The Gangster's Wife

She wears an orange minidress and nothing underneath. Jasmine Jae kneels in the front yard and digs up the jars her dead husband buried there. The money stacks up on the grass. Tommy Pistol waits in the shadows until she carries the cash inside, then slips through the door after her. She counts the bills at the counter until his reflection shows in the metal lid. One swing of the frying pan drops him. She snaps cuffs on his wrists and bolts him to the wooden table. When his eyes open, she demands a name. Tommy snatches the pistol before she can answer. He makes her unlock him, then locks her wrists behind her back. He waits. She begs. He shoves every inch down her throat, balls tight against her chin, and fucks her face until spit pours down her chest. He smears that spit over her shaved, pierced cunt, then pulls his belt free and lashes her clit until it swells and throbs. He binds her wrists and ankles, forces her into doggy on the floor, stuffs a ball-gag between her teeth. The flogger stripes her ass. He sinks his cock straight into her pussy, pounds hard, fast, deep. Nipple clamps bite into her heavy tits while he works his shaft into her ass, spreading her open. He flips her onto her back, spreads her legs wide, wraps rope around her thighs and breasts. The crop snaps across her soles, then across her cunt. He fucks both holes again and presses the Hitachi against her swollen clit until she shakes. When he’s ready, he empties his load across her tongue, asks for a shovel, and walks out with every jar, leaving her tied, dripping, and helpless on the floor.