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Alegra Verde
He thought to punish her, but she was slick with need. So, he surged forth, the eager head of his penis ramming and thudding against her welcoming womb. Her thighs tightened around his. She mewled into his ear, the heat of her breath a caress, her fingers on his shoulders tugging the stiff cut of his suit coat tighter over his shoulders. He could feel the cloth, taut, straining against the skin and muscle of his arms and back, the sleeves pulling, trying to restrain him. The seams could rip, the jacket could tear straight down the center for all he cared, but he wasn’t going to stop.
His fingers clutched the firm flesh of her ass, trying to hold her steady for hi
s assault, but she squirmed. The wet lips of her sex gripped him tight, hugging, holding him as he tried to pull away in preparation for another thrust. With her eager little pussy lapping at him, he couldn’t bear to pull too far out. He pushed forward again into the lava-coated cavern. Eyes closed and mouth open, she ground herself against him, even as a tear slid over her cheek. He licked it off and covered her mouth with his, his tongue claiming all that it touched in a wild siege.
Suddenly, her eyes opened and she sucked on his tongue as her sex quivered around his straining cock. She raised her haunches higher and he lurched forward, sinking further into her, onto her, his chest heavy on the cushion of her breath. The tie that he had tugged loose because he couldn’t breathe when he’d first entered the church was suddenly far too tight.
Then she was on top. His head was pressed into the aging, wine-colored carpet. She was riding him, sliding her heat up and down the sensitive skin of his pulsing rod as the soft pads of her ass slapped against his straining balls every time her hot, wet pussy slid down his cock, taking him completely; the slick lips sliding against his groin in a musky kiss.
Her dress must have felt confining, too, because she was pulling the slinky black fabric up like she wanted it off now. As she did, she exposed a line of thigh, the deep side curve of her waist, the flatness and the dimple at the pit of her stomach, and then the plump mound of her pussy with its sparse, dark curls as she slid forward. He held on to her hips, his grip increasing as he watched her tightness consume him.
There was a fleeting glimpse of the rounded underside of her high breasts, then the fullness of glowing skin, nipples tight and puckered, eggplant purple against her smooth brown skin as she pulled the slip of black cloth over her head. She pressed forward, taking him in again, her pussy swallowing his heat, her juices flowing free, her nether lips making a smacking sound.
He was so hard he couldn’t breathe, the slide of her tight, wet sex down his an aching bliss. His hands caught the curve of her thigh, the dip of her waist, stroked the flat of her stomach as he strained toward her, lifting to meet her as she leaned in to him, surging forward. Her body was hot and he wanted to cover her, to feel her beneath him, to bury himself face-first in the sweet heat of her searing body.
A hand at her back and another cupping her ass, he rolled her over onto her back before she could toss the dress away. The sheath of black trailed off one of her arms, obscuring a hand as he pounded into her, the long, hard length of him pinning her down, legs splayed and arms flailing. His hips and thighs surged forward, forcing her thighs wider. Nearly oblivious to the rub of the coarse hair that peppered his thighs as it grated against the tender skin of her inner thighs, she squeezed, contracting her muscles around his length, tightening and tugging as he surged forward. His swollen flesh burned and rasped against her walls. The stiff muscle of his sex pounded and lashed even as it grew, lengthening and becoming more inflexible as it rubbed and stroked her sensitive inner flesh. Her mouth opened as buds of heat ignited trails of light until she was consumed. Deep in her throat, a sound fought the waves of heat, trying to come forth as she bathed his cock in her come. He jerked within her, trying to surge forward again, but it was a wild push as his penis twitched, spurting seed and spraying her walls until he finally slid forward, seating himself fully within her to spend the last long rush against the base of her womb as he collapsed onto her.
“Bitch,” he said a long while later as he pulled himself up, staggering as he rose to stand over her. He wasn’t sure what he meant by it, only that now, after that, after some of the best sex he’d ever had, he was angry. When she said nothing, he reached for a neatly folded altar cloth that rested alone on a nearby table. After using one of its pristine ends to wipe at the shiny wetness that coated his spent penis, he began to right his clothes. He dropped the cloth into her lap and then pulled his shorts up over his still damp sex and stuffed his shirt into his pants. With a soft sardonic chuckle, she closed her legs and pulled the dress back over her head. She sat on the floor in a sprawled heap like a once well loved but newly discarded rag doll. The skirt of her dress was rucked up around her hips, and other than the short laugh, she was silent.
“You didn’t even wear any panties?” It was more accusation than question.
“Like that would have stopped you,” she spoke to her lap.
“You’ve always been a whore.” He meant it as a slap, but she didn’t seem to feel it, so he continued. “Dressing like a puta, breasts hanging out, and those sly looks across the dinner table. Even that first day, the first day he brought you home.”
She laughed again, the same mocking sound.
“You never loved him. Why did you marry him?”
“I loved him.”
“Then how could you seduce me, his brother?”
“Seduce?”
“Look, Mígda. He’s been dead less than a week and you come here in that dress with no panties, and no bra.”
When she didn’t respond, he nudged her with the toe of his shoe. “How could you come here dressed like some brazen whore?”
She looked up at him as though searching for something, but when she realized he expected an answer, she said in a voice almost too low to hear, “I don’t like bras. They’re too tight, and I didn’t want to have a panty line under my dress.”
He smirked, “Puta, I told him not to marry you. Coming from that family, what could anybody expect?”
She righted herself, smoothing the dress down, and as discreetly as possible, used an unsoiled end of the cloth to wipe away the wetness between her thighs before putting on her shoes, a pair of black high heels. Then she wrapped the altar cloth into a manageable heap and dropped it back onto the table. He watched silently as she tried to right herself. The high heels made the muscles in her legs clench. In that dress, with those shoes, her ass seemed to ride higher, to plump up. She smoothed the dress down over her hips again. It really wasn’t very revealing. In truth, it was rather demure with its modest V-neck, but the faux wrap at her waist made the dip at the small of her back incredibly tempting. He wanted to put his hand there.
His groin tightened again. “Shit.” He’d just had her; the bitch was a bruja. She ran her fingers through her dark, straight, shoulder-length hair. It was a good cut and fell easily back into place. She looked like the good, Catholic, grieving widow again with the tiny golden cross just below her throat, but he knew she wore nothing beneath that slip of black cloth. He knew what those breasts looked like without the covering, that they rode high and buoyant without aid. The image of her nipples, the dark purplish shade they became when they were aroused and puckered, assailed him. His penis rose and twitched anew when he remembered how she’d bathed him in her wet heat when she’d come. He could smell her, not just the fertile scent of her sex, but also the subtle sweetness of some flower as the cologne she wore heated against her skin. He was covered in that scent.
“Puta,” he said again to her back as he willed his stiff cock to quiet.
“You’ve always been an asshole, Julio. Luis was sick a long time, and I never fooled around. I was there for him. Even through that long, horrible sleep.”
Another tear. He wanted to taste that, too. He wanted to follow its trail down her cheek with the tip of his tongue.
“You’ve always tried to tempt me, even before Julio got sick.”
“That’s a lie.”
