Explode

Andy sat on the couch, phone forgotten in his lap, the big TV frozen on a porn clip.

The screen glowed: a girl on her knees, mascara streaming, eyes half-closed as white ropes painted her cheeks, lips, hair.

But Andy wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

He was looking at her.

Sandra stepped into the room like a fantasy given flesh — black lace hugging every curve, so sheer you could see the soft, creamy swell of her breasts peeking through. No bra. No shame. Just a tiny scrap of mesh that barely clung to her nipples, making them look darker, harder.

Her panties? Same black lace — cut high, hugging her hips, the thin strip vanishing between her thighs. She was barefoot except for the thin gold anklet glinting above one foot.

But the real killer?

The choker.

A tight band of black leather around her neck, the word CUMSLUT stamped in bold silver letters. Fresh lipstick. Messy hair. A single drop of oil glistened at the hollow of her throat, catching the flicker from the TV screen.

She didn’t say a word at first. She just stood there — one hip cocked, wine glass in her hand, staring him down like he was prey she was about to drain.

Andy’s cock twitched under his sweatpants.

Sandra’s lips curved.

She took one slow sip of wine — tongue flicking out to catch the drip that tried to escape the corner of her mouth — and spoke, voice low, velvet, filthy:

“Look at you. Staring at that frozen little whore on your TV. You’ve watched her take loads for how long now? Five years? Ten?”

She took a step closer. Her perfume hit him — warm, floral, spiked with something muskier. The smell of sex.

Andy swallowed, throat dry. “Fuck…”

She ignored him. Another sip. Another step.

“You’ve filed them away, too — haven’t you? All those folders. ‘Tax Returns.’ ‘Training Sluts.’ ‘Cum Dump Queens.’ Your precious secret library. Full of girls kneeling. Smiling while they drown.”

She stepped right between his knees now — towering above him, hips swaying, hair falling over one shoulder. Her fingers toyed with the choker, thumb brushing the metal letters like a promise.

“But you don’t need her anymore,” she whispered, nodding at the screen. “You’ve got me. Live. Warm. Fucking real. Ready to take every drip you’ve been saving for your folder fantasies.”

She hooked one thumb under her waistband and tugged it just enough for him to glimpse the barest shine of wetness below.

“See what you did to me?” she hissed. “You didn’t just corrupt me. You upgraded me. I’m your custom file now. 4K. No buffering. One click — and I’m on my knees, swallowing it down.”

Andy was panting, fingers twitching to grab her hips.

She leaned down — tits so close he could smell her warm skin, the faintest trace of sweat caught in the lace.

“You like your new project?” she purred. “This is what your program manager brain made, baby. A good little wife turned perfect filthy bukkake canvas.”

She smirked, pressing the wine glass to his lips.

“Drink. You’ll need every drop of energy for what’s next.”

The porn resumed — low moans, sloppy gagging, a faceless man pulling out and blasting white ropes all over a woman’s tits, her mouth still hanging open like she was made to catch it.

Sandra didn’t even glance at the screen.

She only had eyes for him.

She walked over slow — hips rolling, choker gleaming under the TV light. She knelt between Andy’s legs, her bare knees brushing the carpet. Set the wine glass down on the floor beside her.

“You’ve watched every one of these,” she murmured, voice low and wicked. “Again and again. Same poses. Same messy sluts.”

She dragged her nails up his inner thighs — not rough, but sharp enough to make him flinch.

“What is it about them, hmm? The blank, fucked-out stare? The cum dripping off their eyelashes? The way their mouths stay open like good little troughs for the next load?”

Andy swallowed hard. The tip of his cock glistened, twitching against his belly.

She leaned in, lips just grazing the head, not giving him what he wanted — yet.

“You fantasize about doing that to me, don’t you?” she whispered. “Fucking your sweet little wife until her throat’s raw, her face is ruined, and she’s begging for more?”

Andy nodded — silent, helpless.

A slow grin curled Sandra’s lips.

“Good. Because tonight, I’m yours to paint. Start your masterpiece.”

She lifted her tits — soft, heavy, warm — and wrapped them around his cock in one practiced motion. The black lace slipped just enough for her dark nipples to brush the slick head every time she squeezed them together.

Andy let out a ragged breath, hips twitching.

Sandra looked up, eyes gleaming, mouth slightly open — that bright red lipstick already smudging from the heat radiating off her skin.

“You’ve dreamed of this, haven’t you?” she taunted softly. “Your boring, polite wife — tits wrapped around your cock — moaning for your cum like every slut in your folders.”

She spit on him — thick, slow — and let it drip between her cleavage, mixing with his leaking pre-cum. She squeezed her tits tighter, sliding them up and down, milking him slow and filthy.

“You know what I used to do when you kissed me in public?” she said, eyes locked on his. “I’d blush. Look around to make sure no one saw.”

She grinned — feral, unrecognizable.

“Now? I’d let you pull my panties aside in the backseat of every cab. I’d deepthroat you with the driver watching. Maybe even feed you my pussy while we’re stuck in traffic.”

Andy groaned — hips bucking up into her tits, cock sliding through that soft heaven.

“Fuck… Sandra…”

She lifted slightly — dragged her tongue up the underside — then leaned in close, lips parted, voice barely a breath.

“Open wide for me, baby.”

And she swallowed him down — all the way to the back of her throat — moaning like she was the bitch on his screen, only real, warm, and hungry for every drop.

“Mmm…”

Sandra pulled off his cock with a wet pop — her lips shiny, chin soaked with spit and pre-cum. She didn’t even wipe it away. She just smirked — that wicked, knowing smile that told him she was every bit the slut he’d spent years fantasizing about.

She pushed her tits tighter around his shaft, trapping him in a warm, soft vise of black lace and soft, dewy skin.

Andy couldn’t stop staring.

The way her red hair fell over one shoulder, catching the TV flicker — almost glowing, wild and sweaty.

The way her breasts pushed together — heavy and perfect, skin flushed, nipples dark and taut through the lace.

The way her glowing face, smeared lipstick, and that CUMSLUT choker turned his once-shy wife into the living embodiment of every file he’d ever hidden in his “Tax Returns” folder.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice rough, one hand tangling in her hair. “You’re fucking unreal.”

She giggled — low and mean. Squeezed her tits tighter, rolling them around his shaft in slow circles.

“You think those girls in your clips could do this?” she teased, spitting a thick string across his tip. “Could look you dead in the eye while they titfuck you with their husband’s cum still dripping inside them?”

Andy grunted — hips twitching.

She leaned closer, letting her tits bounce as she worked him up and down. Each stroke dragged her stiff nipples across his veiny shaft. When his head peeked out the top, she dragged her tongue across it, lapping up the mess.

“You used to fuck me with the lights off,” she purred. “Now you keep your eyes wide open. Watching every bounce. Every drop.”

She pushed her tits together tighter — so tight that the skin bulged, slick with spit and sweat.

“Fuck, your tits…” Andy gasped. “They’re perfect. They feel like they’re made for this.”

“They are,” she hissed back. “They’re yours. Your cock pillows. Your cum trays. Your new screensaver.”

She ground her chest harder, making sure every sloppy stroke smeared the head against her lips, painting them with precum.

Andy’s eyes dragged over her:

The soft bounce of her curves.

The taut line of her throat when she swallowed.

The glow in her skin — so clear, flushed pink, his.

Her red hair sticking to her cheek like a porn cover shoot gone real.

“You’re a fucking masterpiece,” he snarled, thumb brushing the CUMSLUT letters on her throat.

She grinned, eyes burning.

“I’m your good girl. Your cumslut. Your living folder. And tonight…” — she paused, squeezing him so tight he moaned — “I’m gonna make you empty every saved clip into me.”

She kissed the head, smeared it over her nipple, then sucked it clean, tongue swirling.

“Keep your eyes open, Andy. Watch what your wife’s become.”

She lowered her lips back down, but this time she didn’t swallow him yet. She just held him there — heavy, slick, throbbing between her tits and her mouth, teasing the edge while he panted like an addict about to get his fix.

Sandra took him deep — so deep that the head of his cock pressed against the tight back of her throat. Her nose brushed the soft trail of hair below his navel. Her lashes fluttered, then squeezed shut as she **** herself to breathe through her nose, swallowing around his thickness.

Andy gripped her hair, trying not to lose it too fast — but fuck, the sight of her… knees spread, choker gleaming CUMSLUT in silver letters, her pretty red lips stretched wide around him, drool already pooling down her chin… it was everything he’d ever watched in those porn folders — but real, warm, his.

Sandra moaned around his cock — a low, **** hum that sent vibrations straight up his shaft. She pulled back just enough to drag her tongue under the head, tasting the salt of his pre-cum and her own spit.

She popped off, lips shiny, strings of drool stretching from her chin to his tip.

“You love this, don’t you?” she rasped. “Your good little wife — on her knees, throat-fucked, painted, turned into the bitch you always wanted.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

He just grunted — and shoved her back down.

Her throat bulged around him, spit bubbling at the corners of her lips as he rocked her face on his cock. Sandra didn’t fight it — she fucking leaned into it, **** softly every time the head hit her gag spot. Mascara streaks marked the corners of her eyes, only making her look more like the slut she knew she’d become.

Between gags, she moaned — sloppy, loud, filthy.

When he pulled out for air, she gasped — her voice rough but proud.

“Cum for me. Cum on my face. Let me wear what you used to waste in tissues.”

Andy’s balls tightened. He fisted her hair tight, lined his cock up with her cheek, and let go.

Andy felt it build — that raw, unstoppable burn that started deep in his balls and roared up his spine like a fuse about to blow.

In the background, the TV flickered with some depraved fuckedupfacials clip: a girl kneeling, mascara ruined, eyes rolled back as white ropes splattered her face again and again. Her tongue hung out like a thirsty dog — ****, greedy, perfect.

Sandra knelt in front of him now — her real, living twin to that porn loop. Except better. So much better.

Her hair — that wild, deep red — was already darkened in places, stuck to her temples, plastered across her cheeks. Her eyes were dark, heavy-lidded with hunger and just the faintest shimmer of tears from the deepthroating she’d begged for minutes earlier. The black lace bra clung to her tits, straining just enough to show the soft swell of pale skin underneath, nipples poking against the sheer fabric, hard and eager. Her thighs were parted wide — the thin strip of lace between her legs already darkened, sticky where she’d been grinding the carpet, **** to get herself off while she worked his cock. Around her throat, the CUMSLUT choker gleamed like a brand. Her lipstick was still fresh enough to look painted but already smudged at the corners, proof that her mouth had been worshipping him.

The first spurt — like a hose turned loose — hit her right across the face, thick and blinding. A fat line splashed her forehead, her brow, even a streak through her hairline. She gasped — eyes slammed shut — but didn’t pull away.

The second blast came before she could even breathe. It slammed her cheek, her nose, her chin. Thick globs rolled instantly down her throat, catching in the delicate hollow between her collarbones. Her tits took the next hit — a hot, white splash that oozed between the valley of her breasts, over the black lace of her bra until it was dripping from her nipples.

“Fuck—fuck—Sandra—” Andy groaned. He jerked harder, cock fat and angry in his palm, the CumMaxx making it feel like he could cum for an hour.

Sandra’s eyes fluttered open — her face half-blinded by the slick mess, mouth twitching into a shaky grin. She knew what he needed.

She leaned forward, lips parted.

“Open your mouth,” he growled, voice shaking.

She obeyed immediately — jaw slack, tongue out, the word CUMSLUT glistening just beneath her dripping chin.

The fourth blast hit the back of her throat like a firehose. Her eyes rolled back as warm, salty waves flooded her mouth. She gagged a little — but didn’t close her lips — let it pour in, let it pool. Another pulse came right behind it — the fifth and hardest — thick, obscene spurts that overflowed her tongue and spilled past the corners of her lips.

Cum spilled out in fat drips, down her chin, onto her tits, mixing with the earlier mess. Her throat bobbed as she tried to swallow, but there was too much. It seeped out the sides, streaked down to her chest, dripped onto the floor between her knees.

Sandra moaned around the mess — then did something that made Andy’s cock twitch again.

She gargled.

A filthy, wet gargle — her cheeks puffing as she rolled the mouthful of his cum around her tongue. She pulled back slightly, lips still parted, showing him the frothy white swirl before letting more dribble onto her tits.

Then she scooped it back up with two fingers — slow — and pushed it back into her mouth, eyes locked on him the whole time.

“Mmm… so thick,” she moaned, her voice shredded, sticky with pride. “So much… more than any clip you ever jerked to.”

She dipped her hand between her tits, scooping a thick, creamy line from her cleavage. She smeared it across her lips like a glossy stain, her fingertip pushing slow, deliberate circles into the corners of her mouth.

Then she leaned in, tongue swirling, licking every drop off with lazy flicks that made Andy’s cock twitch all over again.

He couldn’t look away.

From his angle, she looked like some obscene masterpiece — a living fuckdoll he’d commissioned from every filthy folder he’d ever hidden.

Her hair — that dark, wild red — stuck to her flushed cheeks in damp waves. Strands of it were streaked with milky trails where he’d drenched her hairline.

Her eyes were half-lidded, lashes clumped and shiny, mascara bleeding like tears down the slope of her cheeks.

And those tits — holy fuck — slick and shimmering, a pool of cum caught right where they pressed together, trickling in slow rivers over her belly, catching in the soft dip of her navel, then lower… dripping toward her thighs.

Her mouth was never closed. Her jaw hung slack, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop from her chin like she needed to taste it before it hit the floor.

“Look at you…” Andy rasped, voice gone to gravel. He let his thumb brush her bottom lip, smearing the glossy mess across her cheek just to see it cling. “You’re my sweet, cum-drenched masterpiece.”

Sandra’s lips parted around his thumb. She sucked it in — slow, eyes rolling up just slightly as she sucked him clean like she hadn’t already swallowed half a gallon.

She pulled back with a soft pop, letting the mess drip lower.

Warm trails of cum rolled across her soft belly, between her thighs, toward her pussy.

She waited. Let it flow.

Then reached down… dipped her fingers into her folds — sticky, soaked — and lifted the creamy blend to her lips.

She opened her mouth wide.

Her tongue rolled out — coated in the thick mix of his cum and her own slick arousal.

She swallowed it.

Deliberately. Loudly.

“Mmm… your cum… and me… I love how we taste together… better than I imagined…” she moaned. “I want more…”

She didn’t stop. Her hands moved lower — gliding across her breasts, her throat, her belly — dragging up every drop she could find. She lifted her palm, sticky and warm, and licked it clean. Her thighs flexed, her pussy glistening through the stretched strip of lace, so wet the cotton was translucent.

She dipped her fingers down — dragged them through her folds — then lifted them, creamy and dripping, to her mouth.

She spread her jaw wide, tongue stretched out pink and obscene, coated in that thick swirl of him and her. She didn’t just swallow — she savored it, a loud, slow gulp that made Andy’s cock twitch against his stomach.

When she pulled her fingers free, she smirked — eyes sharp, cheeks painted like a ruined icon.

“You’d love me like this in college, wouldn’t you?” she teased, voice hoarse but dripping with pride. “Your precious Dr. Sandra — standing in front of the whiteboard, dripping like a porn whore… cum rolling down her throat, the word CUMSLUT tight around her neck…”

Andy groaned, his hand sliding to his cock again, half-instinct, half-desperation.

Sandra saw it — laughed, warm and breathless.

“You’d watch me write equations,” she hissed, voice raw and thick with pride, “while your cum drips off my nose… so every shy little intern can see exactly what I am.”

Her grin went wolfish — ruined lipstick, eyes glossy, tongue flicking out to taste a fresh drip sliding from her top lip.

“They wouldn’t even know what to call me, would they?” she purred, nails dragging down his slick shaft. “‘Ma’am’? ‘Professor’? Or maybe just ‘Dr. Cumrag’?”

Andy’s breath caught — a half-laugh, half-growl torn out of his throat. His balls ached again, tight as a drum.

God, she looked like every corrupted file he’d ever jerked off to — but better.

Her hair stuck to her cheeks, streaked with cum. Her throat still gleamed where it dripped down to the lace of her bra. And her pussy? Glowing pink, sticky with that blend of his mess and her filth.

Sandra’s hand closed around him — slick, warm, perfectly cruel. She squeezed his shaft just enough to make his hips jerk, then twisted her wrist slowly.

“You want to fuck me like this, don’t you?” she rasped. Her eyes were so fucked — streaked mascara, lashes clumped — but sharp, blazing with filth. “Fuck your masterpiece while she’s still dripping… while your cum’s leaking out of my cunt, still coating my throat.”

Andy’s hand tangled in her hair — rough, **** — dragging her head back so he could see all of her ruined face.

“God…” he panted, half-fucking broken. “You’re not my wife anymore.”

Her grin widened — filthy, perfect.

“You’re my good girl. My cumslut. My personal fucking bukkake trophy.”

Sandra laughed — a dark, breathless sound that made him twitch in her fist.

“Then prove it,” she growled, her voice shaking but defiant. She let her tongue flick the tip of his cock, tasting him all over again.

“Do it. Fuck your dripping little Dr. Cumrag. Do it now.”

Andy didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He grabbed her under the arms and lifted her dripping, glazed body like she weighed nothing. Her legs locked around his waist, instinctual and hungry — warm cum squishing between her thighs, streaking his abs as he walked her to the couch.

He dropped into the cushions, landing her square in his lap — and his cock found her cunt like it was coming home.

She was soaked.

Slick from her own ruin. Slick from the gallons he’d already poured on her face and chest.

When he slammed up into her, her gasp was pure broken sin.

“FUCK—!”

No prep. No warning.

Just raw stretch, wet and obscene, his cock driving deep while cum squelched around the base.

Sandra’s nails carved lines down his back, her tits bouncing against his chest, still slick with trails of his mess.

“Yes… yes… just like that—break me—”

Andy’s eyes blurred. He could see the strands of her red hair stuck to her cheeks, streaked white at the tips. The CUMSLUT choker around her throat pressed into her skin as she threw her head back, gasping, throat working with every thrust.

“God… you’re better than every file in that fucking folder,” Andy snarled into her ear.

“I used to catalog those clips by facial angle — now I get to watch my wife become all of them.”

Her laugh was a broken whimper, but proud.

“Your folders can’t moan your name. Your folders can’t beg you to keep stuffing them—”

He slammed harder, hips pounding up, couch squeaking beneath them, the wet slap of their bodies filling the room louder than the porn still looping on TV.

“You feel that, baby?” he grunted.

“You’re leaking my first load while I pump you full of the next.”

Her eyes rolled — her cunt clenched — every word more heat between her thighs.

“More… more… I want to feel your cum get stirred back up inside me—”

He grabbed her tits, squeezed, smearing the leftover mess around her nipples until it glistened fresh all over again.

“Look at this,” he hissed, pinching her nipple hard. “You love being fucked filthy. Dripping. Bouncing like a slut on her pedestal.”

She cried out, back arched so hard he could see every muscle tremble.

“Fuck your good wife,” she babbled. “Fuck your cumdump. Turn her into a sloppy mess you can’t clean—”

He grabbed her throat — not tight, but enough to hold her still — and kissed her deep, licking the taste of his own cum from her lips as she moaned into his mouth.

When he pulled back, she was panting.

“Harder,” she begged. “Make it hurt. Make me feel it tomorrow—”

He slapped her ass — once, twice — her flesh rippling, red handprints blooming across her skin.

“Turn around,” he growled.

She blinked — dazed, high — then nodded. She slid off his cock, cum dripping down her thighs, smearing her inner knees as she spun around. She braced on all fours, back arched, ass up like a perfect offering.

Her pussy glistened — pink and puffy, thick white lines slowly dripping from her folds like messy icing.

Andy’s vision went black with lust.

“Fuck… look at that…” he rasped. He grabbed his cock and rubbed the head between her lips — back and forth, mixing his fresh pre-cum with the leftover mess already leaking out.

Then he slammed back in.

“You feel this, Sandra?” he growled.

“This is how I fuck my cumslut wife.”

“I’m going to keep stuffing you until you can’t tell what’s cum and what’s you.”

They both howled.

“YES—Andy—fuck YES— I want to feel your cum get stirred back up inside me.”

“God, you’re leaking, baby. Look at that—just look at it spill while I shove more inside.”

Sandra’s voice cracked — the words breaking up into hiccups of pleasure as he rutted her from behind.

“Feed me—” she moaned. “Use me—make me live off your cum—”

He slipped his fingers between her thighs, scooped the warm, messy swirl straight from her pussy, and brought it to her lips.

“Eat it.”

She obeyed instantly — tongue flicking out, wrapping around his fingers, sucking them deep.

“Mmm… salty… thick… all yours…” she slurred. “I want to be your filthy cum-fed whore forever…”

Andy snarled. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back just enough to see her eyes — ruined, dazed, glassy.

“You think your students would still call you ‘Ma’am’ if they saw this?” he hissed in her ear.

“Or would they drop to their knees and call you Dr. Cumrag while they jerked off all over your ruined cunt?”

Sandra moaned so loud her voice cracked — hips pushing back into him, her ass bouncing with every slap of his hips.

“Yes—fuck yes—call me that—break me—”

He bent lower, hand on her hair, the other gripping her hip tight enough to bruise.

“You’re mine,” he growled, voice pure animal.

“My wife. My cumdump. My perfect fucktoy.”

Her breath hitched — her pussy clenched — her moans melted into choked cries as he slammed deep, hips pistoning with filthy precision.

“I’m gonna breed you again,” he panted. “Gonna fucking stuff you until you drip for days—”

“YES! Fill me—don’t stop—” she gasped, voice raw and glorious.

One last thrust — one more brutal slam — and Andy came again, cock buried to the hilt, spraying a fresh flood deep inside her ruined, messy pussy.

Sandra screamed, her whole body shuddering as she felt it: warm, sticky, obscene.

She pushed back onto him, milking every drop.

“FUCK—yes—yes—fill me again—make me your leaking slut—”

Andy held her there — knotted together by his cock and his cum, breathing ragged, both of them drunk on each other.

He stayed buried for a heartbeat longer — feeling her flutter around him, their mess warm and alive inside her — before he let her go.

Andy’s hands fell away from her hips — trembling from the last quake of release — and he slowly slid his cock out of her.

A wet, obscene squelch filled the room as his shaft slipped free, glistening with creamy streaks of his fresh load mixed with her own slick. For a heartbeat he just watched — breath ragged — as her swollen pussy clenched instinctively, then loosened, and a thick stream of their combined mess started to ooze out. Slow at first, then a warm, glistening drip that slid over her folds, down her trembling thighs, catching in the soft crease behind her knee.

Sandra didn’t move.

She stayed there — on all fours, back arched, legs wide, her ass high like she was offering him a view he could never forget. Her skin shone under the TV glow — sweat and drying cum smeared across the pale curve of her ass, the small of her back, even her hips where his fingers had dug in.

Her hair — that wild, deep red — was a tangled halo falling around her shoulders, strands matted to her neck and cheeks by sweat and the streaks of cum he’d dragged through it. Mascara bled in perfect black tears down her flushed cheeks. Her lips were swollen, parted, a soft, blissed-out smile curling at the corners as she peeked back at him over her shoulder — eyes glassy, gleaming with that filthy pride only she could wear.

Andy’s pulse stuttered in his ears.

This was his wife.

His once-modest Dr. Sandra — now a ruined, dripping cum-dump who looked like she’d crawled straight out of every fucked-up clip he used to watch alone at 3AM.

He couldn’t help himself. He dragged his gaze lower — taking in every detail:

• Her pussy: red, puffy, glistening, the fresh white swirl seeping out like a lewd invitation.

• Her thighs: streaked with sticky lines where he’d fed her fingers moments before.

• Her back: arched so deep he could see the subtle tremble in her muscles, still holding the position like she wanted him to admire it all.

She gave him a breathy laugh — half-shattered, half-goading.

“Like what you see?” she rasped, voice raw. “Your good girl… leaking all your filth… covered in your juice ?”

Andy’s cock twitched. Fuck, she was perfect.

She smiled wider — tongue peeking out to lick her lower lip, catching a stray drip of sweat and cum that had rolled off her chin.

“Don’t look away,” she purred, swaying her hips so more of that creamy mess slipped out, trailing down her thigh like ruined frosting. “Lets Watch what you did to your sweet little wife, Andy…”

The room was quieter now — but only barely.

On the TV, the scene had changed again: now a girl had her mouth stretched open, spit glistening down her chin while one cock pumped her throat and another pounded her ass. A third guy stroked himself over her face, ready to glaze her like a fresh pastry.

Andy stood behind Sandra, one hand knotted in her messy red hair, the other tracing down her spine. She was sprawled against the arm of the couch — legs still sticky, thighs wide, pussy dripping fresh cum onto the cushion.

He tugged her head back — gentle but firm — turning her gaze toward the screen.

“That…” he rasped, voice shredded. “That’s what I used to jerk off to before I turned you into mine.”

Sandra watched the screen — breathing shallow, eyes dark and wild, mascara streaked, lips shiny and broken open from his load.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“You came to that?” she whispered, voice hoarse but mocking.

Andy’s jaw flexed. “So many times.”

He bent lower — mouth at her ear, heat and pride and filth all tangled in his grin.

“But nothing — nothing — is hotter than you.”

Sandra turned her eyes to the side mirror on the wall.

What she saw made her pulse skip — made her thighs twitch.

Her reflection looked obscene: her face still painted in drying white streaks, eyes half-lidded and wicked, her deep red hair a tangled mess stuck to her temples. Her tits were smeared and glistening, the CUMSLUT choker biting into her throat like a brand. Her thighs were spread wide, her pussy swollen and puffy, still leaking a slow, sticky drip of the mess he’d stuffed into her.

She looked ruined.

Beautiful.

And hers.

“Look at you…” Andy murmured, his eyes in the mirror meeting hers. “You’re not my sweet wife right now.”

She smirked at him through the reflection — her fingers already sliding across her belly, scooping up a lazy trail of his drying cum.

“No,” she purred. “I’m your cumslut. Your Dr. Cumrag. Leaking. Stretched. Smiling.”

She brought her messy fingers to her lips — sucked them clean, tongue swirling deliberately, eyes locked with his in the glass.

“They’d fucking love me, you know,” she whispered suddenly, voice turning dark and dreamy.

“If I was in that video… if I was kneeling between them…”

Andy blinked. “What?”

She didn’t turn — just kept staring at herself, eyes half-lidded, cum streaked across her cheeks, tongue flicking out as if she could already taste it.

“Ten cocks. One slut.”

She smiled in the mirror — that wicked, eager grin like she was about to walk on stage for the filthiest show of her life.

“I’d drop to my knees right in the middle of them — mouth wide, tits out, my good little tongue stretched for whoever wants it first. Four cocks stroking across my face, slapping my cheeks while I gag on the biggest one I can fit.”

Her breath hitched, but she laughed — soft, ruined, wanting.

“Two more stuffing my ass — stretching me so wide I can’t close it even when they’re done. One buried in my pussy, so deep it drips out every time he pulls back.”

She rolled her hips slightly — the creamy mess between her thighs dripping fresh at the thought.

“And the rest? They’d stand around me, pumping their fists, waiting to glaze me like a donut. One by one, they’d feed me — on my tongue, across my eyes, down my tits, even my hair. And I’d smile through all of it. So sweet. So grateful.”

Her eyes locked with Andy’s in the mirror — that same dark, messy, filthy glow.

“And you’d stand there — watching your wife stuffed in every hole, leaking like a fucked trophy. Because you’d be the final dick I’d take in all my holes before getting covered in your juice..”

She giggled — tongue flicking her lip, hips rocking so more of his last load slipped down her thigh.

“Ten cocks. One wife. One cumrag. And you made her.”

Her voice dropped to a husky laugh.

“I want it. I want them to see what you’ve made me.”

Andy’s cock twitched — fat, half-hard, already stirring again.

Sandra caught it in the mirror — grinned.

“You’re hard again.”

“So are you,” he growled back. He slid his fingers down, dipping between her thighs, scooping up another sloppy mix from her folds.

She moaned — eyes rolling back — then sucked his fingers clean without hesitation.

“Maybe I should start auditioning,” she teased, voice drenched in filthy sweetness. “Or maybe you should film me next time — send it to your folders. ‘Tax Returns — Live Edition.’”

She let out a tiny giggle — eyes fluttering, body still spread and dripping.

“God, look at me…” she breathed. “I look like I just walked straight off one of those clips.”

She traced a lazy swirl around her nipple — smearing the drying cum like frosting, giggling as she flicked it.

“You came so much… it’s still sticky between my toes.”

Andy’s breath caught — his hand moving to his cock, stroking it back to life.

“That’s how it should be,” he growled, eyes fixed on her ruined shape.

“You’re supposed to stay soaked.”

“And dirty,” she shot back, eyes flashing. “You love me filthy, don’t you?”

“I fucking love it.”

She turned her face, lips brushing the couch, eyes heavy.

“You used to jerk off to girls on their knees for strangers. Now you’ve got your own slut in your living room — begging for more.”

She spread her legs a touch wider, the creamy leak catching the TV’s flickering light.

“I bet you’d love to see me sandwiched — your cock in my mouth, someone else behind me… stretching me. Filling me so full it leaks out before you even pull out.”

Andy choked out a laugh — half-lost, half-feral.

“You want that now?”

“Not yet…” she whispered. “But soon.”

She rolled onto her back, arms stretched above her head — tits glistening, belly streaked in drying white lines like a filthy painting.

“Or maybe,” she purred, smirk dark and bright, “I’ll call Samik over — your drinking buddy. Pretend it’s boys’ night.”

Her fingers danced down her belly, swirling the mess again.

“And I’ll be the popcorn.”

Andy groaned — cock rock-hard, mind a blur.

Sandra’s grin turned sharp as she looked him dead in the eyes.

“But for now…” she whispered, dragging her fingers through the slick mess at her thighs, spreading her folds wider so he could see the creamy swirl inside.

“…I want your next load.”

Sandra knelt on the floor, thighs wide, her hair a wild tangle stuck to her cheeks and shoulders. The CUMSLUT choker dug into her throat like a trophy tag — a soft halo of drying streaks clung to her lashes, her lips, her collarbones.

She held the empty wine glass in one hand — smudged, sticky, still smelling faintly like the last swirl of old red. But her eyes?

Locked on Andy’s cock.

Hungry. Glowing.

“Come on, baby…” she rasped, licking her lips — her voice a ruin of sweetness and filth.

“Your glass looks dry.”

Andy grunted — hand stroking his shaft slow, the tip fat and flushed, still leaking from the last brutal round. He’d meant to fill that glass. He should have. But staring at her?

He couldn’t hold it.

He needed it to hit her first.

“Open that mouth,” he growled.

Sandra smirked — the softest flick of her tongue tracing her top lip — and parted her lips wide. Throat arched, mouth a perfect dripping cup.

Andy’s fist moved faster. He could feel it coil deep — that CumMaxx burn, the ache that felt like a loaded hose. He grunted — balls tightening — and the first massive blast sprayed straight into her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered.

A messy ****.

She moaned, but didn’t close her lips — the first shot pooling behind her tongue, hot and heavy.

The second hit harder — thicker — splashing her tonsils, forcing her cheeks to bulge. She tried to swallow but he was already there with the third and fourth — spurting in fresh ropes that flooded her mouth until the warm mix pushed past her lips and spilled down her chin.

It overflowed — a sloppy drip that splattered onto her tits, her thighs — and some caught the rim of the empty glass resting between her knees.

She laughed — gurgling around the mouthful — a soft, wet sound that made Andy’s cock twitch.

“Fuck, look at you…” he panted. “God — you’re supposed to drink it… but you’re wasting it…”

She pulled back just enough to talk, the mess swirling behind her teeth.

“Fill my glass properly,” she slurred, drooling a line of warm white down her chin.

“You forgot, didn’t you? So busy drowning me you didn’t pour my wine.”

Andy’s breath hitched. He lined his tip right at the rim — gave it two final, ragged strokes — and the last thick spurts spilled straight into the glass. She watched it swirl — hot, cloudy, streaked with little flecks of spit and her own leftover drips.

“Mmm… good boy,” she giggled hoarsely. “Now watch your wife play with it.”

She held the glass up — one hand beneath it, the other scooping that creamy pool from her lips and chin, mixing it back in.

Then she leaned forward — mouth still stuffed — and spit the last overflow right into the glass.

A fat glob, warm and frothy. It hit the swirl like cream dropped into coffee.

She gargled the rest — loud, wet, cheeks puffed out. A single line escaped her lips again, rolled down her neck, caught at the curve of her choker. She scooped that too — licked her finger clean with a messy swirl.

“God…” Andy groaned, fist tight around his base. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Sandra swirled the glass like a sommelier sampling her prize. She sniffed it — the smell sharp, salty, so thick it almost clung to the rim.

“Tastes like my new diet…” she purred.

She dipped two fingers in — stirred it, pulled them out creamy — and smeared them across her tongue. Then sucked them with a dirty moan, eyes half-shut.

“Say it,” she whispered, voice hoarse and sticky.

Andy choked out a laugh — wrecked. “You’re my cumslut. My perfect, dripping, wine-swallowing cumslut.”

“My glowing, dripping, gorgeous cumslut.”

She smiled, warm and filthy — lifted the glass to her lips.

“Cheers, baby.”

She tipped it back — the swirl hitting her tongue, mouth stretching wide to take it. Some slipped from the corners again, rolling down her chin in fat, warm lines that dripped onto her tits. She didn’t care. She gargled it again — bubbling it loud — cheeks full, tongue swirling behind her teeth so he could see it all.

Then, slowly, she swallowed.

Every last drop.

A final trickle dripped from her bottom lip — she caught it with her thumb, sucked it, then licked the rim of the glass like a satisfied drunk.

Her smile was wrecked. Hungry. Proud.

“Next time,” she rasped, tongue flicking out one more time.

“Next time I want it overflowing.”