The goo spilled over the rind of her froufrou fruit. Scum syruped between the crack of her ass as Arturo maneuvered fast.

He had his prick up inside her ass.

Pumped fast.

Erection returning as if he were automatic. Crack after crack into her rump.

He jackknifed forward over Constance’s haunch and peered through the telescope as he simultaneously spoke and lucked ass. He gauged the boob size of several Mediterranean Messalinas slinking along the surf line.

“What’s the matter?” Constance whispered. “Aren’t there enough tits for you right here?”

“Fucking gringuita bitch. You don’t never innerup me when I yam een conference.

Don you fucking laugh at me. Shut your sistersucking face. Theese ees is no something funny!”

Then Arturo snapped the telephone from his face. He gripped Constance about the waist.

Pulled her higher onto his cock.

Yanked her head back by her hair. Pulled it taut.

Gave her a shot with his knuckles on her chin. Tore her head to the side.

Pummeled her again.

“Unh.”

“I’ll get you for that,” Arturo spat.

“What?”

He smacked across her face.

“What on earth is that for?”

“Because I am your husband. And I will be king.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I talked to that ambassador man. That knight boyfriend of yours-”

“That was before-”

“But you see him now.”

“At parties-”

“Balls! He said to tell you he sends his best. His best right up your ass!”

“Ungh. Arturo. I’m telling you. If you hit me one more time when I don’t want you to, I will cut your face to shreds with my fingernails.”

“And he says that know he is no fucking knight no more. He is a lord! You don’t fucking think I don’t fucking know what the fuck-fuck-fuck that means. I know you whore for the lord!”

“Arturo, please-”

“My wife-she a slut. She a fucking whore. Puta. If! yam king, I can have you killed for even looking at another man. But you tuck him-”