Her husbands brother introduced us at a daytime party, then left us to it. We talked for some time. She had three mixed-race kids with her, all from her second husband. He still fucks her but he's out of town more often than not. She was pleasant, giving not the slightest hint of impropriety.
That evening, she called me. Coffee. Just the two of us. No crowd, no kids.
Over coffee, Tina talked. Not like someone spilling secrets, but like someone unburdening themselves to a stranger. No filter, no soft edges. Just the raw stuff. Some of it anyway.
She wasn't bitter. That was the thing. She told it like a story that had happened to someone else. The men, only later we got into how many. Some didn't even try to talk. She did anything they wanted to keep her head above water. Not all of it was bad, she liked variety. Both her husbands were just another man at first.
Husband number one was black. He'd taken her like a stray dog, broke her in, shared her, worked her, used her up. He had another girl much like her and expected to work. Also had an older wife. She used a firm hand to keep both younger wives in line. She also brought their supplies and the men. Most were black but not all. The girls had a single purpose. Resistance was futile. She just did whatever they wanted. Three years in that cage. Had a black baby to one of the men. She worked up to the day it was born. Then she ran. Got a day job. Two mouths to feed it wasn't enough. Still in her teens she danced, performing for crowds, mostly tourists. One would want her then on her back for anyone with cash. More was a bonus. Top, bottom, front to back. Didn't matter. Done it all before.
At first husband number two was just another man but when he took her he seemed different. He tried other girls, always used her fully but he had steady hands, steady job, sometimes taking her for days at a time and kept coming back. They married and changed countries. But in the end, all he really wanted was to breed her and he did. Three more babies. Her role as a wife. She felt no shame. She didn't even blink when she said it.
Now, she was thinking. Planning. The kids were getting older, her youngest was eight and she was feeling the itch. More freedom. More control. Maybe a whole new life. But change is a funny thing—it calls to you and warns you away at the same time.
She sipped her coffee, eyes locked on mine. Measuring. Weighing. Then she smiled, slow and sharp.
"What about you?" she said.
And just like that, the ground shifted.
She's small—petite—but strong. Fit. Built like someone who's had to fight for everything. The moment she takes your cock in her mouth you know she's experienced. Always willing, in bed, she's all energy, all motion. Flexible. Wanting. Up for more. She's had plenty. But there's the downside, too. She's been stretched. A lot. She's a sloppy pussy. Apart from all the men she's been bred. Some unknown black bred her first then three whites with hubby2. The first two were natural but complicated. Gyno's told her no more natural births especially with western men. Their babies are too big. But the damage is done. She was bred more hence the cesarean scars.
Stretched out as she is she's trained herself to tighten up, grip like a fist. Or let go completely, so soft and loose I barely feel anything but her inner warmth. She can't help squeezing when she cums. Playing my fingers go pussy to mouth any number of times. She knows I want her eating pussy and gets a good taste. Telling her to relax when I'm fucking her she's so loose I edge along for hours if I want. I finish with a hard pounding, use her mouth or flip her over. Being fertile she's has to be flexible that way but prefers loads inside her. When it's over she goes down to clean me up. She's good in bed so being stretched doesn't bother me. Not really.
Always available.
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Permanent Initials.
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Hair tied up keeping her chest uncovered.
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Marked forever.
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