tagInterracial LoveNeglected Black Housewife

Neglected Black Housewife


"Hi, may I help you find something?" I ask as I approach a strikingly beautiful woman looking around the bookstore.

"Yes," she smiles at me. "I'm looking for books on orgasms." She says it so matter-of-factly that it catches me off guard. Or maybe it's her exquisite eyes, deep brown with an almost oriental look, coupled with her mahogany complexion that makes me catch my breath.

"Right this way," I say, leading her across the store. "Is there a specific book you're looking for?" I ask as we walk toward the sexuality section.

"No, not a specific book. I just want to look through your selection," she responds. I'm taking in more of her beauty as we talk. She'd be tall even without her two-inch heels and her pale blue blouse beneath a light grey business suit perfectly complements her cocoa brown skin.

"There are a lot of books on orgasms. Is there a specific type you wanted?" I ask as we arrive at the sexuality section.

"Funny, I thought they had dispelled that old myth about different types and everyone agrees there's just the one kind now," she says.

"Type of book, I meant!" I feel my face flush and I know I'm probably blushing.

"I knew what you meant," she says, patting me on the arm, playfully. "I was just kidding!" Her smile shows beautiful white teeth between her thick, ruby lips.

"That was good!" I return her wide smile and recover my composure. "There really are a lot of different types of orgasm books. Here's one called The Multi-Orgasmic Woman," I tell her, pulling a book from the shelf.

"That's okay," she says with a slight chuckle. "I'm still trying to be the single orgasmic woman."

"Okaaaay," I say slowly, wondering if she expects me to comment on that. "There are different types of books depending on whether it's for you or your partner," I explain, noticing her wedding band for the first time. "For your partner, I have a popular one called She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman."

"She comes first, huh? If only," she says sarcastically. "No, I'm looking more for the, um.... do-it-yourself section." She laughs nervously.

I pause a minute before continuing. "Well, we have Tickle Your Fancy - A Woman's Guide to Sexual Self-Pleasure. Taking it off the shelf, I show her the cover. It has a picture of a woman with her eyes closed, head thrown back, apparently in the throes of self-pleasure.

"What a great title," she says, looking at the book." It's been a long time since my fancy's been tickled properly." She's smiling as she flips the pages.

Not wanting to walk away from this beautiful, sexually candid woman, I reach for a familiar yellow book and tell her, "of course, if you're really desperate, there's always Sex For Dummies."

"Oh great! We just met and already you're calling me names!" she says flirtatiously. She looks me in the eyes and dips her hip on one side, saying, "you really think you're going to stand here and help me pick out an orgasm book, don't you?"

"Um, no. I'm sorry. I was just trying to be helpful." I'm holding my hands up, palms out and backing away from her.

"You were very helpful, um," she bends slightly to read my nametag, "Mike, but I think I'll just browse now."

"Sure. If you don't find what you need here," I pause for effect of the double entendre, "just let me know. I'm here for another hour." She's smiling and flipping through the book as I walk away.

Wow! In the two years I've worked here I've never known any customer to be so candid about their sexual needs, let alone books on masturbation! The customers in this section are usually giggly teenagers or panting couples. Neither group asks for help.

I get back to work, reshelving books but my eyes keep straying back to her, captivated by her alluring presence. I position myself across the store where I can watch her without being obvious. Her business suit is perfectly tailored; conservative yet cut to show off her curvaceous figure. Her skirt hugs her ass giving a hint of the firm round globes underneath. Its mid-thigh length shows plenty of her shapely legs tapering into two-inch black pumps. I start fantasizing what she'll look like applying the techniques in that self-pleasuring book.

In my mind I see her lying naked on her back with her knees pulled up, pumping her fingers in and out of her pussy. Her velvety, black bush brushes against her hand as she furiously works her fingers faster and faster trying to achieve that illusive climax. Her other hand is pinching and pulling at her thick black nipples stretching them out from their surrounding dark areolas, making her large, dark tits appear cone shaped on her heaving chest. She's bucking wildly against her hand, lifting her firm, round ass off the bed. Shifting her hand to her clit, she starts rubbing in a circular motion while still shoving her fingers in and out of her pussy. As hard as she's trying, she still isn't quite getting there. I crawl up on the bed, my pale white skin contrasting sharply with her dark mocha coloring. Bending my mouth down to her pussy and pushing her fingers aside, I say, "here, let me help you with that."

"Help me with what?" asks Amber, a recently hired, red-haired, high school girl with teen sized tits and a dynamite little ass. Her question breaks me out of my reverie and I realize I've spoken out loud.

"Uh...with those books," I say, pointing to the books in her arms and trying to recover quickly. "Here let me take some." I glance over at the enthralling woman still browsing the sexuality section.

"Sure. Whatever," she says, handing me half her books but looking at me quizzically. "Are you okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, putting my hand in my pocket and trying not to be obvious about adjusting my aroused cock. Amber and I have hooked up a couple of times since she started working here. She's been a regular customer for a long time but couldn't get hired until she turned 18 last month.

"Is that for me?" Amber asks, looking at the bulge in my pants. She moves closer angling her body so no one can see what she's doing and slides her hand over my cock, squeezing it between her fingers.

"Yeah," I lie. "I was hoping we could get together after work tonight."

"Oh, Mike," she says. "I can't. I've got a big test tomorrow. I need to get right home." She glances around the store and, lowering her voice says, "it's not busy right now. Jason and Debra can handle it. Why don't you help me put these books in the back."

I follow her to the stockroom which is deserted this time of night. She leads me to a secluded spot between two rows of shelving and while unbuckling my belt says, "I can't leave you like this. Besides, I owe you after what you did to me Saturday night!" Smiling, she quickly kisses me on the lips, drops to her knees and pulls my Dockers and boxers down in one smooth motion.

"You don't owe me anything," I say. "I thoroughly enjoyed it."

"Well, I plan on thoroughly enjoying this too," she says, smiling up at me. "But the orgasm ratio had to be three to one in my favor."

Amber is a young, very enthusiastic lover. She loses herself in complete abandonment during sex, which is part of the reason she came so many times the other night. Now, as she runs her tongue up and down the length of my cock, I close my eyes flashing on her sexy teenage body. She has small firm tits with puffy pink areolas and eraser-like nipples. A light patch of red pubic hair surrounds her tight little pussy and her firm round ass makes you want to cream just looking at it.

I open my eyes just as she slips her mouth over the end of my cock. While caressing my balls with one hand she wraps her other hand around the base of my cock, pumping it in and out of her mouth. She's creating a steady rhythm with her sucking and using her tongue to lick just under my cock head. The entire sensation is incredible and I start thrusting my hips forward matching her rhythm while watching the door to make sure we're not interrupted.

I've never done anything like this and the excitement of a blowjob in the stockroom is driving me close to my climax. Amber pumps faster, stroking and sucking my cock and playing with my balls. I dig my fingers into her red hair and pull her head towards me, trying to drive my cock farther into her mouth. She looks up at me, lets go of my cock and slides her lips all the way down to the base of my shaft. I can feel the tension building in my balls as my cock enters the back of her throat. I'm getting close and I close my eyes again. Suddenly, in my mind, I'm lying on my bed and the sexy black woman I just met is kneeling between my legs, her massive brown breasts with their hard black nipples are brushing against my thighs as she deep throats my cock. She pulls her lips back along my cock, stroking faster, sucking harder and flicking her tongue against the underside of my cock. Our eyes lock and I watch her thick, black lips glide down my cock and I buck my hips up to meet her. My legs tense, I thrust my ass off the bed and start shooting streams of cum deep in her throat in quick jerky motions. Nearly losing my balance I grab the nearby shelf to keep from falling over. Looking down, it's Amber again stroking and sucking and swallowing my cum. When she's sucked every drop of cum from me, she let's my cock slip from her lips and stands up.

"Wow! That was amazing!" I say. "I really needed that."

"You are amazing and that was intense!" she says, making a show of licking her lips. "You really came hard and I really enjoyed it but we'd better get back. I'll go out first, I want to get a coke," she says, smacking her lips as she leaves the stockroom. While I'm pulling up my pants, I'm already wondering if my fantasy woman is still in the store. If I ever get a chance to live out that fantasy, I'm pretty sure I won't be thinking about Amber when I cum in the her mouth.

Yes! She's still looking at sexuality books as I exit the stockroom. I figure I might as well take a chance, gorgeous women flaunting their sexual needs don't come along everyday.

"I'm getting ready to go. Did you find what you were looking for?" I ask her just as matter-of-factly as her original request.

"I'm still looking. You have a nice evening and thanks for your help," she says, dismissing me.

"Look, it's none of my business," I say, stepping closer to her, trying not to get flustered by her immense beauty, "but a sexy woman like you shouldn't have to fend for herself in these matters."

"You're right," she says sharply, "it is none of your business." She's looking at a book entitled How to Have an Orgasm Whenever You Want. She looks at me, her eyes soften and she smiles. "Thank you for your help, Mike. Now why don't you go home and let me finish browsing, okay?"

"Okay," I say, apologizing but not ready to give up yet. "I work here part-time so if there's ever anything I can help you with..." I pause for effect. "I'm here most nights until nine."

"I'll mark it in my planner," she smiles, shaking her head and going back to her reading. I look back one more time at her perfectly round ass and wonder why a sexy woman like her needs books on orgasms.

I think about her all through my classes the next day, hoping to see her again in the bookstore. I work my regular shift from five to nine and it's pretty uneventful except for helping a voluptuous blonde in a scoop neck blouse trying to find a novelization of a current chick flick. I start to fantasize about fucking her brains out and then realize someone has already beaten me to it.

About eight o'clock my fantasy woman walks in and goes directly to the sexuality section. She's wearing a white pinstriped blouse tucked into a black skirt and I'm getting aroused just watching her walk. She strides confidently, with just enough swing in her hips to draw my eyes to her undulating ass cheeks. Her long lovely legs give her a dancers gracefulness as she navigates the aisles.

Standing at the customer service desk, I suppress the urge to go right over to her. I can't suppress other urges and I hope it's not obvious. Trying to decide how best to approach her, I watch as she flips pages of books and imagine what her dark brown ass looks like naked under her tight, form-fitting skirt. I can almost feel my hands cupping her firm flesh and squeezing her ass cheeks. I catch her looking at me several times and each time she quickly looks down at her book. I take that as a good sign and finally walk over to her.

"Hi," I say. "It's good to see you again. Although, that probably means you still haven't found what you need."

"Hi Mike," she answers. "No, not really. You're right about there being a lot of books. It's just... I don't know. I'm looking for an answer that doesn't need batteries." She laughs and the pinstripes on her blouse distract me as they curve around her sizable breasts. Her high collar blouse with one open button reveals more of her smooth chocolate skin than was visible last night. I force myself to look her in the eyes, their exotic, almond shape making that very easy.

"It shouldn't be that way," I say softly, moving closer to her." Maybe you're not considering the right question."

"What question is that?" she asks sarcastically. "You mean like, why am I even discussing this with a skinny, young white boy in a bookstore who's trying to pseudo psychoanalyze me?"

"No, That's a different question," I laugh, "but maybe you do need someone to talk to about this and you could do a lot worse than me."

"I could?" she asks smiling at me. Her smile seems to light up her whole face and her eyes sparkle as she raises her already high eyebrows in a questioning manner.

"Yeah," I say, smiling. "You could call Dr. Phil."

Laughing, she says, "well, maybe we should just get Oprah to do a book club selection on it."

"That would be great!" I say, laughing with her. "Seriously, I'd love to just sit down over a cup of coffee and get to know you. I don't even know your name." She's staring at me quizzically. "What do you say?" I ask. "I get off in a few minutes and you'll get a free latte out of it."

"I don't know," she says, looking at her watch. "I really should be getting home."

"Half an hour," I counter. "What can it hurt?"

"Okay," she finally agrees. "Half an hour but I pay for my own latte." We agree to meet at a nearby Starbucks instead of going to the cafe in the bookstore. We order separately and choose a small table in the corner that affords only modest privacy.

"My name is Cynthia Emry. She says offering her hand. My friends call me Cyn."

"Nice to meet you," I respond, shaking her hand. "I'm Mike Judd." I linger holding her hand, enjoying the touch of her smooth skin. "Since your friends call you Cyn, I suppose you'll want me to call you Miss Emry?" I say chuckling, as she pulls her hand back.

"Mrs. Emry. But no, call me Cyn," she says, taking a drink. "How long have you worked at the bookstore?" She's sitting back appraising me while she sips her latte while her firm, round tits push against the cotton material of her blouse. She crosses her legs and her skirt rides half way up her thigh, exposing more of her smooth, brown skin. I force myself to look in her eyes rather than stare at her beautiful legs.

"About two years. It's a perfect job while I'm in school and I get a great discount on my textbooks. What do you do, Cyn." I love the sound of her name. Cynfull, I think.

"I'm a management recruiter. I work for a consulting firm headquartered in New York. I work out of my house so I can live anywhere and this is where my husband's job brought us."

"And what does your husband do?" Her face captivates me. With only light makeup complementing her already gorgeous skin tone, she looks more like a glamour model than a management recruiter.

"He's a minister. We go where the church sends us," she says, looking intently for a reaction from me. I don't disappoint her.

"That explains a lot," I say, immediately regretting it when I see her eyes flare up.

"It explains nothing!" she yells, and then quickly lowers her voice. "You don't know anything about me or my husband," she fumes, through clenched teeth. "You college kids think you know everything! You don't know shit!" She stands up, getting ready to leave.

"Wait! I'm really sorry," I stammer, contritely. "That was a stupid thing to say. It wasn't really a statement about your husband, Cyn. It's more reflective of my own bias against organized religion and all the hypocrisy that goes with it," I say, trying to explain. "I said it without thinking, okay? I'm sorry."

"Please," I plead, gesturing towards her chair. "Please, sit back down." She does and slowly her face relaxes but my eyes are drawn to her chest, still heaving from her anger. Her tits swelling and pushing against the pinstripes create small gaps between the buttons with each breath she takes.

"I'm sorry I got so upset," she says, finally. "You just seem to think you know all about my problems and you don't. My husband is a good man. He's a wonderful father and a powerful minister." I notice she doesn't say a great lover. I wonder if he even notices her luscious tits.

"I'm sure he is," I answer. We're silent for a minute.

"So, how old are you anyway, Mr. Know-It-All college boy?" Cyn asks, smiling curiously.

"Twenty," I answer unapologetically. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-two. Happily married with two kids and a successful career, thank you," she declares proudly. "So where do you get off trying to solve my sexual problems? You're too young to have enough experience to give you any credibility." She's back on the attack and I react again before I think.

"Funny. I was thinking you're old enough to have already experienced some things you're obviously only reading about."

"You don't know what I'm experiencing and what I'm not!" She's fuming again and talking through her teeth.

"Hey, don't get mad at me. You're the one looking through orgasm books. I'm just trying to help," I retort.

"Yeah by hitting on me!" she rants. "Is that what you do at that bookstore, watch for women to come in looking for sexual self-help books and then offer your services?" She's really on a tirade now. "You think I don't get better offers than you all the time. I'm a black woman working in a professional capacity in a mostly white company. I get hit on more than the blonde bimbos answering the phones. Everyone including the president of the company is trying to live out his black woman fantasy. I've seen it all before. No thank you!"

"When did I hit on you?" I challenge. "When?" I repeat. "I thought we had a cool banter going and that you'd be a fun person to get to know so that's what I'm trying to do. I didn't force you to come back in the store tonight when you knew I'd be working and I didn't tie you up and drag you to Starbucks. So if you don't want to be here, leave! No one is stopping you."

She walks out but instead of gazing at her luscious ass, I'm gazing into my coffee, mistakenly believing that I'll never see her again.

I relive that conversation all the way home, kicking myself for the way I handled it. I ignored every principle I know from my psych classes about using active listening to defuse anger. If I had only listened, asked questions and encouraged her to talk maybe...oh fuck it! I've only seen her twice, so what if she's the most enticing woman I've ever met.

That night I lie in bed replaying the two encounters I've had with Cyn and marvel at how quickly and explosively she flips from teasing to anger. I don't know if this woman is bi-polar or just wound too tight from her sexual frustration and feeling guilty about it. I'd love to relieve her tension and see what happens. I think about how stunning she looks and my cock hardens as I visualize her dark brown skin, her flat stomach and the sensuous curves of her tits and ass.

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