Allen lived in a condo in the suburbs, so we normally stayed there on weekends. Once in a while we stayed at my place, since, being in the city, it was close to the fun and cultural activities.
One weekend when we were at my place, Allen first heard the wild noise from upstairs that I’d grown used to. It was while we were lying in the dark, talking quietly.
“Sounds like they’re really getting nasty up there,” he said. “I think Alicia’s got two men. Holy shit, listen to them wailing! God, she is so hot!”
As we listened we made out, and his cock got as hard as our first time together—you know, that twitching, pulsing sort of rock-hard. We made love quietly so we could hear Alicia’s orgy.
Nearing climax, Allen hissed in my ear: “A cock in her pussy and a cock in her sweet ass. Damn, she is so fucking hot, so fucking hot!”
I agreed, and as he was about to come I said, “Listen to her! She must love the way those black men fuck! They must be fucking hot!”
When I said that, maybe because I mentioned hot black men, Allen’s erection faded momentarily. Then he recovered and bucked wildly, coming inside me.
Afterward, we lay in the dark talking. Allen was curious about Alicia’s lifestyle. I explained that she only went with black guys. I noted that BM-WF couples were common in the city—the most common biracial pairing.
Allen doesn’t waste energy hating races, lifestyles or religions. Some people might be upset to learn that a blonde fox was off limits to all but black men. He found it really hot. How could a girl not love such a decent, positive-minded man? On my twentieth birthday I accepted his marriage proposal.
My new fiancé concentrated his investments in a fund to build us a house in the suburbs. He didn’t mind that I intended to be a part-time housewife—I liked working from the computer at home. I planned on giving him many children (sorry if this upsets feminist readers), and he made enough money for both of us. We set our wedding date to coincide with completion of the house. Meanwhile we rented an apartment in a yuppie neighborhood in the city.
I made friends with one of our neighbors. Connie was about twenty-five, golden blonde and very classy. She was a perfectionist, and had trouble meeting men who met her standards. As in my old apartment, the walls did little to stop sound, so Allen and I regularly heard her masturbating.
The first few times, we made love while eavesdropping on Connie, just as we did with Alicia. After a while, however, it made me sad that she had such trouble keeping boyfriends. Some left because her standards were so infuriatingly high, and some were asked to leave because they couldn’t meet her standards.
While Connie considered herself a woman of high standards, to many of her dates she was an ultragorgeous, high-maintenance, conceited, spoiled blonde bitch. Allen’s friends were summarily rejected, and our other attempts to set her up with a good man failed too.
Our balconies were only about ten feet apart, so one night when I heard Connie talking to her dinner date, I did a little friendly spying. She was serving dinner to a handsome, slim, very black guy who seemed capable of talking comfortably about any subject she brought up.
It seemed to be going well. When they stood up to go inside, his lean body towered over her. She had mating shoes on—huge pink platform heels—so to tower over her like that, he had to be about six-six, I guessed.
That night when Allen and I went to bed, I kept him up for a while with small talk while my ears monitored the paper-thin walls for an update on Connie’s big date. I shushed Allen and had him kneel with me face-to-face, our ears pressed to the wall. We heard rustling, sighing, then hard breathing. Connie was asking her lover to be gentle, as she’d never been with a big black man before.
I kissed Allen’s cheek and giggled. He got out of bed, saying, “Just a sec, Doll.”
He brought the lights up dimly. He rummaged on the dresser and tossed me my blood-red lipstick. I applied it thickly. Reaching under the bed, he tossed me a box. To my surprise it contained a veiny black dildo. The box said it was six inches long and four in circumference. I once measured Allen, and the toy was far bigger than his four inches.
“Be Alicia tonight as we listen,” he said.
I felt so evil, I had to giggle. Realizing that Allen just wanted to jerk off while watching me, I made a special effort to be a visual treat. We’d watched enough porn that I knew the type of faces and body language that men find so arousing.
As I sensuously sucked the dildo, Allen jerked himself to orgasm. When Connie screamed, “My God, you’re so big! God, you fill me up! You’re too much for me!” and so on, I fucked the dildo. It was wonderful—bigger than Allen. Following Connie, I told my imaginary lover how he made me come like I’d never come before. Allen had another orgasm about the time Connie’s man audibly exploded.
We caressed and snuggled for hours with the slick dildo pressed between us. I thanked Allen for the gift, assuring him my arousal and pleasure were real.
He said, “Doll, you do an outstanding Alicia.” Again I felt so evil and happy with my man. I giggled and cooed in his ear.
Allen bought some amateur interracial videos on the Internet. The guys in them seemed colossal, dwarfing my six-inch dildo. As we enjoyed the videos and living together, we experimented with anal sex and G-spot orgasms and even tried for liquid orgasms. (According to a pamphlet from a marital-aids store, all women can have liquid orgasms, also called female ejaculation.)
One night we were huddled in a sweaty come-covered knot after another session between Connie and her ebony stallion. Still excited, I stroked Allen’s sac and asked, “Is it true black guys are bigger and better?”
He thought for a minute, then said: “I attended an integrated high school, went to an inner-city college, played in lots of amateur softball and soccer leagues, and spent six years in the military. So let’s just say I’ve seen an awful lot of dicks.”
I giggled.
“I won’t say all black guys are huge,” he continued, “but on average they are a little longer and thicker than other guys. Maybe around seven or eight inches is average for them. It’s about five or six inches for white guys. The myth of hugeness is probably because there’s a higher percentage of big guys among blacks. You see some dicks in the locker room that are just unbelievable—thick as beer cans and sometimes longer, and that’s completely flaccid! What kind of monsters do those things grow into?”
Excitedly I said, “Probably like the studs in the videos.” I ran my tongue along the dildo and asked, “What about the other part of the myth? That black guys are better in bed?”
“What do I know?” Allen said. “I’m a white guy. But in all my travels and schooling, the military and so on, what you see is black male with white female. You don’t see as much white guy-black woman or Japanese guy-Italian woman. Even in all-white neighborhoods, video stores have walls of BM-WF porno. You don’t see that for Eskimo man-Arab woman or any other mix. So a lot of people must think there’s something to that.”
I noticed he looked a little nervous. So I masturbated with the dildo again until he jerked himself to another orgasm. Afterward, I whispered, “Don’t forget the flip side. Maybe it’s because we little white women are so hot in bed that black men are so attracted to us.”
Allen looked me over and touched me sweetly, and agreed that I was a treat.
Our wedding came, and we returned from a wonderful honeymoon to find our house wouldn’t be ready for a day or two. We blew the last of our honeymoon fund on a room at a swanky lovers’ resort in the suburbs.
Arriving late in the evening, we decided to go to the nightclub before checking in. The band was funkadelic, the crowd mostly young and sexy. We danced a little, then sat at a table right by the dance floor. House music started playing while the band took a break.
I told Allen to sit tight. “You’re such a good boy,” I said, “I’m going to give you a little Alicia tease.”
In my slinky tight silver dress, I approached two black band members and p
ulled them to the dance floor. One danced behind me, one in front. I used my body and licked my lips wetly, encouraging them to sandwich me tightly. The man in front took my upturned face in his hands and stared in my big blue eyes.
I whispered, “Tease me. My husband is watching. Make me wet for him.”
The man behind ground his pelvis into my ass. Two swollen cocks pressed into me, aching to be inside my tiny white body. They were bigger than my husband or any white man I’ve had. I raised my arms over my head, and the man behind me cupped my breasts through my dress in his enormous hands. There were catcalls from the band and shouts of encouragement from the other couples.
The man in front kissed the exposed chest flesh and said, “Don’t tease your husband. Take us to your room, and he can watch us fuck you so beautifully.”
In a trance, I mouthed, “Fuck me.” As I did, Allen was staring right in my eyes.
Writhing in ecstasy between the black men, I was unaware that they were moving me slowly across the dance floor toward the backstage doors. Suddenly I got back enough wits to push away. I rushed back to sit on my husband’s lap.
Flushed red and panting, I whispered in his ear, “Was that Alicia enough for ya?”
I wiggled my butt in his lap, aiming for his cock. He was rock-hard. Yet I felt a bit guilty when I realized how aware I was that his cock was so much smaller than the black musicians’, and his soft belly wasn’t as firm.
I licked his ears and caressed his face, and whispered, “They wanted to fuck my white body really bad. They said they could do it so beautifully and you could even watch. But I said no.”
Allen’s cock pulsed and his breathing raced. “Doll, you slut,” he said, “I need to get you naked, and fast!”
He got us checked in, and we headed down a long hallway toward our room. In front of us was an interracial couple! I thought, it’s happening everywhere. The woman was a young (early twenties) platinum blonde with long wavy hair. Judging by her clothes and jewelry, her snow-white skin had never seen a day’s work.
She wore a wedding band. Her man, six-two and very muscular, wore baggy jeans and a red silk shirt, unbuttoned. He had an intimidating appearance. He wore no wedding ring.
They stopped at the room next to ours. The millionairess said hello pleasantly as she unlocked her door. The man brazenly appraised me from head to toe. I stood motionless for a moment, allowing him a good inspection. Then he followed the blonde into their room. Allen and I stood there in shock. Then their door cracked open and the woman’s lovely white hand hung out a “Do not disturb” sign.
In our room, Allen started to ravish me. He talked dirty about how hot I was on the dance floor doing my Alicia. I told him that had I been single, I’d have been in bed with the two black musicians right then. He shook and whimpered with desire. He was still hard after his first ejaculation, and I was still wetting myself over the evening’s events. We began anew when we heard the wailing of the millionairess and the baritone booming of her black lover next door.
The next morning we made love again, this time sweeter, more “hubby-wifey.” Afterward, I went to the gym while Allen made some calls about our house. He said he’d meet me in the whirlpool in forty-five minutes.
I was in the whirlpool wearing a gold bikini when he joined me wearing swim trunks. Suddenly the millionairess and her giant black stud joined us. She asked if we weren’t the couple next door. We said we were.
Smiling wickedly, the goddess said, “Some night last night, huh? It’s okay, these walls are paper-thin. We heard you too.”
I admitted it sounded like everyone had a fine time, then added that we’d been running into a lot of couples like them. The man wanted to know what I meant by “like them.” I assured him I meant no insult, and explained about Alicia and Connie and then last night. It seemed wherever we went, we had beautiful blonde neighbors doing big black guys and loving it.
The black giant reached under the water and pulled up my legs so that my feet were in his lap. He admired my lovely small feet.
I credited my husband. “My feet are soft, pink, sweet and callous-free because he bathes, oils and massages them almost every day. He thinks my size-five feet are divine and won’t have them marred by any hardening or imperfection. Which is a big job, since he keeps me in outrageous high-heel fashions sixteen hours a day.”
“Ain’t nothin’ prettier than a white lady with pretty little feet, I got to admit,” the black colossus boomed while squeezing and massaging my tiny pink toes. Staring at me with a serious expression, he pulled my buoyant body through the water so I landed in his lap.
“Well, damn, you are beautiful, soft and sweet all over!” he boomed happily. “What’s your name, doll?”
I said that people in fact called me Doll. Everyone laughed. I felt as if my body almost glowed in the lap of this hulking dark stud. He turned me through the water in his powerful hands, so I was straddled on his lap, facing away from him across the whirlpool, where the millionairess sat next to Allen.
Massaging me with his incredible hands, he whispered, “Do you listen to the blondes getting blacked?”
“Yes,” I whispered back.
“Does your husband like it too?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” I said wickedly.
“You don’t have any big black lovers, but you want some,” he said. Allen and I just stared at each other. But my body answered for me. I trembled like a leaf in his lap, my entire body burning and flushing hot pink.
“I’ll break you in gently, Doll,” he said. “I’ll be by your room in half an hour.”
They stood up to leave. The millionairess stroked my hair as she left, saying, “You are gonna do just fine, Doll.”
Back in our room, Allen said, “You’re going through with this?”
I said that if he didn’t want me to, I wouldn’t.
He said, “If you want to try it, you have my blessing.”
I kissed him and assured him it was just play. I could never love another man.
I washed and dressed nervously. I even shaved my pussy, knowing how men go for that. I put my hair up but left a few curls dangling seductively. I wore a silver chain around my narrow waist, a tiara in my hair and six-inch silver high-heeled sandals on my feet. (For a woman my size, a six-inch heel is as high as is anatomically possible.) The only lingerie I had packed was from my wedding night: snow-white stockings, a lace for around the neck, and a lacy white bustier. I perfumed and put on trashy makeup, going heavy on Allen’s favorite shade of red lipstick.
There was a knock at the door. Allen admitted the blonde goddess and her black stallion. She seated herself, while he circled around me, appraising. He sat me on the dresser and massaged and licked my ankles, saying how beautiful my feet and legs were.
He pressed his tongue between my toes and the shoe’s sole, then licked under and between my toes and did the same with my insteps and heels. It fed my vanity to have this stud worshiping my feet.
I trembled as he moved up my body, kissing and pressing me to him. Moving behind me, he kneaded the flesh of my flat stomach and worked his way up to my already-swollen nipples. He leaned my head back and tongue-massaged my mouth. I started to whimper.
My voice cracked as I repeated to my husband what he whispered to me: “I want you to jerk off watching me get blacked.” The millionairess helped him pull out his cock, and encouraged him to start stroking.
Again I was lifted onto the dresser, this time with my back to the stud. He had me lower my ass to his mouth, pushed my lingerie aside and began tonguing my butt. His mouth on my asshole and shaved pussy was bringing me near orgasm. Sensing my need, he stuck his tongue deep in my anus while fingering my clit quicker and harder. I let out excited cries while gyrating and lathering his face with my juice and his saliva.
The giant led me next to my husband and had me kneel. He said he knew my husband would want to see this clearly. He stepped out of his shorts. Sure enough, his still-flaccid cock was big as a beer can. I
fondled it and licked at it, and it began to swell. Nearing full size, it was as huge as one of those ultrasize dildos in the catalogs. I could barely get the head in my mouth without scraping my teeth on it.
As I worked the monster with my hands and mouth, I noticed that fluid was already dribbling out of my husband’s cock. The stud positioned me on the bed and mounted me missionary-style, kissing me all the while. I kissed him back. I used my hips to slicken his cock with my pussy juice and raised my feet to give him access to my womb.
It was an incredible feeling when his apple-size cockhead entered me. I looked over at my husband and saw gobs of come oozing out of his fist.
While allowing me time to adjust to the incredible spreading of my vagina, the giant asked how long my husband’s penis was. I said about four inches. He said that that was all he would give me of his cock unless I wanted more.
He began a slow pulsing motion. Eventually he was stroking me smoothly with what he said was four inches. It felt like so much more, and of course it was, his cock being so much bigger around. I was already coming, wailing in ecstasy. It was a G-spot orgasm combined with a clitoral orgasm.
I wasn’t proud. “Please give me more,” I begged.
The black stallion smiled and wrapped the fingers of one of his hands near the base of his cock. Then he began long-stroking me, deeper in me than any man had ever been.
“Five inches,” he announced. “Yeah, girl! Six inches. You are so fucking tight! Seven inches!”
Before he could get past seven inches, I was thrashing and squealing in a very powerful orgasm. He paused to allow me to enjoy my rapture, then continued to advance inside me.
“Seven inches,” he repeated. “God, it’s so hard not coming in you! Eight inches! Doll, you just keep getting tighter and hotter. Nine inches!”
Letters to Penthouse XVI Page 20