After the Party

Peggy looked at the wreckage that a few hours earlier had been an impressive conference room and nodded with satisfaction. The caterers would be back in over the weekend to take care of the left over food and drink and then the contract cleaners would restore the room to its normal, pristine condition. The air conditioning would take care of the food and tobacco odours -- the guy had already retired, how could they stop him breaking out the cigars? By Monday only the memories of a damned good, if rather short, farewell party would remain.

Idly, Peggy scooped up some Hollandaise sauce from around an egg and licked her fingers. She smiled to herself as the simple act evoked memories of a similar, but much more intimate activity. Maybe later, she thought, if Mike behaves himself. She had to admit he was getting very good with their not-so-little toy. If his dick could only come close in both length and girth, they wouldn't need 'outside' assistance.

Night had fallen some time ago and Peggy looked at her reflection in the tinted glass of the room's windows. Not bad for fifty, she decided. She was undecided about the grey that was creeping into her hair but was proud that her breasts were still firm despite the damage caused by their two children. She turned from side to side a couple of times, cupping her breasts and noting the appearance of her nipples as she did so.

There was nothing subtle about them when she was aroused -- or even, like now -- when she was merely thinking about sex. Mike loved the fact that they became so engorged; she wasn't so sure -- it could be embarrassing if they chose to swell and stiffen in front of a client, for example.

Speaking of Mike . . . she glanced at her watch and frowned. The party had ended sooner than expected. Old Karl had had way too much to drink and it was felt best if her was taken home sooner, rather than later. Once he had gone, the other brokers quickly found reasons to depart. The trouble was, Mike wasn't due to pick her up for at least an hour. She supposed she could always go back to her office and do some work. She picked up piece of quiche and nibbled on it absent-mindedly while she debated whether or not to try and find some coffee and then go and freshen up, or see if she could put in a good half-hour or so on behalf of a client or two. The debate ended when she reminded herself it was Friday evening and everyone else was long gone.

If she had arrived at that decision a minute earlier things might have been so different.

As it was, her hand was reaching for the door handle when it suddenly opened towards her, making her step back with a squawk of surprise. Strangely, she felt no fear as she found herself face to face with a young, black man. It was probably because he was neatly and conservatively dressed in a nicely tailored charcoal-grey, pin-striped suit. A dark-red silk tie over a white shirt, completed the up-and-coming, professional look.

For a moment he looked as surprised as Peggy, but recovered quickly to smile and offer his hand.

'Zak Walker,' he said, after the slightest of pauses.

'Oh, er, Peggy Zeigler.'

Zak recovered from his surprise and his smile widened.

'Don't tell me,' he said, still holding her hand as he glanced around the room, 'I've missed it.'

'I'm afraid so.'

Peggy wondered how to free her hand. It wasn't as though his touch was offensive -- on the contrary, his large hand encompassed hers in a warm and firm grasp that caused a part of her mind to wonder how that same hand might feel cupping one of her breasts. She pushed the thought away and gently tugged her hand free. Zak remained standing close.

'Were all the women here as attractive as you?' he asked boldly.

'Huh?'

Her hand was still tingling from his touch and her brain seemed to be one step behind what was going on.

'I'm saying, if all the women who came to say goodbye to Karl were as attractive as you, then I missed a treat.'

'You think I'm attractive?' she blurted out, too surprised to watch what she was saying.

'Of course you are,' he smiled.

It was almost the same smile he had used before. Almost. This time there was a predatory edge to it. Taking her firmly by the shoulders he turned her round to face the windows.

'Look at yourself,' he purred seductively from over her shoulder. 'Nice figure, firm breasts . . .'

Peggy gasped in shock as his hands did exactly what she'd imagined them doing only a few moments before. Not only did they feel just right -- warm and fitting so snugly around her breasts as though it was their only purpose in life, but also the sight of them, black against the crisp white of her shirt, was incredibly erotic.

If Peggy had seen a photograph of a black man holding a white woman in such a pose, she would have fantasized about it for days. But to actually be experiencing such a situation was unbelievable and she felt a flood of heat between her legs and, of course, her damned nipples stiffened as they'd never stiffened before.

'And very responsive nipples,' he chuckled, pinching them firmly between his fingers and thumbs.

She gasped again. Partly, for the sheer nerve of the guy, groping her tits as though he paid to do so, but mainly, because it felt so damned good. Then sanity returned -- albeit slowly and with more than a little reluctance, but return it did.

'Zak . . .' she protested, trying to wriggle free.

'You know what I like about older women?' he murmured seductively in her ear.

She might as well have been trying to escape from a straight-jacket. With seemingly no effort at all, his hands and forearms held her firmly in front of him -- while his fingers continued to tease her nipples.

'It's because they know what they like,' he continued, ignoring her struggles. 'You see my theory is, because older women have been fucking for years -- I'm talking about the attractive sexy ones, like you, you understand?'

Despite herself, Peggy realized she was nodding.

'Because they've been able to get themselves as much as they want, they know what they like and what they don't like. But do you know what's best about older women?'

Peggy watched the reflection in horrified fascination as one of his hands careless flicked open the buttons of her shirt. The thin material of her bra did nothing to hide the stiffness of her nipples. Then the hand slid slowly down, off her breast and onto her belly. Off her belly and onto one of her thighs. Taking hold of the hem of her skirt, he began raising it, inch by inch. This must be what a mouse feels like, when it's confronted by a snake, she thought.

'What's best about older women,' he said, still speaking softly in a mild conversational tone, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about running his hands over the body of a woman he had met only minutes earlier, 'is that they don't play hard-to-get like silly, immature young women.'

He paused and they both watched as her skirt was lifted high enough to reveal her jet-black, lacy panties. She gave a mental thank-you to whatever prompted her to go for black rather than the white she normally favoured. If she'd been wearing white, it would have been obvious how wet she was.

She was thinking quickly now, analysing her situation and looking for ways to, if not turn things to her advantage, then at least minimize the down-side. She had been aware of his hard-on for some time. It was hard to miss, jammed against the top of her ass and the small of her back, as it was. Part of her thrilled to feel such an erection, so different, so much bigger than Mike's, even at a time like this. But the more cautious side of her wondered what was the least he was going to settle for.

Flight was impossible, as was resistance. He was stronger and quicker than she was -- as well as twenty years younger. Shouting for help would be a waste of time -- if he had seen anyone on his way into the room, she presumed he wouldn't be acting as he was. Damage control then, was the order of the day. Somehow, she didn't think he was doing this just to give her a scare, so she needed to take the edge of his appetite -- hopefully allowing her to leave, or for Mike to turn up -- before things went way too far.

Peggy tried to ignore the little voice that asked her what would be so wrong about letting things go all the way. After all, it insisted, it's not as though you're a fifty-year-old virgin, or even if Mike is the only guy you've ever fucked. Why make a big deal out of it? Think of those friends of yours who've admitted to having the occasional fling. It hasn't done them any harm, has it? Besides, it'll be better to give in and have sex on your terms, than resist and end up raped and God knows what else.

She could give him a hand-job. How difficult would that be? Years ago, some of the boys she knew would have sold their souls to be jerked off. Okay, she'd try for that, although the little voice told her if she thought that was all he wanted then she should be in a straight jacket.

Failing that, a blow-job, then. Swallowing had never been a problem for her and she still treated Mike from time to time. If that's what it took to quell the beast, then so be it. Not such a big deal.

The voice started laughing. Better get ready to be fucked, lady, it sniggered. This dude wants it all. Why do you think he's talking to you, stroking you, being nice? So he can have you with the minimum of fuss. Look at you -- you're soaking wet already. Why not just beg him to fuck you? You know you want him to.

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up, she answered. No-one has the right to do what he's doing, if consent isn't given. So give your consent, came the answer. No, she moaned.

'You like it, don't you?' Zak gloated, his lips grazing her bare shoulder.

She couldn't suppress a shiver of lust as she watched him in the reflection.

Oh, God. Did I moan out loud? Shit! Are those his fingers inside my panties? Jesus they feel good!

'There's no need to answer,' he chuckled, his voice thick with lust. 'Your hot little cunt is answering for you. You know you're soaking wet, don't you? Like I said, older women don't mess about. If they want some dick, they have some. Would you like some of mine?'

'N-no!' she stammered, trying to sound as though she meant it. 'And if you let go of me and leave, right now, I swear I won't tell anyone.'

'Tell them what?' he sneered. 'That some black dude just turned up at your office after everyone had gone, fed you his meat and left you begging for more? Because, Peggy, you sexy white bitch, that's how it's going to be.'

Peggy felt herself spun around so quickly she felt dizzy. When his mouths found her nipples she thought she would faint, the sensation was so powerful. She felt an orgasm tearing through her, rippling outwards from her aching cunt and surging through her body like an unstoppable tidal wave.

No sooner had she started to recover, then she was forced down onto her knees. Thank God we put in a decent carpet, came the irrational thought, as her eyes found themselves level with the indecent bulge in the front of his trousers. His hands, those big, strong hands, were holding her head firmly.

'There's two ways we can do this, Peggy,' he told her. 'The hard way, or the easy way. If you choose the hard way, probably only me will enjoy it. The easy way? Let's just say white meat will never be the same.'

His voice hardened. 'Take it out. Slowly.'

The hand-job idea was pretty much off the table, she realized, but she might still be able to get away with a blow-job. Slowly, her hands shaking -- from fear, she told herself -- she pulled down his zip.

'Better undo the belt and pop the button,' he told her. 'No way is it going to bend.'

Ignoring the shiver that ran from the back of her neck to the depths of her cunt, she unfastened his trousers and pulled them down to mid-thigh. His shorts -- silk, she noted with grudging approval -- were unbelievably tented. Surely he can't be that big? Her hands were trembling constantly now -- and not from fear, she was forced to admit. Curiosity was now her over-riding emotion and she watched as her hands, apparently acting entirely of their own volition, began easing down his shorts.

Little by little, his dick came into view. First the head, plump and engorged with blood -- because of me, she realized. Then the shaft came into view. Thick and black and straining, it looked sinister, almost evil and would have frightened her if she hadn't felt a growing awareness of just how good it would feel stretching the lips of her cunt in a way no dick had done before. When his balls came into view, looking full and heavy she was so awestruck that she forgot her situation sufficiently to lean back in order to take in the whole, wondrous sight.

It was big, easily as big as that bit of rubbery plastic Mike had bought her and that was big! Consumed with an ever-increasing curiosity, she reached out to touch it and was immediately struck by the contrast between her little, white fingers and this hot, straining, black monster. It was like his black hands on her white blouse, only in reverse.

She shuddered when she discovered that she was unable to encircle its girth. Even squeezing, there was a one inch gap, at least, between the tip of her middle finger and that of her thumb.

Then there was its length. With her left fist wrapped around it at its base, the wiry black hair scratching her hand, she wrapped her right hand around it above her left. Then she let go with her left and moved it up, to wrap it around the shaft above her right and finally, her right hand was able to wrap around the shaft above her left again, leaving just the head, with its one, angry eye, peeping out.

'Suck it!'

The words startled her, so engrossed was she with the solid bar of black flesh in her hands. For a moment she had forgotten where she was and how she came to be in this situation. Now it all came rushing back.

'No . . . It's too big! . . . I . . .'

'Suck it!' he growled, pulling her head closer.

Now it was too close to focus on, but suddenly she could smell the odour of his pre-cum. Subconsciously she licked her lips. She remembered her plan to suck him off but that had been before she had seen the damn thing. She could take everything Mike had to offer with ease, but this battering ram was something else.

Then it all became academic as he jammed it against her lips. Instinctively she opened her mouth and almost immediately gagged as the head hit the back of her throat. There was a sudden rush of fluid and, for a wild moment, she thought he had shot his load and her ordeal was over but then, as his dick showed no sign of softening and he started to fuck her mouth, she realized it was just his pre-cum.

If that was just pre-cum, she shivered, maybe blowing him isn't such a good idea. She wondered if anyone had ever choked to death on a dick. Maybe she would be the first, especially if he came, when she wouldn't so much choke as drown!

There wasn't enough room in her mouth for even half his dick, let alone any extra fluids so she swallowed quickly and looked up at him, her eyes wide in appeal, unable to do more than grunt around his thickness. He grinned down at her and trust a few more times. She felt the head sliding down the back of her throat which made her want to gag again -- except she couldn't. Breathing as best as she could through her nose, she felt him force more and more of his cock down her throat until, suddenly, his pubic hair was pricking her lips. Then he started thrusting.

How long he kept this up, she had no idea. Time lost all meaning for her. Her whole being was centred around surviving. But, remarkably, she found herself thankful that it slowly became progressively easier. She found she could time her breathing around his thrusts and even began to feel proud of herself for accommodating such a massive prick.

From the grunts and groans he was making, she judged he was finding the experience as satisfying as she was finding it uncomfortable. Then it gradually changed from being uncomfortable to reasonably acceptable. From there it was relatively short step to a feeling of pride that she was coping with the situation and then, finally, the realization that she was actually enjoying being abused in this way.

It was with some disappointment -- and a fresh surge of fear as to what was coming next -- that she felt him withdraw. Her mouth felt strangely empty, although it was good to be able to close it again.

'On your feet,' he ordered, gripping a handful of her hair and pulling to underline his command.

She rose with a whimper, only to be spun round again. This time, she barely had time to catch their reflections before her forced her face down over the table. With one large hand placed firmly on the back of her neck, he pulled up her dress and then ripped off her panties as though they had been made of paper.

Outside, walking down the corridor towards the conference room, Mike Zeigler was about twenty yards from the partly open door and looking around in puzzlement. He glanced at his watch and nodded to himself. He was definitely early. Peggy had said the retirement party was due to end at six, but that there were bound to be some hangers-on, those reluctant to leave before they absolutely had to. Yet instead of hearing sounds of laughter, clinking glasses and muffled conversation, he could hear nothing. The doors he was passing had the right floor numbers on them so he knew he was where he wanted to be. But what had happened to the party? He suddenly had the awful thought that he had got his days mixed up. The party was definitely being held on Friday, so maybe, somehow, he was a day early.

Then the long, slowly-rising, wail of . . . pleasure? pain? came rolling down the corridor, seeming to bounce off the walls. Whatever it was, his blood seemed to freeze for a second and he looked around in panic, the more so because the voice -- if not the cry itself -- sounded vaguely familiar.

Inside the room, Zak's monster cock had entered Peggy's cunt with a single, irresistible thrust. Her shocked and dazed mind threw up an image of an artillerymen, in an old Civil War movie she remembered seeing a few years ago, forcing a shell into a cannon's breach. She felt as though her cunt was the cannon and Zak's dick was the ram-rod. Wet as she was -- and she couldn't recall ever being this wet before -- it still felt as thought she was being torn apart as he slid, balls deep, inside her.

At least, she thought desperately, he'll have to pause now, to give us both time to adjust. She was so wrong. Barely had his balls slapped against her ass then he was pulling out again. It felt as though her cunt was being pulled inside out -- until he slammed back in again. Once more she cried out -- but this time more from the blossoming pleasure than any feelings of pain.

Advancing with considerable caution, Mike was able to pinpoint the sound as coming from the one, partly open door on the corridor. As if to confirm the location of the sound, another one came. This one nowhere near as agonized. In fact, he thought as he approached the door, there was more than a hint of pleasure and satisfaction in it.

He was unable to see around the door and reluctant -- until he had a better idea of what was going on -- to advertise his presence by pushing it open. Then a flicker of movement caught his eye and he found he was able to see, exactly what was going on in the room to result in the cries he had heard, mirrored perfectly in the windows. For the second time in less than a minute, his blood felt as though it had frozen.

There, bent over the end of the conference table, her fingers convulsively clutching handfuls of the snow white table-cloth, amid the dirty plates, partly full glasses and uneaten food, was his wife of twenty-five years and the mother of his children. Between her widespread feet, holding her hips with a firm grip, was a young black man who appeared, from the waist upwards at least, to be perfectly respectable.