There is this presumption that exists between most married couples in America. "Oh, my husband/wife would never understand my interest in ___________," and the blank is filled in with some sort of sexual behavior that is supposedly too extreme, arguably too outside the very conservative, frigid boundaries of their spouse for him or her even to wrap their minds around it, let alone accept it. People hide their most authentic selves from the person they are supposed to be most connected to, most intimate with, the one person on the planet who they are supposed to feel close enough to share any secret and still feel loved. That sort of honesty only happens in self-help relationship books and AfroerotiK erotic stories. In the real world, people compartmentalize their sexuality, sharing their secrets and fantasies with virtual strangers on computer screens late at night and not only believing that their spouse would never understand their desires but that they are also incapable of being aroused by anything beyond missionary sex on a Friday night with the lights out.
Katie Largo was just such a woman. She was a world-class slut of epic proportions and the type of white woman you would look at and say to yourself, "There's no way in hell she even thinks about sex let alone enjoys it," but you would lose all your money if you placed a wager on such a premise. The homely, average, PTA president, and married mother of two was not only sexual, she was a connoisseur of the most filthy, nasty, perverse, depraved forms of sex possible. There weren't three people on the planet Earth who would look at her and call her attractive but that's ultimately what drove her to be such nasty whore. Standing 5'5" with mousy brown hair that was sort of limp and lifeless, Mrs. Largo hadn't aged well. Her misspent youth tanning left her skin leathery and spotted. Childbirth left her with stretch marks and God's unfair distribution of genetics left her quintessentially PLAIN. Katie was a "real" desperate" housewife and she didn't look anything like the women on the televisions shows.
Katie wanted and needed to feel desirable. She had an intense, deep-seeded need to feel sexy and that led her to late-night cam sessions and clandestined meetings with strangers in dark alleys and random lover's cars to fulfill her need to feel wanted. It was her compulsion. She wallowed in immoral reverie night and day, always looking for another opportunity to feel her pussy get wet and her clit get hard at the illicit suggestion of one of her random fuck buddies. She was, and is, so very typical of white women all across the country, in every town, in every city who feign indignation, shock, horror, and conservative outrage at anyone who gets caught cheating while she is committing the very same sin herself. And because race is still such a taboo subject, and because Black sexuality is so deeply entrenched in white America's secret lusts, it was not hard for her to rationalize that her husband would NEVER in ten million years understand her desire to be an insatiable, cocksucking slut for a very well-hung Black man. That filled in her blank.
Max Moore understood Katie's obsession with big black cock all too well because he had been her supplier. They met on craigslist simply enough. He responded to her ad seeking an illicit and intellectual liaison. For the better part of a year, more off than on, he would amuse himself by giving her with all the ebony cock she could handle, sometimes more than she could handle, and by degrading and using her in any way his imagination could conjure. Max was the exact opposite of Katie. Charming, engaging, articulate, any and every person who gazed upon his countenance, both men and women, would be astonished at his beauty. He was an attorney and at 6' even he still had time to work out and obtain a body sculpted from hours of hard work in the gym, he was the personification of Ebony perfection. His skin was the color of Hershey's milk chocolate and looked like the smoothest of satin covering rippling, bulging muscles. His facial features were smooth, distinct, refined. His thick, wavy hair was well-maintained and short with a precise hairline sculpted by only the most skilled barber. He had an infectious smile that radiated charm. His pecs filled out all his shirts and his hardened nipples seemed to protrude like little pencil erasers. His stomach was a washboard of abs and his ass sat high and tight on his back, full, round, and two globes of brown perfection. His balls were hairy and full and hung heavy and low.
It was his dick, however, that would have Katie ready to meet him at a moment's notice to do anything and everything he told her. Even flaccid, Max's cock was still bigger than her husband John's pathetic four-incher could ever manage to get. When it was in its most glorious engorged and swollen state, Max's cock was too big for Katie to handle. It hurt her when he was pounding her relentlessly causing her to hold back tears while she was somehow simultaneously on the verge of orgasm. She would be sore for days but that only served as a constant reminder of her illicit exploits and that would keep her aroused. There were even a couple of times she had to pretend to have gotten a sore throat from a cold because Max had throat fucked her so hard, shoving his black cock so deep in her esophagus, that she lost her voice.
Katie was nothing more than a fuck toy to Max, a thing to be used. She wasn't by any means a dumb woman she was just socially inept. He listened half-heartedly to her incessant bitching about her mediocre life and her melodramatic complaints about her job, her sister, her husband, and her parents. She complained about her in-laws, her kids, she even whined about her dog. It never ended. Every time she opened her mouth it was an endless string of blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. It seemed she always had something stupid to complain about and she convinced herself that Max cared enough about her to really give a shit. She was deluded. Max saw her as a nasty, married white slut and she was entertainment, something to do to see how far he could push her. Katie knew that under any other circumstances, she could never get a man like Max to pay attention to her; she knew that it was her sexuality that kept him coming back for more so she did her best to be the nastiest, sluttiest, dirtiest of all the women he played with. If he gagged her, she begged to be spit on. If he slapped her, she demanded that he choke her. She would gaze up at him with pride when he pulled his stiffened rod from her asshole and she would suck it clean.
Once, Max had Katie meet him at a bar downtown. He told her to wear something slutty. She ransacked her teenage daughter's closet and got a tank top and a short skirt and wore a pair of conservative high heels she bought to go to an awards ceremony for her husband. Sexy, she was not ... not so much. She looked a hot, damn mess: old, desperate, and trashy. She showed up to meet Max and met him and three friends as well. She didn't get all their names nor did she really didn't care about them either; she was overjoyed at the prospect of Max showing her off like a trophy. She sat down and they ordered her drinks and she felt like the bell of the ball. Her pussy was soaking her sensible, cotton, white underwear through and through and the nipples of her tits poked through the cheap knit material of her top.
Max and his friends plied Katie with alcohol and groped her openly. They pulled off her panties and put them on the table for all to see; they made her spread her legs and they roughly fingered her cunt, daring her to cum in public. Pulling out his dick, one of Max's buddies forced her down on it under the table; the rest of the pack started making loud hoopin' and hollerin' noises loud enough to attract the attention of the other patrons in the seedy establishment. Katie's brain registered it all as an affirmation of her attractiveness. All the attention she was getting from the men, essentially all strangers, was a stroke to her ego.
"Come on, bitch, I have to go take a piss," and he grabbed her by the arm and jerked her off in the direction of the men's room like a child about to be spanked. The bathroom in this establishment looked about the same as the rest of the place, a little outdated, a bit dirty, a lot dark, and totally inappropriate for a married mother of two to be hanging out in. The bathroom itself had one stall, two urinals, and a double vanity sink with dark maroon-colored textured wallpaper and art deco light fixtures. There was a barely detectable sheen of stale, semi-dry piss on the floor but that didn't concern Max as he pushed Katie to her knees and told her to pull out his cock and start sucking. For a split second, she glanced at the door, fully aware that it was unlocked and anyone could walk in, and had a chill of terror and arousal go up her spine. Katie lived for and loved attention and the fact that someone was willing to put her in such a scandalous position made her temperature rise.
When it came down to sucking cock, no one could ever argue about Katie's skills. That's because she had none. Her technique wasn't particularly unique or sensual, her tongue not very talented, she did a mediocre suck job. When Max got tired of her lame attempts, he would usually grab her head and skull-fuck her to completion, leaving her face dripping with his semen. That night, just as he was about to brutally throat fuck her, the door flew open and Max's friends crowded, into the small bathroom.
.... There is more of this story ...