What can bored white women do for excitement in a one horse town?
“Some Happy Hour this is!” Tracey heaves a deep sigh as she surveys the single patron sipping his beer in a dark corner of Wally’s Bar and Grill. The minute hand on the clock affixed to the dingy wall is already creeping towards the 3 on the grease glazed dial. “It’s almost quarter after five on a Thursday night, and we have one freaking customer!” she exclaims to her fellow bartender, Donna. “Well, what do you expect in a one horse town like this, Tray?” Donna responds soothingly to her friend, flashing her a typically big, warm smile. In contrast to the languid Tracey, hunched dejectedly over the bar, the buxom Donna is bustling with activity in preparation for what she knows will be the inevitable influx of customers later in the evening. With her winning smile, long, curly blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, the energetic 37 year old Donna is frequently mistaken for a twentysomething. Her greatest assets are displayed to advantage, as they always are at Wally’s, with her low cut blouse flaunting ample cleavage and barely containing her bountiful D-cup tits. Appreciative male eyes drinking in the provocative frontal display experience a further treat with the rear view, with Donna’s tight jean skirt hugging her bubble like ass as it swings with the rhythm of a pendulum. There aren’t any of her many admirers in the bar right now, but she knows she can count on them to show up before the night is over, to get their fill of eye candy and have their clumsy, drunken passes neatly and charmingly deflected with a fetching little laugh.

As Donna hums about the bar like a blonde dynamo, Tracey’s soft blue eyes stare blankly out the bar’s dingy windows and into the clear blue September sky beyond. Her pretty face, framed with its straight, shoulder length dark brown hair, is a mask of boredom. Here I am, 34 years old, and still stuck in this pathetic little town, she sighs to herself. Glancing down, she unbuttons another button of her blouse, knowing that her C-cups will have to compete for attention with Donna’s luscious melons. Slightly taller than her friend, Tracey is not displaying her long, lovely legs tonight. Instead, she is wearing a pair of tight jeans that showcase her shapely ass. Like Donna, Tracey insures the success of the local watering hole by offering herself as delectable bait for the bar’s patrons. Both women carefully keep their bodies in prime condition and they know that Wally’s periodic threats to trade them in for younger models are just empty noise. The two women are the magnets that draw every male in a 50 mile radius to Wally’s and the old man knows it. Donna’s bubbly banter is the perfect foil to Tracey’s more aggressive flirtatiousness, which is punctuated by bawdy and suggestive comments directed at her circle of male admirers. All the teasing, flirting and dirty talk produces the desired result. Over the past six years that they’ve been working together, the duo have been responsible for literally thousands of yearning, unsatisfied erections, a fact that both have laughingly witnessed with their own eyes.

“The worst part is, Matt is tied up this weekend and I won’t be seeing him at all,” Tracey moans in despair. “Does Al know about him?” Donna queries her friend, referring to Tracey’s hulking, jealous husband. “Yeah, right.” Tracey replies with a sarcastic little sneer. “Al doesn’t know anything. He’s away on business all the time. And a girl gets lonely, you know,” she offers apologetically. “And how old is Matt again?” Donna pursues. “He’s 17,” Tracey replies rolling her eyes, her voice tinged with defensive exasperation. “And yes, I know what you’re going to say, but he’s already an adult and he knows what he’s doing. Oh, boy! Does he know what he’s doing!” she continues, her voice now taking on a lusty tone. “Last Saturday night, he gave me three orgasms! Three!” Tracey almost shouts, quickly checking herself with a furtive glance at the single customer sitting obliviously in his corner. “Hey, it’s your business, honey. Just be careful. That’s all I’m saying,” Donna replies softly, flashing her sweet smile again. “What about you? Who are you seeing now?” Tracey counters, knowing that her blonde friend is far from an angel herself. “Nobody right now. I’m trying to be a good girl. I haven’t done anything since I fucked Ned that night,” Donna responds. “Wait, you mean that night your car broke down and he gave you a ride home?” Tracey almost shrieks with delight, her eyes opening wide in astonishment. “Yeah, that was the night,” Donna affirms with a wicked little grin. “I knew you did it!” Tracey declares proudly. “You just never admitted to it until now. And I told you to keep your hands to yourself,” she adds in a tone of mock scolding. “Yeah well, I didn’t,” Donna giggles, suddenly feeling a surge of warmth and wetness far below at the memory of her most recent night of illicit passion. “Good for you!” Tracey congratulates her. “Yeah, he was good,” Donna agrees, “but Bruce has been so sweet to me lately, I would actually feel guilty if I did anything now,” she continues, her voice now heavy with remorse at the thought of cheating on her husband again. “Well, what else is there to do in this boring town except get laid?” Tracey exclaims in exasperation. “I just wish we had some excitement around here!”

“Christine’s here!” Donna calls out cheerfully, as looking out the window, she sees the familiar figure getting out of her car and starting across the parking lot towards Wally’s. “Oh, cool!” Tracey responds, reaching for a wine glass and a bottle of their favorite customer’s favorite chardonnay. Presently, the door swings open, and the petite figure steps inside. “Hi, Chrissy!” Donna happily chirps. “Hi, girls,” Christine responds, her progress from the front door to the bar traced by the rapid click of her high heels on the polished hardwood floor. She walks up to the bar and slides her perfectly rounded little ass, constricted in its short, tight skirt, onto the stool opposite Donna. “Long day, Chris?” Tracey queries, setting the usual glass of chardonnay in front of her. “You know it,” Christine replies, slipping her tired, pretty little feet with their red painted toenails out of her black patent leather pumps. At 5’2” and 105 pounds, she is the shortest and slightest of the three attractive women clustered on either side of the bar. At 39, she’s also the oldest, and her professional appearance is in sharp contrast to that of the two casually attired barkeeps. Her pretty face is naturally intelligent looking, an impression enhanced by the glasses that give her the appearance of a prim, but sexy librarian. She wears her straight, dirty blonde hair shoulder length, and the grayish blue eyes behind the designer frames critically appraise her surroundings. Clad in her tight fitting, navy blue pinstripe skirted business suit, she appears the very essence of the professional woman, with the low cut jacket and blouse displaying enough cleavage to leave no doubt that a red blooded woman is at the heart of the appealing package. In fact, with her C-cup tits, Christine is quite top heavy for such a small woman, but as she can proudly affirm, it is nature that has blessed her with the feminine bounty that strains her blouse.

Refreshing herself with a sip of chardonnay, Christine lets out a sigh. “I need a vacation. I just need a change of scenery,” she laments. “Yeah, Tracey was just saying the same thing,” Donna responds with a smile. “Work is getting you down that bad, Chris?” Tracey asks. “Actually, it’s not even the job. It’s men,” Christine responds. “Oh, that’s everybody’s problem!” Donna answers consolingly, letting out a sympathetic giggle. “I’m just getting sick of my boyfriend, and you already know that I’m beyond sick of my husband,” Christine continues, expressing her discontent with her long-standing and well known triangular love life. “Time for a new guy,” Tracey chimes in, always as ready to encourage the extramarital adventures of other women as she is to dive headlong into her own. “Believe me, I could get a new man like that,” Christine boasts. “When I work out at the gym, guys are always swarming me. Believe it or not, I have 5 or 6 phone numbers of really hot guys I could call right now.” “Oh, I believe it,” Tracey replies without hesitation. “I just can’t understand why you don’t do something about it. Life is short. You should get as much as you can.” “Well, maybe this weekend I will call one of them,” Christine responds. “But first I have to get through tomorrow.” “Tomorrow’s Friday, it’s all good!” Tracey exclaims cheerfully. “Yeah, but I have to meet with this major new client tomorrow, and take him to lunch. I’m not even going to be able to wear jeans tomorrow,” Christine replies sadly. “Well, there you go! There’s your new guy!” Tracey offers helpfully. “Did you meet him yet? Is he hot?” “I met him briefly today,” Christine replies. “But nothing’s going to happen. He’s black.” “Yeah, so?” Tracey counters. “Is he hot?” “I guess he is, if you like black guys. But I’m definitely not into them,” Christine responds. “Besides, I don’t sleep my way to the top.” “Oh, you mean like when you fucked that V.P.?” Tracey asks scoffingly. “I wasn’t up for a promotion, and I sure as heck didn’t get one,” Christine ripostes defensively, taking another sip of wine. “But the President told me that I will be in line for a promotion if I land this account. And he did tell me that this guy likes white women,” she adds mischievously. “Go for it!” Tracey exclaims enthusiastically, eliciting another giggle from Donna. “Well, he’s not getting this white woman,” Christine declares defiantly. “I’m going to do everything to make this a success, but I’m not jumping into bed with him.” “You know, I almost fucked a black guy,” Tracey blurts out, with an almost dreamy look in her eye. “When did this happen?” asks a startled Donna. “Oh, a couple of months ago,” Tracey replies. “A bunch of us went to this bar in the City. I got sooooo drunk, and I started talking dirty to this black dude,” she continues. “I was all ready to go home with him, but the other girls came and rescued me,” she concludes, shrugging with disappointment. “Wow! You never told me any of this! Some friend you are!” Donna exclaims in mock vexation. “Oh yeah, well you never told me you fucked Ned!” Tracey counters. Christine smirks at the bawdy banter between the two friends and takes another sip of wine. “Hey, Christine, you work in the City. You must see black guys every day,” Tracey wonders out loud, turning back to the subject that is now apparently her current obsession. “Not really,” is the reply. “We only have one black guy working in our building. The janitor.” “You ever think about doing him?” Tracey asks, continuing to press the issue. “Give it up, Tracey!” Donna interjects, but Christine just giggles good naturedly at her friend’s persistence. “What about you, Donna? Have you ever done a black guy?” Tracey asks the blonde beauty. “No, and I never really wanted to. Just never saw the fascination,” Donna replies. “You guys have no sense of adventure!” Tracey chides them. “Next chance I get, I’m giving one a try!” “Well have fun!” Christine responds dismissively, as she finishes her glass of wine and Donna lets out another giggle.

“So those are our projections! That’s what we can do for you!” Christine concludes the presentation to the prospective client with a note of triumph in her voice. It’s almost noon on Friday, and she can tell that she’s hooked her fish. He’s really impressed with the presentation and he seems impressed with me too, she thinks, scanning the darkly handsome face seated across the conference table from her. He’s also hot for me and I don’t mind that one bit, she muses, having caught several discreet glances cast by her interlocutor down the front of her blouse during the course of their meeting. If it helps me get this account, so much the better. “This is very impressive,” her guest intones in his deep voice, “but I did have some questions about some of these figures.” “I’d be happy to answer any questions you have,” Christine replies, with a serious, almost scholarly look on her prim, bespectacled face. “What specifically did you have questions about?” “Here, let me show you on this spreadsheet,” the studly business prospect replies, sliding his chair around to Christine’s side of the table, and parking himself next to her. He’s got quite a body, she admits to herself, noting with approval the broad shoulders and bulging biceps barely contained by the straining suit jacket. “So, what specifically concerns you about this?” she asks, surprised at the sudden tremor in her voice. As the deep voice beside her begins to respond, with the big, strong hands gesturing to items on the spreadsheet, Christine is surprised, almost shocked, by the sudden, unmistakable surge of wetness far below. Not that she’s disturbed by the manifestations of arousal. She’s always happiest when she’s horny, and there’s an obvious explanation for it now. I haven’t had sex in three days. Of course, having a guy, any guy, so close to me is going to get me going, she reassures herself. I actually do like him, but of course I’m not attracted to him. Even so, with discreet nervousness, she can’t help sliding her pretty little right foot in and out of her sexy red high heeled pump. With her love juices now flowing freely, she forces herself to focus on answering the client’s questions, but she is fully conscious of the intent gaze being trained on her. Barely keeping it all together, she finally finishes her explanation, and looking up shyly, she asks in a voice reduced almost to a whisper, “Does that pretty much explain it?” The response is absolutely devastating. “Yeah! Yes it does!” and the handsome dark face breaks into a broad grin. The deep, dark eyes of the male bore into the cool, grayish blue eyes of the female. The powerful gaze burns through the sheltering designer frames and the two pairs of eyes drink in each other’s depths. This intense eye contact is fleeting, but it is enough. Woman drops her eyes demurely, and feeling a fresh, even more powerful surge below, knows that she is conquered. Oh my god! she exclaims to herself. It is him! Sitting in her seat breathlessly, her heart pounding, she is now fully conscious of her deepest desires. Suddenly, she is jolted back to reality by the deep voice. “Well, it’s lunchtime. Want to grab something to eat?” Trying to master herself, she replies in a far away voice, “Sure.” Remembering the instructions given to her by the President of the company, she pulls herself back together. “Yes. Yes, I’m taking you to lunch. Where do you want to go?” “Oh, no place fancy. How about QuickBurger?” is the reply. “Seriously? QuickBurger?” Christine counters, by now almost fully recovered from her lustful trancelike state. “We can do better than that!” “Hey, I’m a no frills guy and I haven’t had QuickBurger in ages,” the big black stud responds. “OK, Mister B-“ Christine begins, but she is gently cut off. “Herschel. Just call me Herschel.” “OK, Herschel. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to use the ladies’ room and I’ll meet you out in front of the building in five minutes.”

The click of the red high heel pumps echoes on the tile floor of the ladies’ room as Christine rapidly makes her way to one of the stalls. Oh my god! I want him so fucking bad! she cries out to herself, even as she ducks into a stall and shuts the door behind her. No one else in here, she reassures herself, as she slides her hand down her skirt. The hand moves further down until the fingers reach the mound of Venus. What has he done to me? she wonders, and already knowing the answer, allows her forefinger to gently push past her nether lips to get confirmation. Softly letting out something between a moan and a gasp, she can immediately feel the luscious honey clinging to her finger. Yes, she’s ready for him. She wants him. But I’ve got to pull myself together. I’ve got to get this account, and I’m not going to sleep with him to do it, she decides firmly. Walking out of the stall, she stops in front of the mirror, carefully brushes her hair and straightens her blue business suit with its tight fitting jacket and tight, short skirt. She also carefully unbuttons another button on her blouse, and then exits the ladies’ room with her usual rapid steps.

“Well, thanks to you, I’m going to have to spend an extra half hour at the gym working off this QuickBurger!” Christine teases her muscular companion as they wrap up their lunch date. “You don’t have anything to worry about,” the stud reassures his shapely companion. “This is what’s really going to kill me,” she responds, taking a pull on the straw sticking in her thick, rich vanilla milkshake. Pulling out the straw, she contemplates the dense white paste adhering to it. “Mmmm” she purrs, first flicking her tongue at the end of the straw, and then slowly, deliberately sliding it up its entire length. As her sensual, snake like oral tool becomes lathered with the thick, white, creamy paste, she makes eye contact with her black stud. Mesmerized by the spectacle, his eyes remain riveted on the obviously skilled tongue, until finally, coated with whiteness, it is pulled back into the eager mouth. “You’ve got some talent!” he murmurs. “It’s kind of like a fetish of mine. An oral fetish,” she replies, licking her lips to catch any residual white cream. “Do you like chocolate shakes, too?” the stud asks, continuing the suggestive duel between man and woman. “I haven’t tried chocolate yet,” she responds, again locking eyes with him and holding him with her gaze. “But I want to.” “Oh, I know you will,” Herschel assures her, his eyes focusing on her still glistening lips.

“Hey, Missy!” Donna’s perpetually cheerful voice calls out in greeting to the girl walking into Wally’s. It’s 4 P. M. on Friday, and 17 year old Jessica has arrived to begin her shift as a waitress in the restaurant portion of Wally’s. “Hi, Donna!” she returns the greeting, stopping briefly in the deserted bar to chat with the friendly blonde. “So, how did things go with your parents, honey? Did you have that talk with them?” “Yeah, and I convinced them that if I’m going to have a job and make any money, I’m going to have to work here. The only other option here in town is the MicroMart. I could get a job at the Mall, but that’s half an hour away, or in the City, but that’s an hour’s drive. But they’re not happy about me working here.” “Did you tell them that you’re not allowed to serve any alcohol?” Donna asks. “Oh, they know that,” Jessica replies. “But they also know the kind of guys that come here,” she continues, glancing at her image in the big mirror hanging behind the bar. Young and pretty, Jessica has no illusions about why she’s been hired at Wally’s. A straight “A” student, she has transformed herself for her evening’s work. This morning, leaving for school, wearing her glasses, her hair in a ponytail and dressed in a baggy sweatshirt, she would have attracted little notice, even from the most lascivious of Wally’s patrons. Now, the studious looking glasses are gone, replaced by contacts, allowing her to show off her big brown eyes. The ponytail is also gone, and the straight brown hair, now let down, falls just past her shoulders. A light application of makeup completes the transformation of her face from girlish to womanly. Gone too is the sweatshirt. Jessica now wears a white button down blouse, with the sleeves rolled up, and with just enough buttons left undone to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. I know Wally hired me for my boobs, she reminds herself, and her young D-cup titties are indeed showcased impressively by the tight fitting blouse. To complete the package, her bubble shaped ass, almost as big as Donna’s, is encased in her tightest pair of jeans. Unlike Donna and Tracey, however, Jessica has no taste for engaging in flirtatious or bawdy banter with the restaurant customers. For one thing, she knows that overtly sexual behavior will only lead to trouble, and secondly, the thought of flirting with vaguely creepy thirty or fortysomethings and decidedly creepy fiftysomethings repulses her. Instead, her style is friendly, but straightforward and efficient. In fact, her behavior is so proper, that wives who at first eye her with suspicion are chatting with their sweet young waitress by the end of dinner, while their husbands look on glumly. In spite of her reserve on the job, and her dedication to her studies, Jessica is completely comfortable with her sexuality; she’s already bedded three boyfriends. Bound for college next fall, she knows what she wants and how to get it.

“Hi, Jess!” Tracey greets her young friend, as she emerges from a back room and steps behind the bar. “How was your first full week back at school?” “Great! It’s my senior year and I’m so excited,” Jessica replies enthusiastically. “Still with your boyfriend from this summer?” Tracey asks. “Yeah, we’re still together,” Jessica answers guardedly, knowing her older, more experienced friend’s penchant for stirring up sexual tempests. “Any new guys you’ve got your eye on?” Tracey pursues, as Donna silently laughs and shakes her head in the background. “No, not really. Pretty much the same old faces. Actually, there’s only one new kid in our school this year. He’s black and he’s not even in my class,” Jessica replies. “Really?” Tracey responds incredulously, hardly believing that the teen has brought up the topic that is increasingly becoming her obsession. “Is he a senior? Have you thought about dating him?” “Tray!” Donna cries out in exasperation. “You’re going to have to excuse her, honey. She’s got jungle fever,” Donna counsels an unfazed Jessica. “Yeah, he is a senior, and no, I haven’t given any thought at all to dating him. Why should I?” the remarkably poised girl answers straightforwardly. “Hey, it’s the 21st century,” Tracey replies. “Yes, it is. And you never know, I guess,” Jessica admits, her cheeks suddenly flushing with the realization that she’s just opened the door to the possibility of someday dating this as yet unknown black boy. “Jessica! Customers!” Wally’s bellowing voice suddenly snaps her back to reality and saves her from further embarrassment. Peering into the restaurant, she sees a married couple taking their seats in one of the booths. “I’ve got to get to work,” she says, and grabbing two menus, hurries from the bar. She laughingly shakes her head, as behind her, she can hear Donna chastising Tracey for this latest encouragement to interracial dating.

It’s now past 6 P.M. and Christine is dead tired from her long but exhilarating day at work. Regretfully, she had to turn down Herschel’s invitation to dinner at Chez Versailles, the most upscale restaurant in the City, to be able to finish her report, as per the President’s orders. It’s just as well, she reflects. If I went out to dinner with him, I would have ended up in bed with him, and I’m not getting this account that way. The rapid click of her heels echoes and reechoes on the marble floor of the deserted building as she hurries to the elevator. Or is it deserted? Hearing some rustling at the end of the corridor, and noticing that the door to the janitor’s closet is open, Christine allows her curiosity to get the best of her, and the heels begin to click their way past the elevator and down the corridor. Nearing the closet, she calls out softly, “Hello?” In response, the maintenance man steps out of the closet, mop in hand. “Oh hi, Tyler! What are you still doing here?” she greets the young black man facing her. “Working late to clean up all the disasters around here,” Tyler responds matter-of-factly. “Somebody dropped the coffee pot in the break room and there’s glass fragments everywhere, and I’m not even gonna tell you what I gotta clean up in the men’s room!” “Oh, that stinks, Tyler! Literally! Especially since its Friday,” Christine responds, peering at him through her designer frames with sincere sympathy. “Oh, it’s okay. I am getting paid overtime,” is the response. Funny how I’m chatting him up now, Christine thinks to herself. I see him practically every day, but I just say hello and breeze on by. Now, she turns her appraising eyes on the young maintenance man for the first time. Tall and thin, yet muscular, his dark brown skin is about the same shade as Herschel’s. He’s somewhere in his twenties, and he’s actually pretty cute, she decides, without even fully realizing that she’s never before thought of black men in such terms. The appraising grayish blue eyes now drop below the belt. He’s definitely got a bulge, she acknowledges approvingly to herself, the eyes honing in on the crotch of the stud’s work pants. The familiar feeling seizes hold of her again. Now, for the second time today, a black man is causing her womanly juices to flow. I’ve got to find out, she resolves. “Well, I think you deserve more than overtime,” she says softly. Her heels now click slowly on the marble floor as she advances on the young black stud with deliberate steps. She stops in front of him and looks him straight in the eye. “I think you deserve a bonus,” she declares. “Like what kind of bonus?” he asks. Maintaining unbroken eye contact, and now with a lascivious smirk on her face, Christine reaches out and with her hands unerringly finding the black stud’s belt, she begins to undo the buckle. “Oh, shit!” the stud exclaims, hardly able to believe his good fortune. As his now unfastened work pants drop, he pushes away his mop, and lets it fall to the floor with a clatter.

As Christine drops to her knees, the stud begins to unbutton his work shirt. Christine tugs at the stud’s drawers and pulls them down to his knees. Liberated from its cage, the big black beast already begins to swell as it engorges with an ever increasing volume of blood flowing into the thick dark veins that lace its length. Taking the rapidly stiffening shaft in her hand, Christine begins to slowly stroke the mammoth black tool to full erection. “You’re big, babe,” she purrs contentedly, silently estimating the size of the stud’s tool at 11.5 inches. Opening her mouth, she gives the bulbous black penile head a first, brief flick of the very tip of her tongue. Quickly pulling her tongue back, she savors her first tentative taste of a black man. Not bad, she thinks, extending her tongue again for more prolonged delectation of her chocolate treat. She swirls her tongue around the thick head of her stud’s cock, and again skillfully uses the tip of her tongue to tantalize the penile slit. The stud emits a low, rumbling groan, and with glee, Christine can feel the first flow of the treat whose oily consistency is so familiar to a seasoned slut like her. Precum! As these first fruits of the black man’s genetic treasure continue to seep out from the tool’s slit, Christine grips the penis firmly in her hand. She now lovingly runs her expert tongue along the bottom of the stud’s jewel pouch and then slowly slides it upwards, giving an oral caress to the entire length of the rigid black love pipe. Now, back at the tip of the black love spear, she closes her mouth. First the bloated tip of the great black beast disappears into the eager, pretty little white mouth. Then, the long shaft also begins to vanish as the white slut slowly inches her head forward. I’m going to deep throat him, she decides. He’s so fucking huge, but I’ve got to do it. Slowly, deliberately, blonde head edges closer to black pelvis. A deep, visceral groan from her black stud encourages her, as her yearning lips now reach the halfway mark and move beyond it. Even as her mouth busily, greedily devours the black python, her right hand is slowly, gently massaging the sperm heavy balls, the reservoir where the teeming millions are awaiting their call. As her mouth continues its downward progress, Christine’s confidence increases. Almost there, she tells herself triumphantly, her lips eager to kiss the base of the rigid black tool. I’ve sucked so much cock, I probably don’t even have a gag reflex anymore, she laughs to herself. Then, abruptly, at the 10 inch mark, the jarring gag reflex finally hits her. I’m so close, I’m not giving up now. Fighting her way forward, she crams more black meat into the pretty little white mouth. The next inch is gained, with difficulty, when she is jarred with another gag. With grim determination, she gives one final forward thrust of her lips, until at last, she kisses the base of the black stud’s penis. Her nose now touching the stud’s pelvic bone, her heroic effort is rewarded with a guttural groan of “holy shit!” emanating from her black stud. After holding her mouth in place for a long moment, she slowly begins backing off. My glasses even stayed on! Damn, I’m good! she giggles to herself. Satisfied that she has proven her prowess as a deep throating slut, Christine now turns her full attention to bringing her big black stud to ultimate release. She wants the thick, white genetic milkshake that she’s been craving since her lunch with Herschel. It won’t contain his genetic code, but at least it will be the DNA of one of his African brothers. Rapidly, the blonde head begins bobbing up and down on the stiff, straining black love pole, as the stud grunts his approval. Subjected to the intensive oral assault, the stud feels the first tidal surge deep in his balls, and lets out a groan. He’s not going to last much longer, Christine realizes gleefully and intensifies her efforts, anticipating the genetic nectar that will be her prize. One last groan, deeper than all the rest, as the hot white love lava erupts deep in the black stud’s balls and begins its upwards journey. Realizing the significance of the groan, Christine rapidly pulls her head back and opens her mouth wide. The great tormented black beast, pushed beyond endurance by the oral torture inflicted upon it, begins to belch forth its sweet agony. The first highly pressurized blast of sperm hits the back of Christine’s throat, but the seasoned white slut is no stranger to a man’s ejaculation, and she does not flinch. She holds her mouth open the black stud’s for full load. “Holy shit! Holy shit!” the stud cries out as his tool spurts again and again. Even as her mouth fills rapidly with the black man’s love milk, Christine gleefully counts the spurts…six, seven, eight…and knows that the protein supplement she will soon be sending to her belly will be a plentiful one. Finally, after ten spurts, the black beast ceases to belch. Christine closes her mouth and gulps. A mass of white goo begins its downward journey, but the load is so huge that she has to gulp again to fully swallow all of it. Looking up worshipfully at her black stud, she sticks out her glistening tongue and opens her now empty mouth wide. “All gone!” she announces with lustful satisfaction. Several drops of sperm splash onto the marble floor from the spent black tool, its erection now slowly subsiding. Getting back to her feet, Christine points to the spilled genetic milk with a giggle. “You better make sure you mop that up, babe.” Giving her black stud a slutty little goodbye smile, she turns and her heels begin to click rapidly again on the marble floor as they resume their interrupted journey to the elevator. Glancing down at the front of her business suit, Christine reassures herself that no stray sperm has landed on its dark fabric. That’s always such a bitch to get out, she giggles to herself.
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