Summer time in the Hamptons where the rich like to take a vacation from whatever they consider troubles. It was a paradise not only for the privileged but also for those that attached themselves to the wealthy like mistresses and secret lovers that were given their own private property so their rich paramours could visit them discreetly.
***
The moon was a quarter full. It was a cloudless July night. The waves crashed on the night shore. The summer breeze cooled the warm night carrying the smell of the salty sea.
Marcella had just showered 30 minutes ago. Her black hair was still damp but already regaining some volume. She threw on her pink silk kimono robe and white cotton hip hugger panties. She had washed away that afternoon of dirty hot sex with her sugar daddy and she missed it already.
Marcella pursed her pouty lips looking at herself in the mirror. Vanity was a sin but when you looked as hot as her you are allowed to be a bit vain. She was a Latin goddess with a round booty that made every guy stop and stare. She could stop a room with just the hypnotic sway of her hips.
She sat down on the bed comforter, it felt like a cloud. Marcella rubbed Dove lotion into her caramel skin. Her long black hair loose about her shoulders, her dark chocolate eyes intent on her work. She wore her favorite pink silk robe. Marcella felt the lotion absorb into her skin. For some reason it made her feel horny.
Lotion was always perfect lubricant. She was already out of KY. Her last millionaire lover emptied the whole bottle. At age 29 Marcella was still roping in men with money who usually preferred women 18-25 and no higher.
Marcella’s sugar daddy was some real estate mogul. At least he wasn’t fat and only in his 50s. Why couldn’t rich old men be better looking?
Marcella’s skin was her best feature so she made sure to take care of it. Her pussy began to tingle as she rubbed the Dove lotion into her breasts. They weren’t big but of modest cup size. A 34C with small nipples. Her nipples hardened as she messaged her breasts.
Marcella remembered her older lover from that day. He had to get back to his wife so he didn’t stay over but that afternoon it was all hot sex and wine. It was because of him Marcella could afford to live on the shoreline of the Hamptons.
She was reminded of his mouth on her nipple, suckling her, occasionally biting down when she commanded. Marcella liked it a little rough. Marcella lay back on her fluffy pillows and turned out the light. The window was open blowing in a sea breeze to cool her hot skin that erupted in goose bumps as her hand descended down towards her panties.
She was so damp. Opening her legs a little wider, Marcella rubbed herself, biting her lip as warm tingly sensations spread through her muscles. She groaned softly as she felt her panties get wetter and hotter.
Marcella slipped her French manicured nails inside her damp panties. Her shaven petals saturated with arousal. She sunk a finger into her tight hot depths, her sweet berry engorged and rubbing against her palm.
Then Marcella heard a crash. A vase broke downstairs. She stopped what she was doing, annoyed that she was being interrupted by such a small thing. Marcella crept downstairs entering the kitchen and getting a carving knife. She didn’t use it often she was a terrible cook but growing up Marcella knew how to carve flesh to make a point.
She heard a man grunt in frustration. Marcella hid behind a column. Her heart pounded and adrenaline coursed through her veins alerting her every nerve ending. She didn’t hear anything more. Marcella slowly peeked from behind the column to see a man with a gun in her face speaking in a low menacing voice, “Don’t scream or move or I’ll shoot.”
***
A few minutes earlier…
Dyson and Rogan sat in the disguised cable truck watching the lights in the house. It was 11 o’clock at night on a Tuesday. Most people who lived alone in the Hamptons were either at a party or a senior citizen in bed by 8 pm.
“Damn does chick have a bedtime?” Rogan sighed frustrated.
“She’s some rich white guy’s whore,” Dyson said. “Surprisingly though she’s not at some charity trying to pick another sugar daddy.”
Dyson and Rogan had staked out the house for a week. They even inspected the interior when the woman called for a cable support. Her cable was cutting in and out. Mostly because Dyson and Rogan messed with the signal.
“From the looks of it this sugar daddy is pretty well set up,” admired Rogan. “Must be some expensive jewelry in there.”
The woman was named Marcella. She was gorgeous. Incredibly hot with a scrumptious ass that Dyson wanted to bury himself in. Once he saw her stepping out of the pool. She looked like a water goddess, dripping wet from her luscious curves. Dyson almost lost his concentration when he saw Marcella’s nipples poke through her pink bikini top with it’s small triangles that lifted her perfect breasts.
The memory made Dyson hard. Damn. He wondered if after this he would give her a call. Maybe seduce her away from her gray sugar daddy. He imagined taking her roughly by the hair, pummeling her caramel flower until she was black and blue and moaning his name.
Dyson and Rogan made their living by stealing from the rich. Mostly from mistresses. They couldn’t really go to the police without them connecting her to her rich boyfriend whose wife finds out.
Dyson was an ex-con. He did 3 years for B&E. Because he was good looking jurors went easy on him. If all criminals were hot models then no one would ever do time. Dyson was rugged with herculean stature. His biceps tested the cotton fibers of his black shirt with a smooth jaw line as hard as a rock. It twitched whenever Dyson was bored. And clenched whenever he wrestled with a problem.
His eyes were Caribbean green that made every woman melt whenever he looked their way with a charming smile. They always sparkled greedily whenever they spied something he wanted. He adjusted his black ski mask on his head that hid his military buzz cut honey blond hair. The night was warm making the woolen mask feel like a burden.
Finally the bedroom light went out.
“About time,” Dyson sighed, pulling down the ski mask.
“Security system should be down now,” Rogan took out a remote and pressed a button that activated an EMP to temporarily knock out the security system. “You have 15 minutes.”
***
Now…
This was a problem. How could Dyson trip over a vase? Marcella must have moved it earlier.
“Don’t move or scream or I shoot,” Dyson threatened. He had the gun pointed at her but she didn’t seem disturbed. She was incredibly calm.
“Put the knife down,” he ordered. Marcella obeyed without protest.
“Hands where I can see them,” Dyson ordered. Marcella lifted her hands up, her robe slightly opened to reveal the curve of her bosom. Dyson faltered remembering her wet from the pool. Her damp black hair wasn’t helping.
Marcella’s pouty lips slightly parted, her dark eyes cloudy with sinful intent. She was still horny from earlier and she could tell from the intruder’s voice and build that he was all man underneath those clothes. His Caribbean green eyes ogled her while his gun was steadily aimed.
“The safe is in the dining room behind a painting of fruit,” Marcella said.
Dyson was caught off guard a moment by her suddenly cooperating but he didn’t waste time debating with himself. His jaw clenched nonetheless as he motioned for her to lead him to the safe. He had only 12 minutes left.
***
Dyson watched the sway of Marcella’s hips as the silk pink kimono flapped at the motion. The sight of her round ass in those white cotton panties made him semi-hard. He imagined what it would be like to watch that ass bounce like a basketball on his rock hard cock.
“Here we are,” Marcella pointed to the painting of peaches and figs in a golden bowl.
“Open it,” Dyson ordered.
Marcella tilted her head, running her fingers through her damp black hair. She noticed his Adam’s Apple bounce as his lips compressed into a hard line. His muscles could have torn the fibers of his shirt making Marcella imagine what he’d look like without any clothes. A naughty thrill shot her clit like a bolt of lightning as she saw his crotch begin to form a hungry bulge.
“I said open it,” Dyson held the gun to Marcella’s head.
“Are you sure you want what’s in that safe?” Marcella’s dark chocolate eyes overlooked the gun pointed at her forehead. Marcella slowly opened her silk robe to reveal her perky 34C breasts, nipples dark and engorged with arousal. She glowed in the silver moonlight, a demon succubus making Dyson’s senses run wild.
Dyson lowered his weapon slightly. Was this woman crazy or was this seduction a ploy to get him to lower his guard?
“I have something you don’t even need a combination for…,” Marcella smiled suggestively.
Marcella took his hand. He put the gun in her face again, a menacing look in his green eyes.
“It’s okay…,” she whispered. “It’s okay…”
Marcella guided his hand to between her thighs. Heat radiated from her womanhood. She pressed Dyson’s hand to the entrance of her paradise and he could feel the dampness of her panties. Clearly she had been masturbating before he broke in.
“Feels nice doesn’t it?” she whispered as he let his guard down a little. Dyson’s erection was almost painful. Marcella took it a step further by slipping his hand under the elastic where he felt her hot sopping pussy lips. She was completely shaven. Slick and hot.
His palm brushed against her sweet berry, engorged and throbbing. She began moving his hand having him rub her hot wet pussy. She began to pant, her face relaxing into euphoria.
Marcella took Dyson’s hand from out of her panties and slipped his cum soaked fingers into her mouth sucking on them while she fixed her wicked, sexy chocolate eyes on him.
Dyson stared at Marcella, mesmerized by her, feeling her smooth tongue running along his wet fingers. She released his fingers from her hot mouth to Dyson’s dismay. He remembered briefly that he had only 9 minutes at best before the alarm came back on and his partner would drive away without him.
Marcella pressed his hand to her full breast. It felt so soft yet firm. Dyson squeezed her breast without Marcella’s prompting. Her skin was so soft like cashmere. So close now he could smell her Pantene shampoo and Dove soap.
“It’s okay… it’s okay, baby,” Marcella whispered as she kissed his neck feeling the throb of his pulse. Dyson’s erection strained against his zipper. It throbbed painfully.
Marcella unbuckled his pants as her tongue licked his neck. She then grabbed his member. Her feminine hands closed around his throbbing member. She was anxious to taste him, to take him into her mouth. It had been a long time since she had a younger man.
“Big boy…,” she cooed. She licked his lips in a teasing way as she messaged his sinewy staff.
He let out a soft groan, letting down his gun but keeping it in his hand. Marcella descended down setting free his now raging erection. She wrapped her pillowy lips around his mushroom head. A little fluid leaked from the tip and Marcella used it to lubricate the shaft. She flicked her tongue she explored Dyson’s turgid staff smiling when she found his sensitive areas.
Dyson groaned louder despite himself. Who was this woman who was blowing a total stranger, a man who broke into her house? For a moment Dyson’s mind went blank, his animal instincts taking over.
Marcella loved to listen to this stranger mewl and moan for her. But she wanted him inside her fully. She stood up and he grabbed her and assaulted her mouth with lustful kisses. He shoved his tongue into her mouth which she eagerly accepted.
Dyson placed his gun on the table giving him an extra free hand. He roughly spun her around ripping off her silk robe. He grabbed her breasts and fondled them roughly making Marcella groan.
Dyson licked and bit into her neck as he listened to Marcella’s breath hitch. He shoved his hand into her cum soaked panties. He dipped a finger into her folds and groaned when he found her tight and hot.
Marcella sighed in bliss as she guided his mouth back to hers to smother her moans as he worked his finger inside her.
She felt his still hungry erection bruise her tail bone.
“Fuck me,” she whispered hotly. “Roughly.”
Dyson pushed her up against the dining room table, it’s surface polished reflecting them both in their twisted passion. He only had 5 minutes maybe? He lost track of time so consumed with fiery lust was he. At this point he didn’t care about what was in the safe.
He tore down her panties seeing her pussy glisten with arousal in the moonlight. He imprinted a fiery kiss on her caramel thigh then bent her over the table.
Then he took a bite out of her juicy ass. Marcella’s breath hitched with shock. He gripped her wet hair causing her to gasp in pain. Marcella felt the head of his cock pressed against her opening.
“Quit teasing, big boy,” she groaned. “Show me what you got.”
“You want it that badly?” Dyson growled fully participating in this sudden sexual role-play. Dyson felt she was wet and ready, begging for it. She gasped in surprise as he forced her head to the side to whisper huskily into her ear, “You’re a bad girl.”
“Punish me,” Marcella begged.
Dyson’s erection filled her, stripping away everything but her need. Marcella’s mouth formed an “O” in a silent scream. He pulled out almost all the way, then plunged deep, filling her with his maleness.
The table shook from Dyson’s thrusts. Marcella’s scalding heat was delicious. He increased the intensity of his thrusts, the excitement of the ticking clock added to the fire. He should stop before the alarm came back on but he wanted to finish.
Dyson slapped Marcella’s caramel ass. She cried out.
“You like fucking complete strangers,” Dyson growled. “Dirty girl.” He slapped her again harder leaving a pink hand print.
“I’m a dirty girl,” Marcella groaned, a smile on her beautiful face.
“You deserve this then,” Dyson rode her body with the passion of the beast. The need to explode built in him, a rising crescendo. Marcella could feel her own orgasm building in the soles of her feet. The building shivers consumed her.
Then Marcella’s orgasm hit full force. Her toes curled and back arched as she came. Dyson felt the pleasure ripple through her and he wasn’t far behind. Marcella’s every nerve ending was quivering. Then Dyson’s storm of lust blew inside her. He came with a shuddering cry, falling forward breathing heavily.
They luxuriated in the sweet sensation as Dyson and Marcella were temporarily not in sync with their own bodies but were instead pure heat and pleasure. Dyson bit into Marcella’s slender shoulder, tasting the bittersweetness of her sweat. He buried his nose into her wet hair breathing in her Pantene shampoo.
Dyson suddenly checked his timer. He had only 50 seconds before he would be caught.
“Shit!” Dyson pulled out reluctantly leaving Marcella bent over the table. Rogan was going to kill him. He grabbed his gun but Marcella grabbed him and planted a desperate passionate kiss on his manly lips.
“Come back tomorrow night,” she whispered. Dyson returned the kiss as the timer marched on. Then Dyson ran out of the house just as the alarm went off activating the lights in the house.
Marcella leaned against the dining room table naked, her heart pounding, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t stop smiling. Tomorrow maybe she’ll wear lingerie…
***
