Jan. Week 3: Friday(Raw)-Leah orgasms...again...(Luck+10)

{if bbc_janwk3_friday = 10 } He bounced her on his lap with an effortless thrust, and the obscene friction lit up her nerves all over again. Leah’s hands clung to his massive, iron-hard shoulders for support. She realized, with a mortifying twist in her gut, that she wasn’t just staying on for the sake of finishing the job. She wanted another one. She fucking needed it.

“You like this, dontcha?” Bill rumbled, voice low and sticky in her ear. “You like how I stretch that little white pussy out. Make you cum so hard you forget who you are. Ain’t nobody ever fuck you like this, huh?”

Leah clamped her lips shut, but the mewl that escaped was pure want. She hated him for knowing, and hated herself for proving him right. But every time she rose up and slammed back down, the pain softened and the pleasure sharpened, until she was crashing down on him with a reckless abandon that left her dizzy.

She went faster, clutching his head for balance, letting her hair fall around both their faces so she didn’t have to see the smug look in his eyes. The dull vinyl of the couch creaked and protested beneath them, their frantic movement threatening to tip it over. Bill filled his hands with her breasts, squeezing and thumbing her nipples through the fabric of her sweater, until she arched her back and moaned despite herself.

“That’s it gurl,” he breathed, grinding up into her. “Show me how much you like that black dick. I want to see that good girl face when you cum again. This dick don’t compare to yo man at home. Or that Mr. Howard. Think about all them little boys at the school, thinking you so innocent.”

Leah tried to block out his words, but they wormed their way in, feeding the storm inside her. She imagined Jonathan, gentle and clueless and worlds away from this closet. She imagined Howard, all icy authority and smug leverage, watching from his office that video she made so long ago with a hard-on under the desk. She pictured every goddamn student who’d ever stared at her tits in the hallway, every snickering boy who’d ever whispered about her ass in the teacher’s lounge.

As her second orgasm began to build, Leah’s mind splintered. She was still herself—still Leah, still the teacher, still the fiancée—but she was also the slut on the couch, the girl who’d been fucked so hard she didn’t know where the pain ended and the pleasure began. It was all the same now: a relentless, crashing tide.

She rode the wave, face twisted in rage and rapture, and when she came the second time, it was bigger, meaner, more volcanic than the first. Her body convulsed, clenching and milking him. She writhed in his lap, every muscle tense, her nails carving red lines in his skin as she struggled to stay upright.

Leah slumped forward, exhausted and half-limp, unable to muster a comeback. She was slick with sweat, her thighs quivering with exhaustion, her cunt throbbing around his still-pulsing cock. She wanted to crawl off him, to collapse on the floor, to die for just a minute. {endif}

{if bbc_janwk3_friday = 7 } Mr. Bill didn’t even slow down. In fact, as soon as he sensed her ragdoll limpness, he just grinned and got more eager. He seized both her legs, bending them back and folding her practically in half, planting her knees beside her ears and pinning them down there like he was stretching out a wrestling opponent.

Then he repositioned himself over her, his monster cock now lined up at an angle that made Leah’s whole body tense in terrified anticipation. The old couch groaned beneath them, and the sound of skin slapping skin, the punctuated creaks, and Mr. Bill’s ragged breathing filled the janitor's closet. It felt like it was a fucking furnace in there and the world had shrunk to just the two of them—her, a helpless, boneless mess, and him, a sweaty, musky juggernaut determined to pound her into a new shape.

With each new thrust, his cock crashed into her at a depth that bordered on surgical, the latex barely a buffer against the way he split her open. Leah’s toes curled and her fingers clawed desperately at the vinyl as she tried to keep herself from sliding up the couch with the **** of his motion. She wanted to scream, but all that came out were these high, humiliating whimpers. Her brain knew she needed to be quiet—hell, her job and life depended on it—but her body had gone full traitor, **** to wring every last jolt of sensation from the battering inside her.

She made the mistake of looking down at where they joined. Jesus fucking Christ. Her pussy looked like it belonged in a raunchy video—gaped and wet, pink folds stretched around the impossible girth of him. The sight made her clench involuntarily and Mr. Bill let out a guttural “Yeah, clamp down on it, baby!” as if she was doing it just for him.

Leah’s second orgasm came out of nowhere. She’d been hovering right at the edge, but the way he bent her and pounded her—so deep she felt the tip of him hitting something that might have been her lungs—launched her over the cliff. It was brutal and sudden, a starburst of heat and pressure that made her vision spotty and her head spin. She bit down on her own arm to stifle the noise but couldn’t stop a sobbing, gasping sound as her pussy seized up around him even harder.

Her body was betraying her in every way, but she didn’t care. She was used up, humiliated, and weirdly proud that she could take it. There was no point in pretending she was anything but his plaything right now. The sensation was so overwhelming it short-circuited her thoughts, leaving only animal instinct and raw nerve endings. The smell of sweat and latex and pussy was dizzying, like a warning sign she was about to pass out, but she didn’t dare ask him to stop or slow down.

If anything, Mr. Bill just got more intense. He panted with the effort, veins standing out on his neck, arms trembling as he held her legs back for maximum penetration.

“Damn, girl, you takin’ it better than any white bitch I ever had,” he slurred, voice thick with pride and something like gratitude. He pumped faster, his balls smacking against her ass with a wet, relentless rhythm. Leah’s head lolled back on the armrest, eyes rolling, mouth moaning in shocked pleasure.

She could feel her body giving up, muscles shaking and spasming with every thrust. Her pussy ached but also felt more alive than anything else in her entire world. She lost track of time, lost track of any sense of shame or even the faint hope that someone might walk in and end this. She didn’t want it to end. She wanted to be ruined, to be used, to be claimed. {endif}

{if bbc_janwk3_friday = 14 } Mr. Bill didn’t even slow down. In fact, as soon as he sensed her ragdoll limpness, he just grinned and got more eager. He seized her hips and fucked her harder and faster.

The old couch groaned beneath them, and the sound of skin slapping skin, the punctuated creaks, and Mr. Bill’s ragged breathing filled the janitor's closet. It felt like it was a fucking furnace in there and the world had shrunk to just the two of them—her, a helpless, boneless mess, and him, a sweaty, musky juggernaut determined to pound her into a new shape.

With each new thrust, his cock crashed into her at a depth that bordered on surgical, the latex barely a buffer against the way he split her open. Leah’s toes curled and her fingers clawed desperately at the vinyl as she tried to keep herself from sliding up the couch with the **** of his motion. She wanted to scream, but all that came out were these high, humiliating whimpers. Her brain knew she needed to be quiet—hell, her job and life depended on it—but her body had gone full traitor, **** to wring every last jolt of sensation from the battering inside her.

Leah’s second orgasm came out of nowhere. She’d been hovering right at the edge, but the way he bent her and pounded her—so deep she felt the tip of him hitting something that might have been her lungs—launched her over the cliff. It was brutal and sudden, a starburst of heat and pressure that made her vision spotty and her head spin. She bit down on her own arm to stifle the noise but couldn’t stop a sobbing, gasping sound as her pussy seized up around him even harder.

Her body was betraying her in every way, but she didn’t care. She was used up, humiliated, and weirdly proud that she could take it. There was no point in pretending she was anything but his plaything right now. The sensation was so overwhelming it short-circuited her thoughts, leaving only animal instinct and raw nerve endings. The smell of sweat and latex and pussy was dizzying, like a warning sign she was about to pass out, but she didn’t dare ask him to stop or slow down. {endif}