Tina
Her brother-in-law introduced us at a lunch party, then left us to it. She had three mixed-race kids with her, from her current partner—her second husband—who was out of town. We talked for a while. She was pleasant, giving not the slightest hint of impropriety.
That evening, she called me. Coffee. Just the two of us. No crowd, no kids.
Over coffee, Tina talked. Not like someone spilling secrets, but like someone unburdening themselves to a stranger who might be gone tomorrow. No filter, no soft edges. Just the raw stuff.
She wasn't bitter. That was the thing. She told it like a story that had happened to someone else. The men who drifted in and out. The times she clawed to keep her head above water. Not all of them were bad, she admitted. But none were worth staying for. Husband number one was black. He'd taken her like a stray dog, broke her in, shared her with colleagues, used her up. Had another girl just like her. Had an older wife who kept both girls in line. Different men every night. Most were black and wanted everything. Three years in that cage. Had a baby to one of the men. Then she ran. Got a day job. Two mouths to feed. She started dancing naked for crowds of tourists. On her back for anyone. Didn't matter. Sometimes several each night. More was a bonus. Done it all before.
Husband number two seemed different. Steady hands, steady job. They married. But in the end, all he really wanted was to breed her.
But there was more. Hubby number two's brother—he was the one who first used her. Then he passed her off to his brother like a worn-out toy. The brother still uses her, and everything kept spinning in the same sick circle.
Tina keeps things hidden well. Too well. When I started getting closer, she told me that Hubby 2 had no idea his brother is still fucking her every month or so. She wasn't complaining, though. It worked for her. It was just another thread woven into the messy fabric of her life.
And there was more. I found out after weeks of seeing her, after getting comfortable, that she's being paid to have sex with her boss . He treats her like a cheap whore. Hubby 2 knows about it, and he doesn't care. He even approves. The money's good. Half a days pay for an hours work twice sometimes three times a week.
She wasn't ashamed. She didn't even blink when she said it.
Now, she was thinking. Planning. The kids were getting older, and she was feeling the itch. More freedom. More control. Maybe a whole new life. But change is a funny thing—it calls to you and warns you away at the same time.
She sipped her coffee, eyes locked on mine. Measuring. Weighing. Then she smiled, slow and sharp.
"What about you?" she said.
And just like that, the ground shifted.
She started coming around more. Her family knew so she often stayed the night. Before long, I was spending weekends at her place, meeting her family, slipping into her world.
It gathered momentum, she wanted more time kept calling. When I told her we should cool things down, she got our initials tattooed on her chest. Bold, black ink. Permanent. She was showing her commitment. Husband one marked his working girls. She has his tattoo on her shoulder. I told her that was too much, we needed a break. She promised everything. That's when things got interesting.
She's small—petite—but strong. Fit. Built like someone who's had to fight for everything. In bed, she's all energy, all motion. Flexible. Willing. Always up for it. But there's the downside, too. She's been stretched. A lot. Two natural births, plenty of men before me. The doctor told her Western babies were too big—no more natural births after that.
Stretched as she is she's learned to control herself. She can tighten up, grip like a fist. Or let go completely, so loose I barely feel anything but her inner warmth. Having her relax makes for a long leisurely session, pussy to mouth any number of times. Finish with a hard pounding, her mouth or flip her over. Her being stretched doesn't bother me. Not really.
Always available.
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Permanent.
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Hair tied up keeping her chest uncovered.
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Before getting the Initials ink.
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