A trophy plaything for a wealthy Manhattan businessman takes an unexpected slip from life's pedestal when she finds herself underneath a homeless man -- but discovers it is just where she needs to be!
Racquel Darrian had grown tired of being an objectified fashion model -- it was such an empty existence. Something had to change, but what? Her uber-rich boyfriend, Craig, had put her up to the whole modeling thing and she had definitely excelled beyond even his lofty expectations. Her fit, tiny body, pretty face and her obedience in front of the camera made her an instant success, but there was a desire deep within her that she could not yet define, but she knew it would one day take over and she might finally feel complete.
Craig was a tall, handsome blonde Yale graduate with chiseled features and parents who lived in the Hamptons. He worked for a famous bank and intended to marry Racquel one day, once his dad had retired for good.
One morning, Racquel was alone up in Craig's penthouse suite 30 stories over Manhattan, peering through a high definition telescope at people down below all heading off to work. Racquel was dressed in a one-piece black and white striped dress with a skirt section that barely covered her ass. As per Craig's insistence, she was also wearing high-heels to show off her tanned, long legs. Although Racquel had a modeling job later in the afternoon, she could not but help spy on people on her free time - it had become her secret obsession that had made her late for modeling sessions several times already.
In a few situations, Racquel had caught girls getting dressed across the way in the facing condo and she had found it difficult to pull herself away from the free show. The previous Tuesday was pay dirt as she had the pleasure of spying on a fat, balding handyman screw a beautiful blonde dressed in lingerie and heels. Watching the man grimacing with pleasure amused Racquel at first, but she had ended up finger banging herself as she gripped the shaking telescope for balance -- it was one of her finest orgasms ever
For some twisted reason she had wished it was her underneath the old fella; whom she viewed as kinda gross and definitely not her type at all, but who had clearly given the pretty blonde a fuck to remember. Was she a hooker, or just girl dying for a random fuck? Racquel doubted she'd ever figure it out for sure, but had day dreamed about trading places with her every day since.
Tilting the telescope tube to street level, Racquel spotted some movement down one of the alleys. As she scanned around, she saw it was a typical New York setup with dumpsters, puddles, trash everywhere and a dirty mattress. As she zoomed in, she saw a filthy homeless man sitting on the edge of the mattress beating off to a dirty magazine.
She reckoned he was mid-fifties. He had messy hair, a grey beard and a beet gut. To her amusement she noticed he had a very thick, long penis. She then turned on the telescope recorder and began capturing video. Her breathing soon became shallow as she continued to check the action below. The noises around her then vanished and she found herself transfixed.
Racquel then flashed back to New Years at the Hampton's. Something had happened that night and she had never told a single person about it, but she knew then it was her desire for something so dirty and forbidden that she could not speak of it. And this man, 30 stories below, was somehow connected to such forbidden desires.
Thinking back to how that New Year's night had unfolded, she remembered the Lear Jet flight over with Craig followed by dinner at some restaurant that Craig had boasted had a six-month waiting list. They had eaten caviar in the limo and drank Champagne, but somehow the snootiness of how Craig had treated the staff on hand and the driver had both bored her and embarrassed her beyond words.
Like a mannequin, Craig had approval over what she wore in public and tonight he insisted she wear a white latex mini-skirt, white boots above the knee and a sexy white jacket with shoulder pads. He liked dressing her like the ultimate slut only he was allowed to touch.
Craig was already drunk as they arrived at their destination: a beachside mansion filled with the richest of rich, all seemingly donned in white casual wear. As the evening progressed, Craig continued to get more and more loaded with his old fraternity guys, all of whom thought she was a 'smoking hot babe' according to Craig. It felt like a victory for him that all his old chums wanted to screw his girl. Some men could get jealous over these kinds of head-games, but he lived for winding up his colleagues. For Racquel though, the evening was quickly becoming a dull and tiresome charade. She ended up sitting at the bar alone chatting with the very polite bartenders.
By 11PM Craig was nowhere to be seen. The event photographer then whispered to her that Craig had passed out on one of the deck chairs and pointed in the direction of the beach, assuming she'd just head right out there to be with her man. The assumption annoyed her. It was then that Racquel's life changed - forever. One of the bartender's, Henry, a middle-aged black man with grey flecks on his Afro and beard let down his polished act and started in with the smooth talk and long gazes. He had apparently sensed an opportunity and was not going to allow it to slip away.
Racquel knew what was happening between them and just let it escalate. He was being quite funny and they shared a few genuine laughs. Although she didn't consider him very attractive, his overconfidence intrigued her. Teasing him was fun and she hadn't had to do that for ages. It was obvious he fancied himself a cocksman of sorts, but she had certainly rebuffed a great many of those in her time so felt she could keep him in check if need be.
As the hour drew near, he looked at her as if he had a little plan he wanted to hatch. Checking both ways to see no one was spying on them, he waved her close and asked if she wouldn't like to take a tour out back to the kitchen.
She giggled and found herself nodding yes. He then pointed to a set of metal swinging doors leading to the kitchen and instructed her to meet him on the other side. She saw Henry wink at his other bartender, who knew what was up. Henry appeared through an archway and removed his apron, tossing it on a dish rack as he eyed Racquel, taking note for the first time that she was wearing a tiny mini-skirt and had incredible legs. In the huge, empty kitchen, her arms folded, Racquel appeared unsure of what was to happen next.
Henry approached her, and as she was about start in with small talk he placed his hands firmly on her waist pulling her to him. They kissed. It was all very sudden, but Racquel felt she was in the hands of a very confident, self-assured man and it excited her -- like he hadn't seen the trophy at all, but just some sleazy whore whom he intended to treat as the easiest lay at the party.
Is that what Henry really thought of her, Racquel wondered to herself? Did he have any idea WHO she was? For some reason it didn't bother her -- not like she thought it should anyway. Soon they were passionately French kissing as she stroked his neck and Afro with one hand and placed the other on his chest. She could feel his massive rod pressing up against her and she touched it with her long fingernails. She then found herself kissing him with more enthusiasm than she felt possible. It was the first time a black man had ever touched her and she knew right then it would not be the last.
At five minutes to midnight the noise outside the kitchen began to pick up. Henry then took Racquel's tiny hand and led her to the wine room, which was significantly darker inside. He lifted her up and planted her ass on a bench and hastily unbuckled his pants. Just like that, her panties were pushed to one side and Henry was on top sliding his giant wet cock inside of her. No condom.
