tagInterracial LoveMaiden Voyage to Black

Maiden Voyage to Black


We met online at one of those adult-friend sites. You shared with me how your fantasy is to step outside your marriage with a black man.

So now you and the hubster are in sunny Florida on vacation and he's at least lukewarm to your idea of "trying" another man, but he's still not sure. Frankly, you're pretty nervous about it, too.

Nonetheless, you've arranged to meet me at a club/bar inside your giant hotel in Miami. We meet up at the bar rather than at a table. You look stunning: tight, short little black cocktail dress, no bra, and I'm not sure if you have panties on underneath or not. Red high heels complete your look.

I buy the three of us a round. The club is crowded, lots of colored lights, a pulsing, tribal beat of music makes it hard to hear. You and your hub had started drinking much earlier in the night, so you're pretty uninhibited by now, and he's just downright drunk, mumbling something about how he didn't know you were talking about a black dude.

He sits down at one of the bar stools, you sit on the stool next to him, flashing some hot red panties as you climb up on the stool. I stand next to you, towering over you, really. Soon, the three of us are hitting it off and laughing and he's agreed to let us have a few dances together, fast ones, then a slow one, and I hold you close. You can feel my cock getting hard, pushing against your tummy.

Eventually we're embraced in a hot kiss, tongues exploring. I slowly dance you over to a dark corner of the dance floor and pull up the hem of your dress. I cup and squeeze your ass and start rolling your tight little panties down, exposing your bare ass. You stop me when they're down around your knees, but I insist, and soon you're holding on to me with both hands for balance as you step out of the panties and teeter on your heels.

"I'll hold on to these," I say as I scoop up your red undies from the dance floor.

You smooth and wiggle your dress back down over your bum. "Oh, I want to do it with you, Burt, but I can't," you say and grab my hand and lead us back to your hubby.

Back at the bar, he has his head on the bar top and the bartender is frowning. Time to go.

"C'mon, I'll help you get him up to your room" I say to you, and we each grab an arm and lead your barely functioning hubby to the elevator and up to your room. Once there, we get his sportcoat and pants off and put him to bed.

I immediately take you in my arms and soon we're french kissing passionately. I'm hard, you're wet and panty-less.

"Burt, I really want to, but I just can't. I'm married," you whisper between kisses.

"I do understand. We'll take it slow. I'll call you tomorrow," I say, breaking our embrace. Reluctantly, I head for the door.

"Wait, what about my panties?" You ask, still whispering.

I reach inside my pocket and pull them out. "I'll just keep these as a souvenir. Goodnight, babe."

Part Two: THE NEXT DAY The next morning your hub is pretty hungover. You help him get some food down, along with some aspirin, and put him back to bed. Happily, in your mind, he doesn't really remember too much from the night before.

We've talked briefly on the phone already and arranged to meet downstairs in the hotel lobby for brunch, including orange juice and champagne mimosas.

You look a little tired and sheepish, but also quite lovely: white sundress, strand of white pearls, those same red high heels, and fresh ruby-red lipstick to match those heels. The lobby is sun-drenched and, as you walk in front of the bright windows, the sun has a peek-a-boo, see-through effect on your dress, and your brief white panties and bra are revealed. Exquisite. Yes, your breasts are all harnessed up this morning, you're feeling quite ashamed and embarrassed—and turned on at the same time.

After breakfast we walk out along Miami's South Beach designer shops: Armani, Prada, Versace, Tiffany. At Tiffany I buy you a thin, discreet, gold bracelet. At a little t-shirt and souvenir store I buy you a pair of flip-flop sandals that you put on—easier to walk around in than those gorgeous red heels, which you now carry.

The champagne mimosas, the warm sunshine, the beautiful palm trees, the smell of the ocean, all work to make you feel better and eventually you're hanging on my arm and smiling as we walk. We turn toward the beach and turquoise ocean and find a pleasant, secluded spot in the shade of several palm trees, just behind some sort of city storage building. It's quite private. I take off my linen sports jacket and lay it out on the sand for you. I slide in next to you and take you in my arms. Our passion quickly gets the best of us.

"Let's get you out of these clothes," I say and slowly pull your sundress over your head. Your bra and panties—your soaked panties— are next. You're now naked except for your pearls, your new bracelet—and your wedding ring.

*** Later, you wake up and you're not sure at first where you are. You open your eyes and see green palm trees and blue sky. You hear the ocean and the distant traffic noise. You feel the soft breeze on your nude breasts.

Now you remember. You're at the beach with me. And then you feel your bottom. Wow. Your bottom is tender and full and wet—and a little chafed. It all comes back to you: an hour or two of lovemaking, the deep penetration, the astonishing size of my cock, the seemingly endless amounts of come I pumped into you in two rounds of passion. You had so many orgasms you lost count. And, apparently, you blissfully fell asleep. You've never felt so fucked out or sated before in your life.

You look around for me, but I'm not there. You reach for your bra, undies, and your sundress. You stand and immediately gobs of come leak out down your legs. You quickly slip on your panties to soak it up. You're a wet mess and more than a little sore.

You finish dressing and look out toward the ocean and see me slowly walking back from a quick dip in the sea.

"Thought I'd let you nap, babe," I say, pulling you into my wet arms and chest, thereby getting your sundress wet.

"I'm a mess," you say and laugh between kisses. And, indeed, you are: semen trickling all the way down your legs, wet panties soaking up the come, and now a partially wet sundress.

Back at the hotel, the slap of your flip-flops echo as we walk through the lobby. You can't help but wonder if people can see the leakage down your legs. Maybe not, but you can certainly feel it.

At the elevator we say our good-byes. You laughingly give me your red high heels. "More souvenirs, they match my panties," you say, winking.

Then you're in your room. Hubby is just now waking up and sitting on the side of the bed. You exchange pleasantries and it's clear he's totally oblivious to the night before. You tell him you've been out shopping.

"I'm going to jump in the shower," you say, and quickly disappear into the bathroom before he can see your disheveled appearance up close. You start the water running for the shower, disrobe and stash the damp dress and soggy undies in a plastic laundry bag. You sit down naked on the toilet to pee. Still more semen comes streaming out first, and you smile, shaking your head.

* * *

The next day on the flight home, everything seems normal. Even your little love bottom isn't as sore. He doesn't ask about us and you don't raise the topic. Don't ask, don't tell has been officially adopted.

The flight attendant appears with beverage orders. She looks at your wrist admiringly. "Is that a Tiffany bracelet? It's gorgeous."

Hubby looks at the bracelet, obviously noticing it for the first time. Then he looks at you questioningly.

You meet his gaze and whisper, "Darling, I've been a naughty girl."


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