Look Who's NOT Coming to Dinner...

He ate pussy like a man starved, had a good dick, knew how to work it, and he made her laugh. So why did this feel so wrong? And why was the wrongness of it so arousing to her? She looked down at his hair draped across her abdomen. Under those long locks his mouth and tongue were doing amazing things to her clitoris and pussy. He was loud like a boy who wasn't raised right eating food he thought was delicious. Chewing with his mouth open, smacking his lips, making noise from his throat, and using his fingers.

Ashanti threw her head back as she felt the index and middle fingers of his right hand slide into her and curl up to dig into that spot on the roof of her vagina. The spot that sent her over the edge. It didn't do it just by itself. It was a combination of his lips and tongue, the sight of his straight black hair on her abdomen, long and flowy, and his beard, long also, down to his chest, but right now pressed hard up against her taint and ass. His hairy chin grinding into her.

It wasn't just that either. It was that he was white and old. That wasn't supposed to do it for her, but it did. It never had before and she couldn't explain it except that it was her fault. She did this to herself and she was having a hard time regretting it because this old white man was making her come harder than any man ever had. It was because he was a masterful lover, but it was also because he was white, and old.

Her black thighs closed on his head and her left hand reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair. It was the straightest, and silkiest, hair she ever had between her legs. She had fucked other white boys before, but none with long hair like Earl's. He knew she was coming and her hips bucked her pussy against his face. This was only the third time they fucked but he already knew, not just what she liked but, what made her head explode with the most fantastic pleasure she ever felt in her young life, and he knew what do do all the way through her orgasm and when to stop.

She felt him slowly slide his fingers out of her over-sensitive pussy and his hand reached down to palm her round ass cheek. He was strong and he lifted it and rolled her onto her belly. She was too limp to help. She knew what was coming next and it was almost her favorite part. She felt his hands spread the bulbous globes of her ass, then his hair covered cheeks and jaw press between them, then his flattened tongue press against her anus. She gasped with the sensation and felt the goosebumps pop up on her skin and her nipples crinkle even harder than they were. It was wet, and slick, and the feeling of his tongue in her ass was heaven. It was the perfect way to come down from an intense orgasm. He was the first man who ever did that to her and she silently thanked whatever woman in his past taught him the trick.

She already knew he would not do that for all that long. The last two times he did this, it was only for a few minutes, and just like those times, this time she felt him crawl up between her legs and pull her hips up so she was face down and ass up. She felt him press the fat head of his dick up against the swollen lips of her pussy. He nudged the head in and she heard him gasp as her heat, wetness, and tightness enveloped him. She was so ready for the rest of him and he did not disappoint. He slammed the rest of himself into her and it shoved the breath out of her lungs. His was not the longest dick she ever had, but he might be the thickest. She had not measured him, but she estimated him at maybe six or seven inches long, but the girth, sweet Jesus. One day, if this relationship lasted, and it couldn't, if she had a chance she was going to measure his girth.

He stretched all of her apart with one fluid thrust and it triggered the beginning of her second orgasm. She knew not to fuck around with this one. She needed to focus and come as quickly as she could while his fat dick was making those wonderful feelings inside her, because he would not last long. He blamed her eighteen year old pussy, and maybe it was true, regardless of blame, the fact was that once he was inside her he was not far from coming. Maybe he could fuck all night with women his own age.

She heard him breathing heavy behind her and she reached back between her legs, and his, and cupped his big balls. She tugged on them, her sister said that, tugging on the nuts, sometimes helped men hold off. She thrust her hips back against his and felt his fat gut resting on the top of her ass cheeks. This, none of this, was supposed to turn her on, but she felt her second orgasm wash over her and her pussy clamped down on his hard dick and squeezed every ounce of pleasure from the fat veiny shaft. She wailed as her orgasm crashed through her. He was still pounding into her but she knew any second she was about to feel his hot nut sploosh into her.

She felt him grab her right hip with his left hand and he snatched his cock out of her. His right hand reached down and grabbed her right calf. Her hip and her calf felt like they were gripped between iron. He used these two points on her body to flip her quickly. One second she was face down, and the next she was on her back and looking up at him through her tangle of braids that were flung across her face. His beard was wet with her juices, his lips and nose were shiny with it too, his eyes were crazed as he looked down at her. Her black body on the grey flannel sheets of his bed, her tight eighteen year old body, writhing, her firm titties wobbling on her ribs, she saw pure desire reflected in his expression.

As he took her in, she took him in. His pasty chest was covered in short black hairs, his nipples on his soft pectorals had a mass of hair swirled around them. His beer gut, not huge, a dad bod, about what could be expected at the waist of a fifty year old man, wobbled slightly as he moved toward her. All her life she was conditioned to find all this the opposite of what she should find sexually attractive. Her childhood crush was 50 Cent, not Meatloaf. Under it was that fantastic cock, hard, throbbing, the fat head tight and hard.

He ran his right hand up her toned belly, then over to grasp her left breast. He squeezed, gently, and she watched her firm black boob flesh balloon between his strong white fingers. With his left hand he grasped his cock at the base and brushed the hard fat head on her clitoris. She had just come again and the sensation was electric, a jolt, she felt her body tense and then he did it again. He slid his hips forward and that amazing girth split her. She let out a long moan as he inched himself into her, slow this time, teasing. He drove himself in until he was seated like his perfect white tab A locking into her perfect pink slot B.

She reached up for him and pulled his mouth down onto hers, her thick lips on his thinner lips. She tasted his tongue, it still tasted like her. As they kissed he slowly slid himself almost all the way out. She felt her tight pussy narrow as it slid over the hard ridge of his dick head, grasping it, missing his girth, then expand again as he pushed slowly forward until she felt his big balls rest against her ass. She felt the weight of his belly on her abdominals, it was not a turn off, it was not oppressive, the sweat on his belly mixed with the sweat on hers, and contributed to her building third orgasm.

The kissing, the dick sliding in and out of her, their combined sweat, the visual of her black skin pressed against his white skin, the gentle pressure his gut put on hers, his balls sticking to her ass, the wetness there, all of it combined to build her third orgasm to completion. Her nails dug into his back and shoulder, she bit his tongue and lower lip as she gasped into his mouth. Her hips bucked up to try and swallow as much of his cock into her grasping pussy as she could. Her ankles slid over his calves for leverage as she fucked herself up onto him harder as she grunted with the force of her third, and maybe strongest, orgasm yet.

His heat flooded her and he gasped. He was copious and the more that jetted out of him and deep into her, the better seemed to feel for him. He clutched at the back of her neck and pressed her lips harder onto his. He twitched and this made his spurting cock jump inside her. His hairy face scrunched up, his eyes wide, handsome to her, somehow, very handsome.

She felt totally limp. Like all tension and stress left her body. It looked like he felt the same as he rolled onto his back to her left and chuckled. His orgasms made him laugh, giggle, like a little boy, and she found it adorable, it flattered her that she had the power to reduce him to this state. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his cigarettes. She put one in her mouth and lit it then handed it over to him. She didn't like the smoke, but he was old, and therefore old school, and they smoked after sex.

Her girlfriends would ridicule her, her sisters would beat her, and her parents would disown her, if they knew. Eighteen year old Ashanti was on everybody's shit list anyway, this would rocket her to the tops of those lists though. She dropped out of college after her first semester. She took a job at a convenience store. She wrecked her car, and it was her fault. And she quit gymnastics. Even with all that, fucking old white men, and liking it, was a bomb she could not drop.

To make it worse, she was the aggressor. When she first showed interest he blew her off with a chuckle. He thought she was joking. It was strange seeing such a big man, who was always so confident, act so insecure. At first she thought maybe he was racist, or worse, married, but he didn't wear a ring and he was always nice to her. He came into the store every morning at six and bought a coffee and a pack of Newport Reds. By the time she was ready to make a move she already had to have him. She had been masturbating to a picture of him on her phone, long haired, long bearded, heavy set, hoop earring like a pirate, band tee shirt, cargo shorts, flipflops, for months. The band was Run DMC and she pretended to think it was hilarious that he wore it, and asked if she could take his picture. He posed holding his salt and pepper, mostly salt, beard up so the entire shirt was visible.

The way it started, for her, was too hard to think about, much less confess to him, or anyone. It was a dark time for her. She had just dropped out. Her father made it clear that if she was not going to school, then she was going to work, and she better save her money because she was paying rent at home now, and her lease was up in a year. She took the convenience store job to spite him, she quit gymnastics to rub salt in the wound. He was big on his girls living up to their potential and these were big blows.

So everything in her life was broken, she hated the world, it's the only way she could explain why she did it. She worked the overnights because she was new at the convenience store. That meant doing all the grunt work when it was slow in the store. There were several hours, from when they stopped selling beer until the morning crowd came in, that there was rarely anybody in the store. In those hours she was expected to mop the floors, restock the cigarettes, coffee and soda cups, make sure the condiment, cream, and sugar containers were full, and set the breakfast sandwiches out.

After a few nights she got it down so she could do that in about twenty minutes. That left her a couple hours to relax. She soon realized that from the beer cooler, she could see through the racks, and watch the door. She started taking some of her relax time in the cooler. She would take off her top and her pants, lower her panties, and masturbate while watching the door through the racks of beer. When she was done her fingers were slimy with her juices. She was on her way to the bathroom to wash them after a particularly creamy session, and she was passing the coffee station, and had an idea.

She took the top cup from the sleeve of coffee cups and she wiped the pussy juice from her fingers inside the cup. She had no car, her father was making her take the bus to get around, her sisters were all better than her, she couldn't hack college, and her future looked like a turd sandwich, but some stranger was going to have her pussy in their mouth. Fuck them, and fuck the world. She put the cup with her essence smeared on the inside back on the end of the sleeve.

She knew it was wrong. It was a disgusting thing to do to someone, but she did it. Getting back at the world, just a little bit, by subjecting someone, some stranger, to her hot cunt juices, seemed a reasonable act at the time. That was as close to an excuse for doing it as she could come up with. It justified nothing and it was a secret she would take to her grave.

About an hour later Earl came into the store and walked over to the coffee station. There were several available sleeves he could have chosen a cup from, five of them, there was only a twenty percent chance he would choose her cup. He chose it and her heart tried to beat out of her chest as she watched him pour coffee into it. She imagined her juices swirling with the coffee. There was nothing she could do about it now. She thought about accidentally knocking the cup over when he set it on the counter, but he never did. He held it in his right hand, paid with cash, and walked out. She watched him walk out to his truck and get it. She watched through the windows of the store as he put his seat belt on then took a sip of the coffee mixed with her.

Her pussy throbbed at the sight and she was never able to look at him the same way ever since. He was old and fat, he dressed like a loser, he was white; they had nothing in common. Nothing except her pussy. All that day she could not get the thought out of her mind. She barely noticed him before that day, he was invisible to her, but now she watched for him every morning at six. She became obsessed. She was very alert when he came in. He got the same thing, coffee and smokes, and she provided him with the most excellent service she could. He was the star of her every waking, and sleeping, fantasy. She looked at him more critically, examined him, and felt her pussy throb. She did it again.

After masturbating in the cooler she smeared her juices inside a cup, and then she filled it with coffee. He took it black so it was easy. At five-fifty-nine she took the pussy cup of coffee and brought it to the counter and set a pack of his brand of cigarettes on top of the lid. When he walked in a minute later, those white legs, leather flipflops, she called to him before he could get to the coffee station.

"I got you," she said and pointed to the coffee and cigarettes on the counter in front of him. As usual there was nobody else in the store at that time.

"Oh, wow, that's awesome," he grinned through his facial hair as he changed direction. "Black?"

"Mostly, they tell me I got some Apache blood in me too, but it's way back."

He hung his head and chuckled. "Good to know, I meant the coffee though."

She smiled and winked at him. He was oblivious to her flirt. He put his money on the counter and took the coffee and smokes. She watched him as he walked out, got in his truck, pulled the seat belt over and buckled it, then took a sip, and she felt her pussy throb and gush into her panties. She was as aroused by this man, the thought of her pussy in his mouth, as she imagined she would be front row at an Usher show, or Fitty, or Drake. It was impossible though, right? She knew she had to try.

She had his coffee, dosed with a bit of her, ready for him along with his smokes every morning. One of those mornings he came in with the Run DMC shirt on and she got the picture on her phone. Later that morning, when she got home and locked herself in her room, she stripped off all her clothes and lay in her bed. She brought up that picture and let her fingers trail down her belly to caress her clitoris. She imagined every filthy scenario she could and she came five times before she fell asleep.

"When you going to give me a ride on your motorcycle?" she said to him one morning after he paid for his pussy infused coffee and was headed for the door.

"How do you know I ride?" He turned and said with a grin.

"I profiled you. You ride a Harley right?"

He laughed again and shook his head. "No, too expensive, and not as reliable. I ride Suzukis and Yamahas, I had a Kawasaki for awhile too."

"You look all Harley."

"I get that a lot. I think it's the beard and the gut," he said, and then he did it right there in front of her and it was all she could do not to moan and reach into her pants in front of him. He raised the cup and took a sip. He tilted his head and made a face like it was the best cup of coffee he ever tasted and her pussy throbbed again. She was done. She was going to actively pursue this man and see what happened.

She was not supposed to find a man like him attractive. She somehow altered what she was attracted to by getting her pussy into his unknowing mouth. The thought of it consumed her. Finally, a few days later, she asked him again. She had mastered getting him to chat a few minutes every morning, long enough for him to take that first sip. Now she needed their relationship to progress again.

"So you never told me about that motorcycle ride."

"You were serious?" He looked around to see if anybody else was in the store. There wasn't, she already knew that.

"Sure, why not?"

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"You know I am a fifty year old man?"

"And white too."

"Yes, white too. Why would you want to ride with me?" It was an excellent question. Men like him were supposed to be invisible to her, like he was, until he grabbed her cup. Was he insecure or just realistic enough to know better?

"I don't have a problem with that. Do you?" she asked him and she smirked at him. Black people had the power to put white people in awkward situations like these. He knew that if he objected she could take it as he objected because she was black, and not because she was young. He was smooth enough not to fall for it.

"Don't you know any guys your own age who ride?"

"Probably, but I ain't asking them. I am asking you. It's okay to say no if you don't want to give me a ride. I understand."

He hung his head and chuckled. That was his move. "I would love to give you a ride on my motorcycle. When is good for you?" he said when he raised his head.

"I am off here in about an hour."

"Today? You want to go on a motorcycle ride today?"

"Whenever's good for you."

He looked thoughtful. She watched his eyes dilate and his nostrils flare as he examined her. He took another sip of his coffee and she dropped her right hand off the counter and clutched at her mound over her pants, behind the counter, where he couldn't see what she was doing. She came, a little, a small one right in front of him. If he noticed he gave no indication. She fought to keep her knees from buckling.

"Okay, sure, I'll go get one of my bikes and come pick you up in an hour." He grinned and shrugged like he was amazed by the idea.

She knew he was on his way to work. She didn't know what he did for work, or that he owned a small business. At the time she thought maybe he was taking the day off, losing income, to be with her. She regretted that but she was glad he made the sacrifice because she needed to be with him as soon as possible.

Ashanti knew she was pretty. She had the body of a gymnast except too tall and big boobed. It would keep her from being able to compete seriously. She was closer to five-ten than five-nine and her coaches told her she was just making excuses, but Ashanti worked hard and still saw herself falling behind the shorter more compact girls. Then her boobs went up a cup size to a solid D and, for her, that was the nail in her gymnastics coffin. There would never be an Olympics for her. Why bother? The fact it would upset her father was a bonus.