My name is Ted, and I’m a social worker.

It’s a pretty lousy job most of the time. The decisions I make are often heartbreaking. It’s my job to take children away from their parents, if I think that is in the best interest of the child. Sometimes, the choice is clear. The parents are obviously abusive, or incompetent. But more often it’s a close judgment call, and while I always put on an outer show of total know it all confidence, inside myself, there is often doubt.

Sometimes though, there are “feel good” days, when I can just be happy with myself. Today was such a day; a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Peters, the third and surely final meeting, when I would approve their adoption of a baby.

I was looking forward to this meeting for another reason; Mrs. Peters was an absolute knockout. I mean, it’s not like I expected anything. But Mrs. Peters was the kind of woman that it was just a joy to be in the same room with.

She’s big. That is, tall. About six foot two inches. I’m only 5’ 8”.

She has jet-black hair, ivory skin, green eyes, huge breasts. Her waist curves beautifully inward, probably not really very slim, but slim relative to her magnificent bust, and her, well, her rather womanly ass.

She’s the type of woman who’s aware of the way she can charm most men out of anything. She’d been blatantly turning that charm on me during our first two meetings in my office, notwithstanding the fact that her husband was present.

Mr. Peters is a young doctor, he has a residency in a local hospital. Mrs. Peters is a homemaker. There was absolutely no problem with approving the adoption; this meeting was all pleasure.

The pleasure of finding a good home for a child, fulfilling the wishes of a childless couple, and basking in the charm of the lovely young Mrs. Peters.

It was the first time we were meeting at their house; it was part of my job to check the accommodations, the neighborhood, etc. The meeting was for 5:30. I had had a pretty rotten day, and the traffic out to the suburbs was nasty. Perhaps I wasn’t in the best of moods.

She met me at the door. I was standing one step lower than her, my face was level with her amazing chest. Her low cut dress was almost outrageous, contrasted by a demure long skirt and double strings of pearls.

“Come on in Mr. Barnes!” She said, offering her hand and her great smile.

While I’m working, I’m certainly not allowed to let a woman’s charms influence my judgment. But the judgment was clear in this case.

They were a beautiful young couple, with a beautiful home in lovely neighborhood. Therefore, I could let myself relax, and simply enjoy the next hour, while I had coffee with the voluptuous Mrs. Peters, and her husband, and we went through the last of the forms.

It was exquisite, the way my old heart quivered with excitement at her touch. Mrs. Peters must be about the most fertile looking woman I’ve ever seen. She looked as though she could knock out two or three babies at once, and then care for them all with one hand tied behind her back.

She released my hand as I stepped into the foyer, and I felt my old brain click back into gear.

“Coffee, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yes, thank you Mrs. Peters. Coffee would be nice. Where is Mr. Peters?”

“He’s still at the hospital, he should be here any time.”

“Mrs. Peters, you know that you’re both required to be present for this meeting.”

“Yes Mr. Barnes, I know. I’m terribly sorry, I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”

Well, I didn’t really mind. This meant I could sit alone with Mrs. Peters for a little while, while she blasted me with the force of her womanhood, and served me coffee.

She was wearing a long elegant crème dress, and she sat opposite me, her gorgeous long white legs peeking through past the hem.

She seemed to fill the entire room with her magnificence, and I allowed myself to submerge in it, letting her image soak into my brain, hoping I might dream of her pleasantly that night.

Of course you know that if all I was going to get from this was a dream, I wouldn’t have bothered to write the story.

The phone rang; she looked at me nervously as she listened. She placed the hand piece gently back in its cradle. She looked up at me again.

“That was my husband. He can’t leave there for at least another two hours. It’s life-and-death. Literally. That’s what he said.”

She had those green eyes turned on me at full force. It was enough to make any man’s testosterone levels rise. Nonetheless, I didn’t want to wait two hours. I was hungry and tired. Besides, I could come again sometime during the week.

I stood. “I’m afraid I can’t wait that long, Mrs. Peters.”

“No! You mustn’t go!” She stood quickly, blocking the doorway. I nearly collided with her. I found myself standing only inches from her breasts. The rest of her was a little bit farther back.

“Mrs. Peters, please.”

She stood her ground.

In fact, she advanced. She pushed me back into the room, she literally pushed me bodily. With her body.

Her hips were against my stomach, her breasts pushed into my shoulders. She walked me back towards the couch.

“What do I have to do to make you stay, Mr. Barnes?”

“Mrs. Peters! Why are you doing this?”

“I want a baby, Mr. Barnes. I want a baby more than I can tell you, I need a baby. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

It wasn’t the first time that a woman had wanted barter sex for a favorable decision from me. But it had always been prostitutes or junkies before. And by the way, I’d never gone for it.

Mrs. Peters seemed to be under the impression that if I left now, the adoption process would be in jeopardy.

I’m not a young man, but I don’t do badly with the ladies. I’m not very tall, but I’m fit. My hair is gray, but I still have it. I’m an African-American man; that has not been a handicap.

But no one with the sexual force of Mrs. Peters had ever done something like this to me. Testosterone was in overdrive, logic circuits all off-line. There was a slight peep from moral judgment, but the proximity of the statuesque beauty called Mrs. Peters soon silenced it.

She was willing to abuse her power. That wasn’t very ethical. I was in the beautiful situation of not having to compromise myself. Not much, anyway.

If my arms hadn’t gone around her muscular midriff, I would’ve fallen over the coffee table. I was trapped, there was no escape from her power.

Her hand clutched my hair, pulling my head back. Her lips were so close that her breath went straight down my throat, impacting hard against my heart as she spoke.

“Do you still want to leave, Mr. Barnes? Or would you rather stay awhile?”

My God, if she wanted a baby so bad, I’d do everything in my power to help her have one. And I wasn’t thinking of the adoption process. Actually, as I said before, I wasn’t thinking much at all.

I have to say that when Mrs. Peters did something, she didn’t do it halfway. I was engulfed in her femininity, ensnared by her mouth, captivated by her tongue.

She had a generous ass. I’m sorry if this is some kind of stereotype, but I do like a generous ass. Mrs. Peters had the ass of a woman, not a child. My hardening cock was trapped by her pelvis as my hands groped under her skirt.

She broke the embrace, stepping back a step. Her nipples had hardened.

She kept me trapped in her gaze as she removed her blouse. Her breasts hung heavily in the reinforced bra. She pushed them even farther forward as she reached behind, releasing the hook. She slipped the straps over her shoulders, letting those wonderful big tits swing free.

They were real ones; they didn’t stick up or sideways. They hung forward and down, the brown nipples protruding forward.

I tore my eyes away from the grandeur for a moment, and found her face. Her expression was hard to read. Determination. Resignation. Triumph. Lust?

As I unbuttoned my shirt, and removed it and my undershirt, I wondered if that was possible, the lust I mean. I decided probably not, but I would let myself play along. What a fantasy, what a dream. What a woman.

We embraced again, both of us naked now from the waist up. Her skin on my skin was electrifying, primal. She was silky smooth all over, her shoulders, her back, her hips.

She bit me, she bit my shoulders, my cheeks, my lips. I think she growled. She was a predator, I was prey. She could be the black widow, and eat me when we were done. I didn’t care.

She was naked, fully undressed. On the couch. One long ivory leg on the floor, one on the backrest. The valley between her thighs was paradise, paradise waiting for me. Her pubic hair was jet black, curly.

I lay myself down on top of her, also naked, and her white hand gripped my cock as I kissed her, reveling in her beauty and youth.

She was pushing my hips lower, lower so that my penis would be the correct position, so that I could enter her.

I didn’t actually want to fuck her yet. I wanted to enjoy her some more first, but who was I to argue? If she wanted my big black cock inside of her, then surely that’s where it wanted to be.

She was as firm and smooth on the inside as she was on the outside. She was turned on; I had thought she was faking it, but some things can’t be faked. My cock slid into her like a hand into a glove, a perfect fit, made for each other.

She gasped as I slowly penetrated her. Her hand clutched my ass, the other in the small of my back.

I have a big cock. I didn’t write this to brag about the size of my cock, but it has to be said. I usually have to slowly work it in a little at a time. Mrs. Peters just spread those great legs of hers wide, and gasped as I entered her with one long, slow, stroke.

Did she fake those orgasms? Who cares. She wanted me to think I made her come, and I think I made her come. What Mrs. Peters wants, Mrs. Peters gets.

Anyway, I’m sure about the last one. There was a vein pulsing in her forehead, she was crushing me like a vice, I was drowning in her.

“Come baby. Come on baby, squirt it out!” She whispered in my ear.

I can’t think when was the last time I’d had an orgasm like that. Maybe never.

We lay there like that for a time. My eyes found the clock. It had only been half an hour.

“Maybe I should come back tomorrow.” I told her, still on her, still in her, toying with her lovely hair.

“Yes.” She said, slightly spaced. “I think I’d better have a shower before my husband comes home.”

She phoned me the next day at my office;

“Do you think you could come by tonight at about 7?”

“For you, Mrs. Peters, anytime. Anyplace. Seven it is.”

I was pretty sure we were just going to do the paperwork, probably Dr. Peters would be in residence this evening.

On the other hand, dreams are free. I couldn’t help but have a very pleasant one during the drive. What a woman.

He was home. I hope the disappointment didn’t show on my face.

Dr. Peters is tall and handsome, his handshake firm. He was clearly the man who should be the husband of the magnificent creature who was his wife.

The woman who would no doubt be starring in my dreams until the day I die was wearing a blue dress that came down to her ankles. It hugged her amazing physique, her dreamy hourglass figure. Such a dress would have been conservative on a lesser woman.

“We’re so sorry that my husband missed the meeting yesterday, Mr. Barnes.”

I wasn’t.

“Would you do us the honor of having dinner with us?”

“Of course. How could I refuse so gracious an invitation?”

And on top of all the charms that I’ve already discussed at length, she could cook, too.

When we had eaten we retired to the living room, and spread the paperwork over the coffee table, Mrs. Peters and I sitting on the very couch.

We took care of the business quickly. All was signed and ready. I stood.

“Mr. and Mrs. Peters, I’m pleased to tell you that you may pick up your child tomorrow morning.”

I shook his hand, and kissed her.

Kissed her.

Kissed her.

This was a little outrageous. Her arms were around me in a very unprofessional way. Her mouth was consuming me as it had the day before.

We broke apart, burst apart by sheer willpower. Dr. Peters seemed slightly shocked.

“Darling,” she said to him, “why don’t you go upstairs. Have an early night. I want to be alone with Mr. Barnes for a while.”

A few outrageous things have happened to me in my life, and I’ve heard a few outrageous stories. But I’d never heard of a wife telling her husband to go away so that she could be with another man. Not to mention one twice her age and um, black.

“All right, dear.” He said, looking cowed. And he simply went upstairs.

She grabbed my hand in hers; she had that look on her face again, but this time there was definitely lust in it.

“There’s a guestroom.” She told me.

She strode ahead of me like a queen; Regal, graceful, powerful. Pulling me by the hand.

She threw the door closed behind us. It was a small room. A bed, a night table, and a closet. A bed.