I Fucked My Husbands Brother At The Gas Station [Ebony]

Under the harsh neon glow of a gas station, the night air thick with the scent of gasoline and desperation, I found myself wedged between the driver’s seat and the tattooed torso of my husband’s brother. His inked arms, a canvas of thug life and street cred, were slick with sweat as they gripped my thighs, spreading them wide. The car was parked haphazardly, the engine still purring, headlights casting an eerie glow on the grimy station walls. He growled, a primal sound that sent shivers down my spine, as he yanked my skirt up, exposing my bare, glistening pussy. No preliminaries, just raw, animalistic need. His cock, thick and veiny, sprang free from his jeans, and he rubbed the head against my wetness, coating himself in my juices. He didn’t ask, didn’t tease—he just slammed into me, his hips pounding against mine, the steering wheel digging into my back. The car rocked with the force of his thrusts, the radio blaring some gangsta rap, the bass pounding in sync with his brutal fucking. I gripped the dashboard, knuckles white, as he pounded into me, each stroke deeper, harder, more savage. His hand snaked up to my throat, squeezing just enough to make me gasp, the other gripping my hip, fingers digging into my flesh. The gas station attendant, a pimply kid, glanced over, his eyes widening at the sight of us, but we didn’t care. We were lost in our own world of carnal sin, the stench of sex and gasoline filling the air. He grunted, his body tensing as he shot his load deep inside me, his cock pulsing with each wave of his orgasm. I could feel it, hot and sticky, filling me up, and I moaned, a guttural sound of satisfaction and release.