I’m standing here, staring into the mirror, still not my friend—red hair, a wild snarl from nights I can’t sleep, a gnawing ache I can’t kill. My 32C breasts hang loose under a threadbare tee, nipples sharp against it, sparked by a fire that’s been licking at me since that alley. 

Scars and stretch marks carve my skin, but they’re battle scars now—I’m still kicking, still craving. That red mess down below always wet, a want Dave doesn’t see.

He’s a clockwork man—breakfast, couch, snores—but I’m not frozen anymore. That first night split me open, and I’m after more.

The shelter’s my ground now. I grab late shifts, skirt creeping up my thighs, top clinging tight, nipples brushing the edge of decent. 

Church chatter’s just noise—Mary Beth and Ellen can mutter all they want; I’m locked on the hard faces filing past, dark eyes catching mine like hooks. 

Getting caught still bites at me, but it’s a thrill, my blood pounding low every time I drift to the dark corners. 

That first guy’s dust, but the heat he left has me stalking, hungry for the next burn. It sneaks up slow. 

I spot Darius—lanky, all sinew, with a quiet menace that twists my insides. He’s always there, hauling crates, long fingers wrapping the edges, eyes roaming me when I lean over the counter, mapping my hips, my chest. 

One night he slides by, shoulder brushing my arm, voice a low rasp. “You’ve got a fire, don’t you?” It’s gravel in my bones, a shiver snaking down. I laugh it off, but I’m slick, my head spinning—what if Ellen catches that spark?

A week later, it blows up. I’m in the shelter bathroom after hours, skirt hitched, panties at my knees, peeing in the stall, the hiss loud in the dead quiet. 

Thinking I am there alone, the door is half-open. Then it bangs wide, and Darius steps in, lock clicking shut. My heart slams, heat flooding me as I finish, still bare, his bulk eating the room—dirt, musk, danger. 

“Caught you right,” he growls, voice thick, closing the gap, shadow swallowing me as I stagger up, panties tangling my ankles. I could scream, run, but my breath’s stuck, my core tight—I don’t move. 

His hands grab my hips, rough as hell, yanking my skirt higher, testing me. 

“Say no,” he mutters, fingers skimming my slit, and I shake, Ellen’s face flashing—what if she’s out there?

I don’t say it. He grins, dark and cocky, ripping my panties off, letting them flop, my pussy exposed—red curls soaked, lips fat and dripping, shining in the ugly light. 

He stares, eyes narrowing, drinking it down. “Jerome said he fucked you raw—didn’t lie about this hot little gash,” he snarls, fingers diving in—two, then three—spreading my wet mess, the sloppy sound bouncing off the walls. 

I choke a moan, legs trembling, nipples jabbing my tee as I clutch the stall. 

“Damn, you’re begging for it,” he rasps, unzipping, cock swinging out—sleek, dark, heavy, tip oozing. 

My mouth waters, but he’s spinning me, bending me over the sink, ass up, skirt a wad. 

The mirror shows my flushed face, tits bouncing as he nudges in, thick head splitting me. I gasp, walls clamping, and he drives deep, a raw stretch ripping a cry from me, loud in the tiled echo.

He pounds me steady, each thrust rocking me, my clit grinding the sink’s edge, jolts shooting through. 

His hands bruise my hips, his balls slap my thighs, wet and hard, sweat beading on my neck. 

“You’re made for this,” he grunts, thumb circling my ass, then pressing in, tight hole giving way, a dirty thrill soaking me more. I’m panting, lost in the muck of it, the risk of Ellen’s voice—or worse—making me drip. 

“Gonna fill you up,” he growls, and I could pull away, but I don’t—just push back, whining, clit screaming as he slams deep, unloading hot and thick, flooding me. 

I break, shaking, my core gripping him, a savage climax ripping through, his cum leaking down my thighs as he pulls out, the air thick with our stink.

He’s gone quick, leaving me a wreck—skirt hiked, thighs slick, panties crumpled on the floor. I snatch them, wipe the mess off my skin, my chewed lips, and shove them in the trash, heart banging—what if Mary Beth digs around? 

I stumble home, his load still seeping, wired raw, knowing Dave’s out cold, clueless, while I slip into bed, fingers chasing that high, replaying every thrust, fear and need tangled tight.

A week later, I’m wound up, Darius’s mark still burning—not his cum, but the memory, the risk seared in. 

Dave’s restless tonight, pacing the living room, grumbling under his breath. 

I’m electric, that night’s heat still alive, and I can’t hold it—I need to play him. “Sit,” I purr, nudging him to the couch, fingers grazing his fly with a sly smile. 

He squints, wary, but drops down, letting me unzip, his small white cock limp till I touch it. I stroke slow, slicking it with spit, voice teasing. 

“Dave, ever wonder about wives slipping off for some fun?”

He shifts, shaft twitching. “Yeah—someone at church messing around?” he grunts, and I grin, sliding my grip tighter, teasing the base. 

“Maybe. What if they’re chasing big, rough black guys—loaded with more than you’d guess?” 

His breath snags, cock jerking fast. “That’s crazy,” he mutters, half-denying, and I lean in, fingers dancing along his length, voice thick with hint. 

“Imagine me sneaking out—your naughty, dirty little wife, sampling something wild while you’re here. Would that get you hard?”

He groans, a bead of precum shining. 

“Susan, you wouldn’t dare,” he scoffs, but his hips shift, and I tilt my head, stroking smooth, letting him stew. 

“What if I’ve been itching for it? Some client at the shelter, tall, dark, hung to wreck me?” 

His cock throbs, eyes narrowing. “You’re messing with me,” he insists, voice shaky, but he’s leaning closer, and I slow my hand, teasing his tip, stretching it out. 

“Maybe not—picture him catching me alone, bending me over, giving me what you’ve never touched. Want the dirty truth?”

“Fuck, spill it,” he rasps, leaking heavy, hips rocking, denial crumbling. I ease my touch, dragging it slow, voice dripping heat. 

“Last week, Darius found me in the bathroom, skirt up, peeing—shoved me against the sink, fucked me till my legs gave out.” His breath staggers, cock pulsing hard. 

“No way—what’d his… cock look like?” he snaps, and I smirk, pumping lazy, teasing. 

“Long, thick, dark—veins bulging, tip wet, a real beast next to your little toy.” He shudders, moaning. 

“You touch it?” he presses, and I nod, fingers circling his head. 

“Felt it stretch me—hard, hot, nothing I’d ever give you.”

He’s panting, resisting. “You suck it?” he chokes, and I grin, stroking firmer, thumb brushing his slit. 

“Not yet—too busy taking it deep, but I’d choke on it for him, swallow every inch.” His hips buck, precum smearing my hand. 

“He fuck your ass?” he gasps, eyes wild, and I laugh low, teasing more. 

“Just a thumb this round—stretched me raw, but he could’ve, and I’d have begged—things you’ve never even tried.” He whines, denial slipping. 

“No condom?” he asks, voice cracking, and I speed up, voice sultry. 

“Nope—bare, hot, flooded me deep—I’m still fertile, Dave, good shot I’m knocked up.”

“Christ,” he groans, shaking. “You’re serious—pregnant?” he stammers, and I nod, gripping tight, teasing the edge. 

“Yeah—took it all, loved it; might be carrying a black baby now, and we’ll see soon.” 

His eyes flare, cock jerking. “What’d he do?” he begs, and I pump faster, heat rising, imagining Darius pinning me again, his sweat on my skin. 

“Fucked me stupid, fingered my ass—came so hard I blanked, his load running down my thighs, sticky and warm.” 

He’s moaning loud, thrusting into my fist. “You’re okay with this?” I purr, and he nods, ragged. 

“Fuck yes—gets me off, my little dick’s nothing next to that.” 

I grin, milking him. “Cuckold now—hard for me bred black?”

“Yes,” he grunts, and he snaps—his small cock spasms, spraying thick, more cum than I’ve ever seen from him, hot ropes splashing my hand, his body bucking as he unloads, groaning my name. 

“Damn,” I breathe, draining him, marveling at the mess slicking my palm, sticky between my fingers. 

He’s heaving, staring at me, spent. 

“If you’re… pregnant, what then?” 

I tease, sly, and he gasps, cock twitching. “We’d deal with it—keep spilling for me.” He is hooked. 

I smear his load on his thigh, smirking. “Next time, it will be a fresh and nasty load, Dave.”

He nods, dazed, trapped. I leave him there, buzzing, Darius’s fire still smoldering, Dave’s new craving echoing loud. Morning’s close, and I’m thinking of my next shift.