Julie

From the files of Cleo:

I know a lot of women who say they're beautiful. Most aren't. I was fortunate enough to have been born that way, and reaped the advantages of it all through high school and then college. I was raised in a middle-class southern family, but recognizing my looks would get me far in life, my family scrimped to send me to the best schools in the country - primarily so I could meet a nice, wealthy young man and marry him. Not completely aware of that at the time, I can clearly see it now. If I had a daughter, I'd probably do the same thing.

In my second year at Harvard, when I was twenty-two, I met and eventually married Mark. He comes from a wealthy family who made their money in real estate - a lot of it. I've heard that at the time of his death, Mark's father was worth nearly a billion dollars, and that Mark, one of three siblings, now has a vast amount of it. Anyway, back to my story. Rich and beautiful, I should've been happy with what I had, right? And, I thought I was.

Mark bought me a huge house in the suburbs, provided me with all the money I could possibly spend, and gave me a new high-end sports car each year. We held balls and banquets almost monthly and vacationed at all the right locations with other jet-setters.

You wouldn't recognize me because I'm not famous and don't want to be. I've been in the local papers several times regarding charity functions and the like, and am pretty-well known in my community for doing these type things. It is now ten years later and a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since Harvard. At thirty-two, I have maintained my figure and workers still stop working to stare at me as I pass, all manner of men hitting on me constantly.

I know I am still a knockout and play that to the max whenever I have to. After my marriage to Mark I was the toast of numerous large charity organizations that required me to travel periodically to other cities. I held the chairmanship in several of these organizations, and wielded a lot of power. In short, my life was a dream.

Things changed when I was guest speaker at a large charity event in Manhattan one year. After the three day event concluded, I decided to hang around for a week and visit some of the local sights. On my first night alone, I dressed in a short dress and heels, going to the hotel bar for a quick drink and just chill out. The bartender mentioned there was a swanky night club on the fifth floor that had a band. I went there, had a light dinner and a half-bottle of wine.

Someone slid into the chair across the table from me and I saw it was a large black man. Although the place was crowded, I was instantly on guard for my safety. I'd never really been friends with a black man before but know a couple of black business men who contribute generously to our causes. I don't fantasize about having sex with them, but I don't do that about handsome white men either.

Although my family occasionally made racist comments as I was growing up, I don't believe they, or I, were racist - just ignorant about normal life. This man had the deepest voice I'd ever heard, saying something that instantly made me laugh. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine I'd drank. His name was Paul, and he said he was a local business man. Paul was big and handsome, reminding me of the star on the TV show, The Unit. He was well-dressed, and charming. I'm long-legged and slim, but Paul dwarfed me with his size. None-the-less I felt totally in control, but instantly at ease in his company.

After another drink Paul asked me to dance. Mark never minded me dancing with other men because he wasn't the jealous type, so I agreed without even thinking about it. I slide comfortably against his wide chest and he folded his strong arms around me comfortably. We drifted to the slow song. I noticed immediately that he was an accomplished dancer. I also noticed after only few moments, an insistent pressure against my stomach. It was obvious that Paul had an erection - and it felt substantial through his slacks.

I tried pulling back, but he held me so close I finally just settled in and prayed for the end of the song. That song turned into another slow piece and as I looked up into Paul's deep brown eyes, I found I was suddenly having a little trouble breathing. My mouth felt like cotton and I was trembling. I'd clearly had way too much alcohol. I was also feeling a growing dampness between my legs, and that would never do. Paul lowered his head, his broad lips only inches from my own. Maybe it was the alcohol, but oh god I wanted to. Instead, I pushed myself back.

"I have to go," I muttered. "I've had way too much to drink, Paul." On wobbly knees, I made my way back to the table, feeling him clutching my elbow to steady me.

"Yes, I can see that you have. I'll help you," he said smoothly.

In the elevator I made sure I stood at least three feet away from him but even at that distance I could still feel his heat, and I could see his semi-hard erection outlined against his soft slacks. My breathing problem escalated and when I raised my eyes, I was staring into his bottomless dark orbs once more.

He moved closer and I could smell his cologne, making my pulse quicken. The elevator door opened at my floor, jarring me back to reality. Without hesitation he took my elbow, leading me down the silent hallway toward my room. I was grateful for his help because the hallway kept floating in front of me and I was having trouble navigating.

When we stopped outside my door I searched for my entry-key with my right hand, but he suddenly grasped my left, forcing it downward, wrapping my finger around his semi-hard penis. It was very large - okay, gigantic. I couldn't move my hand, just holding on as my mind raced like a jet. Somehow, the door was open.

Not realizing I'd spoken until the words were already out, I muttered, "I have to see it." It was like it was someone else speaking and I realized the liquor was making me slur my words a bit.

Somehow, I was suddenly standing inside my room and he closed the door behind us. My mind was blank as I fumbled with his belt and the top button of his slacks. With my legs trembling so hard I barely could stand I slid his zipper downward - pushing his pants and shorts down until they fell around his ankles.

His cock, though still not completely stiff, was almost a foot long, looking like a huge lump of black coal. Throughout it all, Paul hadn't spoken. Now, in his smooth deep voice, he said, "Is this the first black cock you have seen?"

It was, and I'd never seen an uncircumcised one either. My husband was Jewish, and the fumbling experience where I'd lost my cherry in the backseat of a car during my first year at Harvard, didn't count. It had been a total disaster, and I hadn't even seen the boy's penis - but that hadn't felt half as large as this one.

As it stiffened, soft skin covering the bulbous head pulled back, exposing the single eye in the tip, eventually folding itself in wrinkles behind the spongy baseball-sized crown. I could barely reply, around my mouthful of cotton. Licking my dry lips, not able to look away from it, I said, "It's the only one I've ever seen, with the exception of my husband's."

Before I could react, Paul grasped my hand again and wrapped it around his pulsating penis, just behind its throbbing head. My fingers, though long and slim, could barely reach half-way around the girth. As though alive, it jerked twice in my grip as I felt Paul's hands on my shoulders insistently pressing downward. I'm not stupid. I've been around long enough to know what he wanted. I was just helpless to prevent it from playing out. Kneeling in heels was difficult, so I kicked them off and sank down on the soft carpet.

I found his large black meat only inches in front of my face, my hand looking stark and pale against his black skin. Whether it was because of all the drinks I'd consumed, or the animal heat he'd generated inside me, I admit I wanted to taste that cock more than anything in the world. Stretching my mouth as widely as possible, I lovingly took the entire head inside my mouth and nearly swooned. It was like ambrosia, a potent drug, something I had to have.

My jaws hurt from the effort, but I pushed my face against him, taking more of it until I felt it hit the back of my throat. I was suffocating on it. Gagging, I withdrew, but instantly tried to take it again. It was perverse and degrading, even a little painful, but I needed it.

I'd tried oral sex with my husband numerous times, but never letting him go very deep. One time he came so quickly that I wasn't ready to pull off and it'd made me nauseous, so I had stopped doing it for a long time. I hadn't enjoyed it that much anyway, but this wasn't like that had been. I wanted this. All of it. I knew it could be done. I'd read things in women magazines about how to please your man. Gagging, I forced Paul's gigantic cock past the opening of my virgin throat, sliding easily downward over my milking throat muscles. I was in heaven, floating mindless somewhere outside my body.

I was suddenly kneeling on a mat floor inside a bamboo hut, a continent away, jungle drums beating gently somewhere in the distance. It felt primitive, animalistic. Not once did I think of Mark or the life we had, and all my nice toys - nothing but this feeling of . . . being used! All that mattered was this warm piece of meat sliding in and out of my sucking mouth.

I felt like the lowest street whore and I loved it. I slid my mouth off his cock my tongue trailing underneath it, just engulfing its gigantic head, then back downward until I felt his short pubic hairs tickling my nose. I felt every ridge, every vein as it slid over my lips and tongue. All I wanted was to taste him - have him shoot his thick creamy load deep inside my sucking mouth - and I was sure it wouldn't make me sick this time.

Suddenly, I heard Paul grunt, and then he was pulling away from my greedy mouth, pushing me back. I actually whimpered, shamelessly trying to recapture his thickness once more, stubbornly pushing against his restraining hands.

"No. Get undressed and on the bed. I want that white pussy," he snarled forcefully. A thrill shot through my alcohol-fogged mind as I scampered to do his bidding. I lie back on the bed, my legs wantonly falling open to reveal my swallow lips.

"Not like that. On your knees," his deep voice rumbled in the quite room.

I quickly turned around offering all that I had open to his gaze, completely venerable. The bed shifted as he moved onto the bed behind me. Motionless, I waited with fear and anticipation, scarcely breathing. I felt his huge hot thing pushing against my swollen opening, easily at first, then friction burn as he became more insistent. Considerate of my tight channel, he gently rolled the giant head of his cock around in my wetness to lube it, and then his big hands suddenly gripped my hips in a vice as he probed my opening again.

Each thrust was growing more forceful as I groaned, biting my arm. The friction was growing intense, burning my tender pussy lips like fire. I grunted with the pain, muttering softly.

"Please."

He laughed! It didn't sound at all gentle.

"Please? Please what? You wanted it girl, now it's payday. Lay your head down and raise your pretty little ass so I can get in." He now sounded so different from the quite, sophisticated gentleman I'd met earlier.

I did as he instructed and the head of his cock slipped inside, feeling like a melon pushing against my vagina walls. I bit my arm again to keep from crying out. Mercifully, he gave me a short reprieve as he rubbed my back and shoulders, flexing his cock occasionally to let me know what would follow. My pussy gushed each time he did that, and then the probing started again.

Slowly at first, growing more insistent as it pushed my inter walls apart, forcing its way deeper into my core. I wallowed in agony, the damned thing feeling like a fencepost. I groaned with either pain or ecstasy, I don't know which. He stopped, letting me adjust to his size again, then started once more relentlessly pushing deeper.

"That's it," he said, stopping. "Halfway in. Won't go no farther." He waited motionless, occasionally flexing inside me. Each time he did it stretched my vagina more.

After a while when it seemed he wasn't going to continue, I finally whined in frustration, moving my hips around in a small circle. He laughed. I kept it up for a few moments until he suddenly lunged forward, driving his cock into me like a spear. It felt as if he was tearing me apart. I cried out in agony, "Stop! Oh . . . please, please . . ."

He didn't. Instead, he pulled out a bit and then rammed it back into my depths, hitting bottom each time. Then he stopped again for what seemed like a century. I began rolling my hips in circles un a shamefully needful, moaning softly, trying to ease the overpowering itch inside my womb. I moved away then pushed backward, feeling it pull my pussy walls out, then push them back in. I did it a little harder, growing impatient.

"Please," I muttered, rolling my ass. This time I meant something different.

He gripped my hips again, slowly pulled almost out of me and then slammed back in. I was so wet by then, it moved more easily through my tight channel. Far from any pain this time, intense electric pleasure overrode it. It was all I could do to keep from screaming from the thrill. He rode me like a stallion, bringing me to a peak and then rubbing my shoulders until it resided.

Right at the last I was jabbering insanely. Then he took mercy on me. I could feel him spurting against my pussy walls, warm and soothing gobs of it as I finally came. It lasted for a full minute. I came so hard that when it was over I must have slept for a short time. When I opened my eyes, his limp black cock was a couple inches from my face.

"Clean your man, girl," he said, moving forward.

His cock was wet and slimy with our juices, the thick veins running like road maps all through it, but I opened my mouth obediently and took it inside, sucking it clean. I expected it to make me sick, but far from it I had never felt so fulfilled in my life. As I slobbered over his meat, it began to stiffen again. I moved up a little on the bed and grasped his hard butt, pulling his growing cock deeper into my throat as I moaned around it.

I didn't just suck it, I made love to it. After a few minutes, he moved onto the bed, wrapped his fingers in my blonde hair and forced my face down onto his cock. This time, I took it all, moaning with pleasure from his degradation. I basked in the joy that he'd called himself my "man." He was my man, and so much more - and I was his whore, his slave, a vessel to empty his huge sacs into - anytime he wanted. And I wanted him to empty himself into my mouth now.

I licked, kissed and sucked his cock and balls for fifteen minutes, at last hearing his breathing grow shallow, feeling his cock stiffen and bloat even more. I knew the time was close. He shot so fast and with such force that I nearly choked on his thick cream, Gagging, swallowing as quickly as possible I still felt it rush into my nose as I fought to get all of his sweet cum into my belly.

I actually swooned, floating as I performed this ultimate act for my man, relishing the fact he coated my tongue, teeth and gums with his slimy cum. I was disappointed when the copious flow finally ebbed, then stopped. I held on, milking with my lips, continuing to make love to his deflating cock until he finally pushed me away.

"Damn, easy Babe. Leave some for the next time. I got a lot to teach you."

I looked up at him questioningly and he said, "Ever been fucked in that gorgeous ass?"

I shook my head slowly, unconvinced he meant it. He simply could not mean that. Seeing the look on my face, he laughed as he got up and started to dress. "Don't get excited. It won't be today. I got to hit the streets."

Almost sober now, the impact of what I'd just done finally hit me. As I lay there on a cum-stained sheet, naked, my damp legs spread like a whore I thought about going home. Self-consciously I pulled the sheet over me, shaking my head. "I can't do this anymore, Paul. I'm a married woman. I had too much to drink and things just got out of hand. I won't let that happen again."

He smiled down pityingly at me as he placed his business card on the dresser. "You'll call. You'll think about it and you'll call."

"I won't," I insisted.

He just smiled again, closing the door behind him.

The next two days were hectic and I had little chance to think about what had happened, except when I lay down at night. I probably masturbated more those two nights than during any time of my life. It left me feeling empty and unsatisfied. By the third day I was rationalizing; maybe I'd just call him and have lunch. No harm in that. I finally called but got no answer. By the next night I was walking the floor, calling several more times, and leaving messages now. Still no call-back from Paul. I was about to climb the walls when I glanced up on my way to the elevator after work and saw him standing there, that smile lingering on his lips.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi." My legs were trembling.

"Want me to come up?"

I didn't hesitate. "Yes."

In the elevator, he said, "Take my cock out and lick it."

I looked at him to see if he was joking. He wasn't. "What . . . what if someone gets on?"

"Okay." He turned away, staring ahead.

"Wait," I said, moving closer. "Okay."

I reached out and pulled his zipper down, dropping to my knees. It flopped out like a huge sausage, making my mouth water. I licked and kissed it, finally taking it down my throat. I was instantly in heaven. I was no longer the snooty young housewife with wealthy friends. I was the neighborhood whore, the hotel lobby slut who sucks black cocks in the elevator. The entire hotel could've walked into that elevator and I wouldn't have cared.

When the door opened at my floor, he placed his finger on the 'door closed' button, holding it in. I licked and sucked until my jaws ached, tasting pre-cum, anxious for more. He pulled me up and with his cock pointing the way, led me to my room.

Inside, he commanded, "Get naked."

Like I was some John's street-whore, I thought. Right at the moment that's exactly what I felt like. I hurried to comply and as soon as I was naked I eagerly dropped down and sucked that magnificent cock inside once more. He was close, I could tell. Again, he pushed me away.

"On the bed."

Crawling between my splayed legs, he held his cock pointing at my opening and said, "Want this?"

I knew he was taunting me, tying to get even, but I didn't care. I needed that cock inside me. I nodded vigorously as he laughed. He pressed the head of it against my hole, rubbing it around like he'd done the last time. Only this time, I couldn't wait. I wrapped my long legs around his back, clutched his buttocks, and lurched against it, taking about a third. He remained motionless, letting me strain, doing all the work. I rotated on his cock, trying to make him horny enough that he'd plow into me like before, but he didn't.

"Please," I whimpered. "Do me."

He slammed the entire length into me all the way until he hit bottom, and then he settled in hammering away piteously as I withered frantically beneath him, moaning, crying out intermittently. I'd never felt like this with my husband, never. The mere size of Paul's cock and the brutality that he used it transported me into another level, somewhere near unconsciousness. I was aware only of that veined meat and the sensations it caused as it forced my vagina walls apart, the feeling of each ridge as it slid over them, and the jarring impact of his spongy head smashing against the cervix at the core of my belly. If I could have lived in that exact state of mind for the rest of my life, I'd been happy. I never wanted it to end.