A married Asian woman ducks into a private karaoke booth with her husband’s best friend and takes his cock in her arse for the first time.
The private karaoke booth smelled of warm plastic and cheap beer. $name1 sat on the vinyl banquette in a short black dress, twenty-nine, black hair pinned up, marriage ring catching the neon when she lifted her whisky. Across from her, Marcus — her husband’s best friend since uni, thirty-two, broad shoulders, jeans tight across his thighs — had stopped pretending to scroll the song list.
Her husband was still at the bar downstairs buying another round. He would be ten minutes at least.
“$name1,” Marcus said, voice low under the muted track. “You’ve been staring at my cock all night.”
She should have laughed it off. Instead she set the glass down, slid off the banquette, and knelt between his knees on the sticky booth floor. Her fingers found his belt. The zipper rasped. His cock sprang free, thick and already hard, the head flushed dark and wet.
“If he comes back,” she whispered, wrapping both hands around the shaft, “you zip up and I sit down and we never speak of this. Until then I want this down my throat.”
She took him into her mouth in one hungry slide. Marcus groaned, one hand fisting in her neat black hair, fucking up into her face while the booth speakers thumped a love ballad neither of them was listening to. Spit ran down his shaft. She gagged once, pulled off, strings of spit connecting her lips to his cockhead, then swallowed him again deeper, nose pressed to his stomach, throat working around him like a filthy little sleeve.
“Christ — your husband has no idea what a cock-hungry Asian slut he married—”
She pulled off with a wet pop. “He thinks I only fuck missionary on Saturdays. Stand up. Bend me over the machine.”
Marcus hauled her up, spun her, and shoved her chest down over the glowing song console. $name1 braced on the plastic, arse out, and felt him yank her knickers down to her knees. Cool booth air hit her cunt. She was soaked — lips swollen, clit throbbing, wetness already streaking her inner thighs.
He rubbed the fat head of his cock through her folds, then shoved into her cunt in one hard thrust. $name1 bit down on a moan. He fucked her shallow and fast, balls slapping, the wet filthy sound louder than the music. Her tits spilled forward in the dress. The neon lights painted her bare arse pink and blue.
“Harder,” she hissed. “Use me. I’ve wanted this for two years of polite dinners.”
He gripped her hips and pounded until she came shaking against the console, cunt clamping, juice dripping onto the booth carpet. Before she could catch her breath he pulled out, spat on his fingers, and pressed one slick fingertip to her tight arsehole.
$name1 froze. Then she pushed back onto it.
“I’ve never—” she started.
“I know,” Marcus said against her ear. “Your husband bragged once that your arse was virgin. Tonight it isn’t.”
He worked a second finger in, stretching her, scissoring, while his other hand rubbed her clit in mean circles. $name1’s mouth hung open. The burn melted into a thick dirty pressure that made her cunt drip harder. When he lined his cock up against that small ring she nodded once, desperate.
“Do it. Fuck my arse. Put your best friend’s cock in the hole my husband never touched.”
He pushed. Slow. Relentless. The head popped through and $name1 cried out into her own forearm — a raw animal sound swallowed by the booth padding. Inch by inch he fed his thick shaft into her arse until his hips met her cheeks and she was stuffed full, stretched around him, every nerve screaming.
“Fuck — so tight — look at you taking it—”
He started to move. Short strokes at first, then longer, deeper, fucking her arse with the same hunger he’d used on her cunt. $name1’s eyes rolled. She reached back and spread her own cheeks so he could watch himself disappear into her. The slap of skin, the wet stretch, the filthy praise pouring out of him — it wrecked her. She came again with his cock buried in her arse, thighs shaking, cunt empty and clenching on nothing, a broken moan torn out of her throat.
“I’m going to fill this virgin hole,” Marcus growled. “You want my cum dripping out of your arse when you sit back down next to him?”
“Yes — yes — dump it in me — make me walk out of here leaking—”
He slammed deep and came hard, pulsing thick ropes of cum into her arse, hips jerking, hands bruising her waist. $name1 felt every spurt, hot and filthy, painting her insides. When he finally pulled out, cum slid down her crack and over her empty cunt. She stayed bent for a second, breathing, then reached back, scooped some of his cum on two fingers, and sucked them clean while he watched.
Knickers up. Dress smoothed. Hair pinned again as best she could. Marcus stuffed his wet cock away and sat like nothing had happened. $name1 sat opposite, thighs pressed together, arse throbbing, cum slowly soaking into the gusset of her knickers.
The booth door opened. Her husband stepped in with three fresh drinks and a grin.
“Sorry that took forever. What did I miss?”
$name1 took her glass with a steady hand. Under the table, Marcus’s shoe nudged her ankle.
“Nothing,” she said, smiling. “Just warming up for the next song.”
She shifted on the banquette and felt his cum leak a little more. Tomorrow she would text Marcus the hotel room number for the weekend her husband was away. Tonight she would sit beside her husband, sing off-key, and every time she clenched she would remember the shape of his best friend’s cock stretching her arse open in a karaoke booth that still smelled like sex under the beer and plastic.
Marcus picked up the microphone like a gentleman. $name1 crossed her legs and let the ache settle deep. She was a married woman with a virgin hole that was no longer virgin, and the night was young.
