Chapter 3

I keep a tidy home. Tracey wasn’t impressed.

“Were ya an only child or somethin’?” She asked after a very cursory glance at the living room and kitchen.

“No, why?” I said as I laid my keys in their bowl in the entryway.

“There’s no life in this place! From here all ah see is bare walls, a neat livin’ room without a piece of unopened mail on the end table, an advertising rag layin’ on the floor or even a blankey dumped on the couch. The kitchen counters are bare - not a dish out of place or even the smell of old pizza stinkin’ up everythin’. You were either an only child or yer OCD.”

“How about ‘tidy’?” I asked defensively. “I can live in a mess but what if I decided to have company over – like you for example? I’d feel awful if that guest walked into a pigsty. If you need me to prove it to you, crack that door at the end of the hallway. That’s my junk room. Anyway, make yourself at home. There are a few sorts of sodas and iced teas in the fridge. Stay out of the wine though! Other than you having no business drinking more alcohol, that shit’s the expensive stuff I use to show off with. I need a shower too but I’ll only be five minutes and then we can go, if you can come up with any ideas where to start looking.

I couldn’t help rubbing it in. Tracey’s quick shower had taken nearly half an hour. I’d guessed it would, however she had said she’d be quick. Five minutes is quick, when someone is waiting for you. Twenty six minutes from the time the bathroom door closes is NOT quick. Also, finding Bebbs in a city this size would be practically impossible without some sort of starting point, so I hoped Tracey could use the five minutes to come up with ideas.

True to my estimation, I came out of my master bath already dressed with three seconds to go. I didn’t expect Tracey to be looking in my closet though.

“Um ... what are you doing?” I asked innocently.

“Just seeing how much space ah have to work with. Where’s all your clothes and stuff at? This huge closet is practically empty!”

“I have no idea why you need to see, ‘what you have to work with,’ Tracey. When I said to make yourself at home, I was just being polite. It’s a figure of speech. I meant you could grab a soda and watch TV or something, not snoop in my room.”

I thought I was being very reasonable. Tracey seemed to think otherwise. “Once Bebbs comes here the place isn’t going to seem so large anymore, Sir,” she said as if she were talking to a five year old, being very careful to be polite. “Don’ git all bent outta shape. I’m tryin’ to help.”

“I think I must have been asleep and missed about a week’s worth of discussion somewhere! When did I agree to have house guests?”

“Well I caint hardly find her then leave her on the street, silly! Men! Fuck, what would ya’ll do without us?”

I could have gone off on her at that point but instead I chose silence until I could wrap my head around what Tracey had just suggested. I’ve learned that arguing with a woman while angry isn’t the best way to negotiate. In hindsight, I see that my silence was taken as assent and I should absolutely have set her straight immediately. At the time, I was still trying to connect the dots and unsuccessfully trying to figure out how, less than twenty four hours after meeting this teen, she thought it was perfectly logical to have herself and her mom, who we didn’t even know the whereabouts of, come to live with me.

“We need to talk, Tracey. But first things first, have you come up with any ideas about where to begin looking for Bebbs?”

“Uh huh. Archie’s on Seventh. Even if she’s not there, Butterface will know where we kin look.”

Tracey saw the look I gave her and giggled again. “That’s not her real name, Charles, but everyone calls her Butterface, BF or just Butter. She’s worked doubles with Bebbs forever.”

“I was gonna ask if Archie’s is a bar or something. Seventh is mostly residential. There’s a Seven Eleven there but otherwise...” I replied, trying to recover my dignity. Yeah, the name Butterface had thrown me. It was an insulting name I used to use for women with a great figure - until you saw their face. You know, she was smoking hot ... but her face ruined it.

“Oh, duh. Sorry. Archie was a pimp once, ah think. Before he went legit. He runs hoes out of his house now. But you hadda know about Butterface anyways. She’s got a big ‘ol scar on her face. She musta been real pretty before she got cut up.”

While Tracey had been explaining this, I’d put my shoes on, then led the way back to the front door. I took a last look around, like I always do. I cant stand to leave my place a pigsty. Tracey had used a water glass and left it on the counter, so I detoured via the kitchen to add the tumbler to the partial load already in the dishwasher. I’d forgotten to press the button before I’d left last night, so I fixed that, then we were off to Archie’s. See? I’m tidy, not obsessive. I forget stuff too, on occasion.

To see Archie’s you’d never know a hooker had ever set foot inside the place. It was just a house. Not especially good, not a dump. There was a swing set in the smallish front yard and a Big Wheel tricycle on the path. There was also a double garage with both doors open and a vehicle in the left bay. The right bay had a riding mower which seemed like major overkill for the little front yard. There was also a work bench containing scattered, uncared-for tools, as if the owner was a handyman who’d long ago lost interest in whatever project he’d been working on.

“How do you know Bebbs works out of here?” I asked Tracey as we walked up the path and avoided the trike.

“Ah aint stupid no matter what Bebbs says. She had me meet her here after school a bunch of times. Butterface lives here so she’ll be here if she’s not on a call. The rest of this stuff’s fer show. That bike hasn’t moved in a year and that swing was prolly used last by a drunk whore. Ah was here when Archie threw that ball into that there gutter. Archie says ya gotta git the details right.”

I just shook my head. Even thinking this was considered, ‘legitimate’, gave me an idea of what Tracey’s formative years must have been like. The idea that the whole business was set up to look like Mr. and Mrs. Middle Class lived here was blowing my mind.

Tracey ignored the doorbell and knocked three times. Three very distinct, separate knocks, almost like a code. I joked about that and Tracey’s eyes got large for a moment.

“Ah guess it IS a code! Bebbs tol’ me ah had ta knock just like that and not touch the doorbell.

A moment later the door was answered by a woman that could be none other than Butter. Damn! I cant say I recognized her immediately by Tracey’s description because that would assume I looked at her face and saw the scar. It was actually a few seconds before I could tear my eyes away from her cleavage. She had to have had the most bestest tits I’ve ever seen, if by most bestest you understand that I mean the most humungous. Yeah they sagged. Each boob had to weigh twenty pounds and they were unencumbered by a bra. I guess they just don’t make bras that big or something.

Butter was wearing a blue, shimmery evening dress with a plunging neckline. It plunged so far that at the right angle, I probably could have seen her navel. Her nipples were covered, yet prominent. And she was tanned. Hispanic maybe, I just didn’t know or care. If I’d been a customer, I wouldn’t have paid the least attention to the scar Tracey had mentioned. It wasn’t even all that bad, but it must have been a real mother fucker when it happened. Scar and all, she was a hottie. I felt bad that she was called Butterface. I might have just paid her to see her naked and to look into her eyes.

“Tracey! Hi babe!” Butter squealed when she saw Tracey next to me. “But Bebbs isn’t due back for...” she checked her wristwatch, which did wonderful things to her cleavage, “Another hour, probably two

She’d still be on the yacht right now.”

“So you know where she’s at?” Tracey asked, her face still neutral.

“You didn’t get the message again, did you? I’m gonna kill Archie! He can be such a douche.”

“When the fuck did Archie ever send me a message? That’d be a first!”

“But he promised this time. I was there when he made Bebbs go and she was absolutely freaking out until he promised. Anyway, come in, come in. Who’s this hunka manness with you?”

I looked behind myself in case someone else had come up to the door before realizing Butter had meant me.

“Ah, hi. I’m Charles Crab. I’m a friend of Tracey’s and I offered to help her find Bebbs.

I watched Butter turn off her act. It was interesting really, because nothing much changed about her, but I could tell that I’d just been taken out of the, ‘potential client’, category. Maybe the smile changed, maybe it was her posture or something, but it was like the sales lady had just become a regular woman. Still a regular woman I’d give anything to see naked, figuratively speaking of course.

We followed Butter inside and she closed the door behind us. On the inside, the house looked like, well a house. There were no porno magazines laying around or red lights or scantily clad women passing their time sitting around in their underwear. I guess I’ve seen too many movies but I was admittedly a little disappointed.

“So Bebbs didn’t want to go?” Tracey wondered out loud as soon as the lock snicked on the closing front door.

“She has to, Tracey. You know that.

“All I’ve ever known was that I have the world’s worst mom. Why would Bebbs have no choice about doin’ what Archie told her?” Tracey was getting agitated and it wasn’t a question she asked, but rather, a demand for an answer.

“Hey Trace, its none of my business. If Bebbs hasn’t told you then I’m not gonna. Please don’t get me involved, hon. I’m real sorry Archie didn’t tell you Bebbs was going to be indisposed for a few days. If you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at him. Wont do you no good, but I’m pretty steamed right now too. Archie would be hearing it from me if he hadn’t already left for the marina.”

“You fucking grovel at Archie’s feet, Butter! Ah never heard you say one bad word to him.”

“Yeah, but I’ve thought some pretty nasty shit at him,” Butter smiled at her own joke.

“So the bottom line is that Bebbs didn’t have a choice and she’s been gone days because Archie made her. Oh and she’s going to be back here in a couple of hours. Does that cover everything?” I clarified, hoping to wind Tracey down a little. I could imagine her getting ugly with Butter and really, Butter hadn’t done anything wrong.

“So are you guys going to come back in a couple hours or what?” Butter said, changing the subject slightly.

“I’m gonna wait right fucking here until Archie brings her back. I’ve got me a few things to say and I’m gonna git right up in his fucking grill and set him straight. I’ve been stayin’ on the street for days because of that fucker.”

“What?” Butter gasped, pulling Tracey into a hug. “Why didn’t you just come here, hon? Archie would have been okay with that. But he wont be okay with Jerry here being in the house without being a client. He gets real suspicious and he’s never been arrested because he’s so careful. Jerry could be a U.D. for all he knows.”

“My name is Charles. People mix it up with the name Jerry all the time,” I said, hoping she got the sarcasm in my voice. “But I’m not a U.T.I. or whatever you said and I’m not leaving Tracey here by herself.” I stated with determination. I have an aversion to confrontation but I figured I was in so deep with Tracey already that I may as well stand up for her.

“U.D. stands for undercover detective. There’s no way to tell them apart from regular clients. But Archie will hit the roof and if Tracey loses it with him while he’s already pissed, it’s my ass that’ll be in a sling. Sorry Trace.”

Butter totally ignored my sarcasm about the name. That told me she was either too dumb to have noticed or she really didn’t give a shit. I automatically put her in the second category. Most women belong in that category, as far as I can tell.

“You gonna kick us out then?” Tracey asked in disbelief. “You’n what army?”

“Tracey, please. Uncle Mike’s here. He’s always here.”

“Oh, THAT army. Fuck. Would uncle Mike really put me out?”

Instead of answering Tracey, Butter looked at me. “Tracey knows Big Mike as uncle Mike. He’s the house muscle. If he wants you out, you’re out. If you leave peacefully, you don’t get broken bones as a farewell gift. Now ... if you were a paying client on the other hand...” Butter actually batted here eyelashes at me.

“I’ve already given him a couple BJ’s today, Butter. I dunno if he could even get it up again right now,” Tracey said matter-of-factly, as if she were telling the woman she’d already had lunch.

I was busy being speechless. I mean I was the one who made sex out to be nothing special and just a thing adults do, but to just throw that at Butter seemed TMI to me. And then to explain that I probably couldn’t get it up as the only reason for not becoming a client ... well that was the other reason I was speechless. Worse, I really didn’t just want to let this go. I’d called Tracey’s bluff about her mom and it seemed like she hadn’t been bluffing, although time would tell.

“Charlie can just pay for an hour of chatting if he wants. Maybe throw me a tip for my time but we don’t have to fuck if he doesn’t want to,” Butter replied to Tracey as if this sort of conversation was commonplace, while managing to undress me with her eyes.

Damn. That’s part of the reason I hate women. They have an ability to make me feel and in fact think I am special when I’m really just a wallet to them - it really pisses me off - usually the next day after my wallet has been drained, though. I was still hanging out with Tracey because she wasn’t like that. Butter definitely wasn’t devious. She just laid out this advertising that says she’d spread for a price and she’d give me the best girlfriend experience ever, as long as I could afford it. Just part of the advertising campaign was a free sample of how ‘loving’ she could be, even though Tracey was right there. Butter had no way of knowing Tracey wasn’t my girlfriend, after all.

All these thoughts ran through my head in an instant. What came out was a shrug – my default non-verbal communication. Butter didn’t miss it and did the sales woman thing – she jumped on the opportunity to make a sale before the customer could change his mind.

“Cash or credit? Credit card charges show up as Sanjay International so clients can make up any excuse they want for the benefit of nosey spouses. It’s an hour all inclusive for two hundred. Of course a tip is always nice but obviously if I insisted, that would be prostitution!” Butter laughed at her joke even though she’d probably made the same pitch a million times.

In the half-second pause before I answered that credit would be better, I began to do some math. The drinks at the bar had been eleven dollars, plus the change of a twenty for the bartender tip. Then there’d been a hundred and twenty for the room, nearly sixty for dinner and a couple hundred for Tracey’s clothes. Gas and mileage on the beamer probably didn’t amount to much but what was my time worth?

I’d worked out recently that I earned twenty nine an hour even though I was salary and hourly wages meant nothing. So four hundred plus what, maybe seventeen hours of my time with Tracey? Probably more by now, except I probably should deduct eight hours of sleep time, so I settled on nine hours at two sixty one. As I answered I was thinking how quickly Tracey had helped me spend close to a grand and I hadn’t even known her a whole day yet! This girl was high maintenance! We were definitely going to talk after I reunited Tracey with Bebbs.

Butter was beaming, having successfully diffused a potentially tense situation. When she produced an old fashioned manual card machine that takes the carbon paper credit card impression, I was surprised and Butter noticed. Actually, Butterface didn’t miss much.

“I know. Quaint, huh? Archie wont spring for the technology. Says digital shit’s how the Feds build their cases these days. We still get paid this way though, so whatever works, huh?”

Butter took my card, click-clacked it, picked up the phone and got an authorization within sixty seconds. She’d done the financial portion of this type of transaction as often as she’d had sex, by the look of it.

“Shit! You’ll be done before Archie gets back if you go through now. The point was to be here when Archie gets back, right? Can I run it through for another one fifty? You get a discount for the second hour.”

“Hell, you may as well run it through for two hundred and take the other fifty as your tip,” I muttered jokingly. I didn’t expect her to pick up the phone and hit the speed dial as soon as the words left my mouth.

After getting another authorization while tapping the new chit to indicate she needed my signature again, Butter hung up the phone and addressed me while tearing out the customer copies from the chits and handing them to me. “You WERE joking about the tip, right? I mean I don’t even know what fifty would cover. A handshake maybe?”

“What the hell did I just authorize four hundred dollars for then? You specifically said all inclusive!”

“Well sure! We get a private, air conditioned room with its own bathroom and a TV! You’ve just rented a room for two hours Chuck! What did you think you were getting?”

I seriously considered wrestling her copies of the credit card chits out of her hand but the thought of Big Mike who I hadn’t even seen, made me suffer almost in silence. Instead, I decided the least I could do was to make Butter feel bad for being a bitch and swindling me out of four hundred bucks for a fucking room that I’d only even inhabit for two hours.

“Sorry Tracey, you don’t get to eat out tonight. Its going to be canned dog food for you. After I take that fucking four hundred dollars out of your ass, that is. After all, you fucking let that just happen.”

I didn’t really mean it but on the other hand, I was totally serious. It really was all Tracey’s fault. She brought me here, she pushed me at Butter and she didn’t say squat about what the charges I would pay actually covered. I’d be paying for this adventure till I was ninety at this rate. Making it rain with cash was about to come to an immediate halt.

All Tracey had to say for herself was, “I’m real sorry, Sir and I understand.” She even lowered her eyes submissively. Fuck!

“Well where is it then?” I admit I demanded in a nasty voice.

Butter wasn’t fazed in the least. She didn’t seem to care that her friend’s daughter had been threatened and she took no offense at the tone of my voice. She did know exactly what I meant by, ‘it’ though.

“Follow me, Charlie. Um, Tracey, you can watch TV if you like. There’s snacks in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Hell no! I just paid four hundred fucking dollars so I wouldn’t have to leave Tracey alone. You think I’m making her wait here? Are your brains as spongy as your tits look? She’s coming with us.”

“Sure thing, lover. But it’ll cost you more. Doubles are an extra two hundred.”

“You know what, Butterface? I just figured out why you’re called that. I thought it was that big-assed scar but its really because your brains are like butter, isn’t it? I cant really go to the cops and claim daylight robbery but I sure as fuck can watch TV in the room I paid for while you ‘girls’,” I said with a sneer, “Sit quietly and behave yourselves for two hours. Fuck, for the fifty I tipped you, I think I might have you play with yourself for two hours.”

Butter just looked at me blankly for a couple of seconds, blinking her huge brown eyes. Yeah, they were brown. I’d finally managed to divert my attention from her tits by that point. Tracey had no input.

“Um, okay,” Butter finally agreed. Her voice was different suddenly. Like she liked being put in her place or something.

This conversation had been happening while we moved to the first bedroom and I’d blown my stack as we looked inside. Now I hustled them over the threshold and closed the door.

“Lose the clothes. Both of you. I didn’t pay to have two overdressed sluts sit with me for a couple of hours.” I’d caught myself before saying ‘whores’ instead of sluts because of Tracey. But I was still pissed off at both of them and wasn’t ready to take shit from Tracey about being called a whore.

It turns out that I can be pissed off and speechless at the same time. Neither female hesitated. Clothing came off in moments without regard for any desire I might have for a slow, sensual striptease. I thought that I’d been transported through some sort of wormhole into the twilight zone. I blinked a few times to be sure I wasn’t dreaming when I saw the two of them standing side by side, naked, waiting on my next command. Naked Miss Universe – big tit edition winners or runner ups or something, was what comes to mind. They were AWESOME! My dick needed instant relief. Somehow it had sprung wood so quickly it was tangled in my underwear and it fucking hurt.

Without taking my eyes off the pair, I said to Tracey, “I want you to watch Butter rub her nubbin but my cock is killing me so first, you’re going to pull it out and hold it for me.”

Tracey got right to work.

“Hey, this is going to cost you...” Butter began but both Tracey and I told her to shut up at the same time. Butter didn’t argue any more and in fact without further prompting, spread her legs a little and dropped one hand down to her sex while watching Tracey freeing my cock.

I don’t know if I’ve ever actually described Tracey before. Imagine Katy Perry but as a nineteen year old with a scowl most of the time, which by the way does nothing good for her looks. Now imagine that Katy Perry had never worn a swimsuit or went to tanning or whatever women do to get brown. Tracey was the epitome of white. Naked, she didn’t have a single tan line. Even the backs of her hands were tan-free. Add the long, glossy black hair and a forest between her legs and you’ve got an almost gothic version of Ms. Perry – although Tracey wore no makeup at all so there’d be no mistaking her for a goth. She was just naturally really pale.

Now imagine that a million bees had all stung Ms. Perry on her tits, making them bloat up to the size of Charlotte McKinney’s. Now imagine what Charlotte McKinney would have looked like topless as a nineteen year old. No sag at all, just twin torpedoes growing from her chest. Tracey is one of the few women who’s face is so easy to look at - hoping you’d get to see the break in the stormy expression on the rare occasion that she forgot to wear the perpetual scowl - hoping for the smile that makes seeing her naked really just a bonus. A bonus I’d already enjoyed a few times since the previous day.

Now go ahead and put her next to your favorite Hispanic porn star. I don’t know any but I’m sure there are a few. Hell, imagine Sophia Vergara if you need to. One hot woman looks the same as the next to me, but in your imagination, picture a scar that starts at the left side of Sophia’s eye and runs all the way down to her really full lips. I bet it was a nightmare for the surgeons to fix and it makes me shudder to think about what it would have looked like when it was fresh, but now that it’s healed, its only the second or third thing about her that you notice.

Now imagine that Sophia’s tits are twice the size as the tits you’ve seen on TV and that she has really definite tan lines. Butter obviously goes for the teeny bikini look on the beach and she keeps her pubes shaved clean so nothing messes with the thong-style bikini she obviously favors. Both women have a ton of, ‘junk in the trunk’ too. Maybe Tracey has Hispanic blood in her or something.

I had a naked Hispanic porn star with awesome tan lines, makeup that made her eyes seem twice as large as normal eyes should be and a finger between her pussy lips in the same field of view as the Katy Perry lookalike with her hand wrapped around my pecker and no fucking scowl. What do you think I did? I splooged all over Tracey’s hand is what I did. I don’t mind admitting it. I was visually overloaded. Even though I’d already cum twice today and this eruption made it a third, all it did was to take the edge off. I was still as horny as a teen at puberty. Tracey didn’t know any better. She began using the cum I’d splashed as lubricant for a hand job.

Usually this would be too much for me but I think because I’d cum so quickly, I wasn’t suffering from any oversensitivity and the cum just acted as a lubricant. Butter, watching, started rubbing herself more quickly and openly. Maybe it had something to do with me being jacked off using my own cum as lube or maybe it was because it was Tracey who was doing the jacking, I don’t know and I didn’t ask.

“Oh fuck it!” Butter said, her spare hand coming up to roughly squeeze and tug on her own nipple. Once again Butter’s demeanor changed subtly. I realized what she’d said was related to her deciding to enjoy herself rather than acting a part for a customer. She was getting into her masturbation for real and was starting to go to town on her own body.

“Teach Tracey how it’s done, whore,” I ordered Butter.

Butter didn’t stop her own play, but she looked at me blankly.

“What kind of a stupid fucking whore are you? Get on your knees and eat her out, dumbass! When she’s cum, she’ll do you.”

Something seemed to have come over me. I wasn’t asking, I was telling. And not politely either. Part of me felt like I was being a jerk but I just couldn’t stop myself. More importantly, both girls seemed to be complying instinctively. It was a powerful feeling – like being drunk or high on power. Until you’ve done it, I don’t think you can know. I didn’t know if I could act like that again in the future so I was intent on making the most of it until one or both sluts rebelled. There was to be no immediate rebellion now though. Butter instantly dropped to her knees and crawled towards Tracey. That’s when I first saw them.

Butter had many old and fresh whip marks on her back. The fresh ones were, to be weird for a moment, artistic. I know it sounds weird but that’s what they looked like to me. Each line was visually the same distance apart from the ones parallel to it and they weren’t straight across her back, but from one shoulder blade to the opposite hip, coming to a ‘vee’ in the middle. Instead of freaking me out, they looked ‘right’ on her and made me want more than the hand job Tracey was providing. A hand job that was getting faster as Tracey also watched Butter approach her.

I could have had my eyes closed and still known the moment Butter came into contact with Tracey’s pussy. The hand on my cock stopped moving for a moment then gripped my shaft like she was trying to throttle it. A few moments later Tracey attempted to continue her hand job but all she could manage were uncoordinated, half-hearted movements.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be giving me a hand job, bitch!” I said, although my mind wasn’t really on her deficiency too much because the visual stimulus of seeing Butter gobbling pussy was somewhat distracting to me too. Instead, I pulled her hand off my cock and put it onto Butter’s head. Tracey didn’t even hesitate but used her other hand as well, to tilt and push Butter into her pussy in the way she wanted.

I stood up, my pants, shoes and socks quickly discarded, so I was only wearing a shirt when I went behind Butter. As hard as I could, I slapped her fine ass a few times. Again, I don’t know what came over me. It just seemed the right thing to do ... along with what I did next.

In hindsight, I shouldn’t be proud of the fact but at the time, my mouth just opened and the words, “I’m gonna fuck you, Butter,” came out. And I did. I took her because she didn’t say no, but then again she had her face in Tracey’s cunt, so she couldn’t really say too much of anything. I’m sure of one thing though. When my cock entered her, she was soaked and she hissed, “YESSSS,” as I entered her. I shouldn’t be proud because I fucked a whore, bareback. A whore who probably had sex a hundred times a day. I could have caught something, but FUCK! What a tight pussy!

I reamed her with my cum-lubed cock for a full minute before I glanced down to watch my cock impaling her. That’s when I discovered I was fucking the tightest hole ever because it wasn’t a sloppy whore pussy at all, but rather an ass hole. Maybe Butter’s natural lubricant had soaked the entire area when she’d been standing, playing with herself or maybe a whore always pre-lubed their ass hole, I don’t know. All I knew was that when I’d mounted her like a pony, I’d forced my cock into her ass instead of her cunt.

I was dimly aware of Tracey screaming out in orgasm, over and over and I knew that I’d told Butter she would get to feel Tracey returning the favor, but I was in the saddle riding this whore for all I was worth. If I’d had reigns, we would have been galloping, my cock going a mile a minute into Butter’s tight ass hole.

I was riding - not doing the work at all. Butter was ramming her ass backwards and forwards, impaling my cock like it was the best thing she’d ever felt invading her Hershey highway. I thought all a al sex was painful for a female but Butter just seemed to want to bet more and more cock in her ass hole. Oh, and Butter wasn’t letting up on Tracey either. I rode Butter for probably ten minutes like that, my cock in her ass pushing her mouth into Tracey’s spasming cunt before I thought to grab Butter’s long hair in one hand to use like reigns, completing the ‘whorse’-riding fantasy I was living. My other hand pounded Butter’s flanks as if to urge her to gallop faster beneath me.