Blondie Becomes a Blac Coc Slut

I awakened with a dull headache and a cottony mouth, proof certain of excessive imbibing of the fermented grape and the evil weed last night. I blinked and squinted into the bright morning light streaming in through the sliding glass door that leads out to the bedroom patio. The blue, acrylic hot tub sunken into the deck was uncovered and wisps of heat vapors danced above it. I didn’t remember getting into it but obviously someone had removed the cover at some point during the evening, probably one of the two men who had been here partying with my wife. The three of them had still been going at it when I finally tired of watching and fell asleep sometime in the early morning hours.

At the moment, and in my condition, that tub looked very inviting. Turning my gaze back into the room, I smiled with remembrance of their activities as I took in the sight of my naked wife curled up beside me, a soft, pale, voluptuous sexpot even with her makeup completely sexed away and her blond hair in tangles. One sheer black nylon lay twisted in the sheets between us, making me wonder idly, which of her lovers had finally pulled her hose off those shapely legs. She’d still been wearing heels and hose when I dozed off, her legs wrapped around the black guy’s back, fucking him for the third or fourth time.

My god! A black guy! My lovely, middle-aged, Louisiana belle had actually fucked a black guy. Watching her sleep, I smiled to myself with the smug satisfaction that Charles and I had been able to persuade her to do it. Her white lover, Charles, a CPA she had been screwing on a regular basis for a couple of years, had brought this black guy, Tommy, with him last night. And after some initial reluctance, Blondie had let her libido override her southern upbringing and had fucked the young man. With restrained enthusiasm at first, I recalled, but once he got that huge black dick in her, my wife had fucked him willingly, definitely enjoying her new experience.

Hallelujah! My little white sexpot had finally gotten some black cock! And it had certainly proved to be everything we’d heard it was. The young man was hung like the proverbial horse and he knew how to use his heavy equipment. Blondie had fucked him bareback, too, no rubbers; his first load had been huge and she’d even teased with me about the possibility of a potent young black stud getting her pregnant. Now, reflecting on that in a more sober, morning-after mood, it didn’t seem quite so humorous. But, it had been her choice. She’d told me, while cleaning herself up from their first coupling, that it had been deliciously exciting to let a black man cum in her. For a white woman from an old southern family, fucking a black man was the quintessence of decadence and depravity. And she’d let him do it at least two more times that I knew of, perhaps more after I fell asleep.

Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was almost ten o’clock and got up to make coffee. Standing there somewhat unsteadily in the kitchen, I looked first at the coffee maker, then at the array of liquor bottles still sitting out on the bar and said, “What the hell, it’s Saturday,” and proceeded to make a hot, spicy bloody mary in a very large frosted mug, just a little hair of the dog. I noticed a joint, three-quarters unsmoked, sitting in a full ashtray on the kitchen counter. With another, “What the hell,” I fired it up and headed for the hot tub with my drink. As I slid the patio door open I heard,

“Mmmm, Sugar, I could use one of those.”

Blondie was stretching and yawning when I turned and asked,

“You mean the drink or the doobie?”

After a moment’s consideration, she smiled and replied, “Both, Darlin’, both.”

I walked around the bed and handed her the joint. I put the bloody mary down on her bedside table and headed back into the kitchen to build another drink. Rejoining her on the bed, I leered at my little bottle-blond sexpot and inquired somewhat smugly,

“So, did you have a good time last night, Sweetheart?”

I was totally unprepared for her response, a quickly snapped,

“I don’t want to talk about it, OK?”

Now this was totally contrary to our normal, morning-after-a-sex-party routine. Usually, we’d do just what we’d started here this morning, smoke a joint, drink bloody marys, and fuck while Blondie told me all about how much fun she'd had the night before and what particular things she and her lovers had done that she’d really enjoyed. I asked cautiously,

“Something wrong, Babe? You don’t feel so good, maybe? Hung over, hmmm?”

She didn’t look at me as she shook her head and responded,

“I’m sore as hell, but that’s not it. I just don’t feel like talking about it, OK? Can we just get in the hot tub and relax, hunh?”

And that’s what we did; with no further talk of the milestone events of the night before. Sadly, I concluded that my fantasies of endless new sexual adventures with Blondie and black guys had been premature. Apparently, my hot little sexpot wife, who’d eagerly fuck another man while I watched, even a total stranger, was not enough of a slut to overcome her southern heritage and the deeply ingrained prejudices that went with it. Diplomatically, I dropped the subject entirely and did not mention it again. Charles called later in the afternoon wanting to know when Blondie wanted an encore performance and was extremely disappointed when informed of the situation.

Imagine my complete surprise a few weeks later, when, while we were having sex one night, Blondie asked in a tone of sweet innocence,

“I don’t suppose you’ve made contact with any other black guys have you?”

She was on top, her lovely conical breasts swaying above me as she rode me steadily. I looked up into her pretty face, with my stunned surprise obviously showing. Blondie, acknowledging my amazed reaction, gave me a wicked smile and confessed,

“I know, I know; I acted like a silly little bitch about it afterwards, but, god, Sugar, every time I think about that night my pussy gets wet and I get so fucking horny.”

As evidence of the truth of her admission, she ground her cunt into my pelvis with increasing pressure and moaned. I said nothing, letting her carry it. Suddenly, she sat up straight, cupped her breasts and smiled down at me lewdly as she thumbed her nipples. With her hips working insistently, she whispered,

“Oooh, yeah, Sugar, your sweet little ol’ southern gal wants you to find her some more big black dick, OK? I’m sure you don’t have a problem with that, do you now, Love?”

I was still stunned, but growing inwardly delirious as she smiled naughtily and purred,

“It’s got to be someone besides Tommy, OK? I don’t want to fuck him again cause he’s not all that attractive, but I do want to fuck another black guy. And with no Charles around this time either, just me, my husband and a black guy, OK? How ‘bout it, Sugar, think you can find another black stud for your hot little wife?”

She directed a smoldering gaze into my eyes and murmured, “Hmmm?”

Finally regaining my voice, I croaked up to her that I‘d made no effort to find any other black guys because I thought she didn't want to do that again. She responded in a sultry voice,

“Well, at first I didn't, Sugar, but every time I think about that night, I just feel so wicked and depraved my pussy just absolutely starts creaming, you know? I’ve just finally had to be honest with myself and admit that I really did like it.”

With a decadent smile and an insistent rocking of her hips, she groaned huskily,

“And I did, god almighty, I loved it, Baby! I loved feeling that big ol’ black cock cumming in me. Nothing’s ever made me that hot before but I was just too hung up to show it. So I want to try it again but with someone different, a better-looking guy than Tommy, OK? Find someone a little nicer looking, OK? Think you can find your little ol’ hot pants wife a nice-looking black guy to fuck, hmmm, can you, Sweetie?”

Could I find her another black guy to fuck? Do cats have asses and wild bears shit in the woods? Hell yes, I could find her another black lover! Delighted with my new assignment, I pledged my full attention to the task, promising her that I would find a nice looking guy for her next interracial encounter. Hearing that, my little sexpot proceeded to ride me to a feverish climax, not even trying to hide that she was fantasizing that it was a black dick inside her.

The very next day I submitted an ad to a swinger's publication advertising a "Short, stacked, beautiful, buxom, blond, married, white female, 36, 5’2, 120 lb., seeking well endowed black males for sexy fun while hubby watches." As soon as the new issue was published a couple of weeks later, we got several, quick responses, but none from our immediate area. I noted that, among the hundreds of ads in the magazine, there weren’t more than a couple of ads, besides ours, in any of the southern states, for white women seeking black men. In fact many of the ads specified, “No blacks!” We seemed to be engaging in a rather rare form of swinging, still a taboo, still a forbidden pleasure not acceptable to most swingers in the South. I showed the responses to Blondie to let her select her second black lover. She did so without hesitation, further evidence of her eagerness to engage in more illicit, interracial sex as quickly as possible.

Roosevelt, Blondie’s Second Black Stud

This gentleman’s given name was Roosevelt and he lived in Miami where I frequently traveled on business. When Blondie had read his letter and examined his somewhat fuzzy photo she had declared him to be the “cutest one” and confirmed herself ready to meet him for a motel party. I quickly altered my business travel itinerary and set up a meet for the following week. On the flight down, we flew first class, consuming enough champagne to have a buzz on by the time we arrived at our suburban Miami motel. Blondie immediately took a shower and began getting dressed for our guest. Following my own shower, I sat in my robe, drink in hand, and watched her getting ready. I silently rejoiced at my incredible good fortune, that this voluptuous little slut, with her lovely breasts and that sexy little swell to her belly was my wife. For a voyeur to find such a gorgeous woman who also enthusiastically embraced the exhibitionist, slutwife role, ready and willing, even eager, to let her husband watch her have sex with other men, was a stroke of immense good luck. I sat there wallowing in my good fortune that here she was, once again gleefully preparing herself to be desirable for a total stranger, a black stranger.

Blondie was standing before the mirror, wearing a pink and white shelf bra with tiny flowers and a matching garter belt and bikini panties. Her white, high-topped, mesh opera hose encased her shapely legs up to her groin and tapered down into pink, spike-heeled, ‘come-fuck-me’ pumps. Wearing glossy hot pink lipstick to complete the look, she resembled a scrumptious, mouthwatering bakery confection, ready to be devoured. Her breasts were jiggling soft cones, nestled in the open cups of the shelf bra with her rosy nipples exposed. Aware I was watching, she winked into the mirror as she used her forefinger to dab some hot pink lipgloss around the tips of her breasts. She smiled at me and said,

“Bubble gum flavor, think he’ll like the taste?”

I just smiled my response as I stood up and stepped in behind her, our eyes meeting in the mirror. I let my gaze move up and down her reflected image, drinking it all in. Although my Blondie’s hair was platinum (of course), you could clearly see the dark brown vee of her true hair color through her sheer white panties. My wife’s given name was Belinda, but she had become Blondie to her friends from the first day she bleached her hair in high school and the appellation had stuck. Now, even her family called her Blondie. When she lifted her arms to arrange an out-of-place, platinum wisp, I slipped my arms under hers and cupped her exposed breasts lightly. Her nipples were immediately hard against my palms and I smiled knowingly at her in the mirror.

“Oooh, Mama’s ready for her black stud, hmmm,” I murmured.

She smiled lasciviously, her even, white teeth and her large brown eyes sparkling, and purred,

“Feel my pussy, Sugar, and you tell me, hmmm?”

I dropped my right hand and slid it beneath the filmy fabric of her panties. Her pussy was dripping wet and I grinned,

“Well, if he’s not too big, he shouldn’t have any problem getting it in you.”

She grinned back at me and cooed,

“No, horny as I am, Sugar, if he’s that big he’ll probably have a harder time getting it back out.”

Tilting her head, she gave me a pensive look in the mirror and asked,

“Baby, we don’t know anything about this guy. Should I make him wear a rubber? Did you even bring any?” to which I replied,

“Sure, there’s some in my briefcase, out in the trunk of the car; want me to get them?”

She was thoughtful for a moment before smiling wickedly and answering,

“Well, no, not really, Baby; you know me, I’d much rather fuck him without one. It just feels so much better and it definitely makes it more exciting. But it is risky. Tell you what, let’s just wait and see what he’s like, OK?”

She smiled into the mirror again, a naughty girl smile and murmured,

“Course, from what I heard growing up, all that talk about black men being so potent and virile, we might be taking a chance by relying totally on the pill, you know, Honey?”

Standing close behind her with my hands resting on the lacey garter belt riding her flaring hips, I bent and nuzzled the top of her pretty head. Her scent was intoxicating and I thought if this guy doesn’t get here pretty soon I’m going to fuck her myself. I smiled into the mirror and replied,

“It’s your call, Baby; I’ll go out and get the rubbers if you want them.”

She pushed her soft ass back against me and twisted her head around so the she was looking up at me and purred sexily,

“Don’t you want to watch him cum in me, Baby? Think about that, Sugar. Don’t you want to see a big ol’ black stud cum in your little wife, hmmm? I bet that’ll make the show a whole lot sexier for you, you know?”

I just grinned at her and she turned back to the mirror and gave me another naughty smile and murmured softly,

“Truth is, Sugar, that’s one of the things that made it so exciting with Tommy, knowing in the back of my mind that letting him cum in me was risky, real risky, you know, Baby?”

Twisting around in my arms, she put her hands up to my face, pulled me down and kissed me lightly. Then she gave me a quick teasing tongue probe before pulling back and confessing,

“Oooh, Baby, I couldn’t believe it. He got his nuts off every time we fucked and when he did, it felt so fucking exciting, Sugar. Think about it me, little ol’ Blondie from Baton Rouge, always taught to be polite to black folks but never, ever socialize with them and there I was, lying there on my back, letting a young black stud cum in me! God, it’s making my pussy tingle just talking about it and thinking about how naughty I’m being again here tonight.”

It was easy to understand her excitement. Blondie’s closest encounters with black people had been with her parent’s housekeeper, Eudora, and her husband, Samuel, who kept their home and yard for them for countless years. They had been with them so long that they were like family, but still, there was always that silently unacknowledged, social separation, accepted and observed by both sides. Blondie had once confessed to me that, as a teenager, she had thought one of their sons, Nelson, was cute because he was quite a football star, but she would never, ever, even have considered acting on her feelings. While Blondie enrolled in LSU, Nelson had gone on to play football at a small black college in Louisiana and Tulane Law School. I idly wondered how she’d feel about Nelson now, after her epiphany with Tommy. I just smiled with that thought, but said nothing. My thoughts returned to Blondie, who was grinning wickedly as she held out her arm and said,

“Will you look at that, Sugar? Your little ol’ white wife is getting goose bumps all over just talking about getting knocked up by some big ol’ potent, black stud!”

I grinned and joked, “Probably some deeply suppressed sexual aberration found only in southern white girls, some deep-seated urge for those milky white little magnolias to get dusted with some of that potent prohibited pollen, hmmm?”

Blondie feigned a slap to my cheek, grinned and said,

“OK, you smartass, you won’t be joking if some young black stud does get me pregnant.”

Then with a more thoughtful expression she said,

“You know, Baby, I sweated out my period after I screwed Tommy and when I was a few days late I was almost frantic at first. I kept remembering what a big load he shot in me that first time,” she paused for a second and finished, “And how deep, Sugar, he shot it in there real deep.”

Looking directly in my eyes, Blondie murmured,

“You know, the truth is, Sugar, after about my third late day, I started to think like, “So what if he has knocked me up; I can always terminate the pregnancy as long as I don’t let it go too long.” And you know what? I started to get all hot and bothered thinking about it. You were up in Atlanta, so I went home, got out that big black dildo you brought back from L.A., and made myself cum about a dozen times pretending I was fucking black guys and letting them cum in me.”

Holding her now smoldering eyes on mine, she smiled and said,

“Of course, when I finally did get my period, it was a relief, but I swear I just couldn’t forget how hot I’d gotten thinking maybe I was carrying a black man’s baby. And, you know, Sugar, it made me realize that the risk of Tommy knocking me up was one of the things that had made screwing him so exciting. That’s when I started thinking about having you find me another black guy.”

I looked at Blondie steadily and confessed,

“Baby, know what you mean; I don’t know why, but for some reason I kind of feel the same way; I’ve always worried that your pills might not work and some guy might get you pregnant, but when you fucked Tommy, I actually got a little buzz out of thinking my wife might get knocked up by a black guy, you know? It was actually a turn on which kinda surprises me, you know?”

She was nodding and grinning wickedly at me when there was a light knock at the door; I grinned back and whispered,

“Rubbers, anyone?”

Blondie stuck her tongue out at me as she grabbed a pink and white, body hugging slip from the bed and quickly began pulling it on. She was tugging and smoothing the satiny pink material as I moved to the door. Opening it I was greeted by the sight of a very big, very well built black man wearing a snug black t-shirt and gray slacks. Behind me I heard a delighted little squeal,

“Ooooooh!”

Stepping back, I grinned and with a sweep of my arm gestured for him to enter, quickly closing the door behind him. For a long silent moment, Roosevelt and my wife stood there sizing each other up wordlessly, but both were smiling, both of them obviously delighted. He was devouring my beautiful blond wife with his large brown eyes, and she too, was quite clearly and happily impressed. This guy was indeed a stud, six two or three and muscular, almost blue black, and he was unquestionably attractive. Blondie smiled invitingly at him and cooed,

“Oooh, Baby, you’re good-looking; much, much nicer than that ol’ picture you sent!”

Cutting her eyes at me, she purred sweetly,

“Forget the rubbers, Darlin’”

She smiled at back at Roosevelt as she cooed, “This is gonna be good, Sweetie, real good.”

Glancing back at me she purred,

“You done fine, Sugar, real fine, mmmm, hmmm, real fine. Why don’t you get the man a drink?”

I fixed Roosevelt a drink then fired up a joint, which we all shared while Blondie and our guest sat in the two available chairs, eyeing each other with undisguised lust across the small table. We made a little small talk as we passed the doobie back and forth. I asked him a few questions, such as if he’d had any problems with the traffic or finding the motel. His responses were terse, given in a very deep rumbling bass. Blondie just sat there, silently eyeballing him like she was ready to pounce. When I caught her eye, she beamed like the kid who had just gotten a pony for Christmas; only this lucky girl was getting a stallion, not a pony. When the joint was finished, I gathered the glasses and took them to the bath area to freshen the drinks. I heard Roosevelt’s rumbling bass,