Fuck Me In My New Lingerie

Peel My Panties to the Side and Fuck Me in My New Lingerie

Fuck me in my new lingerie is the only sentence looping in my skull while you, my sweet cuck, kneel at the foot of the bed fully clothed, cock already twitching against your zipper.“Look at me,” “Look how this tiny thong disappears between my lips.” A slow pivot shows you the string soaked, clinging to my slit. “Smell that?” “That’s real arousal, baby. Not for you. For him.” The door clicks. In walks Marcus, tall, thick, sleeves rolled, belt already unhooked. He doesn’t speak; he simply smirks at you, then devours me with his eyes. “Tell him,” Marcus growls, palm sliding under my bra to pinch a stiff nipple.

“Tell your husband what you need.” Locking eyes with you, “Fuck me in my new lingerie. Rip it off with your teeth if you want… Oh, wait, that privilege isn’t yours tonight.” Marcus shoves me facedown, ass high. The camera on the nightstand red-blinks, recording every second for your later torment. He peels the crotch of my panties aside; the fabric snaps softly, a teasing preview of destruction. “Hold her ankles,” he orders you.

Fuck me in my new lingerie! Ruin it, wreck me

Trembling, you obey, fingers circling my heels, feeling my calves flex as Marcus drags his fat crown up and down my dripping cunt. “Beg,” he tells me. “Please, fuck me in my new lingerie. Stretch this little married pussy until every thread of lace is painted with your precum.” One brutal thrust and he’s buried to the hilt. The gusset of my thong strains, fabric rubbing your knuckles while you grip my legs.

Each slam rocks me forward; my tits spill over the balconette cups, nipples grazing the sheets. “Louder,” Marcus grunts. “Fuck me in my new lingerie! Ruin it, wreck me, make me drip down the inside of these stockings!” You watch, inches away, as his shaft glistens with my cream, as the lace edge scrapes his length on every withdrawal.

Crawl between my trembling thighs

Your own dick leaks a wet patch through your slacks; you’re forbidden to touch. He flips me, straps of the bra snapping loose under his force. My back arches, hips snapping up to meet him. The delicate embroidery that you paid for yesterday rubs raw against my skin, exactly what I crave. “Tell hubby where you want this load,” he sneers. I grab your collar, yank you closer, breathe hot against your cheek: “Fuck me in my new lingerie until he floods me.

Then you’ll lick every drop out of these ruined threads while I ride your face, got it?” Marcus roars, slamming deep. Hot pulses spurt, filling, marking, owning. The lingerie, my pretty gift, sticks to me, drenched inside and out. He pulls out, creamy ropes webbing the lace.

Your mouth opens automatically; he wipes himself across your lips like a signature. “Clean her.” On command, you crawl between my trembling thighs, tongue sliding along the soiled fabric, tasting him, tasting me, tasting the price of your denial. (Never did I think Fucking My Best Friend’s Husband would be so gratifying) I grind against your face, ruined bra hanging off one shoulder, and whisper the last words you’ll hear tonight: “Next week I’m buying blue… and you’ll beg all over again: Fuck me in my new lingerie.”

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