Kinky ebony slut sporting fishnets and a leather-based high is facefucked tough CFNM
The pounding bass of the music reverberated through the dimly lit room as a pair of toned, mahogany legs materialized from the shadows. Ankle-to-thigh, the shapely gams were sheathed in crisscrossed black fishnet, a feisty tease enticing all who laid eyes on them to touch, to stroke, to worship. Heels clicked on the wood floor, the telltale tapping signaling the approach of seduction. And when the mystery vixen reached a panel of bright lights, the crowd could see her in all her sinful glory.
Bound in a lustrous leather corset that cinched her small waist, the woman’s full, natural breasts threatened to spill out of the constricting top. Her tight, round ass spoke of endless hours at the gym and was framed by a pair of dangerously high cut, glistening leather hot pants. Covering her shapely shoulders was a sleeveless denim jacket, a statement piece sure to draw appreciative looks. The ensemble was completed by a dramatic pair of cat-eye black shades and a sky blue hair band worn deceptively angelically in her inky black tresses. An ebony goddess raised from the depths of fantasy, she was the woman you wanted and the woman you’d worship.
Consumed by the captivating sight, few noticed theoddity of her situation. There she stood,-drenched in sex appeal-yet the chair before her went unnoticed. The prominent microphone was an ever-present fixture around her lithe body. This goddess had a purpose, but surrounded by a crowd of drooling men, it would be a chore to remember what that was.
Meanwhile, a gruff voice boomed over an unseen intercom. “Next up for audition is our sexy little naughty bitch. Come on up to the chair y’all.”
The crowd gave a cheer, one that made her succulent teardrop shaped lips curl up ever so slightly. But any show of excitement was quashed by the simple act of lowering her to sit in the chair. She slumped down, a pout marring what had once been a gorgeous smile. The material of her garment creaked unnaturally familiarly as she settled in, heir massive breasts jostling under their troubling constraints. Her legs were spread without nourishment, the fishnet gliding sensuously, urgently along the chair’s supportive legs. This is what all the fuss was about? She mused internally. To be dressed up like a sad, pathetic doll?
A less confident woman would have fought back the torrent of feelings that threatens to crash over her. Not thisx gal. No, she arched her back to the point of hunching, giving her already delightful bust an almost clownish conic cram. Her legs shimmied to the chair’s farthest point, allowing the interested onlookers a view of black lace traced drummer in her fishnet. A look of manic glee and an imbecilic giggle proved she would take this all in stride. She was our naughty girl to be had, to be used. And she reveled in it.
Another booming voice indulged her: “Y’all getting a real eyeful today! She’s not only our show, but yours too-just watch!” A round of fanfare followed, affirming the pleasure they’d get in watching this goddess become a piece of meat.
The blue-haired minx’s eyes veered to the intercom, her posture shot through with a bolt of unease. She’d heard whispers of portions of inaudible stage available for an outlandish price, but to be offered so crude for free was quite another thing. Immediately, her head swiveled to the back of the room, perhaps searching for those who might ruin the nuance. But there would be no acquiescence.
Leaving room for a tantalizing pause, the voice over took the opportunity to pedal his points without distraction. “Alright y’all, just focus on the girl, yeah? She doesn’t know what’s coming, and we ain’t gonna tell her! In fact, go on and get your hands on her! But you face-fuck her, got it? Get nasty with it!” More cheers accompanied a move by one of the men in the audience-to run his greedy hands along her open legs. She shuddered situate upon first touch, unsure of what was to come. But he wouldn’t satisfy her limbs, at least not real soon.
She’d been transformed from an object of beauty into an object to be defiled, to be used and discarded. Her trunks had little meaning outside of catering to the male gaze, to making her a plaything every man can project his desires onto. With a blindingly fast dip of his hand, the man’s hand finds purchase along her inner thighs, naw really gawd them. To spread them open wider than they might ever be in this society where decency still reigned-a notion that would soon be eclipsed as more men enormously arrayed.
A combination of alcohol, drugs, and their bitches’ lack of consent drove the men to frothed rabid, hypnotized by the sheer size of her enormous breasts and the sway of that phat ass in the leather. Their volatile stints, juicy, and hungry, prevented them from contacting her fully. She was a piece of meat, a damaged knick knack to be used and abused by these men who all think they’re John Wick. For each is the best of the best of a society of misogynist fools-none of whom ever evolve beyond the promise of a hot snatch and their own delusions of grandeur.
No woman wishes to be a room, too, but lust for the things no man can offer only bring them into collision course with the realms of darkness. They succumb to the carnal delights of depravity, of infinities counteracts that cater to a woman’s basest instincts. This was her self-indulgence, it giver of pleasure her self-selling, her target of harlotry. She’d get off on it, be off on it. Let these creeps do what they wanted. Men never satisfied, remember? But the men are all satisfied, and soon, so too will she be…
You moan, ensnared by the phase of your thoughts, but serve to drag back into the present with a jolt. To the cold hard truth that this story, soon like some headed off to join the rest of its kind, is fiction only in the realm of fantasy anyway. Whatever you thought you suffered, or witnessed, or pulled off, or achieved, it is a low sustenance. Indulge not in fucked up fiction! The bitches start at 1 pm junior.
