Entries Tagged 'Black Cheating Sex Stories' ↓

She playfully slapped my hand away and told me to hurry before she ruined a $20 pair of silk “drawers.” I obliged by rolling her panty waistband down along her hips and when it reached mid-hip, I began to realize what I was in store for.

Her bush bulged upward and outward as I released it from its silky trappings. It was monstrous - monstrous in size, not in appearance. There was so much hair! I wondered how she ever kept it trapped inside a bathing suit when she went swimming. It narrowed from a very wide-topped triangle down into the dark valley between her thighs. Her legs were not spread at all and I could not see much else between them, though I strained to look. In one swift motion, her panties were around her ankles and I was helping her off with them. I brought them to my nose and mouth and enjoyed the scent and the taste for a moment before she reached for them. I leaned back and held them out of her reach. “No, dear thing,” I said, “these belong to me now. Didn’t our mutual friend tell you that?”

She laughed again, and she said that she had been warned not to wear a matching set of underwear because she would not get her panties back. She leaned down to kiss me lightly and said we would discuss that later. Now, she murmured, it was time for dessert. She pushed me back onto the bed, crosswise, and walked around the bed and actually pulled me by the shoulders to a point where my head was almost hanging off the other side. She bent and kissed me in that rather awkward position and asked me if I was hungry. I murmured into her lips that I was ready to eat anything she had to offer.

I was, indeed, in a quandary.

So, here I sat in the conference hall, watching this new woman walk back and forth across the stage, comparing her to the one I had met some months ago. Opposites, to be sure. Where my first black involvement had been tall, willowy and cafŽ au lait in color, this woman was short, compact and as black as the inside of Hades. I wondered where my “friend” might be. I supposed she was conducting a seminar in one of the other meeting rooms, but had not yet seen her. I hoped she would make contact soon and we could slip away for lunch to make plans. I had already reserved a room upstairs and hoped that we could arrange things so that she and I would skip all afternoon sessions and retire to our romantic tryst for the entire afternoon. My sordid plan was to tell her, then, that I could not stay the evening because of family problems and make her afternoon one to remember for a long time. That way, I could meet my new online partner for the evening and hope that my physical stamina would withstand the attention of two women.

Somehow, we lost contact for a while. E-mails dropped off in their frequency and I assumed that the interest had been fleeting on her part and she had decided that the rendezvous in Philadelphia was a poor idea. I accepted that. She had much to lose in her position, and I was treading on thin ice in my own marriage as my wife had already allowed suspicion about my online activities to take over her life. She had become a private investigator of the enth degree and had actually confronted me with her suspicions. So I, too, was not too certain this would be a good idea.

Two days before the conference, I heard from her. She was sexually delirious with the idea that we could have the opportunity to renew our passion and told me she was quite anxious to connect in Philadelphia. I could not say no. I could not tell her that in the meantime I had met someone else online and had planned to meet that woman at the hotel where the conference was to be held.

We learned about each other during a long, luncheon discussion. We learned that we were both married to partners who no longer cared for the physical side of a relationship and had supplanted that factor with other things - in my wife’s case, the spiritual life of a fundamentalist church group, in her husband’s case, an overwhelming vicarious experience in watching sports of any and all kinds. We looked at each other quite naively and expected that we would feel something and walk away from it at the end of the day. How wrong we were!

Our afternoon and evening were spent in a romantic hotel room with snacks and treats and an unbelievable marathon of sexual tenderness. She very quickly accepted the fact that at my age, actual intercourse was a sidelight to the big event and relaxed into a receiver’s role to my repeated onslaughts of oral attention. This, for some odd reason, had become an honest-to-God fetish with me over the past ten years or so. I find that I much prefer to ravish a woman orally - repeatedly - than to engage in any form of genital copulation that would be less than satisfactory to her. After a few polite protests, she understood that I could be fulfilled emotionally by providing her repeated peaks and valleys of delicious orgasm with fingers, thumbs, lips, teeth and tongue. It became evident that she was enthralled with the idea that she could take all she wanted from the afternoon and not be fearful of having let her partner down in her part of the bargain.