The Jacksons Incest: Durham Bitch Gotta Fuckable Arse

In Durham, there are bitches–cheap bitches, overpriced bitches. Alma Shade didn’t look the expensive type. Dressed in a thigh-high mini dress, kitten heels, and hauling a Baguette bag, she stepped towards Gavin and Elijah gracefully like she was a famous model, swinging her huge hips left then right, fanning her supersize breasts. Elijah let saliva splash down his widened mouth. He asked his dad, “Are you certain that woman is my aunt, and not a porn star?”

Gavin knocked some sense into his son’s head for the fifth time. “She is your aunt, Elijah. Your aunt–your mother’s young sister for sanity’s sake! Don’t you try to fuck her. If you do, I swear I am going to chop off your dick. I am not going to tolerate anymore incest in my house. Do you hear that?”

Elijah scowled at his unwary dad and grumbled a reluctant, “Yes, sir.”

“Good kid,” Gavin Jackson commented and turned around to salute their guest from England.

To be truthful, Elijah was not a kid anymore. He was a fully-grown man, nineteen years old. As soon as Alma drew near him, he found it hard to take his beguiled eyes off her. She was beautiful and seductive-shaped. He would never say, “No,” to any slight chance put at his disposal of sleeping with her. That day she was going to spread her legs open for him, he was surely going to squeeze her nice butt behind and snuggle her breasts and peck her throat also.

While Alma crawled into their Mercedes-Maybatch S600 parked outside McCarran International Airport, Elijah stared at her wiggling ass, standing still. Shit, he thought: This Durham bitch gotta fuckable arse, ain’t she? Yeah…..she got one surely! He licked his tongue cravingly. Gavin noticed him and pinched his ear straight away. “Ouch!” Elijah moaned, “You are hurting me, dad. I swear that hurts.” Gavin promptly let go off him, giving him a scolding eye.

Alma was a bad, bad bitch. That is what Calvin’s five senses told him. She belonged to that class of women who feigned a godly nanny in white apron when the Lady of the House was around, and quickly undressed to panties and tights once she was away, so they could easily tempt her Man of the House and fuck him whichever style he craved. While they were marching towards each other in the long corridor, Alma dragged Gavin by his hand into a nearby room, where she locked the door hastily and began to unbutton his shirt while kissing his lips.

“I am in need of a few bucks, Mr. Jackson,” she breathed sweetly into his face. She smelled spicy-like, more than his wife, Beverly, often did. “If you are willing to help me out, I am also prepared to gratify your every need. I will do whatever dirty thing you wish us to, warranted that you are going to manage my financial needs. What do you say to my nice proposal?”

Gavin was not able to think twice. Like a drug, Alma stripped him of his ability to reason. He held her smooth ass–that breathtaking ass he had always longed to hold. Now it was made available to him! Not free of charge though. He could ask for it at any time of the day or night, so long as he was able to pay her good money for a round of logic-shattering sex. He wanted her….he craved sex with her more than anything else.

“Are you positive about what you are saying, Alma?” Gavin would rather be convinced he had heard false words, than rush into excitement, not wishing to verify what had only just been mentioned to him.

Alma chuckled alarmingly. “Your ears have not misled you, Mr. Jackson. Neither have your eyes. Tell me when you are ready, and I will not disappoint. I must go now. Your wife and son will come looking for us.”

Late in the night, Gavin could not sleep soundly. Repeating themselves like a bell, Alma’s sugary words pealed inside his head. He nervously looked at his wife who lay still besides him. She was fast asleep, dreaming mayhap, with her eyes shut, and her mouth gaping noisily. Yes. She snored and he hardly slept whenever she began making those bulldoze-like breaths.

The bad bitch barely slept. In the dark but chilly corridor, she posed naked, almost like a witch, staring eagerly at Gavin while he walked towards her. He had rang her phone twice and texted her this message: Meet me in the corridor if you are awake. Perhaps bitches didn’t sleep at night, did they?

“I can’t fuck you in my room,” Alma began. “That bed swings, always squealing sharply. Anyone could hear us, and suspect something. Tell me where you would like us to fuck and I will meet you there. I can’t risk Beverly walking in on us.”

Gavin’s dick was already hard, solid as a rock. Alma held it carefully. No, he was not undressed. He was still wearing his pajamas. Seeing her naked had made his dick stand firm. Touching his erection made her wet all of a sudden. He groaned helplessly. How could he not when she was pleasuring him like this? In just a slice of time, he burst into a sudden orgasm, firing cum inside his pants.

“Meet me at Monte Carlo tomorrow at 3 in the afternoon. I am dying to fuck you hard, Alma, I swear. I shall be waiting for you.”

“I will not fail you. Tomorrow morning before you go for work, you must kindly leave a hundred dollars on my bed. I shall have use for it throughout the day. Is it a deal–or no deal?” Alma looked grave while putting this forward.

Gavin consented to her demand, expecting her to satisfy his as well. “It is a deal made, Alma. I will leave a hundred bucks on your bed, and you will come fuck me at Monte Carlo around 3.” Before the two parted ways, they shared a passionate kiss, Gavin groaning out pleasurably another time.