More from Deborah

• Anthony’s Obsession

  February 1, 2026

  Anthony’s Obsession: Pounding Jeanne Lamonica Like the Filthy Cunt She Is

  Anthony had been losing his fucking mind over Jeanne Lamonica for months. Every time he saw her – that smug little smirk, those fat tits straining against her top, that round ass swaying like it was begging to be split open – his cock throbbed so hard it hurt. She was the ultimate filthy cunt, the kind of woman who knew exactly how much power her body had and used it to drive men insane. And Anthony? He was already past insane. He was feral. Obsessed. Ready to rip her clothes off and ruin her in every hole she had.

  He finally cornered her one night after too many drinks, the air thick with tension and lust. No small talk, no bullshit. He grabbed her by the throat, shoved her against the wall, and growled, “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t walk, you dirty little whore.” Jeanne’s eyes lit up like she’d been waiting for it. She licked her lips, pressed her body against his rock-hard cock, and whispered, “Then do it, you sick fuck. Wreck me.”

  Anthony didn’t waste time. He tore her shirt open, buttons flying, and buried his face in her massive tits, sucking and biting her nipples until she moaned like a bitch in heat. His hands were everywhere – squeezing her ass, slapping it red, then yanking her skirt up to find she wasn’t wearing panties. Of course she wasn’t. Filthy cunt. He shoved two fingers straight into her dripping pussy, pumping hard while his thumb ground against her clit. Jeanne bucked against his hand, soaking his fingers, begging for more.

  He spun her around, bent her over the couch, and dropped his pants. His cock sprang out, thick and veined, already leaking pre-cum. Jeanne looked back over her shoulder, spread her cheeks with both hands, and said, “Take whatever hole you want, daddy. They’re all yours tonight.”

  Watch Anthony Destroy Jeanne Lamonica (Video)

  Anthony slammed into her pussy first, no warm-up, no mercy. One brutal thrust and he was balls-deep, stretching her tight cunt wide. Jeanne screamed, half pain, half pleasure, clawing at the cushions. He fucked her like a piston – hard, fast, relentless. The wet slapping sounds filled the room, her juices running down her thighs. “You like that, slut? You like getting railed like the whore you are?” he snarled, yanking her hair back so her back arched.

  She could only gasp, “Yes… fuck yes… harder!”

  He pulled out, spun her again, and forced her to her knees. Jeanne opened wide, tongue out, and Anthony rammed his cock down her throat. She gagged, drool pouring from her lips, eyes watering, but she didn’t pull away. She took every inch, letting him face-fuck her until her mascara ran in black streaks. He held her head still and pumped, using her mouth like a fleshlight, until he felt his balls tighten.

  But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

  He dragged her to the bed, flipped her onto her stomach, and spread her ass cheeks. Jeanne reached back, pulled them wider, and begged, “Fuck my ass. Please. Ruin it.” Anthony spat on her tight hole, rubbed his cockhead against it, then pushed in slow at first – letting her feel every inch stretching her open. Once he was buried, he lost control. He pounded her ass like an animal, slapping her cheeks red, calling her every dirty name in the book. Jeanne rubbed her clit furiously, screaming into the pillow as another orgasm ripped through her.

  Anthony finally pulled out, flipped her over, and straddled her chest. He jerked his cock furiously while Jeanne opened her mouth, tongue out, eyes locked on his. “Cum on me, baby. Cover this filthy cunt in your load.”

  He exploded – thick ropes of hot cum painting her face, tits, and tongue. Jeanne moaned, rubbing it into her skin like lotion, licking her fingers clean, completely owned.

  They collapsed, sweaty, sticky, spent. But Anthony already knew one thing: this was just round one. Jeanne Lamonica was his filthy obsession, and he was nowhere near done destroying her.

  Want more? Drop a comment below and tell me what hole Anthony should wreck next.

• 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.

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