tagInterracial LoveBigger Bites of Taboo Apples Ch. 02

Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples Ch. 02

byJordonLynn©

Chapter 2 Cannon Fire

Chantel and I share a lot more than sex

When I came to, Chantel was lying beside me, smiling, and Darnell was reclining against the headboard—still trying to get his breathing under control. I could smell Chantel’s cunt spray on my face, taste D’bone’s cum in my mouth, feel my own cunt juice leaking out of me and running into the crack of my ass. All of this was proof positive that what I had experienced hadn’t been a remarkably vivid, incredibly intense, explosively wet dream, but all too real; reality… in the extreme.

“Is lesbian sex always this mind blowing?” I inquired with a weak smile.

“It can become even more so,” Chantel replied. She lightly kissed my pussy-smeared lips. “But that requires lots and lots and lots of practice.”

“Then let’s practice some more.” I wanted to become proficient enough to do for Chantel what she had just done for me. “Right now.”

“You forgettin’ your place in this, Slut,” D’bone’s harsh voice intruded.

Chantel swiveled her head and glowered at him, then she leaned in close and whispered, “An hour from now, we’ll have each other all to ourselves. I’ll see to it myself, Diane.”

Chantel looked back at Darnell and put her hand on my pussy. “See what I’m doing, D’bone?” Two of her fingers entered me. “See how I’m finger fucking our teacher? Your black cock got her started on the way, now I’m helping turn her into the nasty slut we both want her to become.” With her free hand, she took mine and placed it on her pussy. Two of my fingers plunged into her wet cunt. “See, D’bone, see how the slut can’t help herself already, how she’s finger fucking me without being told to?”

Chantel worked her thumb back and forth against my sensitive clit. “D’bone, Mrs. Chapel can’t ever go back to being our plain ol’ white teacher. Not anymore; she’s gonna needs lots of hard black cock filling this nasty cunt of hers… more than just yours, D’bone. And she’s now got the craving for my slut pussy.” I slavishly laved her wet pussy with my parched tongue. “See, Diane has to have our kind of sex to feel like a woman now, otherwise, she’s nothing, D’bone. Nothing without more and more hard black cock feeding her slut mouth and nasty cunt, without lots and lots of hot juicy pussy to satisfy her uncontrollable white slut lust.”

I craned my head around and looked at D’bone. I wasn’t sure that she meant every word of what she had been saying to him, but Chantel’s graphic description of my debasement was definitely doing the job; his cock was already semi-hard and thickening steadily. It instantly grew another hard black inch when she wormed her pinkie finger into my sluttishly receptive asshole.

“Come on, D’bone,” Chantel encouraged, “can’t you see that she needs more than my fingers in her cunt? Shove that big black cock of yours into it and give her a good fucking this time. Then… then I’m going to give you something special.”

In seconds, D’bone’s fully erect cock was plunged into my aching cunt and for ten minutes he fucked me brutally. I came three times around his hard-plunging black cock. Just when I was on the verge of cumming once more, Chantel scrambled around laid on top of me. With her pussy mound mashed hard against mine, she reached back and spread her asscheeks wide apart. “In here, D’bone. I want you to fuck my slut asshole with your big, hard black cock.” She wiggled her smooth, tempting, caramel candy ass in his face. “Do it!”

Once again I was left with an aching emptiness as D’bone pulled his cock out of me and buried it in Chantel’s offered asshole. His vigorous fucking of Chantel’s asshole drove her pussy time and time against mine and I had a minor orgasm just as D’bone’s cock was emptying its flood of cum into Chantel’s rectum. I’m certain that it was at least ninety percent psychological, but I was grateful to get even that much from their joint fucking atop me. Chantel’s secretions were dribbling out of her and down onto my pussy and I was glad that she had obviously gotten a lot more from it.

Darnell collapsed on the bed, almost as close to being unconscious as I had been but a short time before. Chantel whispered in my ear, “How about we go take a nice, long shower, slut?”

She had whispered slut so softly, without any true slut connotation in her voice that I rolled out from under her, grabbed her hand and promptly led the way to the bathroom.

It quickly became a giggling, girl/girl, you splash me, I’ll spritz you with the showerhead; you garb my tit, I’ll bite your nipple; you stick you finger in my pussy, I’ll worm one of mine into your asshole shower party. In the process, we both actually came out of it squeaky clean… inside and out.

When we returned to the bedroom wrapped in fluffy oversized towels, Darnell was already dressed and sitting in the chair, impatiently tapping his foot. “Get dressed, Chantel,” he said, getting to his feet. “It’s time we got the hell out of here.”

“Not hardly!” Chantel snapped back and took my hand. “Diane and I have a few things more to discuss.”

“Come on, Chanty,” Darnell wheedled, “I need a ride home.”

I almost considered loaning him my car, but Chantel saved me from having to explain in the morning why one of my students had driven my car to school and I had taken the bus. “The keys to mine are in my purse out on the kitchen table.” Her eyes and voice hardened. “One little nick, a scratch that can’t be seen unless you know right where to look, and your ass is mine. You read me, Darnell?”

Darnell’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Look, slut…”

Chantel cut him off with a no-nonsense, “Don’t even go there, Darnell. That badass shit don’t cut it with me.” I wanted to grab Chantel and tell her to back off. Couldn’t she see that Darnell was big enough, and powerful enough, to easily snap her slender neck with one of his strong black hands? But, Chantel was only getting started. “You got what you wanted tonight, Darnell, and you know if I pitch a royal fit about your uppity nigger attitude, the rest of the guys’ll hold you down and let me fuck that arrogant black ass of yours with a strapon if it’ll appease me.”

The color nearly drained from Darnell’s face and his attitude radically reversed itself. “No nicks, no scratches, Chantel.” He turned for the door. “I won’t go over ten miles an hour, all the way home. Promise.”

“Ten miles an hour won’t get you home till after midnight,” Chantel scoffed. “And driving that slow, a cop’s sure to pull you over. Drive my baby like you would your father’s Mercedes and, if I think you have a need to know, maybe I’ll tell you what Diane and I talked about tomorrow at school.” Darnell turned to leave and Chantel added, “And my keys better be on Mrs. Chapel’s desk when we get to school.’

“They will be, Chantel,” Darnell relied without turning around. “Good night, Mrs. Chapel.”

Darnell left the bedroom and a couple of seconds later we heard him close the garage door. “You hungry, Diane?’ Chantel inquired with a warm smile. “I haven’t eaten since lunch and I’m famished.”

I hadn’t eaten since lunch, either, and hand in hand, we padded barefoot down to the kitchen. Twenty minutes later we were sitting down to plates of scrambled eggs, tossed salad and mugs of hot cocoa. “What did you do to these eggs?” I asked, hungrily forking in another mouthful. I had tossed the salad while she had done the eggs.

“Stirred in some dried chopped onions I found the cupboard,” she answered around a mouth full of salad. “Then I sprinkled them with a little saffron just as they started to fluff up. You like?”

“They’re delicious, Chantel.” And, they were.

I finished first, but my plate hadn’t been heaped the way Chantel had been. If she always ate anything like she was putting away this late night dinner, I wondered how she maintained her slender figure. I pushed my empty plate aside and picked up my mug of chocolate. ‘You told Darnell we had a few things to discuss, and I’m sure that we do. But, would you care to explain something to me first?”

“Anything, Diane,” she said. “For you, I’m an open book; my past, my aspirations, my thoughts on life, on sex…”

“Nothing that deep,” I chuckled. “Not right now, anyway. It has to do with the way you handled Darnell tonight; like he was a mere teenager and you were an adult.” I looked into my cup for some sort of answer, and found none. “I’m more than twice your age, and over the weekend, and again tonight, he all but owned me.”

“It’s because I know what buttons to push and what to offer, and also when to do either, or both.” Her plate was finally empty and she moved it aside. “You notice how, when we were having sex, I called him D’bone, but otherwise it was Darnell?” I nodded. It was the very same thing I had been doing all along in my mind. “Well, Darnell gets all full of himself hearing his street name and using Darnell brings him back to reality. It’s one of the buttons I use with him… and with some of the others, too. It reminds them that they’re not the street thugs they like to thing of themselves as being. I’ve known some real street thugs and there isn’t but one guy enrolled at C C who even comes close.”

That would be Eugene. And Chantel was right, if there ever was the epitome of the bad-attitude street thug, it was Eugene “Diesel” DaSell. Here at Summerset C C for over three years now and he still didn’t have enough credits accumulated for even one semester. And if this thug’s total disinterest in scholastic achievement didn’t turn me against him, the fact that he was an ugly individual—not so much physically, but most definitely attitudinally—guaranteed it.

To keep from bringing on a potential gastro-intestinal disorder, I changed the subject. “How about that ‘knowing what to offer’ you mentioned?”

“That’s different for every guy, Diane, and it’s not always offering it, but not allowing it that works the best.” Chantel smiled at my confusion. “You see, Darnell loves my ass, he can’t get enough of it, so offering it to him tonight helped maintain my control of the situation. Other times, not allowing him to take me in the ass works better.” She snickered. “His only trouble is, Darnell can’t last five minutes in my ass.”

“Why not?” I asked. Darnell had fucked me in the ass and had lasted a good long time.

“Because I start milking his cock with my rectal muscles the second the head gets past my sphincter, and I keep it up till he shoots. And that’s never very long.”

“And that works?” I had milked Darnell’s cock with my asshole, but only after he had shot his cum into it.

“With Darnell,” Chantel answered unashamedly. “There’s another guy it doesn’t effect at all, and what he knows about pleasing a woman, ain’t been written yet.”

This woman-pleasing guy I wanted to know a lot more about, but I decided to let it go for the present. “So, you’re saying that, if I want more control over Darnell, I have to become more like you?” Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, as far as I was concerned.


“That all depends on where you want what you’ve discovered about yourself to go. Do you want to be a sub for a guy, or be the dominant one, or do you want things to be on more or less an even footing? The same goes for being with another woman.”

I shook my head at this girl’s maturity. “For someone so young, you seem to know an awful lot about sex, about how to please and control a man… or a woman.”

Chantel was always so upbeat and positive, but she replied in a tone I had never heard her use; disparaging. “That’s because I’ve been exposed to sex all of my life, Diane. For as far back as I can clearly remember, I’ve seen just about any sex act you can think of—and a few you might not imagine—all openly indulged in right before my eyes.”

Chantel picked up our plates and carried them to the sink. She turned on the hot water. “My mother is a crack whore in San Francisco… providing she’s still alive. I’m a product of her first in a long line of pimps, each successively bigger, blacker and meaner.” She rinsed the big chunks off the plate in her hand, put it in the dishwasher and reached for the other plate. “I never knew my father; she was already into her third pimp by the time I was old enough to be aware of more than I was hungry, or that my diaper was full… when she bothered to put one on me.” The flatware got the same cursory rinse and into the dishwasher it went. “The first vivid recollection I have of my mother is her kneeling beside my crib, giving a black man a blowjob. I can’t tell you what he was saying to her, but the tone of his voice was harsh and derogatory.”

This was more than I should hearing about Chantel’s past; the details were too personal for a teacher to know about one of her students, the manner in which all of it was being so graphically relayed to me was much too intimate. Her voice was emotionless, but there was an underlying current of resentment that she couldn’t completely mask. Saying I was sorry for what she’d had to endure would be the right thing to do, Chantel, but since I had never been through anything even close to what she had known, they would be hollow words of empathy, not sympathy. I was sorry for Chantel, so very, very sorry; no girl deserved to live the life she had. But I sensed that there was more to come and held off getting to my feet and gathering her into my arms.

I did, however attempt to get across to her that she shouldn’t hate her mother; that the drugs played a very large part in what she had become.

“I don’t hate my mother for what she is, Diane. I can’t; I inherited my over developed sex drive from her. What I hate, what I despise is the crystallized poison that she’ll do anything for… and also for what she did…” For the first time, Chantel’s flat voice held a trace of emotion. “…and for what she did to me just to get her shaky hands on a couple of low grade rocks.”

Chantel flipped the dishwasher door closed with the back of her heel and reached for a dishtowel. “Look in my purse, Diane; you’ll find a small bottle of Midol and an asthma inhaler. I won’t even use Ibuprofen for a headache, Midol works wonders, and if I could do without the Albuterol, I would. At least it’s not a steroid.” She had yet to turn and look at me; now she did, and there was unmistakable vehemence in her voice. “If I find out that someone in the same room with me has so much as a nickel baggie of grass on them, I don’t care who he, or she, is, they’re getting turned over to the cops, and guaranteed they’re gonna fall down a lot before the cops get hold of them… and it won’t be because they’re clumsy, or stoned.”

She got high on sex and was death on drugs. To some, one of these would be a strike against an nineteen year old girl, but to me they were both pluses. I rarely took anything stronger than aspirin for a headache, and, of course, Midol for menstrual cramps. I was also finding how just how high one could get on sex.

I watched the hardness dissipate from Chantel’s face as she dried her hands. She had vented her spleen and could return to being her normal cheerful, upbeat self. She tossed the towel on the counter and smiled. “Dishes are all done, Diane. Wanna go back in the bedroom and practice some more?” She undid the titty-tuck at the front of her towel and let it fall to the floor. “Or would you rather eat your dessert here in the kitchen?”

It had been a heart-wrenching story she had told me while cleaning up the dishes, but she was obviously putting it out of her mind, so I should, too. I got up and gathered her tempting nakedness into my arms. “Is that all you ever think about after school, young lady; sex, eating and more sex?”

Chantel smirked. “With women, the two just naturally go together.” Her hands came up between us and fumbled with the titty-tuck of my towel. “And it’s not only after school that sex occupies my mind, Diane. You have no idea how often I’ve sat in your class and mentally had sex with you for the entire period.”

“Would that be on the desk, or elsewhere?”

“Just… everywhere,” Chantel chirped. “In the faculty lounge, in every girls and ladies restroom in the school, in the girls showers, behind the bleachers, underneath the stage while a play is going on. In one really daring scenario, we have a substitute because you’ve been called away before class started. Only, you hadn’t been called away, you and I are hiding under the desk. We finger fuck each other while the sub is giving the class and we have to French kiss a lot while we were doing it to keep from giggling.” The titty-tuck of my towel came undone and the only thing holding it up was the closeness of our bodies. “I walked to my next class with some very wet panties the first time I dreamed that one up. Luckily, it was gym class.”

“The mind is a truly wonderful thing,” I commented and kissed her. It wasn’t a terribly long kiss, or even a very exploratory one, but the way Chantel ground her pussy against mine (after pulling back a couple inches so my towel would fall to the floor at our feet) and the way I pushed back against hers was a pretty good indication that it didn’t lack in the least for mutual stimulation.

“Why don’t you take these towels into the bathroom,” I suggested, stepping back when our preparatory kiss finally broke, “and I’ll join you on the practice arena after I’ve made sure everything’s locked up good and tight out here.”

Chantel bent over to retrieve the towels, giving me a long look at her tight ass. That sweet young ass, and everything else that physically defined seductive Chantel, was all mine for the rest of the night, and I fully intended to explore as much of her captivating young body as I could before exhaustion eventually overtook at least one, if not the both of us.

Chantel was lying on her stomach with her legs invitingly spread. Starting at the soles of her feet, I kissed my way up both of her dancer’s legs, across her smooth, mocha ass, and slowly up the ridge of her spinal column to the nape of her neck. She rolled over and we lay there looking into each other’s eyes. Chantel wasn’t simply a beautiful creature; she was the epitome of youthful, feminine perfection… in the flesh.

“You’re beautiful, Diane,” she said in a soft voice.

“Lying is not allowed between us, young lady,” I scolded, semi-seriously. “I see myself in the mirror every day, I know that I’m even further from being beautiful than you are close to being absolute perfection.”

“No,” she protested, “I really think you’re a beautiful woman, Diane, and I don’t just mean your inner beauty, which is boundless. If you want, I can help bring that inner beauty to the surface where everyone will be able to see it.”

“And how would we go about accomplishing this miraculous transformation?”

“Well, first, we have to do something with your hair, even out the color, maybe even darken it a little, add some highlights…” She ran her fingers lightly over my face. “A little mascara here on your lashes and eyebrows, the proper shade of eyeliner to accentuate the sparkle in your blue eyes… a light smudge of eye shadow for evenings and nights… a medium lip gloss for school, a darker red for special times… just a hint of blush here on your cheeks…”

Her fingers trailed down my throat and across my chest. “A gel-cupped, uplift brassier to draw proper attention to your lovely breasts…” Her eyes slid to the open closet behind me. “A complete change of wardrobe definitely would be in order. More unexpected splashes of color, slightly more revealing blouses, breezy, flowing skirts and dresses that will call attention to your legs… some more up-date-heels instead of those clunky old maid shoes you always wear. And, of course, some stiletto platform heels, like mine, for when you want to feel just plain slutty.”

Her fingers fluttered across my tummy and danced in the tangle of my pubic hair. “A moderate trim and comb here… and then some sexy panties. French cut, high-thigh bikinis, I’m thinking, with the properly fitted thong for variety. If you want to feel sexy, then you either have to wear sexy against your skin, or wear nothing at all.”

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