Stranded Wife's Wild Roadside Temptation Unle
The summer sun blazed down on the lonely stretch of highway, turning Donna’s broken-down car into a shimmering monument to her bad luck. Her white sundress clung to her curves, the thin fabric teasing her skin as she fanned herself with a crumpled receipt, her wedding ring glinting like a quiet warning. She’d always craved the forbidden, her thoughts straying to dark, muscled men who moved with primal ease. But she was married—happily, she told herself, though the heat pooling in her core suggested otherwise. When she called the nearest mechanic, she expected a gruff old man. Instead, a beat-up van rolled up, carrying three black men whose presence hit her like a shockwave.
Marcus, the leader, stepped out first, his broad shoulders straining against a snug t-shirt, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a flicker of mischief. Jalen followed, his grin wicked, his jeans hugging his frame in a way that made Donna’s breath catch. The third, Trey, was quieter, his gaze smoldering as he leaned against the van, watching her like a predator sizing up prey. “Car’s in bad shape, sweetheart,” Marcus drawled, his voice smooth as whiskey, kneeling beneath the hood. Donna’s eyes drifted to his crotch as he stretched out, her lips parting before she caught herself, cheeks flushing. “Gonna need a tow,” Jalen added, his tone dripping with suggestion. “You can ride with us to the garage. We’ll take real good care of you.”
The van was a relic, all faded paint and worn leather, smelling of motor oil and something muskier, intoxicating. Inside, it was a tight fit. Marcus slid into the driver’s seat, Jalen claimed the passenger side, and Trey lounged in the back, his eyes never leaving her. “Only spot’s here, darlin’,” Jalen said, patting the console where the gearshift jutted up like a brazen challenge. Donna hesitated, her ring burning against her finger, but the heat in their gazes was a siren call. “This is… unconventional,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and thrill.
With a coy smile, she climbed in, hiking her skirt just enough to straddle the gearshift’s base, her legs parting to reveal the creamy expanse of her thighs. The hem rode up, and she felt their eyes like a caress, her body tingling under the weight of their hunger. “Let’s make this quick, boys,” she said, aiming for prim but landing on breathless. Marcus chuckled, low and filthy. “Oh, we don’t rush a ride like this, baby girl.” The engine roared to life, sending a vibration through the seat—and through her core.
The road stretched ahead, a lazy ribbon of asphalt winding through empty fields. Marcus’s hand found the gearshift, his fingers grazing her inner thigh as he shifted gears, each touch deliberate, teasing. “You lookin’ mighty comfortable there,” he purred, his knuckles brushing closer to her heat. Donna’s breath hitched, her body leaning into the rhythm of the drive, the gearshift’s cold surface pressing just close enough to her panties to make her squirm. Jalen leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Bet that husband of yours don’t know how wild you can get, huh?” His words were a taunt, and Donna’s cheeks burned, guilt warring with desire. “I’m… married,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.
“Married don’t mean you can’t have fun,” Trey said from the back, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. “You ever let loose with guys like us?” Donna’s lips curved, her boldness surging. “Do you boys always pick up stranded girls and… tempt them?” she teased, her eyes darting between them, daring them to push further. Marcus grinned, shifting gears with a slow, deliberate motion that nudged the gearshift against her dampening panties. “Only the ones who look like they’re beggin’ for it, sweetheart.”
The air grew thick, charged with unspoken promises. Donna’s restraint was fraying, her body alive with need. In a moment of reckless abandon, she spread her thighs wider, arching her back to press her crotch closer to the gearshift, the thin fabric of her panties offering little barrier. A soft moan escaped her, and Marcus’s eyes darkened in the rearview mirror. “Fuck, you’re trouble,” he muttered, his hand lingering on the gearshift, knuckles grazing her heat. Jalen’s fingers traced the edge of her skirt, bold and unapologetic. “You want this ride to get wilder, don’t you?”
Guilt gnawed at her, but the fire in her veins burned hotter. The van veered onto a deserted dirt road, flanked by overgrown fields and silence. Marcus pulled over, the engine cutting off with a final growl. The sudden stillness was electric, a held breath before the plunge. As the van stilled, Marcus turned, his eyes ravenous. Jalen was faster, his hand sliding under her skirt, fingers hooking the edge of her panties. With a swift, rough tug, the fabric tore, the sound sharp and thrilling. Donna gasped, her body arching as Trey’s hands joined in, gripping her hips, pulling her toward them.
“Goddamn, you’re soaked,” Jalen growled, his fingers finding her slick heat, teasing her with ruthless precision. Donna’s hands flew to their belts, fumbling with desperate urgency, rubbing the hard bulges beneath their jeans. “Harder,” she growled, her voice raw, primal, the word spilling out before she could stop it. Guilt flashed—her husband’s face, her vows—but it was drowned by the tidal wave of need. Marcus’s hands roamed her curves, rough and possessive, while Trey’s lips claimed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. The van became a crucible, their bodies a tangle of heat and hunger.
They took her there, in the cramped chaos of the van, each man claiming her with a ferocity that left her breathless. Marcus was first, his thrusts deep and relentless, the van rocking with their rhythm. Donna clawed at his shoulders, her moans escalating to growls. “Harder, fuck, harder!” she demanded, her body meeting his with equal force. Jalen followed, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wider as he drove into her, her slick heat welcoming every punishing stroke. Trey was last, his pace slower but no less brutal, his fingers digging into her hips as she shuddered beneath him. Every hole was theirs—her mouth, her core, her soul—each man filling her with a raw, unyielding need that obliterated her hesitation.
The van wasn’t enough. They spilled out into the deserted field, the summer air kissing their sweat-slicked skin. Marcus pushed her against a gnarled oak tree, its bark rough against her back. “You’re not done yet, are you?” he taunted, lifting her leg to hook over his shoulder. Donna’s panties, already torn, hung uselessly as he took her ass, his thrusts slow at first, then savage, her growls echoing through the empty field. “Yes, like that!” she cried, her body trembling with the intensity, her wedding ring glinting in the sunlight—a fleeting reminder she ignored. Jalen and Trey watched, their hands stroking themselves, waiting their turn, their eyes burning with hunger.
One by one, they claimed her against the tree, their roughness a symphony of desire. Donna was no longer the hesitant wife—she was a tempest, meeting their ferocity with her own, her body a canvas for their lust. The field, the van, the tree—they were all stages for this stolen moment, a secret kept by the summer heat. As they collapsed, breathless and sated, Donna’s gaze drifted to her ring, a pang of guilt surfacing. But it was fleeting, drowned by the aftershocks of pleasure and the wicked promise in Marcus’s eyes. “We’ll get that car fixed,” he said, his voice a velvet taunt. “But you’re welcome back for another ride anytime.”
Marcus, the leader, stepped out first, his broad shoulders straining against a snug t-shirt, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a flicker of mischief. Jalen followed, his grin wicked, his jeans hugging his frame in a way that made Donna’s breath catch. The third, Trey, was quieter, his gaze smoldering as he leaned against the van, watching her like a predator sizing up prey. “Car’s in bad shape, sweetheart,” Marcus drawled, his voice smooth as whiskey, kneeling beneath the hood. Donna’s eyes drifted to his crotch as he stretched out, her lips parting before she caught herself, cheeks flushing. “Gonna need a tow,” Jalen added, his tone dripping with suggestion. “You can ride with us to the garage. We’ll take real good care of you.”
The van was a relic, all faded paint and worn leather, smelling of motor oil and something muskier, intoxicating. Inside, it was a tight fit. Marcus slid into the driver’s seat, Jalen claimed the passenger side, and Trey lounged in the back, his eyes never leaving her. “Only spot’s here, darlin’,” Jalen said, patting the console where the gearshift jutted up like a brazen challenge. Donna hesitated, her ring burning against her finger, but the heat in their gazes was a siren call. “This is… unconventional,” she murmured, her voice trembling with a mix of nerves and thrill.
With a coy smile, she climbed in, hiking her skirt just enough to straddle the gearshift’s base, her legs parting to reveal the creamy expanse of her thighs. The hem rode up, and she felt their eyes like a caress, her body tingling under the weight of their hunger. “Let’s make this quick, boys,” she said, aiming for prim but landing on breathless. Marcus chuckled, low and filthy. “Oh, we don’t rush a ride like this, baby girl.” The engine roared to life, sending a vibration through the seat—and through her core.
The road stretched ahead, a lazy ribbon of asphalt winding through empty fields. Marcus’s hand found the gearshift, his fingers grazing her inner thigh as he shifted gears, each touch deliberate, teasing. “You lookin’ mighty comfortable there,” he purred, his knuckles brushing closer to her heat. Donna’s breath hitched, her body leaning into the rhythm of the drive, the gearshift’s cold surface pressing just close enough to her panties to make her squirm. Jalen leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. “Bet that husband of yours don’t know how wild you can get, huh?” His words were a taunt, and Donna’s cheeks burned, guilt warring with desire. “I’m… married,” she whispered, but her voice lacked conviction.
“Married don’t mean you can’t have fun,” Trey said from the back, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down her spine. “You ever let loose with guys like us?” Donna’s lips curved, her boldness surging. “Do you boys always pick up stranded girls and… tempt them?” she teased, her eyes darting between them, daring them to push further. Marcus grinned, shifting gears with a slow, deliberate motion that nudged the gearshift against her dampening panties. “Only the ones who look like they’re beggin’ for it, sweetheart.”
The air grew thick, charged with unspoken promises. Donna’s restraint was fraying, her body alive with need. In a moment of reckless abandon, she spread her thighs wider, arching her back to press her crotch closer to the gearshift, the thin fabric of her panties offering little barrier. A soft moan escaped her, and Marcus’s eyes darkened in the rearview mirror. “Fuck, you’re trouble,” he muttered, his hand lingering on the gearshift, knuckles grazing her heat. Jalen’s fingers traced the edge of her skirt, bold and unapologetic. “You want this ride to get wilder, don’t you?”
Guilt gnawed at her, but the fire in her veins burned hotter. The van veered onto a deserted dirt road, flanked by overgrown fields and silence. Marcus pulled over, the engine cutting off with a final growl. The sudden stillness was electric, a held breath before the plunge. As the van stilled, Marcus turned, his eyes ravenous. Jalen was faster, his hand sliding under her skirt, fingers hooking the edge of her panties. With a swift, rough tug, the fabric tore, the sound sharp and thrilling. Donna gasped, her body arching as Trey’s hands joined in, gripping her hips, pulling her toward them.
“Goddamn, you’re soaked,” Jalen growled, his fingers finding her slick heat, teasing her with ruthless precision. Donna’s hands flew to their belts, fumbling with desperate urgency, rubbing the hard bulges beneath their jeans. “Harder,” she growled, her voice raw, primal, the word spilling out before she could stop it. Guilt flashed—her husband’s face, her vows—but it was drowned by the tidal wave of need. Marcus’s hands roamed her curves, rough and possessive, while Trey’s lips claimed her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. The van became a crucible, their bodies a tangle of heat and hunger.
They took her there, in the cramped chaos of the van, each man claiming her with a ferocity that left her breathless. Marcus was first, his thrusts deep and relentless, the van rocking with their rhythm. Donna clawed at his shoulders, her moans escalating to growls. “Harder, fuck, harder!” she demanded, her body meeting his with equal force. Jalen followed, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wider as he drove into her, her slick heat welcoming every punishing stroke. Trey was last, his pace slower but no less brutal, his fingers digging into her hips as she shuddered beneath him. Every hole was theirs—her mouth, her core, her soul—each man filling her with a raw, unyielding need that obliterated her hesitation.
The van wasn’t enough. They spilled out into the deserted field, the summer air kissing their sweat-slicked skin. Marcus pushed her against a gnarled oak tree, its bark rough against her back. “You’re not done yet, are you?” he taunted, lifting her leg to hook over his shoulder. Donna’s panties, already torn, hung uselessly as he took her ass, his thrusts slow at first, then savage, her growls echoing through the empty field. “Yes, like that!” she cried, her body trembling with the intensity, her wedding ring glinting in the sunlight—a fleeting reminder she ignored. Jalen and Trey watched, their hands stroking themselves, waiting their turn, their eyes burning with hunger.
One by one, they claimed her against the tree, their roughness a symphony of desire. Donna was no longer the hesitant wife—she was a tempest, meeting their ferocity with her own, her body a canvas for their lust. The field, the van, the tree—they were all stages for this stolen moment, a secret kept by the summer heat. As they collapsed, breathless and sated, Donna’s gaze drifted to her ring, a pang of guilt surfacing. But it was fleeting, drowned by the aftershocks of pleasure and the wicked promise in Marcus’s eyes. “We’ll get that car fixed,” he said, his voice a velvet taunt. “But you’re welcome back for another ride anytime.”
10ヶ月前
