Angie is a real woman with a strong desire to submit to a big, black cock. This story contains aspects of her real and fantasy lives...and yes, some of mine as well. Everyone in this story is above the age of consent.
*
For the ninth time in ten days, Angie parked her silver Honda Accord in front of the convenience store, opened the door and swung her nylon-clad legs onto the pavement. Her thighs parted briefly sending cool morning air rushing past the tops of her stockings to swirl teasingly against the gusset of her black panties. Immediately, her pussy began to drool like some Pavlovian science project.
It's convenient and the coffee's decent
, she rationalized but knew she was lying to herself. The shop was out of her way, discovered when the road she normally traveled to work was closed for construction one morning. And the coffee was perhaps the worst in the city.
As usual, the odd couple behind the counter was bickering. If nametags were to be believed, the tall, young black man was Blaine, and the attractive, older blonde was Dottie.
"I'm the manager," Blaine told Dottie. "You have to do what I tell you."
"You're a fucking trainee," Dottie snapped back. "The only decision you get to make is whether the toilet paper unrolls over the top or underneath in the rest rooms.
"Watch your language," Blaine cautioned, nodding in the direction of Angie.
"You don't have a fucking clue about women like her," Dottie told Blaine. "That mouse over there has been coming in here for more than a week with a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree wide-on for you and you can't see it."
A flush rushed up Angie's neck and quickly enveloped her face. She couldn't believe she was being talked about like that yet she submitted to her shame rather than battle for her dignity. She dipped her head even lower and felt her pussy-faucet drip faster.
"Her?" asked Blaine. "She's not even my type."
Angie felt the tears welling up in her eyes as the embarrassment mounted. The blonde's words were true, she was constantly thinking about Blaine. Thoughts of his cock haunted her day and night. Now she discovered she had no chance with him.
"Oh yeah?" prodded Dottie. "What's your type?"
"Blondes," said Blaine, reaching out and patting Dottie's firm ass.
"Hands to yourself!" scolded Dottie grabbing his wrists initiating a brief tussle in which he quickly demonstrated physical superiority by forcing her hand against his crotch.
"You're such a cocky prick," Dottie told him with feigned disgust while allowing her palm to linger in contact with his bulge even after Blaine relaxed his grip.
"I thought you liked that about me," Blaine countered.
"I was fucking drunk! How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Until you convince yourself, I guess," Blaine replied in a moment of sudden clarity and insight that startled both Dottie and the eavesdropping Angie.
"How do you know she's interested in me?" Blaine asked Dottie giving Angie a renewed hope.
"Haven't you noticed how she drags her finger against your palm when she takes her change each day? She craves the most intimate contact with you yet settles for the tiniest touch. Watch her, she'll do it today even though she just heard me tell you what to look for."
"You serious?" Blaine asked.
"Just watch," Dottie reiterated.
Angie was so humiliated she was struck motionless. Dottie knew the pretty redhead with the silver Honda was listening. Dottie knew Angie was hot for the tall, handsome, young hunk behind the counter. Angie wanted to run from the store and never return but, like Dottie, she knew that wouldn't happen.
Fuck you, you cunt-bitched skank twat,
Angie thought haughtily as she approached the counter.
I'm important compared to you. What do you do all day besides take quarters for newspapers and talk like a merchant seaman with a three-months-at-sea sized erection cruising Carnival?
Fuck you, you prissy-pussied bitch-cunt who thinks her twat don't smell like an open can of Fancy Feast once a month like the rest of us, Dottie thought irritatedly as the younger redhead approached.
It was like she was floating above herself in some sort of out-of-body experience as Angie watched her pinkie finger trace along the palm of Blaine's hand as she rendered payment. Despite the fact that Dottie had told Blaine what to look for as she checked out, Angie couldn't constrain her desire to touch the gorgeous young black male with an unexplainable ability to ignite her engine. Beet red, she hurried to the door.
Angie could think of little else at work save her trip to the convenience store that morning. One thing in particular ravaged her imagination. Yes, she remembered all the embarrassing things that bitch Dottie had said about her desiring Blaine, all true by the way, but that wasn't it.
What had her sexual nerves on edge and her clitoris throbbing like a hammered thumb was Dottie's statement.
I was fucking drunk!
she had exclaimed. What did that mean Angie wondered. Try as she might, she could only come up with one logical conclusion.
Dottie was a slut, of that Angie was sure. She'd obviously gotten drunk and had sex with the young black god and that pissed Angie off. It was pretty simple really. Dottie had had something Angie wanted even if she had trouble admitting it to herself.
Dottie was easily in her forties. Yet she'd had sex with a black man less than half her age. Oh god how Angie wanted to stand behind that counter with Blaine, have him touch her ass, have him force her hand against his crotch.
Angie rushed home from work leaving on time for once. She knew she'd have little peace until she took care of the constant demands emanating from her panties. So great was her need she'd almost gone to the ladies room several times during the day to seek relief. Each time she was interrupted and her desire built and built until she could stand it no longer.
She cursed at her computer that seemed to take forever to boot up. Then her favorite site took forever and a day to launch. Her fingers were already busy inside her panties when they finally loaded, all those incredible pictures of beautiful black cocks.
There was a time when Angie couldn't care less about photos of men's dicks. She liked men; that wasn't the issue. Sometimes it seemed as if she liked them too much. Like her new archenemy Dottie, she wasn't always in control of herself sexually, especially when a man really took control, demanded things of her.
That was before she'd discovered black men and their big black cocks. There was just something different about their bodies, their skin that excited her. And their cocks! Those were magnificent!!!!!!! She couldn't look at enough of them.
She began searching for the picture she'd go over the edge with, the photo she'd stare at and imagine the cock in it was hers to enjoy as she brought herself to climax. She'd passed by several candidates when she came to the one.
Most of the photos on the site were of black men and white women. The contrasts were electrifying. For some reason, the vast majority of shots were of the women fellating the men.
Probably to get the woman's face next to that beautiful dick
, Angie mused.
It definitely had an affect on her. Angie imagined herself in the women's places. She wanted her face next to one of those cocks. She wanted to suck a black cock much more than ever wanted to suck a white one. In fact, whenever she thought about black cock, almost all she thought about was sucking one off.
The picture she'd selected had two elements that fired her lust even farther than the others. One was the collar the woman was wearing as she knelt before the black man. It was thin and black, tight against her neck, and a pair of bright red lips was stitched to it. It was the kind of collar a submissive wears to signal a surrender of control and those lips on the collar and her mouth on the cock seemed to indicate how she surrendered.
Angie kept her submissive fantasies under tight security. They were so strong they sometimes frightened her almost as much as they turned her on. Online, however, she could play with them without worry and this collared woman had every sexual zone in her body throbbing. Her nipples were so hard they ached. Even her anus was pulsing like a winking eye.
There was more. Attached to the collar was a short leash that he held in his hand. Obviously this black man, whose face was hidden, immaterial to the action, whose entire contribution to the composition was a tight lower abdomen, a huge, full, black sack, and an enormous black phallus, was in complete control of this stunning white woman.
Angie's finger raced against her clit. Oh god, to be the woman in that picture!! To have a black man control her like that!!!
Blaine, would you do that for me? Make me suck your cock?
Her orgasm was almost upon her when Angie moved her concentration to the final incredibly exciting part of the photo, where the woman's mouth covered the end of the cock. Her lips were so red and full, so beautiful and contented. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she was doing what she enjoyed best.
Out of the corner of her mouth, cum was drooling. The black man with the cock that was too big for any woman had too much semen for her to swallow.
Oh god Blaine, just like that!! Use me! Use my mouth to satisfy your beautiful black cock. Shoot your spunk into it...make me swallow it...make me...
The sun was streaming through her bedroom window when Angie awoke. The clock on her night table said 9 a.m. and she briefly panicked thinking herself late for work. Then she remembered it was Saturday and stretched languidly. She hadn't felt this good in years.
How many times had she made herself cum last night thinking of black cocks, black cum, and black Blaine? She had no idea; she just went on and on until she passed out. That was twelve glorious hours of sleep ago.
She rolled over and sat up. Something hard and cold lay on the bed under her bottom. She smiled and pulled her favorite vibrator from between her legs. It had a thin, angled shaft, the better to stroke her g-spot with. The bulbous head was large and egg shaped. It was covered in dried woman goop.
Angie started for the kitchen to make morning coffee when she had an idea. Might Blaine be working today? Probably not, but it was worth the effort to drive over there for fix of lousy coffee and scrumptious young black stud.
Skirt or jeans, skirt or jeans?
Angie asked herself over and over as she dressed. She stood in the bathroom in a pair of panties trying on different tops. The one good thing to having small boobs, perhaps the only good thing, was the lack of necessity brassieres were.
She liked wearing filmy tops that clung to her tit tips and could make some men drool. Would Blaine be one of those men? Doubtful, given the way he reacted whenever that trollop Dottie flounced her huge knockers in his face. Still, she thought when she settled on a turquoise silk that made her feel naughty as hell whenever she wore it, she could make the best of what she had.
In the end, she chose jeans, the ones that really flattered her butt. Blaine had admired Dottie's enough and she wore jeans. If that was what he liked, Angie would gladly stack hers up against Dottie's any day. Besides, she needed to shave her legs.
