The record crackled as it spun on the cheap turntable. "Suck that cock like you mean it, bitch," the gravel voice growled over the horns and bass. Lisa laughed once, short and sharp, then dropped to her knees right there on the stained rug. She yanked my belt open, freed my dick, and swallowed it to the root without any warm-up bullshit.
Her throat worked tight and wet. I grabbed her hair and fucked her face while the smut peddlers song kept going, the singer barking every filthy line like he was right in the room with us. "Gag on it, take every inch, let that spit run down your tits." Lisa moaned around my shaft, eyes watering, mascara already smearing. She pulled off just long enough to gasp, "Play the next one," then went back down, tongue flat and sloppy.
I reached over and flipped the record. Side two started with a slow grind beat and a woman's voice this time, low and nasty: "Spread that pussy, show him how wet you are, ride that dick till your legs shake." Lisa stood up, stripped her skirt and panties in one move, and climbed onto my lap on the couch. She sank down on my cock in one slick push, cunt gripping hard. She started bouncing immediately, tits swinging, ass slapping against my thighs.
The record kept feeding us lines. Every time the singer said "fuck her harder," Lisa slammed down faster. Every time it said "make her scream," she did, voice cracking. Sweat ran between her tits.
I slapped her ass and told her to keep going, told her she was nothing but a filthy record player for my dick. She came once with a raw shout, pussy clenching and flooding my balls, but she didn't stop. The song switched to a duet, both voices trading lines about creampies and cum-swallowing. Lisa leaned in, mouth against my ear, repeating the words like they were orders.
I flipped her onto her back on the couch, hooked her legs over my shoulders, and drove in deep. The needle skipped for a second, then caught on the line "fill that hole till it leaks." I did exactly that, pumping thick ropes inside her while she clawed my back and begged for more. When I pulled out, cum ran down her crack onto the cushion. She scooped some with two fingers and sucked them clean, eyes locked on mine.
We let the record play out. The final track was just moans and wet sounds over a bass line, no words, like the singers had given up talking and were just fucking on the wax. Lisa rolled onto her stomach, reached back, and spread her ass. "One more round before the record ends," she said. I lined up and pushed into her asshole, slow at first, then harder when the record hit its loudest, dirtiest swell. She grunted and pushed back, taking every inch.
By the time the needle lifted and the room went quiet except for our breathing, both of us were wrecked and sticky. Lisa stayed on her stomach, cum leaking from both holes, and muttered, "Put the record on again." I flipped it back to side one. The smut peddlers started singing their same nasty songs, and we started all over, raw and direct, no story, just the music telling us exactly how to use each other.
