More from Deborah

• The Leaving

  January 25, 2026

  The Leaving

  The living room smelled of Elena’s lavender candle and the sharp tang of her fear-sweat.

  Anthony stood in the doorway, one arm around Jeanne’s waist, the other hand already working the zipper of her black dress. Jeanne—tall, sixty-something, silver-streaked hair pulled into a loose knot—smiled down at Elena like a queen regarding a disobedient pet.

  “You kept saying he’d never do it,” Jeanne said, voice low and amused. “You kept saying I was just his ‘sad little side piece.’ Look at him now.”

  Elena sat rigid on the couch, hands knotted in her lap, mascara already streaking. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t.

  Anthony pushed Jeanne’s dress off her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. No bra, no panties—just smooth skin, heavy breasts, and the dark triangle between her thighs. Jeanne stepped out of the fabric and kicked it toward Elena’s feet like an insult.

  “Watch,” Anthony told his soon-to-be-ex-wife. Not a request.

  He backed Jeanne against the wall beside the television, lifted one of her legs over his hip, and entered her in one long, deliberate thrust. Jeanne gasped—half theater, half real—and locked eyes with Elena over his shoulder.

  “She’s crying already,” Jeanne murmured against Anthony’s ear, loud enough to carry. “Poor thing thought she still owned you.”

  Anthony laughed, short and cruel, and started fucking Jeanne harder. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Jeanne’s breasts bounced with each thrust; she reached down and spread herself wider so Elena could see every inch disappearing inside her.

  “You used to beg him to come home early,” Jeanne panted between strokes. “Now he comes home to me… and he comes in me… while you sit there like a kicked dog.”

  Elena made a small, broken sound. Anthony groaned, buried himself to the hilt, and held there, grinding slow circles.

  “Tell her,” Jeanne ordered, nails digging into his shoulders.

  Anthony turned his head just enough to meet Elena’s wet, horrified eyes.

  “I don’t love you anymore,” he said clearly. “I love fucking her. I love the way she laughs when you cry. I’m never coming back.”

  Jeanne clenched around him deliberately, milking him, and that was enough. Anthony came with a long, satisfied growl, hips jerking, filling Jeanne while Elena watched every pulse. When he finally pulled out, a thick rope of white followed, dripping down Jeanne’s thigh.

  Jeanne crooked a finger at Elena.

  “Come clean it up,” she said sweetly. “With your tongue. Or we’ll do this again tomorrow… and the day after… until you understand who he belongs to now.”

  Elena didn’t move at first.

  Jeanne laughed—bright, delighted—and Anthony joined her, both of them looking down at the woman they were dismantling together.

  The candle flickered. The room stayed quiet except for Elena’s soft, hopeless sobs.

  ---

• Anthony’s Harem

  January 24, 2026

  Anthony’s Harem – Owned & Used

  How one man keeps three filthy whores dripping, obedient, and begging for more

  Anthony doesn’t ask. He takes.

  Saturday night the house smells like sex before anyone even touches skin. Jeanne—his mother, his first and favorite cuntbag whore—waits on all fours in the living room, heavy tits swaying, silver-streaked hair spilling over her shoulders, ass already glistening from the lube she applied an hour ago like the eager slut she is. Celena, his stepdaughter, kneels beside her in nothing but thigh-highs and a thin black choker, young pussy already swollen and leaking onto the hardwood. Elena—his dull, boring wife—sits naked on the couch, legs spread, fingers idly circling her clit because she knows better than to stop when he walks in.

  Anthony steps through the door, belt already unbuckled, thick cock half-hard against his thigh. He doesn’t speak at first. He just points.

  “Jeanne. Mouth.”

  His mother crawls forward instantly, lips parting, tongue flat and ready. He grabs a fistful of her hair and feeds her every inch in one slow, deliberate push until her nose presses into his pelvis and her throat convulses around him. She gags wetly but doesn’t pull back—never does. He holds her there, letting her choke and drool while he looks down at the other two.

  “Celena, eat your grandmother’s cunt. Make her drip on your chin.”

  The stepdaughter scrambles behind Jeanne, buries her face between those mature thighs, and starts lapping like she’s starving. Jeanne moans around Anthony’s cock, the vibration making him twitch deeper in her throat. Celena’s tongue flicks over Jeanne’s swollen clit, then dives inside, slurping noisily while her own pussy clenches on nothing.

  Anthony finally pulls out, strings of spit connecting Jeanne’s lips to his glistening shaft. He turns to Elena.

  “Wife. Ass up. Now.”

  Elena obeys without hesitation, climbing onto the couch on hands and knees, back arched, presenting both holes. Anthony steps behind her, spits on her asshole, and slams in—raw, no warning. She cries out, but it’s half pain, half gratitude. He fucks her ass with punishing strokes, each one making her heavy tits bounce and slap together. He reaches forward, grabs Celena by the hair, and pulls her face up from Jeanne’s cunt.

  “Clean my cock when I pull out of your mother’s ass, slut.”

  Celena nods frantically, mouth open, waiting. Anthony pounds Elena harder, deeper, until her moans turn to broken sobs. Then he yanks out, spins, and shoves his ass-slick cock straight down Celena’s throat. She gags hard, eyes watering, but sucks eagerly, tasting her own mother while Jeanne watches and fingers herself.

  He cycles them like toys. Jeanne bent over the arm of the couch, taking his cock in her soaked pussy while he fingers Celena’s clit. Celena on her back, legs pinned wide, getting railed so deep her stomach bulges with every thrust while Elena sits on her face, grinding her wet cunt against the girl’s tongue. Jeanne riding him reverse cowgirl, ass cheeks clapping, while he makes Elena lick his balls and Celena suck Jeanne’s swinging tits.

  When he’s ready, he lines them up on their knees—mother, stepdaughter, wife—mouths open, tongues out.

  “Beg for it.”

  Three voices at once:

  “Please, Anthony… cum on us… mark your whores… we need it…”

  He strokes himself fast, grunts low, and unloads—thick, hot ropes painting Jeanne’s face first, then Celena’s waiting tongue, then splashing across Elena’s tits. They lean in, licking each other clean, swapping his cum mouth-to-mouth while he watches, cock still twitching.

  “Good girls,” he says, voice calm again. “Now clean each other up. I want all three holes ready for round two in ten minutes.”

  Anthony doesn’t love gently. He owns completely. And his three whores wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Close This Filthy Tale