Charles the Cuck 5
James goes to town on Alda's Mouth while Charles watches
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Alda had never expected the message she received from the so-called king of the prison. It came to her attached with a picture of her husband, sleeping, curled up in his bunk, and on it came the threatening warning: He only sleeps this good because he, and you, do what the King says."
The following message arrived, asking for more nudes, less tasteful this time, with her legs spread, squatting. She couldn't bring herself to look at the camera.
The subsequent demand said that he wanted to see her mouth. She covered her face.
The next demanded that she show off her ass.
She capitulated, but the whole time she performed the cleaning ritual, she felt dirty, even after sending that image. But surely, this would be the end of it all.
“Next, we meet. Dress slutty."
The message came with a time. Her heart raced as she saw a different image of her darling Charles sleeping. It couldn't be helped. She would have to come in. She would have to serve the king.
And that's how she got into James's Cell, dressed like a whore with her mouth wrapped around the large shaft of the larger, older man.
Alda coughs, tears running down her eyes as she takes in that salty, bumpy thing, her mascara running as she stares upward, her lips forced down by the calloused hand on the back of her head, forced to kiss at his base, the head poking at the back of her throat.
Alda coughs, gagging on the large thing, spit falling on the sides of the shaft.
He finally lets go, allowing her to press her hands to his knees and pull away. The foamy mix of spit and precum sticks on his dick, bridging between the two of them and dripping down to the floor and onto her chest.
“Damn, girl. Been a while since I got a deep throat from someone. You're something else, indeed." He pets the back of her head. “Keep it up this good, and I may just give your husband the VIP treatment—make him my right-hand man and all that shit. He'll be treated like a prince and shit."
She coughs, wiping her throat, responding to him with hoarse breaths only.
“Aw, no need to be shy. Now, why don't you worship these balls of mine," he says, pushing his hips forward. His cock smushes up against her nose and up over her face, keeping herself from seeing anything but overwhelming her sense of smell with his musk and the fluids they made together.
She whimpers, holding onto his hips. She rolls her tongue out, pulling one of those large, sweaty balls into her mouth, wrapping it in her pillowy and crimson-colored lips. She forces her eyes shut as she sucks on the sack, her whole body shuddering, forcing herself not to wretch at what she has to do.
James groans, his cock twitching, his hand holding tighter to the back of her head. “Damn…" He huffs, letting out a low, bellowing groan. “You really are a whore. Does your husband know?"
He chuckles, “I guess he will know because we're recording this whole thing.
Alda yelps, pulling back from the ball with a pop, pushing herself away, falling onto her back, and staring at the man with wide eyes. She wipes her lips, shaking her head. “N-no, I am not a whore!" she gasps.
James sits on the bed, resting his cheek upon his knuckles, his elbow upon his thigh. “Hah, coulda fooled me, what with how you look and how you suck dick like your life depends on it."
“My husband's life depends on it," she says, spitting on the floor.
“How noble," James says. He slaps his knees, picking himself back up. He walks over, squatting in front of her face and grabbing her by the hair. “If you insist you're doing this for him, then you gotta try to have a little less fun, don't you think?'
She blushes crimson at the accusation, but she doesn't respond to him. She won't give him the satisfaction or entertain the idea that he's telling the truth. Either way, it's not something she can process right now, and it's not something Charles, who is watching this exchange after the fact, can hope to get the answer soon.
James grabs her hair and yanks, pulling her toward the bed. She has to follow him and fall onto her back, her head dangling off the side. From this angle, he can step up right in front of her face and demand her to “open your mouth, bitch."
When she does, he has such easy access to her mouth and her throat that when he thrusts, he can fuck her face without fear of slamming into the back of her mouth. Instead, he clogs her airway, spreading her throat, showing off the bulge of his monster member as he slaps into her, the sounds that come out of the room coming out as slapping wetness and gurgling gasping.
It is a horrid sound, but it is such a sound coming out of Charles's Alda. Neither of them knew they could produce such a thing. Alda never learned from her marital life that she could feel such roughness and experience such sensations.
“Don't you go fallin' in love now, James says, hand on her collar, pulling his cock back. It oozes onto her nose and cheeks. “After all, I have more fuckin' ways to destroy you and your body."
She groans.
“Next, you better have made for fuck sure you took care of that ass."
“I… I took care of my ass!" Alda groans, lying on the floor, her chest and face against the ground, her hips high in the air. She quivers, closing her eyes.