Isabella looked at herself in the mirror bathroom.
It had been a very long day, and she was tired and in desperate need of a hot shower. She removed the clip holding her brunette locks in a ponytail and shook her hair free. It fell down across her shoulders and cascaded down between her shoulder blades.
She slid the black business blazer off her slender shoulders revealing a white button-down blouse and a tucked in matching skirt that came to mid-thigh. She kicked her heels off, sending them sailing across the tiled bathroom floor into the corner like hockey pucks.
Her mother had always told her that hair made a good face look better and a bad face look hideous. She studied her light hazel eyes critically, noting the beginning of just a few crow's feet and a slight wisp of a few grey hairs. For 38, she looked younger than her years -- when she was a little younger, people would say she looked like the Italian actress, Alice Pagani. Now that she was a little older, she lightened her hair a bit and cut her hair a little shorter and her husband said she looked more like Greta Scarano. which in her own humble opinion was a better comparison and look than Alice. Greta was taller by a few inches and Isabella was a bit bustier, but they were close in age.
Isabella turned on the shower to get the water hot and started stripping down -- As a director for a construction company, she made good money but sometimes walking through construction sites took its toll on her clothing. She noticed a fine powder on the sleeve of the blazer and frowned, realizing it was concrete powder. She knew better than to try to rub it clean -- most of her clothing went directly into the dry-cleaning bag and they knew her well enough at the cleaners to take special care of her attire over the years.
She unbuttoned the white blouse and then unzipped the skirt and let it fall to the floor -- scooping up both, she put everything in the bag and then looked at her reflection again in the mirror.
Isabella was a fan of lingerie -- it was subtle and sexy and allowed a woman to feel feminine without being slutty. Her bra that day was white, a demi transparent with French lace and a slight underwire to support her 34C breasts -- the areola was transparent, but the nipples hid under a thin layer of a sateen material designed to tease but allow for a sexy look.
Her thong matched the bra but was a bit more daring -- it was completely sheer with a satin waist that was not quite a string but small enough to not show panty lines through the skirt. Like everything else in her life, her wardrobe was thoughtfully appropriate and fit like it was made for her.
Isabella unhooked the bra and removed it from her shoulders...She frowned a little at the slight sag, but it was still much higher and tighter than her friends' breasts who were the same age. Hooking her fingers into the waistband of the thong, she lowered it down off her hips and let it drop on the floor.
Now completely naked, she moved back away from the bathroom mirror to access her entire body. She was pale, her pussy trimmed short in a classic V. The skin was clear, nary a freckle or birthmark anywhere -- She turned sideways and looked at her ass. Her husband always said she had a black woman's ass -- not flat like a typical white woman, but with a curve and lift from years of yoga and running.
Like all women, she was most critical of her own body -- she put two fingers under the cup of her butt where it met the top of the leg and did a little self-lift there. When she let go, her rear stayed pretty much in place and she sighed, satisfied.
"Not bad for an old broad" she whispered.
Isabella opened the glass door to the shower and climbed into the massive enclosure. She and Mike had redone the bathroom a few years ago when the kids were out of the house and Isabella has redesigned the new shower herself -- built in shelves for all sorts of shampoos and creams, a jacuzzi style rain showerhead with wands that extended from floor to ceiling and tile seating in three places to allow her to sit on one and extend her legs onto another for shaving and oiling of her feet and thighs.
The steam of the water felt wonderful on her sore muscles -- she adjusted the pulse of the wand to allow it to massage her neck and shoulders and she basked in the pleasure of it for a luxurious and indecent amount of time. Long showers and baths were one of the few indulgences Isabella allowed herself -- For almost every other area of her live, she lived minimally -- didn't drive a fancy car or eat/drink excessively. Everything in she and Mike's life was paid for as they went along -- they didn't carry a mortgage or credit card debt and they didn't vacation excessively either.
Isabella looked up at the shelf of shampoos and creams -- most were pinks and yellows or whites -- things made by marketers for their female clientele -- and then over at Mike's shelf -- blues and greys and bottles that looked like they were made of armor. It was almost comical how the people who created these products knew exactly how to cater to their target audience.
One item in particular caught her eye and she reached up and pulled it down. Mike had gotten into "manscaping" over the past couple of years. Isabella was happy to see it -- as he got older, he was getting hair in weird places on his body, and she noticed that some of his pubic hair was tinging grey in spots. So, to compensate for the grey, he started trimming himself bald, which wasn't a bad look after looking at years of a bushy crotch...
She held the trimmer in her hand and turned it over -- not surprisingly, it was phallic in design. Flat black in color, amount as thick around as Mike's penis and about 5-6 inches long. It had a sealed bottom for waterproof charging. She clicked it on and was surprised at the strength of the buzz that came from the unit itself. She pressed it again and it went to an even stronger buzz. A third click and a light came on. She clicked it a fourth time and the trimmer went dormant.
Replacing it onto Mike's shelf she thought to herself, "Pretty fancy, there sir..."
Closing her eyes, Isabella let the water tumble over her body -- she increased the temperature slightly and turned her back to the jets to allow them to massage her more thoroughly. And as the day's troubles started washing away, Isabella allowed herself to indulge in the single fantasy that had been consuming her for the past few years.
BLACK MEN.
It was her dirty little secret -- her escape from the reality of her real world. The 180-degree difference from her life -- a life of privilege and suburbia and upper class living. A gentle departure from life as a good and loyal wife and mother who has gentle sex with her husband once or twice a week, the occasional blowjob on rare occasions and a willingness to wear lingerie for him on special occasions.
But in her secret world, she was a black man's slut, even if it were only in fantasy. She would do things for a black man that she would never consider doing for a white man. Not her boyfriend, not her husband -- things she would scarcely even think about except in these private times.
And in these quiet moments, she relived all the fantasies in her mind -- starting with the beginning of her day until its end. All the black men she came in contact within her real life -- all the fantasies one after the other...Her private shower thoughts.
Isabella closed her eyes and reached for the soap...she soaped up her breasts and spread her legs slightly and let the bar of soap crease her pussy lips. She moaned and began thinking and reliving her day...
6:00AM -- Dressed and ready for work. She kissed Mike goodbye and left early for the office...she needed to stop at the grocery store to pick up some fresh fruit and flowers for her desk. The store was just about empty except for a few old people and the staff. As she approached the produce aisle, she saw what she was looking for...a young kid, barely 18 years old -- medium black, slender, tall, a small afro -- no facial or chest hair -- watering the produce. Isabella felt her pussy twinge and she unbuttoned the top two buttons of her white blouse as she approached him.
"Excuse me, where are your eggplants?" she asked innocently.
The young man was looking half asleep as he was watering, looked up at Isabella and his eyes got as big as saucers...his gaze dropped to her open blouse and as he eyed the cleavage stuttered, "sorry, what did you ask?"
