I didn’t think I’d continue with my story, but a few things have happened lately that made me reconsider. One, Cleo (the woman who helps me write this) got so many responses asking what has happened since the first stories, that she persuaded me to continue. Secondly, my extreme behavioral and personality changes are something I’m still trying to understand. I’ve gone from a meek, naïve little creature who thought sex was just something that made you have to clean-up afterward, to someone who will try almost anything - and can’t seem to get enough cock. See how I talk now? Previously, I didn’t use words like cock, fuck, etc. Now, I think about it most of the time. Randy is the one mostly responsible for this drastic change in me. Whether I love him or not, I don’t know, but I just can’t seem to get enough of his wonderful cock.
One of the questions readers asks Cleo has been, did I leave my husband? Yes, I did. I’ve been with Randy for two months now, following him to NY after he enticed me into leaving my husband of six years. I just left a note saying I’d met someone, and that Stu shouldn’t try to find me. I didn’t even have the guts to do it face-to-face. So call me names. I deserve it. My family is so pissed they won’t talk to me, and all my old friends think I’m nuts, leaving a good-looking guy like Stu for a big sloppy cook like Randy. Maybe I am crazy, but sex with Stu was like eating a dirt sandwich, and him being the only man I’d ever slept with, I never even knew what I was missing. Randy came along with that Pakistani Dust stuff he put in my drink one evening before he commenced fucking me like an animal all night. After I’d had a taste of it though, I’d gone back for more. (Awakenings 1-3). I was never the same after that. I speak of what happened in my earlier stories.
Randy and I fuck two, three times a day - everyday! I’ll walk into the room totally unaware, and suddenly I’m jerked around, shoved facedown over the back of a couch or chair, and his big cock is slamming into me before I’m even ready. It makes little difference to Randy which hole he enters – well, to either of us I suppose. Sometimes, he’ll just walk up to me while I’m reading or watching TV, pull his cock out, wrap his hands in my hair and shove it down my throat so far I can feel pubic hair against my lips. I revel in his brutality, the anxiety of possible suffocation, the way he shudders when he climaxes, and most of all, its taste. I love it all. I don’t know if Randy is a sex addict or just over-sexed, but he told me he’s been this way since he was thirteen. He said that even at an early age, he’d jerk-off a dozen times a day. He admitted he still does sometimes. Anyway, my libido is totally in control of me these days and yes, I’ve already cheated on Randy. It wasn’t my fault though.
Randy’s day off is Thursday, so we usually wait to use that “dust” stuff until Wednesday night. That way we’ll have a day to recover before he returns to work on Friday. Believe me, we need it too. After six or eight orgasms, we are sore, fatigued, and totally exhausted for at least 24 hours. The rest of the week, we fuck without using Randy’s dust. Even at that, we’re still doing it at least a couple times a night. When there are conferences in town Randy has to work late, getting up before dawn several days in a row. During those days, we abstain from rigorous sex. Being accustomed to regular sex almost daily, by the second or third day without it I’m climbing the walls. I practically attack him when he comes home on that last day. A couple weeks ago, he had to return to Washington, D.C. (the same place we just left) for a week-long cooking class. That’s when I did it. Fucked someone else, I mean. He knows about it now and still loves me, so I can write about it. I was scared to death for a while, though. I think he may also have cheated with someone while he was gone, and maybe felt a little guilty because of it. Anyway, all is fine now. By the way, he reads my stories here! He loves ‘em!
There’s a park with a lake, near our condo. Randy and I walk there sometimes and I jog around the lake during the days Randy works. We were walking and feeding the ducks one evening and I noticed a group of men near one of the bathrooms. I commented about it and Randy said if I needed to use the potty, to use one on the other side of the lake, nearer to the main road. He said these men were just a bunch of perverts. He went on to explain about glory-holes and all that, which I found really weird – but kind of exciting, too. He admitted that he’d frequently gone to glory holes when he was younger, but quit visiting them because he’d been scared of getting a disease. The next day, I researched glory holes on the computer - and boy was I stunned! The first thing I saw was a pretty blond with a black penis about the size of Randy’s, stuck down her throat. She looked as if she were loving it. I’d never seen a black penis before. There were dozens of them on that site, others too. I got so excited I jumped Randy’s bones as soon as he walked in that evening!
Well, about the third or fourth day he was gone to that cooking class in D.C., I was already climbing the walls I wanted it so bad. The vibrator he bought for us didn’t do a thing to relieve my frustrations, so I jogged mornings and afternoons. That didn’t help much either. I was up to three miles on my regular jog around the lake when I had the urge to pee, really badly. The only people in sight were two Hispanic guys shooting hoops at the basketball court, and one older black man sitting on a park bench, a ways down the block. I quickly ducked into the restroom area, but was confronted by a sign on the ladies room door saying it was closed for repairs. Desperate, I looked around carefully and then hurried inside the men’s toilet. There were several urinals and three stalls. The first stall also had an out of order sign on the door and the last one was for disabled persons. I used the one in the center. There were holes in each wall of the narrow stall; pictures of penises, pussies, tits, stuff like that drawn all over the walls. I sat down and peed like a fountain for a minute or two, images flooding my already horny mind about all the things that had happened there. The place even smelled like sex. As I reached for some tissue to clean up, I heard footsteps at the front door. I froze, lifting my feet so they couldn’t be seen from outside.
Someone came in and entered the disabled stall. Careful not to be seen through the hole, I leaned forward and peeked through it. It was the older black man I’d earlier seen sitting on the park bench. He stood there for a moment before he began peeing. His cock was really big. Every bit as large as Randy’s, but also different. Sure it was black, but Randy is circumcised and this guy wasn’t. It was the first uncut cock I’d ever seen, even on the computer. He kept pulling the foreskin back to expose its crown, and then easing it back over the tip as he pissed. It looked like the large black snake I’d once see as a kid. I suddenly realized my mouth was filled with cotton and I was constantly licking my lips. I’d never seen a man pee before. He finally finished, shook that meaty black thing a few times – and then began to slowly stroke it. He turned to face me, his cock steadily growing harder as he pulled his foreskin back and forth over the huge spongy crown. I felt that eye in its tip was staring straight at me. Swallowing hard, attempting to breathe through my half-open mouth, I was trembling all over.
I thought, my god, he knows I’m watching!
He didn’t say anything but he moved closer to the wall, pulling his foreskin all the way back to expose the soft head – holding it there. Transfixed, I stared at the thick cock jerking and throbbing only a few inches from my face. Suddenly, my mouth wasn’t dry anymore. It was watering. I could not do this, I told myself, remembering Randy’s words of warning. There were awful diseases out there, some that could kill you. Besides, that nasty thing might be filthy . . . maybe smell bad, too. I leaned closer to the opening. So did he. There was a clear drop of nectar on its tip, silver, glistening, making my mouth water even more. I was so close to the hole that he must’ve seen my mouth, for he shoved that big chocolate head all the way through the opening. Without even thinking about it I stuck out my tongue and - licked that drop away – lovingly closing my mouth entirely over its head - swooning with pleasure. How does one explain the immense enjoyment of having a warm cock inside one’s mouth? It’s electrifying, comforting, and extremely exciting, all at the same time. I was in heaven.
The stall was so narrow I could comfortably sit on the toilet stool to accommodate him. I nibbled gently at the loose foreskin, enjoying that new experience. Then, I slid my wet lips softly around-and-around on the head before licking down its entire length, then back up to the tip again. Reaching through the opening, I found his large balls and eased them through the hole. With his thick cock already in the space, the large black sacks barely fit through the opening. Imagining them to be of a rich chocolate flavor, I gently sucked each nut into my mouth, savoring his grunt of pleasure. I licked back up the large vein on the bottom of the meaty organ, and then forced my mouth down over the thick head, taking as much of it as I could stand. Choking, I momentarily backed off to catch my breath, and then immediately forced my head back down on it. He just let me work, not moving a muscle, grunting and sighing every once in a while when it felt really good. I could feel his thick veins and ridges as my lips moved over them, the awesome crown pushing into my gullet, forcing my throat open wider and wider, unrelenting as it went deeper. Eventually, I got most of it into my tortured throat, feeling curly hair against my face. I loved it. I began sucking in earnest, soaking up the small sounds of pleasure he was making on the other side of the wall. This was where I belonged. If allowed, I could do it all day. I cupped his balls in one small hand, gripping the base of his cock with the other - in total control of the situation. I felt every ridge on his awesome cock, tasting his precious pre-cum, feeling his balls tighten as he neared release. Yes, yes, let me have it all, my brain screamed. This total stranger was going to dump his balls into my stomach - and I wanted it. He came with a loud grunt – a long steady stream, warm, salty, hitting the roof of my mouth, coating my tongue, sliding down the working muscles of my throat to pool in my soft belly. I was trembling so badly I nearly fell off the toilet stool, still holding onto his cock, licking, sucking and making love to it until he finally forced it from my mouth.
As I struggled to get my breathing under control, I sensed slight movement behind me. Another cock protruded from the hole of the out-of-order stall. It was brownish, shorter and thicker, looking hard as teakwood. I thought it was probably one of the Hispanic guys I’d seen playing basketball. I slid around on the stool and took it into my mouth, hearing a groan on the other side of the thin wall. I wanted more. I hadn’t had nearly enough. Precum immediately filled my mouth and I knew this one wouldn’t last long. Something tapped the wall behind me and I looked. The black guy had his cock through the hole again. I didn’t hesitate. Pulling my jogging shorts down to my knees, I backed up to it, pulled my vagina lips apart and slid them around the bloated head. Placing my hands against the wall in front of me, I pushed back against what felt like a fence post attempting to enter me. It hurt. Stretching, burning, forcing my vagina walls apart, assaulting my most tender part. The bloated head finally gained entry and the burning got even worse as I forced myself backward, helping him violate me. The cock in my mouth suddenly exploded - gooey, rich, intoxicating. I swooned with pleasure. Most of that black fencepost was finally inside me and I began to ride it as more juices lubricated my pussy walls, helping him get even deeper. Another cock replaced the first in the hole near my face, a twin to the first one. I swallowed it.
I was fucking without thought, unconsciously floating, allowing both men to pound into my willing body. Holding my mouth open wide, I let that cock gag me, steal my breath, threatening to render me unconscious. I didn’t care. It all added to the absolute pleasure I was feeling. Bracing my hands against one wall, I pressed my ass flat against the hole in the other wall, letting the black man slam into me without mercy, making my knees buckle as I quaked and trembled to each violent thrust. With no warning, I suddenly blew apart with my climax, over and over, out of my head with the nastiness of it all, hot lava shooting into my vagina from behind, strangling on thick salty fluid running down my throat. Later, when I finally came to my senses again, I was kneeling on the sticky bathroom floor, covered with sweat, hair hanging in my eyes, feeling completely used-up. No one else was around
A penciled note lay near my left knee. Tuesdays and Thursdays, is all it said.
I don’t remember how I made it home, collapsing on my bed fully clothed, sleeping for hours. I awoke feeling ravaged, dirty - and suddenly very scared. God, please don’t let me have gotten something bad from those men, I pleaded. I’ll never do that again. I promise. Please.
Randy called two days later and told me his class had been extended for a week due to a noted chef visiting the school from Europe. Slammed by the news and growing hornier daily, my resolve quickly weakened. I’d lie in bed at night after talking to Randy on the phone, fanaticizing about that wild afternoon in the men’s restroom. I’d been assaulted for over an hour by three complete strangers, and finally thrown out like a used-up old whore. In essence, I’d been royally fucked and totally satisfied for the first time since Randy left for D.C. Maybe my fears about catching something were unfounded after all. Why would all those guys go there if they thought they’d get something bad? I jogged past the place every day and looked over at the group of men standing outside, convincing myself all my fears were unfounded. I never saw the black guy with them. After a lonely weekend and a wine-soaked Monday, I jogged past the place again on Tuesday, to find it deserted – except for one person standing nearby – the older black guy. He watched me closely as I jogged by, unmoving, silent. It seemed that maybe Tuesday was some kind of off-day for the usual group.
My heartbeat increased rapidly as I ran past, images flooding my mind of a previous afternoon in there. I would not give in to these urges, I told myself. I felt my pace slowing, then walking, finally coming to a stop a half-block away. I looked back and saw the old man staring at me. He simply turned and walked inside. Head down, hating my weakness, I followed. He was standing in the disabled stall’s doorway, watching me. I couldn’t meet his eyes as I walked to the center stall. Before I could even pretend to squat on the stool and pee, he reached in, grasped my wrist and pulled me with him into the disabled stall. It was much a bigger space than the other ones; with a stool and a sink.
He turned me, pushing down on my shoulders until I sat on the stool. Unzipping his fly, he just stood there until I finally got the gist of what he wanted and reached inside. Grasping his stiffening penis, I flopped it out, gasping again at its girth. I didn’t have to be told what to do. I opened my mouth and went to work on that fabulous piece of meat, kissing, licking, and sucking as he grunted and groaned above me. Okay, so I was a weak dirty whore who sucked-off strangers in a public restroom. I didn’t care. That warm cock in my mouth was all that mattered at the moment. I was cupping his warm balls and felt them tightening as he got close to the end. I redoubled my effort, but he forced my head off his leaking cock, standing away from my working mouth, breathing heavily for a moment. I fought against his hands, desperate to lick it once more.
Suddenly, he pulled me up, sliding my jersey shorts down my legs until they fell free. I’m not very big, and despite being older, he was a big strong man. He simply lifted me and set me on his rampant cock, letting gravity pull me downward, impaling me like a butterfly. It was raw fire. It was agony. It was wonderful. I cried, squealed and moaned. He showed no mercy, standing with hands on his hips, staring into my eyes, watching as my fear and pain turned to need – then lust. We fucked like animals, oblivious to the outside world. Grunting and crying out our pleasure as he muttered, “White slut, cunt, whore . . .”, unrelenting in his assault on my body. I came twice. He also came, but stayed hard, continuing to fuck me like he owned me. Tightening my legs around his waist, I wrapped my arms around his neck as he lowered his head, swallowing my mouth. I willingly gave him my tongue, this total stranger, this black man, someone I’d never seen before, letting him know by doing so that I was his to do whatever he wanted.
He fucked me for another ten or fifteen minutes, finally pulling me off his dick and turning me around. I bent forward, grasping the metal assist bar running along the wall. He slammed into me from the rear, harder, even more forceful. Every few minutes he’d pause, prolonging his climax, then without any warning, he shoved the spongy head against my anus and the fire started once more.
“Please,” I begged. Please . . .”
“Shut up,” was all he said, burying himself to the balls as I whimpered in pain. As with Randy though, before long I was helping him, pushing back, rotating my hips in cadence with his thrusts. “That the way bitch, get on that cock,” he muttered.
I felt his release splattering into my bowels like a fire hose, sticky, warm and comforting. Abruptly, he pulled completely out of my butt in one movement, as I whimpered in protest. “Please,” I whispered. “I haven’t . . .”
“Too bad,” he said, turning to the sink to wash himself. Just like that he was gone, leaving me huddled in that dirty stall, tears streaming down my face – and not getting that final release.
I don’t know why no one came in that afternoon. I didn’t even see anyone as I staggered out the door and walked up the path in the fading daylight, half-hoping I’d see one of the Hispanic guys. I probably looked like a fucked hooker. I certainly felt like one. I vowed never to do that again. Never.
Randy came home two days later and immediately sensed something was wrong. As soon as he entered, I wrapped my arms around his neck, just holding him close. “Don’t ever leave me again,” I whispered. “Ever.” I could see the silent question in his eyes, but didn’t tell him right then.
After a wild bout of uninhibited sex I finally broke down, cried a little and told him what had happened in the park. Although he pretended otherwise, I sensed his initial anger not sincere. As he pressed me for details and I related them, I saw he was growing more excited by my story, getting hard as a railroad spike. I reached out and grasped his member, squeezing as I told him about backing up to receive the black man’s thick cock as I sucked another one. His breathing grew shallower, his cock jumping as I went into the details of how it felt, how much I had wanted it, and how soiled and degraded I’d felt afterward. He was actually enjoying what I’d done. I could tell.
“This excites you, doesn’t it?” I said, a little miffed at his reaction. He just stared down at me, kind of desperately, with a strained look that almost made me smile.
As I related my most recent experience in the public restroom, squeezing the base of his cock frequently, I saw he was leaking fluid almost constantly. That meant he was close, so I eased off a bit, then went on. I told him I hadn’t meant to go back, but I’d obediently followed the old man inside once I saw him again, telling him all that happened afterward. As soon as I got to the part about shoving that thing up my butt, Randy shot a large white gob at least a foot in the air as I scrambled to get my mouth over the head, to catch the rest. He came a lot, so he’d really been excited.
Afterward, pouting a while, I said, “You liked hearing that. I thought you said you loved me.”
He smiled, touching my face. “I do. More than anything in the world. If I love you, why wouldn’t I want you to be happy? Enjoy your pleasure? That’s what love means to me.”
“Aren’t you jealous?”
“Sure. But that’s part of it - what makes it so delicious. Our life together will be so different than anything you’ve ever known. It’ll be wild, exciting . . . and unpredictable. New things all the time. I promise, it’ll never get old.”
I climbed on top of him and rode him like a stallion for a long time.
Since then as we walk past the park's restroom, when he sees a bunch of men outside, he doesn't say anything. Where there are only two or three, he'll cock and eyebrow and say," Need to pee or anything?"
I know he wants me to do it agin so he can be part of it, but I'll need to make him understand I will never do that that again. It was out of this world nasty sex, but I didn't like the way I felt afterward.
The next day, Stu called my cell phone. He begged me to come back. He was crying. My day was totally shitty after that.