Misc. Erotica A Mother’s Bargain - By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

I pulled my old saree over my bruised boobs and leaking pussy, touched my mangalsutra, looked at Varun playing outside, and whispered to the goddess:

“Let this be the last time I sell my pussy for a passport.”
But if it brings my son to America, I will spread my legs for the devil himself.
Because a mother’s pussy belongs to her child’s tomorrow, no matter how black, how ugly, or how deep it has to take the cock that buys that tomorrow.
Manoj landed again, this time dragging an even uglier African-American behind him.
His name was Darius.
If Tyrone was ugly, Darius was a nightmare carved from muscle and midnight.
Lips twice as thick as Tyrone’s, two swollen black cushions that looked like they could swallow my entire mouth. Nose flat and wide, eyes blood-shot, teeth big and yellow, neck thicker than my waist, arms like tree trunks covered in prison tattoos. When he grinned the room smelled of cheap whiskey and cigarettes.
The first thing Manoj told me in private:
“Tyrone got locked up for shoplifting in Atlanta. Forget him. Darius is fresh out of Chicago, real US citizen, clean record this time. Same deal: you become his Indian fiancée on camera, he files for you and Varun. Embassy eats up black-brown love stories. Just give him two weeks of photos and videos.”
I stared at Varun colouring in his college book and felt my stomach drop.
“For Varun’s passport?” I whispered.
“For Varun’s passport, citizenship, everything,” Manoj promised.
So I nodded.
I looked at Varun sleeping and heard my own voice answer, “Yes.”
The next fourteen days became a slow, filthy, passionate surrender I never expected.
Darius didn’t grab like Tyrone.
He worshipped.
First thing every morning he sat me on the kitchen counter, lifted my saree and petticoat to my waist, hooked his thick black fingers into the waistband of my panties, dragged them down my thighs, over my knees, let them drop to the floor, spread my thighs wide, and kissed me like a starving man.
Those gorilla lips swallowed my entire mouth, thick and rubbery, wet and hot, tasting of cheap whiskey and raw lust. His wide tongue pushed past my teeth, licked the roof of my mouth, curled around my tongue, sucked it deep until drool ran down my chin and soaked my mangalsutra. He kissed me for twenty minutes straight without coming up for air, lips smacking loud, gold teeth clicking against mine, until my lips were swollen and shiny with his spit.
Then he dropped to his knees and licked me from head to toe like I was dessert.
Started at my forehead, dragged that thick wet tongue down my nose, across my swollen lips, down my neck, between my boobs, circled each nipple a hundred times until they stood hard and aching, then down my belly, into my navel, across every stretch mark, down to my pussy lips. He spread my pussy lips with gentle black fingers, licked my clit slow and worshipping, pushed his tongue inside my pussy like a mini cock, then lower, licked the skin between pussy and asshole, finally buried his whole face between my ass cheeks and tongue-fucked my asshole until I shook.
He smelled strong, musky, animal, sweat and cologne and something wild, but the way he licked me so perfectly that for long minutes I forgot the gorilla face and only felt the tongue owning every hole.
At night the camera rolled and Darius made love to me like I was the only woman in the world.
He laid me on the bed, kissed those thick lips down my entire body again, whispering over and over, “I love you, baby… love every inch of you… you my queen,” then slid his long, curved black cock into my pussy inch by inch, eyes locked on mine, murmuring, “You so beautiful… this pussy mine forever… I love you, Malini.”
He moved slow, deep, passionate, hips rolling like waves, cock stroking every wall inside my pussy, cock head kissing my cervix with every thrust. His huge black hands cradled my boobs, fingers rubbing my nipples gently, mangalsutra swinging between us with every stroke.
Manoj sat in the corner, phone in one hand recording, the other stroking his own cock furiously, moaning every time Darius bottomed out inside me.
My body betrayed me from the first night.
His slow, loving strokes built a fire I couldn’t fight. My pussy gripped his cock tighter, my hips rose to meet his cock, my clit throbbed against his body. When the wave finally crested I lost control.
“Mmmmmmmm mmmmmmm mmmmm” I moaned as I was about to cum.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaah…!” I moaned and began cumming all over his cock, my pussy spasming, gushing hot juices around his cock, legs shaking, tears running down my face.
Only then did he speed up, grabbed my ass cheeks, lifted me off the bed, pounded deep five, six, seven times and roared as he flooded my pussy with thick African cum, pulse after pulse, until it leaked out around his cock and soaked the sheets.
When the last spurt left his balls and he collapsed whispering “I love you” against my swollen lips, the haze lifted.
I opened my eyes and saw the gorilla face hovering over me, thick lips glistening with my juices, gold teeth shining, ugly as ever.
Shock hit me like cold water.
I had just cum harder than ever for this ugly African gorilla, my body had melted under his touch, my pussy had milked his cock like it belonged there, all while he poured sweet love words into my ears.
Every night the same ritual: slow worship, passionate lovemaking, his endless “I love you”, my orgasms first, his cum deep inside me while Manoj jerked off and recorded every drop.
By the end of two weeks my pussy knew the shape of Darius’s cock better than my own fingers. My lips stayed swollen from his gorilla kisses. My boobs and ass cheeks carried gentle fingerprints instead of bruises.
When he left he kissed me soft at the airport, slipped the memory card into Manoj’s hand and said loud, “Tell the embassy this my woman. I coming for her soon.”
I touched my still-throbbing pussy through my saree, felt his cum dried inside me, and whispered to myself:
“I never came for pleasure.
I came only for Varun’s green card.”
But every night since then, when I close my eyes, I still taste those thick African lips and feel that perfect cock stroking my soul, and I hate myself for how much my body loved every second of that ugly gorilla making love to me.
A mother’s pussy will forgive any face, any smell, any ugliness,
if it buys her son an American tomorrow.
Months passed.
Manoj vanished like smoke.
No call, no message, no update on Darius, no embassy file, no green card. The memory card full of my pussy stretched around black cock, my boobs bouncing for the camera, my moans for an ugly gorilla’s cum, all wasted. I touched my mangalsutra every night and cursed him silently, but the silence from America was complete.
Meanwhile Sathiyamoorthy Sir kept his side of the bargain moving.
One afternoon he called me to his house, handed me a new silk saree, deep red, thin enough to show every curve, and ordered me to wear it with the matching blouse and petticoat.
“We are going to the bank today, Malini. The manager is my old classmate. He will sanction the loan for your five floors. Just smile and obey me.”
I dbangd the red saree tight, pleats tucked deep between my thighs, pallu low so my boobs swelled against the blouse, mangalsutra resting in the valley between them. My panties were simple white panties, hugging my pussy and ass cheeks tight, the pantyline visible over my ass cheeks over the saree.
He drove me to the bank in his government car, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on my thigh, fingers slowly crawling under the saree folds.
The bank manager’s cabin was air-conditioned, private, blinds half-drawn. The manager, a thin man with greedy eyes, greeted Sir warmly, then looked at me like fresh meat.
Sir wasted no time.
He locked the door, turned to the manager, and said, “My young second wife needs a big loan. Show him what you are offering as security.”
Before I could speak he stood behind me, grabbed the hem of my saree and petticoat together with both hands, and lifted them all the way up to my waist in one swift motion.
My panties came into full view, white panties hugging my pussy and ass cheeks, the outline of my pussy lips clearly visible under the panties. My ass cheeks round and naked below the lifted saree, pantyline hugging deep across each ass cheek.
The attending clerk, a young boy standing in the corner, stared wide-eyed at my exposed panties, mouth open, eyes glued to my pussy over the panties, the panties hugging my pussy mound.
I burned with shame, face hot, tears pricking my eyes, but I stood still because five floors and Varun’s future depended on this loan.