Doll Face(54)

“Hurry up, babe. Let's do it. This time, when I start screaming, there won't be any fucking cops to break down the door.” She glances over her shoulder at me, brunette hair sliding across her back as she turns. I don't waste any time following her instructions, unzipping my jeans and sliding the condom down my cock which is already moist, drenched in sweat, saliva, pre-cum.

I climb up on the bed behind Lola, give her bullet wound a passing glance and push it from my mind. If something hurts, she'll tell me.

I put the head of my cock against her heat and she thrusts backward, impaling herself on my shaft as we both groan and collapse together, my balls slapping against her ass as I fuck the shit out of her. I don't hold back. Couldn't even if I wanted to.

“I want you to be mine, Lola,” I tell her, voice quiet but intense. I can taste the desperation in my own words as our bodies slide together and her muscles clamp down tight, trying to make up for the bit of latex that's separating me from her wetness. I want to feel Lola all the fuck over me.

“I want to be,” she whispers, digging her nails into the bedspread, lifting her ass up for a better angle. I pound faster, fuck harder, thrust deeper. “Mark me, baby,” she growls, rocking against me, matching my beat, grinding against me while her pussy clenches in a pulsing rhythm that feels like the world's best song sounds. I drop my head back with a groan, using my hands on Lola's hips to keep myself steady. And hey, if nothing else, this wild little fuck of ours is helping me to appreciate this expensive ass bed that we probably spent way too much on. Fuck you, Paulette Washington, you and your cameras will never see a single second of this. “Slap my ass,” Lola commands in a screechy whisper, one that promises I'll get one of her epic little screams very soon.

“As you wish,” I growl, raising my head back up and appreciating the view before I crack my palm against her cheek and her pussy flexes in response, milking the shit out of my dick. I slap her again, same response. Again, again, again. Until her ass is red and she's whimpering for more, telling me to pull her hair. I wrap my fingers in it and yank back, hard but not hard enough. Shit, I can't wait until she's all healed up. God help her when she is. We'll be fucking like rabbits then. Each and every room of this house is gonna get some.

“Don't stop, Ronnie,” Lola snarls, slamming herself into me as I slap her ass again and enjoy the way it jiggles. Fuck yes. And then the screaming starts, and she's getting so tight I can hardly move inside of her. One of her tattooed arms slides underneath her body and goes for her clit, working it like a machine while I pump inside of her, praying and dreaming about the day I get to shoot my load into her fucking womb. “Ah, FUCK A NUN'S DRY CUNT, that's good,” she moans and then screams, and then moans again.

When Lola comes, she washes my balls and thighs with her hot juices, drenching me as I keep thrusting, slamming her body into the bed while she whimpers and convulses beneath me, muscles tightening and drawing my own orgasm just a moment later.

I explode inside the condom, fill that baby up, and break it.





“You're supposed to leave room in the tip,” I tell Ronnie, flicking him in the junk and smoking my ciggy with post coital satisfaction curling in my belly. Oh yeah, that was nice. Shit, after so long, a boring little missionary screw in the dark would've felt like heaven. But that was so much better. There's nothing I love more than watching Ronnie fuck his drums before he fucks me. A good rut is like gold to me, baby.

“I did leave room in the tip,” he says¸ still sounding a little freaked out. Looks it, too, with his eyes gettin' all buggy. The thick slashes of eyeliner don't help, making his brown eyes look almost as big as mine. “I don't know what happened.”

“You came like a cow and blew a rubber? What the fuck, Ronnie?” Turner says, appearing out of nowhere and pausing next to us with his hands on his hips. At night, the entire property here glows with well-placed lights, strung through the trees and wrapped around the bases of imported palms. It's almost too perfect. I get the chills and have to pinch my own arm to remind my addled brain that I actually live here.

“Shut up, Turner,” he growls, looking fierce for a minute there, getting my poor pussy all wet again. Good thing I wore the soft black panties, one of the few pairs of mine that managed to make it to the mansion. These babies will catch all the happy juices and keep things clean downstairs. I finish my cigarette and drop it on the ground, using my new fuzzy pink heels to crush it out. Maybe I shouldn't be tottering around like a stork in these four inch tall little lovelies, but I can't help it. Lola Rubi Saints is not a wearer of flats, sneakers, sandals, or anything in between. I get that heels are kind of sexist, a little ridiculous, totally impractical. Fuck it.