Amanda Parked by a Halfway House

She undid her seat belt for a better reach. It was the wrong thing to do.

"Damn girl, that's the idea, lean over so I can reach."

"No, the belt was just constricting me," she pleaded.

He grabbed Amanda by her hair and forced her to lean down into his lap, his cock inches away from her mouth. It seemed to be throbbing and flapping loosely. Losing her balance, she prioritized holding it off at length so it didn't come anywhere near her mouth. But as she stabilized herself, she felt her skirt ride up under his rough hand and his middle finger rammed into her hole. She winced in discomfort and reflexively closed her legs to escape his hand, his cock forgotten. As she struggled to settle in, sobbing, his cock nearly slipped into her mouth. She had to close her lips tight so his bucking wouldn't slip between them. She grabbed the base of his cock and pushed it away, making it halfway toward being a stroke.

"That's it nasty girl, now stroke it up and down," he told her.

Her tears drying up, she stroked it slowly up and down in hopes of finishing this and moving on. His cock was inches from her face and she was stroking it slowly and realizing how thick his meat was. Suddenly she realized she was being fingered, and ... she enjoyed it. It felt like unbridled shame. Ignoring the entire context of her situation, this moment was fun, pleasurable. Even exciting. But it was all so wrong, so terrifying, and she didn't want to be here.

His big sausage fingers were sliding in and out of her pussy and she was stroking his big cock and it was so close she could smell it, and his other hand slid in front of her blouse and started playing with her big tits and his left hand pulled out and he smacked her ass so hard it just overwhelmed her senses. Two huge grubby hands pushing and pulling. She was getting a sensory overload.

He took both of his hands and grabbed her tits and squeezed them together, guiding them toward his dick. She let go of his cock and it flopped angrily against his stomach, and then she felt it on her breasts. It happened, her first cock to touch her breasts, slipping between them. He fucked them slowly and his grip was too much, it felt uncomfortable. But his cock kept sliding between her tits staring at her.

His cock was staring her in the face.

Big round cock. Pulsing.

She'd been salivating for minutes.

She moaned a scream in protest as she uncomprehendingly reached forward and put it in her mouth and then slid her lips all the way down to his balls, stuffing it deep in her throat. She'd been salivating for some minutes and it fit right in because she had no gag reflex. She couldn't breathe and she couldn't understand what was happening. She was close to orgasm, his big hands shifted and were now all over her pussy and tits, and she was fucking her own throat with his big nasty cock.

Dear god, she was blowing a sex offender. The thought disgusted her to a point of wanting to forget reality, so she did. But it was so nasty, it made her wet enough to fill a bucket. She cleared her mind of all pesky thoughts and kept blowing him. She was moaning like a whore while doing it, and she felt the thigh highs strangle her legs as he fingered her, reminding her of the earlier assessment.

She was now sure of what wearing thigh highs felt like. They defined an unprotected hole between her legs. Not just that, they advertised it. Advertised! It was all her fault.

Both of his hands grabbed her hair and started pulling her rhythmically down onto his cock, now fucking her mouth. She let it happen, feeling stupid for the hideously vulnerable situation she got herself in, and worse yet, knowing that she fully deserved it. Her hand slipped between her legs and she started rubbing her clit in circles, feeling an orgasm close by. She didn't try to reason why.

"You stupid whore, I'm going to blow my load," he yelled at her while fucking her mouth mercilessly.

Amanda felt she deserved it. She deserved all of this. She stole tiny breaths through her nose when she could and just let her mouth and throat get jackhammered by an old guy.

He came.

She swallowed it all greedily.

She tasted him and swallowed the spurts, tangy cum flavoring all of her existence. She moaned like a dumb whore as she was doing it and much later realized she was orgasming as well at the time. He stopped guiding her head and she figured he didn't want her to move so she just froze in place with a hard cock in her mouth, waiting for it to deflate. As this happened, she felt something bizarre. A sense of ownership, or being owned. He shot a load of cum in her mouth and despite the circumstances under which it happened, she was now his. She could taste him, so she belonged to him. She was a bitch, meant for fucking. She stayed in place waiting for his cock to deflate and swallowed the late remnants of jizz as it happened. Like a good bitch. Minutes went by.

Finally, he pushed her away and zipped himself up, then walked out and disappeared in a side alleyway like nothing ever happened.

Amanda wondered what to do next. She looked herself in the mirror and aside from patches of ruffled hair, there were no marks. She wondered if she should call the police and where from. She thought she shouldn't have swallowed it all.

But she did. And then she called no one.

She drove home and reflected on what happened. She forgot the frozen chicken and when she found it the next day, it stank to high heaven. For now, she just sat on their bed and emptied her mind. Some hours later her husband came home and she realized she was still disheveled, her hair still a mess, her skirt torn in places, her bra still loose. Her husband walked in after work and was stumped at what he was seeing.

"Amanda...?" he asked.

She came out of her reverie fast and realized she didn't so much as gargle with mouthwash since coming home. She picked her lies and decided there was nothing she could say to him with any conviction. Instead of replying, all she did was turn around to face away and then bent over the bed. She hiked up her skirt and showed him the thigh highs she was wearing. No underwear. No words need be spoken. One nylon had slipped down lower than the other, but the unprotected hole they defined was there, and her husband immediately understood. She heard him unzip and he started jackhammering her pussy like never before.

"What's gotten into you," he wondered and then didn't care after feeling how wet she was. She was never this wet, and she never wore sexy things for him. But now she did, and it was a pleasant surprise. Within minutes he came, and she walked right in the shower not saying a word. On the way there, she dumped the thigh highs into a waste basket. She could still taste cum in her mouth and after staring at herself in the mirror for a few minutes, reluctantly reached for Scope. Even after the shower, her husband's jizz was still running down her leg.

That night he slept like a log. She spent the night reliving the fucked-up experience and playing with herself, fingering her pussy. It did nothing for her but tease her- she needed to rub her clit to orgasm, but she wasn't in a hurry. She was such a stupid whore, she thought, squandering all the nice things in life to carelessly land herself in a dangerous situation and then, of all the things, purposely stuff her mouth with a stranger's cock. It threw away the legitimacy of all her prior protests.

She got up off the bed and fished the thigh highs out of the garbage, putting them on. She felt the familiar pressure around her legs, the elastic bands letting her know what she was wearing. She then pulled covers off the bed and slid next to her husband, leaning over to blow him. He woke up in seconds and didn't understand what was happening at first.

"Gary, I want you to grab my hair and fuck my mouth," she told him.

"Amanda, what..."

"Please Gary, just do it. Finger me and fuck my mouth, just please do it."

He did. As he did, she relived the experience in the minivan and recalled the taste of the old man's cum. Swallowing it felt like failure, like humiliation, and this time she was trying to erase it all by purposely doing it, by recreating the situation in her head. She goaded him to get rougher, but her husband was worthless in that. This wasn't helping at all. She still felt tainted and ruined. She remembered the danger of being threatened with a knife she never saw. Too ominous to ignore, but what if there wasn't a knife nearby? Did that make her a naive whore? Did she want a knife to exist? Which scenario was worse?

"Gary I want you to cum all over my tits," she asked him between getting her mouth fucked and trying to breathe. She soon held them up for him and watched him hammer between them in fascination.

Within minutes, he obliged. She didn't try to swallow any of it.

Her routine was off. She skipped the gym over the next few days, and even skipped grocery shopping. All her chores. Her husband felt like ordering food out was a good substitute for his wife becoming more adventurous in bed, so he didn't complain. She was all over the chart, giving him a blowjob in the minivan, riding him in the seat. She even let him tie her up once and fuck her holes while she took it quietly. All of them. Overall, she stopped thinking, and just didn't want to think. She wanted to feel. That's all she wanted in a long while, she realized.

Week after the incident, she made her husband remove the rear seats from the minivan, for bulk shopping, she told him. It was time to restock.

Before she drove off, she placed yoga mats on the floor in the back. She then drove over to Chestnut street and parked, and waited. She left her underwear and bra on the passenger floorboard, next to a coil of thick rope. A carrot, this time. And this time, she had expensive Cuban nylons on along with a matching garter belt, and knew a faster way to the alley. Whoever that guy was, did he really live in that house, she wondered?

She started rubbing her pussy lips just the way she liked it and waited.