This is a fantasy story in which the female character's physical description has been purposefully left generic. This should allow the reader to visualize her physical traits according to his/her own preferences. Can you see her, as she opens herself up to sexual cravings long suppressed, and seeks fulfillment of a kind she'd all but given up hope of achieving? Is she someone YOU know? Enjoy the story...
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I am a Black stud, and I know the need that some white women have for men such as me. I seldom deny them the chance to explore their hidden desires to engage in what some call 'taboo love,' to be taken in sexual positions or to depths that they only dream of with their 'significant others.' Neighbors, the real estate lady, the girl friend of a co-worker or social friend... Even the local beauty care door-to-door saleslady, they all come calling in one fashion or another, each secretly hoping that I'll find them sexually alluring enough to engage in a secret lunch-time or afternoon rendezvous with them. Word gets around, that the black guy on Randolph Road who mows his lawn wearing only the shortest of shorts, has a thick schlong that is delicious, long-lasting, gets into all of your hard to reach crevices, and best of all, is available to sophisticated, discreet, and needy women on such short notice. Or maybe even walk-ins, with no reservation is needed at all.
Just this afternoon I was casually working in the yard, weeding one of my flower beds, when the local beauty products lady drove into the driveway in her company awarded car. Nice! I knew almost instinctively that she wasn't expecting to win another Saleslady-Of-the-Month Award at my residence.
She was stylishly dressed, wearing a business suit complete with a short skirt just above the knees. She opened the door of the car and stepped out, showing a bit more leg and thigh than I thought necessary. But, it was appreciated, all the same.
Her face almost lit up as she looked at me, and her smile seemed calculated to win over even a hard-core sales resister. I made a mental note to not resist, too much. "Hi, is the lady of the house at home?"
"Well..." I said, moving slowly over to where she stood at the side of her car. "There really isn't a 'lady of the house. I live alone." Somehow, I think she already knew that. But she had to keep up appearances.
"Hi..." she said, "I'm Annette Wilson, and I sell personal beauty care products in this area. Perhaps you have a special friend who you'd want to surprise with a gift package. Maybe I could show you a few things?"
"Yeah," I thought. "And I'm sure I have a few things that you want to see." Instead, I responded, "I've never sent beauty products as gifts, but I could take a few minutes to look and see what you have."
"Fine!" She said. "Perhaps we could do this inside—it's a bit warm out, today."
"Sure... Where are my manners?" I allowed her to lead me towards the front door.
"What's your name?" She asked, as she walked in front of me. I could sense that she knew I was watching each step of hers, her ass cheeks moving rhythmically under the short business skirt.
"I'm Ralph," I responded idly, still focused on the shapely white calves encased in what I already knew to be thigh high stockings. I could already see that this 'presentation' was going to be much more than '---- calling.'
I opened the door for Annette, and she moved confidently through the foyer, and into the living room area. I offered her a seat, but she remained standing.
I looked at her quizzically as she turned around and faced me fully, looking right into my eyes.
"I need to explain something to you, Ralph, and I don't want you to think ill of me... I am working now, but a 'mutual friend' told me about you, and I haven't been able to stop thinking about what she told me. When I drove by earlier and saw you outside, I knew I had to stop and at least talk to you..."
"About what, and who is the 'mutual friend' are we talking about?" It was beginning to make some sense, but I had to allow Annette to express her thoughts, in her own way. She looked closer at me, seemingly losing her nerve, but trying to continue to explain. "Ah-h, we-well... Susan told me that you and she..." Her voice trailed off. I knew I needed to reassure her.
"Susan... so—that's it. Yes, Susan is a 'friend...' What did she say? Don't be afraid, Annette, you can talk to me in confidence. Nothing you say will go outside this room."
"Thanks for that, Ralph." She said, bolstered a bit that I wasn't offended or pretending to not know what her interest was.
"Let me be direct. I came here because Susan said that you might 'take good care of me'—of my 'special needs."
"Oh, she did, did she? What kind of 'special needs' do you have, Annette?"
"Really special needs... erotic, and kinky needs that aren't being satisfied. Frankly, Ralph, I need to have a place I can go and discreetly be used like a whore, at times like right now. Sometimes, late at night I wake up with my pussy aching so bad to fucked to its limits--that ache has never really been satisfied. I need a man who is able to do 'nasty things' to me, and is open to me coming to him late at night—or whenever the whore in me surfaces. I've been told by Susan that you're a man who will appreciate, and use me like the whore that I sometimes need to be."
"Okay—I believe I understand. Let me get cleaned up, and we'll talk more about them." I moved to go to the bathroom to clean up, but Annette was having none of that. She stopped me in mid-step.
"There's no need for that, Ralph. I can clean you up right here, just fine." She again stared directly into my face. This sales lady intended to take me on, right there.
"I'm a professional woman, Ralph—I hope you can already see that. I don't want to say any more about my private life. As long as it's mutually beneficial to the both of us, I want to be your private whore. Do to me, and with me what you want, sexually. As long as I am sure you're mature enough to be discreet, and as long as you continue to challenge me sexually, I'm yours to use."
"Fine. Then let me say this. I'm a sexually needy Black man. I like White closet sexual sluts. I need a woman who can be sophisticated, alluring, and socially confident in upper crust environments. But under that polished exterior, she's also a woman who needs to come to me and crawl on her knees, begging to be made into a wanton, submissive whore. Is that you, Annette?"
Annette responded, "Before I drove over here, I removed my panties. Check and see for yourself if I'm what you need." She hiked her skirt halfway up her shapely thigh to the tops of her stockings and moved her legs apart to pull the skirt tight. Annette brazenly thrust her thighs out towards me, inviting me to grope her under her skirt.
I moved closer to her and returned her stare while putting one hand under the skirt, and pushing upwards towards the source of the heat which was making its presence known to me. I could feel the wetness coming from her hotbox, as it had oozed down the insides of her thighs. Not one to stop until I found what I searched for, I confidently plunged one, then two fingers knuckle-deep into Annette's wet pussy, hooked her, and then pulled upwards, startling her with the force of my palm against her clitoris. I worked them hard inside of her pussy, groping her, seeking her reaction.
