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THE PAWG AND THE DAWGS by Throne
🕑 Added 2025-04-22 23:33:25 +0000 UTCTHE PAWG AND THE DAWGS
by Throne
"What were you thinking?" Bob complained, sounding like his usual querulous self.
"It's simple," his wife Chrissy said evenly. "Since I invested my new family money, we'll never have to work again. That's why you are able to quit your job. But now, instead of doing something useful with your time, you just lay around the house. And I want to help others. That's why me volunteering for this program is perfect for both of us."
"But how can you invite these... these gangsters... into our home?"
"They're not like that. These are simply two young men who need a helping hand. Being able to live here, in a stable environment, is the first step for them into new lives."
"Maybe I should just move out," he snapped.
"That's up to you. But please remember that everything is in my name."
That stopped him. He didn't want to lose the sweet life he had, even if it meant enduring this setback that he assured himself would be temporary. They were an attractive young couple. Bob was short, with a trim physique. His slight build, soft facial features, and mop of auburn hair gave him an unmanly appearance but his wife didn't mind. She was more concerned with his small penis, and his selfish attitude in bed, which made her sex life unsatisfying. She was a stunner, taller than him, with a substantial bust that always drew male attention. What was even more eye-catching was her ass, a pair of wide jutting hemispheres that qualified her as 'thick'. He was the jealous type and it bothered him when she dressed to show off her curves, which she had begun to do more and more since she became financially independent and put him on an allowance.
He stood there, fuming silently. Hedging his bets, he told her, "Sure. Let's try it. These guys aren't going to be...?" Bob left his question uncompleted.
His wife knew what concerned him. "Yes, dear. They're going to be Black. I'm sure you'll get used to that, and having them in one of the spare bedrooms."
As much as it grieved him, he still managed a weak smile. "At least I'll have some time to get used to the idea, before they arrive. How long will it be before they get here?"
"The program is overcrowded, so instead of the usual two-week waiting period, I agreed to let them move in this evening."
"What?" He was outraged. "You can't... I'm not going to..."
She put her hands on her flaring hips and stared him down. He didn't have any leverage, so his resistance evaporated. Heaving a sigh, he announced that he was going out for a while. When she didn't object, he took it as a small victory for himself. Nursing his damaged pride, he whisked out the door, intent on cruising around long enough to show he couldn't be rushed, and stopping at a gentleman's club as a private act of defiance.
Bob drove until his nerves settled down. Then he headed for one of his favorite spots, The Golden Pole. The place's name described what the girls danced on. He loved watching them, nearly naked, grab those gilded uprights and swing around on them. Then they would strut over in their sexy heels, to where he hung on the edge of the stage. When one of them squatted down in front of him, he would slip bills into her G-string, always making sure to let his fingers slide over the available skin. The dancers didn't gravitate to him as much as they had in the past, not since his decreased income led to smaller tips.
All too soon, he was out of singles. He didn't come as often at night as he used to, because the girls on that shift expected some fives to come their way. Afternoons were cheaper. On the drive home, he had a brainstorm. He would use his wife letting those Black thugs into their home as a bargaining chip for getting his allowance increased. That would be a non-negotiable demand. Feeling encouraged, he parked at the curb and headed for the front door.
As Bob entered, he was unnerved to see two Black youths slouching on the sofa in the living room. They looked to be in their early 20s. Both were tall, with one being lanky and the other fat. They wore the clothes he found so distasteful, muscle shirts and worn jeans, plus running shoes that he told himself were probably stolen. Chrissy bustled into the room holding a tray, on which were soft drinks, sandwiches, and single-serve bags of chips. She had on a sleeveless top that allowed the sides of her big boobs to peek out, and slacks that fit her big bottom and shapely legs like a second skin. With no bra over them, her nipples announced themselves by getting hard and pressing out against the thin material.
"Hello, dear," she said to her husband. "These are the fellows who will be staying with us. This is Travis," she said, nodding toward the thin one, "and that's Drake," she went on, indicating the heavy guy.
"Hello," Bob said flatly.
"Hey," Travis shot back.
"Yo," was all Drake said.
Bob was annoyed to the point that he wanted to scold the new arrivals. Couldn't they show him some respect? Was it too much trouble to get up when they greeted him, instead of acting like they owned the place? Chrissy distributed the meals, accompanied with smiles. She leaned over, her scoop neckline showing plenty of cleavage. Travis grinned at what he was seeing. Drake made an approving sound.
It was too much for Chrissy's husband. "Do you two have to sit there, stripping my wife with your eyes?" He turned to her. "And why are you flaunting yourself at them like that?"
Travis sprang to his feet. In a few long strides he was directly in front of Bob. "Hey, short-stuff. Don't disrespect the lady. She's taking us in and all that stuff."
Drake heaved himself up off the sofa, to get close and join in. He told Bob, "You're lucky to have such a fine piece of ass in your life. I can't hardly believe she married a shrimp like you."
"Now listen to me," Bob said, his tone changing from angry to diplomatic, as fear replaced his momentary bravado. "I should be addressed properly in my own home."
Chrissy corrected, "My home, darling. Our new friends were just speaking and behaving in the manner to which they're accustomed. You need to make allowances for that. I won't have any more outbursts from you."
He was rattled that she had taken their side. The way she talked down to him bruised his ego. The two tall intruders glared down at him.
Travis insisted, "You owe Chrissy an apology."
Drake added, "A real sincere one."
Bob looked to his wife for support, which wasn't forthcoming. She elevated her chin and waited for his response. He was totally intimidated by the two threatening presences who stood so near that he could smell a faint hint of sweat on them.
"I didn't mean anything," he told his wife unconvincingly.
She visibly didn't accept that weak apology. "And...?"
He cleared his throat. Rather than risk setting off those tough characters, he said, "I'm really sorry I snapped at you, honey. It won't happen again."
Chrissy asked, "Do you want to say something to our new friends?"
Bob swallowed what was left of his pride. "Right. I'm sorry we got off on the wrong foot." He shrugged to indicate that his bad start didn't mean much. "That just happens sometimes with you people."
It was Chrissy's turn to get hot. "You people? Bob, that's not a polite thing to say."
He shook his head. "What?"
To make up for his poorly chosen words, she went to the dark pair and opened her arms. "You'll have to understand that my husband can be thoughtless at times, not just to you but to me as well."
Chrissy embraced Travis, who returned the hug. His hands slid down until they were cupping her generous buttocks. When he and she stepped apart, Bob could see a long thick ridge had formed in the Black guy's pants. Holy crap! That thing was a monster. Travis saw where Bob's attention was. Unseen by Chrissy, he flashed a wide grin at her husband. She already had her arms around Drake, at least as far as they would reach, considering his girth. When they parted, he too was sporting king-sized wood. Bob shuddered at the implications of those killer cocks. He knew that his wife had dated extensively before wedding him, and took it for granted that her former bedmates would have had more to offer than his own runty member.
The two hadn't brought much with them. Chrissy said she would take them out the next day to purchase some essentials and a few new items of clothing. That irked Bob but he consoled himself that it would allow him some time to be on his own. Maybe he'd run over to the club again, if he could get an advance on his weekly money without explaining why he needed it. If there was an increase, he might soon treat himself to a lap dance. She ordered pizzas for dinner, asking the new residents what toppings they preferred but not consulting her husband. Dinner was uneasy for Bob, while the other three enjoyed an animated conversation. He reminded himself about his expected visit to The Golden Pole. That made him feel better.
The next day, Chrissy was ready to take her two charges out shopping. Bob negotiated not a larger allowance, but at least an advance of several 20s. She was again dressed more flashily than Bob would have preferred, though not so much that he could say anything about it. He acted nonchalant, casually mentioning that he had some errands to run and might not be home when they got back. His cleverness made him feel smugly victorious. After they were gone, he hurried off to The Golden Pole. With his limited funds, he sat away from the stage and nursed a drink. When one of his favorite dancers came on stage, he moved in with his change from the bar ready. He was one of the few patrons up close, and so got to do a lot of touching for a minimal outlay of cash. He was almost out of bills when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. In surprise, he turned and found himself confronting Travis, with Drake behind him.
"Whoa," said the Black figure. "If we'd known this was the kind of errand you was running, we would have come along."
"I just stopped in for a quick drink," Bob lied.
"We got here and little bit ago and hung back, keeping an eye on you. That hot wife of yours let us use the car and slipped us some walking-around money."
"Just our luck," Drake contributed, "we run into you."
"I was just leaving," the wandering husband said, trying to sound indignant but failing.
"Sure, you was," Travis said. "Us, too. How about if Drake rides along with you, to make sure you don't make any more unscheduled stops. I'll try to get there first, so I can explain to Chrissy where you been. I'll tell it smooth, so she don't get mad at you."
"Tell her?" Bob held up his hands, as if that could stop the sly strategist. "You can't do that."
"Why not? Aren't you two honest with each other?"
"Of course. I mean, usually. It's just that sometimes I stop here to... you know... unwind."
"I'll say that to her, while I'm stating your case. It'll be like I'm your defense lawyer."
Drake wanted to know, "You got a few bucks still in your wallet, to cover some beers for us?"
"I have some emergency money," he again lied, "but that's strictly for..."
"Hey, this is an emergency," the heavy guy stated firmly. "Slip me the cash, boy."
Feeling trapped, and still hoping he could dissuade them from revealing where he'd been, Bob opened his wallet and extracted one of the two 20s he had stashed there. Drake helped himself to the other one. The Black guys moved to the bar and ordered themselves beers. They watched the dancers. Bob waited nervously. Then the two of them escorted him to the parking lot. Travis got into Chrissy's car. Drake joined Bob in the white man's vehicle, and they all caravaned back toward the house. It was obvious that Bob wanted to get there right away, so he could speak first. Instead, his passenger made him stop at a convenience store. Drake broke that second 20, using it to treat himself to some junk food and sugary drinks. He took his time, making sure they would be the second car to arrive.
When Bob walked in the door, he knew he was in deep trouble. Chrissy, in a snug top he'd never seen before, perhaps one she'd purchased while out with the guys, pointed him to the overstuffed armchair in the living room. He sat down and she stood directly in front of him, glaring down, making him feel cornered.
"I can't believe you, Robert. Going to a strip club in the middle of the day, while I'm trying to accomplish some good in the world. Drooling over dancers who are practically naked. Drinking. And blowing that advance on your allowance to tip them, which I'm sure includes doing as much pawing as you can." She huffed loudly. "Well, no more. For starters, I'm cutting off your money. And until further notice, I'm turning your car over to these two gentlemen. Because you prefer your hoochie girls to me, you can just start sleeping in the spare bedroom."
He said, "But you already gave that to them."
"I mean the other one, that we use for storage. There's a bed in there."
"Oh."
She drilled him with her fiery eyes. "Do you understand everything I said?"
Travis and Drake were eyeing him. He didn't want to bring them into this. In a weak voice he said, "Yes, dear. We can do all that, until you and I have a chance to talk."
"How about until you don't have a chance to talk to me, because you've already lost that, too. I'll say when and if there's going to be any discussion."
He nodded. "All right." His surrender was complete. He couldn't believe how abruptly his life had been turned inside out.
Travis leaned toward her. "You could use a drink, girl. How about if I go get a couple bottles and you, me and Drake can have a moving-in celebration?"
"That sounds good." She jabbed her finger at Bob, who was still slumped down in the chair. "You're not invited."
"Fine," he said, trying to hold on to the tatters of his shredded pride. "I'll just watch TV."
"You'll stay in your room," she contradicted. "And spend some time thinking about how you got yourself into trouble."
His lips quivered. He sniffled. All he said was, "Yes, dear."
Bob was allowed to come out for dinner, after which he was sent back to his room, like a misbehaving child. Drake lined up several bottles on the kitchen counter and played bartender. The three celebrants took their glasses to the den, where they turned on the TV and Travis found a reality show about cheating partners. It was running on a streaming service, so there were lots of episodes available. He picked ones that he wanted Chrissy to see and she appreciated the messages they sent.
Sitting next to her on the sofa, he asked, "What's a PAWG like you doing with a wimp like Bobby?"
She wanted to know, "What's that you called me?"
"PAWG. It means Phat Assed White Girl. That's a good thing. Us brothers go for bitches with booty."
She laughed and stood up. Turning her back to him, she shook her hips and wanted to know, "You mean like this?"
"Day-am," he exclaimed. "You got it, baby. Bring it over here and sit it on my lap."
Drake had made Chrissy's drink strong. There was a buzz in her head. With her inhibitions lowered, and still angry at her husband, she plopped herself down on Travis. He put his hands on her hips, as if she needed steadying. The married woman didn't object. There was a suspended moment, as they gazed into each other's eyes. Then she kissed him, lightly. He returned the kiss, with only slightly more force. She stayed on his lap, shifting her bottom side to side, registering what she felt under her. Then she carefully got off and sat next to him. They exchanged intimate glances before going back to watching TV. Drake observed everything closely. He liked what he was seeing.
She said, "My husband didn't know that word got back to me, from one of the other wives, after her husband blabbed about him visiting that club."
Travis said, "And he didn't know you passed the news along to us. Damn convenient that he was there when we went and checked." They all shared a laugh over that.
Drake said, "I wish you could have seen his face when we showed up. He turned whiter than usual. Hope he's all recovered." The big man excused himself, saying, "I'm going to make sure Bobby-kins is okay."
When he got to the door he didn't knock, but just let himself in. Bob was sitting on the edge of the bed with his chin on his hands, looking forlorn.
"What's the matter?" Drake asked. "Feeling bad cause you screwed up with your wife?"
Bob said, "Please leave. That's none of your business."
Drake came closer. "I'm making it my business. That woman of yours needs somebody to take her side."
The dejected husband stood. "Why don't you just go back out there and leave me alone?"
The Black intruder shoved him hard. Bob fell back onto the bed.
Changing the subject, Drake wanted to know, "You going to sleep in your clothes?"
"No. I'll just go and get my pajamas from our bedroom."
"No way. You got throwed out of there."
"I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I just..."
Drake brandished a dark fist in Bob's direction. "No means no, boy. But I don't want your shirt and pants to get wrinkled from being slept in, so get undressed for bed."
"You can't tell me what to do." There wasn't much conviction behind those words.
"I sure as hell can," Drake assured him. "Now strip."
When Bob didn't move, he was seized by the front of his shirt and hauled to his feet. Drake grabbed him between the legs and squeezed hard, just once. Bob yowled.
"Okay," he gasped through his pain. "I'll do it."
In the other room, Chrissy heard his cry and grew concerned. She said, "Do you think Drake is hurting my husband?"
"Maybe a little, but just to get him to listen. I'm guessing Bobby can be a pain a lot of the time."
"Well, yes," she admitted.
"And I figure he's not too hot in bed."
She snorted derisively. "Not even lukewarm."
"And now that you're in charge of all the money, you can do anything you feel like," Travis concluded.
"I know." She put her hand on his thigh. "Maybe I will."
Back in the small room, her husband was unbuttoning his shirt. He removed it and Drake snatched it away. Then came the shoes, socks and pants, which were also seized. Drake walked to the door and tossed everything out into the hall. His eyes ran up and down Bob's body, clad only in jockey shorts. His attention settled on the front of the underwear.
"She-it!" he exclaimed. "You sure ain't packing much of anything down there. Let's have a look at what you're hiding, boy."
Bob began to tremble. "Now listen." He tried to sound reasonable. "I know there've been some misunderstandings here, but my wife and I will be back on speaking terms soon and... and..."
"And you don't know Travis. My man has the touch. He knows how to play the ladies. Right about now, he's probably putting the moves on your Chrissy, with that big backyard of hers. And I'll bet she's in a hurry to go along with what he wants."
When Bob tried to go around Drake, the heavy man wrapped an arm around his neck. He pulled him close. Bob struggled futilely. The Black guy's free hand went to his captive's bare chest and rubbed up and down it. He playfully toyed with Bob's nipples. Despite his circumstances, Bob's body responded. His penis tingled. Drake felt around down there and discovered the reaction he had been counting on.
"Feels like somebody enjoys being handled by the pushy Black man. Feels like somebody wants to go further."
"You have to stop," Bob told him with rising desperation. "This isn't right. I'm not like that."
"You sure? I think you're one of those secret sissies who tells himself he don't want it but then changes his tune once he gets him some."
"That's not true," Bob protested.
"Won't know for sure until you try it," Drake declared.
It was easy for him to force his prey down onto his knees. Bob's eyes went wide as he stared up at him. Drake told him to get those shorts out of the way. Fearful of being hurt, Bob managed to work them down as far as his knees. Then the standing man opened his own pants. What he took out made Bob goggle. It was a tremendous cock, a true blacksnake. Drake gripped it by the root and swung it side-to-side, repeatedly slapping Bob's face. That got Drake hard. It was incredible how huge his shaft grew, with its head swelling impressively.
"Now," Drake announced, "here's what's going to happen, boy. You're going to open our mouth wide and get it over the knob of my tool. Then you're going to suck. And swirl your tongue around it. And make love to it with your lips. I don't expect you to take it deeper, cause you ain't had time to learn how. That can come later. For right now, you can take hold with both hands and pump it. Don't try to rush me or you'll get a lot worse than that love squeeze I gave your nuts. I got a grip that just won't quit. Now get busy or get hurt."
Drake nudged Bob's genitals with the toe of his shoe. That triggered the kneeling figure into action. He was sickened by what was being demanded of him. Just the pungent odor of that imposing cock nauseated him. Taking it into his mouth was unthinkable. And Drake's assertion that Bob might want it without admitting it to himself was madness. Even so, the possibility of having his testicles damaged was more than he could bear. He jacked his jaws wide and fitted his lips around the head of that muscle of love. Bob had to breathe through his nose as he began to move his tongue. He had been told to run it around the wide knob, so that was what he did. Drake sighed.
Chrissy asked Travis to stand. She undid his belt, opened his pants, and lowered his fly. Down came his jeans, and his boxer shorts with them. Out sprang his member, already halfway hard. It was a whopper. She admired it with awe.
The blond said, "I had some big ones when I was single, but this takes the prize." Her fingers curled partway around it. She reverently extended her tongue to lick under the head. "Is it okay if I take my time?"
"Girl, you take as long as you want."
Still seated on the sofa, she pulled up her top to let her heavy boobs, unfettered by a bra, spring free. "And you can take your time messing with these."
Travis got his hands on them. He rolled her nipples between his dark fingers, making her purr. She fitted his cockhead into her mouth, filling the space to capacity. Chrissy gave a few spirted sucks. She took her mouth off the prize, but only so she could lap his weighty balls. Acting sluttish was exciting her. The wife's pussy grew wet.
"Go to it, tramp," he encouraged.
She chuckled and resumed sucking him. Unlike her husband, she had done this before. Deepthroating is like riding a bicycle. Once you learned how, you never forgot. She took him in, inch by girthy inch, until his bollocks were against her chin. He muttered encouragement, his voice thick with lust. She happily ran her lips along the full length of his rod. It went on and on, with her reveling in her new role, with her well-endowed partner. He let her continue for a full half hour.
Finally, he said, "We got to move to the bedroom."
"Oh?" She came out of her whorish trance. "Okay. Yes."
They were soon on her marital bed and she was ready, willing and able to turn her husband into a cuckold. Chrissy and Travis finished undressing each other. She stretched out on her back. He knelt between her spread thighs.
In the other bedroom, Drake checked the cardboard boxes against the wall as Bob continued to suck and stroke his awesome cock. He spotted something of interest.
"Hey, sissy," he said to Bob. "What's in that box? The one labelled 'Chrissy — high school'."
Bob released the rampant rod. His jaws were sore. "That's my wife's old clothes that she outgrew. I don't know why she saved them."
"Maybe because she figured out your dirty secret, about how you want to play dress-up."
"What? No. That's crazy."
"Yeah? Didn't you try to tell me you wasn't no cocksucker, right before you started playing knob-gobbler?"
"That's not fair. You made me do it."
"It wasn't like you tried very hard to get out of giving a blowjob. I can tell when a dude wants to play at being a girl. I know your type. Let's get you into some of wifey's pretty things and see how you take to that."
"This is all wrong."
"Keep telling ourself that, but at the same time go and open the box. Let's see what's there for you to try on. Don't bother getting up. Just crawl."
On all fours, with his shorts still around his knees, hobbling him, Bob did as he was told. He opened the flaps of the box and pulled out the first thing he found. It was a short silky slip in pink, from before his wife's breasts had blossomed. Drake made him put it over his head and pull it down.
"That's what I'm talking about," Drake enthused. "You make a fine bitch, boy. Bitch-boy. Bitch-boy Bobby. Now show me how a bitch sucks cock."
Bob sniffled. This was so demeaning. He could tell that Drake was prolonging the ordeal to cause his victim the maximum psychological damage. Why did he have to put those perverse ideas into Bob's head? Of course, the husband didn't want to do any of this. How could anyone think differently? And yet he couldn't stop dwelling on the possibility that there might be a grain of truth to the speculations, or maybe even more. He fastened his mouth over the waiting organ again. Drake told him to rub the material of the slip against his own nipples while he behaved like a ho. Bob did it and was shamed by his penis stiffening once more. His mind said he didn't want any of this but his betraying body suggested otherwise. He sucked, with both hands massaging the fat pole, and occasionally fondling those massive nuggets below.
Travis brought the end of his cock into contact with Chrissy's warm wet furrow. She mewled and told him to put it in. He teasingly gave her only the knob. Each time she wanted more, she had to ask, to swear never to let Bob inside again, to promise to be a sex slave to Travis. He grinned and pushed the final portion past her labia. She closed her eyes. The lids were flushed. The Black sexpert eased back until he was almost out, slid in once more, balls-deep, and then set a steady rhythm that was calculated to keep her wanting more but never quite giving it to her. She writhed under him and pleaded for the stud to go faster and hit it harder. He finally finished limiting what he gave her and became the ravisher she longed for. He hammered her furiously, driving the cheating wife into a seismic orgasm and then, before she could recover, giving her another.
"You like that, bitch?"
"Yes." She was breathing hard. "I adore the way you fill me up, like Bob never could with his compact model of a dick."
The Black conqueror kept going, alternating speeds and angles of penetration to maximize her enjoyment. He knew how to get a woman addicted to him. The next time she climaxed, he allowed himself to finish simultaneously. Their sweat sheened bodies were glued to each other for long moments before they relaxed.
"Amazing," she said breathlessly.
"It gets better. My dawg Drake has had his piece in Bobby's mouth by now and fed him a load of nut butter."
"Really?" She was startled at first by that news. Then she sneered and said, "That's fine with me. In fact, thinking about it is keeping me hot."
"You get off on your husband being turned into a cocksucker? HA! You'll get a chance to see the results real soon, if I know Drake. He loves to show off his work."
As if on cue, the heavy Black man opened the bedroom door and entered, with his strong hand clamped on the back of Bob's neck. "Turns out this boy got a appetite for Black meat. He couldn't get enough of that dark stuff. And damn, does he love the cream that comes with it."
Chrissy wanted to know, "Is that true, Bobby?"
Her slip-wearing spouse coughed. There was something shiny on his lips and chin. telltale drips stained the front of what he wore. He sobbed. "I don't know. Drake forced me. I mean, it started that way. He touched me and I got hard, but that doesn't make any sense, because I'm not one of those."
Drake's hand snaked under the slip and he shoved one thick finger between his living puppet's buttocks. "For true? What happens when I play with your boy pussy back here? Does that get a rise out of you?"
Bob moaned piteously. His little dick rose with a will of its own, lifting the material in front of it. He shook his head, as if he could will it to go limp.
"Go on, now," Drake coaxed. "Get your hand down there. Use your thumb and one finger to give it some loving."
Not sure why he was cooperating, Bob elevated the front of the slip and used the two-digit grip to stroke himself, before his highly amused wife. Drake told him to get his free hand busy to diddle his nips. Bob went back and forth, from side to side on his chest, the sensation of the slip against those receptive spots adding to his stimulation.
Chrissy was inspired. She declared, "If he likes the taste of fresh cum so much, there's a heavy load of it right here, inside my snatch. I know he wants to slurp it all up."
Drake roared with laughter. "You heard the lady. Get your sissy mouth down there and eat the pink taco, with the secret sauce filling."
Bob got onto the foot of the bed, aware of how his wife was perceiving all this, but unable to do anything to interfere with events. Her pussy lips were several shades darker than usual, from vigorous intercourse. There was thick white cream oozing out from between them. Gagging audibly, he ran his tongue from the bottom to the top of her groove, gathering excess semen as he went. Bob had to force himself to swallow the mess. When he raised his eyes to look past the twin hills of her breasts, he saw Chrissy leering at him. Any respect she had ever felt for the man she married was now gone. He kept licking Travis' ejaculate and gulping it down. His hands went to his wife's full thighs. The joy of touching her was undercut by the disgrace of having to eat that sloppy pussy pie.
Travis kissed Chrissy while her mound got a tongue-bath, outside and in. The sounds of Bob choking and groaning in self-pity got her wet, so he had to lick up her juices, too. His efforts were taking her toward an orgasm.
She said, "He's going to make me pop, Travis."
"That's okay, girl. But you better tell him what you promised me, about how his pipsqueak prick is shut out of the fun zone."
Chrissy blew through pursed lips. She inhaled deeply. "That's right. The thing is, Bob, I got off so much on Travis' perfect cock, and the talented way he uses it, plus how he lasts so much longer than you..." She gasped twice in rapid succession. "... that what I did was to swear that I'll never let your finger-sized dick inside me, ever again."
All at once, she was having a loud juicy orgasm. Bob knew better than to stop using his tongue. He took her past the peak and down the long incline on the other side.
His wife added, "Also, you're not allowed to touch or kiss my tits anymore. All your kissing from now on will be below the waist... front and back."
That was when Bob began to weep piteously, with his tongue still going up and down, only the tip of it touching her now. He could see Travis placing his hand on her breast and leaving it there, as if to claim the territory he had won.
Drake summarized, "That's what happens, Bobby boy, when you marry a PAWG. She's built to attract us DAWGs, and is made so that, after she's sampled Black, she'll never go back. Ain't that right, Chrissy?"
Bob's wife put her hand over the dark one that rested on her bodacious tata, which Bob would never touch again. She proudly recited, "Once you ditch white, everything is alright."
*********
