It’d been a long day and her car had broken down. Sartana was in no mood to banter with a mechanic who’d no doubt leer at her. She’d put on a tanktop and shorts for her day off, but it’d turned into one of those days where doing work would be more relaxing than trying to relax. Lots of little irritants she didn’t want to think about.
Walking six blocks was one more to get through. Then she could at least climb into bed and sleep off whatever hex had been put on her. Assuming Marissa hadn’t put a wet spot in her own bed and decided to move the sexual Olympics into Sartana’s room.
Walking along the hot pavement, Sartana was uncomfortably aware of the attention she received. Necks craned to watch her as she passed. A few men whistled. She knew it was her own fault. Her bra pushed her breasts up and then let them jiggle like they weren’t encumbered at all. And her legs were long and bronze and toned beneath white shorts tight enough to have been sprayed onto her round hips and pert ass.
Dammit, how the hell did she have so much trouble finding a good man while Marissa brought home someone she could orgasm with every other night?
Coming home, Sartana let herself in and immediately saw a bottle of brandy and two glasses, one full, on an endtable. For once, she was grateful for how often Marissa entertained guests. Sartana immediately poured herself a glass and downed it. The heat that had settled into her skin now fled, helped along by the air conditioning and the wonderful shade. Not even a light on in the pleasant darkness. Sartana didn’t flick any switches either. A cool, dark house was just what she wanted.
And judging by how quiet it was, she didn’t think Marissa was still here. Her latest boyfriend had probably dragged her off to a roadshow or whatever deadbeats were into these days. She decided to take advantage of the silence and reply to a few emails in her office. Maybe eat some Takis or heat up some Chinese takeout if Marissa had left any for her.
Then, after she’d cooled down, maybe a bath. She could fall asleep in there as easily as in her bed. And if Marissa hadn’t befouled her sheets, there was no reason to subject them to her own grungy body. Maybe a shower. A shower with the massaging head so she was nice and loose when she crawled into bed…
Then her plans, insubstantial as they were, all came to an end.
“Shit! No! Don’t! It’s too much! My little pussy can’t take all of that!” Marissa cried, squirming her naked ass in the air like she was trying to get her cunt free of the massive impalement that was ongoing, thrusting vigorously in and out of her.
Sartana stood in the doorway, watching. Hearing the moans and cries coming from her office, she’d expected to find her twin sister entertaining another big-dicked loser. But no—Marissa was actually being raped! Her sis, who she’d always felt so superior to, always derided for being so willing to spread her legs… was a victim.
And all Sartana could feel was a sick sort of responsibility. She was a cop, for God’s sake. How had she let this happen? How had she failed her own flesh and blood to the point that now she’d be traumatized for the rest of her life?
Sartana slumped. Her knees felt like they were barely there. She grabbed onto the doorjamb for support. Short breaths bobbed through her throat, not even seeming to reach her lungs.
And yet how much worse it must be for Marissa? Spreadeagle on the desk, taking her rapist’s enormous hard-on, and only wearing a few stitches of fabric left behind when her clothes were clearly ripped off her. She was fond of sunbathing… probably naked in the backyard while Sartana was at work… her velvety flesh was a vibrant shade of brown, almost glowing in its richness, and Sartana found herself thinking absurdly that she herself should at least visit a tanning salon.
The madness of the thought made Sartana shake her head, littering her vision with auburn hair. No, this couldn’t be happening. Marissa was smart, she was careful…
“Don’t! Stop! Stop! Stop!” Marissa stammered, buffeted out of all sanity by the turgid length of cock relentlessly pumping in and out of her. Sartana had never seen a dick so big. The shaft had to be seven inches—eight with the swollen cockhead that had to top it. She felt faint.
She couldn’t imagine what Marissa was going through, having that massive weapon slamming into her over and over again. She literally couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be impaled that way, by something that was meant for a woman’s sheath… yet was so monstrously oversized. It had to be like making love to a horse…
More details seeped into Sartana’s cloudy thoughts. Thick ropes bound her sister’s wrists, taut from them to the legs of the massive oak desk. And the jutting cheeks of Marissa’s ass weren’t just healthily tanned, they seemed to be bright red! Sartana caught sight of a broken yardstick lying at the man’s feet. What kind of kinky debauchery had he subjected her twin too, above and beyond violating her this way? Had it started out as Marissa’s usual degeneracy and escalated into this awful transgression? How much of it had she enjoyed? How much of it… was she still enjoying?
The rapist looked a lot like some of the cowboys Sartana worked with at ICE. A big, well-muscled roughneck, with a few biker tattoos scoring his hide like dents on a weathered pick-up. His hair was cut jock-short, with plenty of skin showing about the ears. If this were a movie, he’d be a thug straight out of Central Casting; the kind Hollywood had Batman beat up because they’d never dare show a black or Hispanic committing crimes.
“UNNHH!” Marissa grunted as he hilted himself in her again. The smell of her cunt was almost overwhelming, despite the air conditioning pushing back on the midsummer heat.
Sartana looked around for a weapon; even knowing her own strength, she didn’t think she was a match for that mountain of muscle attacking her sister. But if she could hit him with something, that could disable him long enough for her to get Marissa to a neighbor’s—
“You should be proud!” the man groaned, teeth gritted against the physical pleasure he was taking in his onslaught. “Your cheap Mexican pussy is about to make me come!”
“No! No! You can’t! Don’t come in me! Please don’t come in me!”
Sartana clenched her own jaw. And he was a racist. Now she really wanted to break something over his head. And if he didn’t get back up after she knocked him down, that would just be too damn—
Marissa pressed her face down against the desk. “You can’t come yet! I haven’t earned it! Please, Roman, I’ll come so much more for your white cock, just let me have a little more! I’ll be the best Mexican whore you’ve ever had!”
Sartana gaped. That was her sister pleading for more abuse. And even as she watched, her reddened asscheeks lifted and Marissa wiggled herself against the phallus buried in her shaven pussy. She could only be trying to make Roman enjoy her pussy more than he already was.
“You really do love white cock,” Roman said with a booming laugh. “You know what that makes you? Uh! One smart Mexicana.”
“I don’t have to be smart to know no one else can fuck me like you can. I just have to spread my legs and let you get me off! Yeah! Yeah! This pussy’s too good for anyone but a white man!”
Even though her shock, Sartana managed a little groan at Marissa’s hypocrisy. She gave Sartana a hard time for working for ICE, ‘betraying her people,’ and here she was practically worshipping the Aryan race just because one of them had a big dick.
Roman’s big hands grasped Marissa’s slender waist, knuckles whitening as he made sure she went nowhere but where he wanted her. Pulled back against his loins, too close to his groin to feel anything but all of his huge cock stirring inside her juicy sex.
Then Roman’s prick started to retreat from Marissa’s tight pussy. Lewdly sucking its way out of her as Roman crouched down to reach for his lowered trousers. He had to go almost all the way down to get them and his huge manhood totally emerged from Marissa’s sex.
Sartana’s eyes bulged. She began to consider that Marissa wasn’t just playing a game. That cock definitely looked like it could brainwash a girl out of her racial activism and into pure tradwife mode.
Roman pulled his black leather belt through the loops of his pants. He came back up with a length of leather dangling from his fisted hand. “I think it’s time we test your devotion.”
“Do whatever you want to me, sir. Nothing could hurt as bad as having to go without white dick. You can punish me as much as you want, just let me serve that cock! You have to let me serve white cock! Nothing else can make me happy! I need white cock or I’ll die!”
God, how pathetic can you get? Sartana thought, knowing that while she might enforce the law, she would never sell out her people like that. No amount of pleasure could make her whimper and moan and beg like Marissa was doing so shamelessly.
Roman came back to Marissa. Driving all of his rigid prick back into her cunt.
“GOD! YESSSSHH!” Marissa screamed her way into slurring further words of passion, seemingly overcome by having so much cock making her inner walls so open. “Yesyesyesyes—I love being owned by white cock!”
Sartana remembered how big Roman was and tried to picture how far Marissa would be gaping open if the man turned invisible. It was the kind of thing she didn’t think anything short of a speculum could manage.
Roman took his silver belt buckle in hand and wound the leather once around his palm. “Show me how much pain you can take.