Emma's Bull Breeds His Wife Raw

The doorbell rang at exactly eight o’clock. Emily’s heart slammed against her ribs as she smoothed her hands down the tiny black lace teddy that barely covered her tits and left her shaved pussy completely exposed. She wore nothing else except a pair of glossy red five-inch heels that made her ass pop with every step. Mike sat in the oversized leather chair in the corner of the living room, pants already around his ankles, his modest cock stiff in his fist.

“You sure about this, baby?” he asked, voice hoarse with lust.

“I’ve never been more sure,” Emily whispered, flashing him a wicked little smile before she opened the door.

Marcus filled the frame. Six-foot-four, thick with muscle, dark skin gleaming under the porch light. His tight black shirt strained across a chest that looked carved from stone. The confident smirk on his face said he knew exactly why he was here.

“Damn, Emily,” he rumbled, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His eyes dragged over her body like he already owned it. “You weren’t lying in those pictures. That married pussy is already dripping for me, isn’t it?”

Emily bit her lip and nodded, cheeks flushed. She could feel Mike’s gaze burning into her back as she led their guest into the living room. The air thickened instantly.

Marcus didn’t waste time on small talk. The moment they were clear of the doorway his big hands were on her. One massive palm cupped and squeezed her left tit hard enough to make her gasp, thumb flicking across her stiff nipple through the lace. The other hand dropped straight between her legs, two thick fingers sliding along her soaked slit.

“Fuck, this married cunt is soaked,” he growled loud enough for Mike to hear. “You been thinking about this big black dick stretching you out for months, haven’t you, slut?”

“Yes,” Emily moaned, hips rolling shamelessly against his hand. “My husband wants to watch you ruin me.”