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Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples Ch. 02

By: Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples Ch. 02



“I can’t see myself waltzing around school completely naked underneath my dress,” I snorted. “Especially underneath one of these free flowing skirts you’re suggesting I wear. I’d be terrified that the slightest breeze would expose this trimmed pussy you have in mind for the entire world to gawk at.”

“Why not? I do it all the time. In fact, the next time the mood strikes me, I’ll spread my legs and show you that I’m not wearing any panties.”

“You do that, young lady, and no one in class will learn a damn thing from that moment on.” The thought of Chantel exposing her pussy to me, while I was standing in front of the class, did make for a tempting image. “How about if we save this naughty peepshow of yours as your way of telling me that I’ve already over explained a scene.”

“Good point, Diane. Macbeth is hard enough for most of the boneheads in class to fathom, a tongue-tied explanation would be impossible.” Chantel lightly ran her fingernails up my body and across my lips. I could smell my pussy on her fingertips. “So, what variation of hot girl/woman sex would like to practice this time?”

I pulled her into my arms. “Only one,” I whispered, “the fine art of lesbian lovemaking.”

“Not hot and sweaty, turn-each-other-every way-but-loose girl/woman sex?” Chantel asked with a mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

My lips caressed hers. “Not this time, Chantel.”

She pulled her face back a couple of inches from mine. “Okay, but there’s one aspect of hot and sweaty lesbian sex that’s gonna take place, regardless of how soft and tender we go about this.”

“And what would that be?” I inquired.

“When I orgasm, when you make me cum, I’m going to gush. When that irreversible moment hits, there’s nothing I can do to keep from blowing my wet cookies everywhere. I’ve never been able to, and I never want to even try.”

“Well then, I’ll just have to do my best to capture every spurt of your affection in my mouth,” I assured her. “Liquid love is not something to be carelessly wasted.”

“Neither is real love, Diane.” And with that, Chantel closed the distance between our mouths and kissed me deeply. She didn’t have sex with my hungry mouth; we made love with our passionately joined mouths.

Chantel and I also made passionate love with and to the other parts of our entwined bodies, the intimate details of which I don’t care to share with you. The lewd and lascivious, salaciously wet details of hot and sweaty sex are one thing to graphically describe; the tender intimacies of lovemaking are not. All I will relay to you about those special moments between us is that I did manage to capture the copious spurts of hot liquid affection that invariably erupt from the depths of Chantel’s cunt in my mouth… at least, most of them.

Cannon Fire, but definitely not in the distance…

For the first time since childhood I awoke to an unpleasantly empty bed, but the sound of Chantel singing in the bathroom made up for it. I rolled out of bed and, after peeing, I joined her in the shower.

It was another slap/tickle/fuck-finger lesbian shower we shared, but with a slightly different outcome. After I had gotten Chantel off, I wouldn’t let her return the favor. “You’re the one said that denial can keep you in control of the situation,” I reminded her.

“Only works with some,” she countered. “And that’s contingent on how much the denier wants to deny to herself.” Chantel stepped in close and pinned me against the shower wall with her slippery body. “And also how well she…” Her fingers were inside me before I could fend them off “…she stands up to pressure.”

Chantel’s knowledgeable fingers working in and out of me felt so good I wanted her to do anything but stop. I forced myself to grab her wrist and barely managed to pull her fingers out of my already juicing cunt. “I… I’ll let you know how well I’m holding up,” I weakly protested. “Say, around lunch time?”

Shortly before noon, I called home to see if Edwin had gotten home yet. After four rings I got the recorder and punched in the code to hear any messages. There were three. The first was a telemarketer wanting to put aluminum siding on my brick house and the second, someone wanting to pump out the septic tank of a house that was on city utilities, which included sewer. 

The third call was far more relevant to me personally; Edwin calling to say that he was staying over one more day and would be home no later than Wednesday evening. I immediately went in search of Chantel.

I found her in the Student Union, talking with Darnell and another one of the football players, our starting tight end, Clay… otherwise known as Cannon. I assumed the nickname came from the way he hit opposing players, which was always hard enough to drive them back several yards. I would soon enough find out just how wrong assuming anything about a select cadre of our black athletes could be.

I got a cheery “Hi, Mrs. Chapel” from both Darnell and Chantel, but from Clay it was, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Chapel.” The young man was almost as good looking as Darnell, but several inches tall and more muscular—solid as the proverbial rock, and I couldn’t help wondering if that meant all over. A naturally gifted athlete, Clay was also an A student with very little effort on his part. A sophomore, Clay was also captain of the debating team, but for someone who was only twenty years old, he seemed to take everything in life entirely too seriously.

I had hoped to find Chantel alone, she wasn’t, so I had to give her the good news in a roundabout way. “You mentioned something about wanting me to explain the opening scene in the fourth act of Macbeth. You have cheerleading practice after school, but my husband will out of town another day, so I’ll be free this evening if you want to drop by.”

“That would fine, Mrs. Chapel.” To anyone else, Chantel had masked the twinkle in her eyes rather well, but I had caught it. 

Regrettably, so had Darnell. “I have a hard question about that same act, Mrs. Chapel.”

“I imagine you do, Darnell,” I replied, “especially since you didn’t volunteer one answer in class this morning.” I didn’t groan, but I sorely wanted to. “Shall we say eightish… for the both of you?” Chantel, I knew, would be there no later than 6:30, giving us time for a mutual finger fuck/pussy lick before Darnell arrived with his “hard” question.

“Do you tutor any students, Mrs. Chapel?” Clay asked politely. “Or just a select few?”

If Darnell so much as smirked, Chantel would have to beat me at kicking him square in the testicles. “I’m willing to help any student in need, Clay.” After all, this was my job; taboo interracial/intergenerational sex was merely a growing obsession. “Would you care to join this study session?”

“If the three of you wouldn’t mind?” 

Chantel nodded and so did Darnell; though with a bit more enthusiasm than I thought was warranted. “All right, I’ll order pizza, you three bring whatever you wish to drink… along with your copies of Macbeth. I only have one at home and that’s an authenticated 2nd edition, which is kept under glass.”

“Well, so much for any blackcock sex, tonight,” I grumbled under my breath on the way out of the Union. With Clay joining the “study session”, another three way with D’bone would be out of the question. Chantel and I would just have to console ourselves with some hot and sweaty lesbian sex after the guys left. 

There I went, assuming again. And, I likely would have chuckled had I known how prophetic my random choice of act and scene had been, though what actually transpired at the “study” session was a far cry from the gloom and doom the three witches had fortuned for poor Macbeth.

Chantel called on her cell phone from a block away and I had the garage door open—with the interior lights off—when she swung into the driveway and killed her headlights. Only one vehicle occupying the large three-car garage (mine) provided her with a large margin for error, but I still breathed a pent up sigh of relief when her red Honda Civic safely ghosted in alongside my “so far” undented, unscratched white Lexus convertible.

I closed the garage door and hit the lights. And I was in the kitchen, my blouse draped over the back of a chair and my brassier backwards around my middle, aggravatingly attempting to get the stubborn hooks out of the too small eyelets, when Chantel came in from the garage, her knapsack over her shoulder and a liter of Pepsi in each hand. She dumped her bag on the table and quipped,” That is not going to help Darnell, or Clay, understand one word of that scene.” She put the bottles in the refrigerator, then stepped over to me and bent her head to my exposed breasts. “Though, I myself find your mode of undress to be most appealing.”

She took one of my nipples between her lips and teased it with her tongue, then did the same for the other one. Then, she turned around and plunked herself down in the chair, leaving me standing there, naked above the waist, my nipples now hard and aching. “Like, what’s to understand about that scene,” she snorted. “The three witches prognosticate what’s doomed to happen over a bubbling caldron. Yada, yada, yada.” She looked over her shoulder at me and winked. “I’d cover those beauties, if I were you, Mrs. Chapel, the guys will be here in about twenty minutes. Their practiced got over early today.”

Disappointed beyond belief, I snatched my blouse off the back of her chair. “Then it’s up to you to call for pizza, you teasing witch. I’m going to go freshen up.”

Chantel was closing the door behind Darnell and Clay when I came into the living room dressed more appropriately in a bulky Norwegian-knit sweater, tweed skirt and flats. “You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Chapel,” Clay comment, looking around with obvious appreciation in his dark eyes.

I noticed that two book bags had been left at the front door and was about to comment on this when Darnell walked right up to me and said, “You weren’t really expecting this to be a for real study session, were you, Diane?”

He had just used my given name, with undeniable familiarity, with someone else in the room besides Chantel, and I bristled. “I most certainly did, young man!”

Chantel quickly stepped between us. “At least until the pizza guy gets here and is gone, Darnell,” she sternly reasoned. “Sheesh! Don’t any of you guys ever think anything, except for football plays, through in your thick fucking heads?”

Clay walked over and retrieved his book bag. “I tried to tell you, D’bone, but, as usual, you gotta go in balls to the wall.” He picked up Darnell’s bag and pitched it to him underhand. Darnell grunted when he caught it. “You want to make it in big time college ball, let alone the pros, you gotta play more like me; plant yourself good and solid, let the opposition commit themself, then pile-drive them into the ground.”

I was a bit stupefied and looked to Chantel. She held her ground, but her eyes wavered nervously. “You been sortta set up here, Diane.”

“By who?” I angrily retorted. “By Darnell, or by you? Or did the two of you conspire in this… this set up?”

“I think that would be ‘By whom’, Mrs. Chapel,” Clay answered in a calm voice. He set his bag on the coffee table. “And it would be mostly by Darnell, though it didn’t take much for Chantel to be all for it.” He sat down on the couch, opened his bag and took out a copy of Macbeth. “I myself… Well, let’s just say that I’m in on this for what both of them have assured me will be the ride of my life.”

I was no longer stupefied, I was now flabbergasted. How could Clay—a twenty year old—possibly remain so calm and obviously in control of himself in the face of a stressful situation, such as we… or rather, I now found myself embarrassingly embroiled in?

Just then, the doorbell rang. “Saved by the bell!” Chantel yelped and raced for the door.

“Not yet, you’re not!” I snapped at her back and turned my wrath on her co-conspirator. “Darnell, if you let her pay for the pizzas, you might as well pick up your bag and march your ungentlemanly black ass right on out of here.”

“Author! Author!” Clay rose to his feet and applauded. “Well spoken, Mrs. Chapel; you cut him off right at the knees and you did it with both class and style. I say, Bravo!” He sat back down and resumed reading. “D’bone, go pay the man.”

I was beginning to see some very definite possibilities developing between Clay and I, and they didn’t have a damn thing to do with scholastic achievement. I was willing to wait and see what might develop, at least until I found out what was really going on here. Then, we’d all see… all four of us. 

We actually did discuss Macbeth while the four of us gobbled down piping hot wedges of pizza. Darnell and Clay each had a cold beer; Chantel and I had frosted mugs of Pepsi. “If I had been Macbeth, and had a mother like he did,” Clay commented, “I would have hot-footed it out of that cave and run like hell.”

“But he didn’t,” I pointed out. “And where would be the tragedy if he had? If he had sensibly cut and run, the play would have ended right then and there.”

“Good point, Mrs. Chapel.” A look I had seen all too often in class came to Clay’s eyes; irreverent mischievousness might a good way to describe it. “And just think of the drama the world would have missed out on. There would be no “To be, or not to be”, no skull held aloft in Macbeth’s hand, no ‘Alas, poor Iago! I knew him’.”

“That’s entirely from Hamlet, young man,” I snootily corrected. “And the skull was Yorick’s,” At least Clay hadn’t misquoted by saying, “I knew him well.” That always infuriates me. “Iago was Othello’s nemesis.”

“Just making sure you were paying attention, Mrs. Chapel,” Clay replied with an indecipherable wink. “To the discussion at hand, naturally.”

I can quote any work of Shakespeare’s you care to pull off the shelf from memory, so—in all honesty—I hadn’t been paying complete attention. My eyes had kept straying in Clay’s direction, taking in the way his tight polo shirt seemed like a second skin on his upper torso, leaning back as if stretching in the hopes of possibly catching a glimpse at his lap to see whether or not there was a telltale bulge in his slacks. I hadn’t detected any noticeable bulge, but the evening was still young.

“Any other thoughts about Macbeth?” Clay asked.

“I’m with you,” Darnell responded. “I’d ‘ve cut and run.”

“And I side with Mrs. Chapel,” Chantel asserted.

“An even-Steven split.” Clay nodded with satisfaction. “Since no one likes losing, I hereby declare this debate to be a successful draw. Viewpoints were exchanged; no one lost, yet no one won.” He looked over at me. “However, you are the teacher, and this is your home, so, by all rights, you should have the final say-so on that, Mrs. Chapel.”

Clay was not an overbearing young man. He was actually a quiet, thoughtful student most of the time, yet he had a commanding presence about him. I had seen him literally dominate interscholastic debates… all by himself. Clay was the sort of person, when he chose to speak, other’s just naturally listened to what he had to say. “I concur completely, Clay,” I replied. Why not, he had been right on all counts.

“Not only do you posses both class and style, Mrs. Chapel,” Clay said in all seriousness, “you are a diplomatically gracious hostess.” He reclined back on the couch with his tree trunk legs stretched out in front of him. “Now, if there is a less formal direction this study session is going to take…” he said in his deceptively casual voice, yet the inference in his tone left no question to what he added on, “Well, that will have to be entirely up to you, as well, Mrs. Chapel.”

This good-looking young man’s deep-set eyes were, to say the least, unnerving. It felt like Clay’s unwavering stare was penetrating right through my corneas. I had to forcibly pull my eyes from his in order to look down at his crotch. There was now a very noticeable bulge in his slacks. “Chantel, would mind giving me a hand cleaning up this mess?” I said, continuing to brazenly stare at the gradually increasing bulge in Clay’s lap. “Darnell, why don’t you take Clay into the den,” I suggested. “Between the two you, surely one of you can find us a… a suitable movie to unwind with.”

In the kitchen, Chantel obliquely commented, “He just makes your panties all wet with that ‘I’m what you want, and we both know it’ look of his, doesn’t he?”

“If you’re referring to Clay, the answer is an unequivocal, yesssss!” Then I confessed. “That is, if I was wearing any.”

Chantel’s hand dove under my skirt and right up my parted legs to my pussy. She smiled. “Good thing you’re not.” She withdrew her hand. Her fingers were slick with my secretions. She ran her tongue over the forefinger and middle finger, and then held the remaining pussy slick fingers under my nose. “Sharesies!”

The smell of myself was sufficient temptation for me to sluttishly suck her ring and pinkie fingers clean. I tongue-kissed her immediately afterward and told her to go make sure the front door was securely locked while I did the same for the connecting door to the garage.

We joined up again in the living room—each of us giving the other the “All’s secure” thumbs up. But, instead of joining the guys in the den, I took her hand and we snuck upstairs to my bedroom where I dug in my lingerie drawer for something sexy. The sexiest thing I could come up with was a white peignoir. It wasn’t as sexy as my black negligee, but with no panties underneath the diaphanous material… It would have to do. We were in a bit of a pinch here, and besides, Chantel was simply irresistible in white.

I handed Chantel the peignoir. “Along with this sexy wardrobe you’ve been mentally picking out for me,” I said, pulling my sweater over my head, “I do think some sexier lingerie should be included.” This would be the fifth evening in a row I would be wearing my black negligee and crotchless panties, and both were now splattered here and there with telltale, chalky-white splotches of D’bone’s cum.

Chantel had already tossed her cheerleading sweater in the chair. “Some sexy undies…” She unzipped her skirt and skin it and her all-concealing light blue cheerleading panties off and tossed them at the chair “…and some really slutty stuff, too.”

“That, I will leave entirely in your hands, my dear.” I wouldn’t know what was sexy compared to what constituted slutty, or even where to look for such items. But Chantel would. With the satin ribbon of my negligee tied in a bow at my throat, I picked up the crotchless panties. “Think I should even bother with these?”

“Oh, yes,” Chantel answered, slipping her arms into the peignoir. “I love the way the gossamer black lace frames your pussy, and Clay will like the way they leave you completely vulnerable from behind.”

I gave Chantel an appreciative eyeballing. White was definitely Chantel’s color. She looked so God awful irresistible, I wanted to throw her on the bed and carry out a scientific experiment; finding out if the friction between our two negligees would generate any electric blue sparks in the dimly lit bedroom as we went at each other. 

But, we had guests (who were, no doubt, growing impatient) to entertain first. 

Chantel and I tiptoed back downstairs and stood in the doorway of the semi-dark den—the only light was coming from the TV, but it was sufficient to see that Darnell and Clay were sitting at opposite ends of the long couch, both of them stark naked. Interracial porn action (naturally) was being lewdly splashed across the big screen—a young blonde on her hands and knees, simultaneously servicing two black guys.

“Is this the only type of movies this particular PPV channel airs?” I asked as we entered the room. I stood at the side of the couch were Clay was reclining, Chantel continued on to where Darnell was sprawled out.


Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples Ch. 02



“I took the liberty of bringing along a ‘private’ video. Mrs. Chapel,” Clay answered. “I do hope that was all right?”

“Perfectly all right, Clay,” I said. “In fact, this has become my favorite subject matter where the porn genre is concerned.” 

I stood watching the screen. The talented young woman was thrusting back and forth between a hard black cock in her mouth, and the bigger black cock she was easily taking in her pussy from the rear, doggie style. But, there was something about this video that seemed… off kilter; the picture wasn’t near as sharp and clear as the porn movies D’bone and I had watched over the weekend, and the camera work was jerky. 

The young blonde tossing her long flaxen hair back and out of her face gave me a start and I instantly understood the emphasis Clay had put on the word ‘private’. The young blonde in this amateurish videotape, actively participating in her black double pronging, was none other then our cheerleading, blackcock slut, Julie. I looked closer and it didn’t take more then a second or two for me to realize that I recognized something else in this amateur porn video. I had seen it as close up as Julie was on screen, and there was no mistaking the black cock deeply feeding her mouth belonged to D’bone. 

I pulled my attention away from Julie’s impressive oral copulation of D’bone to more closely study the dark bronze, solidly-muscled body belonging to the bigger black cock she was impaling herself on each time she lunged back. I looked down at the naked young black man I was standing beside. “Please tell me that’s you, Clay?”

“Watch, Mrs. Chapel.”

The camera pulled back a moment later, and everything was verified; Julie was face fucking herself on D’bone’s cock while riding Clay’s impressive cock for all she was worth. I stepped around the end of the couch and looked down into Clay’s lap. I glanced over my shoulder at the screen, then back down at the rigid black cock jutting up from his shadowy groin. “It’s you,” I affirmed seductively. “And I must say, you are even more impressive in the flesh, than you are on the big screen.”

Clay stood up. I stand nearly 5’ 10” and Clay’s dark eyes looked down into mine from a height of 4 inches. I placed my hand against his hard, flat stomach and walked my white fingers up his mahogany flesh to his pronounced pecs. His black nipples were hard as small stones. “Would you turn around, Clay?” He lifted his arms and slowly turned around. My fingers were now touching him right between the shoulder blades. I slid them down along the ridge of his spine and cupped one of his asscheeks. It was like holding a hard boulder—only much warmer—in the palm of my hand.

Clay turned back around in the opposite direction, causing my fingers to make direct contact with his cock. My hand intuitively wrapped itself around his impressive weapon. It felt like I had a hot bar of black steel in my fist and my fingertips just barely touched the heel of my hand. “I take it you like what you’re now holding, Mrs. Chapel.”

“Mmmmmmmmmm, Hmmmmm.” I looked up into his eyes. “And we can dispense with the Mrs. Chapel, Clay. As goes with Darnell and Chantel, in a situation like this, I’m Diane. But, in school, I am still to be addressed as Mrs. Chapel. Is that understood?”

Clay thrust his hips forward, suggestively fucking his hard young black cock through my white wife fist. “Perfectly, Diane.”

I placed my free hand against his stomach to stop his movement and fisted his cock myself. “I’m sure that you will think of other ‘more appropriate’ terms of endearment for me as this progresses… Cannon.”

“One’s already coming to mind, Diane.” Clay’s strong hands were on my shoulders and with no resistance from me, he pushed me to my knees. “You know the drill… Slut.”

The drill? I knew what he meant, but I was seeing it in a slightly different light then I’m sure he was. His hard black cock was starting me right in the face and I couldn’t wait for him to drill my salivating mouth with it, so it amounted to the same thing. The anticipated end results of me being mouth-drilled by Clay’s cock would coincide, anyway: Clay would get to face fuck his white teacher—who was kneeling before him like an obedient white cumslut; I, in turn, would get to sluttishly swallow the copious load of hot, slimy cum that would eventually explode from his hard black cock. We would, therefore, both be getting exactly what we wanted from each.

The only question was: Would I be able to satisfy him? Besides being thicker, Clay’s cock was an inch or so longer than D’bone’s. (I measured it at a hard eight inches, several weeks later.) Would I be able to take this larger black cock anywhere Clay wanted shove it into me… down my throat, deep into my cunt, all the way to his balls inside my wantonly surrender asshole?

The single eye in the head of the black cock in my face wept a large, shimmering tear and my tongue was quickly extended below Clay’s cock to catch it when it fell. When it finally broke loose, the taste of Clay’s precum on my tongue was an instantaneous aphrodisiac. I ran my tongue up one side of his cock, down the other side, then back up underneath with my the flat of my tongue fitted around the big vein that dispensed his urine, but would soon convey his yummy cum into my mouth, down my throat, and into my belly.

I opened my mouth wide and closed my lips around the swollen cockhead. I worked the tip of my tongue into the dilated peehole and received an even larger teardrop of precum for my efforts. I slid my wet mouth down on several inches of his cock and swirled my tongue around that hard pole of black man-flesh before drawing my lips back up to the head. The next time I went back down, I took a couple more inches of his cock. The head was now pressed against the back of my throat. 

I drew back slowly, took a deep breath, and sucked my way back down onto Clay’s cock. It entered my throat, not as easily as D’bone’s eventually had, but the spongy head was beyond my gag reflex. I was proud of myself and pulled back, only to swooped right back down on his cock, swallowing the entire thing this time, so that his crinkly black pubic hair was tickling my nose. Now, I was damned proud of myself and hoped that Clay was equally impressed with me. In only four stages, I had successfully deepthroated eight full inches of thick black cock. Think that’s easy? Try it sometime.

I proceeded to enthusiastically suck Clay off, sliding my tight lips up the length of his cock until only the firm head remained inside my voracious mouth, swirling my tongue round and round it, teasing the peehole with the tip of that tongue, then going all the way back down on him, with my tongue pressed against what I thought of as “my cum conduit”. 

I deepthroated Clay for a good five minutes. It could have been longer; I’m not sure. I had a hard black cock in my mouth; I was in heaven and time meant nothing to me. I sucked off this fantastic black cock the best I knew how… all on my own, until I heard Clay say, “Not bad, Slut. But…” His hands closed around my head and he began fucking my mouth and throat with more determination, like he would (hopefully) be doing to my cunt later on, and possibly my asshole, too.

I reached around and grabbed Clay’s tight black ass and demandingly assisted him in mercilessly plunging his hard black cock all the way down the receptive throat of his slutty, white wife, English Lit teacher. “That’s it, Slut,” Clay encouraged, “show me just how much of a blackcock slut you can be.”

I was doing my level best, and Clay was definitely giving me all of his very best. But, as must happen with all good things, our combined efforts were not destined to continue on forever. Only a few more precious moments of slutty cocksucking, actually, and I felt Clay tense up. I quickly cupped his bloated black balls and urgently kneaded them with my fingers. Clay’s balls sucked up into his scrotum as my pussy leaked like a sieve onto the carpet beneath me. 

A second later I learned first hand why Clay carried the well-deserved nickname Cannon. The first jet of his cum erupted from the peehole of his cock with such unbelievable force, I swear, it shot directly into my stomach. The next two ricocheted off the sensitive walls of my esophagus with the same impossible force. He pushed my head back and filled my hurriedly closed off mouth with three more hard jets of hot jism. My cheeks were bulging out, but I was determined not to allow even a single dribble or an accidental ooze of Clay’s massive load of spunk to escape past my tightly pursed slut lips.

I took the stalk of his cock in both hands and milked upward as I sucked the head to get all of the cum from his balls. Only when no more of his tasty jizz was forthcoming from that “newly designated” cum conduit did I reluctantly pop my mouth off of Clay’s cock. I sat back on my haunches and looked up at him. I opened my mouth to show him my cum cocktail, then relaxed my throat and let it slide down my throat to mix what was already warming my belly.

“You got one thing dead-on right, D’bone,” Clay acknowledged with a huge grin, “Diane can suck cock at least as good as Julie can.” He tapped my glazed lips with his slimy cockhead. “And you say she’s new to it?”

I glanced over at where Chantel was mouthing D’bone’s black boner. The way his eyes were rolled back in their sockets, I was fairly certain he hadn’t heard a word of Clay’s praise for my oral accomplishment. So, I answered for spaced-out Darnell. “Yours is only the second cock I’ve ever sucked off, Cannon. Black or white.”

Clay reached his hand down to me. “Well then, “ he said, pulling me to my feet, “you are a natural born slut, Diane.”

There was only one way of responding to that. “Thank you, Cannon.” I looked down; his cock was still hard. Were all black men like this, or was it only young black men who possessed cocks that didn’t soften after they had expelled their first load?

“Ready for seconds, Slut?” Clay didn’t give me a chance to respond. He spun me around and pushed me over so that my outstretched hands were all the kept me from landing flat out on the coffee table. Up went the back of my negligee, my feet were kicked wide apart and Clay’s cockhead was storming up inside my severely lubricated cunt, followed right behind by the rest of his great cock… every pussy-pleasing, cunt-filling inch of it. Clay then—as the saying goes—laid the fucking black pipe to me, hard and fast. 

Clay fucked the same way he played football; his cock was firmly planted inside my spasming cunt, and I had wantonly committed myself early on, so he was now pile-driving the ever lovin’ hell out of me. I came. I came again. My forth orgasm overlapped the third. My juices were bubbling out around his relentlessly plunging cock and running down the insides of my quaking legs. I would have screamed out my agonized gratitude if I could have drawn a single sufficient breath.

Clay grabbed my hips and pulled me—still impaled on his cock—down onto the couch. With my legs now straddling his, my naked ass in his lap, he demanded that I “Ride it, Diane. I want to see you fuck yourself on my black cock and make it cum in your nasty cunt.”

I leaned forward, braced my hands on his knees and in a sexual frenzy, I fucked my nasty cunt up and down on his cock. Knowing he was back there watching me fuck myself on his cock, I climaxed harder than the four previous cums his fantastic black cock had already given me. Riding Clay’s cock for all I was worth, I orgasmed for the sixth, then a seventh time because his stupendous cock left me no other option 

I felt an eighth and, potentially, the most climatic orgasm of all building inside me, and Clay didn’t even seem close to releasing his second load of cum in my magnificently fucked cunt. If he didn’t cum soon, I could easily cum myself to death riding his fantastic, stupendous, gloriously wondrous, powerful black cock. Taken as a whole, right then and there, I couldn’t think of a more pleasant way to go.

Chantel’s ethereal voice came to me out of a white blur. “Take my hands, Diane.” I reached out blindly. Chantel’s hands grabbed my wrists and she yanked me off of Cannon’s cock. “Nooooooooooooo!” I wailed. I wanted to make Cannon cum. I had to accomplish the seemingly impossible task he had set for me, or die trying, happily impaled on his unbelievable black cock.

Then, in a sexual haze, Cannon was somehow beneath me and I was frantically reaching between our bodies to guide his cock back into my sorely empty cunt. The swollen, slippery head finally made contact with my sloppy hole and I joyously sank all the way down onto his cock. ”Yesssssssssssssssssss!” I hissed. I was once more full of hard black cock, just the way a good white slut should be. My eyes were tearing so badly, all I could see was a watery black shape beneath my face. I grinned as I manically started riding his cock. “Ill make it shot off this time, Cannon. I promise I will.”

“No,” Chantel’s ghostly voice intruded. “First, we’re going to make you cum harder than you ever have, Diane.”

I didn’t bother asking who they were, or how they were going to do it; I just wanted them to do it… by whatever means they cared to employ. Something cool and slippery was squirted against my exposed asshole, and then something blunt was pressed against it. I didn’t even realize that it had to be the head of D’bone’s cock until half of it was already imbedded in my rectum. He reared back, and thrust forward. I could die utterly ecstatic now; I had two hard black cocks deep inside me… at the same time.

But, my trio of far more sexually experienced students wasn’t finished setting me up for the cum of my life. Crab crawling with her hands extended behind her and her hips elevated, Chantel worked her pussy in under my face. Clay’s hands grabbed the back of my head and forced my face into Chantel’s offered pussy and my recent lesbian indoctrination took over from there. I came and came and continued to cum as I greedily ate Chantel’s delicious pussy while Cannon and D’bone alternately fucked their strong black cocks in and out of my sloppy slut cunt and desperately milking asshole. And then I CAME! Or, at least I thought I had cum the orgasm Chantel had promised me.

D’bone was the first of the three to nut, flooding my rectum with five or six lets of scalding cum. My excited gasp set Chantel off and she bathed my face with her juices. For a long glorious moment I hung there suspended between the cocks beneath and behind me and my face in Chantel’s pussy, shuddering uncontrollably like a leaf on an aspen tree in a stiff wind. D’bone’s cock was pulled from my cum-flooded asshole and Chantel crab-walked her pussy back away from my cunt cream-glazed face. Cannon grabbed my waist and lifted me all the way off of his hard cock, then brought me squarely back down onto it. Thank God! Ten, possibly fifteen, times he used me like some sort of slutty rag sex doll to fuck his cock with, and I didn’t want him to stop… ever.

Finally, with a savage growl, Cannon slammed me down onto his cock and let loose a fucking fire hose deep inside of me. And that’s when I truly CAME! And CAME! And CAME! AND CAME! My cunt was convulsing so hard, and so fast, that Cannon’s hard blasts of jism were literally gushing back out of me—along with my own female cum—as fast and with as much force as his overly generous load of hot spunk was being pumped into me.

I… I went out like a FUCKING light.

To be continued…