Claire's Diary Forbidden Desire
Clair's Dirty Little Secrets
An Interracial Cuckold Tale
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
©
Copyright 2023 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
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Claire's Diary
Forbidden Desire
Present Day
Saturday, September 16th
Dear Diary,
I'm working later into the night this month. I don't get home until almost two a.m. some nights. Bob's unhappy with my swing shift job and complains about caring for the kids while I work. He told me to get on a midnight or day shift. He says he hates being my babysitter and that if I must work, I must get on a permanent graveyard or day shift, which makes it easier for him.
"That way, Claire, they can be in bed the whole time you're gone. Or with a babysitter while I'm at work, too," Bob said the other day.
I should have known this was what would happen. Bob is so selfish.
Well, last night, we actually finished early. Ten thirty, and everything was done. Everyone left but me and Shovon. Shovon and I stayed to clean the workstations, but we finished before 11 p.m. I was about to leave when he asked if I wanted a little drink.
"How about a snort of bourbon with me?" he said, holding a bottle of Penelope Bourbon. "It's excellent."
"I hope to shout. That's the good stuff," I said. "Penelope Bourbon Barrel Strength is at least sixty-five dollars a bottle."
"Seventy," Shavon said, pulling the cork out. He poured us a shot each. "And worth every penny."
As I wrote in the past, he's an extremely handsome black man, tall, muscular, well-mannered, and flirts with me. It's always been innocent, pleasant, fun, and nothing serious. I think he likes me, but I always considered it was flirtatiousness for the sake of being flirtatious and nothing more. After all, we're both married.
Clicking the shot glasses together, I winked at him, and we drank the shots. Once we returned the glasses to his desktop, Shavon refilled the drinks. Loosening his tie, he pulled off his coat and sat in his big captain's chair. At once, he stood and waved his arm at his chair.
"My lady, why don't you sit her?"
"Oh, how gallant of you." I sat in the chair while he pulled up another sat close to me.
When he did, for the first time, I noticed the big bulge in his slacks. Oh, my god, I'd never seen such a tent in a man's pants. Drinking the shot, in a few sort sips, I started at his crotch a moment or two and then looked away.
"Clair, I have to tell you, you look wonderful tonight. That skirt and blouse really suit you well. It's not quite a schoolgirl uniform, but nicely youthful. You always look so sexy."
His hand fell to his pants. Shavon rubbed himself momentarily, and his bulge swelled. His deep brown eyes drank me in. I'd never felt so exposed while being fully clothed before. After a moment or two, I felt the moisture between my legs. He drank his shot in one swift move and poured us another.
"Oh, this ole thing?"
Taking another tiny sip, I tried to deflect him, but wanted him to continue. From the start, I'd had a fascination with him. In the three months I worked for him, he'd always worn a suit and tie and never removed his coat. I'd wondered how he'd look naked. Again, I sipped my drink, taking only a quarter of the shot.
Then there's that big meat showing all mounded up at his crotch. My god, how big might that monster be? A twinge of guilt hit me, and I gulped the rest of the bourbon.
"You look amazing no matter what you wear." He slammed his drink down as if to draw courage from the booze.
My moisture thickened.
He reached out, took the seat handles, and pulled me where my legs were inside his knees, and we were close, with one chair almost touching the other. Taking my hand, he guided me to his crotch.
My hand cupped his covered cock, which felt like hot, fogged steel. My nipples hardened, and I gazed into his eyes, knowing I shouldn't, but not caring that was. He removed his hand from my wrist and ran my fingers over his massive hardness.
Shit, I had the most wicked thoughts. Guiltiness gnawed at me.
"If you want to leave, it's okay. I won't force you to do anything. But, being totally frank, I've fantasized about you since your first day."
"I don't want to leave. Have you really thought about me — that way?"
"Yes. I've jacked off thinking how hot you'd be in a bikini or even better naked. I can't stop thinking about you."
Fuck, I got so wet when he said that.
"You're married."
"So are you. When I fuck my wife, I imagine making love to you. After I'm done with her, I sneak off, thinking of you in the bathroom, and jack off."
"Is your wife white?"
"No."
After a moment of contemplation, I shoved my husband from my mind. Pushing the chair back, got on my knees. I unbuckled his belt, opened his fly, and worked pants and boxers down, exposing the blackest cock, darker than Shavon's swarthy skin. It flopped up on his belly. Big, black, and glistening in sterile, fluorescent lights.
Shavon took his cock in one hand, pointing in my direction. He leaned toward me and took the back of my head, pulling me toward his prick.
"I'm not a gentile man. Making love shouldn't be passive for either of us. Show me you know what I mean."
I turned weak and needed. Taking that fat dick in my mouth, I slobbered on it, sucking him, pulling it near the back of my throat. Using both my hands, I rubbed what I couldn't get in my mouth.
Fucking shit, it was so massive, bulky, and warmer than I expected. No, it was not warm; it was hot. As hot as burning flesh. Every time I pulled off, Shavon pushed me back. A little deeper with a stroke. It hit my gag point, and a thick spittle formed.
But he pushed it further into my throat, and the spit lubricated its voyage.
My eyes watered. Bob, bob my head and deeper again. My throat swelled with his cock. Thrust, thrust, he quickens the pace. The sloshing and gurgling turned me on more and more. The wetness leaks from me, soaking my panties.
Bob enters my mind, dull, wet blanket Bob. Guilt takes control of me, and I must push through the shame to continue. I so wanted to continue. My lips stretched tight around the gigantic organ.
Shavon thrust his hips, driving so much into me it frightens me. All the while, he's stripping out of his clothes. Using my hair like a handle, he pulls me off his cock. Picking me up, he carries me to the break room while we kiss.
Made passionate kisses. Strange, erotic French kisses where our faces seem to merge at our lips. White on black, black on white merging, twisting, exchanging saliva as people become one. The biblical two into one.
Was it love, was it lust, was it both? Whatever it was, I was ecstatic.
He lay me on the oversized couch and pushed my skirt over my hips. Taking my French-cut panties, he worked them off my hips and down my legs, tossing them onto the coffee table. Spreading my legs, he put his head at my crotch.
Oh, lord, his tongue was thick, hot, and dug deep inside my pussy. That magnificent tongue was nearly as deep as my husband's cock ever reached. It moved in and out, twisted around inside, lapping my moisture and giving me his saliva.
In less than two minutes, I shuttered through a massive orgasm.
I twisted one button on my blouse and opened the first one. I repeated it on all five and then tossed it haphazardly away. I unsnapped my bra from the small breast and threw it to the floor. All the while, writhing in pleasure, ants seemed to crawl over my hot flesh.
My phone rang from out in the other room. Guilt ate me alive while Shavon ate my cunt. Fuck Bob, I wasn't stopping this.
Shavon's hand explored my body while he snacked on my tender pussy.
His hand fumbled with the button and the zipper on my pleated skirt. He pulled it off me and threw it into the growing pile of my discarded clothes. He rubbed the mushroom head on my slit, smacking my clit with each journey from top to bottom and back again until he lubed himself.
"Gonna start easy, but that won't last long till I got to pound it."
"Okay," I said, gasping for air, my flesh alive more than I'd ever been with my husband.
A moment of pain when his plumb-sized cockhead slipped inside. This squeal escaped my lips, and he paused. Then he slipped in a fraction of an inch, a bit more and more. Three inches, slow and easy, and another few. Shavon had more and a much fatter prick than my husband could give me.
Deeper and deeper, he nudged inside. Still gentile, my muscles yield, and it seemed the length of me changed. He picked up the pace as my hands fondled his hot, hard body. We kissed bit one another. Our tongues danced as our bodies touched and moved away.
Every nerve in my body tingled.
We made love, but the pace continued to change. Faster and faster, we kissed and fondled. Harder and harder, he poked into me. Beads of perspiration rolled off my body. His dampness mingled with mine.
We fucked, we made love, we screwed each other. Rutting like animals, fucking like lovers. Our hips smacked together. The creaking of the couch, the squeak of leather, and the whack, smack, thwack of our flesh all fill my ears as the music of our sex.
My perfume, his cologne, sweat, they're such sweet, heady odors. Fuck, fuck, fucking, we continue, and again, ring, ring, ring of my cell, and there's the guilt tripping through my mind.
Fuck you, Bob
, I think. Pushing thoughts of Bob away, urging the guilt to just fucking die already.
Shavon's cock made me happy, and there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. Everyone pushed me near the edge. Ring, ring, fuck, fuck. Our bodies are one. Love, passion, and lust fill me. His cock fills me so much better than Bob's could.
Orgasms rush through me.
Repeated, quick, hard orgasms. I cum, cum, and cum again. My pussy farts, squeaks, sloshes. Shavon fucks me harder than Bob's fucked me, better, more thoroughly, and pleasurably than he could fuck me.
Shavon grunts. His cock twitched, swelled, gushed, cum erupted inside. Swelling again, another stream surged into me. He buries himself all the way inside me. Three, four, five, six more gushes flooded me.
"Oh, baby, you're so fucking talented," he said.
His voice is deep, husky.
Ring, ring, the fucking phone interrupted us again.
Shavon pulls his cock out of as he stands. Swoosh, his johnson gone. I feel its absence, and the ooze leaks from me. Shavon sat on the couch, moving my legs and laying back on him. He plays with my feet.
