Dana Devine

I had no business being down there today hunting for some black thugs, but here I was anyway—getting older and hornier every damn day. My white husband was at work so I had time to hunt something thick and mean that he'd never give me. The graffiti started thickening on the walls, whole neighborhood turning rougher, and I knew I was close. Found two young guys built like they lived hard. They looked surprised to see a cougar rolling through their block but money talks and legs spread, so they followed me home. Clothes hit the floor fast. Those dicks swung heavy, wider than the soda cans I pack in my husband's lunch. I dropped to my knees, mouth open, switching between them, drooling down my chin while they used my throat like it owed them rent. Thick and hot, stretching my lips every time one pushed in deep. Still wasn't enough until I had one buried in my pussy, pounding that white married hole wider than any white dick ever could. I screamed loud enough for God to hear, legs shaking, eyes rolling back, whole place shaking with every slap of skin. Since then, that bad side of town stays on speed dial whenever I need my fix of real dick.