Unannounced visitors were not very common, especially in the middle of the day, so when the knock came at the door for Lisa Ingles, she was caught a little off guard. Little did she know that she was about to be introduced to a world of experiences that would shift her reality and alter her life completely. Little did she know that she was about to become an entirely new woman.
She opened the door to find herself staring, face to face, with a beautiful black woman who looked more like she belonged on a runway in Paris or New York as opposed to a quiet, unassuming street in Alpharetta. Her face was made up in a way that was flawless, highlighting her chocolate brown complexion that looked as smooth as silk and her hypnotic eyes and full sensual lips. She was wearing a tight black leather vest that pushed her breasts up and put them on display like a set of pillowy mounds of soft flesh. Her expensive designer jeans hugged every curve and you can rest assured that she had curves. She was wearing rather expensive shoes as well; not that there was much of them, it was a pair of dangerously high heels made up of just a few strips of black leather that crossed her toes and wrapped around her ankles and formed a perfect canvas for her coral colored toenails that complimented her beautiful brown skin. Lisa, forgetting all her manners, simply stood and stared. Waiting patiently for the usual initial shock to wear off and extending her hand, she said, "Hi neighbor, my name is Syreeta and I'm going to be moving in next door and I wanted to stop by and introduce myself."
Regaining her composure, Lisa shook of her initial surprise and invited her guest in. She felt rather underdressed in her workout clothes and she tried to hide her insecurity by being gracious. "Steven did mention that he might be moving but I really don't have that much interaction with him; I wasn't even aware that he'd moved. Welcome to the neighborhood, I'm Lisa. My husband Brad is at work now but it's very nice to meet you. Please do sit down. Would you like some coffee?"
Syreeta's demeanor was graceful and friendly. She politely declined the offer for coffee and asked for some bottled water instead. "Actually, Steven is just renting the place to us for a couple of months. My boyfriend got a job here with CNN and I told him that I'd give him a few months to see if I could adapt to life in the burbs. I'm hoping it's remotely reminiscent of Wisteria Lane because I'd hate to think the most excitement that there is to be found out here a concert at Chastain."
Lisa laughed along with her, rather nervously, knowing that there was little excitement north of the perimeter compared to the Desperate Housewives melodrama. Syreeta was delightful, engaging in fact, and wove enticing tales of being a model in New York and how she and her boyfriend, Dixon, had met when he was Director of Marketing at the Lincoln Center. As if on cue, there was another knock at the door and it was Dixon, coming to inquire about the whereabouts of his other half.
"I'm sorry, but I really need to steal Syreeta back to help me finish painting." Lisa stared again. Dixon was 6 feet tall and had the same cocoa brown complexion of his lover. His body showed evidence of many workouts and his t-shirt and sweat pants indicated that he had been working up a sweat getting things ready in the new house.
Syreeta rolled her eyes and apologized about taking up too much time; looking like she was looking for any excuse to get out of doing work. "Hey, want to come over for dinner on Saturday? Bring the hubby and let's make it a foursome, okay?" With that, she leaned over and kissed Lisa on the cheek like they were long lost friends. It was a little more intimate than Lisa was expecting and it gave her a thrill somehow, not really sure why but aware that there was some sort of unspoken exchange of electricity in the room.
Lisa shut the door and was alive with sensation but she didn't quite know why or what to do about it. Her pussy was tingling and her clit was throbbing. She hadn't masturbated in years. In fact, she couldn't really remember the last time she'd been really horny. On the rare occasion she felt like she wanted some sexual release she would get in bed with her husband and say, "Honey . . . " and that was indication that he should get under the covers and go to work. He'd lift up her conservative cotton nightgown and lick her to orgasm and the entire ordeal would be over without much else being said. Lisa couldn't wait for Brad to get home. Every step she took she was reminded of her swollen pussy lips and the moisture that soaked her panties. Had it been merely Syreeta's presence that had aroused such fever? She thought perhaps that the reason she was so horny must have been Dixon, with his muscular body flexing beneath his t-shirt and invoking fantasies of the forbidden. Unable to concentrate, Lisa took a shower, aimed the showerhead directly on her clit, and fingered herself to a mind-blowing orgasm in the afternoon.
All week long, Lisa was filled with new erotic sensations. She started dressing up a little more during the day, wearing more makeup and more revealing clothing, and she would demand that Brad lick her to orgasm at night. Closing her eyes, she would get lost in vague fantasies, fantasies of brown skin and heated passion and shadowy images of intense fervor that her body longed to feel. Brad noticed the change in her conduct and loved every second of it. Her libido was reawakened and she was more commanding in the bedroom. Her orgasms seemed more intense; she seemed more determined to use his mouth for her pleasure.
Brad appreciated the renewed sexual activity. He would slide out of bed after having finished servicing his wife and sit in front of his computer screen. His cock wouldn't stay hard for sex but it sure as hell felt good when he pulled on it and looked at porn. Mostly, he looked at images of white women being savagely fucked by gangs of black men. He dreamt of Lisa being used and fucked by thick, long black cocks, his heart would flutter with jealousy, and his cock would drip with arousal. He would stroke and dream of seeing her well-used cunt, dripping with cum and his mouth would water, fantasizing about the opportunity to tasty the sweet evidence of her infidelity. He'd never dare mention any of his thoughts to his wife; she would never understand his deep desire to see her being fucked by a black man. It just wasn't something southern white women would even contemplate and it wasn't something white men were supposed to jerk off to so he was content to live in secrecy and denial.
Lisa and Syreeta were spending more time together as the days passed. By Friday night, by the time Brad came home, Syreeta and Lisa were giggling and whispering like teenagers and Dixon had to come retrieve his girlfriend, yet again, because they were going to be late for a very important dinner reception. Syreeta winked at Lisa and said, "So we are soooo excited to see you tomorrow night for dinner. Can't wait in fact." She kissed Lisa goodbye, this time fully on the mouth, and it seemed to linger a little longer than one would expect and Brad felt a pang of jealousy that gave him a raging hardon. Dixon just rolled his eyes, gave Brad a knowing wink, and ushered his lovely companion off for the evening. They were barely out the door before Lisa had Brad on his knees licking her to orgasm in the kitchen while the children played totally unaware in the back yard.
