Every Picture Tells a Story

Which is why it makes my fascination with Blaine all the interesting. Blaine - remember him? He's the male star and author of the story that had inspired me to get involved here. He writes here under the name younghungblack, and after I read his story about the lovely young woman from England, I left an anonymous comment telling him how much I liked the story.

The liberating feeling of writing that mildly naughty note was heightened when Blaine left a note of his own, encouraging me to give him a way to contact me. I wasn't ready for that, but sent him another note telling him I would keep reading and commenting if I liked the stories.

I went to another story of his called the Ranch Wife. Just like the earlier story, this was a woman that I could relate to. A mature woman, not a silly kid with a reckless lifestyle who'll do anything with anybody, and I was drawn just as she was to this character with the confident manner and this extraordinary endowment.

Blaine's penis. I read about it before I saw it. After I had read a couple of his works, I went to his author page, where there was a picture that was intriguing. Cropped, perhaps by the management here because of the graphic nature, it's a photo that shows only the top of a young white woman's head and her hands grasping the shaft of what seems to be a rather sizable black cock.

In the notes, Blaine indicates that if one wants to see the entire photo, it's available for viewing elsewhere. My curiosity now at new heights, I went to the photo.

I'm sure as pornography goes, this is pretty tame stuff, but when that photo filled my computer screen my heart started racing. This wasn't just a dirty picture, but was the image of the author of a couple of stories that had moved me more than anything in recent memory.

The photo - The woman, who's a lovely creature in her own right, is kneeling before Blaine, at eye level with his enormous manhood. His stories detail how large is penis is, but seeing this magnificent organ really brings it to life. One of his stories tells of a woman's inability to measure it with a standard ruler, and while that seemed crazy at the time, it didn't any more.

She's holding his cock with both hands, but she's clearly needing help with this enormous penis, which seems to be flopping around like a snake because it isn't even hard yet. She needs another hand, and I find myself wishing that I was there to help.

Dear Mr. Fantasy...

As I looked at the picture, I fantasized about being there and offering my hand, stroking the thick shaft along with both of hers, feeding the rest of his cock into her waiting mouth as he continues to get longer and thicker and harder. I long to be there with her, kneeling and worshipping this outrageous cock too.

I dream that I appear with them there, and imagine she lets me take over, and I take her place kneeling before this black Adonis and then take him into my mouth. I give good head - great head, or so they used to say - but I've never experienced anything the size of this.

How naive I was. More ignorant than a schoolgirl, I realize now. I had no idea how large a man could become, but I'm finding out now in with Blaine, who clearly enjoys the awe in which I'm unable to hide. I scrape him with my teeth at first, something I'm sure he's experienced before, and tell myself to concentrate on not doing that.

Blaine is fully erect now, thanks to our hands and mouths, and my jaws are opened so wide that they will ache for days afterward, providing a memory that will keep me wet for an even longer time. I want to take that entire cock into my mouth and down my throat, even though I know that's impossible, but I've managed to get 5 or 6 inches - the equivalent of my erect husband's dick - wet and slick with my saliva, and now Blaine's coming.

Blaine's cum spurts out of his cock in a volume you would expect when you consider the source. More like a flow rather than bursts, his milky seed coats my throat in such a volume that I can't swallow fast enough. As much of his semen is drooling out of the sides of my mouth as is going down my throat.

The mystery woman is at my side, licking the corners of my mouth in an effort not to waste a drop of Blaine's bittersweet cum, and afterward we will kiss and share my treasure even though I'm not interested in women that way. I'll do this because I understand her and she understands me, and we're both under the spell of this magic man.

I keep sucking Blaine's cock, which is getting softer but very slowly. I don't want to share him right now, so I keep sucking, gasping as my enthusiasm only wanes because I'm running out of energy, not desire.

My efforts are soon being rewarded, because he's getting hard again. This can't be. How virile can Blaine be? He just came moments ago and now he's getting hard again. It just dawns on me that he's turned on by me.

Excited by my middle aged body and looks? I can't see how, because I'm not nearly as attractive as the others he's had, especially the woman next to me now, but maybe he finds me interesting because I do look a little like the mother on The Brady Bunch. I always wanted to look like Sophia Loren but ended up vaguely resembling Florence Henderson. That had never paid off until now.

Whatever the reason is that makes Blaine turned on, I don't care because Blaine is erect again, filling my mouth with his enormity and soon (I hope) to fill my throat with his cum, and for the moment I'm not a 57 year old bored housewife with fading looks and dreams. I'm alive and on fire inside, rubbing my thighs together as I get feral.

My mouth is sliding up and down all of his cock that I can manage, moving so fast that I'm getting lightheaded. The other woman's hands aren't on Blaine's member any more. Instead, she looking at me like I'm insane or something. Maybe when she looks at me she sees herself at one time.

Whatever the reason, my lips are hitting the back of my left hand each time they slide down the shaft of his cock. My fists hold the rest of his weapon, spinning and milking the thick rod, and even though the bulbous head of his cock is hitting my throat I don't gag. I want it all.

Blaine is laughing above me, a melodic and not demeaning chortle that tells me he's enjoying my barely restrained madness, while his hands are on my head helping me as I try to swallow him whole. The blood is surging through his cock - I can feel it with my lips - or is it cum?

Don't! I cry out in my mind as Blaine suddenly pulls his manhood out of mouth, brushing my hands off of it while he pumps it with his own fist. Milky white jets of semen suddenly blast out of the parted opening, spattering all over my face in a series of spurts.

I'm blinded momentarily as a wad of his spunk hits my eyes, and I'm helpless as I squint at him milking his cock, which keeps ejaculating all over my face and hair. My mouth is open, hoping to catch some of his warm nectar, but I will end up wearing most of it, the sticky ropes strung across my face like garland on a tree.

The milky torrent finally ends, and now Blaine is rubbing the tip of his cock against my lips before walking away, leaving me kneeling there covered with his drying, cooling semen. He returns with a tissue - just one - even though it feels like I need a whole box, and as he dabs the seed from my eyes his voice is soothing.

"Sweet Marie," his voice sings. "You're everything you said you were, and everything I thought you were."

My eyes are blurry as I watch Blaine walk around the room, his flaccid cock swinging so close to his knees that it makes this seem all the more surreal. I glance down at my beige slacks, and there's a massive wet stain that covers the entire crotch of the garment.

I didn't pee. I had cum sometime near the end, the combined result of me trying to rub my thighs together along with the erotic fulfillment of my fantasy, and now I still kneel, unable to find the power in my knees to stand up just yet.

Blaine was right, I realized. Right about everything. I was everything I knew, and he sensed I was deep inside, even before we met.

I was a teacher, a mother who used to help teach Sunday School for a time and a volunteer for the March of Dimes, just as I had claimed, but I was also what Blaine had suggested and what he had whispered to me after clearing my eyes.

"Sweet Marie," Blaine had concluded. "My sweet little slut. What a naughty girl you can be."

So there you are...

This is the woman you at literotica will know as MarieProvost. Maybe you already know me. Who knows? Maybe you're married to me and reading this story not knowing who wrote it.

You can call me whatever you want. Leave any comment you choose to make at the end here. I believe in the freedom of speech and won't edit or remove anything you write, because you're entitled to your opinion.

I do hope you get it right though, because if you didn't then that means I've failed as a writer. I'm not a BBC (didn't know that was anything but a radio network before last week) and not a cheating wife.

I'm a woman who has fantasies just like you do, and most likely just like your own spouse or girlfriend (and boyfriend too ladies) does. My fantasies, however, are not about an entire genre or race but instead are centered on one fascinating individual, the man who this story is dedicated to. It's not love. It's lust - lust for man who I will likely never meet, which might be the way it's supposed to be.

To a man whose words and mind are even more sensuous and stimulating than his cock, and that's really saying something, I thank you. Thank you, Blaine, for making me come alive again through the magic of your mind as well as the beauty of your body, and thank you all for reading this story.