White Women Dream

I. Sophie Davis

When Mr Davis told her that he was going away on business, Mrs Davis sighed, told her husband how much she would miss him, and set about packing his case. She smiled weakly when he told her that he would, as usual, buy her something nice while she was away. As she kissed him goodbye, Mrs Davis told her husband that she might go away herself, to the spa. She had been feeling rather tense, lately.

Once her husband had departed, Mrs Davis cleared away the breakfast things, and ran herself a deep bath. She stretched her beautiful, nude body out in the blissful warm water, and dialled the number of Deon, her big, sexy black boyfriend.

Mrs Davis had a wicked little smile, as the phone rang. She knew that a passionate week with Deon would give her a fine workout, and leave her refreshed and fulfilled. Deon was, after all, a fitness trainer. His body rock-hard with silky black muscles. He certainly never went easy on Mrs Davis!

In what seemed to Mrs Davis like twelve very short hours, she found herself lying, exhausted and nude once again, on the Egyptian linen sheets of the huge bed in her and Deon's room. Her smooth tanned skin was glistening with hot sweat. Her stockings, her suspender belt, her stiletto heels, her g-string- all of the many feminine details in which Mrs Davis presented herself to Deon, to entice him- were strewn across the bed and the floor. Listening to her black lover as he showered, Mrs Davis licked her glossy lips, savouring the musky tang of his big, black cock. She ran a finger along her perfectly toned thigh towards her deliciously ravished cunt, and dipped into the warm ooze of Deon's cum. As she sucked on her sticky finger, Mrs Davis' phone rang.

She rolled her eyes as she glanced at the screen. It was Mr Davis. Mrs Davis practiced her sweetest smile, before answering.

"Hello, Darling! How are getting along? Was the flight bearable?" She closed her eyes and allowed the tedious account of mishandled luggage, noisy babies and noisy air conditioning to drift over her. Her mind wandered to the sweet sensation of Deon's huge, powerful body between her thighs, just a few minutes past. She smiled as a small quiver ran through her lithe body, and she recalled some of the filthy things that Deon, in his deep, rough voice, had growled into her ear; "whore", "white bitch", "white slut", "tight cunt", "spread yo' white ass"...

Mrs Davis eyes flashed open as she detected silence.

"I'm so sorry, Sweetie, this isn't a good line. What did you ask? Oh, how is it here?"

Mrs Davis thought for a few moments as she planned a response that would neither reveal nor lie; an essential skill for the respectable unfaithful wife.

"Well, Darling, it's just lovely. You know how they take care of everything. I've already has a splendid workout, and worked up quite a sweat. And the room, well..."

Mrs Davis' eyes met Deon's as he emerged from the bathroom. She studied his beautiful, muscular body, before her eyes fell on his huge black cock and balls, dangling between his powerful thighs.

"...well, it's huge, Darling. I'm ever so pleased with it. In fact I think I'm in love with it. I want to keep it forever. Send you a picture, Sweetie? Oh. Actually, I don't want to make you envious!"

Mrs Davis raised a conspiratorial eyebrow at Deon, who was smirking proudly as he stroked the length of his big black dick, bringing it to life.

"What have I been working on? Well, now. I have been doing a lot of 'body-pump'..."

And that was true. Her stomach and thigh muscles now ached pleasingly; for hours that afternoon, she had been straddling Deon's beautiful cock, bucking her hips furiously as she worked herself to orgasm after heavenly orgasm.
"...I have been working on controlling my breathing..."

Indeed, Mrs Davis had been rather proud of herself, as she allowed Deon to ease his thick shaft deep into her throat, and she managed to suck him off without coming up for air.

"...oh, and lots and lots of stretching with my instructor..."

It was always challenging when Mrs Davis first spread her lovely pale thighs for Deon, and he had to ease his big black cock into her cunt inch by inch. But now Deon's cock had stretched her tight white pussy to a perfect fit, and it was all pleasure with each powerful thrust. They were still working on Mrs Davis ass, together.

"...and I have had some heavenly massage."

Deon, who had been sucking Mrs Davis' toes while gently squeezing her thighs, now moved his head between them. Mrs Davis lovingly held his shaven head in place, as he began to probe her pussy with his thick tongue. She closed her eyes and licked her teeth in sweet ecstasy.

"Have I eaten? Why, yes, darling, and it is delicious. But you get so much! Much more than we have together. I really feel quite full!"

Mrs Davis pushed her fingers deep into her sex, slicked them with more of her lover's seed, then licked them while giving Deon a naughty wink. He returned a dirty, bright-toothed grin, and ran his thick tongue along her wet slit.

"But you know, Sweetie, I ought to go..."

Mrs Davis twisted onto her stomach, parted her knees and thrust her pert white ass into the air".

"...it must be time for my next session".

She looked over her shoulder at her muscular black lover. He was biting his thick lip in aggravated lust, as he scowled hungrily at Mrs Davis' white pussy and ass. She reached behind to hold Deon's huge black balls, then his mighty cock. It was as hard as rock. She ran her hand lovingly over its full length, and gently guided it to her waiting sex. Mrs Davis gasped silently into her phone as she felt the big, fat head of Deon's black dick enter her.

"Must go...Oh! Hmm... Yes, goodbye. Yes, you too."

Deon flung the phone to the floor as Mrs Davis hung up. He licked her beautiful white face from her throat to her hairline, reached under her to grip her soft white breasts, and began to thrust deeper and deeper into her tight white pussy.

"Ooh, Baby, that's lovely" Mrs Davis moaned.

"You damn right, Slut. Stuck up white bitch like you need the black dick" Deon grunted in reply.

Mrs Davis felt stretched, stuffed, and deliciously filled as she felt Deon's huge balls rest against her neatly trimmed bush. He was just so big, so powerful, so sexy.

"God, I love your huge black cock, Deon. I...I love you".

"Shut th'fuck up, Whore!" he barked, gripping Mrs Davis hips firmly.

Soon, Deon was fucking Mrs Davis with his full power and athleticism. Each long, powerful thrust rubbed, filled or hit her most secret and special places. She felt her whole body approaching orgasm yet again, and her every muscle and sinew tensing and writhing in response to her black lover's size and power. She wanted him inside her forever. She wanted to be his. She wanted his baby growing inside her....

Yes, she thought. This was much better.

A steamy getaway with her black lover

ptah... very well written. Thanks for your efforts!!

Damn! Been a couple of days since I checked in, and my favorite poster posted something! Awesome as usual, Ptah. I'd love to see the story continued. Of course, I'd love to see more from you, regardless of what it is. Man, I'd **** for a full length story from you. Best IR writer I've ever seen, hands down.

WTF? K I L L is censored? Even when used metaphorically? And the fact that some of the words in your posts (and some of mine as well) have been altered? And entire posts of yours with no offensive content in them whatsoever have disappeared? What the hell is going on with the mods lately?

This is the start of a longer story. I notice that the words "m-o-t-h-e-r" and "s-l-e-e-p-i-n-g" are censored, amongst others. I find this pathetic, and cannot be bothered to choose alternatives.

II. Becky

The long summer could be a blessing and a bore to a young woman like Becky, who felt only too ready to leave home. She read trashy novels and trashier magazines. She sunbathed in a succession of bikinis and, partly to introduce some risk and excitement to her long afternoons, began to sunbathe topless, in a thong, when her parents were away. She sent and received perhaps 300 text messages a day. She engaged in daily Facebook warfare. She dreamed of boys and, sometimes when she had the house to herself, she dreamed of boys while she lay nude on her bed, her slender fingers busy between her legs. Despite her evident beauty, it was evident to Becky that she was going to college a virgin. Nevertheless, she was resolved to wait until the time was right.

In the spirit of tame adventure, Becky would sometimes ride out on her bike. She loved to feel the warm summer breeze in her hair, and against her smooth skin. She waved sweetly to elderly neighbours as she passed them in their gardens, and stoically ignored the whistles and cat-calls of teenaged boys as she left them behind. Becky never knew where she was headed, or what she hoped to find. But, she thought to herself, if she found it she would know it.

And, one hot afternoon, she found it. She was passing Mr and Mrs DuBois' house, at the furthest extent of her route, when she saw a god in their garden.

A huge, powerful, muscular black god. Or a man. Or half god and half man. When Becky first saw him, her god was standing, shirtless, on the DuBois' lawn, ******** a bottle of beer. His deep black skin was glossy with sweat. His every muscle seemed to bulge as if his raw strength would burst out of his skin. He seemed to have extra muscles in between the muscles that lesser men shared. His jaw was powerful, and masculine.

He was gorgeous, Becky realised with a quickening of her pulse and a quiver in her young loins. Her bike slowed as she drew level with the black god. She bit her lip as she admired his massive chest, his taught stomach, and the powerful thighs beneath his cut-off shorts. The black god made a rainbow, as he hosed the flowers. Becky watched her god through his rainbow. Her white skin tingled. She brushed her golden hair behind her ear, and her ***** froze as her black god's dark eyes met hers.

Becky gulped, and sped away.

All the rest of that afternoon she lay on her bed, with tightly closed eyes, concentrating on the image of her black god ingrained within her young mind. She chewed her lip as she meditated on every ripple of muscle on his magnificent body. She imagined the sensation of touching his chest with her trembling fingers. She imagined the scent and taste of his sweat. She feverishly tried to recall each precise crease and swelling in his shorts. Fervently rubbing her slick pussy, she guessed at the size of his dick. She imagined him standing nude in the garden, holding his enormous black dick, just so that she could admire it. Inevitably, she considered how easily he could just...take her. He could lift her off her bike, and hold her on the ground. She imagined his tongue invading her mouth, his powerful black hands grasping her soft white tits, her shorts being ripped off, and then...

She swore, her cheeks flushed, as her mom called her to dinner.

The next day, Becky rode by the DuBois house again. Her god was not there.

In the afternoon, Becky sunbathed, wearing just her thong. She thought how content, how feminine and safe, she would feel if her god were lying beside her. Soon, she thought of them lying together, nude, after they had just had sex. Nervously, she studied the neighbours' windows for any signs of movement. Seeing none, and hearing her own heartbeat, Becky slipped off her thong. She savoured the warm sun as it embraced her moist young sex. She lay with her legs parted, imagining that her god had stripped her and thrown her onto the grass. She was just waiting for his strong body to bear down on hers, to feel his huge black cock pressing against her welcoming slit...

Becky decided she had better move up to her bedroom.

Later, at dinner, her ears pricked up when her ****** mentioned the Dubois'. Apparently, they had a wonderful new gardener. Mrs Dubois was delighted. Becky knew this was an appeal to her ******, who seemed determined not to notice, but she listened intently to each precious snippet of information. The gardener worked at the Dubois' each Thursday. On Mrs Dubois' recommendation, Mrs Clarke had hired him to come on Mondays. Becky's mom thought that his name was Jamal.

"Jamal!"

Becky whispered it out loud. She flushed a deep scarlet.

"I, er, just thought it was a funny name. That's all." She tried to smile, weakly.

That night, Becky said the name into her pillow, over and over. "Jamal, Jamal, Jamal". Her black god's name was Jamal. She buried her beautiful young face and thrust her bare ass into the air, displaying her young cunt to her empty room. She imagined that Jamal was standing behind her. She could almost feel his moody gaze on the pale white skin of her thighs, her ass, the petal-pink of her pussy...did he like her?

"Do you like white girls, Jamal?" Becky whispered to herself. "Do you want my white pussy?"

She imagined the sound of Jamal's shorts slipping down over his powerful black thighs, the metallic clatter of his belt buckle hitting the floor. Only the air would be between his huge, proudly erect black cock and her tight young sex...

"...Oh, Jamal..."

Over the weekend, Becky went shopping with her girlfriends. All that time, her mind was floating elsewhere. She bought makeup. She bought perfume. She bought clothes. With each selection, she found herself asking what Jamal would think. When she rode past him on Monday, would he notice? Would he think she was stupid for wondering? Would he even like a dumb white teenaged virgin like her?

At home, she paraded in front of her mirror, with the curtains drawn tight. Which top would she wear on Monday? Which shorts? Which thong? She decided on a bright pink bikini top, and the smallest denim shorts she could find. She slipped them on, and bent over with her hands on her knees, thrusting out her ass. Studying her reflection, Becky asked herself if a man like Jamal would ever think her slim white body was worth a second look. Didn't black men all like "booty"?

Nervously, Becky rummaged for her fabric scissors. Finding them, she ruthlessly cut the bottom few inches off the shorts. Having squeezed back into them, she glanced over her shoulder into the mirror. The shorts disappeared between her buttocks, leaving most of her ass bare. Becky gulped.

"I must be crazy", she murmured.

At last, Monday came.

As soon as her parents had left the house, Becky crept into their bedroom, and found her mom's address book in her bedside drawer. Eagerly, she copied the Clarke's address into her phone, and found the route.

Becky showered, shaving her legs and her bush. She painted her toenails. She carefully applied her makeup, and brushed her long blonde hair one hundred times. She sprayed herself, liberally, with her new perfume. As she stood, nude, over the meagre garments that she had selected for the day, Becky asked herself what she was expecting. What did she even want? Did she want to be cat-called? Did she want Jamal to whistle at her? Did she...Did she want him to overpower her- to attack her? She wondered whether he was the kind of man that might. She had heard things about black men.

Her pussy felt hot and prickly.

"I just want him to notice me." Becky told herself, aloud. "That will be enough".

She tied on her pink bikini top, carefully arranging her breasts to look at their most perky. She stepped into her newly-reduced shorts, and felt them slip into the crack of her ass. She left her thong on the bed. Becky wanted Jamal to see her while she was wearing no underwear. It would be her little secret.

Stepping into her sandals, Becky wheeled her bike to the front door. She paused for a few moments, to still her beating heart and control her shallow breath.

"Here we go". she said.

With that, she passed through the door, hopped into the saddle, and peddled into the sunlight.

Becky felt the warm sun on her pale skin, and the wind in her hair. She imagined a million pairs of eyes on her thighs and her ass, but fixed her gaze forward and shut out everything but the sun and the road. She heard the whooping approval of the boys playing in the road, but paid no attention. They would soon shut up if they saw Jamal, she thought with a smile.

As she neared the Clarke's house, Becky slowed her pace. Her knees felt weaker. In part, she dreaded being seen by Mrs Clarke while wearing the scandalously short-shorts. Why did Jamal have to be hired by the two of the most attractive women in the neighbourhood? Even more, however, Becky's pulse pounded in anticipation of seeing her black god again. Her bicycle seat felt hot against her crotch. She gently stroked her smooth, exposed buttocks.

"Here we go", she murmured again.

The Clarke's house stood in a large garden, at the borders of the suburb. Woods and fields lay beyond. Becky consoled herself that she need at least no longer worry about the prying eyes of teenaged boys. Approacheing the house, her heart skipped a beat as she noticed the same large, black truck that had been parked outside the Dubois' house when she had first seen her black god.

And, then, there he was.

At last.

Jamal lay outstretched on a sun chair, like a powerful, languid black panther. A glass bottle stood between his fingers. His eyes were closed. Was he asleep? Becky surveyed the house intently. She could hear her heart thumping. Everywhere else was silence.

With the utmost care, Becky laid her bike on the grass. Biting her lip, she crept across the lawn, towards her ******** god.

With each tip-toed step, he seemed larger. His massive black muscles were glossy with sweat. He was wearing only his shoes and a pair of small, tight, orange nylon shorts. Becky's eyes and mouth opened wide as she stared in disbelief at the huge bulge between Jamal's powerful legs.

She crept closer. She could smell his scent, now. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, though her small nose. He smelled so powerful, so masculine. She wanted to taste his beautiful black skin. Her crotch was soaking. Slowly, placing her hands on her knees, Becky bent down until her face hovered over Jamal's massive bulge. She sniffed. Was that what "spunk" smelled like?

A piercing shriek tore Becky out of her dream-world, and left her sprawled on the floor.

Standing on the lawn at the side of the house, with her hands clasped against her mouth, was Mrs Clarke.

A split second later, Jamal's muscular arm snapped out like a viper, and Becky's slender wrist was being crushed in his powerful black hand.

Whimpering, and trembling from her toes to her throat, Becky flicked her eyes between the two. Jamal's dark, handsome face was impassive. He appeared to scrutinise her like a hunter might examine a small trapped rabbit. Mrs Clarke appeared unsure what to do. Realisation dawned on Becky that Mrs Clarke was wearing an extremely skimpy white string bikini. It barely contained her large, pearl-white breasts, and her nipples blushed through the thin fabric. Her bikini bottoms seemed like a mere shred of white tissue, lost between her full hips.

With a flick of her copper-coloured hair, Mrs Clarke's eyes followed Becky's. She gasped, turned, and scuttled into the house with a flash of her bare, rounded ass.

It was a thong bikini.

Becky wondered what the hell was going on.

She then remembered her predicament.

"Let me go, you're hurting me". She demanded, curtly, of Jamal.

"Not 'til you tell me jus'what the fuck you doing prying here." Jamal's voice was so rich, and deep. His grip was so strong. His bulge was so big. Becky felt herself go limp. Underneath the burning sense of ***********, this felt right.

"I...I th-thought you might be hurt..." She volunteered, feebly.

"Uh-huh. That why you were sniffing my dick, little girl?"

Becky's cheeks blazed red. She felt tears prick her big blue eyes.

"I...P-please, just let me go. I'll do anything. Don't tell anyone..." She began to cry.

"Oh fuck, here it come. Jus' you keep quiet about whatever you think you saw here. Now getchyo skinny white ass outa here!" Jamal grunted. He twisted Becky's wrist, triggering a sharp squeak, then slapped her, hard, across her bare buttocks.

Becky yelped. The sting was hot and sharp. Blinded by tears, she leapt onto her bike, and peddled furiously home. By the time she reached her door, her ass was terribly sore. She ran to her room and, pulling off her shorts, inspected her bottom in her mirror. She could make out Jamal's large handprint, in a livid pink on her pale skin. She placed her own hand over it. Her hand seemed tiny. She had stopped crying. She stroked her bottom, gently, where Jamal had spanked her.

"H-he...spanked me." Becky whispered to herself. It was delicious to say, and a delicious thought. She tried to recall his grip on her wrist, and the explosion of pain as his hand hit her soft white flesh. Had he spanked her because he liked her "skinny white ass"? She imagined lying on her stomach over Jamal's huge thighs, with her bare ass held in the air, presented to him. She imagined that powerful black hand lingering over the silken insides of her pale thighs, over her soft buttocks, and then...delicious, delicious punishment. To be totally at his mercy. To accept and welcome pain, for him. To feel his raw, masculine power, against her delicate feminine ass. Then, her punishment complete, to be thrown on a bed by him, her thighs pushed apart, to feel his hands roughly exploring her sex...

An hour later, lying nude on her bed, Becky resolved to find her black god at Mrs Dubois' house, in just two days' time.

She needed to discover more, she told herself. Was Mrs Clarke having an affair with Jamal? Why else would she be parading her tits and ass in front of him in that ridiculous porno-bikini? The idea shocked and angered Becky. Mrs Clarke – "Tamsin", as Becky recalled the name – was married, and a man like Jamal was totally wrong for her. Tamsin Clarke was just a stupid bimbo with good hair and a hot body, Becky sniffed. She thought of Mrs Clarke's big, soft white breasts against Jamal's hard black chest; of her long white legs curled around his muscular back, as he fucked her.

Becky fumed with resentment.

Yearning for his hard black muscles against her soft white ass

When Thursday finally came, Becky rose early to wash and prepare herself for the day's adventure. She squeezed into the same, modified denim shorts, and paired it with a thin lycra tube-top, over which the swell of her young breasts seemed particularly satisfactory. Over this, she wore a large, loose plaid shirt. Her body was for Jamal's eyes only.
As she neared the Dubois' drive, Becky pulled off the shirt, and hid it under a bush. Her skin prickled in the air, despite the warmth of the day. She reminded herself that, since Mrs Dubois was a career woman, there was no chance of any embarrassments like her experience with Tamsin Clarke. Mrs Dubois would be away in an office somewhere, leaving Jamal alone and in peace.

So Becky had hoped.

"Crap", she hissed, as she sighted Mrs Dubois' Porsche on the drive, beside Jamal's truck. She brought the bike to a halt, and stood quietly scanning the house and garden for signs of life. There were none. Breathing deeply, in an effort to build her courage, Becky slowly dismounted, and quietly laid her bike behind a grassy verge. She softly approached the house, her head fixed straight ahead, and her bright blue eyes darting from window to window.

There was no movement.

One step at a time, with her back and her bottom pressed to the its wall, Becky slid around the side of the house.

After a while, she heard the almost subliminal pulsing of music within the walls. She crept further around. The pulsing got a little louder. On reaching the rear lawn, it was quite distinct.

"Oh boy", Becky said to herself, before climbing down on to her knees, and crawling around the corner.

On reaching a pair of huge French windows, Becky squealed in shock.

There were Jamal and Mrs Dubois, on the floor, enjoying passionate sex.

Both were sitting upright. Both were fully nude, excepting Jamal's sunglasses and Mrs Dubois' knee-length leather boots. Mrs Dubois straddled Jamal, with her arms wrapped around his thick bull neck. She rolled her head and smirked broadly in pure ecstasy, as she bucked and thrust her hips. Becky marvelled at Mrs Dubois in indignant fascination. Her figure was flawless. She was both slender and athletic; the taught muscles of her thighs, her ass and her back flexing rhythmically as she rode her black lover. She certainly knew how to enjoy herself, thought Becky with a pout. Mrs Dubois muscular buttocks were almost a blur as she used her powerful thighs and hips to squeeze more and more pleasure from Jamal's big black cock.

And, Becky noted with a gulp, it was most certainly a big black cock. Mrs Dubois skilfully motioned her back into a long, leisurely stroke as she rose and fell upon the huge black shaft. Becky cleared the fog of her breath from the glass. Jamal's cock must be as big and as thick as her forearm, she mused. His balls looked huge. She wondered whether she could fit one of them in her mouth.

Soon, Jamal gripped Mrs Dubois' short, perfectly styled hair, and pushed her to the floor. She shouted an indecipherable profanity back at him. Becky judged that it signalled approval, since Mrs Dubois twisted around, wrapped one athletic leg around Jamal's back, and then screamed a perfectly decipherable "fuck me" over her shoulder. The rest of her words were drowned out by what Becky realised was heavy rap music.

The sight of Jamal fucking this beautiful white woman transfixed Becky. His huge black muscles looked even harder and more sharply cut than ever. They were dripping with sweat, but his face was cool and impassive behind his dark sunglasses. As he rose on the balls of his feet, and began to fuck Mrs Dubois' more deeply and with more power, Jamal seemed to observe the thrust of his huge cock into her welcoming cunt with only a detached interest. The white woman's growling, gnashing, screams of delight seemed to leave him unmoved. And he seemed to be being so rough with her! Becky was amazed that Mrs Dubois was able to withstand such treatment, let alone relish it. She watched Mrs Dubois face. She was grinning with an open mouth, her tongue savouring the texture of her shining teeth and her full lips. Her beautiful eyes were closed fast.

Becky was just wondering whether much shrieking and a particularly violent bucking of Mrs Dubois' hips meant that she was having an orgasm when, with a blaze of feline green, those beautiful eyes opened.

"What the fuck!" Mrs Dubois piercing shout hummed against the glass.

"Oh-ho sh-" Becky saw Jamal mouth, looking straight at her over the top of his sunglasses.

Becky froze. Her brain was caught between flight and a half constructed, rambled explanation. A few seconds later, she leaped to her feet.

It was a few seconds too late. Mrs Dubois, with the poise of a leopardess in range of her prey, sprang forward, leaving Jamal's wet shaft in the air. Within one of Becky's fluttering heartbeats, Mrs Dubois was across the room, through the door, and dragging Becky into the house by her golden hair.

Becky whimpered and pleaded. Her legs trembled and her knees buckled beneath her. Mrs Dubois was snarling with anger. Her beautiful green eyes poured ice into Becky's soul. She pushed Becky flat, stepped over her, and sat firmly on Becky's chest. Becky felt Mrs Dubois' prickly bush against her chin, Mrs Dubois' hot slick pussy on her throat, and Mrs Dubois' muscular thighs clamping her face in place. The rich, musky odour of sex was overwhelming.

"What the fuck are you doing spying on me in my house!" Mrs Dubois hissed, directly into Becky's face.

Excellent!

Becky is a hot story. Very well written, imaginative plot and good pace. Thanks ptah

God Damn! You have a way with words, Ptah. Fucking hot as hell! It's pretty obvious that you're fairly frustrated with the censorship. But PLEASE let us know if you decide to start posting someplace else. As far as the story goes, can't wait until Becky gets what she's been wanting. Maybe Becky's mom would have use for a gardener? So many awesome places that could lead to...
By the way, your choice of pictures is almost as excellent as your choice of words...

Some more of Becky, if anyone likes her. These stories take longer to write than you may think, so appreciative comments are very welcome.

Note on images: these are used to illustrate an event, a mood or a person in an abstract sense, and I don't intend them to be precise depictions of anything in the text.

Note on script: I have double-spaced some words that fall afoul of the auto-censor. At no point does the story feature an actual occurrence of any of the censored subjects.

Enjoy!

Becky Pt II

Becky squirmed within the unforgiving grip of Mrs Dubois' thighs. She screwed her eyes shut to escape Mrs Dubois' gaze. A sharp slap across her trembling legs snapped her eyes back open.

"What the fuck are you doing here, you little pervert?" came the cold, deadly whisper. Mrs Dubois' beautiful, angular features seemed to sharpen her words.

"I...I heard you. I thought you were in trouble. I c-came to- came to see if you were being...robbed?" Becky sobbed.

"Robbed?" Mrs Dubois spat. "Do you think that's what a house burglary sounds like? Did you not consider that is what fucking sounds like? Did it fail to enter your stupid, blonde, perverted head that I was fucking for my pleasure, and not to give you some sick little voyeuristic thrill?"

"I'm sorry!" wailed Becky, not knowing what else to say. She felt a queasy sense of shock as she reflected that the situation was entirely beyond her control, and that she was in the power of Mrs Dubois and her powerful black lover. She sniffed, tried to suck her misery back in, but finally relented as hot tears streamed down her face.

"Huh. There it go again, the dumb little slut", grunted Jamal in his deep, rumbling drawl.

Through her wet eyes, Becky could see that he was now standing over them, wiping a cold frosted beer over his glistening black muscles. A sneer was on his thick lips. Becky watched the reflection of Mrs Dubois and herself, entangled together in Jamal's sunglasses, before her eyes strayed to the huge, heavy black cock and balls hanging above them. Mrs Dubois' eyes followed Becky's.

"Again?" Mrs Dubois asked with gentle venom, looking between them.

Jamal drained his beer, and tossed it carelessly onto a couch.

"Bitch", he sighed, raising Mrs Dubois slowly by two fingers under her narrow chin, "don't you be askin' me no fuckin' intrusive white-woman questions. You get yo' fine white ass upstairs to bed, you let yo' black man take care of this fucked up situation, and yo' wait there keepin' yo' sweet white pussy warm fo' when I'm ready to come take care of it".

Becky watched the pair of them with her breath held. Mrs Dubois glowered at her black lover with the suppressed rage of a scolded, humiliated girl. But her beautiful eyes softened. Her heavy breasts rose and fell as the tension left her lithe body. She stepped toward Jamal and planted a soft, lingering kiss on his powerful jaw. He dismissed her with a swift slap on her firm buttocks.

"Breathe a word to anyone, and you're dead", Mrs Dubois called over her shoulder, as she left the room to ascend the stairs.

Becky felt her breath shorten and her mouth go dry as she laid still on the floor, with her huge, muscular, naked black god standing over her.

"Get up", he barked.

Her legs weak beneath her, Becky lurched forward onto her knees. She froze. Jamal's huge black cock- slick and scented with sex- dangled just inches from her pretty nose. Despite herself, she gasped. She could almost feel its primal, sexual heat against her face. With a hot flush in her cheeks, Becky realised how desperately she wanted to submit to it, to be accepted by it, to be invaded by it. If only she could kiss it. Just once.

Jamal reached out and grabbed Becky by her hair. Her blue eyes raked over his powerfully muscled stomach, his enormous chest, his cruel, powerful face, and upwards to his hidden eyes. She was trembling uncontrollably.

"Slut", he growled, "we both offus know whatcho want". Jamal reached down to slowly, proudly stroke the great length of his black cock. Becky's eyes were perfect circles. "We both offus know what it is yo' chasin' around after me like a little white bitch fo'. You ain't no different from no ovver white bitch in this fine neighbourhood, 'cept you got a little white pussy-bicycle 'stead of a Porsche".

Becky hoped he was wrong. The hot, moist, prickling sensation in her crotch betrayed her. Her young body seemed to know exactly what it wanted.

"Well, bitch, nesst time I catch yo' skinny white ass prying on my...relations wif Lucy here, or wif Tamsin, or wif any ovver stuck up white slut that pleases my eye: yow gowna get juss whatchyou want. No ifs, no buts, no whining. And you get more beside'. Jamal finished with a filthy grin, as he pulled Becky to her feet.

Becky heard Lucy Dubois call impatiently from upstairs. Jamal grunted.

"You understand that, little blonde slut?" He rasped into her ear, taking in her sweet, girlish scent. Becky felt his hand gripping her bare ass. His fingers bit like a vice into her smooth white cheeks. Her ***** seemed to fizz in her veins.

Becky gulped and nodded.

"Good. Now go home fink about tha' like a good white bitch".

Jamal turned and swaggered from the room. Becky stood still, watching the rippling muscles in his huge black shoulders, his back, his thighs and buttocks. He disappeared, and his slow, heavy footsteps sounded from the stairs.

Becky ran from the kitchen and peddled home like the wind.

She wouldn't go again. That was it. She had been so stupid.

Mrs Clarke and Mrs Dubois were such nasty, slutty bitches, Becky thought to herself, frowning into her pillow as she massaged her sore ass. How could they? Both of them had nice, supportive, kindly, gentlemen of husbands. Those men were busy working all day to keep their wives in such style; yet there they were, giving themselves enthusiastically to this big, muscle-bound brute of a black thug. Becky thought of all that she had seen. She recalled the image Jamal's muscles, his tattoos, his powerful ass, his huge black cock and balls. She thought of Lucy Dubois riding that cock, and her supple white body writhing with pleasure. She thought of her spending all day with that muscular black body: kissing it, licking it, worshipping it in her own bed. And then she thought of Mr Dubois returning home to find his wife bathed, groomed, perfumed and manicured- her usual cool, sophisticated, perfect self. Smiling, she would kiss him softly, and he would have no idea that, just hours before, those pretty lips had been wrapped around a massive, thrusting black dick.

Becky began to stroke her warm, sticky crotch.

And what about Mrs Clarke? Did she kiss her husband goodbye then, the moment his car had left the drive, slip upstairs to change into that slutty thong bikini, ready for her black thug boyfriend? How could she spend her days idly parading her bare ass and her big, bouncing tits in front of him, enticing him and exciting him, just to get her share of that black dick?

Becky pouted, angrily. Her fingers were busy inside her hot, wet panties.

And the way Jamal acted around them! How sluttish of those women to let him lie around their homes like a huge, lazy black cat, taking it easy and sipping their husbands' beer between bouts of hot, sweaty sex! And the language he used! Calling Lucy Dubois "bitch", and ordering her around like his little slave girl! Telling her to go to bed- in her own home- and to wait patiently to be fucked! Calling Becky herself "bitch", and just grabbing her ass like it was his property! (Becky gently stroked the affected buttock with her free hand). Just announcing, as if it was a given fact, that she would be having sex with his big...black....cock...Did he want Becky to be his little white slut slave girl, too? Was that it? Becky imagined being ordered to bed by Jamal, along with Mrs Dubois, and both of them waiting for him, nude on the sheets, before hearing his feet on the stairs, knowing they were at his mercy, knowing what he was going to do to their soft white bodies...

Becky bit her lip, hard, as she came to a shuddering climax.

All of this was immoral, ridiculous, and needed to be exposed, Becky told herself, as she lay panting in a film of sweat. That was it! She had a duty to find Jamal again. A duty. Because he needed to be confronted. She would threaten to tell everything to everyone. All of this was cruel to Mr Clarke and Mr Dubois. She wouldn't be going just to see her black god again; she would be going to do the right thing. Besides, Jamal's threats were meaningless. He couldn't make her have sex. He couldn't just r a p e her. Could he? She would scream. Wouldn't she?

Becky imagined one of his strong black hands gripping her firmly to the ground, while the other slid up her thighs, hooked around her panties, and ripped them down. She imagined the look of barbaric, sexual hunger on his face, and the furious jangling as he impatiently unbuckled his belt, unzipped his flies...She blinked as the scene faded. Silly. Of course, he couldn't just do that if she was wearing her shorts.

Next Monday morning, Becky wore a short, thin, white dress.

It was less provocative and foolish than those shorts. So she told herself.

Turning her back to her mirror, Becky pulled the hem of the dress a little further down over her pert young buttocks. It did cover them, she observed. Just. It also draped over her ass to display its curves perfectly. She felt a chill through her thighs, as a gentle breeze lifted her dress to expose her white cotton thong. A shaft of sunlight crept through the curtains, and made her head glow in a halo of gold. She looked like a dirty angel. She tugged down at the dress again and, uncovering a little too much of the tops of her soft young breasts, pulled it back up by the straps. Should she wear a bra after all? No, she told herself. Visible bra straps would send the wrong message. Definitely. She looked at herself in exasperation.

What the hell was her message?

Her mind buzzing and spinning in a haze of resentment, jealousy, fear, expectation, lust and defiance, she found that the cool leather of the bicycle seat was beneath her crotch, and she was on her way to the Clarkes' house.

Before she reached that familiar driveway, it dawned on Becky that she should have devised a plan. She could hardly storm into the house and lay down the law. Besides, she hadn't the courage. She pulled over, to collect her thoughts, and soon had to shoo away a bothersome man in a passing car, who was keen to try to repair her bike. Eventually, she pushed off again, strings of alternative events battling one another in her mind.

At the turning- so dreaded and longed for- Becky hopped off her bicycle, and wheeled it quietly into the woods. Slowly, clumsily, she worked her way through the undergrowth of the woods beside the Clarkes' house. The sun beat down mercilessly, and the air was thick and stuffy among the trees. Becky felt herself begin to sweat. Her light, thin dress clung to her moist skin. She bit her lip, as she pondered quite how transparent the dress might become.

After a few minutes' struggle, Becky found herself at last overlooking the Clarke's back garden. She would have a perfect view of any "activity" between Tamsin Clarke and Jamal, whether it should occur outdoors, in the rear living room, the kitchen, or the master bedroom. Becky's cheeks flushed at the thought of a married woman taking that huge black man into her husband's bedroom. Into their bed.

"Disgusting" she whispered aloud, as she rummaged in her bag for her phone.

Becky was going to get everything on video. Jamal's idle threats would certainly dry up then, she thought with a smile. Lying flat on her stomach beside a shady tree, with her bare legs idly trailing in the warm air, Becky began her long vigil.

Perhaps half an hour had past, when Becky was startled by her phone wailing its abrasive, commercial-pop ring tone. Allowing her nerves so settle, she dismissed the call and set her phone to silent, cursing her stupidity for forgetting to do so before she arrived at her hideout. She peered back at the house. All was still and silent.

She felt uneasy. What if Jamal wasn't coming? When should she give up? She determined to wait another hour.

Minutes had passed when a bolt of intense dread shot through Becky's body. Her heart was in her throat. Someone was coming- was there. Her ears strained and her hair bristled. She was about to will herself to turn around, when there was a crash behind her and she was spun round as if by a whirlwind and thrust into the air, pressed against her tree.

It was Jamal. He was angry, and shirtless. His dark face was fixed with a snarl, and his eyes burned white. Becky felt tiny and feeble against his huge, muscular black torso. He seemed bigger than ever. Before she could gather herself to scream, Jamal's big, rough hand covered her mouth. With his other hand, he caught both of her slender wrists, and pressed them together like a coiling serpent. Becky silently gasped with pain, into Jamal's hand. She was shaking from head to toe, and her eyes flashed open.

"Well, well", smirked Jamal, harshly, "it's either tha nosiest, the dumbest, or the horniest lil' white slut in tha neighbourhood"

Becky's heart hammered in her ears. This was it. She wriggled frantically, and tried to kick out, but Jamal pushed his hard body further against hers and between her legs, making her flailing legs useless. Her soft breasts were crushed against his hard chest, and his hip pressed cruelly into her tender crotch. It was too much. Becky thought she would faint.

Jamal leaned forward to put his thick lips to Becky's ear. Her slender young body jolted, as he gently kissed it. She couldn't breathe. She was desperate to run, and desperate never to escape. She knew it didn't matter. She was a little white lamb with a lion- or a huge black panther. She was entirely in the power of her beautiful, powerful black god. Her chest heaved and her beautiful eyes fluttered shut as he kissed her ear again, and stroked her long golden hair with his strong flat nose. Her panties her hot and wet.

"Now, befo' I take ma hand from yo' mouf, you gonna decide: eiver you a nosy white bitch, who has to learn a fuckin' lesson; or you a horny little white slut, who seen' somethin' she like, somethin' she can't help herself from needin'." Jamal's growl was deep and sensual in Becky's ear. He kissed her cheek, her neck, her throat with agonising tenderness. Her pussy felt soft, prickly and vulnerable against him.

"So, whichissit, white girl?" Jamal whispered into Becky's ear. He slowly lifted his huge black hand from her mouth.

Becky could barely breathe against her thundering heart. Her breasts rose and fell swiftly above the thin white cotton of her dress.

She had always known what the answer would be.

"I'm a white slut", she gasped.

considering their scandalous affairs

Jamal gave a broad, dirty grin, exposing his bright teeth: most white, some gold.

"Uh-huh. Dat's somethin' we bowf knew. So, white slut, whatchyo' so horny fo'?"

"I'm horny for you, f-for your...for your big black cock. Oh God. Please. I'm yours. Just take me".

Becky felt a sweet pang of release as she spoke the filthy words. Yes, this was what she wanted. Just what she wanted. She craned her neck forwards, and kissed Jamal sweetly on his thick lips. A second later he had f o r c e d his tongue into Becky's mouth, and her own b l o o d seemed to fizz and stupefy her like warm Champagne. He released her wrists, and his strong hands travelled to her waist, then the backs of her smooth thighs, then up her dress to firmly hold her soft white ass. At last, she placed her trembling hands on her black god's huge, muscular chest. It was like hot steel wrapped in taught satin. She trailed her fingers over the hard ridges of his stomach muscles. So much power. So much delicious, dominant, black power. Becky sucked on her black god's tongue, then wrapped her slender arms around his powerful bull neck as he began to kiss her pert white breasts, running his large tongue between them.

Becky's crotch was soaking wet. Her knees felt weak.

"Please", she whispered into Jamal's ear, "fuck me".

Becky had expected to be thrust against the tree or thrown to the floor before being ravished, but instead Jamal stooped and lifted her over his shoulder like a c h i l d. He thrust a free hand up her dress and began to probe the crack of her ass, then wet crotch of her thong, with his strong fingers. Becky gasped. Her black god was carrying her deeper into the woods. She wondered where, but she did not worry. She was his, in his power, and he could do whatever he wanted to her willing young body. She reached down to stroke his muscular black back, then his powerful buttocks. She wished she could reach them with her mouth, to kiss them. Instead, she delicately licked the sweat from his spine.

Soon, Jamal stopped in a warm, quiet, clearing. He swung Becky off his shoulder, and laid her on the ground. The grass was soft and fluffy under her thighs, and the sun warmed her shining skin. Birds sang in the trees. Everything was perfect, she thought. So romantic. Becky briefly wondered whether Jamal had carried other girls to this spot before, but decided she didn't care. She lay on her back, with her golden hair sprayed across the grass, and her long legs spread wide, waiting for her black god. And watching him.

Becky studied Jamal with a deeper interest than ever. She had already seen his magnificent black body in its entirety, but this time they were all alone together. His body was all for her, and she was all for him. She licked her lips as he kicked off his boots and smoothly unbuckled his belt. She bit her lip as he shook his jeans down past his powerful thighs. She was open mouthed when her black god tugged down at his white boxers, letting his huge, hard black cock spring free like a catapult. It thrust out into the air, bobbing and shining proudly as Jamal strode towards Becky's pale parted thighs. She gulped. It was ridiculously big. Far bigger than she had expected. She imagined herself as a captive maiden on a sacrificial table, waiting for that huge dark weapon to invade her body. A quiver spread from her thighs to her cunt.

Jamal reached down and lifted Becky under her armpits. She tried to kiss him again, but he pushed her away, caught her dress by its hem, and lifted it over her head. He threw it onto the grass. Instinctively, Becky covered her breasts, but her black man swatted her hands away. He took the soft white orbs in each of his huge black hands, while staring deepy into Becky's blue eyes. She searched his face. Did he like them? The thought was cut off as Jamal sharply pinched both pink nipples, bringing a small whimper from Becky's wet lips.

Continuing casually, Jamal reached down and tugged Becky's thong over her ass and down her smooth thighs. She felt the tender, moist flesh of her sex exposed to the air, as she helped her black man to free her ankles from her panties.

"Turn aroun'" Jamal grunted, stepping back.

Becky did so, thrusting out her buttocks and her breasts, trying to please her black god. He watched her coolly, without any sign of approval but the movements of his bright eyes as he examined her young white body.

"D-do...you like me?" Becky mewed.

"Need some mo' meat on yo' skinny white ass. Get on yo' knees."

Becky rushed to kneel before Jamal. It felt so right to be nude, on her knees in front of her black god, ready to please him, ready to do anything. Becky realised, at last, that she knew her place.

A moment later, Jamal gripped her blonde hair with one hand, and slid the thick black head of his dick into Becky's open mouth. The rich, a n i m a l, sexual flavour overcame her senses, making her feel light-headed. She closed her eyes and tried to suck it in. A sharp slap on her head stopped her dead.

"Bitch, aintchyo' nevvah sucked a dick befo'?" Jamal spat.

With a sense of sinking shame, Becky shook her head, appealing to Jamal's mercy with wide blue eyes.

His dick still deep in Becky's mouth, Jamal roared with laughter, exposing all of his teeth, both white and gold.

"Holy fuck, bitch, yo' a virgin?"

Becky's furrowed brow answered the question.

"Damn!" Jamal shouted, grinning broadly. "Well, bitch, you juss pay attention and do 'xactly what I tell yo' little white ass to do. That way yo' learn how a white bitch please her black man".

Becky nodded eagerly.

"Good. Now, no teeth. Nice soft pink lips on the big black shaft. Up 'n' down. Thass' good. Now, yo' fuckin' massage that cockhead witchyo' tongue. Sheeet. Not fuckin' bad for a dumb virgin slut".

Becky was in bliss. The sensation of all of that huge, hard, hot, heavy power in her mouth, with its rich taste, made her feel safe, feminine, and contented. She placed her hands on Jamal's huge black thighs, running her fingers along the knots of his muscles, and sensed the strength in the beautiful body to which she was now connected. With one hand, she held each of his big black balls in turn, cupping them longingly. She wondered how much sperm they held, how much would shoot out, and how many black babies they could make. Her other hand followed the soft golden down between her legs, and gripped her slick sex.

"Thassa good white bitch. Now lick the whole lenghf ov dat shaft. Mmm-hmm. Now suck dem balls. Uh. Now getchyo' blonde head back over dat dick".

Jamal's crude words and his deep, commanding voice set Becky's skin aflame. She massaged her dripping young cunt with a fervent abandon as she sucked his big black cock. But, all to soon, the spell was broken as Jamal thrust her backwards, onto the grass.

She lay with her legs parted, trying to regain her composure, and steel herself for what was to come.

"Here it come, bitch". Jamal sneered as he knelt between Becky's trembling white thighs. He closed one of his strong, dark hands around Becky's throat, to hold her in place. She was relieved to be in his control. She was trembling freely, and could not otherwise trust herself not to run or scream. She gently placed her hands behind Jamal's massive shoulders, and waited with her eyes closed.

Becky felt Jamal stroking, probing and pressing her sex with his spare hand. She wanted more. She knew there would be pain, but she wanted him now. And yet, she reflected, her black man knew what he was doing. All she had to do was be patient, be obedient, and be trusting of him.

Becky gulped under the pressure of Jamal's palm, as she felt the fat, hard, shining bulb of his black cock pressing against her quivering pussy. She felt Jamal shuffle and nudge his hips softly, expertly opening her young sex to his powerful shaft. She bit her lip and peered down, past the rippling muscles of her black god's chest and stomach, to see that huge black cock angled like a lance about to pierce her. Jamal seemed to be fully focused on her cunt. Becky closed her eyes again, and focused on trying to help her black man. To please him. To be a good white slut.

A sharp whimper ran through the trees, as Jamal thrust his cockhead into Becky's virgin sex, with a rhythmic bucking of his muscular buttocks.

A pulsing whine followed, as Jamal ruthlessly pushed and shoved into the warm, welcoming white pussy. Jamal was hardened to the sobbing of lustful virgins, and did not let Becky's mewling delay his progress.

A sharp wail of sweet pain left Becky's lips as she felt her black god tear through her maidenly defences. She was determined not to cry, but still the big black cock thrust and hammered and slid and pressed and thrust again. She felt her cheeks moisten with tears, and heard herself yelp with each remorseless bucking of Jamal's hips.

Jamal paused for a moment, and let Becky breathe. He licked her flushed, wet cheeks, then pushed his tongue into her mouth. She wrapped her arms tightly around his powerful black back, and returned her tongue. She would submit to him, she told herself. He had already taken her. She was his. Now she must help her black man to enjoy the soft white body that he had conquered. She raised her knees, spread them as far as she possibly could, and rested her delicate feet against Jamal's flanks.

Becky gasped into her black god's mouth as his body overcame hers. He pinned her to the ground by her slender wrists as he thrust again and again and again. Becky focused on helping him, welcoming him, submitting to him. The pain was intense, but so was her desire to defeat herself, to be taken, to be ravished by her god.

Thrust-thrust-thrust. Could there be much more? Becky felt perilously full. Her cunt felt hot and stretched and sore.

"Ye-eah!" barked Jamal at last, startling Becky as he gave one huge lurch. She blinked open her moist eyes, and smiled weakly at her lover. Her breasts wobbled with her panting, and her pale skin shimmered with their sweat. But, Becky realised, her god's big black balls were now resting firmly against her smooth white buttocks. She had done it. He was inside her.

"Oh!" She gasped. "It's...it's so huge".

"Damn straight, bitch", smirked Jamal, "an'chyo' took the whole fuckin' meat, like a good white slut. Sheeet. Thassum fine blonde teen cunt. Mm."

Softly at first, then gently, Jamal began to fuck Becky. He released her aching wrists, allowing her to stroke and explore his hard black body. She ran her fingers over the rough, cropped wool of his head as he nibbled and slavered over her soft white breasts, then gripped the taught muscles and sinews of hard, round buttocks as they bucked and pounded like pistons as he fucked her. She was in an acute, delicious pain. She didn't know whether she wanted it to pass, or to continue forever, if it pleased her black god. She found herself yelping and whimpering freely as she felt Jamal's huge black cock thrust and thrust and thrust, finding itself more at home with each fresh onslaught. Becky felt her pussy stretching to accommodate her new black lover, and wondered whether she would ever be with another man again. She didn't care. She was his. She opened her mouth wide and licked the beaded sweat from the coarse beard on Jamal's chin, then from the silky dark flesh on his jaw, then his thick neck, then his huge shoulders. She wished her tongue could reach every inch of his beautiful black skin.

At last an eternity of a dream-like, sensual fever was ended. Jamal straightened upright on the balls of his feet, hooked his huge biceps under Becky's knees, and bore down on her body with his full weight. Her breasts were mercilessly squashed under his rock-hard chest, and he seemed somehow deeper in her sex than ever. Again, he pinned Becky down by her wrists.

"You open dem white slut thighs and take all yo' black man's cum, bitch!" Jamal roared into Becky's ear.

Without hesitation, she kicked her legs out into the widest splits she could achieve. She showered Jamal's hard, snarling black face with a hundred light, girlish kisses, as he erupted inside her. Still he bucked and fucked and pounded. Still it came. Becky wondered if it would ever stop; how much her body could contain. After an age, Jamal's thrusts became slower and longer. Eventually, Becky moaned as the cruel, conquering, beloved black dick slid from her bruised and tender cunt. She felt Jamal's seed spilling into the crack of her ass.

Jamal stood over Becky with and growled deeply, like a conquering warrior. Becky looked up at him meekly with wide, adoring blue eyes. He mopped his brow, and pulled Becky onto her knees by her matted, tangled blonde hair.

"Clean that s h i t up", he drawled. Becky licked and suckled on her black lover's cock with all the tenderness and love that a cat shows newborn kittens. She felt a steady trickle of semen descend her thighs, all the while.

Pushing Becky away, Jamal snatched up her dress, and dried his cock and balls thoroughly with it. Finding this effective, he proceeded to mop the sweat from the rest of his magnificent black body, before tossing it dismissively to the white girl sitting at his feet.

Becky pressed her dress to her dainty nose, then pulled it over her own sweaty body without comment.

As Jamal was stepping into his boots, Becky reached for her thong, only for her black man to rip it from her grasp.

"Bitch, dese mah property, now, jusslike yo' sweet ass", he chided her.

He stepped back to inspect his new girl-property with a stoical eye, then threw Becky's panties into her face.

"Write yo' name an' number on 'dem", he grunted.

Becky hurried, with bent knees and a hobbling gait, to her hiding place to find the eyeliner in her handbag, and did as she was told. She added a heart and an "x" to finish, then cursed her own c h i l d i s h n e s s. Emerging from the trees, Jamal snatched the thong back from her, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans.

"May call yo', may not. No fuckin' promises. Be ready for dat fuckin' call if it comes". Jamal shoved passed Becky as she tried to fling her arms around him.

"We done, bitch", he snarled, as he began to descend to the Clarkes' garden.

"Th-thank you, Jamal!" the dazed white girl called. "It's Becky, by the way", she added a heartbeat later, mostly for her own conscience.

"Yo' call me Daddy", Jamal snapped back.

Barely a minute had passed in which Becky could gather her bicycle and her emotions, when she saw that Tamsin Clarke had dutifully emerged into her garden, resplendent in an outrageous wet-look black g-string one-piece.

"Some people have no shame", Becky hissed through her teeth, as Mrs Clarke kissed Jamal deeply before leading him by the belt into her home.

Becky ran her fingers over her matted, sticky bush, and along her tender young slit. Semen oozed over her fingers. She licked them clean.

Could she really cycle home on that?

"And with no panties?" she wondered with a gulp.

his seed oozes from her sex

I feel a little weird gushing over how much I enjoy your writing after everything you post. But I speak the truth. There are not nearly enough stories like the stuff you write out there. I'd honestly be more than willing to pay a monthly subscription fee for a site full of your stories. A guy can dream, can't he?
As far as the story goes, any plans to continue? I'd love to see Jamal enjoy Becky and one (or both) of the other wives together. The jealousy between the women slowly turning into acceptance, and eventually bonding them together with their desire to please him.
Becky losing her anal virginity would also be delicious. Willingly offering up the last bit of her innocence and becoming a completely uninhibited slut for her "black god".
So many wonderful places this story could go. Although I'd be happy with whatever it is you choose to write next. The thread where you mentioned the video with the Voodoo priest and how you might feel another story coming on has also gotten my hopes up. And I still love the "Black Stud, Two White Girls", and "Being a Supportive White Male" threads. Whatever it is you decide to do, just please, PLEASE write more...

Very hot continuation ptah. Thanks. The dialogue is specially well-written.

Great story Ptah, love all your stories!

Ptah

In many ways you are unrivalled in your exceptionally good stories. Like many others, I appreciate your hard work in writing them, they are fucking good!

I love your writing ptah

Please give us more...
This site needs it

Wow, this is a blast from the past.

Thanks for the kind words - I shall write some more when time permits.