Fifty Shades Of Black

Having just hung her skirt on the hook in the changing booth of the clothing store, Carol stood naked save her bikini panties.

"Carol?" The voice boomed like the speaker were using a bullhorn.

Immediately, a lump formed in Carol's throat. A million thoughts raced through her mind. Who was calling her? Who even knew she was there? What did they want? Then, to things more consequential. What if he peeked in on her? What if he entered the booth? Why hadn't she worn a bra today? Why hadn't she put the new blouse on as soon as she'd removed the old one? Why had she chosen to disrobe so completely?

She stood trembling, frozen with fear, her nipples fossilized. She held her breath hoping whoever had called her wouldn't know she was there. Her name boomed again. It sounded like he was right outside the curtain. Should she answer? She didn't have time.

The curtain was swept aside. Nearly-naked Carol, on display for any eye that cared to take her in. One arm flew up to cover her breasts; the other was dispatched assist the translucent pink panties in shielding something even more precious.

It's difficult to say which was more shocked. The proper British mum standing half-naked in public or the young black man standing bug-eyed, ogling her. He spoke first.

"You're not Carol."

"I - I..." Carol began before realizing she had no idea how to finish her sentence. Her mind spun wildly as it tried to gain sufficient traction to formulate a thought.

Again, he made the first move. Placing two fingers on the arm protecting her breasts, he pressed down gently and Carol permitted the greater exposure having her arm at her side rather than shielding her assets provided. The young man stared and for reasons she couldn't explain or even understand, Carol became excited. His gaze moved to the hand still covering her pussy. Her excitement built. His eyes moved to hers then back to that hand making Carol feel uncomfortable denying the handsome, exotic youth intimate visual access to her body. She lowered the hand and stood before him, hands at her sides, curtain agape.

"There you are, Bl...," were the next words Carol heard as the most beautiful, caramel-colored girl she'd ever seen sauntered into view. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. The girl was the most beautiful person Carol had ever seen, regardless of color. That she also happened to be a mouth-watering shade of brown tinted gold wasn't germane to that.

"Blaine!" Caramel Carol shrieked. "What are you doing? People can see in..." and the privacy curtain swung shut as abruptly as it had opened. But not before Proper Mum Carol regained enough composure to look out, into the store, to check for peepers.

Sure enough a pasty-faced, pudgy, balding man was enjoying the show Carol unintendedly offered. A troubling sense of recognition came over Carol but she couldn't quite place the man. Worse, a similar, knowing flicker registered in his leering eyes. Fortunately, a woman (his wife?), who appeared to be the man's identical twin in drag, ushered him away leaving only speculation about who may have witnessed her embarrassment for poor Carol. She could only hope he'd seen enough to know she'd been the victim of her lascivious display and not its perpetrator.

Still, the oddest part of the whole episode, to this point at least, was that Caramel Carol had drawn the curtain with she and Blaine inside the change room with Carol rather than outside where they logically belonged. Now, two young Americans lingered at their "private" showing of Carol's nearly nude body. Carol's immediate thought was to again strategically deploy her upper limbs in an improvised modesty defense. But abandoned her posturing when she saw Blaine, almost imperceptibly, shake his head no. Carol remained with her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides.

"We're so sorry," Caramel Carol sympathized. "You must be so embarrassed. I have no idea what I'd do if I were in your place. I'm sorry...I'm Carol, by the way. I can't believe we didn't introduce ourselves. Um, this is Blaine which you may have gathered already." Clearly the younger woman was flustered as she held out her hand to Carol. For some reason, unknown to her, Carol shook the offered hand like they'd just been introduced at the opera and not as a naked matron sharing a dressing room with a couple of leering foreigners.

Carol's confusion continued unabated but her trepidation began to ease when her loins reacted positively to her condition. She felt a smile trying to form on her lips when she realized the effect her nudity was having on these young strangers. What should have been the most horrifying encounter of her life was turning out to be anything but as she found Blaine as exciting as his companion was comforting. Still, standing before a pair of young adults in nothing more substantial than a pair of flimsy knickers was too unseemly even for Carol's heightened arousal to justify. Fortunately, the brevity of their encounter was such that a rapid return to greater normalcy might yet salvage the better part of her dignity.

"I...uh... think I'd better get dressed," Carol said with a shy smile, reaching for her blouse.

"Why?" blurted Caramel Carol with genuine incredulity. "I mean, you're beautiful. Isn't she, Blaine?"

Young Blaine did naught but stand, stare, and nod as Carol turned turned bright crimson. She felt the flush rush to her face and silently cursed her mother for passing down the blushing gene. Blaine and Caramel Carol were treated to the sight of something even those most familiar with Carol's famed propensity to redden didn't know. When she blushed her breasts turned a rosy hue.

"Oh, god, you're making me blush," Carol stammered as she fanned herself with her hand. But, just as she felt the color begin to drain, Blaine cupped a breast, brushing his index finger over the nipple.

"Blaine!" yelped Caramel Carol for the second time in a span scarcely sufficient to include an introduction let alone an introduction and a groping. She slapped at her boyfriend's hand causing him to withdraw it but scratching her nail across Carol's engorged nipple in the process.

"Ouch!" Carol winced involuntarily, using her hand to cover her wound.

"I'm sooo sorry," Caramel Carol offered sincerely, pushing Carol's hand away and using her own to soothe the pretty blonde more than old enough to be her mother. "Let me," Caramel Carol continued, "I've just graduated nursing school." Disturbingly, Carol found the young womans's soft caresses mildly arousing.

Carol involuntarily licked her lips as her nipple hardened and began to throb deliciously. Now she had been groped by both strangers. This had turned into a most unexpected day and, unbeknownst to her then, what had transpired already was mild in comparison to what was yet to come.

"Feel better?" Caramel Carol asked hopefully, removing her hands from Carol's breast. A raised red mark could be clearly seen traversing Carol's once again milky skin from one side of her wide nipple to the other.

"I'm fine," Carol smiled, reaching again for her blouse. "You've both been sweet and, uh...well, exciting. Oh god, I shouldn't have said that. Now I'm going to blush again." Fortunately the Americans ignored her new, self-induced embarrassment.

"Let us take you to lunch!" Caramel Carol chirped, delighting at finding a way to repay the older woman's kind forbearances. "You weren't going anywhere special, were you? I mean you weren't shopping for a new outfit for a special occasion were you?"

"No," Carol confessed, "just out window shopping...more or less."

"Great!" exclaimed Caramel Carol, "and before you say no, um...just say yes. Yeah, that's it just say yes. We're fun, I promise...well, except for him," she smiled offering a well placed jerk of the head in Blaine's direction. "Seriously, let us make it up to you. It'll be our treat. You have to admit you can't beat the price. Please say yes."

And so it was that the soon-to-be-exiting-her-forties blonde British mother of two found herself seated in a quiet, dimly lit, corner of a deserted English pub with two Americans of another generation and another race. Later, thinking back, Carol convinced herself that the wine had something to do with it but that was simply because blaming alcohol was an easier and safer confession than admitting that horniness and ego likely played an even biggers role in something she no doubt would have enjoyed even cold sober. That would have required her to confirm that she shared her somewhat bland existence with another Carol, a baser, sluttier Carol, a Carol she preferred not to disturb, to ignore, to hide. A Carol she only acknowledged late at night, in her bed, in her imagination, with her fingers, her vibrators, her dildo.

"How old do you have to be to drink in England?" Caramel Carol whispered to Carol as the trio entered the pub.

"Eighteen, I believe," Carol answered feeling suddenly old at no longer knowing or caring what the age of majority might be.

"Great!" enthused Caramel Carol.

"May I start you with a drink?" the waitress asked, finally fixing her eyes on Carol when Blaine held out his hand toward her, signalling that she should order first.

"Chilled white wine," Carol ordered, then felt slightly foolish when Blaine ordered a Coke and Caramel Carol a Diet Coke.

"I thought you were..." Carol began before letting her voice trail off.

"...drinking?" asked Caramel Carol, finishing the sentence.

"Well, yes," Carol admitted.

"No, we rarely drink...but you should. You need to loosen up." Caramel Carol smiled to display her jest but Carol had already begun her reply.

"Me? I need to loosen up? You two have already seen me naked AND felt me up." Carol had been prepared to continue but stopped when she realized Caramel Carol was pulling her leg.

"Half naked," Caramel Carol corrected with a smile. "And if you think you were felt up, we need the waitress to leave the bottle. Loosen up Carol. Have some fun."

Two hours later Carol was on her second bottle of champagne and the "kids" were still drinking soda. The young Americans had learned a few things about England and Carol had learned that Yankee youth were incredibly less inhibited than she. But even armed with the knowledge of the current state of youth reserve, or lack thereof, even in her own "loosened up" frame of mind, Carol was completely unprepared for Caramel Carol's next question.

"Do you like sucking cock?" Caramel Carol asked as naturally as one might inquire the time. Carol sputtered and Caramel Carol continued as though the question had been rhetorical.

"Here's the thing," Caramel Carol continued, "Blaine and I have this sort of bet going on. It's about cocksucking and, well, you seem a bit submissive, or maybe you're just shy, I don't know. Anyway, if you're the submissive sort, you probably like eating a dick, you know, being of service to the guy, so I thought I'd get your opinion on this cocksucking question we've been debating. Want to hear it?"

Carol felt herself rapidly moistening and reddening at this new line of discussion but she couldn't bring herself to answer Caramel Carol's last question directly.

"Do I really seem submissive to you?" she asked instead. Carol did have a submissive side that she tried to keep well hidden. She often wondered how some men, particularly those she didn't know well, picked up on it. She especially wondered how this rather precocious young woman could see that in her.

"Well, you were quite passive in that changing room. You've been letting me drive the conversation. You've come here with us despite your better judgement. You're continuing to drink even though we aren't. No doubt you thought about changing your mind when you heard us order Coke but didn't because we urged against it. Even my direct question you're reticent to answer. Yes, Carol, you seem quite submissive which leads me to conclude that you're also an enthusiastic cocksucker. Now take a big gulf of champagne and tell us whether or not you want to hear the question."

Carol stared at the table for several seconds before lifting her glass and draining its contents. She remained silent, however.

"I suppose that will do as a 'yes,'" Caramel Carol continued, cupping her hand under Carol's chin and lifting her face. Just before removing her hand, Caramel Carol inserted a finger between Carol's lips and felt the mature blonde tenderly caress it with her tongue.

"Mmmm," Caramel Carol sighed as she dragged her finger out of Carol's sucking mouth. "You're going to like this one, baby," she said patting her virile, youthful companion on his hand. "The only question really is, will it fit?"

Carol was now so a prisoner of her desire. She no longer cared that these two strangers were carrying on a sexual conversation as if her participation was assumed rather than still in question. Just what, precisely, would happen she had no real idea but the facts were that cocksucking was being discussed, a woman's caramel colored digit had just been in her mouth, and now whether something would fit somewhere was being called into question. Even inebriated Carol could still put two and two and two together.

"It won't have to fit if she picks Option B," Blaine said, his first words since exposing Carol in the changing room.

"Like that's going to happen," Caramel Carol chuckled, then returned her attention to Carol. "This one likes his knob polished. Big surprise, huh? What does surprise me a little is there seems to be such a never ending supply of eager women with polishing tongues. Women, frankly, like you, Carol. Do you know why that is? And no, that's still not the question. I'm just curious, that's all. I'll let you know when it's really the question. I mean if he let you, you'd suck old Blaine here off, right."

Carol's brain had gone on information overload. What the hell did Caramel Carol mean if Blaine let her? Did he commonly turn down requests from women requesting to suck his dick? If there was such a man who'd refuse a blowjob, Carol had yet to meet him.

"Yeah, he gets lots of offers," Caramel Carol said like she'd just read Carol's mind. "Pretty simple, really."

There are two universally understood gestures women use to convey a certain intimate attribute of a man. In one, she holds her thumb and index finger an inch or two apart. Pity the fellow who draws that response. He's likely to do his best work with his tongue.

At the other extreme, she holds her hands, palms facing each other, an impressive distance apart. Blessed is he who moves women lewdly thus. It was this gesture Caramel Carol offered Carol by way of explanation for why Blaine enjoyed such a seemingly large choice of women. Except her hands were clownishly far apart. Surely Caramel Carol was caricaturizing Blaine's endowment.

It was at that moment that the waitress reappeared to assess the drinks situation. A black youth, a pretty mulatto, and a mature beauty sat in a circular booth. A fading, middle-aged waitress who'd spent an adult lifetime making a living off her looks, who still produced a burning passion in the desperate, stood. And every eye was focused on Caramel Carol's indecent gesture.

"Interested?" Caramel Carol asked the waitress, but she scurried away.

"I know what you're thinking," Caramel Carol said, returning her attention to Carol. "'No way!' am I right? No way he's that big. Go ahead, judge for yourself. Feel it, Blaine won't mind."

There were few things Carol would have rather done at that moment than to caress Blaine's crotch, but circumstances augured against it: the troubling differential in their ages and their races (Carol had no experiences with Negroes), the general lack of familiarity with this couple, the public venue, and the oh so out-of-character nature of the request itself.

"Help her, Blaine," Caramel Carol beseeched when Carol hesitated. Carol felt as if her wrist had been clamped in a steel vise when Blaine grabbed her. He moved her hand in the direction of his lap. She initially thought of fighting him but quickly understood the futility of resistance.

A liquid explosion in her personal Netherlands when Blaine brought her hand in contact with his cock forced Carol to close her eyes, bite her lip, and breathe deeply through flared nostrils. She was now willingly cupping a black man's crotch. Carol had known of the appeal submission held for a woman even before shades of gray was a topic of adult conversation. She knew that men were blunt, women subtle. She understood oxymorons like leading from behind and passive aggression. She knew the way to control someone like Blaine was to yield to him.

Carol wanted to continue watching her hand caress Blaine's covered cock but the same hand that had imprisoned her wrist now clutched her hair. Her head was being twisted, her face brought to Blaine's. The kiss was almost innocent...until it wasn't. Almost tender...until his passion flared, hoisting hers along with his.

Carol felt something too impossibly long to be a tongue snake into her mouth. Momentarily, she thought Blaine might gag her with it. She began sucking it as if it were his cock. In fact, she was certain she had blown men of lesser endowment. All the while, she stroked something between Blaine's legs that felt too impossibly big to be a cock.

Blaine pulled away leaving Carol panting for breath. She tried to reengage his mouth but he turned away. Suddenly Carol was sure that Caramel Carol's caveat "if he lets you suck his cock" was no misstatement. There was a chance, she realized, that this young stud might deny her that privilege.

Carol was thoroughly confused. Never had she considered the possibility of a man refusing to get blown. She was reminded of a joke she'd once heard.

A woman found herself alone in an elevator with a handsome movie star. She turned to the star and told him, "I could kneel down right here, right now and give you a magnificent blowjob."

"I'm sure you could," he replied, "but what would I get out of it?"

Carol wondered, if she blew Blaine right then, what he'd get out of it. He could have any number of women begging to suck him off. What was special about her? Why should she be the one swallowing his load? In her confused state, it began to dawn on her that, should she suck Blaine's cock, it wouldn't be Carol doing Blaine the a favor, not the other way around. That realization made Carol quiver. In the space of a single second she'd become desperate to suck off young Blaine, and, unbeknownst to her at the time, that would become a problem for her.

"Take it out," Carol heard dimly, through the fog enveloping her brain. "Go ahead, you know you want to." It was Caramel Carol ordering her to do something. The words were both ambiguous and stunningly clear at the same time. "Ambiguous clarity," there's an oxymoron, Carol thought.

'Take what out?' Carol wanted to ask but knew the question was unnecessary. There was no confusion about what 'it' was or where 'out' was. The only real confusion Carol had was did Caramel Carol mean right there, at the pub. Would Blaine permit it? And forget Blaine, she, herself, was not prepared to engage in some form of pub dogging.

Deep down, Carol was certain this was some sort of tease these two were perpetrating. Perhaps she was the mark in some x-rated game show. Perhaps her friends Helen and Sarah were preparing to jump out at any second shouting "Surprise!" It didn't matter really, she was enjoying having her pleasure cauldron bubble like this. Later, at home alone, she would have even greater fun. Carol made a mental note to pick up fresh batteries. It was going to be a long night.

"Do you like spankings?" Caramel Carol asked out of the blue.

"What?" Carol asked, completely confused.

"Spankings. Do you like them? I'm speaking of a proper spanking, over a man's knee, skirt up, panties down, genuine stinging swats meant to bring a woman to heel. That kind of spanking."