Freddie kissed my left knee, then my right knee and kissed his way up my thighs as I lay back and opened my legs completely for him. His mouth joined his fingers and he kissed my pussy.
I came immediately and he sank his tongue into me. I bounced and reached for the pleasure that engulfed me in waves as I lay there with a strange black man tonguing my pussy. For a moment, I realized how incredible it was – us next to this Mississippi bay.
I began to unbutton my blouse, but my fingers stumbled. Freddie climbed out and helped me. Dripping on me as I lay there, he deftly unbuttoned my blouse, unsnapped my bra and had me topless in seconds.
He untied my wrap skirt and I was naked.
He stepped out of his shorts and stood there, his swollen cock sticking straight up.
I went up on my elbows and watched him stroke it. Turning around I looked up at the deserted levee that separated the bay from the roads beyond, then back at the wide expanse of the bay. Miles away, small white houses dotted the other side of the bay.
Freddie took my hand and pulled me up. I walked with rubbery legs to the base of the levee.
I was going to do it!
Trembling as I sat on the grass, I told myself I was really going to do it, let a black man fuck me – in broad daylight. How deliciously wicked!
I lay back and opened my legs. Freddie stood between them, with his up-like-a-flag-pole cock. He went down on his knees and let his eyes trace their way from my pussy to my stomach to my breasts. He moved over me until his face was directly over mine. Then he leaned down and kissed me, very gently at first and then harder and hotter, slipping his wide tongue in me.
I kissed him back. I closed my eyes, and felt the weight of his chest against my aching breasts. Then I felt the tip of his cock pressing against my wet pussy. He worked his hips and impaled me slowly, sending waves of pleasure through me, sending me over the top again.
He was gentle, easing the full length of his cock all the way into me. I was so completely filled, I couldn’t believe it. I tried my best not to cry out. Freddie rocked me, screwed me, worked my ass into the grass. I worked the muscles in my vagina against his cock and we fucked hard. I came again, this time deep inside.
My God, he was not only big, but hot, super-hot. His body felt like a burning coal atop me as he screwed me good, right there in the sunshine, next to the bay. I closed my eyes and rode with him, letting myself go as he put it to me. His unrelenting cock continued pounding me.
When he started talking dirty, it sent me through another quivering climax.
“Come on, white girl. I want you to come. You like getting fucked by a black man. You like black dick, don’t you?”
I clawed at his back.
“Oh, yeah, baby,” he moaned. “You like my black dick in you.”
“Yes!” I cried.
“Tell me how much you like it.”
He was pounding me big time.
“Oh, yes! Fuck me! Fuck me!”
I don’t know how long it lasted. I came again and again before he exploded in me like a pile driver. I felt his warm come spurting in me, his balls slapping against my ass. It was fantastic!
I was grateful when he climbed off. I was so hot, I needed the air. After I finally caught my breath, I leaned up on my elbows.
He looked into my eyes and asked, of all things, if I was married.
“Yes,” I gasped.
“Good.” He smiled. “I love fucking another man’s wife.”
He leaned over and kissed me and told me how beautiful I was. I lay back and closed my eyes. Freddie kissed my nipples, my belly and my legs and back up again to my neck. Then he lay next to me to finally catch his breath.
I drifted for a while, but a sound above made me sit up suddenly.
Freddie was halfway up the levee. Reaching the top, he peeked over and looked back and shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said as he came back down and moved past me to our clothes and my camera. He brought them back.
“I’d like to keep these.” Freddie held out my panties.
I nodded. He slipped on his shorts and helped me dress. I stood on shaky legs and he steadied me.
“Can I see you again?” he asked. “You are one beautiful, fine woman.” Then he kissed my lips ever so gently.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to see you again too.”
We planned to meet at the same place again. Next week. Same time. Same day. I hurried back to my Lexus, which I had parked beneath a wide magnolia tree at the end of a dirt road.
My heart raced as I drove away. I could still feel his lips kissing me, his fingers exploring my body. I could almost feel his long shaft sinking into me.
When I got home, my husband was in his usual position in front of the TV.
“Did you find anything? he asked, smiling.
I held up a shopping bag.
“Good,” he said and waved me over to his wheelchair. He pursed his lips and I pecked them and as usual, they were cold.
“I’m hungry,” my husband said as he looked back at his TV.
I went into the kitchen to fix supper, my heart stammering, my legs still a little wobbly. I tried not to think how long it had been since I’d been good and fucked. Years.
And never like I’d been that afternoon. Never.
I’d found exactly what I was searching for, I reminded myself.
What next?
As I opened the refrigerator door, I couldn’t stop my mind from moving forward one week. Same place. Same time.
It rained that day, one week later. Before dawn, a storm blew in from the gulf, sending rain in sheets across our lawn, bending the heavy branches of our oaks, slapping against our picture window.
Sitting on the sofa, I watched the rain as my husband dozed in his wheelchair. Some inane game show droned in the background from his TV.
A half-hour before I was to meet Freddie, I sneaked into the garage and backed my car out and drove away through the downpour. I had to bypass two flooded roads and could not park on the same dirt road, which looked more like a lake.
Driving along the street that paralleled the levee, I slowed as I approached the area where we were to meet. Maybe Freddie was waiting in his own car, or maybe he was across the levee, waiting in the warm rain.
Slowing to a stop, I looked up at the levee and a dark figure stood there in the hard rain. I felt myself smile, felt my heartbeat rising as I backed my Lexus to a side street and parked.
“What better cover,” I said aloud as I climbed out into the driving rain storm to meet a soaking man waiting to screw me. I could barely see him standing there, atop the levee. I started up the levee, but slipped on the wet grass.
Freddie rushed down, sliding on the grass and grabbed me. He helped me to my feet and then up and over the levee to the bay side. For a moment, I saw angry Bay St Louis. White caps slammed against the dock.
Freddie leaned close to my ear and said, “I was so worried you wouldn’t come.”
I pulled his face around and kissed him, my tongue reaching for his. His body responded automatically as he pulled me close. A wave of windswept rain seemed to engulf us momentarily and we pulled apart, gasping for air.
A gust of wind pushed us both back against the levee and swept the rain out of my face. Sitting on the grass, I pulled Freddie close. Incredibly, the rain lessened and the storm’s fury seemed to flow away, down the bay, leaving us with a steady drizzle.
Freddie wiped the water from my face and said, “I thought I’d never see you again.”
And I knew – I had him. I didn’t have to fuck him there in the rain, I had him. But his warm hands moved to my breasts and slowly unbuttoned my blouse. I leaned back on the drenched grass and let him undress me.
Freddie’s body was super-hot, even slick with rain, and he sent me to a throbbing climax before gushing in me with long, deep grunts.
The rain stopped as soon as we dressed and stood up.
“Will you come next week? Same time?” Fredd
ie’s deep voice was filled with emotion. My hook was well set in him.
I gave it a little tug by not answering immediately.
“You will, won’t you?” He looked around. “No one will know.”
I sank the hook deeper. “No one can ever know.”
He nodded.
“You didn’t go brag to your friends how you fucked a white woman, did you?”
“No. I’m not a stupid man.”
I reached up and touched his lips with my fingers. “Next week. Same time.”
When he started to follow me across the levee, I told him to stay until he heard my car pull away.
“Next week,” he said anxiously.
“Next week.” I smiled slightly and he smiled widely and I walked away, leaving the hook in him.
That evening I asked my husband if he wanted to watch me shower.
He said there was a game on TV.
He used to sit in the bathroom doorway in his wheelchair and watch me lather up, rinse off, climb out naked to reach for a towel. His skinny eyes would leer at my body parts as I dried off.
He’d back up and sit near the corner of our king sized bed as I sat and blow dried my hair. Finishing, I’d put the dryer away and lay back on the bedspread. My husband positioned himself to see better as I would spread my legs and slowly stroke myself.
It always took a while for me to come and most of the time I faked it.
After, while up on my elbows I’d watch my husband’s ashen face. His breathing was shallow and quick and his face quivered as he stared glassy-eyed at my body.
I’d wait, but he always managed to catch his breath and sink back in his wheelchair.
That was how I thought of the way to take his shortened breath away – permanently.
I didn’t show the following week. I let Freddie simmer.
Exactly one week after I didn’t show, I dolled up in a pink mini-dress, white thigh-high stockings, a white French lace bra with matching panties and white spiked heels. I curled my hair and made-up my face like the girl at Sak’s in New Orleans taught me.
My husband didn’t even see me leave.
Freddie sat waiting atop the levee. As soon as he spotted my car, he stood and brushed off his pants. I stopped and opened the passenger door for him. He ran down.
Leaning in the open door, he gasped, “I didn’t think you were coming.”
“Will you do something for me?”
Freddie looked at my legs. His gaze rose up my outfit back to my face and pouty lips.
“Sure,” He said.
“Climb in.”
Freddie jumped in and quickly fastened his seat belt. Today he wore a nice polo shirt and dressy tan jeans.
I pulled away and it took Freddie several minutes before asking where we were going.
“To my house. I want to make love to you on my bed.”
Freddie looked around again, as if making sure we weren’t seen.
“You sure you won’t get caught?”
I didn’t answer. My heart raced as I turned the Lexus around to head home. My husband was there, sleeping in his wheelchair in front of the TV. Whatever happened next, I told myself, I was in a no lose situation.
He could divorce me, kick me out.
So?
We had no pre-nuptial agreement. I’d get half, eventually.
Maybe, just maybe, it’ll shock him to death. He’ll hear us, wheel in and see this big black man banging his virginal white wife. The walls of his sick heart will cave in and I’ll be free. It was a no-lose situation.
Secretly, more than anything, I wanted him to die.
I parked in the garage.
Freddie hesitated getting out.
“You sure we won’t get caught?”
“My husband’s in a wheelchair. He’s a gentle as a kitten.”
Freddie climbed out. “A wheelchair?”
I nodded.
“He some kinda war veteran?”
I walked around and right up to Freddie’s face. “Car wreck.”
I brushed Freddie’s lips with mine.
“He have a gun?”
I laughed. “He’s afraid of guns. Always has been.”
Freddie’s nostrils flared as he took in my perfume. I turned and led the way into the house, through the kitchen and down the hall to the master bedroom. Along the way, I glanced over and saw my husband parked in front of his TV, in front of another inane talk show.
I left the bedroom door open.
Facing Freddie, I started to unbutton my dress.
He stepped up and took over.
With trembling fingers, he removed my dress. Running his hands over my breasts, he kissed my neck. His fingers moved around and unsnapped my bra. Freeing my breasts, he sucked them, nibbling on each nipple, sending shivers through me.
He kissed his way down to my belly. On his knees, he tucked his fingers into my panties and worked them down. He French-kissed my bush, his tongue probing me as he pulled off my heels.
He left my thigh-high stockings on as he sat me on the bed and started taking off his clothes. I lay back and peeked around him, but we hadn’t awakened my husband. For a moment I wondered – what if we didn’t?
Standing between my open knees, Freddie rubbed the tip of his stiff cock against my pussy lips. I was wet enough for him to slowly, ever so slowly, impale me. I curled my back and took every thick, delicious inch.
Holding my hips, Freddie began fucking me in long smooth strokes.
I cried out and he paused and I pulled him down on me, my lips searching for his. Freddie rode me, dug his dick into me, banged me good. I cried out again.
“Come on,” I gasped. “Fuck me!”
“Jesus! You are so beautiful.”
Freddie got down to business, sending me through a deep climax as he worked his cock in me. God, he fucked the hell out of me, banging me good and I gasped and cried out again and again as we bounced around my bed.
I held on to his ass as he pounded me, letting out a cry with each stroke.
I almost came again, when I suddenly caught a glimpse of my husband sitting in the doorway. I blinked and looked again and he was there. His skinny eyes were ovaled and his mouth open.
I bucked back with Freddie and felt him about to explode. I reached for the pleasure, my muscles grabbing his dick. Freddie cried out and came and his first hot spurt sent me over the top. We came together in one steamy, gushing, wet fuck.
Freddie collapsed on me and it took a while for us to catch our breaths.
“Man,” Freddie finally said. “You were wild.” He kissed my lips and I kissed him back.
When he rolled off, I looked at my husband, who hadn’t moved. He sat stone-faced in the doorway, his hands gripping the handles of his wheelchair.
Freddie gasped when he saw my husband.
“Damn,” he said as he climbed out of bed. “Look man . . . I . . . uh.”
It took a minute for him to realize my husband wasn’t moving.
“What’s the matter with him?”
I shrugged and lay there, spread eagle, Freddie’s cum oozing out of my pussy.
Freddie scooped up his clothes and started dressing. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Man scared the shit outta me, staring like that.”
My husband’s eyes were fixed widely at us.
Half-dressed, Freddie asked if there was any other way out.
“Through the bathroom,” I said.
He bolted.
I called out. “Same time, next week?”
Freddie didn’t answer.
A few seconds later, I heard the front door slam.
I lay there and watched.
When my husband blinked, I knew he wasn’t dead. Not yet.
I could see his breathing was extra shallow.
I sat up, my legs still open. Reaching down, I wiped my pussy lips and came up with Freddie’s gummy semen.
“Nice African come,” I told my husband. “He really put it to me.
My husband ma
de a gurgling sound.
I licked my fingers.
My husband started shaking.
I crawled over and told him what it felt like, being fucked by a real man.
“His cock was so hard and hot and he fucked me good. He fucked my lily white pussy. And it wasn’t the first time.”
My husband tried to say something, but nothing came out.
I climbed off the bed and checked his pulse. His arm was cold and his pulse shallow, but steady.
I let go of his arm and sat on the edge of the bed.
“He’s bringing a couple friends next time. I feel like being gangbanged.”
A sound came out of my husband’s mouth.
“What is it? Come on, you can talk.”
“Mmm . . . Mmm.”
I folded my arms.
He tried again. “Mmm . . . Mmm.”
“Mmm . . . Mmm,” I mimicked him. “What’s that? You turned idiot on me?”
“More!” he said clearly.
“What?”
“I want . . . to see . . . more.”
He raised his right hand and pointed to the bed. His eyes alight, my husband said it again, “I want to see more!”
Coins For The Ferryman
Robert Buckley
I hate islands.
I cannot understand their allure, the way people marry the words Island and paradise. Paradise, my ass. An island is a trap, a prison, a fucking Alcatraz, a place that reminds you every day you wake up on it, there’s no place else to go.
Pirates understood that. When they really wanted to fuck with someone, they didn’t kill him, or even torture him. They marooned him on a goddamned island. And that’s what I was – marooned, courtesy of Wang Fu Chu.
That crazy Chinaman – he was affectionately called Fuck You by his nearest and dearest, of which I was one. Nobody understood how he made his money, but that didn’t stop the greedy hordes from rushing to jump in behind his flashy parade. Always grinning, he could charm the pig right out of the python’s belly.
A few weeks ago, he had more cash on hand than half the world’s countries. He sent me to Chaukunamaug Island on a buying mission. He already owned a piece of the island, with a modest ramshackle house, but he wanted more – as much as he could get. I was supposed to charm the locals into giving up their piece.
The problem was, Old Money had set roots down deep in the bedrock there centuries ago and wasn’t moving. It had become an exclusive rock, a place from where trust fund brats could sail their boats to the Vineyard, party in Edgartown, then bid “ta” to their envious peers. Social climbers went to the Vineyard to be seen, but pined for an invitation to picnic on Chaukunamaug.
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