Ann's Story

"Ann, I'd like you to meet Randy," she introduced him with a big encouraging grin. She seemed to like me, I thought. We sat down for drinks, then we danced, He wasn't a great dancer. He was a man devoid of any real sense of rhythm,

As we stumbled round, I could feel his erection pressing against my belly and it felt strangely big and stiff for such a weedy sort of bloke. I pulled him into an empty cubicle full of curiosity. I slipped out of my dress and pulled his jeans off while he sat on the edge of the bed.

'My goodness!' I thought as his cock sprang free. It was a monster. A great glistening black fuck pole that had me wet between my legs just looking at it. I got my panties off in a hurry while he was struggling out of his T-shirt. I was still wearing my stockings and bra as I climbed eagerly on top of him. I held his cock, so gorgeously long, stiff and thick, against the lips of my cunt and rubbed the head back and forth a few times.

It seemed ages ago that I lost my virginity but, as I stared to slide down onto his marvellous great prick, it was like losing it all over again! I felt I was going to burst. I had to be careful to lower myself down a fraction of an inch at a time, impatient as I was to get his massive prick fully inside me. Even with my juices running, it seemed ages before I could get it all up into my cunt.

When, finally, it bottomed out, we stayed still, just delighting in that exquisite sensation of fullness and anticipation. I felt him moving gently in and out. I tingled all over. I kissed him, moving my tongue against his thick lips. He responded by sliding his own tongue against mine. We began to get the rhythm going and as I started to feel less like bursting with the sheer size of Randy's prick, I encouraged him to speed up a little. As we got into our stride, so to speak, I felt I was in some sort of black cock lovers heaven. I felt life couldn't get much better than this. I rode him as if he was a bucking bronco. What a ride! I started to come, a long string of shattering orgasms that shook me. Normally I was a fairly quiet type when climaxing, just a few moans. Now I was screaming in ecstasy every three or four minutes as the waves or delirious pleasure washed over me. What a fucker this callow young fellow had turned out to be..

Afterwards, as we stretched out on the bed side by side in an state on utterly exhausted contentment, Randy said,

"Ann, you're the best whore I ever had. That was a candidate for the fuck of the century. You aren't cheap, but you're worth every penny."

Although I suspected that Aunt Harriet was charging the guys for us, that was the first time it was confirmed. It seemed strange that I didn't mind being called a whore. Owen and Matt had said it to me when they were fucking me, but that had just been a bit of dirty talk during the sex. Now I had become a real whore I felt relaxed about the idea. After all, if a girl likes being fucked by lots of different men and the guys want to pay, them why not? I had no objection to being on the menu for guys like Randy.

"You're not a bad performer yourself," I retorted, "I only wish all my customers were as good as you."

I got up, dressed and left, stopping only to give the tip of Randy's prick a kiss as I went out.

As I left the club, Aunt Harriet gave me an envelope. There were several century bills in it!

"Well done," she told me, "You've been highly spoken of tonight, Ann. All three customers sang you're praises. You should be proud of yourself. Randy was especially complimentary. His Dad is very rich and he has a good allowance. He could be a good regular customer for you."

And I did feel proud of myself as I walked to the taxi rank with a swagger, confidently swaying my hips as I passed the drivers. Alex came up and we got a cab back and sat chatting over hot chocolate drinks back in our place.

"Matt certainly lined us up for that, didn't he!" I sounded peeved.

"Never mind, Ann, We enjoyed ourselves didn't we? And made a bit of money too. Matt said that if we worked for Aunt Harriet on their away weekends, we could end up paying our tuition fees. Think of that," she replied.

I did a few quick calculations.

"Yes and we'd have a fair amount left over," I wasn't all that annoyed anyway. The peevishness had just been for show.

"So it's agreed then. We go to Aunt Harriet's place for the away weekends," she went on.

I grinned at her, "Try keeping me away!"

So that's how Alex and I worked our way through college. Harriet liked to organise parties for musicians, sportsmen, politicians and businessmen. All black of course, just as all her girls were white. These lasted all weekend, from Friday to Sunday evening usually. She also ran ordinary club/brothel affairs on Wednesdays and Thursdays. So Alex and I were kept busy - 'out of mischief' – as Matt put it!

We were upset when Matt and Owen left. They were a year ahead of us and graduated to go to new jobs. They signed up for football teams, but neither made it into the top grade as professional players. Owen ran a sawmill that he had bought a share in, Matt managed a small haulage company.

We kept in touch but life seemed dull somehow without them. They were nice guys and we always felt they were there for us if needed. I especially missed having sex regularly with Owen. There was just something about the way he fucked me which no-one else could match. I must have had over a thousand men by the time we graduated and I still hankered after Owen.

The guys came to our graduation. So did our parents, so we introduced them.

My folks had never realised that I had a black boyfriend, but they were charming to him and actually invited him to visit our home.

In fact he had a couple of days off so he came back with us. After dinner the first night I followed my mother to the kitchen, I inquired as to the sleeping arrangements.

"Why, honey, I assumed you and Owen would sleep in your room," she said.

My mouth dropped open.

"He's such a hunk, Ann. I don't suppose for a moment your relationship is purely platonic. It wouldn't be if he were mine, I can tell you! So naturally I thought you'd want to sleep together."

So that night Owen shared my very own bed under my parents roof and we made love tenderly and as quietly as we could. In that wonderful afterglow as the tingling died down, I said the magic words to Owen.

"I love you, Owen."

"I love you too, Ann," he replied.

We sealed it with a very long tender kiss, then we fell asleep in each others arms.

I felt embarrassed next morning when my mum brought up a tray with coffee and biscuits. Not embarrassed because Owen and I were in bed together. But because he was still inside me.

I was sprawled across him and because we had dried out during the night, I could not easily detach myself. I had momentary visions of the fire brigade having to prise us apart, but Owen solved the problem with a bit of finger massage to my clit. That produced enough juice to lubricate us and allow us to separate and drink our coffees when we had stopped laughing!

"Did you mean what you said last night, Ann?" Owen asked.

I nodded.

"So did I," he affirmed.

"I want to have your baby, darling" I told him.

"Are you sure? It's one thing to have a good fuck with your black boyfriend, quite another to start having babies or get married. And, by the way, will you marry me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I replied, unable to stop a smile spreading across my face, "Of course I'll marry you, you dope. We were made for each other."

Owen wanted a church wedding which I queried.

"I thought as a science graduate that you'd not be a believer in these mediaeval fairy tales," I argued.

"The more I studied science, the more confused I got about that sort of thing. Big bang, black holes, dark matter that has never been detected, quests for mystery particles like the Higg's boson that have never been found, a belief in the omnipotence of the second law of thermodynamics; if you can believe in that lot you can just as easily believe in the biblical story," he explained.

So we had a church wedding with all the trimmings including me in a virginal white satin gown. Matt was best man and Alex was maid of honour.

After the reception Owen and I retired to our hotel room. I started to unzip my dress but Owen told me to hang fire as he poured us a couple of night caps.

"Ann, I hope you won't be shocked or offended, but I wanted to share something with you. You said we were soul mates earlier and I have to know how far that goes. Please forgive me for not telling you about it before we were married."

With that he disappeared into the bathroom leaving me sitting on the end of the bed in a semi-inebriated whirl.

'What could this possibly be about?' I wondered., thinking surely I already knew everything there was to know about my new husband.

He called me and I went into the bathroom. Owen sat on the toilet seat in his white Y-fronts with his big black cock hanging out. He held out his arms and I went to him. He motioned for me to sit on his lap facing him. I had to hold the satin folds of my dress up as I lowered myself onto his lap, wondering what next. As I got down on him, he held his cock out horizontally, so it went under me, not up over my mound as I had anticipated. It still felt lovely lying along my slit and up towards the crease of my ass. I wiggled my backside a little to let him know I liked the feeling.

Then he almost whispered to me.

"Oh, Ann, I hope you like water-sports. Please piss now," he said ever so quietly.

I must have looked startled, but I was actually feeling thrilled.

"Please, Ann, piss in your panties," he pleaded..

My immediate thought was that my lovely wedding dress would get ruined. But I was oddly not shocked or annoyed, and certainly not disgusted.

Owen gave me a hesitant smile. I leaned forward and kissed him, at the same time straining to do what he wanted. I felt the warm liquid surge out of me filling my new white satin panties and soaking through to Owen's cock. I felt him sigh with relief and pleasure as his cock and the front of his underpants got covered in my piss.

He held me tight, almost as if he was squeezing the pee out of me. We kissed open-mouthed, rubbing out tongues against each other. I could feel the hot wetness spreading round to my bottom and down my thighs to my stockings. Owen's cock had got so rigid it was almost lifting me up. As I finished peeing myself I put my hand down into the warm wetness below me, grasped his cock and stuffed it up the leg of my soaking panties into my welcoming cunt.

Owen fucked me furiously but came all too quickly. So I dismounted and got into the empty bath.

"Owen darling, come and piss on me now, " I ordered him. I knelt down and he stood a couple of feet away, wearing nothing but a silly grin. I took hold of his cock. Now swollen with piss. As he started peeing, I directed

the stream of hot golden liquid all over my dress, neck, face and hair. Then I opened my mouth and took the last cupful, gratefully swallowing the salty fluid.

Finally I told him to get into the bath with me and fuck my brains out, which he did.

Lying in his arms in bed later, I explained,

"When I was a little girl I used to piss myself all the time. My mother thought I had a weak bladder when I came home from school with my knickers wet and my little white ankle socks turning yellow! But it wasn't anything to do with my bladder being weak. I deliberately used to piss myself because I liked that warm wet feeling. I didn't stop doing it until I was eleven or twelve. I was so delighted to find you were 'one of us' as it were."

I nestled up, cuddling into my husband, my soul-mate, more contented than I have ever been.

Owen and I live near the logging camp and we have three lovely brown kids. We usually fuck once a week when there's an 'R' in the month and it suits me fine. I never thought it would, but having children seems to put a different slant on life. Mind you, we have succumbed to a bit of daisy chaining when Matt and Alex visit, but that's only once or twice a year. And we keep water-sports to ourselves.

These days it is no big deal for a pretty white girl to have a black boyfriend or even a black husband. There are so many black musicians, sportsmen, actors, etcetera who have shapely blondes hanging on their arms that it has become much more accepted. And amongst the ladies, some well known celebraties have a black stud boyfriend almost as a fashion accessory.

I reckon life couldn't really get much better for us, but one old bad habit still haunts me. Some of my girlfriends have openly expressed their jealousy of me, being married to such a handsome hulk as Owen. They all seem to want to know if the rumours about black men are true. When they have also made rather personal enquiries regarding his equipment, my reply has been to hold my hands out separated by a foot or so, causing gasps of astonishment and envy. I only hope Owen never strays from the straight and narrow locally or they'll find out what a boastful little liar I can be.