Stacy's Real Coming Out Party

When I entered her she felt very different than before. My cock seemed to go to a different part of her very wet vagina.

"Can you feel it? I brought home a little present for you. Sorry some of it leaked out." this strange, uninhibited woman said. And, then she continued, "Oh baby, stick that big white cock in my pink, hot pussy! . . . Ooh, you feel soo good . . . My pussy's sooo sensitive I can actually feel the ridges and veins on your hard prick."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing but I guess I should have because this wasn't the first time I had her during intercourse, it was her voice that I heard in the background on Tyronne's cell phone at the stag.

"Oh God, you're making me come!" She started shaking and gasping for air. "Don't stop lover! . . . Give it to me hard!" "Does my pussy feel different?"

My pent-up passion caused me to come much more quickly than usual. "Sorry." I apologized.

She laughed softly and said, "don't worry about it."

We were silent for a while. I knew she was exhausted but I longed for her to tell me what happened. Without my asking, she understood my need to hear and I believe her own need to tell me everything that she could remember about her night as a Harlem whore. For the first time in my life, my cock stayed hard after I came.

When she realized that I wasn't going soft, she smiled and said "oh, does all this turn you on baby? Do you get all excited thinking about what I've been doing? "

I could hardly talk, my heart was pounding, breathing was a chore but I said, "Oh, honey, you know it."

"Then just relax and I'll tell you everything that I can remember." Then, she added, "are you sure you can take it?"

When I said "yes," she took a deep breath and said, "okay, ready or not, here goes."

* * * *

When we boarded the plane, I felt very pretty and sexy. At the spa, I worked out with this woman named Trudy. I told you a little about her but not everything. I had never met anyone quite like her. We went in the hot tub together nude and when she saw me naked the first time she said, "My God Stacy! With your gorgeous face and perfect body, you must have a dozen lovers."

I laughed and said, "just my husband Trudy."

"Well then, you must have to beat the guys off with a stick," she went on.

"Oh, we stick pretty close to our family, friends at the club, my husband's partners and their families and people from our church. No, I can't say that guys hit on me. Most of the men I know are aware that I'm married," I explained.

"What the fuck does marriage have to do with anything? I'm married and that doesn't stop the guys from chasing me and guess what, sometimes I let them catch me."

"What do you mean by that Trudy?" I wanted to know.

"Well, my husband and I have what I call and 'enlightened' relationship, an open marriage. Do you want me to tell you about it?"

I nodded my head.

After a few years of marriage I knew that Bill, my husband, was seeing other women. It nearly broke my heart. But, I didn't want a divorce so we talked it out. He told me that he loved me, our kids, our home really every part of our life except one; he needed other women sexually, and thought that it wouldn't hurt me one bit if I also had an affair or two. The idea was repulsive to me. I was a naive virgin when we married. As time went on he kept encouraging me to see other men. I thought his insistence was just too soothe his guilty conscience about his own affairs. Eventually, I gave in to his urging. On an out-of-town business trip I let myself get picked up in the lounge of the hotel I was staying at. Within an hour of meeting a handsome black salesman, I was in his room and he was between my legs."

"My God Trudy! How could you?" I challenged.

"Oh, let me tell you, the best part was when I got home. I told my husband all about it. Every single detail that I could remember. I expected him to be jealous. He wasn't, not in the least. On the contrary, as I told him every dirty little detail and some really big details, if you understand what I mean, he became so excited I thought he would have a heart attack. We had the best sex ever. Now, he doesn't see hardly any other women. He gets his kicks hearing about my flings."

"That's disgusting!" I exclaimed.

"Hey, Stacy, don't judge me and don't knock it unless you've tried it. Stacy, I've learned that its absolutely true what they say, 'all men want a lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom.'"

"While you're still rationing your pussy exclusively for your husband, I'll bet anything that he's, what did you say his name was, oh yes, 'Bob,'" she said with a note of sarcasm . . . "I'll bet that dear Bob is getting all the strange pussy he can handle. I've never known a man who can keep his dick in his pants. I don't believe that there's a healthy, guy in the whole fucking world who doesn't screw around," she declared.

"I'm sure that my husband has been faithful," I said in your defense, in defense of us and our way of life. "Honey, if he hasn't fucked around on you yet, he's one in a million. And, if he hasn't don't tell me he doesn't think about it all the time." I wondered if just maybe she was right. I decided to ask you when the opportunity was right. The opportunity seemed perfect when you were holding me in the hotel bed with my vagina full of your semen as we were coming down from our sexual high that first night.

I wasn't prepared for the rest of our conversation that first night in New York. When you asked if I had ever thought about sleeping with other men I lied to you when you I said, "Of course not!" I guess I thought you would think me a tramp or something if I admitted that Trudy's strange revelations had caused me to think a lot about other men in the past few days. Being a wife, a mom, a volunteer in our community and church and making love a couple of times a week seemed to be what you wanted me to be. And, that was okay with me, I was happy, I was satisfied, I was fulfilled. Then, in the course of just a few minutes, you seemed to confirm everything that Trudy had said. It was really hard for me to accept that you actually wanted me to be a lady in the parlor, in public, but in the bedroom, in private you wanted me to be, 'your whore,' you said.

Honey, after you left for your meetings that first morning, I couldn't go back to sleep. I kept thinking about everything that had happened. All kinds of thoughts kept racing through my mind. When you told me the night before that you "imagined me with other guys," at first I really hated the idea. I guess I thought that if I slept with other men you would feel free to sleep with other women, like Bill, Trudy's husband did. That, I couldn't handle. I didn't believe you at first when you said that you "wouldn't be jealous, you would be excited." I woke up kind of hot and horny. Anyway, after you left, I masturbated thinking about what you had said and imagining myself with different guys. I was really soaking as I slipped one finger in me and pretended that it was the cock of another man, when I added another finger and moved them in and out of me it seemed more like a cock and I experienced the most intense orgasm ever by my own hands.

At the beauty salon I told them I wanted a sexy new style. I went shopping bought the new perfume that you seemed to like so much and for the first time in my life I bought a garter belt and stockings rather than sensible panty hose. It all seemed so very daring.

I wanted to do something different. Here we were out of town with nothing planned for the night, and you had told me all those sexy things that really turned me on. I realized, that I had never seen another couple making love, oh I guess there's no sense in not calling it what it is, fucking! There. I thought that it might be fun if we could see a dirty movie and maybe watch some nude dancing. We wouldn't have to worry about running into someone from church, your office or a neighbor. It seemed almost unbelievable that in all the years we have been married, that we have never even really talked about erotic films or books let alone watched or read them. I knew from reading Cosmo that lot's of couples get turned-on by watching and reading about far- out sex. If we did decide to go to a movie, I knew that I wanted to watch something really raunchy. Sort of jump right in the deep-end of the pool, so to speak. I didn't know what you would think. I knew you weren't a prude and you had really surprised me with your fantasy so it seemed like a daring idea.

At the film I was really turned on. Well you know, you felt how wet I was and you made me come a zillion times with your fingers. Anyway, I thought that I must be losing my mind. There was something thrilling about seeing the white and black bodies. I really got excited by seeing the big black cocks on the screen. Don't get me wrong, I love yours but this was so forbidden, sooo naughty, it made me feel really wicked. And then, when you told me that you "would love for me to be like the women in the film," I nearly flipped.

I wondered if it wasn't some kind of sign when just minutes after I had said "fat chance we will ever meet a black man, we met Tyronne." I must tell you, he might as well have been from mars. He was unlike any man I had ever known. He was crude, had terrible taste, I guess he's actually a criminal or something because he's a pimp, and yet I'm sure you saw that I was really fascinated by him. In his car while he was driving us back to the hotel, he said things to me that no one ever had before. I guess I should have been offended by what he said but you saw that I wasn't, I was actually flattered in some perverse way and to tell the truth, very excited. When we stopped at the red light, and he turned around, I was tempted to pull my dress down but I didn't move. I knew he could probably see everything.

I thought that you wanted me to call him the next day, but I wasn't sure. All morning, I kept fighting with myself. I reasoned that if I was ever going to sleep with someone other than you, did it really matter who it was? Wouldn't it be much worse if I fell in love with someone at home, like a friend of ours, or some hunk like the tennis pro at our club, who could become a real threat to our marriage. For sure, I would never fall in love with Tyronne or any of his friends. Do you remember, you asked me, "what does love have to do with great sex?" I thought a lot about that and eventually came to believe that maybe you were right, maybe love doesn't have anything at all to do with great sex.

After taking a long bath, I laid in the big bed and rubbed my breasts and started to masturbate thinking about you, the film, Tyronne and his faceless, nameless friends. My body was on fire. For twenty years I had been faithful. You may not believe this, but I had never really been tempted. Sex with you was great. You satisfied me and I didn't want or need more. But the film made me wonder if maybe I hadn't missed something. Those girls in the movie seemed to have climaxes . . . not just their orgasms but everything seemed much more intense than anything I had experienced. What would it be like to have a huge cock, a different cock, lots of different cocks?" And, as I wondered, I realized that the cocks I was visualizing were not just enormous, they were all black. Then I removed my hands from my pussy. I sort of wondered what it would feel like, how would I react if it was other hands, not yours, but big black hands touching and rubbing my pussy?

I must have picked up his card and started to call him a hundred times. FinaIly, about noon I let it ring until he answered in his deep, but sleepy voice. "Tyronne, it's Stacy, we met last night." "Oh baby, you just woke me up from a hot dream."

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

"Don't be sorry honey, you was in the dream with me."

I know that I turned beet red at his revelation, thank god nobody was here to see me.

"As a matter of fact purty lady, I'm layin here right now holdin my cock. Its as hard as a rock just thinkin bout you."

I wanted to hang up but something kept me on the phone listening. And, wasn't what he was talking about exactly why I called him in the first place?

"Whatcha wearin baby?" he questioned.

Wow, I thought, I better hold on tight this is moving fast. "I just got out of the tub and haven't gotten dressed yet," I told him.

"Ya mean yer nakid, huh baby?"

"Yes, Tyronne, I'm naked," I said trying to be blase.

"Yer titties sure looked nice in that fancy dress, was that all ya?"

I had a hard time concentrating and even breathing but told him, "it was all me."

"Are your nipples hard baby?" he wanted to know.

"None of your business," I snapped.

He ignored me. "Do ya paint your toe nails the same hot red ya had on your purty fingers?" he wondered.

No man, including you honey, ever wanted to know so much about me. I told him, "yes, Tyronne, my toe nails are the same shade as my finger nails."

"Were you thinkin bout me too baby?" he wanted to know.

"What makes you ask that?" I challenged.

He laughed and said, "you called me." I guess I was caught.

"Well, you really shocked me last night, Tyronne. What made you think that I would be available and that my husband wouldn't object?

"Does he know that yer calling me?" he questioned.

"Not exactly, he isn't here but he knew that I might call."

"Oh, so the two of you talked about all this last night did ya? Did he fuck your brains out?" "That's none of your business," I told him sharply.

Suddenly, he turned all business, the jive talk disappeared and he said coldly, "I think I know what you want, if this is going anywhere, you better understand that fuckin is my business, your fuckin is my business, now, let me ask again, did he fuck yer brains out?"

"We made love when we got back to the room," I admitted.

"Does your husband want you to fuck around?" he questioned.

"We talked about it. Now, let me ask you something, what made you think that I was available?" I repeated.

Back in his pimp role, he explained, "Baby when I saw you gliding down the sidewalk like a model on a runway towards me, I thought I musta died an gone straight to heaven. You are the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on. Not just beautiful baby, but classy, sexy and hot too. I just knew ya was ripe for the pickin."

"What does that mean?" I wanted to know.

"Honey, it means you is ready for some major fuckin."

I couldn't help it, my pussy was getting wetter with each crude remark.

"And," he continued, "I'm just the man to fix ya up. Is your pussy getting wet?" he asked. God, I wondered if he could see through the phone or did he really know me after being with me for just ten minutes, better than I know myself. "What do you have in mind?" I asked nervously without revealing that I was soaking wet.

With that, he moved his sales pitch into high grear. "Sweet thing, I got me a special place here in Harlem with two or three white chicks and the bros love white pussy. Like I tol ya in the car, they would all die for a piece of yer ass. How about it, let me pick ya up at six and we can have all night and do things ya never ever dreamed of? Believe me baby, ya haven't lived till somebody wants yer pussy so bad he'll pay ya good money for it. Oh and baby, scuz me, but I gotta ask, yer not havin yer period are ya?"

Oh no I thought again, but answered with obvious embarassment, "No I'm not having my period." I couldn't believe that I was even listening to all this let alone seriously considering his proposal. "Tyronne, you've got to understand . . . oh, this very hard for me." I went on to explain, "I've never been to bed with anybody but my husband."

"Whoa baby, this is 1997, you've just gotta be shittin me, you expect me to believe that?" "I swear its the God's truth."

"Well then sweet thing, its about time we changed your luck. You know what they say, if ya ever try black, you'll never go back."

I pictured the men in the movie and in a real physical sense, I wondered if he might be right. "I'm not saying I'll do it mind you, but if I did, what should I wear?

"Just a little sexy black dress, the tallest black heels ya can walk in and perfume, nothin else, ya understand?"

"I'm sorry Tyronne, I didn't pack a black dress or black heels."

"You got lotsa time to buy em . . . I'll pay ya back later.

"What about my wedding ring, should I leave it at the hotel?" I asked.

"Fuck no baby, the bros just love fucking married white chicks. Oh, by the way baby I need to ask ya, do ya shave your twat?"

What was I getting myself into I wondered. "No, I don't," I answered cooly.

"Just a little tip darlin, for what its worth, let me tell ya, all guys just love bare lips and justa tiny little bit of trimmed hair above the snatch, like Iris' pussy, remember?"

This was all too much for me, I said "I've got to go Tyronne, call me at five."

"Honey, honey don hang up," he said desparately . . . "what's yer room number and las name, I can't get through to ya at the Plaza without yer name and room number."

Without thinking, I told him and hung up.

It took me a few minutes to collect my thoughts. God, I wanted to talk to you so badly. I thought you were serious about all this and really wanted me to do it but I couldn't get rid of my doubts. And, all this was rapidly becoming far more than what I expected you had in mind when you shared your secret fantasy with me. On the other hand, I realized that I would probably never have another opportunity like this one. First, you wanted me to do it. Second, a part of me wanted to do it too. Third, we were out of town and, like you said, nobody would know but us. Fourth, there would be no threat to our marriage and no chance of my falling in love with a sexual partner under these strange circumstances. My pledge was to you and if you wanted me to be with other guys, it seemed like I wouldn't be breaking my vows. Fifth, if I was ever going to do it, I might as well jump in with both feet and really do it or not do it at all. Sixth, you had alleviated my concerns of getting pregnant or catching some disease if they wore condoms. Finally, we had met Tyronne, and he had the ability to make all of the arrangements and take care of everything. I thought that it would be a shame to waste the opportunity.

I decided that since I didn't have a black dress and because the two pairs of heels I brought were summer colors, it couldn't hurt to buy the items he requested. As I shopped, I was so nervous I thought I would jump right out of my skin. I looked in Saks and couldn't find anything that seemed right. The same with Bloomingdale's. Finally, I went in Victoria's Secret and told the clerk what I was looking for.

She stood back looked at me and said, "If you're brave, I've got just the thing for you. It's cut real low in the front and back, so you can't wear a bra but with your boobs you don't need one," she said with envy.

I tried on the flimsy tiny frock and as I looked at myself in the dressing room mirror, I wondered how I could possibly go out in public in what amounted to a very, very short, revealing slip? Then, I remembered its intended purpose and bought it. The shoes and matching purse were easy. As I passed a drug store, I remembered what Tyronne had said about pubic hair and went in and bought a tube of bikini-line dipilitory. Before leaving the drug store, for the first time in my life, I actually considered buying a dozen condoms but thought that he would provide them so I didn't.

When I returned from shopping, you were so sweet and supportive. When you rubbed the cream on my pussy, I was soo hot, I nearly came, maybe I did a little. When Tyronne called, I was still kind of waivering. Then, he started in again with all his hot talk.