A Middle-aged Fuck-pig Pt. 03

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XIV: Going home and reflecting on what a middle-aged slut I had been.

XV: My young stud muffins arrive and I fetch their cases.

XVI: Fucked like a true fuck-pig.

XVII: Made to go on a date by Kelly.

XIV: Going home and reflecting on what a middle-aged slut I had been.

The remainder of my time in Cambridge was work-orientated and I spent the evenings in my hotel room alone. I missed Kelly, but I dared not text her as she had forbidden me, and I knew well enough not to anger or displease the young woman.

I had tried texting both my young stud muffins, but they ignored my messages too. I had gone from being a respected mature matriarch, career woman and home maker to someone not even worth replying too. They probably saw me as some middle-aged fuck-bag who had whored herself to two young men she had known for decades and as a result was not worth even replying too.

I was apparently worth ass-fucking, being made to kiss and lick ass, have my pussy stuffed with sausage, be degraded, suck cock and pay out thousands of pounds, but I wasn’t worth replying too.

I left Cambridge feeling dejected, guilty at betraying my fiancé for some desperate need to whore myself to the two young lads, saddened at having lost my two young men in my life, missing Kelly even though I had only met her over two days, and utterly ashamed of my slutty behaviour.

Kelly especially was continuously in my thoughts; her composure, her cold blue eyes, her cruel smirk and her terrifying ability to subjugate me that still gave me a tingle in my pussy. I had always thought the love affair between Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lector was far-fetched, but now I was beginning to understand the charismatic attraction the power of a sociopath can hold.

Life returned to normal over the next month or so; after a week or so I didn’t have to hide my grazes from my fiancé and as long as I kept a top on, the taser marks remained hidden. I felt awful about cheating on him, but was too selfish to confess in case he left me. When December arrived, I distracted myself with the normality of preparing for Christmas and the events of my trip to Cambridge faded, to only resurface when I was alone with my dildo when my fantasies became increasingly obsessed by the idea of Kelly Macgregor destroying me, of draining my finances, my dignity, my whole life until she became bored with me and discarded me. The perverseness of this fantasy made me squirt as I stuffed my pussy with my dildo more powerfully than ever before. It was like an addiction to the imp of the perverse; the desire to do what we know we should not. I orgasmed over and over imagining giving more and more to Kelly, while she gave less and less until I was of no further use for her and she cast me aside for her next slave. The fantasies felt deliciously dangerous and the thought of them becoming real was terrifyingly exhilarating. As long as they remained a fantasy, and my weekend of degradation remained a secret, I felt I had had a lucky escape whilst at the same time having had the opportunity to indulge a deep need for humiliation and degradation that few middle-class housewives, mom’s and career women got to experience.

XV: My young stud muffins arrive and I fetch their cases.

Then, out of the blue I received a text from Mr C;

‘Popeye and I are staying at yours over Xmas.’

I was thrilled to finally hear from the young stud muffin and replied immediately;

‘Hey big man, lovely to hear from you. No probs. Soooo looking forward to seeing you both. Xxx’

I waited but there was no reply, so I tried to firm up the arrangements so I could plan for Christmas;

‘When are you planning to arrive, big man? Xxx’

But apparently, I was back to being ignored.

As it got nearer to Christmas, I dutifully cleaned the spare bedrooms, got the spare beds ready with fresh linen for my young men, bought in toiletries and a few crates of Stella, remembering what they had drank whilst in Cambridge, and generally undertook my role as homemaker, excited in my anticipation of seeing the lads again.

I was anxious at the idea of meeting Mr C and Popeye for the first time after they had used me as their mature fuck-pig, but hoped that meeting them in the context we had known each other prior in might help things resume as normal with that fateful weekend in Cambridge forgotten. There was a sense of two worlds colliding, and I desperately hoped I could keep my safe, average world as mom, fiancé and career woman at home separate from the desperate fuck-pig in Cambridge.

I was busy cleaning the house ready for visitors over Christmas when I heard the familiar thrum of Mr C’s BMW’s exhaust, and dropping my dust cloth, rushed to the front door to greet my two young men.

“How’re my two favourite young men?” I said, giving them a big, broad smile and holding my arms out for our usual big hugs.

“Our bags are in the car. Go fetch, bitch.” Mr C said with a grin. I felt his assertive command and the escort izmit word ‘bitch’ in my pussy, but I was scared of bringing my middle-aged fuck-pig status into my home life.

” We.. we can’t continue this here, at my home, what about Dougie?” I said, feeling myself flush and fluster at having my fuck-pig status revived in my own home.

“You should’ve thought about that before you came down to Cambridge acting like a desperate old pass-around-pussy.” Mr C said. “Pull those jeans down, it’s going to be a rule from now on that your fat ass and drooling cock socket are always on show to let everyone know what a desperate fuck bunny you really are!”

“Mr C; please, I can’t… can’t we…” I began, my voice sounding high and squeaky and desperate.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up and obey, I’ll shut you up by ramming my cock down your throat.” Mr C said threateningly. “Again!” He added with a sneer.

“Now pull your jeans down, you desperate old bang hole!”

I didn’t know what to do, the intrusion into my home life was so sudden and overwhelming. Dougie was out, thank God, so I popped the button on my jeans and yanked down the little zip, hoping that once the lads calmed down a bit, I might be able to reason with them.

Both young men stood staring at my exposed middle-aged paunch bulging out as my jeans popped open. With the zip down they also had a view of my partly grown back hairs under the white cotton of my panties.

“Well: Pull them down and show us that disgusting fur burger!” Mr C said impatiently.

“Okay, big man; whatever you say!” I said in my best flirty voice, hoping to appease the young stud muffin, as I wriggled my ass and pulled the tight denim over my hips and pushed it down my bare thighs.

And the fucking panties. Like that soggy box isn’t wanting to be available to every fucker desperate enough to fuck it!”

“Yes, sir! Right away, Sir.” I said, giving my young men a saucy salute and then pulling my panties down to mid-thigh along with my jeans. Standing before the two young stud muffins with my most intimate parts on display, only moments after they had arrived, and with them fully-dressed felt so exposed and vulnerable that my pussy was already wet. It felt sexy to be on display for my young men and I wanted them to want me as their sex object, so I did my best to present all flirty and chirpy.

“Do you see anything you like?” I asked, putting my arms straight up and doing a slow twirl so that my boys could admire my displayed midriff, hips, ass and pussy from every angle.

“I’m not into hog beasts, are you Popeye?”

“We could maybe play dress poker with it!”

“Yeah, on second thoughts maybe she should wear underwear, otherwise the dog’s likely to puke if it gets a whiff of this badly wrapped kebab!” Mr C said, walking up to me and unceremoniously shoving his hand between my thighs.

“Yup, the desperate cock socket’s leaking like a broken faucet!” Mr C told Popeye as he felt how wet I was at being displayed for my young men. Mr C’s face was close to mine and I watched as he bit his lower lip in concentration as he shoved his hand further between my bare thighs and then forced a finger up my ass so that I felt my sphincter spasming around his finger.

“See, this is the thing, Ally, it’s one thing for a young woman to be treated like a fuck-pig; she’s young, inexperienced, naïve maybe, or just experimenting. That’s all well and good. But an old desperate sow like you, with meat flaps that hang down like John Wayne’s saddle, you’re supposed to have a certain dignity that comes with age and experience, which is why most saggy old sows stay covered up, and that’s why shoving my finger up your fat ass, especially in the knowledge of knowing my cock has felt the insides of your rectum, has a particular charm of its own!?

“Why don’t you use my charms then, big boy?” I said, grinding my wet pussy against his fore arm, his finger still up my ass.

“We’ve got different plans for using a crocadillapig right now, Ally. Just get the bags in.”

I gave Mr C a disappointed pout as he pulled his hand from between my thighs and I reached down to pull up my jeans.

“Leave them like that. Waddle out like a fat duck, you hilarious old cunt!” Mr C told me.

“But what about the neighbours?” I asked, feeling the danger of this fuck-pig scenario intruding on my home world.

“What about them? I’m sure they’ll enjoy seeing you waddle around with your fat ass on display. Get moving, big booty Judy!” Mr C said, smacking my bare ass and making the soft flesh wobble.

Luckily Mr C had parked on the drive so it wasn’t too far to the car and I waddled as best I could, taking little steps as the denim restricted my stride, and trying to be as discreet as possible. I opened the boot to find two suitcases. They were so heavy I had to lean into the trunk of the car to get a good hold of them, making my lads laugh as my rounded ass was displayed so provocatively.

“Look at that fat ass, bro’!” I heard izmit escort Popeye exclaim. “It looks like 2 pigs fighting over milk duds.”

“Too fuckin’ right! Those butt cheeks are so big, fucking Moses couldn’t part them!” Mr C said as I wiggled my bare ass to amuse my young men.

I managed to drag one of the heavy suitcases out of the trunk of the car just as Mr C came up behind me and kicked my bare ass so hard my head was banged against the trunk of the car.

“Fucking hell! Did you see that fat wobble? It was like a fucking tidal wave!” Mr C asked Popeye as I peered over my shoulder at my stinging ass to see the muddy treads of Mr C’s sole imprinted on the pale flesh of my ass.

“Give me a go!” Popeye said, coming out of the house, and I stayed obediently bent over, my torso in the trunk of Mr C’s car and with my ass obediently shoved out to be the best target I could make it for my two young stud muffins.

“Keep score, Ally!” Mr C told me. “Tell us which kick wobbles your fat ass the most.”

I felt Mr C’s boot kicked hard against my left butt cheek, making me cry out, and then seconds later, Popeye gave my other ass cheek the same treatment.

“One nil to Mr C.” I said, trying to sound perky and enthusiastic through the pain.

“Fuck! I’ll have to try harder!” Popeye said, kicking my ass twice as hard this time.

“First to ten!” Mr C said enthusiastically, and for the next few minutes I stood pushing my bare ass out as a target for my two young men to kick, yelping at every kick, and doing my best to announce the scores as enthusiastically as possible.

By the time Mr C won, my ass was red, swollen and aching. I wasn’t sure I would be able to sit down for bruising for a few days.

“Well done, big man!” I said enthusiastically, straightening up and turning around to congratulate Mr C, glad my two stud muffins had enjoyed their game at my expense.

“Just bring the cases in, lard-ass!” Mr C said, as the two lads walked back into my house, leaving me to struggle with the two heavy cases with my jeans and panties still around my thighs and my red ass still on display.

“Ouchies! My ass feels twice the size it usually is!” I said to my young men as I dragged their suitcases into the living room and rubbed by bare, sore ass.

“Fucking hell! Better call green peace then!” Popeye suggested and I stuck my tongue out at him cheekily.

XVI: Fucked like a true fuck-pig.

“Alright, fuck-pig, get those cases open and find a roll of cotton mesh butcher’s string. You’re looking until you find it.” Mr C said.

“Yes, sir.” I said, giving a curtsy still with my jeans and panties around my thighs, and then opened the first suitcase and rifled through it for anything that looked like a roll of string mesh.

“is this it?” I asked, smiling proudly and holding up a roll of white mesh string.

“Next stop; rocket science!” Mr C sneered. “Take off all your clothes, you disgusting sausage-jockey!” Mr C commanded. “Might want to cover your eyes, Popeye, or you might go blind!” He added as I immediately reached behind my back and under my top to unclip my bra and then yanked the top and bra over my head and down my arms in one go so that I was immediately topless before my fully-dressed young men. As my jeans and panties were already half pulled down it didn’t take me long before I was standing fully naked before my two young stud muffins.

“Roll up, roll up; under the big top tonight; ladies and gentlemen, we give you Ally the Crockadillapig!” Popeye announced, mimicking a circus compare. I joined in by holding out my arms and spinning around to show my middle-aged body off.

“You got any lard or cooking oil, crockadillapig?” Mr C asked.

“Yeah, both. Which would you like big man?”

“Lard; like your fat ass!” Mr C said and I rushed to the kitchen, giving my two young studs a saucy wiggle of my bruising swollen ass.

When I returned with the packet of lard, Mr C ordered me to open the packet and rub the greasy pig fat into my middle-aged flesh.

“Make sure you get that pig fat in every nook and cranny of disgusting flab, including that drooling hatchet would between your fat thighs.” Mr C said.

“And up that fat ham flower. Nobody should have to use lube on a fucking old mattress like you.” Popeye added.

I did as they said, feeling lewd and greasy, dirty and filthy, like a basted pig as I slid the pig grease into every part of my bare middle-aged body, pushing bits up my ass and pussy and even up my nose and in my ears until I stood before my two young stud muffins with my middle-aged paunchy body glistening obscenely with pig fat and feeling like a revolting piggy.

“How’s that boys?” I asked, giving them a twirl of my fat coated bare body.

“Yeah yeah, don’t get carried away, Ally. Just bring the roll of butcher’s mess here.” Mr C told me and I immediately grabbed the roll, padded over to my young stud muffin and handed him the roll with a curtsy.

I was izmit kendi evi olan escort ordered to hold my ankles up by my ears and splay my greased thighs and then the lads proceeded to wrap my body in reams of butcher’s mess so not only was I stuck in a position with my ankles by my head and my pussy and ass fully exposed, but they wound the string mesh so tight that my greased middle-aged flesh bulged obscenely through the string in diamond shaped blobs. By the time my two stud muffins had finished wrapping my bare body in butcher’s mesh, all I could do was smile up at them helplessly. Mr C spat in my face as he and Popeye began undoing their jeans and Popeye, kneeling down beside me offered his cock for me to suck and I eagerly took the young stud’s cock head into my mouth and began sucking and swirling my tongue around his swelling head.

As I tried to please Popeye with my mouth, Mr C popped to the kitchen and returned with my meat tenderiser which is like a wooden handle with blunt metal needles on it.

“Just keep sucking Popeye’s cock, fuck-pig!” Mr C told me as he knelt beside me and positioned his cock so I could stroke it with my greased hand, even though it was up by my head, if I wriggled it free of holding my ankle.

Then as I did my best to pleasure one young man with my mouth and the other with my hand, despite my greased up body being meshed into an uncomfortable and humiliating position, Mr C began using the meat tenderiser, squashing the blunt needles into my greased and meshed middle-aged flesh making me squeal which seemed to delight Mr C:

“Squeal like the fuck-pig you are!” He told me, pushing the tenderizer harder against the soft flesh of my breast as it bulged against the tight butcher’s string mesh. Watching me squeal and writhe like a basted pig seemed to turn my two young stud muffins on and I felt their cocks grow hard in my mouth and hand before they both changed positions so that they lay on either side of my splayed thighs.

“Fucking hell, if you stuck your finger in that belly button it’d have to be amputated; look at the tyres of flab on that!” Mr C told Popeye as he pushed his cock straight up my exposed ass, the pig grease acting as a lubricant so that my sphincter was forced open to accommodate Mr C’s hard cock, and at the same time mashing the tenderiser into my middle-aged paunch.

Just as I was getting used to the feel of Mr C’s cock filling my ass and stretching my sphincter, Popeye pushed his cock into my pussy, giving me an amazing sensation of being totally filled. I began bucking my hips as best I could on those two magnificent cocks.

“Did you hear about the new Ally paint?” Mr C asked Popeye as he rammed his hard cock repeatedly up my ass. “It’s well past its best before date, but it’s cheap, and spreads easy.”

The two lads gave each other a high-five as I lay splayed, greased and meshed in string as they fucked both my holes.

“Yeah? Well what’s the difference between Ally and a broom closet? Only two men fit inside a broom closet at once.”

My two young stud muffins fucked me in every hole, alternating from my ass to my mouth to my pussy while Mr C sporadically squashed the metal needles into my meshed and greased flesh. By the time the young lads were ready to cum all my holes felt thoroughly used and my body ached from being held in position so long as well as stinging from the needles being forced into my flesh.

“Where do you wanna cum, boys?” I asked, feeling both their cocks swelling in my pussy and ass.

Popeye grinned, pulled his cock from my ass and sidled up so he could wipe his cock against my face.

“Get snorting, fuck-pig! It was fucking hilarious watching you choke on my cum last time!”

I pushed my nose against the head of Popeye’s cock and began snorting like a good fuck-pig as Popeye jerked himself off. When I felt his thick gooey cum shoot up my nostril and smelt his musky scent I snorted as hard as I could, pulling the slimy strands of spunk up my nose and into my throat and Popeye pushed his cock into my mouth so that I had to splutter and choke around his hard cock.

“Mmm… thank you, big man! That was lovely, Popeye!” I told him once I had finished my spluttering fit and had swallowed his delicious musky spunk.

“Hey, go get some bacon, Popeye!” Mr C said, still fucking my pussy as Popeye zipped up his jeans.

Popeye found some bacon in my fridge and threw it down beside Mr C. “You’ll love this one, Popeye. Only a total fuck-pig would let you do this!” He said, grinning, and still thrusting his cock up my greased pussy as he ripped the strips of fat off the rashes of bacon.

“Open wide, fuck-pig!” He told me, and then, tipping my head back he dangled the strips of bacon fat down my open throat so that the ends still hung from my lips like ridiculous tusks of fat. I had to keep my head back and my throat open to prevent gagging on the strips of fat as Mr C began fucking my pussy as hard as he could. Then, just as he was about to cum he pulled his cock from my pussy and clambering up to my face, shoved it in my mouth and right down my gullet.

“Did you fucking hear that? That’s the difference between Ally and a fridge; A fridge doesn’t fart when you pull your meat out of it.”

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