While Marie had knelt, feeling Blaine's cock through the terry cloth towel covering it, mouthing it in ways she hoped would excite him, causing him to demand she blow him, causing him to grab the knob of hair atop her head, worn as he'd demanded, and directed her mouth up and down his cock, causing him to shoot his seed directly into her mouth rather than all over the walls and floor of the room where she had degraded herself by licking the cock syrup off those block and concrete surfaces, Blaine had made a date!
He'd called someone and Marie listened as he flirted with her while Marie knelt at his feet fondling his cock. It was so incredibly humiliating to be doing everything short of offering him money, something not completely out of the question if the truth be known, to convince the young black man to permit her to fellate him while he picked up another woman on the phone.
What truly perplexed her was that the more she was humiliated, the hotter she got. Marie's debasement stemmed from a reversal of roles. It was true that she was older now. It was true that perhaps the glint was off the gilt that covered her rose. It was true that Blaine was more than three decades younger than she, was a prize specimen stud bull in his sexual prime.
Still, she was the woman; she controlled the access to the pussy. Her entire life men had pursued her, begged favors of her, offered orgasms to her even at the expense of their own at times. Now she found herself in a world where pussy no longer made the rules. Black cock was in charge and Marie found herself acting in embarrassing ways in an attempt to obtain it.
Blaine would use Marie's car to go fuck another woman while she waited. Marie was so humiliated, so crestfallen, so defeated, she asked to go rather than wait.
"Can you at least give me a ride home?" Marie asked. "Our shift is over."
"Get your stuff. Make it quick," Blaine said as he zipped up his bag. "Oh, would you do me a really big favor?"
Marie's heart leapt. What sort of favor might Blaine want? She felt herself sinking into a depravity where her desire to please him was becoming paramount, even over her own pleasure. Perhaps he'd want her to go along and act as his fluffer should he require encouragement to perform. "Sure," she answered, her body tingling.
"Could you grab my pants and shirt over there. I'm going out tonight and won't have time to wash them. Could you do them for me? I don't want to ask Mom because she thinks I need to do some growing up. You're great, Marie, I owe you one," Blaine said as he dashed off, apparently forgetting his offer to give her a lift home in her own car.
There were so many things wrong with the black youth's demand Marie had difficulty sorting them out. The first was the fact that he was asking her to do something he wouldn't ask of his own parent. Was that what she was, some sort of surrogate mother?
That's just fucking sick,
Marie thought as she walked over and picked up the clothes Blaine discarded just before his shower. But that was the least of it.
Then there was the part where he was taking her car to meet another woman while she...what? Waited for him? Waited for the other woman's leftovers? Well, that was a given at the moment because she had no transportation home. Still, it just wasn't right. He had been flirting with someone on the phone even as Marie offered her own mouth to his black dick.
Marie had come so very close to seeing the cock she'd been imagining for weeks. It had almost been hers. How many times had she jilled off thinking of it? She couldn't even estimate except to say it was more times than she'd masturbated in the last ten years combined. More times than she'd played with herself plus gotten laid by her husband for an entire decade.
Her phone rang to the tune of "Sexual Healing." It was a special ring tone that Blaine had set up for his calls. "Hello," Marie said breathily as goose bumps began dotting her flesh.
"Hey, it's me," Blaine announced. "I forgot a couple of things. I don't want you touching yourself while I'm away."
"Touch myself? I don't understand," Marie lied. She may have been a bit confused over what was going on but she knew exactly what he meant. It surprised her that he knew he aroused her to the point she played with herself. How long had Blaine known?
"Don't lie," Blaine told her.
"All right," Marie acquiesced. "What else?"
"What else?"
"Yeah, what else? You said a
couple
of things."
"I want your panties on that desk when I get back." Blaine ended the call before she could protest.
Suddenly Marie wanted nothing
more
than to finger herself. She wandered around the smallish room to distract herself, tidying up after Blaine and wondering why it excited her so much sexually to behave in ways she would if she were Blaine's servant. She folded the wet towel that lay on the floor and placed it on the desk next to the others, the dry ones.
She picked up Blaine's shirt and pants one at a time, shook as much filth as she could off them, folded them neatly and placed them on the desk. After another loop around the room and she moved the damp towel to the pile of Blaine's clothes to take home and launder. She also slipped her panties off and put them on the desk next to the clothes.
Forty-five minutes later Blaine returned. He was dressed in the same tight spandex as he was when he left. Marie's gaze went immediately to the bulge and stayed there. It was every bit as big as when he left. He took her immediately into his arms and kissed her deeply. Marie melted as was her custom when in the arms of the powerful young black man, but not before she detected the scent of a woman on him.
"Okay," Blaine said as he broke the kiss, "you're turn."
"What do you mean my turn?"
"Don't be stupid, Marie. It's unbecoming."
