It Gets Nasty in Nice

OK, here's another one for you LW fans out there.

A cheating slut-wife, a black man with an enormous cock, and a twist ... *wink*

After A Dish Best Served Cold

went up on Lit, I got a lot of feedback. Thanks, I enjoyed reading it.

As usual, send feedback – I look forward to the PCs.

GA – Langkawi, Malaysia – 31st of January 21013.

One.

Heather Parker regarded her reflection in the big mirror fixed to the wall of her hotel room.

"Oh God, Heather," she murmured to the platinum blonde who smirked back at her. "Who are you going to fuck tonight?" She cupped her breasts in her palms, examining the cosmetic surgeon's work with a critical eye. "Perfect she purred, satisfied that her tits were the best her husband's money could buy.

Jubilation surged through her and overwhelmed Heather's senses, her tummy fluttering with anticipation at the first night of her two-week holiday in Nice.

Alone.

Without

him

for two weeks! Free to indulge her dirty kitty's desires.

It had cost her husband a small fortune in pampering, with a whole day in the spa having her hair dyed and styled, her arms and pussy waxed, her eyebrows threaded to almost invisible arches. Heather had endured hours in the home gym at the mercy of her personal trainer, Michael, a hard-bodied Swede with an impressive cock and endless stamina. On the very first session, without even working out, Heather had dragged the beautiful Adonis to the bed she shared with her husband, kneeling and offering her cunt to him before he filled her with dick and then his semen.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Heather decided she looked fucking gorgeous, even at forty-four she knew she'd turn heads when she sauntered into the bar downstairs. The sun-bed had done the trick, ten sessions and she was ready to lounge by the pool the following day in the briefest bikini that modesty and public decency allowed. She couldn't wait to get mildly fizzy on rum and coke before she picked up some hard dick for some afternoon delight.

As she dressed Heather couldn't decide who to go for on her first night – a handsome rich man, a fellow guest at the hotel, or whether to go slumming it and just fuck one of the waiters or barmen? Maybe she could latch onto a nice young couple to corrupt, perhaps seducing the female partner while not allowing the male to fuck her? It had been a few months, before the boob-job in fact, since she'd been licked to orgasm by another woman.

The choices were endless, and even as she selected a scrap of soft cotton that posed as a thong from a drawer, a dribble of arousal slid from Heather's opening.

"We'll wait and see," she muttered after lighting a cigarette and sitting on the bed to phone her husband.

Five minutes later, after a banal conversation about her flight and how much the needle-dicked millionaire missed his wife, Heather slid into the simple but oh-so-expensive little black dress, checked her appearance critically, and walked out of the room towards the lift on her towering heels.

As she sauntered casually into the bar she spotted him immediately.

Expensive clothes, short hair and skin the colour of dark chocolate.

Their eyes met and Heather felt desire burst inside her as her pussy clenched and siped more juice into her underwear. Feigning indifference she let her eyes slip away from his belligerent stare, selected a vacant table, and eased into the soft, low chair.

A waiter immediately approached and Heather ordered a white wine. She took a packet of cigarettes out of the small bag she carried and lit up. Besides cigarettes, the bag also contained a finger-sized vibrator and three condoms – just in case.

He was standing next to her as Heather blew smoke towards the ceiling.

"May I?" the man asked in accented English. He indicated the seat next to Heather with a tilt of his head.

"Help yourself," Heather replied in an off-hand manner that belied the churning in the pit of her stomach. The man was absolutely fucking gorgeous: liquid brown eyes and a voice so deep it made Heather's already leaking pussy trickle with yearning. When the man spoke she immediately imagined huge, dangling balls, associating large testicles with the deep, rich timbre of his voice. She glanced at his hands, noticing they were huge – was his cock in proportion? Heather decided she would find out.

"I'm Samson," the man said as the waiter returned with Heather's wine.

"Heather," the woman replied. She thanked the waiter who then left to collect the Jack Daniel's that Samson requested.

"English?" the man asked.

Heather nodded. "Yes, and what about you?"

"I am from Mozambique," Samson replied in very formal English.

"And what brings you to this part of the world?" Heather asked.

The waiter appeared and handed Samson his drink. The black man sipped at the JD, his eyes fixed on the blonde's face. The intensity of the stare unsettled Heather and caused her insides to clench again. She squirmed against the seat and considered a quick trip to the loo so she could run the angry buzz of the finger-vibe over her clit.

Samson shrugged and said, as though it was the most mundane occupation in the world, "I meet ladies and I fuck them."

Heather, despite her vast experience as a cheating spouse, and with hundreds of lovers under the hem of her brief skirts blinked, nonplussed by the unexpectedly forthright reply. If she had a notch on her bedpost for every guy she'd fucked behind her husband's back the bed would be a matchstick, but this man was more direct than anyone she'd ever met before.

Recovering quickly, and after a healthy swig of wine, Heather pouted and said, "That's a very to-the-point way of putting it, Samson."

The man shrugged. "It is what I do," he said. "You ask, I tell you."

"And I assume you get paid for this ... service?"

Samson pulled a face and stroked his chin. "The lady pays me what she thinks I'm worth. I don't have a price like that. I let the lady decide."

"Is that why you came over here to sit with me?" Heather asked. "You think I might be interested?" Samson shrugged again while Heather took a drag on her cigarette. "Because I'm not interested Samson," Heather lied. "And what's more, my husband will be joining me very soon."

The man stared at Heather for several beats. He shook his head and leaned forward in the seat, his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his knees.

"You are alone here," he said. "I watched you arrive. You had no husband." He grinned and eased back, hands behind his head. "Even if you did have a husband with you, I have fucked a lot of white women while the husband watched." Samson gave Heather an amused look. "And you are very interested, Heather. I know you are." He jerked his chin at the blonde. "I can almost

smell

how interested you are."

Oh God, the confident bastard

, Heather thought. She wriggled in the chair again in an attempt to scratch the insistent itch between her legs.

I just fucking bet you can almost smell me, you lovely fucker. I'm soaked.

"Where?" Heather croaked, her voice creaking with lust. Samson smirked and shrugged. Experiencing the quiver of excitement she felt whenever she did something outrageously sluttish, Heather ground her cigarette out in the ashtray and placed her wine on the table in front of her. "The ladies restroom," she murmured, rising to her feet.

Heather led the way, and as soon as the door swung shut behind them Heather turned and hiked up the hem of her dress. Samson tore the febrile thong from Heather's body after, with no effort at all, lifting her bodily and placing her down on the sink counter. Then he knelt, forced her thighs apart and delved into the gooey folds of her sodden labia.

"Oh fuck ..." Heather sighed when Samson's tongue slid into her opening, teasing her there with a few dabs before he sucked on the pink nub of her clit. "Lick my cunt, you lovely fucker," the woman groaned lewdly.

After a minute of wriggling his tongue into Heather's opening, Samson rose and leaned in to kiss her mouth. The woman gasped and moaned, her mouth full of Samson's insistently probing tongue while his fingers probed at her sex.

"Let me see your cock," Heather hissed through gritted teeth when Samson eventually stopped kissing her mouth. "Oh my fucking GOD!" she cried when the man stepped back and pulled his tailored shorts to his knees. "That belongs on a fucking HORSE."

Samson came at her, cock in hand to kiss Heather again. The woman eased her buttocks towards the precipice of the counter edge, her legs widening. She offered herself to her new black lover with a gasp.

He filled her in one thick glide, the meat of him opening her spongy softness while Heather grunted and winced, swearing and gasping again when she accommodated the entire length of Samson's long, thick cock.

"Feel me there, you white bitch," Samson grunted, his eyes challenging and fixed on Heather's in a hot stare. "You had a black cock before, eh? I'm gonna fuck you and tear that white cunt apart."

"Please!" Heather wailed. "Yes please. Give me nigger dick. All of it. Fuck ... It's huge. Fuck me, darling. Fuck me hard."

When Samson came, his semen gushing out of him in vehement spurts that flooded Heather's insides with viscous jizm, his pulsing cock sent the woman over the edge as well. Heather sucked her lover's tongue, gasping and moaning while the tide of his copious outpouring fluttered inside her.

"Jesus," Heather blasphemed. "Let's just go to my room. I want more of that big fucking cock."

Heather's heels clacked onto the tiles as, on unsteady legs, she tottered around and pulled the hem of her dress to a respectable level. Samson followed her out of the toilet and through the bar towards the lift.

As soon as the door closed behind them Heather wriggled out of her dress and flaunted herself at the black man.

"Will I do?" she asked, eyes glinting in the subdued light from the bedside lamp as she posed with her hands on her hips.

"Come here," Samson said in his deep, rumbling voice. He slid his shorts off and sat on the bed. "I want to suck your breasts."

When Heather went to him, her tits in her palms, squeezing her jugs together in invitation, Samson lifted her by the waist and sat her in his lap. Heather positioned herself to accept Samson and his cock penetrated her, making the woman gasp and moan while Samson sucked hard at an elongated nipple.

"Do you always stay hard?" Heather groaned. "You just creamed my pussy, my thighs are smeared with the stuff ... do you always stay hard after you've cum?"

"Not every time," Samson replied, one arm encircling Heather's waist. He rose to his feet, lifting the blonde as he stood with his cock embedded deep in her cunt. "Only when the lady is very beautiful and very sexy."

Samson's girth stretched Heather open. "Am I beautiful and sexy?" she groaned.

My God, he's going to come out of the top of my head he's so fucking deep

.

"Don't play games with me," Samson growled, his long, dark fingers holding Heather wide open with the back of the woman's knees hooked over his arms. "You know exactly what you are, a spoilt wife who wants her cunt filled with black meat." Samson kissed her, his tongue invading Heather's mouth. "Am I right?" he snarled, easing the woman up and down the long length. "You are very desirable, but if you were my wife you would not look at another man. I would keep you satisfied. I would put sperm into you and keep you with children. You would not ever look at another. Samson would be enough."

The thought of this man putting a baby inside her sent tingles down Heather's spine. "Who says I'm married?" she replied.

Samson lifted Heather's left hand. "The rings on your fingers."

"You are enough," Heather groaned. Better than my husband, better than any man I've known. If you were my man I'd never have the need to fuck anyone else."

And it was true. Heather was surprised to find herself fantasising about living with Samson all the time. She could see herself all swollen with his seed, her belly distended with a brown baby growing inside her. Just as long as he fucked her like this every day.

She came and came with Samson pounding into her cunt that squelched and farted with displaced semen from the man's earlier deposit. She rode Samson's dick before he took her on her back and then standing up facing the mirror, her leg raised so she could watch her pussy stretched around the girth of the black cock sliding in and out. Heather came, the leg taking her weight almost buckling when she saw her lover's root smeared with a mix of jizm and her desire, a thick, creamy ooze that slid out of her and clung to the man's shaft. She climaxed again as she knelt on the bed and Samson crouched low over her back so he could maul her big tits while his balls slapped against her thighs.

"I'm cumming," the black man groaned, his arm tightening around Heather's waist. 'Inside you, again," he moaned.

"All night," Heather sighed several minutes later, lay on her back on the bed. Her heart pounded as she recovered enough to light a cigarette. "Stay with me tonight. I'll get room service. Order anything you like and stay here with me. Fuck me again ... I want you all night."

Samson grinned and nodded before his expression turned serious and he stared intently into Heather's eyes.

"You are my woman?" he said in that deep voice. "While you stay here; you are mine. You do as I say. You don't let another man touch you – not unless I allow it."

Heather gazed at her new lover. She looked at his proud, serious face, skimmed her eyes over his muscled torso and took in the sight of his cock – so brutal and so fucking satisfying. Lust burst through her and she decided that yes, she would keep herself faithful to this beautiful black man. She would do anything he asked of her.

It would be quite a thrill to walk around with Samson. Heather found the thought of people looking at her and judging her as a slut, the black man's white meat, made her pussy clench with desire again. As well fucked as she was, filled with double cream from Samson's big balls, with her pussy already swollen, Heather wanted to feel the man's cock inside her again.

"Yes," Heather sighed. "I think I could get to enjoy that. Anything you say, darling. I won't even look at another man. I'm yours ... Do what you want with me."

Samson grinned and took the burning cylinder from between Heather's fingers. He sucked at the cigarette and then crushed it into the ashtray.

He held his cock upright. "Suck it and then get on it," he growled. "Make it big and ride it."

"You mean make it bigger." Heather smirked. She rolled onto her side to comply, using her mouth and her hand to goad the long black cock into the form she needed to sit on it so it filled her. "You're already huge."

The woman lost count of the number of her orgasms. She rode and bounced on Samson's dick, her breasts in the man's hands as her blonde hair swung and her climax seemed to melt into one long glorious sensation – the heat suffusing out from her core, right where Samson filled her so completely, her thighs shivering as she groaned and mewled and offered her tits to his mouth.

Finally Heather fell away, collapsing in a heap onto the bed.

"No more," she panted, with wide, staring eyes. "Please, Samson ... my pussy ..."

But the man only gave her a baleful look and positioned himself between Heather's legs.

"Mine," he grunted.

Heather could only moan and claw the bed sheets as her climax ripped through her again and Samson pumped a third load of spunk inside her.

***

The following day Heather lounged by the pool, a pair of huge sunglasses on her face to cover eyes red from lack of sleep. Samson had been like a machine, relentless in his overwhelming domination. He'd finally left her alone with her pussy feeling ravaged and filled to overflowing with his seed so she could sleep. But at 8am he was there, sliding into her from behind as they spooned together. Heather came when Samson forced her head round to kiss her mouth, and in that awkward position, her neck twisted while the man's cock moved slowly inside her and she fingered her own clitoris, Heather felt completely filled with Samson.

They ate a simple breakfast of croissants and black coffee before Heather slipped into her miniscule bikini and wrapped herself in a blue, patterned sarong. Samson left her briefly, saying he needed to go to his apartment to change clothes.

To her surprise, true to her word, heather found she had absolutely no interest in anyone else – none of the males caught her eye, which was a first for her as she soaked up the sun and dozed, day-dreaming about her black lover, his awesome cock, and amazing stamina.

An hour later and Samson returned.

The couple basted in the sun under a sky of endless blue for two hours before Heather wrapped the sarong around her body and they went into the bar next to the pool.

"Go and talk to that girl," Samson instructed after Heather had indulged in a rum and coke.

Heather sat up and surveyed the growing number of patrons taking refuge in the air-conditioned luxury of the sumptuous bar.

"Who?" she asked. "What do I talk to her about?"

"The one with the long dark hair. Tiny breasts. Go and tell her I want to talk to her."

Heather identified the girl, who looked to be nineteen, a pouty-lipped, spoilt bitch if Heather wasn't mistaken. But what did Samson want to talk to her for?

Voicing her thoughts, Heather asked, "What do you want to talk to her about?"

"Just go and tell her," Samson responded with a sudden flare of anger.

Electrified by the man's ire, Heather stood up quickly. After an uncertain glance at the girl and then at Samson, she walked across the room.

Samson watched, with his eyes fixed on the sullen looking girl as she turned to face Heather. He saw Heather talk and then point, the girl's eyes following Heather's finger. A few words later and the girl shrugged, following Heather back to where Samson waited.

"You go back to the room," Samson said, dismissing Heather with a double flick of his wrist, as though his fingers were brushing her away.

"What?" Heather said, unused to being treated in such an off-hand manner. Besides, she wasn't too keen on leaving Samson alone with the girl; she might be a sullen-faced bitch but she was undeniably pretty. No boobs but great legs and a backside like an upturned heart. Heather felt a slide of jealousy, acidic and burning, corrosive in her guts.

"Go to the room," Samson snapped. "You have forgotten already? You do as I say." He fixed his stare on Heather's face. "You go now. To the room. You can drink rum if you like but you wait for me in the room."

Heather's voice quavered as she spoke. "Huh ... how long will you be?" She glanced at the girl who was watching the exchange with a nasty smirk on her face.

"As long as I want to be," Samson replied.

He turned his back on Heather, which left her feeling abandoned and foolish.

"You bastard," she muttered, even as she walked away from the pair. She took a final, backward glance and saw the girl put her hand on Samson's shoulder. "You absolute cunt," she swore.

Twenty minutes later Heather heard the sound of a key-card snicking into the slot outside. The door swung open and Samson walked into the room.

The girl followed him.

"This is Magda," Samson informed Heather while the girl took in her surroundings. "She is from Poland ... And I'm going to fuck her while you watch."

"Oh my God!" Heather cried. "I don't want you to do that. I thought we ... we ... I thought we were together."

Samson laughed and sneered. "You're my woman," he said as he slid his shorts down his legs. Heather heard the girl gasp when she saw the size of Samson's cock. "You do what I say, but you do not control me. I am the man, and if I want to fuck this girl while you watch ... then that's what I will do."