A mature social worker
After I read some of the stories posted here, I felt
that I'd found some kindred spirits in people I'd never
met. I'm a forty-one year old white wife and mother who
recently decided to move close to the university where
my youngest son attends, so that we could share an
apartment.
I'd been married to the same man since the age of
eighteen. By now, all of our children were either away
at college or out on their own. Although my husband
wasn't my first man, and we'd been affably married for
twenty-two years, Ray and I recently divorced a few
months back. This was why I'd asked to move in with my
youngest son.
Before then, I'd been working for a privately funded
social service agency as a caseworker for about nine
years, when everything in my life changed. As you well
know, the majority of those who apply for help in this
country are mothers at or below the poverty line. Most
of the time, these mothers are black.
Naturally, we've had mothers as young as thirteen or
fourteen and grandmothers as old as eighty come to us
for help with their rent or their heat or merely to ask
us to lend an ear to a problem or a question.
One day, Bette, an African American woman in her late
forties, brought one of her sons along with her. My
heart nearly stopped when I met him. Tyron was about
twenty years of age and absolutely the epitome of a
young masculine black. He'd just gotten out of prison
for a drug related felony, and he was on parole for at
least another two years. But I was taken by his self-
assurance and his drive to want to put his past behind
him.
The three of us talked for an hour and a half in my
office that morning, and I literally melted every time
my light blue eyes met his deep dark brown eyes.
Finally I pulled out my card to give to each of them.
After the two of them left, I ran to the ladies room to
see if what I'd thought had happened to me was real. My
panties were totally, thoroughly soaked--almost too wet
to wear any longer. I coated the inside with toilet
paper and went back to my desk. I kept thinking that I
had to be walking funny, and my walk would give my
strange discomfort with what just happened away to my
co-workers.
A little while later, my phone rang. It was him! He
started by saying that he'd called to thank me. I told
him he was welcome, and that it was all part of my job.
He asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink with him
sometime, and I told Tyron that I couldn't as long as
he was on my caseload--that if I did, I'd lose my job.
"If I wasn't on your caseload, would you go out with
me?"
I didn't even think before I answered. "Yes, I would,"
I told him.
"I'm glad. Well, the reason I called is I need to set
up an appointment with the state employment service as
soon as possible," he said. "Is there any possibility
that the agency could provide transportation?"
I told him that we did that all the time. He just had
to set up a time when he wanted to go, and we'd try to
accommodate him. Ty asked me if I'd be the one to drive
him, and I said I'd be happy to.
Two days later, I picked Tyron up in one of the
agency's transport vans. He brought a small duffel bag,
something like an airport flight bag, which he tossed
it in the back of the van. I asked him what the bag was
for, and he said we needed to go to the Salvation Army
store and pick up a few items first.
I was puzzled, but I drove him there. He told me that
he wanted to pick out a number of items which all
together might cost between five and ten dollars, and
would either the agency or I pay for it? I told him
that was done all the time; we just needed to keep the
receipt for agency records.
We walked through the thrift store together for about
fifteen minutes while Tyron collected a couple of
pillows, a comforter, a blanket and few other odds and
ends. I figured that he must have needed extra
bedclothes for home, now that he'd moved back in with
his mother. I stayed very close to him as we roamed the
store.
I was surprised at how comfortable I felt strolling
next to him. Every now and then he'd take hold of my
arm and pull me over to see one thing or another as if
he were getting my opinion. Eventually I paid for the
articles out of my own money, kept the receipt for
reimbursement, and told him that it would be best for
us to go on to the employment service.
He laughed. "We're not gonna have time for that," he
replied. "Not today."
I looked at him. "Why not?"
"Because I need time to line the floor of this van with
these blankets and comforters. I don't want your back
hurt by that hard surface on the van bed."
"My back?"
"Your back, your butt, your thighs--get the picture?"
Like a fool, I shook my head.
He looked at me and smiled that big wide lipped smile
of his. "Did you think I wouldn't see what's been
happening with you, Lynda? Tell me, did you ever fuck a
black man before?"
I looked at him as if he'd said some word in an alien
language. "Fuck?"
He shook his head and smiled again. "Lock up the van."
I made sure all the doors were locked, and by the time
I turned back toward the transport area, he had it all
prepared. The blankets were arranged, the pillows were
set down, and Ty had his shirt wide open, so that his
beautiful mahogany colored chest was bared directly at
me.
"We're wasting time," he said. "Take off that dress."
"But I--" I started.
"Take your clothes off!" he demanded. "Right now! I
don't plan on telling you again."
That was it. For some unknown reason, I immediately did
exactly as I was told. No, wait. I guess I couldn't
really say the reason was unknown. I'd been enthralled
with his presence all morning. His bearing, his voice,
even his odor—in fact, all of Tyron's essence had been
calling out to me physically; so I began to squirm out
of my dress. It didn't take long for me to finish
disrobing. I knew I wanted Tyron.
In about three minutes, I found myself on my back with
my legs spread, Ty's body carefully jackknifed between
my thighs, and a massive black dick wonderfully jammed
straight up my pussy. This young African American man
was the first man I'd had besides my husband in twenty
years. For the first time in my life, I understood the
real magic of what a large black cock could do to a
woman. After a year or so in prison, Tyron was more
than ready for a woman as pliant and accommodating as I
was--and as white as I was.
"Any black man stuck in stir dreams of fucking a
married white pussy like yours, Lynda," he said.
I gulped back a nervous moan, and murmured. "Really?"
"See, deep inside we black men know that married white
women want to get..." Ty paused and took a deep breath.
"Get a real taste of what they can't...Unghhh!" He
grunted and came immediately. I suddenly felt
everything go incredibly wet within me.
I felt a bit disappointed, and I sighed out loud. "Oh…"
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, as he lifted
himself up off my belly to look me in the eyes.
"I was kind of hoping we'd have... a little more time
before you came."
"Time!" Tyron chuckled. "Do you see me pulling out? I
ain't even got started yet."
With that said, Ty began to thrust in and out of me
once again. He felt so dominant, so totally in charge
that I just went with the flow of all that energy
between us. Nothing could come between us, I thought.
Suddenly, I realized that his plans had caught me
totally off guard. There really was nothing between us.
Ty hadn't bothered to use a condom, and each time I'd
let him fill my cunt with his living sperm, there
wasn't any protection.
"Oh my God, Ty! You didn't use a condom."
"Now why would I deprive myself of the sensation of
your soft, lily white cunt by using a condom?"
"But something might happen."
"Something did happen," he replied. "And it's gonna
happen again. Isn't it?"
I stayed silent. I was still penned down against the
van bed with a very strong, masculine black presence
both perched on top of my body and shoved deep inside
my loins. Tyron had me totally under his power
physically -- and even though I was loathe to admit it,
he had me emotionally under control as well.
My beloved ex-convict got his strength back three more
times that morning. That's four times the amount of
semen I'd ever tried to keep in my pussy for my entire
married life.
I'd signed out the van for only two hours, but I was
late getting it back to the agency that day. Tyron put
all the blankets and pillows into his duffel which he
took with him when I dropped him off. I had to stop at
a fast food restaurant, and stuff toilet paper up my
cunt to keep my pantyhose and skirt from getting any
messier than they already were.
That night I went home and dreamed about how wonderful
it was feeling that huge black cock plunging in and out
of my loins, and how I should have been worried that he
hadn't thought to bring along a condom. My husband had
a vasectomy a while back; so, needless to say, I hadn't
even bothered to stay on the pill for over two years. I
had every right to be worried, but I wasn't. I didn't
know why back then.
I couldn't help myself. As his caseworker, I called
Tyron and left messages for him to check in with me as
soon as possible. I didn't hear from him for over a
week. A whole week! Finally some nine days later Tyron
called me again about arranging transportation and told
me to set it up immediately. I spent that entire
afternoon naked in the back of an agency van indulging
in the hardness of his marvelous black cock invading
the sanctity of my white pussy again and again. Once
again we were using no protection whatsoever. I started
to say something.
"I told you once before that many of the brothers in
prison dream of fucking married white pussy when they
finally get out," he repeated to me like an impatient
teacher. "And deep inside we both know that a woman
like you wants a taste of the taboo, am I right?"
I gasped. "Oh, yes," I answered, just as my body began
to sing a climactic tribute to the motion of his dark
probing cock. "Ooooo, yessss."
"All right then," he muttered. "I don't want to hear
any more shit about condoms or diaphragms or the pill,
you got that?"
For some reason I was eager to say it. "Yes," I
answered. "I understand."
"All right." Tyron grinned. He flooded my cunt with
another torrent of liquid heat, and gasped. "All
right!"
Panting, I lay naked on my back on top of a cheap
Salvation Army comforter under a black man whose
marvelous spurting dick was buried deep inside my body.
Later, as we both rested, he pulled a card from his
pants pocket. "Now two weeks from tomorrow night you
are going to meet me at this address, sometime between
5:30 and 6:00 PM."
"Two weeks?" I whined. "I'll see you before then,
right?"
"You will not see me, call me or try to get a hold of
me in any way until this time," he said. "Do you
understand me?"
I said I did, although I really didn't. Satisfied by my
answer, Ty positioned his mahogany skinned knees in
order to part my white thighs once again. In moments he
was thrusting his huge cock deep inside of me, slowly
building to an incredible climax. Growling out loud,
his body cut loose and emptied a massive load of pure
African American semen directly into my unprotected
pussy. Thrilled, I squealed under his dominant grasp.
"That's better." Tyron panted over me as if he'd just
finished a hundred yard dash. "Much better."
"Do it again," I pleaded.
"What do you say, young lady?"
"Please?" I whispered.
Once again I got the van back late.
Tyron had stayed away from me for the full two weeks he
stated on that Tuesday afternoon, during which I'd
undergone the disappointing surprise of getting my
period the very next day. I can't begin to tell you how
anxious, how relieved I was about the period, and then
how excited I was to get a message from Ty on my answer
phone reminding me about my appointment that Wednesday
evening.
I informed my husband that I was going out with some of
my co-workers that Wednesday night, and I drove my car
to the address Ty gave me. It was a sports complex on
the edge of the inner city. He was waiting in the
parking lot for me.
"Leave your car here, Lynda," he said. "It'll be safe
here. We're riding with Quiller and Leon."
This was an unexpected surprise. Who were these men, I
wondered. But I didn't ask him, I just followed him
into Leon's burgundy Lincoln and sat in back between
Tyron and Quiller. I soon discovered that Quiller, a
huge black man over three hundred pounds--a lot of it
muscle, some of it big gut and love handles, had met Ty
in prison. While Leon, who was thin and sinewy, had run
drugs with Tyron on the street before he went to
prison. They were all very candid about what their past
relationships had been.
"Aren't you breaking probation hanging with these men?"
I whispered.
"Doesn't matter any more," he answered. "The only thing
that matters now is how Quiller and Leon take to you."
"I don't understand," I said hesitantly.
"Yes, you do, Lynda," Tyron said slipping his strong
black hand up under my blouse. "You told me how your
husband had a vasectomy after your third child. I know
you haven't been on the pill for ages, and I was with
you the day before your last period started over two
weeks ago today. I could smell that trace of blood at
your pussy."
Omigod! He said it so matter-of-factly that my mouth
probably dropped wide open.
"You're halfway to a real understanding about what life
as a black cock slut is about. Now the three of us are
going to take you the rest of the way."
"What rest of the way?" I asked. My hands were
trembling as I reached out to touch him.
All three men laughed.
"How did you feel the day you got your period?" Ty
asked.
"Lousy. Grumpy. Out of sorts," I answered. "You know--
period stuff."
"Tell me the truth, Lynda. How did you feel when your
period came after you went through a couple of weeks of
unprotected sex with me?"
"Stop it," I said.
"No, woman," Tyron grabbed my arm and squeezed it hard.
He didn't hurt me, but I knew he could. "You tell me
everything. Right now!"
I trembled in his grasp. "I--I was--I was...
disappointed."
"Bee-Cee-Ess!" Leon said, and the other two men
laughed.
"What?" I asked.
"Black cock slut." Quiller broke into a huge grin. I
looked at him and realized that he had the oversized
lips of a typical black man, but his top lip was much
larger than his lower lip. It wasn't an ugly sight by
any means, just a little disconcerting at first. "You
gonna discover you'll do anything to get it--to keep
gettin' it."
"Admit it, Lynda," Tyron added. "Inwardly you wanted to
be pregnant."
"That's not true." I remember shaking my head no as a
matter of form. Yet, each of my three companions sensed
that I didn't really mean what I'd said.
"Listen, whore, we can turn this car around right now,
and take you back to your car," Leon stated. "Or you
can cum with the three of us tonight and go home after
it's all over and done with--it's your choice."
I stared at the face in the rear view mirror for a
moment. Finally, his eyes caught mine. Then I spoke
very softly. "I want to go with you."
"There's just one thing, slut," Quiller said. "We all
know it's been exactly two weeks since your last
period. When we get to my place, all three of us are
planning to fuck you--all at once and one at a time.
There ain't gonna be no fuckin' condoms, no fuckin'
spermicide foam--no nothing. You understand that?"
I nodded. "Yes," I answered in my meekest voice. "I
understand."
"Good." Tyron said. "We're gonna make this one special
night."
That night began the first of several weeks' worth of
notable changes in my life. That night I willingly
accompanied three horny-as-hell black studs to
Quiller's small one-bedroom inner city apartment in a
desperately foolish desire to be gang fucked by three
men recently released from prison. Three men, all of
them demanding to be totally dominant over my little
white married ass, had a way of taking what should have
occurred in less than sixty minutes and stretching that
time out for well over six hours.
For my sake, Tyron went first. Apparently he made the
others understand that I needed the familiar warmth and
length of his cock before anything new could happen.
Surprisingly, he was quite matter-of-fact about his
lovemaking, quickly spraying a flask full of sperm deep
inside of me in a matter of four or five minutes. I was
a bit disappointed. I didn't want to let him go.
The next man in line was Quiller. I don't mind telling
you that since he weighed well over three hundred
pounds, I was afraid to have this man climb on top of
me. But I'd under-estimated myself. Not only could I
handle his body weight, I discovered that when his dick
parted the soft tissue of my labia, I welcomed his
strong erected presence wholeheartedly.
Quiller may have been an extra large man, but he was an
excellent fuck. He too took less than five minutes to
climax. However, when Quiller withdrew, he asked for a
kiss. Happily, I gave him that kiss, enjoying every
moment of it. Afterwards, I found my loins were
swimming in sticky white semen.
Leon was harder. Not necessarily in the dick, just in
the way he fucked me, as if I were some full-sized
inflatable doll and not a real woman. He didn't come as
quickly as the other two had. I wasn't that lucky.
Since that time I've learned that men, like any warm
blooded male animals, respond to mating in a uniquely
competitive way--a way that was established long ago in
our mammalian past. When a male watches another male
mate with a female he desires, he is immediately ready
to move into her and try to impregnate her himself once
again. With three black men taking turns fucking me,
every time one of them finished cumming in me, either
of the other two were more than ready to take his
place.
By the end of that night some six hours later, I was
sore, and I was tired. I'd engaged time and again in
pure unprotected sex with three eager young men, each
one totally intent upon using his black dick to knock
me up. Strangely enough, I was thrilled by everything
that happened to me that night.
Over the next six days, I missed a lot of work. I'd
leave the house, pull out my cellular phone and call in
sick to work for a few hours or for the whole day.
Depending on the day, I might meet all three men at the
same time. However, Quiller was very much a morning
man.
Tyron, of course, peaked in the afternoon, while Leon
preferred the evening. Sometimes I'd fuck all three men
in the same day, but at totally different times. I
remember looking deeply into each man's dark eyes as he
came into me, and I imagined a very specific moment in
time in which each and every one of my black lovers
might have impregnated me.
After only three weeks, I purchased a home pregnancy
test, and, as soon I tested positive, I set up an
urgent appointment with my doctor.
My husband was furious when he found out I was
pregnant. He demanded to know who the father was. I
laughed and asked Ray if he wanted me to bring the
fathers to our home and introduce him to them.
"Fathers?" Ray gasped. "Fathers! More than one?"
I laughed again. "More than one."
"How many?"
"Three. You might say I've been successfully gang
bred."
"Oh, shit! Oh, shit," he continued to repeat. "Oh,
shit!"
Wait until he heard the good part, I thought. But I
didn't say anything. I needed to make some phone calls
first.
On the day that I scheduled our meeting, I descended
the staircase of our home totally nude. I'd been
showering, and all I carried down stairs was my bath
towel. My husband rushed into the living room to close
the front drapes, so the neighbors wouldn't see me. But
I told him: "You might as well leave them open. We're
having company."
"Company?" he said. "Who?"
"My baby's fathers," I said continuing to dry my hair.
"I need a drink." Ray went into the kitchen. I knew
he'd shit when he discovered all the malt liquor I'd
purchased and stashed into the refrigerator. His voice
came crying out of the kitchen. "What the hell is this
stuff doing here?"
If Ray had been a touch more astute, he'd have figured
it out from the clues I left him. But he missed the
clues entirely.
Suddenly a sharp rap at the front door startled us.
"What the hell, Lynda," he said. "Somebody's at the
door. You go put some clothes on."
I could hear him racing out of the kitchen, but by the
time Ray got to the living room, he was too late. I
stood naked at the front entrance to our home with the
door flung wide open so that anybody in the
neighborhood could see everything there was to see. But
far more important, three hard looking African American
men casually sauntered into our house, each one giving
me a long kiss or a kiss and a groping feel on my naked
body as each man stepped inside. Each of the three men
cordially made room for the next man as they reached
out for my naked flesh and clung possessively to me.
"Wh-what is this?" Ray asked timidly.
Tyron was the last man through the door. He wrapped his
long arms around my exposed body and gave a tug at my
buttocks cheeks.
"These men are my baby's fathers, Ray," I replied,
still hanging onto each man as they came in. Allowing
each black man the right to fondle me in return, I
introduced each man to Ray. "All of them have given me
the best fuckings I've ever had in my life."
Carefully, deliberately, Tyron, Quiller and Leon
grabbed Ray and tied my husband to his easy chair. They
told him that he was going to be lucky enough to
witness a total re-enactment of how I'd gotten
pregnant. Ray, who was nearing fifty years of age,
suffered through a four hour marathon of his white
wife, me, bathing in the potent semen of three healthy
young black men less than half his age. Leon, the
oldest was hardly in his late twenties. Quiller was
older than Tyron by a year or so. Shit, at forty-one, I
was nearly twice the age of my baby's fathers.
Ray's resentment over my pregnancy and my choice of
fathers built up over the next few days. When I went
out at night, his jealousy became a slow burning rage.
I was forced out of my home a few days later.
Quiller let me stay at his place for a little while,
but even though I helped out with money, I also paid
for my rent with sex. Still he soon tired of having me
underfoot and growing more and more pregnant all the
damn time; so, eventually, he kicked me out too, and I
had to find my own place.
My child, Kierra, a name meaning small dark one, was
born last December. Various members of my family, Ray's
family, and a few of my friends and coworkers came to
visit me and to gawk at my baby. A few of them may have
understood, but most of them were appalled. She's a
beautiful little half black baby girl with skin the
color of oak and features which look remarkably like
her father's. Other people have often commented on how
my baby girl's top lip seems significantly larger than
her lower lip.
The divorce proceedings had begun already, and you can
imagine how upset Ray was to learn that according the
laws of our home state, he was responsible for child
support for the child which was conceived during our
marriage, even though the baby wasn't really his.
But now, as I said, my baby and I share an apartment in
the college town where my son lives. Ray's child
support keeps a roof over our head, and I've been able
to make ends meet. God! The black students here on
campus are gorgeous.
Every time I roll my little girl out in a stroller or
strap Kierra onto a mommy back pack, I attract the
attention of some of the sexiest young black studs
you've ever seen. Somehow one look at my tiny dark-
skinned Kierra and these young men correctly sniff out
the fact that Mommy's a true slut for black cock. Some
of the bolder males have learned it first hand.
But I knew I had to go back to work. I've always been a
social worker at heart; so lately, I've found part time
employment working actively with paroled prisoners in a
halfway house facility. The money's not all that great,
but the benefits are terrific.
Even though it looks like my old life fell apart when I
became a slut for black cock, I wouldn't trade my new
life for anything.
Keys: MMF intr preg
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