Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples Ch. 03

The important thing was that Chantel, one of my students, my bisexual girlfriend, my pussy eating, blackcock craving sister cumslut was a permanent houseguest. And, if we had to sneak behind my husband’s back to lick each other’s pussy, or we had to meet Darnell or Clay, or both of them together, somewhere else so we could get our temporary fill of being used by them like the insatiable blackcock slut Chantel already was and I was quickly becoming, or we had to impatiently wait for Edwin to go out of town again so we could indulge our bisexual lusts with another blackcock orgy in the den—with some hot and nasty interracial sex playing on the big screen for proper atmosphere, naturally—then those were some of the infuriating annoyances we would have to endure… like it or not.

I get the word…

Since he had to drive much farther then I did, Edwin always left the house an hour and a half to two and a half hours earlier than I had to, depending on the severity of the weather, which left Chantel and I a good hour all to ourselves. We invariably put this all-too brief period of free time to good use; either by Chantel joining me in the shower, or me hurrying into her bedroom to wake her so we could start off the day with a “Good morning” lesbian fuck.

This is not to infer that I was, in any way, losing interest in hard black cocks. By this point, I was fully committed to being as nasty a white slut as I could be for the two black cocks I had come to know so intimately. In the first week of having Chantel as “my personal” houseguest, she and I had met with Darnell and Clay three times. The first time had been in Clay’s car, parked behind the shopping mall where Chantel and I had spent that entire Saturday remaking and re-outfitting me into a sexier person. The sluttier outfits Chantel had helped me try on were hidden in the trunk of my Lexus.

We had gotten together with our big cocked guys twice more after football practice to get some much-needed release from their hard black cocks. The first time I had blown Clay on the entirely-too-cramped, narrow back seat of Chantel’s Honda while she had been bouncing up and down in Darnell’s lap in one of the bucket front seats, then we had switched places, with me uncomfortably riding D’bone’s cock this time and her sitting on Cannon’s lap so we could neck with each other over the back of that damned midget-sized bucket seat while we were getting our horny slut cunts flooded with their hot jizz.

The second night we used my more-roomy car and reversed the process of getting our necessary helpings of their hard black cocks. Bent over the shift console, I sucked off Darnell and was swallowing all of his cum as Chantel was getting her mouth filled by Clay. We switched off and she rode D’bone’s cock up front while watching me get gloriously doggie fucked by Cannon in the wider, but still not that roomy, rear seat.

In none of those three cases did I find sucking cock or getting fucked in a vehicle being comfortable things to accomplish. I could not understand the attraction of back seat fucking, or perhaps I was too old to appreciate the youthful naughtiness of “doing it” in the back seat, where there was always the chance of someone catching you sucking off your boyfriend in the front seat, or him fucking you in the back seat.

That’s not to say that this contortionist vehicle sucking and fucking didn’t serve a desperate need, but doing the nasty in a cramped car (for me, anyway) was no where near as pleasurable as getting my white wife/nasty cumslut holes fucked by hard black cock and over filled with their hot “nigger” jizz had been in the more spacious den. But, with Edwin home nights, and on the weekends, this was about the only convenient way Chantel and I could see of getting our incurable blackcock fixes on the sly… without renting a motel room, which might not have been a bad idea, at that.

Besides giving Chantel and I just enough hard black cock to tide us over—until the next time we realized we had gone entirely too long without a “real” cock inside us… Chantel had introduced my to the amazingly stimulating buzz world of vibrators, and knowing that the black dildo we were now sharing with increasing frequency had once been used by and on Chantel’s own mother… Well, as that little blonde slut, Julie, would likely put it; “That was like… a fucking mega-major turn on.” But, as the guys put it, neither of those substitute “girl’s toys” was like getting it from a real “live” cock.

Anyway, during all three of these blackcock car fucks, Darnell and Clay had voiced wishes (closer to being hard-pressed suggestions) that I sample several more young black cocks on the football team, before they graduated and moved away from Summerset. Including other young black cocks into our orgy games could hold the very real potential for very pleasurable discoveries and I was beginning to give very serious consideration about acceding to my young black lover’s panty-wetting “more young black cocks” demands.

On the Monday leading up to the team’s second to last game, I was informed that the salaciously taboo thoughts I had been having on a daily basis, of more than two young black cocks taking their white English Lit teacher—in all of her slutty holes at the same time—which were causing me to change the saturated sanitary napkin nestled in the skimpy crotch of my new sexy bikini panties while at school with increasing regularity, stood a very good chance of coming to fruition.

Stopping by the classroom on her way to cheerleading practice, Chantel asked if Edwin would mind my chaperoning the cheerleading squad at an out-of town game. “I doubt if he’ll know either of us is gone,” was my snorted reply. Edwin had some upcoming conference to prepare for and would probably welcome a golden opportunity to shove two constantly laughing females right out the front door.

Chantel nodded her understanding. “Then we’ll bring overnight bags with us to school Friday morning, so there won’t be any reason for going back home.” She went on to explain that six buses would be going over to the game Friday afternoon; two for the team, three more for parents and friends who didn’t want to drive to see the game, and a small one for the cheerleaders. With a conspiratorial wink, she laid out the rest of it. “On the way back Friday night, the small bus, which will be carrying some select players, and just you and I, is guaranteed to break down a couple of miles outside of town.”

Not bad; it was a workable plan. “And who thought up with this naughty little scheme?”

“Darnell and Clay came up with it initially, but they wanted you and I to drive over so we would have a way of getting back Saturday.” Chantel propped her elbows on the desk and cradled her chin on her laced together fingers. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t relish driving almost sixty miles on snowy roads, especially after spending the night getting my brains fucked out, so I revised things a little. I told them that the small bus breaking down would provide a plausible excuse for stranding us there for the whole weekend until it’s fixed, and that it wouldn’t require any convoluted explanations to family and faculty when we got back.”

And, Chantel pointing out to Darnell and Clay that two nights and two days, instead of just Friday night, in connecting motel rooms would give us all a lot more time to have some mega-multiple black cock fun had, apparently, swung them over to her side. “You’re getting to be a real conniving bitch, young lady.”

“That’s cause I’ve moved in with a really sexy teacher, who’s every bit as conniving in her own right.” Chantel looked over her shoulder, saw that the coast was clear, and gave me a quick peck on the lips. “See ya at home, Mrs. Chapel.”

Chantel purposely waggled her delightfully sassy ass at me as she hurried off to cheerleading practice and I couldn’t help thinking that, if this young lady became any more conniving, she would be a perfect candidate for your CIA.

* *

Friday felt like it would never arrive, and yet the time for backing out was upon me before I think I was completely ready for the consequences of what would (not could) lay ahead for me when the doomed bus broke down on the way home.

As a sensible precaution, Chantel and I rode to school together in my car Friday morning. Since the teacher’s parking lot was more secure—by being well lit, and also patrolled at night by the police, where the student parking area wasn’t, should anything “unexpected” happen—like one of the buses braking down and stranding us for the whole weekend—there was far less chance of anything untoward happening to my expensive Lexus than to Chantel’s “obviously abandoned” car.

That morning was an anxious time for me… on several levels. I couldn’t wait for game time, so I—like all of those attending from out-of-town-Summerset—could watch our boys win one more in what we all hoped would be their first undefeated season. I was also more than a little anxious about what further taboos I would have to opportunity of wallowing in after the “arraigned for” bus breakdown took place on the way back home.

And naughty Chantel didn’t cut me any slack by blatantly showing me how neglectful she had been when visiting the girl’s restroom before coming into class. As was customary, she had worn her cheerleading outfit to school, but her parting her legs every couple of minutes, clearly showing me that she had not only forgotten to put the powder blue panties that went with her short skirt back on after peeing, but hadn’t bother wearing even a thong underneath them, made for a very confused explanation of Hamlet’s soliloquy where the rest of the class was concerned.

I finally gave up attempting to explain anything, told the class to read it for themselves and give me a one-page explanation of what they thought it meant Monday morning, and retreated behind the comparative safety of my desk, where—ostensibly keeping a vigilant eye on the class from over the top of a propped up book—I stoled longing looks beneath the hem for Chantel’s short skirt and between her parted legs.

I even did something that, up until then, I had never done in school. Safely concealed behind the closed in front of my desk, I slid my hand under my own short skirt and inside the leg band of my skimpy panties and strummed my aching clit while watching Chantel suggestively wink back at me with her sneakily exposed wet pussy.

I was sorely tempted to pull her into one of the stalls in girl’s restroom after class and eat her to a quick cum, but Chantel’s more-controlled reasoning managed to hold me at bay. Barely. “We’ll have plenty of time for at least some pussy fingering on the bus after the game, Mrs. Chapel,” she promised on the way out to my car. “And after it ‘breaks down’, we’re going to have the whole weekend to suck titties, eat pussy, and tongue-tease each other’s asshole.” Her eyes lit up when I popped the trunk. “And, the number of hard black cocks we’re going to have to share for two nights and almost two whole days… Diane, I guarantee both of us are going to be walking bowlegged when we get home.” She removed her bag from the trunk while I slipped some of my hidden slut clothes into my overnight bag. “And the amount hot “nigger” cum we’re going to get shoot into our bellies, and in our cunts, and in our assholes… Why, we might be able to go three or four days before we need us a good, hard, blackcock/backseat fuck again.”

“If you’re trying to make my panties wet, young lady, you’re too late,” I snarled as I slammed the trunk closed and hit the button to lock the car up. “They were damp before we even got in the car this morning, and that deplorable pussy peep show you put on for me in class has now got them drenched.”

She leaned in close. “Then, you’re looking forward to the weekend… Slut?”

I shouldered my bag and took a deep breath. And the both of us screamed “Go Summerset!” as we raced each other for the waiting bus.

* *

To cut to the chase, we won 24-21 and the atmosphere out in the parking lot was, to say the least, jubilant. “Two more wins! Two more wins!” was the booming chant as our guys came out of the gym and strutted their ‘bad shit’ on their way through the crowd to the waiting buses. One more win away and another win in the last game—played on our home turf—and Summerset would have its first ever undefeated season.

There was the expected confusion getting the buses loaded—everyone, naturally, wanted to ride back with our winning team on their buses. What no one seemed to notice (because they weren’t watching for it like I was) was the two men—two large, muscular, habitually stern-faced black men, who served in an exclusive ‘protective’ capacity at school, singling out certain players and directing them to board the small bus.

Standing outside the clamoring crowd, waiting for Chantel to join me, I counted seven players—all black and all seven starting players—get on that bus. That meant that Chantel and I would have seven ecstatic, adrenaline-pumped black players to share for somewhere in the taboo neighborhood of the next forty-eight hours. Seven hard black cocks for mine and Chantel’s six horny white slut holes… providing the physically imposing pair of hunky black specimens, stoically standing guard at the doors of the almost loaded bus, weren’t going to be a part of this.

“Ike and Mike making your panties even wetter, Slut?” Chantel said, coming up behind me.

“If I was still wearing any, they would be about as much use as a thoroughly saturated sponge,” I unashamedly confessed.

< Just exactly who Ike and Mike were (and sort of still are) would probably be good point to clear up before I go any further. These were not their real names, but those were so unpronounceable that everyone in school (teachers and administrative staff included) jokingly, but respectfully, referred to the physically matched pair of black protectors as Ike and his younger statue, Mike. They were the personal bodyguards of one of the players now on the “special” bus.

Nabombatawaka Al Amir Umbuto—usually called simply Amir (nicknamed “Nubian”) was an exchange student from the tiny African country of Acillyname. Amir was not only an outstanding student; he was our star quarterback in his junior year at Summerset C C. 6’ 8”, with a 165 pound wiry build, an aristocrat stature and an appealing café noir complexion, Amir cut an impressive figure confidently striding across campus, especially with his impenetrable entourage of Ike and Mike, two steps behind and protectively flanking him. There was a regal bearing about Amir, but he was outgoing and easily approachable (with in reason) by nearly everyone in school. It didn’t hurt that he was also obscenely wealthy and was generous to a fault with those he considered his close friends.

The immovable twin blocks of black granite now blocking any further access to “our private” bus were fiercely loyal to Amir, to the point that, with a barely discernable nod of Amir’s head, I had seen one obnoxious student braced up against the wall by both men and one of their hands had been inside their jackets at the time. Ike and Mike not only had unchallengeable concealed weapons permits, but would also be immune from any city, county, or state prosecution for using their guns in defense of Amir because they had been issued by the U.S. State Department. You get that sort of instantaneously lethal protection, along with diplomatic immunity for your bodyguards, when you’re the anointed crown prince of your people.

I hope that satisfactorily explains Ike and Mike. >

“I’m afraid we have a problem, Diane,” Chantel said and I felt the rug about to be yanked from under me. I knew it; I just fucking knew it! Someone—a sharp-eyed teacher or a nosey parent—had caught wind of something unseemly in the air.

“How bad?” I groaned. It couldn’t be disastrous, or a cop would have told me that “we” had a problem, not Chantel, but the plans for our weekend blackcock orgy would have to be postponed, or worse yet, scrapped altogether if we were to remain above suspicion.

“It’s not insurmountable,” Chantel answered, “and might even prove entertaining.” She nodded her head at the only cheerleader not already on one of the other buses. “Julie caught on when she realized which players were being singled out for our bus and… and she wants in.”

“And if we don’t let her join in?”

“I doubt if she’ll say anything, Diane. She really can’t, since I have naughty little something else on Julie that she wouldn’t want her daddy knowing about… along with finding out that his precious, all American peaches and cream, butter-wouldn’t-dare-melt-in-her-mouth daughter is an insatiable black cock slut.” Chantel’s brow knitted. “But, you never know what some people will do when they feel they’ve been slighted.”

I cocked my head and gave Chantel a wry look. “This ‘naughty little secret’ something I’ll find out if we include her?”

Chantel grinned. “I can guarantee it.”

I looked over at Julie. I was feeling pretty good about myself—slut wise—and knew that Chantel was looking forward to this blackcock gangbang as much as I was. And, having seen Julie on tape, I had a fair idea of what sort of sluttiness she was capable of. Ok, I decided, we’d see who had the makings for a proper nasty white slut for black cock, and who might need to hone her talents a bit more. “Go tell her to get her nasty young ass on the orgy bus,” I said firmly and headed off across the parking lot to clear the way with Ike and Mike for a third blackcock slut to join the party.

“Let my initiation commence”…

With Ike driving the bus and Mike tailing in the black SUV for rear security, as fortuned by the conniving witch, Chantel, our orgy coach broke down three miles outside of town, billowing clouds of steam ominously roiling out the front grill like there was a geyser, instead of an engine, under the hood. Mike called on his cell phone for a tow truck, then roared off to let the other buses know what had happen to us. Meanwhile, Ike stood guard outside the bus, his fully automatic Mac 10 held cocked and ready against his leg.

By the time Mike returned, the tow truck—driven by a black guy, with a black assistant—was already hooking up to our stranded bus. Then, two dark colored Suburbans pulled in—each driven by a stone-faced black guy—and seven pumped up black football players, two “Ra Ra Raing” white cheerleaders and their anxious white teacher/chaperone piled into them. The ride to the motel we would be staying at until the bus was repaired was a short one… only another mile farther down the road. It wasn’t a glaringly obvious “No Tell Motel”, but a family looking sort of place, empty of any other vehicles because it about to close for the winter, but “conveniently” had a double unit off to one side, “coincidentally” with connecting inside doors, that still had the water and electricity turned on.

To maintain respectable appearances—should anyone from the school, or a concerned parent check up on us, the guys were all signed into the large unit (with extra rollaway beds charged to and already waiting in the room to further cover our salacious tracks) while Chantel, Julie and I were “officially” checked into the smaller unit.

The first thing I did—being the adult chaperone—once the outside doors were closed and locked, with Ike and Mike standing guard on the other side, was to call a meeting of all concerned in the guy’s room. “Some of us know what this is really all about,” I started off in my controlled teacher’s voice. “For those of you who only have a pretty good idea, I’ll spell it out; the bus won’t be fixed until sometime Sunday and all of our meals will be brought in. No one is to leave here for any reason, short of a medical emergency.” I then let my pent up excitement take over. “Now for the fun part; from now until the bus pulls up outside, nudity, or near nudity, is the dress code and anything goes sex is the name of the game.” I brought a note of sternness back into my voice. “Anyone here who is not up to, or is against playing by these rules?”