Miracle on Slutty 4th Street Ch. 03

And clearly, he'd been proven right.

Taking himself right up to the edge, his cock throbbing as he brutally fucked her throat at a savage pace, he had enough self-control to hold off, knowing that he didn't want to cum just yet. Plus, he could see that she was beginning to struggle for breath. Holding off his climax, with the discipline only a man his age could have, he released his grip on her hair, letting her go. With a gasp, she pulled her mouth from his bone-hard weapon, thick bands of drool connecting her mouth to the ruthless old man's monster dick. Red-faced, she panted for breath and wiped her hand over her face, as her own spit had coated her mouth area. If she was bothered by such rough treatment, she didn't show it, her gorgeous face wearing a huge grin. But mercy was short from a man like Bruce, and he was eager to move things along.

"Stand up!" he commanded, and she complied, a little dazed as she did so.

Moving quickly, he pushed himself out of his chair, forcing her back slightly, his spit-soaked cock still hanging out of his pants, swaying in the air. Walking towards a small table near the kitchen, he quickly reached a chair with his coat hanging along the back. Reaching down into one of the pockets of the coat, he quickly removed a tiny clump of lacy red material.

"Put these on," he demanded, putting the tiny garments in her hand. He had boasted about stealing some of the lingerie he put labels on at the plant, and he had lived up to his word, having some at the ready to hand off to the young wife.

"Um..." she said, looking at what she was now holding, some thin red lacy garments that she could barely make heads or tails of. They looked microscopic, almost. She had never worn anything nearly this skimpy. For a moment, she was confused as to how he wanted her to do this, but he was right there to guide her along.

"Go in my room and change into these..." he told her, putting his hand on her back to guide her, eyeing up both her tits and ass hungrily as he did so, imagining her body in these tiny garments. "I don't want to see you in the shit your husband gets to see you in. I have higher standards than that."

"Oh... okay..." she said, stumbling slightly as she walked across the room, turning the corner and entering his room. It was a sparse room, like the rest of his house. A big bed, with a black frame and black sheets. A tall wooden dresser, and a mirror above another dresser opposite the bed. Nothing on the walls. Nothing out of place. It was very unwelcoming, yet there she was, poised to change into a truly filthy outfit for the benefit of this wicked older man. Despite how far she had gone along this path, she had to pause and ask herself if she should be doing this. Because this, more than anything, was seemingly the last straw. If she went along with this, there was really no going back.

She was a married woman. She loved her husband. She loved her life. She was proud of the woman she'd become. Was doing this for the sake of a holiday really worth... this? Was it worth letting this wicked old man defile her like he so desired? No, it couldn't be. That'd be ridiculous. Deep down, she knew that, yet she was still going along with this. Why? It was then that she began to realize that maybe this wasn't just about Christmas. Maybe this was about her, and some untapped desire deep inside her that this older man had uncovered. Some need to take advantage of the desire she instilled in men. To finally just give in and be the sex object men saw her as. To finally use her body to its true potential, all for the benefit of this rude, wicked old man. Now that she was all alone, with the older man's presence not influencing her, she could examine her own desires. She could figure out what she wanted to do, without having her choice exerted upon by another. It was all up to her. She could run out of this house, or she could keep this nastiness going and truly see how far this would go. Despite having already sucked Bruce's dick, she could walk out of his house right now with her virtue mostly intact. Or, she could follow the wicked desires she had uncovered, subject herself to the whims of this brutish older man and become his slut. For anyone that knew her, they'd expect the answer to be obvious.

But was it?

As soon as Lacey had turned the corner and left his sight, Bruce had to take a deep breath and calm down. Grabbing his camera, he set it down on the coffee table, facing his room. He then sat down on the center of the couch and waited calmly, because he knew what was coming next.

She would be giving him exactly what he wanted.

Bruce was a man with decades of experience fucking young women. He knew how this always went. He knew how these girls' minds ticked. They would always act like they weren't that type of girl. These girls would say all the right things, about how much they loved their husband or boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever. But every one of these girls, no matter their marital status or sexual orientation, wanted to be seduced. They wanted to be convinced, to be won over by a charming seducer. And what Bruce lacked in charm, he made up for in equipment. Once these girls knew what he was packing, it was over. Any hopes they had, any dreams of love and marriage and loyalty they still possessed... once they saw the massive iron bar in his pants, they were finished. All those other concerns just stopped mattering.

For girls at a certain level of beauty and attractiveness, all they wanted was a man who was there equal. A man on their level. A man who could keep up with them. And while Bruce wasn't the best-looking man in the world, his manhood more than made up for it. And it was as if these girls had a sixth sense, as if some primordial instinct deep inside told them that he was hung like a horse, that would cause their behavior to change. They would flirt and tease and flaunt their bodies for him, sometimes unknowingly, almost asking to be seduced, just like Lacey had. And Bruce was more than capable of getting the job done.

It certainly didn't hurt that these girls were dying for it. No matter what their objection was, Bruce knew that they would do whatever mental gymnastics were required to justify letting themselves to submit to him and his wicked desires. They would convince themselves that they were in the right, that in submitting to the evil older man, they were doing it for a good reason. A reason that overrode any pesky ethical concerns they might have. Whether it was for charity, or for the schools, or to prove him wrong, or in this case, Christmas, they would justify it to themselves why they were willing to become a total whore for this seemingly unworthy old Grinch. And he would keep up his end of it, saying whatever needed to be said to allow these wannabe sluts to do what they so clearly already wanted to do.

And this bitch, Lacey, was so convinced of the power of Christmas. Bruce didn't care one iota about Christmas. He just wanted the young wife's ass, and he would play along with whatever he needed to get it. She had convinced herself that she was doing this to convince him of the power of Christmas. But he would never care about that shit. He would never be convinced. Not in the slightest. So, she was doing this for nothing. She was sacrificing her marriage, her dignity, and most importantly, her body, for literally nothing. He knew that, and deep down, she did too. She was doing this for the sole purpose of getting to experience the older man's giant cock in full, to become a huge slut and have dozens of screaming orgasms in the process. However she wanted to dress it up, that was the truth at its core. That is what she wanted most of all, and she would say or do anything to get it.

Just like all the other girls did.

So, when you ask why he was so convinced that she was going nowhere, that she would do whatever he asked of her, that she would march out in next to nothing, that was why. Lacey was a slut in the making, and he was the man to do the making. And they both knew that.

He leaned over and readjusted the camera, and it was just in time. At the moment the camera was in place, Lacey emerged to his sight again, the timing perfect. Lacey soon stood in front of him, looking slightly nervous, one hand resting on the corner of the wall. And clearly, she had made up her mind.

She was wearing the lingerie.

Bruce couldn't hide the hungry grin on his face. She'd actually gone and done it. She'd put on the lingerie. If this wasn't a surrender to the older man's twisted wiles, nothing else would be.

And she looked spectacular.

While some of the garments Bruce got his hands on at the plant were quite complicated, the items he had given to Lacey was far simpler. A thin, lacy red bra and a teeny, tiny red g-string. He had nicked them from a conveyor when no one was looking, for the sole purpose of adorning one of his conquests in them. And not only had he done it, his conquest was that hot young blonde, 10-out-of-10 wife from down the street with the perfect, round, mouth-watering ass and those big fucking tits. This might be his best work yet, and he took time to admire his prize.

Lacey looked incredible.

Up to this point, he'd only seen her covered up, and with it being the middle of winter, it wasn't like she was showing a lot of skin. Now... he was seeing A LOT of skin, more than most men ever got to see. Damn. The bra and g-string she was now wearing weren't exactly sized to fit her. He's simply stolen some underthings sized to about what he liked in a woman. Shapely ass. Huge tits. But Lacey... she exceeded those expectations by a lot, meaning the underwear was straining to contain her luscious body. So, in that sense, it fit her perfectly.

Bruce looked at her from the floor upwards. Her bare feet were pressed into the carpeting as she stepped forward into the room. His eyes kept rising. Her long, well-formed legs were bare, exposing her slim calves and firm, fit thighs. Her skin looked smooth and snowy as his gaze rose upward. His eyes settled on her crotch. The little red lacy triangle of material there barely shielded anything, covering as little as possible. The tiny little red triangle of material barely covered her pussy, as it was scooped very low to show as much skin as possible. And the best part was that it was pretty much see-through, allowing the older man to see the lips of her married pussy and her tiny little landing strip. No doubt that tiny little strip of hair above her pussy was meant for her husband's eyes, but Bruce was getting to see it instead.

His eyes kept looking up her hot married body. Her flat, fit belly showed off her commitment to fitness, as he laid eyes upon her well-earned, subtle feminine muscles there. The only interruption was her sexy navel, and for a moment, his vision was consumed by it. Her stomach, like the rest of her, had the same pale, creamy complexion. Her snowy skin looked so smooth and firm that he couldn't wait to run his experienced fingers all over them.

And speaking of things he wanted to get his hands on...

Bruce was a breast-man through and through, and he had seen some impressive pairs in his day. But this young wife's impressive set might take the cake. God damn... he knew they were big, but he didn't fully realize how absolutely massive they were until right this moment.

Clad in a bra a size or two too small for her, the red lace struggled to contain her mammoth tits. Full and round and truly immense, her giant melons were bursting to escape. Full enough to both ride close together and be very obviously visible from behind her, the copious flesh jiggled with each small movement she made. The red material of the bra covered the bottom portions of her big tits and not much else, leaving a huge expanse of smooth, bare flesh exposed, as well as fully showcasing the mammoth canyon of smooth, mouth-watering cleavage in between. Damn... he couldn't wait to slide his big dick between those suckers. That fucking cleavage was so deep even his huge cock might disappear between them. He couldn't wait to find out.

The lacy bra stretched around the fronts of her enormous double F-cup breasts, and the weight it was trying to hold back was so heavy that the cups were digging into her skin ever so slightly. Her huge, fleshy tits were oozing around the edges of the tiny garment, from above the cups and around the sides. The only thing holding the bra on were the two thin straps digging into her shoulders, and the thin little piece of material stretching across her cleavage to hold the two cups together, like a crumbling bridge over a canyon.

And like the bottoms, the bra was made of a thin, transparent red lace, meaning the mean old man was now getting a primo view of the married woman's nipples for the very first time. Large, circular pink areolas, capped off with hardened nubs, calling out to him, begging to be noticed by the brutish older man. And he was noticing, his mouth practically drooling at the sight of them.

Bruce's eyes rose upwards, past the vaulting balloons on her chest, up to her gorgeous face, where she was looking slightly nervous, biting her lip and looking up at the seated man.

"It's..." she began. "It's a little small."

"No, it's perfect," he said with a hungry grin, gazing at her perfect tits. Her eyes fell to his lap, where his cock was still exposed, continuing to stand like a tower. It was still swollen and throbbing, and it sent a small thrill through her to see that she met his approval. She had never dressed up like this, and she was starting to enjoy being a tiny bit slutty. Although, after sucking the older man's giant cock for the sole reason that it was giant and perfect and mouth-watering, and then dressing up in next to nothing for the evil old scrooge... this might be beyond just a tiny bit slutty. In fact, she was well on her way to becoming a complete and total whore, merely for the benefit of this wicked older man.

"Turn around," he said, spinning his fingers in the air. Still slightly nervous and inexperienced at showcasing herself like this for someone else, she spun around slowly, giving Bruce a view of her from behind.

The older man's eyes went wide.

Lacey had come to his house bundled up for the winter cold, but the older man had talked her into a lacy red bra and a fucking g-string. Now he was getting to see the benefits of such a garment. Bruce eyes were locked on the married woman's ass, which was just fucking hanging out, begging to be admired. The blonde's heart-shaped rear end was just perfectly formed, firm and juicy and perfect. Each ripe cheek was perky and full, standing out proudly from her slim body. The straps from the g-string rode along the upper clefts of her ass cheeks, before meeting in a small knot just above her ass crack. There, the tiny little red string descended between her perfectly sculpted globes, disappearing quickly before meeting at the little triangle covering her crotch.

The rest of her looked just as great, even when looking at her from behind. Her slim, well-formed legs. Her fit, taut back, with the bra digging into her soft, snowy flesh. But his eyes stayed glued to her rear end. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, into those same eyes that remained arrested to her backside. She couldn't read his thoughts, but she could see the heat in his normally cold gaze. And it was probably for the best that she couldn't read his mind, because he was already coming up with all sorts of awful things he wanted to do to that ass of hers. Such perfection was not meant to last. He was gonna do bad things to that ass. An ass like hers was meant to be broken in and brought to heel. An ass like hers was meant to spanked, fucked, and dominated. And it was a miracle that she'd gone this long without crossing paths with a man like him, a man capable of making her submit.

That would change today.

"You ever wear anything like this? A g-string?" Bruce asked, unconsciously stroking himself in full view of her.

"No... nothing like this," she said truthfully. She was a practical gal, wearing simple cotton underwear and bras, only spicing it up when she wore more boy-short style panties.

"God, your ass is perfect for them," he stated. "I can't believe your husband doesn't make you wear anything like this. Damn, I knew he was a pussy..."

"No, he wouldn't do that," Lacey said. It was true. Derrick never once even broached the subject of giving his opinion on what he liked seeing her wear underwear-wise. With her body, anything she chose was fine with him. He never raised a fuss. He was not a demanding man, especially with his gorgeous wife.

Bruce felt differently.

"Well, you should," Bruce stated simply, delighted by the fact that he was the first to see Lacey like this. "That ass is too fucking perfect not to. From now on, you will be wearing something like this. Any day that fucking ass isn't a thong or g-string is a day wasted."

"Uh... okay..." she said, ceding her future underwear decisions to her old scrooge of a neighbor. She wanted to disagree, but, glancing down at herself... her ass did look amazing like this. It wouldn't be so bad to keep wearing stuff like this... right?

Encouraged at how easily she took to his firm suggestion, he decided to push things along further, eager to get his hands on that body.

"Come over here," he said, curling his finger.

Obediently, she spun around and began to slowly approach him, nervously, eyes on the floor. But Bruce wasn't looking for eye contact from her, because his eyes were looking somewhere else, specifically her giant, bouncing tits.

Bruce's eyes were almost mesmerized by the intense jiggling of her massive married tits as she moved towards him, walking around the coffee table, getting closer and closer. As she walked, those massive, heavy udders of hers bounced and jiggled in an almost hypnotic fashion. Her fleshy jugs kept threatening to ooze over the edges of her bra, as if they wanted to be exposed to the older man. And as she took her slow gentle steps towards him, they bounced against each other, her rippling cleavage making the older man drool. Even Bruce's cold, scrooge-like eyes burned with heat. He had enough brain power at the moment to grab the camera off the table and point it at the young wife, wanting to capture what was about to happen.

Lacey could feel the old man's burning vision against her chest, watching her boobs bounce and shake. She could feel his eyes staring right at her barely concealed nipples, staring at the hard nubs through the lace. Whenever this happened in the past, whenever she saw some guy at a party or in some other social setting staring at her boobs, she would usually cover herself up, or say something to the guy. Derrick or her friends would always try to get her to just ignore this kind of attention, but Lacey took pride in the fact that she always stood up for herself.

But not with Bruce.

With Bruce, she let him stare. She let him gaze openly at her colossal, barely concealed, bra-clad tits, a right she never allowed any man. She would even chide her husband for staring at her perfect tits for too long. But at this point, after having been sweet-talked into a tiny lace bra and a thong after having sucked his monster cock, he had certainly earned the right to look. For Derrick, it took him months of dating and doing everything he could to earn her trust before she let him see the goods. But for Bruce, it took a couple hours of making rude comments, threatening to expose himself, and showcasing some truly filthy, hardcore, homemade porn to reach the exact same point. And not only to get her willing to let him see the goods, but to surrender to him completely. And he didn't have to waste money on dates and the wedding and all that other lame shit. He just had talk to her like a sex object long enough for her to start believing it.