Tess Takes to the Streets

Tess Takes To The Streets

Tess had never cried more than her first day as a mother. It was as though the last 32 years of her life had been compressed down to a single moment and dashed as suddenly as it had arrived. She had heard of women refer to giving birth as a rebirth and hadn't believed it until the cocktail of drugs wore off and the steady trickle of medication and therapy felt ripped from her arm like an IV. For the past two months, she'd done all she could to escape the intoxicating mindfuck that began when she rode the L Train home five months into her pregnancy.

Though all her adult life she'd known the attention of men, it mutated into something more predatory from that moment on. And with time, tears and lots of fights between her and her husband, cruelly symbiotic. They hadn't known, even when they tried, and failed to press charges on the assailants and settled for therapy as a respite from the anger and blame, just how deep that event sank its claws into them. No witnesses would come forward, not even the cameras on the subway seemed to exist to corroborate the attack. The footage was just gone, though a subpoena was able to prove they never erased their footage, that day for 90 minutes was eerily absent from their inventory like someone made it just disappear.

By the eighth week of therapy, something that was cracking completely broke in Tess, and she needed to feel like the object of depravity those men had turned her into. She dragged her husband kicking and screaming into her relapse, and he reluctantly became the very cuckold those men had reduced him to. She wanted, no, needed to be played with, and for the next month she played their game by their rules. Men upon men used her, seduced and abused her, and she got drunk on it like nothing in her life. They made her forget who she was for days at a time until the same cracks once shown in her appeared in Jack.

She thought of that four days into motherhood, cradling her newest, the woman who'd gone from her happiest life to her most perverted low to her husband's failed suicide back to therapy and a bath of pharmaceutical aids to bring back the woman her husband still loved. That woman had abandoned him for the pleasure that came from other mens eyes, hands and cocks. A week before she was scheduled to deliver, that woman went cold turkey so as to not spike her breast milk with Prozac, Vallium, and Vivitrol. Sleepless nights and mood swings gave way to the blinding calm of holding a new human being in her hands. One that was not just the biproduct but tangible proof of their love and the man he was deep down.

Time took their little boy from living proof to an individual with a voice, personality and needs spliced further and further from their own. She watched rocking their newest to sleep from the corner of her eye as Jack stood taller and prouder in his occupation as a father, falling more in love with her and their baby.

That was the man who was walking beside her the first time she caught Richie's eye. A tall, imperious man who made Rich, a man who hated his name all the more now that he was homeless and penniless, feel more envy and hate for his fellow man, even as Jack dropped a twenty in his cup. In the days leading up to this revelation, he'd resented his new life to the point of nearing the same fateful conclusion Jack had, that life wasn't worth living.

Then he saw her.

She did a decent job trying to appear modest, he thought, but mother nature hadn't given her the body she now had for her husband or family. No. She had it for Richie to enjoy. He spent his first week following her from her home to the store, observing her change in outfits and trying to surmise from how each shirt, blouse, and dress hung on her just how big her tits might be. It was all he could summon to distract him from his hunger. By the fourth day he decided she was a 36F and feeling no shortage of envy for hee kid to be able to suck those tits, lifted some cheap liquor from the back of a grocery delivery truck and drowned his sorrows in it, pretending the cold lip of the glass was the puckered teat of her silver dollar nipple. In the rush of alcohol, he nearly stained his pants at the thought of nursing on Tess's matronly breasts.

It was under that stupor that aching for the velvetty grip of Tess' cunny he formed a plan to see he lived the life he deserved and Tess' husband did not. He was going to play husband to the bewitching MILF and give her a fucking that would change her forever.

Days later, Tess was staring out the window of her apartment, rocking her small son in her arms as she contemplated the neatly folded piece of paper that now laid crumbled waiting for the wind to yank it out into the night air. In the past weeks they had moved from one pay-by-the-month apartment to the next, the bill from the hospital wasn't cheap and the decision to put their lawyer on retainer for another month had yielded.. well... little more than crumpled stationary. Despite gladly accepting his normal fee, the paralegal had informed the he was giving up on their case, that there was more red tape involved in their pursuit than he had favors in city hall. It was best that they just pretend whatever happened it was countries away in some lawless realm they would never roam. That, rather than four bocks over on the subway line. In their two previous lodgings there was no sign of the raised sign declaring "Subway Entrance" from any window. But as they struggled and money evaporated they were stuck here and the sign glowed brighter than the faded paint should have allowed it.

It made her feel ways she wished to never feel again.

She picked up her phone and checked her bank app, being able to check their savings at the swipe of a finger was both a nicety of modern technology and the bane of their existence.

So little. Less and less every day.

It had been weeks now since Jack got that great tip at his concierge parking job and feeling generous dropped a twenty in the cup of some lousy bum. She hated how often she thought about it. The food that could have bought for their son. Maybe a few lottery tickets per chance that would change their fortune. She still thought about the grimy man and seeking him out in the dim hope he'd still have that twenty.

She lifted her hand from beneath her son, bowing her head down, her fingers frisked her eyes, rubbing a knot out.

What were these new drugs doing to her? Gone was the sluggishness of previous anti-anxiety meds but in its place, strange winding thoughts and a sort of meiserly mind for money. What she would do for it, where it would take her. At her own job she overheard a male colleague joke she could start an Onlyfans and she almost considered it. And she hated that. She could not put herself through that, to invite the eyes, words or thoughts of other men, and she definitely could not put Jack through that again. It nearly killed him before.

She had held her tongue these past few days and watched his ghost disappear out the door to work and a complete man return in his place. She was not going to let them switch places again.

Turning to the baby's crib, she slowly lowered little Sam in and watched him nuzzle his baby-sized pillow he had already begun to overgrow. Nearly a year old now, he could hop over the rails in a second and go from a crawl to a jog. The thing that kid could do. She loved watching the nuances to his gestures and gesticulations that she recognized from herself and particuarly from Sam. Rubbing his nose on one side, the same side with the same finger. In movies couples always had their sweet little meetcues, for Tess and Jack it was him scratching his nose on that side and her thinking he was picking it.

She thought of Sam. Then of Jack.

She turned back to the window then propping her hand with middle finger poised like a kicker's leg about to punt the winning shot, punted the crumpled non-apology from their lawyer into the air above the city. It vanished a moment later.

She'd never mention it again and he'd forget as he always did. What she considered the good side outweight thing the bad, his forgetting the bad so he could move onto the good.

She wouldn't forget. But that didn't matter, right?

Her thoughts tracked back to that bum. Why couldn't she stop thinking about him. She kissed Sam goodnight and walked from their small living room into their smaller bedroom and let her self collapse onto the bed, the springs screamed and shook from the thud and creak.

Maybe, she thought, he had made a voodoo doll of her. She laughed at the thought. Bring your hubby with all his inscrutible charity. All those twenties raining down. The old codger wants a sugar mommy and daddy from the big city to bring him fortune. In the midst of her fit of laughter she wondered what that voodoo doll would even look like. She stared up at the ceiling wishing they had a mirror, then realized how bizarre that thought was, before sidling up to her vanity and taking a look at herself.

She forced a chuckle again. Seeing that bum in her memories staring back at her.

Well, maybe he just wanted a sugar momma.

She looked a suburban housewife from a Russ Meyer film. The combination of her pregnancy and weening Sam off of breast milk had left her bosom bordering on grotesquely disproportionate. She'd taken to stitching tops two sizes too big to ones more proportionate, it was strange how vain it made her feel, she could just wear looser fitting clothes but somehow it made her feel worst. She kind of liked seeing how her chest stood out from the rest of her frame, even though it was counter to the attention she was trying to avoid.

"Get your own Tess Sugar Momma Voodoo Doll," she laughed, feeling a little quiver of delight at her cheeky boasting, dropping then shruggling her shoulders to accentuate her bust "Starts a B cup but grows to a triple D in no time"

Joy faded from her voice by the last word, the quiver turning cold and meandering. She winced as her eyes closed and she watched some faceless man aim his cock at her bare breasts and erupt in a white geyser over them. She could feel his body heat through his seed as it splashed her breasts, particularly her nipples, which puckered at their caress. Her insides oozed molten desire and she watched her body convulse and the orgasm echoed back to the present, causing her clit to twitch awake as though for a long dormant sleep. Moments later she was rubbing the small pink bundle of nerves unsure why she couldn't stop herself. Horrible memories but they on occasion dripped back, interrupting dreams like unwanted visitors with her conscoius mind an open door waiting for them.

She finished herself in time before Jack returned home. Her fingers were still wet from her rubbing and cunny raw from the tingles she had tickled into bliss. She could never count on when these feelings would hit her, or explain why the trauma resurfaced like it had. She couldn't heal from therapy or the barriage of drugs she was granted, and between their financial struggles and Jack's slow climb back to feeling like his own person and not just a prop for his wife's trauma induced former kink, this was an escape from the strange prison reality had become. It seemed like the only person who dealt with any consequences of that even on the train was her and Jack. The perpetrators got to return to their lives and occasion relive what they did to her like some erotic vacation from the mundanity of life. Her their personal porn star until one day they too forgot.

She tidied up the bed from the feverish scramblings of her hands across her own body and way her feet had planted themselves in the mattress and humped her groin up toward the ceiling at the behest of her hips and orgiastic desires. She redressed herself and checked the baby, still asleep, before she turned herself to the further rattling of keys at the front door before something unexpected came next.

The door swung open and something thudded against the kitchen floor.

She rushed down the foyer in time to find Jack's head was the source of the thud. One eye black, swollen shut, the other stared up at her, his expression divided by the gleming white line of what appeared a knife cradled against his throat. Her eyes ran a line up its handle, past the arm to the person gripping it.

Her insides twisted into knot at recognizing the very man she had been picturing while striking poses in front of the vanity minutes earlier. He sneered, teeth like unpopped corn kernels bared between his cracked lips twisted in a lecherous expression.

"Do as I say if you want him alive, sweetheart," he snickered

Color fell from her face, leaving her pale and almost deaf from panic. She could only see that his mouth was moving, so she nodded her head in agreement. He swiftly tossed her some duct tape, he moved across the room and helped her tape her wrists together and then with the help of a staple gun, taped and tied her legs apart before stapling the tape at her wrists to the floor as well.

Laid out, she looked down past the hills and valleys of her body where Jack laid beaten, his own arms and legs rearranged in a similar fashion, but merely to confine him. She tried to scream but could not find her voice as the bum kneeled before her, his eyes taking a long generous sweet of her curves and how they looked in her ill-fitting blouse and skirt. His tongue took a swipe at his lips and teeth as he devoured the body hinted at all those moments he'd watched her, teased from one outfit to the next. It was only in the past couple days his digging had led him down the path that her earlier trauma had traped her in. Digging through their trash and old prescription labels. Medication. A lot of it. Some for anxiety, but also some expired or abandoned for treating impulse control and sex addiction.

He had hit the slut jackpot.

He felt like a starving man having sought the desert for days only to find a buffet waiting for him in place of mere water.

"Go on.. " he smiled, his eyes having to unglue themselves from her chest long enough to remember she had eyes, "say something, slut. I dare you. One word and I carve hubby into a eunich."

She could only take the air and release it, her vocal cords still, her chest heaving in despair made him cock throb. She was such a tease. Even with her husband in peril this felt like he'd happened upon a couple with a kink rather than two hostages. Turning his eye to her long bare legs and he smiled, first letting his leer caress then then his hand, his cold touch making her legs jerk but barely budge where he'd suspended them.

Slowly, he lifted his hands to the hem of her skirt, behind him the husband groaned through teeth that sounded broken in his mouth from the noise. He no longer cared if he'd hit him that hard, as the fabric was raised slowly higher and higher and he saw the white cotton of her panties and he sighed, bit his lips and hesitated to not just hurl his face into it. No. Not yet. And yet, he was almost sure he could smell the desire wafting off of her, bleeding into the air like some perfect pheromone.

Before he could stop himself, his hands were gripping the sides of her panties and ripping them away. The faint pink line of her pussy sat tucked amongst the pale flesh of her groin, he could scarcely believe this woman had ever had a baby. As much as he tired that old cliche it was the only the thought that could budge his brain from imagining neither his tongue nor his cock from sinking into that forbidden whirlpool.

In the end, with a quick leap at the bound woman, his tongue won out, ripping a long howl of shame and fear from Tess. His mouth met the wet exposed pulp of her trickling, her insides obliging the lathe of his tongue the moment he pressed it into her warm welcoming divot. The warm bath of juices basting his tongue and greeting his senses were almost too much the moment he pressed his lips into her femininity with a kiss.

He couldn't keep his mouth off of her, her taste was so sweet it made his cock drool in his pants, he tried to think of anything remotely as delectable, but the ripe pulp of her insides, drooling into his mouth in a wet kiss was giving him none, only more desire. He'd eaten pussy before, but this was unlike any other, he could seem to taste her inner depravity and innocence mixing on his tongue, and it was intoxicating to the touch.

Then he thought of it, nostalgia pinned him to the moment distant like a nail, his first time sinking his teeth and taste buds into honeydew melon. Yet somehow this was even sweeter, her pussy feeling softer and warmer against his tongue, dousing his senses in its raw honey, stiffened his cock.

Tess wasn't sure if she was in hell or heaven. The homeless man's tongue felt a foot long now and he was stroking her insides with such an insatiable fury it was pouring pleasure into her loins like she had never felt before, reciting every forbidden thought she'd tucked away, every elicit desire, every stifled orgasm, turning her pussy into a faucet and the wave rising above all thoughts of staying faithful to her husband, family and marriage was only rising higher, its shadow eclipsing her in dawning pleasure. It was a different woman responding to this man's tongue, a Tess like even she hadn't seen.

A slut tucked away under the months of therapy, miles of guilt, and an arsenal of medication. She didn't want to meet that Tess or unleash it on the real world, this man, or her loving husband whom she would destroy with no shortage of relish. The thought of destroying Jack made her cunny engorged like a cock, pushing her pink insides against the monster's flicking tongue, they swelled with desire like a muscle flexing to coax him further.

Oh god, she thought, her pussy wanted the old pervert's cock. The epiphany came to her when she heard the knife cutting through the tape restraints. They didn't push at him. They merely laid still, waiting for his next command.

And that made her insides swell again, she could feel Tess the slut, flexing her tantric muscles yearnfully, pleading to their new master.

Take me, it screamed, the demand hurling spit the hobo gratefully slurped down.

The hands she once threw to push this monster off were now wrapping their fingers around his scabby mane of hair, cradling his head, pulling him tighter into her aching cunny. She tried to push but her hands loved this man more than anything. More than she loved her husband Jack. He was waking up this Snow White from the sleep Tess, her therapist and medication and love and devotion to her husband put her into. She watched her pelvis throw itself up into his tongue, humping her rapist's nearly toothless maw. She watched in disbelief as one of her hands left his head to lift his dirty palm and present her heaving breast to it for groping.

He gladly took it, a quick flick of the knife liberating it from her blouse, the contact of his dirty hand on her quivering and exposed breast sending a shock through her and made her cunny contract and she felt herself suddenly ejaculate her cunt juices as an orgasm tore into her.

His hands were a collar and shackles slipping around her body, taking new ownership of her from her marriage. She wanted to fight it but the sight of his dirty hand perched on her tit, mauling it possessively, was seducing her as she watched it. Jack's hand belonged there, not this man's, but the wrongness of it made her horny like she hadn't felt in months. His tongue dipping deep, his dirty hand squeezed her swollen tit hard and her pussy erupted, a geyser of her juices leaped from deep inside her and down the man's throat as she gasped and moaned in its wake.

She went numb until she heard him gulp it down, lifting his head from her now drooling cunt he reached up and kissed her on the lips, the touch pulling her mouth open in unexpected surrender, her senses drifted back as suddenly as she tasted herself on his lips, love cocooned her and their tongues danced, hers worshipping his the way she did when her and Jack first made love, she was now being pulled under its same spell.

Their kiss was a strange mixture of sweat, bad breath, tongues and lust, she could feel herself being ripped away from all self control by its undercurrent, too much to hear the clack of his belt being undone and his hands fishing through his dirty slacks to retrieve his cock. He could feel her cunt's heat through his pants, and it was begging to be conquered, and with a fluid thrust he drove his dirty cock deep into her drooling folds, taking her.

Tess screamed and her insides gagged like a choking throat, its sleeve rippling from the man's girth pushing through her narrow open.

"Fuck, please, no!!" She screamed, the pain of him deforming and reshaping her insides like a flare shot to signal the old Tess into action.

But he didn't stop.

He withdrew and thrust deeper, again and again. Her hot insides a wet vacuum sucking at him, he became a piston and she his valve, he had to plumb her deepest depths and he did fucking the old Tess back into submission and pushing the new slutty Tess into her very soul.

He watched with reinvigorated relish her big tits bounce to his thrusts hypnotically, she looked more like a porn star playing a ravished wife to his eyes than the sweet modest devoted woman he had preyed upon.

Her cunny had begun to hug and suck at his cock, its wet socket nursing on his dipping flesh cudgel, telling Tess of all the ways it was better than her husband, Jack's even as he was a homeless stalker and hater of women, his cock had her already under its spell, her pussy kissed and licked into a whore's appetite by a mouth moments ago her own had been making love to, her pussy slurped his cock to rigidity as he thrust into her, the thought of her mouth making love to his cock in front of Jack making her insides scream with lust.

The sight of enormous breasts buoying hypnotically too much, Rich grabbed at their circumferences with his hands and pulled them by their silver dollar areolas into his hungry mouth, the warm rush of her milk sugaring his tongue with an elixir only second to her pussy in delectability.

Jack howled with incredulity, his face a mask of horror as Rich, the filthy beggar, thrust his cock up into Tess's dripping gripping hole, pleasure and pride warping his dirty features as he drove his cock with abandon up into her now willing cunt. The man was a jackhammer, sweat poured from his chin as he pummeled upward, his hands groping their way up to her massive tits to cradle and knead them in a show of possessiveness and how he was the better man and Jack's wife his prize. He was not going to leave a moment's doubt in her broken soulmate's heart who was the alpha male and who was the beta cuck.

Below his thrashing piston his balls hung enormous, nearly twice as big as Jack's, their circumferences bulging from how Jack's wife's ripe body was teased him into claiming her, begging him to make her a slave to his male specimen. A strange feeling of debt came over the buried seed her velvetty cunny was now begging for, a feeling that reverberated through Tess, a fertile feeling, her body ovulating, begging for an alpha's seed to impregnate it. She wondered now if that was why she needed to touch herself, why that image of the cock in her face blasting her tits in cum came to her. She needed to feel life grow inside her again and watching as Jack sat cuckold yet again to the whims of a real man, her heart broke for him but swelled for Rich.

When the orgasm finally hit her she was crying, begging and melting into the floor as his cock pumped away. She almost failed to notice with her arms wrapped around him and body clinging to him, she was staring over his shoulder at her stunned husband. Right through him. That was all he would remember the moment Rich, the homeless bum and lecherous stalker bred his wife. She would only remember the jet of semen and hot blast filling her insides. In the tangle of hormones, wayward adulterous thoughts and failed pharmaceuticals it would be all that mattered to her.

Long after the police came and went, and she refused to press charges, her memory of events skewed by the cocktail of things she felt, she would not and could not in good conscience confirm the story Jack told of the break in and assault. Days passed, her mind broken by the ordeal, she was almost as glad that Sam slept through the encounter as she was the news she got less than a month after the breakin.

Pregnant.

She would tell Jack she never saw the homeless man again. But that her tongue slipped one day in a moment of passionate lovemaking and she moaned "Rich" did not escape his notice. He watched her stomach baloon and breasts swell anew, her hormones stirring up her appetites as they once did before. It was a mistake much later, realizing the mean thing his own therapist said, a small lie but a dangerous one in the midst of his self-loathing, knowing his wife was carrying to term the fetus of her attacker, one more day by day he suspected she still went to see. The lie that, horrible as the thought may have been, if he had successfully impregnated her there must have been some part of her that loved him enough to want it too. He had heard all sorts of gaslighting before, but it broke him to hear it from another woman