tagInterracial LoveBlondie Balls My Black Boss

Blondie Balls My Black Boss


Two years or so after my sexy little blond wife got her first taste of the special eroticism of interracial sex, a significant new turn of events began when my boss flew down south from Chicago to spend some time working with me. I had an idea that the real purpose of his trip was to have an excuse to visit his aunt, which he pronounced ‘awnt’ in his hometown, nearby Montgomery. When we’d discussed his trip on the phone, he had hinted about his true intent of wanting to spend more time with his aunt, who had raised him in Chicago before returning to her hometown, and was like a mother to him. Eager to be shed of him as quickly as possible, I had so much as told him that if he wanted, that I would be glad to cover for him and report that he had been working with me. He was grateful for my collusion in his little deceit and offered to take Blondie and me out to dinner at a nice restaurant as his way of saying thanks.

Now the kicker to this story is that this gentleman, Beauregard, better known as Beau, was black. In the spirit of diversity that was blossoming in corporate America at the time, he had been promoted over several other older, more-experienced, better-qualified white candidates and had been my supervisor for a few somewhat uncomfortable months now. He had the necessary financial degrees, but had absolutely no field experience in our specialized line of marketing institutional financial instruments. Having no desire to relocate to Chicago, I did not covet the position myself, and so made a good faith effort to help familiarize my new boss with our market.

While somewhat suspicious of my motives, Beau seemed genuinely pleased, that I was willing to accept a younger, less experienced black man as my boss and help him learn the business. That is not to say, however, that we did not have our differences. A hard charger, out to prove himself, he frequently came up with schemes he thought were innovative, only to be told that the company had tried similar programs previously and they had not proved out. Being the senior, and most experienced of his eight regional managers, it was generally left to me to point this out to him, so our relationship was sometimes a bit uneven.

Blondie had first met Beau at a managers’ meeting in Colorado a couple of months earlier where wives had been invited. She had found him attractive and had remarked to me that she wouldn't mind fucking him if she ever got the chance. My wife and I had been swingers since early in our marriage so her comment didn’t come as any surprise to me, especially knowing how turned on she got with black guys. Since that trip, we’d fantasized about it several times but had agreed it was a scenario fraught with risk. Beau came off as a bit of a stuffed shirt, married to an overweight, religious, black schoolteacher so straight-laced she didn’t drink. They had five, closely spaced kids.

In Colorado, Blondie had lamented that Beau was too fine a physical specimen to be wasted in such an ordinary marriage, so when she learned that he was coming to Mobile to work with me, she quickly informed me that if I didn't want him following me around, she'd be glad to keep him occupied. I reminded her that my new boss seemed awfully straight arrow and any attempt to seduce him might endanger my position with the company. My short, stacked, sexpot wife smiled knowingly and purred,

“Might just be the other way around if he liked what I did to him, hmmm?”

My exasperated glance brought a smug murmur, “And have you met any black guys yet who haven’t like what I do to them, hmmm?”

I just grinned and shook my head and she continued, “They always seem to want to come back and get some more of it, don’t they, Sugar pie?” and with a knowing smile purred,

“And I bet your big ol’ good-lookin’ boss would be just the same way, don’t you Sugar, hmmm?”

Beau flew in from Chicago late Sunday evening and took a cab to the Admiral Semmes, a downtown hotel. I met him the next morning and we put in a reasonably pleasant, productive day. About 4:45 he suggested we knock off and go back to the hotel. After making some phone calls, we repaired to the bar to wait for Blondie to join us.

When she walked in a little after six, she was radiantly beautiful; she'd had her full, shoulder length, platinum hair freshly bleached the week before and it appeared she'd had her nails done professionally sometime earlier today in the same shade as her frosted, hot pink lipstick. Her rich, cream-colored, business suit had a short, tight skirt and her shapely legs looked great in tan pantyhose and pink spike-heeled pumps with dainty ankle straps. She had accented her pink satin blouse with several strands of creamy, natural pearls and matching pearl earrings.

She flashed a dazzling smile at Beau and gave him a warm hug, pressing her buxom little body against him several seconds longer than necessary. Still holding him close, letting him get a good whiff of her intoxicating perfume, she looked directly into his eyes and said in a husky flirtatious murmur,

"Well I'm just so glad you finally made it down, Beau; I told my husband after the meeting in Colorado that I hoped I'd get an opportunity to get to know you a lot better."

There was a noticeably suggestive emphasis on “lot” which she drew out in her Louisiana drawl, “laaahhht bettah.”

We had a couple more rounds of drinks at the hotel bar then decided we'd best get some food. Beau had consumed four bourbons fairly quickly and was showing signs of their effect. I was amazed at the quite noticeable difference in his demeanor this evening; he was definitely loosening up and it was evident that his very correct business English was increasingly lapsing into a more relaxed, black idiom. And, most tellingly, he hadn’t quit grinning since my wife walked in.

For her part, Blondie behaved as if he were the most worldly, sagacious, charming man she’d ever met. She appeared totally fascinated with his every word, smiling warmly at him and looking directly into his eyes while she listened to him. She laughed heartily at his every attempt at humor, no matter how feeble. She was flirting shamelessly, but I told myself that her behavior could be attributed to nothing more than a good wife’s earnest efforts to be especially nice to her husband’s boss.

The restaurant Blondie had selected was in an entertainment complex, just down the street from the hotel, that included several differently themed bars, one of which had a dance band playing during happy hour and on into the evening. At the restaurant, the combination of our continued drinking and the muffled, thumping beat down the way was making Blondie tap the table rhythmically with her nails and move her body subtly to the music. Beau, attentively watching her movements, asked her teasingly,

"I don't suppose you like to dance?" Blondie replied with an unbelievably sexy, hot pink pout of those full lips and said with feigned exasperation,

"Well of course! I love to dance but ol' stick-in-the-mud there doesn't. All he ever wants to do is sit back and watch me prance around half-naked for his entertainment."

Beau raised an eyebrow at that candid revelation and looked at me appraisingly, a knowing smile on his face. And, I was willing to bet, forming an interesting mental picture of my wife “prancing around half-naked.” Tilting her head at him and smiling sexily, Blondie cooed at him,

"I bet you're a real good dancer aren't you, Beau?"

Beau gamely responded with a big grin, "Sure, all us black dudes got natural rhythm."

Looking straight into his eyes, my wife winked suggestively and murmured,

"Mmmm, I just bet you do. And I bet that comes in handy for other things, too, hmmm?”

Cutting a sly look over at me, she purred,

“You know, Sugar, ever since I was a young girl growing up over in Baton Rouge, I’ve always heard such interesting things about black men, mmmm, hmmm, such very interesting things."

Looking Beau in the eye, she smiled seductively and murmured,

“Sure makes a girl curious, you know?”

They held meaningful eye contact for a good ten seconds before shook his head with disbelief at what he’d just heard. He cocked his head at me with an eyebrow lifted, then asked jokingly, “Hey, Rick, are southern women always this outspoken?”

I grinned back at his implied question and explained,

“When my wife is drinking there is no telling what’s likely to come out of that luscious mouth; that little ol’ Louisiana Belle is liable to say anything to any body.”

Blondie was still smiling serenely at Beau as she purred sexily, “Or do anything.”

Again they exchanged a long, significant look. Undeniably, all the alcohol we’d consumed was easing everyone’s inhibitions although not enough to keep me from having some misgivings about my wife’s intentions toward my younger, black boss. Was she just flirting or was she actually trying to seduce him? If she were serious about it and it backfired on us, what then? Facing back to me, smiling prettily, Blondie said,

"It's still early, Rick, so why don't we go in after we finish dinner here and dance a while?” Smiling playfully at Beau she cooed,

“After all, I have never had the opportunity to dance with someone with natural rhythm."

Holding her eyes on his, Blondie continued meaningfully,

"And, Dickie boy, if you just want to sit back and watch, I bet your boss wouldn’t mind showing your wife all his best moves tonight, would you, Beau?"

Blondie knew I did not like to be called Dickie in public and only did it to needle me or tease me. It was what she called me when she was fucking black guys and wanted to play the game of taunting and humiliating the white husband. Black guys ate it up. I’d generally go along with game because, in truth, it did add to the excitement, but I hated being called Dickie out in public. I flashed that perhaps my horny wife was sending me a signal of her intentions for the evening.

In any event, there was an awkward lull in the conversation as Beau and I both sat there pondering the nuances of Blondie’s question. Sit and watch what, exactly: his best moves on the dance floor or his best moves in bed? It was a few seconds before I finally gave my agreement,

"Sure, why not?" and Beau, returning my wife’s steady gaze, flashed me a rather nervous smile as he opted for the more innocent interpretation. He replied,

“Sure, Blondie, I’d love to dance with you.”

At that very moment the band down the hall struck up the old Elvis song, ”Big Boss Man” and Blondie smiled brightly at Beau and cooed,

“Well now, isn’t that just so appropriate, Sugar, hmmm?”

With a start I realized that ‘Sugah’ had been aimed at him not me. It was the first time she’d called him anything but Beau. Blondie had started humming the tune and moving her body to the rhythm as she gazed across the table at Beau. Smiling warmly, she raised her eyebrows and sang softly along with the band,

“Gonna get myself a boss man, one gonna treat me right, work me hard in the day time,”

She paused here. Then with another wink and a wicked smile, she improvised,

“And work me hard all night.”

“Big Boss Man, can you hear me when I call? Oh you ain’t so big, you just tall that’s all!”

“Oh yeah, Big Boss Man, you gonna work me hard tonight, oh, oh yeah, oh, oh yeah!”

As she sang the words softly, her steady gaze never left Beau’s face; he grinned back at her gamely but somewhat uncertainly.

In spite of the relaxing effect the alcohol was having on me, I couldn’t help but be uneasy with Blondie’s flirtatious behavior. After all, the guy was my boss and up until tonight, I’d always considered him a straight arrow. I knew full well that my wife could be quite brazen and her actions rather unpredictable when she drank. At this point, I wasn't sure of her intentions, but from the moment she’d greeted Beau at the hotel bar, there had been a mounting air of sexual tension in our little trio. And when she’d made that sultry reference to being curious about what she’d heard about black men, you could feel that erotic pressure ratchet up several notches.

And that question about me watching while Beau showed her his best moves was a pretty obvious double entendre. Still, having no idea of just how far this might go, I told myself to let it play out. Beau certainly seemed to be enjoying himself; he was undeniably feeling the booze; and he quite clearly couldn’t keep his eyes off my sexy wife. Who knew? He just might be receptive to her overtures. Holy shit, was it possible that my wife was going to fuck my boss tonight?

I called for the check and a few minutes later we left the restaurant, strolling down the brick cobbled walkway to the bar where the band was playing. As soon as we entered the smoky, dimly lighted club, Blondie hooked her arm through his and said,

"C'mon, Big Boss Man, take me out there and show ol’ Dickie boy how to keep his woman happy!"

She pulled Beau onto the dance floor and they began to boogie, her with uninhibited enthusiasm, Beau dancing with more restraint, seemingly more aware than Blondie of the many eyes following them. This was, after all, the city of Mobile, in South Alabama, where Negro males, even executive types wearing suits, weren’t frequently seen dancing with white women. The continuing existence of that particular social taboo didn't appear to have any impact on my tipsy wife, who quickly began incorporating a variety of not so subtle, suggestive moves in her dancing. Looking around and seeing no familiar faces, I thought,

“Thank god, the crowd appears to be mostly tourists and business travelers tonight!”

There were only four other blacks in the room; two couples sharing a table across from me. Smiling to myself, I wondered how shocked those watching would be if they knew just how much that beautiful blond, white woman liked black dick. Blondie had been having sex with other men, while I watched, since a few years into our marriage. But she’d only had her first black lover a couple of years ago, an event that proved to be of major consequence. Impressed with the sexual prowess of black men and the size of their equipment, she had quickly developed a preference for the forbidden pleasures of interracial sex. The heightened eroticism of taboo intercourse made her extremely responsive to black men, to the extent that she could generally achieve orgasm with them during intercourse, something she did infrequently with her white partners, including me.

My gorgeous little Blondie looked great with her perfect makeup, her platinum hair, her cream-colored suit with the pink blouse, short skirt and sexy pink, high heels out there strutting her stuff. Beau’s apprehension seemed to be waning as he gradually relaxed, appearing to become almost mesmerized by my lovely, alluring wife, who was blatantly flaunting her glowing sexuality at him. I told myself once again to just let it play out, to wait and see where the evening took us. When Blondie drank like she was drinking tonight, she could become very impetuous and very determined to get what she wanted; and very unhappy with me if I tried to stop her.

They stayed out on the floor for several numbers finally returning to the bar for their drinks. Beau was sweating slightly and Blondie's face was glowing with exertion and obvious pleasure. Slipping her arm around Beau’s waist, she pulled him close; standing with her hip firmly against his thigh, she smiled sweetly at me and said,

"Your boss really has some nice, sexy moves, Honey, some real sexy moves." Smiling at Beau, she said mischievously,

“Well, you’re right, Boss Man; looks like you’ve proved at least that part of the rumor: you have definitely got rhythm, Sugar.”

At that moment, the bandleader announced to the mostly older crowd that it was time to slow the pace a bit, a pronouncement that was greeted by a number of muted cheers from the older dancers and a few catcalls from the younger ones. Blondie looked at Beau expectantly, took both his hands in both of hers and cooed seductively,

"Well how bout it, Boss Man? Would you like to show me what kind of moves you black dudes have on the slow numbers, hmmm?"

Turning to me, she winked and said, “How bout it, Dickie boy? You mind if your boss takes your wife out there for a little belly-rubbin’ hmmm, Sugar?”

When I said nothing, she taunted, “Why don’t you just sit there and have another drink while I see if I can find out a little more about what these black dudes are supposed to have, hmmm?”

Beau threw me a look of startled incredulity at that but didn’t resist as my insistent wife pulled him out into the growing mass of dancers, where they would dance the next five songs without returning to their drinks. From the bar I caught frequent glimpses through the packed, semi-darkened, dance floor and could see that from the start of the very first slow number, Blondie had her body pressed firmly against his, and well before the end of the song she was pushing her pelvis in and rotating it against his thigh. Their significant difference in height put her crotch at the level of his middle thigh and his crotch at her belly level.

It was obvious, if anyone else happened to be watching them as closely as I was, that my gorgeous, blond wife was rubbing it all over my big, black boss. Her shapely legs were enclosing one of his and her lovely bottom was twisting slowly and seductively with the music. They were smiling and talking, and several times, when Beau bent his head down, apparently to hear her better, their faces were so close I thought for a panicky moment that she might actually kiss him. That would incite a riot in this place, I was certain. I’d already noticed a few watching white people nudging each other and whispering back and forth, most probably condemning this flagrantly outrageous violation of southern mores and traditions.

Beau appeared to be avoiding eye contact with me, but Blondie winked playfully at me a number of times. Once, as they slowly turned, Blondie was facing me, her face resting against his chest; she looked straight into my eyes, opened that luscious mouth and ran her tongue suggestively around her lips a couple of times. Smiling impishly, she dropped her chin to her chest, leading my gaze down to her hips just as she pushed her belly into his groin and twisted her ass with a circular grinding movement against his leg; then she looked at me again, her eyes smoldering, and her lips pouted in an air kiss.

Beau looked down at her, smiled happily and dropped his hand from her back to a more possessive resting position on her upper buttock; he pulled her closer and she responded by grinding her belly and groin against him again, this time keeping her hips moving in a patent, insistent, sexual rotation. All the while, she held my eyes with hers, almost defiantly, as if she were daring me and any other observer to do anything about her rubbing her body against this black man so openly and obviously. Finally looking up at him, she extended her hand to the back of his neck, pulled his head down and put her mouth to his ear. As Beau spun her away, it appeared that she had her tongue in it and I saw that large black hand, in stark contrast against her tight cream-colored skirt, drop further, almost cupping her ass as he pulled her in tighter against him. I looked around, hoping that, in fact, only those two black couples were paying attention to the actuality that my white wife was out there dry-fucking my black boss on the dance floor.

The band never actually stopped playing, segueing from one number to the next until they finally took a break. Blondie and Beau returned to the bar arm-in-arm, both of them now sweating in the coastal humidity. As they approached, I could see Beau was discreetly trying to conceal a significant erection with the hem of his suit jacket. As she perched atop her stool, Blondie looked directly at the rather prominent bulge in his trousers, smiled naughtily at me, then back at him, and teased,

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