Flamingos Ch. 16

Chapter Sixteen

The next day was a moving day. We giggled over coffee as we looked at the map and settled on Natchitoches for no more reason than we liked the sound of it. A few calls and we had reservations for a site. An hour and we had breakfast. Another hour and I was making my final check circle of the trailer, saying it out loud to confirm it in my mind.

Starting at the passenger side it goes like this. I was saying it out loud at every checkpoint.

"Hitch lock in place," I touched it, confirming the little wire that made sure it wouldn't fall out.

"Safety Chain," I touched it.

"Leveler up," I looked.

Stairs up - door locked - awning in - leveler up - and so on.

Satisfied, I crawled up into the driver's seat set the destination on Google Maps, cried, "and we're off," and we were off.

I had discovered that 64 miles an hour was my comfortable speed with the trailer behind me, so the trip was about three hours with potty stops.

We pulled into the park, checked in, found the spot, got the trailer backed in, unhooked, set up, and went for a walk.

As always, Ashley looked amazing in her Daisy Duke cut-offs showing the bottom of her buttcheeks and her crop top putting those great tits on display. We spotted a half dozen flamingos and waved when we saw folks outside, telling them we'd be playing and singing later and giving out our lot number (34 if it matters).

We made a sandwich, and took a nap, for some reason I find that driving and setting up makes me sleepy. At about six, as the sun was westering I started playing on the picnic table.

Other couples filtered in and I noticed the male half of one very young couple, clearly still in their 20s and I wondered how they afforded to be nomads, was clearly infatuated with my Goddess. I played and sang and then noticed when a mixed-race couple joined the group. This was the first such couple I had seen.

He looked to be about my age which is to say he probably had a Medicare card in his wallet. She, on the other hand, didn't look old enough to vote. And she was black, the black you associate with a tribe deep in Africa where they still did the drums and barefoot dancing. She was tall, dressed in an ankle-length brightly patterned dress with a cap of kinky hair, bare feet, and jangly bracelets.

It was her face, though, that truly captivated me. She had the broad, flat nose and thick lips of her race. No white overseer had ever polluted her gene pool. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black. Her teeth, not bleached, but against her dark skin very white, were straight and her smile was infectious.

She bent down and whispered into the man's ear, she was taller than him, about six feet, and they exchanged words. He smiled and nodded and walked over to chat up an interesting, well-padded matron while her bone-thin better half was deep in a discussion that I doubted was seeking a solution to world peace with an equally thin woman I guessed in her 80s.

As I watched that little scene play out, the black girl approached me. I remembered a scene from some movie or other I had watched where the white protagonist kept referring to his black paramour as "my Nubian Goddess." This girl struck me that way.

"You play pretty good for a white boy," she said, sitting next to me as I was doing an obscure song by a guy named Dave McKenzie called "Rats in My Bedroom," kind of a parody of the Blues.

Her words were pure street black but the intonation, the vowels, made me suspect education.

"Always glad to have a negress approve," I said and laughed at the sudden flash of anger in her eyes.

"You, are beautiful," I said, "and I mean that. But if you want to play some bullshit race games, I'm not your boy."

She giggled at that, a pleasant sound.

"What gave me away?" she said, looking truly curious.

"You had the words," I said, "but it takes a lifetime to truly master the accent."

She smiled then.

"Interested anyway?" she asked.

"Ohhhhhhhhh yeah," I said, and then added, "can you sing?"

"I hate to see," she sang the opening line of the "St. Louis Blues," maybe the most iconic blues song of all.

Her singing voice was good too, Raspy, sounding like a lifetime of cigarettes and whisky in cheap juke joints, more Mildred Bailey or Ma Rainey than clear tones like Aretha Franklin or Ella Fitzgerald.

"That evenin' sun go down," she continued.

I picked it up in the key of E.

She provided the entertainment, with my accompaniment and occasional harmony, until the witching hour.

Ashley had long since disappeared when the party broke up.

"Well, white boy," she said, the words right but still unable to pull off the accent, "let's see what you got."

I walked her into the trailer.

I hadn't even closed the door when she turned and said, "on your knees white boy."

"Now all the way down," she said, "kiss my feet."

I kissed her feet, kissing the top of each toe separately.

"Oh my," she said, "that's nice."

She moved and sat on the recliner.

"Crawl to me, white boy," she said.

So I crawled to her and then lifted her foot. I was fascinated by the pale skin on the sole of her foot and when I kissed, how hard and callused it was. Clearly, this was a woman who rarely wore shoes.

"Oh my," she said, all trace of her ghetto language gone now, "that's nice."

I made love to her feet then, kissing and sucking each toe, tracing the shape of her delicate nails with my tongue, licking between each pair of toes, and then doing the other foot.

"Oh shit," she said and I watched as she worked the long dress up until it was bunched at her waist.

When she scooted forward, I couldn't help but notice that her vagina, once you got past the full outer lips with their thick covering of that kinky hair looking almost like someone had glued little peppercorns on, was the same color as any other pussy - that beautiful delicate pink.

And her excitement was obvious. Her Bartolins and Skenes glands, and the mucus membranes, were working just fine and her nectar was thick and very white, looking like she was leaking semen rather than her natural honey. I watched as she overflowed and the thick, white cream started running down her gluteal cleft.

It seemed perfectly natural to bend forward and capture her honey with my tongue. I was interested but not surprised to find that her taste was no different than any other woman's. Well, no different except in terms of degree. She was slightly more salty than Ashley, and a lot more oily than Paula, but there was nothing that would make me think, "this is a black woman."

"Don't you dare stop," she said, her fingers entwining in my hair now, not pulling and hurting, but definitely controlling.

I had no intention of stopping.

I licked that coarse hair and then up the slit of her pussy. I lifted her clitoral hood and found the bud of her pleasure, large and pink, and flicked it with my tongue before sucking it.

"That's nice," she said, her hips responding now, starting to rock in response to what I was doing.

I used my fingertips to part her lips, spreading her to reveal those beautiful, delicate, inner lips. I covered her with my mouth, not swallowing, deliberately allowing her to fill my mouth with her salty ambrosia, looking up and meeting her eyes across the roundness of her mons and her breasts.

When my mouth was overflowing I pulled away and used my tongue to push out a dollop that hung from my chin, thick and white.

"Oh my," she said, smiling, "you are one beautiful white boy."

She patted me on the head and then her fingers entwined in my hair again and pulled me to her.

Time lost all meaning then. All that mattered was giving her the pleasure she was seeking. I sucked, gently, my tongue flicked, licking and touching her clitoris, and I felt her body getting close. As she got closer her fingers twisted in my hair more, hurting and pulling me harder against where she wanted me.

I was happy to oblige. I made soft humming sounds in my throat as I licked and sucked. Then I cried out softly when her fingers twisted harder

When she came it was like I was being waterboarded. Her release blasted into my mouth and nose. I coughed and she laughed and those insistent fingers twisted harder, pulling me closer as she came in waves, soaking me.

I was starting to panic. I couldn't breathe and now she had her legs wrapped around my head, holding me unmoving.

I reached up to try to pry her legs apart but her fingers twisted harder.

With a final push, she came in another wave. My vision was starting to go black around the edges when she finally released me.

She relaxed in that position, her hips rocking gently, thick, creamy white natural lubricant overflowing from her, running down the crack of her ass to hang in a thick white string.

I was breathing hard and watched her take a half dozen deep breaths.

Her eyes refocused and met mine.

"Get back where you belong, white boy," she said, using her fingers to open herself.

I made love to her pussy this time. I was gentle and slow, using my cheeks and my forehead to brush where she was hot and slick and swollen.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm," she hummed, a soft sound in the night, "that's nice, baby."

Before the night was over I gave her at least 50 orgasms and never penetrated her. Hell, I never saw her breasts. She would cum and rest and tell me to get back where I belonged and I would. I must have drunk a quart of her nectar before the sun came up. My stomach was starting to be a little queasy at the end, but I had no thought of quitting. I was too captivated by my Nubian Princess to even think such a thought.

Neither of us slept and I was nursing at her pussy when I felt the little trembles in the trailer and Ashley came in.

She smiled, said, "good morning," and started making coffee as I finished my princess for the last time.

It hit me, as she stood, patted me on the head, and left that I had never even caught her name.

"Stay put," Ashley said, taking the still-warm seat and scooting forward. All she had on was a T-shirt.

"Clean me up, baby," she said.

She was leaking, thick white semen slowly flowing, enough that I wondered if she hadn't had multiple encounters.

But I gave her what she wanted. I licked and sucked and cleaned her, enjoying the taste and the scent, her womanscent taking the place of the others as I brought her along.

When she came, with a long satisfied sigh, her big thighs wrapped so tightly around my head I couldn't hear anything, I just drank her pleasure, loving the taste and feel of her release. I nursed at her pussy, gently, while she slowly relaxed.

Finally, she pushed me away, gently.

"Hungry, baby?" she asked, lifting her T-shirt and offering me a nipple.

I stood and offered my hand. She smiled and stood.

In the bedroom, I stripped her naked, stripped out of my own clothes, and took her to bed.

As I snuggled against her I had a thought as I hardened against her thigh. But when I latched onto her tit and began nursing, her milk, warm and sweet, was too soporific.

I drifted off, feeding like a hungry baby.