Susan & the Blac Farm Labourers

NOTE: This is the final chapter. So to those of you who have enjoyed this story, thanks for reading. For those who have read all chapters and didn't like it, sorry. There are thousands of other stories on here and I'll try harder next time. As I noted at the beginning, Susan is real and a lot of the description is based on watching her with other men. Has it been like the Susan in this story? No, but one can dream.

*****

She had been emailing back and forth with Marques and he'd invited her for a visit — just sort of an introduction. She hadn't been fucked since the day before so her cunt was fresh for any new cocks. And shaved that morning. She was almost vibrating in anticipation.

And she wore makeup — something she never did. It enhanced her looks in the intended slutty way and I was hard just looking at her face. She knew she'd be changed into something else when she got there, so she just wore a clingy dress cut short and flared out at the hip. The type that if she spun around it would fly up revealing everything. Of course her cunt was bare and available.

When we arrived at the Bullrun she took me in and introduced me to Q and a few others. We had arrived about 8 p.m. and had drinks with Q, who showed me the apartment while Susan changed into a dress he gave her - short, silky, black, plunging cleavage, and held together with a few buttons at the front. If there's such a term as a cunt-length dress, that's what it was. When Susan stood straight, you might just be able to see her cunt lips hanging down. I took some photos that I could look at when I got back to the hotel. Marques is in a few of them fondling Susan and one of her feeling the bulge in his pants and lust in her eyes. She wore high heels that made her walk in a provocative way — hips rolling, tits bouncing. He rolled a joint and lit it, shotgunned Susan three or four times, and then they took turns. How to get stoned in three minutes. And that was it. Susan was glassy-eyed, almost unaware. Like she said, 'floating.'

She left her phone in the little black box.

I looked around, taking in everything Susan had described about it, looked out the front window facing the street. Noted the two hidden cameras and the big mirror side-on to the bed and only a few feet away. It was really one of those mirrors you could see through from the other side. I didn't say anything.

"You want to stay for a while, sit with me in the back?" Marques said. "My brother will take Susan around to some different guys and you can watch what happens here."

On Friday and Saturday nights Bullrun is one of those places where the front door is locked and they vet you when you enter. That controls who comes in. It gets crowded, but it's manageable.

So we went downstairs to the pool room and the three of us sat at a table as pool balls chinked off each other - and big Black guys with cum-filled balls of their own watched Susan. Stoned as she was, she was unaware of their stares and sat there with her cunt on display - as her eyes were staring at those huge bulges her near-nakedness was causing. Self-perpetuating lust.

Before long Q's younger brother Jalen sat down and Q nodded towards Susan.

"The couch behind Table 3," Q instructed, and gave him a sheet of paper. "When she goes upstairs, let me know."

Table 3 meant the third pool table. From where I was sitting I could see the sofa and when Jalen led my wife over, she was introduced and shown off. A guy sitting on the sofa smiled and nodded and soon my wife was on her knees. She unzipped him and he lifted up so she could pull his jeans down enough to free his semi-hard cock. When she bent over to take it in her mouth, her pussy was visible. Jalen said something to Susan and she spread her legs apart more, enhancing the vaginal display to the growing number of spectators. The sofa was low, so it was like my wife was on all fours with her head and tits in the guy's lap. The dress wouldn't hold her breasts in that position so they spilled out to the delight of the throng gathered around watching. And as her head bobbed up and down her tits swayed and bounced, the nipples brushing his bunched up jeans and becoming long and hard.

Her cunt was glistening by now, and I could tell she was struggling not to move her hand back and play with herself. But she didn't, and after five minutes or so the guy threw back his head and lost it in my wife's mouth. I could see his massive cock twitch and pulse slightly with each spurt, and saw Susan as she opened wide so his ejaculations onto her tongue were visible to those watching. And she didn't lose a any of it.

There were drops of her cunt juice on the floor by now, and a new one every five seconds or so slipping from between her cunt lips, and plopping to the old boards. The slow drip was mesmerizing, and more than a couple of guys were transfixed by the sight.

Susan spent another minute or two cleaning the guy's cock and when he stood she pulled his pants back up, zipped him, and buttoned the jeans. Jalen got out the paper Q had given him and it looked like he made a check mark on it.

Q had watched the entire thing.

"It'll be like that mostly," he said, as we watched Susan stand back up, not bothering to do anything about her breasts. She licked her lips. I was so hard I thought my zipper would break. Q noticed and smiled. "She'll do five or six more probably. Jalen has the list, but however many she wants after that. A couple of guys will take her upstairs at different times."

Q assured me she'd be fine

"Everybody knows the rules. I'll close up and Jalen will take her upstairs for the night. Or somebody will. You pick her up at noon Saturday if that's what you both want. But she can stay tomorrow night too if she wants."

I had another drink while my wife was circulated through the crowd of 60 or 70 Black guys who ranged in age from probably early 20s to late 50s. There were a few dozen Black women, and I spotted two other scantily dressed white women.

I asked Q about them and he said they were doing exactly what Susan was doing.

"Local wives," he said. "They've been doing it for a while. Elementary school teacher, the older one. The young one's in real estate I think. We had another white girl but she got knocked up. After they start to show it's not wise to have them here."

"Knocked up?" I said.

Q nodded.

"The young ones, that's what some of them want," Q said. "Or maybe it's what their husbands want. I don't know. Black cock is extremely popular."

I looked out and spotted one of the other white women - early 20s I guessed — the real estate agent. The other was maybe early 30s. They were sitting at tables, glowing, bright-eyed. Intensely excited. And they wore almost as much as my wife was wearing. Wet, swollen, shaved pussies apparently available to anyone - if you had a Black cock.

Soon Susan was sucking another Black cock. The same couch, same position. This time the guy reached down as she sucked him and caught hold of the hem of the dress and pulled it up to bunch around her waist. It was almost too much to stand - for me or some of the other guys. He reached back, his hand sliding between her ass cheeks and then two fingers sliding into her slick pussy, pulling up to open her wide to those watching. She was trying to buck back one his dripping fingers as she sucked him. People were whistling and there were a few cheers.

Q and I watched Susan, watched the crowd watching her. Watched the look on the face of the Black guy she was servicing. Early 50s probably. Fit for his age. He got close and pulled his fingers out of her hole and sat back. He shot into her mouth and I saw her swallow three or four times. Same cleanup routine and then hew offered her the fingers he'd driven up in side her, juices rolling down them She sucked them clean, moaning the whole time. Jalen made another check mark.

Susan and Jalen disappeared into the crowd a few minutes later and the next thing I looked she was naked, going through the door that led upstairs, followed closely by a young Black man — hand on her back encouraging her through. He obviously wanted to get started. Her dress was nowhere to be seen.

I sat for another half hour, but I didn't see her again. Apparently I wasn't looking when the guy came back down and another went up. I stayed until 11 p.m. but figured I didn't want to outstay my welcome.

"Text me some pictures," I said to Q. "Upstairs, down. Whatever."

He nodded and let me out a back door. My motel wasn't far so I decided to walk. I'd had a few drinks and my car was safe enough in the compound behind the Bullrun. I walked around front of the bar to get on the sidewalk and looked through the windows inside to where everybody was drinking and socializing. You couldn't see the pool hall in the back, but when I cross the street and looked back I could see the window into the apartment above the bar. Shadows were moving rhythmically across the far wall and the ceiling in what could only have been camera lighting. I watched for a few minutes as the tempo increased — and then suddenly stopped. I pictured the explosion of cum against my wife's cervix.

I'd had a few drinks, so when I got to the motel I was tired. But I was thinking Susan smoked some pot, had a couple of drinks and would be fucking until who knows when. I really didn't have a right to be tired. At some point I drifted off to the sound of an air conditioner clanking.

It must have been between 2 and 3 a.m. that I awoke to dings from my phone. I went to texting and saw Marques had sent a bunch of pictures. I especially liked the one of the big Black guy standing up holding my wife's ass cheeks as she sat impaled on his massive meat, her arms wrapped around his neck, her head thrown back as he tosses her up and down on his shaft. A sequence of five shots tells the entire story as she holds on, head tilted back, mouth wide open yelling or screaming as she goes up to reveal 10 inches of cock and then down, that same cock buried to the hilt inside my wife.

A few more photos of her thrown down on the pull-out bed, legs apart, glassy eyes; red, swollen, glistening cunt with white globs of cum from mid thighs to belly button — two big ropes of some Black man's cum right across her shaved mound.

The next photo her hand's in her fuck hole scooping out four fingers full of goo. She's smiling and looking up at the camera. And there were more. Some of her under a big Black guy so all you see are her arms and legs. Some of her on her hands and knees on the edge of the bed with a guy rammed deep into her from behind.

I was jerking off looking at them when the phone dinged again and a new picture popped up — Susan downstairs in the pool hall, after closing time but a handful of guys crowded round my naked wife, a drink in her hand, leaning against one of the tables. She's a mess, with streaked makeup, messed up hair, her inner thighs red from the impact of big men pounding down onto and into her, and swollen, puffed nipples.

I was just about ready to shoot my load on that one, when a line of text came through, presumably from Q: "She says she's staying Saturday night. Drop by for lunch when you get up. Back door."

I shot my load right then.

I slept until 10 a.m. and awoke to Susan texting me.

"Def do this after Jam!!," she wrote.

It took me a minute to interpret, but what I figured out is that she'd do the Bullrun every Friday night when she got back from Jamaica. So that answered two questions: Was she still going to Jamaica? and Would she come back after two weeks?

"Fun?" I replied.

"The ultimate i think," she said.

"U up?" I asked.

"Still in bed with guy," she replied. "Clay is name."

So not Marques? Or Jalen? Hmmmm.

About 20 minutes went by and then she texted a photo of her sitting on a cock, facing the guy who was lying down. He obviously took the photo. She was leaning back, her shoulders arched and one hand on the bed near his knee holding herself from falling backwards. I could see four inches of his cock and the rest was way up inside her. Her swollen clit was sticking way out, and fuck juice was everywhere.

I showed up at noon and Q let me in the back. Susan was still upstairs and Q didn't know in what state.

"Clay just showed up at closing time and needed some white cunt," he said. "Susan was still down here with a few of us after we locked up and took him right upstairs."

Somebody was in the kitchen and I could smell bacon. Coffee. Breakfast for lunch is my favourite. It was ready in a few minutes and we all sat around some pushed-together tables. I was just digging in when the door to the upstairs opened and Susan and a big young Black guy came into the room. He was 20 maybe. Long and lean in sweats and sneakers. Susan wore the flirty dress she put on at home the day before.

Clay had a big smile on his face. Susan sat by me and Clay sat on the other side of her. He was smitten, I could tell. He had her hand on her bare leg a few times and inched up under the skirt too.

I could tell they'd both showered. The makeup was gone. But the pussy smell was still there. She was horny, for sure. But tired too.

Q asked Clay how it was. Clay started describing their fuck session as if Susan wasn't right beside him. The first time, the second time, when they woke up. Susan just nodded now and then.

Then Q asked Susan what her plans were for the day — until the bar opened. If she was staying at the Bullrun that night she still didn't need to show up until 9 o'clock. She didn't really know. She looked at me questioningly.

I had rebooked the motel, so I suggested we go there and Susan could get rested up more and tell me how she enjoyed things the night before. When she ran back upstairs to get her phone, I asked Q what he thought. He dug in his pocket for something and pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to me.

The list Jalen had been carrying around.

"BJ means blowjob, F means fuck," he said in way of explanation.

I ran down the list and counted five blowjobs and four fucks — plus Clay's name was pencilled in at the bottom. He got up and went over to the bar and pulled out an envelope from under the counter.

"Here, take this," he said. "Hide it for now."

I was curious but just then Susan came back down and we got ready to leave.

Later, after we were back at the motel, after I took my turn inside my wife, I opened it. Money. In fact $700 and a note.

"Don't tell her, at least for now," Q said in the note. "She earned every penny of it."

And user name and password to a Dropbox account. I've been downloading from that every Saturday for almost two years now.

I stashed the money under the back floor mat in the car. My wife had just become a prostitute. I jerked off in the bathroom as she slept.

She woke up at about 6 p.m. and we lay there talking — her describing the night she'd had. It was intense, but a repeat of most of her other fuck sessions in the last few months. Suffice it to say, there was lots of Blackman's sperm inside her by the time it was over, and lots of video. She didn't know about the mirror. When I told her she almost came.

"You're kidding!" she said. "That mirror is about three feet from the bed."

I smiled.

"And two hidden video cameras," I continued.

She just opened her mouth. I told her where they were. Eventually she showered, got her overnight bag from the car, applied makeup much like the night before, and took a couple vitamins.

"These are really great," she said, indicating the supplements. "William said a couple a day and I'd have all kinds of energy."

It seemed to be true. She had three or four bottles of them at home. Maybe more. I started to wonder if they gave her more than energy. She'd always had great libido, but it seemed to go way up after William and the guys showed up.

"When did he first give you them," I asked, innocently, I thought. "They must be pretty powerful for you to do all that last night. Eight or nine guys."

"William brought the dog back that first day," she said. "He'd drop in once in a while over the next week or so, and once we talked about healthy food — eating right. He asked if I took vitamins or herbal supplements as well. I told him Vitamin C sometimes. The next time he stopped by with this bottle of vitamins he said a good friend in Jamaica mixes. They're not store-bought."

We went out to dinner and then I dropped Susan off at the bar around 9 p.m. and went back to the motel and waited. Bullrun closes earlier on Saturday nights, so Susan was only in circulation for three hours before the place was locked up. She spent the night with Marques in her various holes, but they crashed about 3 a.m. she said, and were having breakfast by 10 Sunday morning. She texted me just before she went downstairs and Marques let me in the back door.

She was back in that same dress she wore from home Friday evening, but all told she'd only really worn it for maybe four or five hours. Saturday night she wore a short silk robe that tied at the front.

"It was open most of the time," she said. "Somebody took the sash in the first five minutes and that was that."

We left for home about noon and were home by 1:30 or so.

Whoever's turn it was that night, I can't remember. And it was kind of laid back until Friday evening rolled around again, but this time Marques drove over and picked her up. She did the Friday night thing again and I picked her up about noon Saturday. And another envelope.

But before long it was just a few days before Susan was to fly down to be with Chalmers for two weeks. She packed per his instructions. She took little, and what she took was scant. And no panties or bras. The car arrived Sunday evening and she was on a diplomatic flight to the Caribbean before midnight.

We said a lot of things before she left. I asked her if she was sure. She said she was.

"Two weeks, that's it," she said. "Maybe I'll go back down another time, who knows. It's not like anybody is locked into anything."

We'd fucked all afternoon. She let me use all her holes and insisted I come in her ass, something she'd never let me do before. Dave had dozens of times, and in the last three months Black cock had spewed cum into her ass quite a few times. It was her little reward to me for being so understanding about her going to fuck Remington for two more weeks.

She was gone. I got texts and a few photos over the next couple of days. By Wednesday there was only a couple of texts — "loving it," "oh my god the cock," and "unreal."

I wasn't there, so I can't say much about it. I'm sure it was intense and continuous, as she's implied since getting home. She spent an extra week and arrived home fit and tanned and still energized.

"I did nothing all day," she said. "Then sex for a couple hours in the evening. Remy let a few other guys have me, and that was really intense — politicians from African countries as far as I could tell. But fucking? Whole new ball game, so to speak."

For the most part, it was slow, not at all what she expected. Chalmers admitted that besides being in absolute heaven when he fucked her, he used her as a bribe with the other Black men. And after they had her a few times each, things went Remington's way in some financial deal.

While Chalmers wanted her to stay, they compromised on her going back for a few weeks every year. So come the cold month of February, my wife goes south to 'Ride Remy,' as she describes it. She's been down twice now and if anybody actually owns her, it's him. If he tells her to do something, she does it.

She took a week off when she got home. The four guys at the farm were okay with it, and in the next couple of months Susan would look after them from time to time. By the time Susan got back from Jamaica Derek's crew had gone back and Jean Luc's was destined to go back to the Dominican soon.