Old dirty man walks in on the freeuse milf...

THE OLD MAN'S TURN – A THROAT'S WORTHLESS PROTEST

Patrizia heard him before she saw him—the slow, shuffling footsteps of old man Ricci from the eighth floor, the man who always leered at her when they passed on the stairs. The dirty bastard's breath was labored, his voice a raspy chuckle as the old man's worn out boots crunched into the messy apartment, his beady eyes locking onto the voluptuous milf's frozen form.

"Well, well," Ricci crooned, his yellowed teeth bared in a grin. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Patrizia's blood ran cold.

"O-Ohno..."

Ricci was old—older than her own father, much much dirtier—with liver-spotted hands and a gut that sagged over his belt. But the bulge in the ugly bastard's trousers was unmistakable, the outline of his fat cock straining against the fabric.

"Heard you were giving out free rides today," he muttered, stepping closer. His fingers, gnarled with arthritis, traced the curve of her pale cheek before sliding down to grip the mature brunette's cum-stained chin. "Always knew you were a whore, Patrizia. Ever since you worked at that strip club."

Her mind screamed.

"DIRTY BASTARD GET YOUR HANDS OF... O-Ohmygod, what the fuck!!"

Ricci didn't ask permission.

His other hand fumbled with his belt, his cock springing free—thick and veiny, the head an angry purple.

"Eww... N-No way that thing is getting any close to me"

Patrizia's stomach lurched at the sight, at the smell of him—cheap cologne and stale sweat, the musk of an old man who hadn't washed properly in fucking weeks.

"Open wide, puttana," he ordered, his grip tightening on her jaw.

The hypnosis held her mouth slack.

Ricci didn't hesitate.

"F-Fuck... Why? Why is this happening to me!?"

The old man shoved his cock past her luscious red lips with a grunt, his hips jerking forward until the tip bumped against the back of her throat. Patrizia gagged instantly, the mature brunette's green eyes watering as the taste of him flooded her mouth—salt and sour skin, the bitter tang of thick smegma.

"That's it," Ricci groaned, his free hand tangling in her hair. "Take it like a good little slut."

He set a brutal pace from the start, the dirty fucker's hips pistoning with a vigor beyond his age.

*GLOCK!*

*GLOCK*

*GLOCK!!*

Every thrust bulged her throat, his cockhead slamming against her gag reflex over and over. Tears streamed down her face, her nose pressed flush against his pelvis as he bottomed out inside her.

"Fuck, your mouth is tight," he rasped, his fingers tightening in her curls. "Better than that cheap whore I usually visit."

Patrizia's stomach churned.

She could feel him throbbing inside her, his cock twitching as he neared his climax. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hips stuttering as he fucked her face with increasing desperation.

"Nnngh! Gonna—!"

Ricci came with a grunt, his seed flooding her throat in thick, bitter spurts. Patrizia gagged as it hit the back of her tongue, the taste making her want to vomit—but the hypnosis held her in place, forcing her to swallow every last drop.

When he finally pulled out, his softening cock left a trail of spit and cum connecting her lips to his tip. Ricci chuckled, wiping himself off on her cheek before tucking himself back into his trousers.

"Good girl," he muttered, patting her head like a dog. "I'll be back after my Viagra kicks in."

Patrizia remained frozen, her throat burning, her body trembling with silent sobs.

The door stayed open.

THE VIAGRA-FUELED NIGHTMARE – A THROAT'S WORTHLESS PROTEST

Ricci returned an hour later.

"O-Ohmygod he is back..."

Patrizia knew the moment he stepped inside—his breath was heavier, his movements more frantic. The Viagra had taken effect, his cock already half-hard again as he approached her.

"Round two, whore," he growled, his fingers digging into her hair.

This time, he didn't bother with preliminaries.

He yanked her forward, his cock slamming into her mouth with enough **** to make her teeth rattle. Patrizia's throat convulsed around the intrusion, her gag reflex triggering instantly—but Ricci didn't care.

"Take it!" he snarled, his hips pistoning with renewed vigor. "Take every fucking inch!"

The **** had made him relentless.

He fucked her face like a man possessed, his balls slapping against her chin with every thrust. Patrizia's vision blurred, her lungs burning for air as he used her throat like a fleshlight.

"Nnngh! Hkkk—!"

Ricci came again—and again—and again.

Eight times.

Eight loads dumped down the voluptuous milf's throat-pussy, her stomach distending slightly from the sheer volume of cum **** into her. By the fifth round, Patrizia's throat was raw, her smoky contralto reduced to broken, wet gurgles around his cock.

But Ricci didn't stop.

*GLOCK!!*

*GLOCK!*

*GLOCK!!*

Couldn't stop.

Not until the Viagra finally wore off, leaving him panting and spent, the dirty bastard's veined cock limp against his thigh.

"F-Fuck," he muttered, wiping his brow. "Best night I've had in years."

He left without another word.

Patrizia remained.

"DAMMIT!!! W-Why can't I move yet!?"

A statue.

A toy.

A thing.

And in the darkness, the Osiris mark on her belly pulsed, its hellfire eyes burning brighter than ever.