"This is my last chance," I thought to myself as I entered the doorway to The Pepper Lounge. It was Saturday night and I was out once again trolling my usual grounds for prospects. I saw a few heads turn my way as I entered the room, ogling me, but they weren't what I was looking for. I had become quite choosy lately.
This had become a regular thing for me. At least once a month for the last year I've been making the circuit of about three different bars and clubs near my home. I need to stay close enough to home to make this work.
I'm always alone, hunting, looking for just the right guy. I'm doing this because of my husband; he had driven me to this. This was my way of repaying him. "He'll get what he deserves!" I thought as a sly smile creeped across my lips.
My usual targets were younger men, but not so young that they won't take the bait. Ideally, I look for a guy between 30 and 45 years old, unattached, looking for a good time for just the one night. The establishments that I troll are not only near my home, but also close to the nearby hotels. Most of the guys I find are travelling on business, bored and looking for some fun. I can give that to them!
My name is Paula. I'm in my mid-forties, average height with long blonde hair. Most guys think I'm much younger because I make an effort to keep myself in very good shape. At the risk of sounding immodest, I will say that I have a great body: 38D breasts, 26-inch waist, and a firm round butt over shapely legs. My body is well-toned, and I like to show it off.
I try to improve my prospects and play up my natural endowments by wearing very sexy clothes on these little excursions. Tonight, I'm wearing a short skirt, above the knee, with a very high slit that shows off my legs and leaves little to the imagination. My white blouse is straining at the buttons to contain my large breasts, and the fine fabric provides a glimpse of my lacy bra beneath. I complete my outfit by applying bright red lipstick that I hope conveys that I am ready and willing for anything.
But now I'm worried that I will come up empty tonight; maybe my standards have become too high. When I first started doing this about a year ago I was simply looking for the handsome ones, in good shape with a nice body. After a few successful hunts I realized that what is really most important to me is to find a guy that is well hung and hopefully knows how to use it. It was on my fifth time out that I met a young black man that seemed to fit the bill.
It was kind of like tonight, I had been everywhere else with no luck and was about to quit when I noticed this handsome black man, Mark. I had never been with a black guy before, never even considered it, but Mark caught my eye that night. As I worked on picking him up I could tell he was definitely well hung, a quick brush of my hand over Mark's crotch under the table convinced me of that. At the time, the thought of 'forbidden' interracial sex gave me a thrill. I also imagined that it would really send my husband over the edge.
I took Mark back to my quiet, dark house and that's when I discovered he had the biggest cock I had ever experienced. Was this just happenstance, or was the old myth actually true, I wondered? Mark was skilled at lovemaking and he rode me for hours, filling my pussy with his magnificent black cock. That night was so satisfying to me that the next time out I went looking just for a black man. I had some very good luck that night as well; I found another well-endowed black man that wanted to fuck me.
So, this had become my new modus operandi; hunting for handsome young black guys! I'll admit that the myth hadn't held true every single time. Sometimes I was slightly disappointed by what I found when I got them back to my house, but I was usually able to weed out the duds before I got around to taking them home. A little 'field reconnaissance' always helped; under the bar table, in the alley behind the club, wherever.
After several successful encounters I found myself becoming more and more attracted to these well-hung young black men. I found them to be good lovers, and their large cocks really filled me up nicely.
Tonight was no different than my other recent attempts, except that I wasn't having much luck. I was now in my third and last establishment of the evening and it wasn't looking promising. I decided to grab a seat at the bar and have a drink and give it another 30 minutes before calling it quits. After about five minutes I perked up as I saw an attractive young black man, early thirties, enter and grab a booth nearby.
He was tall, well-dressed, even a little nerdy in a tweed sport jacket, but quite handsome and somewhat athletic. I decided to make my move and started to get up from my seat when I noticed another black man enter. Mr. Tweed waved him over. Crap! This probably wasn't good for me; I expected their two wives or girlfriends to come walking in at any moment. I sat back down to wait and watch.
The two men ordered drinks and just sat and talked. Mr. Tweed's friend was a little shorter, but more solidly built. I guessed he was a high school football player some years ago by his build; strong looking shoulders and arms. Mr. Football had a nice face. I liked them both by sight, and on any other night I would have jumped at the chance to pursue either one, but I figured I would be wasting my time trying to barge in as a third wheel and try to pick one of them up for the night.
It was at that moment that the thought of fucking both of them at once first occurred to me; I felt a twinge in my pussy! I immediately realized that was a crazy idea! I've never tried anything like that before; of course, I hadn't tried fucking black guys until just recently, I also thought.
Oh, what the hell! What have I got to lose? I also pictured my husband catching me in our bed with two black studs fucking me at once. That might just about kill him! I smiled again at the thought and decided to make my move.
I left my seat and circled around the main bar area to approach their booth from the side. As I neared the booth, Mr. Football glanced over at me and then did a small double take; I get that a lot. I gave him a quick, casual smile, but then I "accidentally" dropped my handbag to the floor. I feigned a look of annoyance and then turned my back to their booth and slowly bent from the waist to pick it up.
I could feel Mr. Football's eyes locked on my ass, and I could just hear him whispering to Mr. Tweed to "catch that piece of ass!" I discreetly looked over my right shoulder to make sure I had their complete attention and then I quickly stood up and turned toward their booth. Mr. Football had been quick enough to look away at the last moment, but I caught Mr. Tweed, open-mouthed still looking at where my ass had been before his eyes shot up to meet my gaze.
"Like what you see, fella?" I said, acting a little put out by their obvious sexism. Mr. Football snickered a at his friend getting caught red-handed.
