it. My whole body was shaking.

"Now tell me," he said against my boob, teeth grazing the nipple, "where do you want me to fuck you?"

I almost screamed 'Right here' because I just wanted him to ram it in and fill me up. But he pulled back, leaving me panting and desperate, my ripped top hanging off me, skirt and panties still on.

"Why not make this even hotter?" he said. I was still lost in the after-feel of his tongue and teeth on my tits. "Why don't I fuck you on my matrimonial bed?"

"That would be... hot," I admitted. Just the thought of him pounding me on the bed he shared with his wife, on their sheets, surrounded by her smell, made me shamelessly wetter.

The wrongness, the taboo of it, had me ready to squirt right there on the bathroom floor. My mind flashed to her perfume on the pillows, her lipstick on the headboard, and how I was about to ruin it all with her husband's cock buried balls-deep in me.

I thought he was joking, until he lifted me up. We were a mess: me topless but still in my skirt, him no trousers but shirt still on. He threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and carried me upstairs to their bedroom. While he climbed the steps, I stared down at his back, broad, toned, muscles flexing under his shirt, and it made him even sexier.

We reached the bedroom. He threw me onto the bed. The mattress smelled like both of them, her lotion, his sweat, their sex. Instead of grossing me out, it made my pussy throb harder. I yanked my panties down fast, legs spread, waiting.

"You'll never forget this day," he whispered, unbuttoning his shirt slow, eyes locked on my bare tits and dripping cunt.

He was right. I didn't even want to forget this day. Looking at him, huge black cock bobbing, thick and veiny, ready to wreck me, I was sure this was about to be the best fuck of my life.

But just as I finished that thought, the door opened. Millie stepped in.

I jumped off the bed, scrambling to cover my boobs with my arms, heart slamming. "I swear it's not what it looks like," I blurted the universal lie.

Damn.

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