Blondie Goes Black in New Orleans

Blondie Goes Black in New Orleans

Hotwife's hubby finds her a black gangsta stud

My wife, Blondie, was thirty before she had sex with her first black man, as recounted here in an earlier story. We had been swinging since she was twenty-five, but it had taken a long time and a lot of quiet persuasion to overcome her Deep South upbringing to the point where she would finally agree to do it. Although she had been very hot and eagerly engaged that first evening the next day she had second thoughts indicating that she regretted the experience and did not want to try any more black lovers.

I had watched that first occurrence and knew perfectly well that it had really turned her on, so I was a bit mystified at her rejection of any more interracial sex. That is, until a few weeks later when she stunned me by asking me to find her another black lover. She confessed that she had, in fact, found it extremely exciting and pleasurable to have sex with a "colored boy" and became quite aroused every time she thought about what she'd done that night. She assured me that she most definitely wanted to try it again but with a different fellow.

We did that, inviting a big, heavily-muscled, ebony stud to a hotel room in Miami, where much to my surprise, my gorgeous mate was totally uninhibited and unbelievably sensuous. Our initial meeting took place right there in our room where Blondie met him at the door wearing just her lingerie, then determinedly seduced him with some very sexy dancing and some torrid foreplay. Best of all, during their repeated bouts of intercourse, she was thoroughly responsive with that big, imposing fellow, fucking him bareback and welcoming his multiple and quite substantial emissions most enthusiastically.

We followed that Miami experience with another young black man who came to our home in Mobile where a very aroused Blondie, almost on fire with jungle fever, damned near raped him. A few months later, we had a hotel meeting with this fellow again in his hometown and once again, my wife's enthusiasm for interracial intercourse was on full display and going full speed. It was apparent that my lovely Louisiana belle was hooked on the most forbidden fruit of our Southern sexual culture.

Our best and longest-duration interracial experience came from an adult personals ad we ran which specified a hot, sexy, early-30's, married blonde seeking attractive, well hung, younger black men for casual hotel/motel sex while her voyeur husband watched. Among the responses we received, was a note and a color pic from a young black guy in not-too-far-away New Orleans, a place we were already intending to visit soon with friends.

My little Cajun cutie took one look at the picture of this tall, lean, tattooed, very gangsta looking, mid-20's stud with a large, left-curving, erect penis pointing straight into the camera, and nearly drooled,

"Oh my goodness, babe, will you just look at that! That young man's got a really big cock doesn't he, cher?" and as soon as I agreed, she said,

"Well answer him, Rick. Tell that big-dicked boy we're gonna be in town in a couple of weeks an' your little baby girl would definitely like to have herself a little party with him, okay?"

I agreed again, and said, "I'll send him a really hot picture of you and have that dude panting for some of mama's sweet pussy long before we get there."

I sent him a sexy glamour pic of my little voluptuous vixen in garterbelt and nylons, what we referred to as her sexies, along with a note further enticing him with the information that she'd not had any kids yet, so that this white lady's pussy was unusually tight for a married woman her age and would be a nice snug fit for a big, thick cock like his.

And to make it even more enticing, I also let the lucky young man know this beautiful Southern slut would fuck him without a condom and had no problem with him leaving it in when he came. I tantalized him further by telling him that, based on my past observations, rather than have him pull out, she'd be doing her best to get him as far up in her as possible when he got off. I made clear she would make it a really good experience for the both of them, and a good show for me.

A couple of weekends later we checked into a boutique hotel on St. Charles in the New Orleans Garden District where we were being comped to a room for the weekend by one of my business clients. Our friends were staying in a chain hotel on Canal and we had agreed to meet for dinner, leaving our afternoon free and private.

I had previously spoken with Victor, the young fellow meeting us, giving him our approximate time of arrival. Once we were in the room, I called him, gave him our room number and told him to come over in about an hour. Blondie, who was already in the shower by the time I got off the phone, called out mischievously,

"Did you get mon gros voyou noir (my big black thug), cher?"

When I responded in the affirmative, she growled back at me, "Goody! I'm so horny I'm gonna fuck that boy's eyeballs out! Tu m'entends, chéri (You hear me, honey)?"

Noting that Blondie was interjecting more French expressions into her conversation, a usual occurrence when she returned to her home state—or was feeling super sexy, I grinned and said, "Sounds like my hot-pants bride has decided she really likes screwing these young, hung, black studs, hmm?"

There was a momentary pause before a sultry voice came from behind the shower curtain,

"Sugar, your wife's been horny for the last two weeks waiting to get some strange black dick. Does that give you un petit indice (a small clue), peut-être (perhaps)?"

Out of the shower, Blondie began to prepare herself to sexually entertain yet another man she'd never met. She put on a black garterbelt with high-top, sheer black nylons, very sheer black bikini panties with lace panels, a revealing black shelf bra and strappy gold platform pumps. As I write this, I am looking at a photo taken of her in this sexy outfit, in our room that day. It still takes my breath away.

Standing before the oversized bathroom mirror putting on her makeup, she was a gorgeous, erotic vision of voluptuous platinum blonde in her sexy black undies. When she slipped her gold lamé mini-dress over her head and began to shimmy her body into it, I said,

"Wait a second, honey." She turned with an eyebrow raised quizzically and I said,

"Want to try something different this time? Maybe do it like we did down in Miami?"

We met new prospects in hotel rooms very rarely, choosing to meet them first on neutral ground such as a bar so that we could back out gracefully, should a stranger turn out to be disappointing. After several years, only a couple or so had failed personal inspection, that low fail rate being due to the fact we usually insisted on full pics prior to meeting them, plus we usually talked with them on the phone to get a better idea of who we were meeting.

However, because of the time constraints this afternoon, we had agreed to have Victor come directly to the room without first meeting him in the small hotel's tiny bar. Now, I had an idea of how to make this meeting even more titillating. I told her, "Look, you've already admitted how badly you want some black cock, so you know you're not going to turn this guy down. It's his big black dick you want...not his personality...so you know you're going to fuck him even if he doesn't look as good as his pic. Why not ditch the dress? Meet him wearing just your sexies and lying on the bed waiting...so that when he walks in the door, you're ready to fuck him with minimal preliminaries."

Blondie chuckled with carnal delight and cooed, "Why vous diable méchant (you wicked devil). You want your little ol' Cajun slut just layin' there presque nu (nearly naked) on that bed when that black stud walks in here, hmm?"

"Yep, no backing out—you fuck him, a total stranger, a black bad-boy with a very big dick, shortly after he walks in, with no fanfare, no dancing, no strip-teasing, no foreplay. Maybe let him watch you use your vibrators for a few minutes, then the two of you get it on. We've never done it quite like that before."

She grinned wickedly, with the dress coming off in a flash as she said,

"Sugar, I love the way you think—sounds like just what I've been thinkin'—just fuck him as soon as he walks in, regardless of how he looks. After all, Tommy wasn't all that great lookin' either, but that boy sure fucked me good, didn't he?" Tommy was her first black lover.

Applying her Rive Gauche perfume, Blondie continued to fine tune her appearance while I made us drinks and rolled some joints. She came into the bedroom of our small but elegantly appointed suite and reclined against several pillows I'd piled up against the hand-painted headboard. I pulled a chair close and we took a few hits from a doobie, listening to Donna Summers, who Blondie liked, along with other black female artists, Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin, for their good sexual rhythms—just good ol' fuckin' music, my salacious little spouse called it.

A few minutes later there came a soft knock at the door. I got up and opened it to find a tall thin black guy in his mid- twenties who had a definite street-hard, ghetto thug look to him with the requisite goatee and soul patch, and long, ropily-muscled arms covered in coarse tattoos that ran up his neck into his hairline. He was neatly and cleanly attired but looked like a total bad-ass.

He growled in a sonorous bass, "You Rick?"

I said "Yeah, Victor...or do you prefer Ice? Come on in."

He just waved off my question as to name distinction as of no import and came inside, glancing around furtively...no doubt looking for a woman...to assure himself this wasn't some homosexual set up. Six or so steps into the room he was able to confirm our sexual legitimacy when he saw my ravishing blonde wife reclining on the bed in her sexy underwear, smiling a dazzling, white-toothed smile at him with that sexy crimson mouth. He might have been so cool he was called Ice, but even this bad-boy's eyes went wide at the sight of that shiny, shoulder-length platinum hair...those hard pink nipples peeking out over the top of her shelf bra...and the dark smudge of pubic hair covering her mons, as visible through her sheer panties as if she were bottomless.

In a previous phone conversation, Victor had told us his street name...and he certainly kept his street cool in the present circumstances, giving her just a small smile with a nod...but those eyes going momentarily wide had betrayed that cool just a bit, demonstrating that even a dude with the moniker "Ice" could be impressed by Blondie's sexual allure. Turning to me, his smile widened just a bit as he grunted,

"Very nice...very, very nice—even better 'n da pic."

Blondie didn't miss a beat. She purred in a sultry voice, "Come on in, mon chéri, you want my husband to make you a drink?" Holding out the roach she purred, "Have a toke, baby?" leering,

"This is real good weed for sex, sugar...just makes me wanna fuck forever, you know?" giving him his first taste of her dirty mouth before purring, "So you better have some, too."

He grinned warily with street-smart suspicion as he took the nearly-gone joint and said "Yeah, yeah, sure, yeah, whatever."

She followed with, "Now you just relax, sugar—everything's gonna be cool here."

Throwing me a glance, she assured him, "An' don't you be concernin' yourself about my husband—he's straight, okay?—an' he's just gonna be watchin you an' me an' takin' care of anything we need while you an' me are havin' ourselves a real good time this afternoon."

"You need anything...anything...you just tell my husband and he'll get it for you, d'accord (okay)? He's just gonna watch an' take care of us while you an' me concentrate on doin' what we came here to do, tu m'entends, chéri (You hear me, honey)?"

This being New Orleans, it was possible that Victor understood some French but I translated anyway to ensure he got her meaning. We'd learned quickly that black guys got a charge out of having white husbands serve them drinks and bring towels and such...and they loved having me serve as translator...especially for all her dirty exhortations and encouragements when they were fucking her. I must confess that my cuckold persona got a particular thrill out of telling them,

"She's saying your big cock feels wonderful," or "She's begging you to fuck her harder."

Victor...Ice...just gave me a confident, almost cocky, smile and asked, "Got scotch?"

I replied, "Johnnie Walker Black okay?" He nodded appreciatively and sat in my chair a few feet from the bed, his eyes locked on my almost naked wife. I handed him a new joint and went to pour his scotch. As I provided him his drink, Blondie said in a smoky, sultry voice,

"Get our guest a robe, Rick."

When I furnished Victor with the thick, white, hotel robe, Blondie said to me, "Now, honey, be a good boy an' hand me my toys. Victor might just like a little show while he's smokin' that sexy weed an' makin' himself comfortable, tu ne penses pas (don't you think)?"

For that day, Blondie's toys (also called her "little friends") were a pair of handheld, cord-powered vibrators with rounded knobs which she could use to devasting effect on her clitoris. Plugging them in beside the bed, I presented them to her with a flourish, teasing,

"Your little friends and your faithful servant await your every pleasure, fair lady."

I told Victor to shift his chair closer to the bed where he'd get a better view and suggested he ditch the clothes. As he was doing those things he kept his eyes locked on my nearly naked wife who now had her favorite vibrator between her spread legs, rubbing it slowly up and down the damp gusset of her panties, her eyes half closed in sensual pleasure, yet closely observing our guest as he began to undress.

When Victor dropped his jockeys to the floor, I was amazed at the huge, uncircumcised donkey dick bobbing there, even more impressive than it had been in his photo. Blondie was staring at it but fleetingly flicked her eyes at me, mouthing a silent "Wow!" before wantonly licking her bright red lips...grinning in pure, lustful delight as she waggled her eyebrows in frisky approval. She had good reason to be happy...she was about to get a new black cock...and it was even bigger than she'd been fantasizing about for the past two weeks.

I fully understand that sexual tales too often involve depictions of massive male appendages capable of endless and enormous ejaculations to the point of weary readers thinking, "Oh no, here we go again!" However, my wife had early on in her many years of having sex with other men, found such activity to usually...but not always...be more pleasurable and satisfying for her when it was with better endowed partners. Consequently, she developed a selective fondness for big cocks that I tried to satisfy by finding them for her. That was made easier by the reality that there seemed to be a larger percentage of well-endowed men advertising for sex with couples than are generally found in the population as a whole so the winnowing process was not that arduous.

Blondie had sex with so many men through the years that I couldn't possibly remember all of them, let alone write of their couplings. The activities that I do recall well enough to relate here are, quite naturally, those that were the most memorable—and those tend to involve partners with whom my wife had the most fun—and, yep, those were usually men with big cocks, capable of exceptional sexual performance. For obvious reasons, those men were the ones who were called back for repeat encounters, sometimes becoming boyfriends who serviced my wife's strong sexual needs for years, like the young black man she was meeting for the first time on this memorable afternoon in New Orleans.

Donning the robe, Victor sat down and began slowly stroking that huge, semi-soft phallus while his eyes never left my wife's voluptuous form. Blondie's panties were so wet from her own flowing juices that the thin material of the gusset had become translucent, with her distended pink labia protruding through her trimmed pubic hair...and clearly visible through the moistened fabric. When she opened her eyes and saw Victor sitting beside the bed stroking that huge cock, she smiled merrily and pressed the vibrators harder against her panties, keeping her eyes locked on that big black dick, a totally debauched smile on her glistening red lips.

After a few minutes of mutual masturbation, Blondie began to moan...then gasp...then suddenly bucked her hips up from the bed as she wildly orgasmed to our guest's grinning delight. I smiled inwardly wondering just how many young black dudes (or of any race for that matter) in New Orleans were at that moment sitting a few feet away from a nearly naked, gorgeous, blonde, white woman as she got off on her vibrators? This was one very lucky young man, indeed.

When Blondie had regained her composure, taken a sip of her drink and another toke, she pushed the vibrators aside and crooked a beckoning index finger at Victor. As he stood and moved to the side of the bed she slid over to meet him and...just like that...she had her fingers wrapped around that huge, ebony cock with her luscious red lips engulfing its purplish, uncircumcised head. Her red-lacquered fingers slowly stroked the shaft while she rubbed the head all over her full crimson lips, letting it slide in and out of that succulent mouth.

Victor turned to me and gave me this insolent smile, almost a sneer, as if to say,

"Look here, whitey, your bitch suckin' my black dick an' she be lovin' it."

And of course he was right. This was to become the first of a series of stare down contests in future meetings with Victor, especially when he had my wife in a state of high sexual excitation and feverishly responding to that huge cock, particularly when she was sucking it and most particularly when she was on her knees...naked or nearly so...kneeling before him, giving him a smoking-hot blowjob. Those racially charged scenarios were guaranteed to initiate visual contests between us, with Victor's taut, haughty smiles indisputably conveying his sense of racial and masculine superiority and his unquestioned glee in having me there to witness his complete sexual subjugation of my beautiful white wife.

What he never seemed to learn was that I loved it...and because I did...even won the stare down occasionally. One of my most erotic memories is that of a night in our home when a very horny Blondie greeted Victor at the door, wearing only high heels and lots of pearl jewelry, then led him into the living room where she squatted in front of this skinny, tattooed, black gangsta, unzipped his pants, taking out that massive hunk of meat and lovingly kissing and licking it. I can still see my gorgeous wife squatting there, her shapely, modest breasts bouncing and swaying as she first sucked him hard, before sinking submissively to her knees and continuing her frenzied fellatio, totally consumed with feverish desire, until he came in her eager, glossy lipsticked mouth.

What was strange was that it was one of the longest stare-downs we ever had...he barely looked at Blondie, keeping his eyes locked on mine with that contemptuous smile on his face, even as he ejaculated between her scrumptious, slurping lips. I later learned it was a set-up...he'd called Blondie and told her what he wanted...and she was so eager to please him that she'd agreed not to inform me even when I'd asked why she wasn't wearing her usual lingerie. He'd done it purposefully to show me that my wife was his subservient little slut who would do whatever her black stud desired to ensure she kept getting more of that cock when her craving for more of it became just too compelling to ignore.