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Stacy's Riding Lesson Ch. 01

By: sgtklark



The morning mist was thick upon the pastures that lined the road to the stables. Stacy liked to arrive earlier than most riders. She loved riding her gelding on the trails and through the gently rolling hills alone. She was often the first rider to arrive in the morning when the stables were just coming to life.

She parked her large SUV and strolled toward the particular stable that housed Spark, her three-year-old horse. She was wearing her usual riding attire; English riding kit, with a tight black jacket and white low-rise breeches that looked as if they had been sprayed on her trim legs and firm ass. She carried her black helmet and crop in her stylish, custom-made gloves, her glossy black boots kicking up small clouds of dust on the stable grounds.

She had ridden extensively in her pampered childhood, and then again in her exclusive women's college back east. She was an accomplished horsewoman, with several steeple chase cups adorning the mantle above the fire place in her lavish estate home.

After college she had fulfilled her mother's destiny for her by marring into even more money. Her husband of four years, Stanly Garner III, scion of the Virginia Garners, was away at the capital, where he was serving as a state senator for their district.

The gorgeous twenty-three-year old woman's life was filled with idle pleasures, afternoon teas with society ladies of her county, officiating in her husband's absence at various social functions and opening of new government buildings and projects, and doing volunteer work for the local historical preservation society. 

But Stacy was bored. Her life seemed mundane, pointless. All of her dreams in college of making a difference in society had fallen through. She felt like her husband's pretty trophy, one which he kept safely ensconced on the mantle next her to riding cups. 

But riding was different. She felt truly free, like a bird on the wing, flying above the picturesque country side that stretched for miles around the stables. Here she could be herself, at one with her mount. It was a primal, primitive feeling that appealed to her.

Instead of having one of the stable boys saddle Spark for her she preferred to complete the chore herself. It helped her bond to her mount and she would whisper words of encouragement to sooth the beast before their jaunts. She led the proud gelding out of the stable and expertly swung into her custom English saddle. She bound the strap of her helmet under her elegant chin and slowly trotted toward one of the many trails that led from the yard.

As she rode past one of the outbuildings she paused to consider a busy scene in a small corral hidden from the view of the main stable area. Two hands were preparing to collect a sperm sample from one of the breeding studs that the stable kept. They were using a phantom mare, a device that looked like a large gymnast jumping vault, which would serve as the surrogate mare for the randy stallion.

The hands paid little attention to the petite blond with her long pony tail blowing in the gentle morning breeze. Although it was cool, their exertions had the men sweating, and one, a striking colored fellow, had removed his shirt, displaying his sculptured muscular body. His broad shoulders accented by his narrow waist, his washboard abdomen, all caused the color to rise in the young woman's cheeks.

Momentarily, they led the stallion, which Stacy recognized at Demon Seed, the winner of countless races, towards the phantom mare. They smeared some viscous fluid on the 'rump' of the device, which Stacy guessed was some sort of pheromone. Demon Seeds nostrils flared as he took the scent in and immediately his procreative organ began to grow and distend. 

She shifted nervously in her saddle, feeling the smooth leather against her warming womanflesh, as Demon Seed's organ reached a breath-taking length and began to sway and bob beneath his belly. 

The hands encouraged Demon Seed to mount the phantom mare, but he did not seem to need much encouragement as he lifted his chest onto the back of the device and began a series of rapid pelvic thrusts. Quickly, one of the hands grabbed a long, tube-like device and slipped it over the stallions jiggling penis. Using the handles at either side of the tube, the hands began to work it back and forth on the beast's cock, causing him to snort loudly. This artificial vagina was padded on its inside to simulate the feel of a real mare in heat. Stacy had seen one of the devices once, lying unattended in a tack house, and had inspected it with curious astonishment. It was about three feet long and had a removable reservoir on its end for collecting the semen sample.

Demon Seed's body went taut, his hind legs quivering violently, as he ejaculated into the fake pussy. His massive balls jiggled as they pumped a copious amount of prized horse jizz into the plastic sleeve of the artificial cunt. So copious was his discharge that excess spooge began to leak from about the cuff that sealed the device to his cock, and streamed down from the sleeve like a garden hose on high.

Stacy could feel her nipples stiffened, pointed, in her jacket. A familiar sensation coursed through her loins as she took in the scene before her. She had often dreamed of being a mare and being ravished by a wild, savage stud like Demon Seed, dreams that always caused her to awake with a yawning, wet pussy.

The stable hands removed the fake vagina from the stallion's organ, and it dangled, more limply now, from beneath his belly, still dripping volumes of semen from its flared tip.

Stacy patted Spark on his muscular neck. "The show is over, boy. Let's go for our ride." 

The reverie of her morning ride was disturbed by a returning vision of Demon Seed's frantic bucking against his imagined lover and the cascade of his juices leaking from the imagined horse vagina. The sample would no doubt fetch the stallion owner many thousands of dollars, and it would be frozen until it was sterile-injected into a likely mare with the use of some large syringe. It was sad, in a way, Stacy thought, that neither the stallion nor the mare would ever likely feel the passion of a real mounting. With horses of this value the risk of injury far outdistanced any altruistic feeling of compassion for the animal's pleasure.

Stacy's thoughts also turned to the muscular black stable hand, his sweat-glistening body laboring with the large tube under Demon Seed's belly and chest. Did the latent sexuality of his labors arouse him in the least? Did the proximity of such a large, powerful organ cause him any notions of human sex?

She shook her head to dispel the vision of the black man. Everything in her past, her linage, her culture screamed in her ears that she could not look upon a black man with any sense of sexuality. It was decadent beyond words, and any woman of her class that dared to think of a black buck in any romantic sense would surely become a social outcast, scorned by polite society, avoided by ladies of fashion and breeding, and certainly would never find a husband of any quality willing to marry her.

The constant rubbing of her vulva against her saddle had ist usual effect—Stacy was in a fine fettle by the time she returned from her three hour ride. Her thoughts invariably drifted to her husband, Stanly, and she cursed his absence. She was destined to spend many hours of vexed frustration waiting for her body to settle down and return to a state or normalcy. Or she could wickedly lie upon her canopied bed and allow her fingers to explore the gentle folds of her labia, rubbing and massaging her soft fleshy lips until an orgasm racked her slim body. But such behavior always left her with a feeling of degradation and unfulfillment. Better to take a long, ice cold shower.

She swung her shapely leg off her mount and led Spark back into the stable. By now the usual crowd of riders were arriving. The idle rich, the social elite of the county, here more to make deals than to ride. Stacy nodded pleasantly at Marigold Harrison-Payne as she and Reginald Waters led their own mounts out of the stable. Rumor had it that their rides were curiously short. That they would ride to a secluded meadow and engage in frenzied carnal couplings. Or so the gossip went. Stacy wondered if Marigold's husband was aware or even cared about his wife's alleged debauchery. 

The stable was by now empty, devoid of riders and mounts. Stacy drank in the stillness and quiet, the fresh smell of alfalfa filling her nose. She deftly removed Spark's tackle and saddle and began to brush him down. Again, it was a task for the hired help, but Stacy enjoyed these quiet moments with her friend, Sparkie. She hung her jacket of a nail in one of the upright wooden posts and worked in her high-collared white riding shirt. Her yet erect nipples poked through her inner slip and stood proudly on the tips of her firm breasts. 

"That was a good ride today, Spark. We must try that path again soon, wouldn't you agree?" she asked as she ran the large, stiff brush over his shining fur.

"You seem to have a gift as a horse whisperer," she heard a husky, deep voice behind her say.

Stacy wheeled about to see that the black stable hand from the earlier performance with Demon Seed was leaning lazily against a stable post behind her. He was still shirtless, and being so near his well-defined body looked even more striking. His low-slung jeans displayed a sizable bulge at the crotch, which made Stacy's blood surge in her temples. 

Stacy aloofly turned her back on the hired man, ignoring him. She knew well enough not to provoke a black man in private like this. Black men were known to be lustful creatures, slaves to their emotions and totally lacking in any sense of deportment.

"Aw, don't be that way, missy," the deep voice chuckled.

"I don't believe we've been properly introduced, sir," Stacy said coldly.

"I can fix that. My name is Rufus Johnson. And you are the right honorable Missus Stanly Garner, I believe."

Stacy wheeled about in surprise. "How is it that you know my name, sir?"

"Oh, I've noticed you riding here on many occasions, miss. I asked around about you."

"I will thank you to keep your inquiries to yourself, sir, or I shall be forced to report you to the stable management," Stacy sputtered in annoyance.

"I mean you no harm, miss. I just admire the way you ride."

Stacy could feel the blush on her cheeks. She imagined this black fellow looking at her bouncing in her saddle and thinking impure thoughts of her.

"I am quite flattered, I am sure. Now, if you will leave and allow me to finish currying my horse," she turned back to her work.

Stacy was startled when his broad, strong and callused hand reached around her and landed on her hand that held the brush. 

"Allow me, miss." His voice was low and indecently close to her ear. She could feel the heat radiating from his close body and his manly scent was intoxicating. Her knees began to shake and she felt a lump rise in her throat. 

Rufus began to guide her hand over the horse's haunches. "You need to go with the pattern of their fur, miss. See?"

"I know quite well how to do this," she said meekly. 

"I saw you this morning while I was collecting sperm. You were watching so intently."

Stacy hung her head in shame. The blush from her cheeks was now burning her ears. "I...I was merely curious...," she stammered nervously, feeling an involuntary sense of arousal spread from her loins throughout her lithe body.

Rufus rested his free hand on her slender shoulder and continued to guide the brush in her hand.

"It was quite a show, wasn't it? Too bad we can't let old Demon Seed breed the way nature intended, by mounting a ready mare."

"Yes...yes, I was thinking the same thoughts myself," she said in almost a whisper.

"It would be a true shame if they made us people mate the same way, wouldn't it? We like the old fashioned way too much."

"Yes, we do." Stacy could scarcely believe she was responding to his sexually-charged observations. She felt wicked for talking to another man—a black man, in particular—about such an intimate subject. But her desires were quickly dispelling any notion of propriety from the quaking woman.

Stacy turned her face towards Rufus. She smiled at her and planted a deep, passionate kiss on her soft lips. She moaned softly as they ground their lips together. Rufus removed her hand from the horse and the brush fell to the ground. He wrapped one massive arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. She could feel the damp heat of his body through her shirt and upon her breasts.

Stacy brought her hands to the side of his face and continued to kiss him violently, her face turning to the right and left. Her breathing was ragged and came in short snorts through her flaring nostrils. 

Rufus lit his grasp of her narrow waist fall to the gentle swell of her ass and began kneading the subtle flesh of her butt cheeks through her breeches. Stacy began to grind her hips against his waist and she could feel the hardened lump in his jeans pressing against her flat belly.

To her disappointment he pulled away from their embrace. She stood still, gasping for breath, then he led her by her hand to a ladder that ran up to the hay loft overhead. His notions were crystal clear, and Stacy smiled wickedly and mounted the ladder. Rufus admired the way her tight riding breeches defined her vulva as she climbed the ladder above his face and to the darkened hay loft.

He laid her softly up her back on the fresh hay and began to unbutton her shirt. Stacy was limp and unresisting, her eyes locked on his. He pulled the tail of her shirt from her breeches and she lifted her torso slightly so she could completely remove her top. He rolled up her camisole to expose her up-thrust breasts and placed his large, meaty lips upon one hard nipple. Waves of passion and excitement surged through her body as he administered to her tits. She bit her knuckle to keep from moaning aloud, relishing the feeling of his hot wet mouth of her jugs.

Rufus sat back on his haunches, straddling the winsome woman, and undid his belt and zipper. He pulled his jeans down to his thighs. He was not wearing any underwear. His inhumanly large erection sprang forth like a striking viper, fat, black, with a plumb-sized head. She cooed quietly in amazement, her eyes wide, her brows raised. Her continence was that of childish astonishment. She tentatively embraced the jutting organ with her slender fingers, marveling at its heat, reveling in the way it throbbed under her fingertips. She slowly slid her fingers down its considerable length to where it met his belly in a jagged forest of peppercorn curls. It was easily twice as long and twice as thick as her husband's own organ and firm beyond description. She gingerly cupped his massive nut sack, feeling its weight and heat in her small hands.

"I see working around stallions all day seems to have had an effect on you, Mister Johnson," she giggled.

He chuckled and lifted his hips, slowly bringing his pelvis forward, his swaying cock nearing her face.

Oh God, she thought, he wants to put that massive thing in my mouth, she thought apprehensively. 

The rubbery head of his cock pushed resolutely against her lips, forcing them to part. Stacy lifted her head from its hay pillow to ease the angle of his cock's penetration of her waiting mouth. She spread her jaws maximally, and let his flared cock head pass between her stretched lips and fill her mouth with his heat.

Rufus planted his tree-like arms above her head and began slowly fucking her mouth. Deeper and deeper his cock treaded into her mouth until it hit her molars and could go no further. It was not half way in her mouth. Slowly he withdrew it slightly, then slowly jabbed it back in, hitting her uvula. The pace of his thrusts increased. She could see his giant dangling ball sack sway back and forth with each thrust. Stacy brought her hands up and held the remaining length of his cock, one hand above the other. She could not hope to encompass his girth with her fists but held them tight to the sides of his pulsating black cock. She began to slide his hands up and down the length of his cock, her strokes synchronized with is thrusts into her hot wet mouth. 

Stacy's pussy felt as if it was gnawing at the crotch of her panties and breeches, angrily protesting its neglect.

Sweat dripped from his body and rained down on the wanton woman. Above her scarlet face his abdominal muscles were tight knots on his belly, flexing and releasing with his efforts.

Rufus gave a low, animal grunt and she could feel his cock suddenly begin to jerk and twitch uncontrollably. Her fingers detected it first—a pulse that ran down the length of his organ towards its head. 

A torrent of thick, viscous jizz shot forcefully from his cock head, splattering against the back of the young woman's throat. She reflexively began gagging and tried to expel the invader from her mouth. But Rufus kept his cock firmly between her jaws as spurt after spurt shot from his penis into her mouth and throat. 

Stacy began to choke on the cum in her mouth, and a tendril of his spooge shot from one nostril of the distressed woman. Her cheeks were bulging obscenely, filled with his hot seed. Excess spurts of jizz leaked from the tight seal of her lips on his shank and landed, hot and wet, on her neck and tits.

Finally Rufus' movements stopped, and he slowly withdrew his deflating cock from the gasping woman's mouth. Great sheets of his cum hung from its head and poured onto the poor woman's chin, dripping down her cheeks to her ears and the baby-like hair at the nape of her neck.

Rufus sat back, his softening member resting hotly, heavily on Stacy's belly and between her heaving breasts. Her initial fear of downing in his discharge abated and she felt an overpowering contentment and odd feeling of accomplishment. She would not have believed that she could handle such a prodigious organ in her mouth before today, let alone handle such a massive issue from it. She smiled sweetly up at Rufus, her eyes dancing.

Rufus pulled a soiled handkerchief from his back pocket and dropped it on Stacy's chest. "You'd better try to make yourself a little more presentable, Missus Garner." She dabbed at the spilled spooge until the handkerchief was sopping wet, gooey and sticking to her fingers.

"Thank you, Mister Johnson," she cooed.

"Sorry I ain't got but one handkerchief."

"No, thank you, for everything, Mister Johnson."

"My pleasure, ma'am," she smiled down at the sated woman.

Stacy walked, somewhat unsteadily, back to her parked SUV. Her riding jacket hid the gooey stains on her shirt well enough, but her hair was stiffly caked his Rufus' cum. She prayed that she did not run into anyone in the parking lot and be forced to engage in some pleasantry while looking as she did. He jaws throbbed dully as she sat in the SUV, feeling the heat from the seat on her swollen pussy, and headed for home.

She resolved to return to the stables the very next morning for another lesson from the knowledgeable Mister Johnson.

Stacy's Riding Lesson Ch. 02



Stacy stood in her shower and let the scalding water spray over her subtle body. 

She had to make sure there was no trace of that man, Rufus, on her in case her husband unexpectedly returned home from the capital in Richmond.

The memories of her time with Rufus in the hay loft came flooding over her, causing her a mixture of pleasure and horror. She could scarcely believe that she had committed an infidelity, and with a black man, no less. She had seemed like a different person, as if her body had been possessed by some evil demon bent on destroying her marriage and her reputation. How careless she had become!

The joy she had experienced giving Rufus Johnson oral pleasure did not justify the risk. Luckily, no one had seen them in the loft or her state of dishevelment as she walked guiltily back to her SUV to leave the stables where he was employees as a mere workman. But what did she know of the man? Was he the type to kiss and tell? Or, in this case, the type to get a blow job and tell?

The revelation of her disgraceful behavior would be her ruin, and that of her husband's nascent political career.

As the shower pummeled her hair she shook her head in puzzled disbelief. The sight of Rufus' oversized organ jamming in and out of her greedy mouth played over and over in her mind's eye. 

She wiped the mirror clean of steam and looked deeply into her face. Was there any sign of her debauchery? She had feared that she would have stretch marks at the corners of her mouth, but all looked right and proper. Although she had brushed her teeth three times since coming home, she could not escape the faint salty taste of his jizz in her mouth. She knew it must simply be in her mind, but she again blew into her palm and sniffed, straining to detect any trace of his pungent aroma.

She wrapped her head in a towel and put on a plush bathrobe and went to the railing of the second-story walkway outside the master bedroom.

"Jezelle! Jezelle! Where are you, you lazy wench?' she called.

A pretty black maid appeared in the foyer downstairs. 

"Yes, ma'am?" Jezelle said meekly, fearfully.

"Do try to have my riding togs dry cleaned today! I may require them tomorrow!"

"Yes, ma'am. I will see to it immediately," the black girl said.

If Jezelle's mother had not been a trusted employee of the Garner family for so many years Stacy would fire the wench. Not that the poor girl did not try, but she was as brainless as a mop, and had to be watched constantly, lest she make some terrible error and ruin something of value in the Garner mansion. Of all the household servants she required the most vigilance. 

Stacy lay on her bed staring at the canopy overhead. Try as she might she could not remove the images from her memory of that morning. Deep inside, she did not want to forget. It has all been so taboo, so wicked, so terribly erotic to the young woman. But unacceptably dangerous. Stacy knew that some of her society friends carried on occasional trysts with lovers behind their husbands' backs, and the husbands surely did the same. But Stacy had always thought she was above such base behavior. She had always held her passions and emotions firmly in check, but a crack had appeared today in her stony virtue. She could attribute it to the repeated and long absences of her beloved husband, Stanley. She was a twenty-three-year-old woman, with all the desires and bodily cravings of any normal woman. But she had to hold herself above her animal instincts, for the benefit of her county and her state and, with a little luck, her country.

Stacy vowed not to return to the stables, tomorrow or any day. She would board her horse at another establishment or keep him here on the estate. She would never see that Rufus Johnson again!

Stacy's SUV made a crunching sound as it slowed to a stop in the gravel parking lot of the stables the next morning. She cautiously glanced about the ground of the stables, looking for a particular black man. She did not see him.

She wore her freshly cleaned English riding kit again, her helmet high on her head. She quickly saddled her horse, Spark, and rode briskly from the stable area onto a seldom used and infrequently rode path leading into the surrounding hills.

With the stables and outbuilding safely out of sight behind her she could relax a little. The morning was already warming up, and the birds and cricket's music filled the air. A gentle breeze rocked her blond ponytail and cooled her temples. It was a flawless morning and Spark was riding uncommonly well, so the young woman let her mind drift and merge with her surroundings. Riding was the supreme joy for Stacy, the commune with nature, the joining of horse and rider into a single unit all elated her spirits and helped her forget any troubles.

But as she rode, her thoughts defiantly returned to Rufus Johnson. She wondered what he was doing at that moment. Was he having his breakfast, or mending some fence on the property. Had he thought of her that previous evening, lying in his bunk somewhere? Had his organ become engorged with the remembrances of their short time together? Had he taken it in his large fist and brought himself to climax as he imagined her lying wantonly beneath him? She found the idea that Rufus had engaged in self-abuse while invoking her memory particularly erotic, and she felt a gentle stirring in her womanly parts as a result. It would be flattering indeed!

What Stacy could not bring herself to admit, even to herself, was that she badly wanted Rufus in her mouth again. Or in her body. 

Stacy cut her ride short and returned to the stables. Her head swiveled from side to side, looking for Rufus. She returned Spark to the stable and did a miserable job of brushing the horse down. By now riders were rambling around the stables and talking, some riding out.

Stacy went to the main club building and ordered some breakfast. But she could not eat, and sipped her coffee slowly, nervously glancing around with a look of expectation. 

Maybe Rufus had been dismissed, or had suffered some injury and was even now in the hospital. The idea made her ill. Several times she rose, intending on seeking out a foreman to make an inquiry about Rufus, only to sit down again and marvel at her impetuosity. A woman of her class, a white woman, making inquiries about a hired black man—no, that would not do.

She returned to the stable building where she and Rufus had their encounter. She stared longingly at the hay loft, her mind racing back to those frenzied moments with Rufus in the hay.

At last she saw a young black boy, obviously the son of one of the employed hands, and she approached him. 

"Boy? Oh, boy?" she called to the child.

"Yes'm," he answered.

"There was a workman here yesterday—I forgot to thank him properly for... helping me. I believe his name was Rufus. Might you know where he is today?"

"Yes'm. He was sent to the old windmill up north to fix it. 'spect he'll be there all day 'cause it was powerful broken."

Stacy led the boy to a map of the stable and outlying ground mounted on the stable wall.

"Please show me where that windmill is."

She gave the boy a five dollar tip and remounted Spark.

She could see him from some distance. He was far up the windmill working with a wrench on the ancient piece of equipment. He did not hear her approach. She searched the surrounding ground and could see no other person in sight.

"Oh, young man! Young man! I believe my poor horse is lame. Could I ask you for some assistance?" Stacy called to Rufus from the ground below the windmill. Rufus looked down and smiled broadly, his teeth shining white on his black face.

"Yes, miss. I will be right down."

Stacy marveled at his skill, strength and speed with which he descended the tall skeletal structure. Finally he was standing beside her and Spark, panting slightly. Again she was shirtless, and his muscular chest and belly took the young woman's breath away.

He tilted his cowboy hat back on his head and asked, "What seems to be the problem, miss?"

Stacy swung down from the saddle and stood before him. Rufus was a full head taller than the petite blond woman. "Actually, I am feeling a mite lame. I seem to have this ache down here," she said, pointing to her lower belly.

"I think I have a spare part for that. It'll fix you right up, ma'am."

Rufus took her roughly in his arms and kissed her hungrily. Stacy felt limp in his strong arms, and feared that she would faint.

"No one ever uses this trail, Missus Garner. We are all alone out here."

Rufus removed a rolled blanket from the rear of his western saddle and spread it on a bed of clover. Stacy stood before him an unashamedly began removing her clothing. Rufus sat on the blanket and watched her with increasing interest. 

Teasingly, Stacy was slowly undressing, turning at different points and glancing over her shoulder and giving him sly smiles. She let her shirt drop to the clover and then undid the zipper at the hip of her breeches. She extended her booted foot to Rufus and he held it while she extracted her foot. She repeated the move for her other boot. She peeled out of her tight breeches and kicked them aside. She was now naked in front of him, except for her sheer thong panties. 

"I have to wear these so I don't have those nasty pantie lines in my breeches," she explained with a giggle.

At last Stacy slid her panties down, revealing her faint blond bush and her bikini tan lines. Her firm aptly sized breasts jiggled on her chest as she twisted from side to side for his amusement. Her breasts and ass were as white as a cotton tail's butt. 

She extended her palms and motioned for Rufus to stand. She skillfully undid his belt buckle and zipper and pulled his pants down to his boots. She cooed, gazing longingly at his semi-limp member dangling over his large balls. Falling to her knees she took the flared head into her mouth and delighted in the feeling of his rapidly hardening member filling her mouth and spreading her jaws. Rufus kept his fists balled on his hips, thrusting his pelvis out towards Stacy and allowed her to set her own pace. 

Stacy kissed up and down the length of his erection and gently sucked on the loose skin of his scrotum. She kept her eyes on his, devouring his satisfied gaze.

He was fully hard now, throbbing boldly. His cock stood proudly from his groin, pointing level to the ground. Stacy took as much of his cock into her mouth as she could and noisily slurped and sucked on his, tasting his precum as it oozed out the slit on the head.

"Lay down," he commanded in a throaty growl. 

Stacy lay on her back and held her legs up, her hands behind her knees, her inviting twat pointed at her lover. Her pussy was a perfect slit, and Rufus could not see any trace of her labia showing. He knelt reverently between her legs and rubbed her already-damp pussy, then spat into his palm and rubbed it along his cock head and shaft. Supporting himself over her with one mighty arm, he guided his cockhead against the lower end of her cunt grove.

"Take me, Rufus. I long to feel you inside my body," she crooned.

Her eyes grew wide and her jaw fell open as he applied pressure to his cock. It felt too wide to enter her vagina. She reached around her hips and spread her cunt as best she could with her fingertips. Rufus grunted and pushed harder. He thought his cock would buckle before it could enter her tight vault. With his fist he moved the tip of his cock up and down her vulvar groove, spreading her lubricating juices all over her twat. 

"Try to relax your pussy," he suggested.

"I'm trying, Rufus," she gasped.

He felt her pussy's resistance lessen just slightly, and he jabbed his cock even harder. Part of this dick head entered his vagina and Stacy let out a shrill squeal. 

"Rufus—stop. This isn't going to work," she pleaded.

Rufus ignored her and doubled his effort, thrusting his hips hard down on the woman.

Stacy screamed in pain as his cock suddenly entered her cunt by several inches. She body wiggled uncontrollably, trying instinctively to work itself off the offending organ. But Rufus kept the pressure of his cock constant, driving more and more of it into her painful vagina. Tears came to the young woman's eyes and she panted like she was delivering a baby. She threw her head back and clamped her eyes shut, biting her lower lip.

"Relax, baby. Almost there," he murmured.

His cock felt larger in her than it had looked. Searing pain shot through her body. It was far worse than the first time she had made love to her husband, the only man she had been with. Her cunt walls were trying to expel the invader and she wiggled his ass from side to side in an effort to extricate herself. Rufus removed his fist from his cock and began to massage her belly over his deep cock.

Slowly, the pain began to subside, to be replaced by unbelievable pleasure. The hot glow of her vagina became a comfortable warmth. She smiled broadly at the joy her body began to experience. Rufus began moving his cock in and out of her, and she could feel her vagina expanding to accommodate his massive organ. Her lubrication increased until it was running down between the cheeks of her ass and tickling her puckered butt hole.

She locked her fingers around the back of his neck and began fucking him back, driving her hips up to meet his thrusts. She was gasping through her open mouth, fighting for breath. Rufus was bathed in his sweat and it made him look even blacker.

Rufus had hit bottom in Stacy, but still have several inches of dry cock. His thrusts became insistent, relentless. His hips worked like the piston of a steam engine. Stacy 's legs failed wildly at his sides, her toes curled. 

Rufus threw back his head and emitted a loud primal growl and she felt his cock began to jerk in her body as he ejaculated a hot load of his seed deeper into her vagina than she thought possible.

Afterwards, Stacy lay loudly panting, feeling his copious discharge oozing from her battered pussy. She reached down to massage her sore labia, rubbing his semen around like a salve. 

Rufus lay beside her fighting for each breath. His cock was still pointing heavenward, but slowly softening. It throbbed painfully for the large black man and he could not recall a tighter pussy in his life.

Stacy lay on her belly, her chin resting on her hands, studying her lover's body with profound devotion. She began asking him all sorts of questions about himself, where he was born, where he went to school, where he lived. She wanted to know everything about him. 

"Damn, woman! You sure have a lot of questions!" he chuckled.

She smiled. "I just want to hear you, hear your voice. I could listen to you all day."

"Well, I ain't got all day. I gotta get that windmill fixed before dark or they might fire my black ass!"

Stacy rose shakily and began dressing. She was alarmed at the state of her pussy. Where before it was like the cleft in a peach it was now ugly, flared. Her labia now clearly hung down from her vulva, swollen and still painful. 

When Stacy sat in Spark's saddle she squeaked in pain. She could not possibly ride back to the stables, so she walked her horse the several miles back.

Even sitting in her SUV was uncomfortable. She picked up her cell phone and frantically called her gynecologist.

Doctor Helen Greenly was able to see her on short notice. Stacy told her that she had injured herself when her horse jumped over a four-rail fence. Greenly smiled smugly. "I think you might have landed on one of those rails, dear."

"What do you mean, Doctor?"

"I've seen this before, Mrs. Garner. You've been with a fellow much larger than you are used to."

"Oh please! You must keep this a secret!"

"Don't worry. I'm not here to judge, just to get you right. How many times have you been with this man?"

"Just once, this afternoon."

Greenly whistled softly. "Well, he definitely did you up right."

"Will it.... Will I get back to normal?"

"Oh sure, the swelling will go pretty quickly, but there are some internal tears and you may not feel the same afterwards."

"Whatever do you mean," Stacy cried.

"To put it plainly, your vagina has lost some of its snap—permanently. Like after child birth."

Greenly gave Stacy a prescription for pain medication. On the drive home Stacy cursed her own slutty behavior. She had been rutting like a cat in heat and now had altered her body in ways she did not approve of. She would never have that 'Barbie Doll' look down there again. And what of her husband? Surely he will notice the difference his first night home.

That night Stacy inspected her pussy in her bathroom. Much of the swelling had indeed gone down, but it looked like a different woman down there, like some of the pussies she had seen in the shower at the gym. Now, her labia poked out slightly from her mons. Her lips looked purple and bruised. It still caused her discomfort. She had to think of a good excuse if Stanley noticed and said something about it.

She cried herself to sleep.



Stacy's Riding Lesson Ch. 03



Virginia State Senator Stanley Garner thought he would surprise his young wife, Stacy, with a visit. His work in Richmond kept him away from home for days, sometimes weeks.

The trim, athletic thirty-five year old had worked late into the night on a legislative session and had driven all morning to arrive as his estate. He was sporting a semi-erection in anticipation of catching his bride of three years still in bed.

But Jezelle, his eighteen-year-old black maid, told him that his darling wife had already left for the riding stables where she boarded her horse.

Stanley cursed his back luck and poured himself a shot of whiskey. Puffing on a cigar in his study he toyed with the idea of driving out to the stables and surprising Stacy there, but decided against it. He did not like horses and he would run the risk of running into some of his constituents who would bore him with their tales of woe and demands for new laws, or demands for the repeal of laws, or some such rot. And he was tired. 

He went into the kitchen to tell Jezelle that she was going to take a nap and that he should not be disturbed when he found the little black girl bent over, loading the dishwasher. Her firm full rump was stretching the material of her maid uniform provocatively. He grinned and silently watched her buns moving under her dress as the girl hummed some tune. He felt a familiar hunger rise in his loins and his cock began to stir in his boxers.

Skillfully, he ran his hand under the hem of her short skirt and cupped her vulva, nearly lifting the teenager off the floor.

Jezelle squealed in alarm and jumped away from him, pulling her skirt and apron down on her slim, ebony legs.

"Please, Senator Garner!" she exclaimed in panic.

"Just funnin' with ya, Jezelle. No harm in that," he laughed heartedly. 

He studied the young maid. She certainly had filled out the last year. Her long, pointed tits strained against the black material of her uniform; her full, plump nipples clearly tenting on the tips of her breasts. She looked like she had those banana tits he recalled seeing in issues of the National Geographic whenever they had an article on African natives. Probably a thick black bush to boot. He licked his lips at the idea.

Jezelle hung her head in embarrassment and shame, as if she had somehow provoked the Senator's actions. 

"I just wanted to tell you that I am going to take a nap until Stacy returns from her ride. I don't wish to be disturbed—unless you'd like to disturb me more than you already have, Jezelle."

Jezelle just nodded solemnly.

Stripping off his business suit in the master bedroom Garner thought back to his early years. It had always been a tradition in the Garner family for every young Garner male to lose his virginity to a black girl, first slaves, later maids. In fact, Stanley Garner had lost his virginity to Jezelle's own mother, Lola, when he was still a teenager. Lola had only been a year older than he at the time, and very much looked as Jezelle did today. Large, expressive, dark and mysterious eyes, full sensuous lips, a short afro hairdo, wide hips and pointed boobs. Lola had these most remarkable areolas—they projected out in semispherical protuberances and topped with fat nipples as wide as his thumb.

Lola had been an enthusiastic teacher for the lad, so much so that his father had been forced to forbid Stanley from fucking the girl again. Once or twice was acceptable—not once or twice a day for months. Oh, how Lola had cried when Stanley had told her that he could not screw her any more. Poor Lola—she had died three years ago in a traffic accident and had been buried in the old slave cemetery on the estate.

His recollection of Lola has spiked his interest in Jezelle again. Stanley knew his wife would be riding until at least noon, so he had plenty of time. Leaning over in the bed and hit his intercom.

"Jezelle, please come up to the master bedroom a moment," he said.

Within a minute the diminutive black girl cautiously rapt on the door. 

"Come in, Jezelle," he commanded.

She entered the room with her chin on her chest. "Yes'm, Senator?"

"Please close the curtains. It's too bright in here to sleep."

Dutifully, Jezelle yanked the chords that drew the heavy curtains to a close, plunging the room into near blackness.

"Will that be all, Senator?" she asked meekly.

"No, that will not be all, Jezelle. Come closer, let me look at you."

With tiny steps she neared his bed. "Closer," he ordered.

In the half light from his partially opened bedroom door he studied the young woman. 

"You know, your mother and I were great friends, back before you were born."

"Yes'm, she done told me."

"Did she now," he mused, wondering what exactly Jezelle had been told. He decided to take a different approach.

"You've grown to be a fine young lady. Tell me, are you seeing anyone romantically?"

Jezelle began twisting slightly, her hands locked under her firm buttocks. "I been seeing dis boy, but he done joined de army and he be gone now."

"How nice. Were you two...intimate?"

"Intimate? What yo' mean, suh?"

"I mean, did you and he... sleep together? Were you sexual with each other?"

"Oh, Senator! Don't make me talk 'bout such things!"

"It's okay, girl. We are like family here. I am sort of like your father, whoever he was. I don't even think your mama knew who he was, or which one he was. Here, take this. It will relax you."

Stanley grabbed a crystal decanter on is bedside table and poured a generous portion of whisky into a glass and extended it to the girl.

"I don' drink no hard stuff, suh," Jezelle protested.

"Come now, drink up. It will do you some good," he said with a smile. "Drink it now," he added, much more sternly.

Jezelle sipped the amber liquid. She immediately went cross-eyed and began frantically fanning her open mouth with one hand. Stanley chuckled and poured himself a drink. He held it up as a toast, saying, "Here's to our happy little family!"

Jezelle felt obliged to meet his toast and she drank more of the fiery liquid, feeling it smolder in her stomach.

He lifted his glass again. "And here's to good friends!" This time, when Jezelle took a drink he lifted the bottom of her glass, pouring more of the whisky down the girl's throat. She sputtered and coughed, whisky spilling onto her chest.

Miles away, in a secluded meadow, Senator Garners proper wife Stacy was bucking on Rufus' hips as he lay on his blanket. Her head whipped from side to side and she grunted loudly at the feeling of his tall, hard cock buried deep within her belly. His broad calloused hands fondled her trim titties and pinched her hard nipples. Stacy was grinding her hips down on him, twisting her ass from side to side. 

As she had hoped sex with Rufus was becoming easier, and certainly more pleasurable. Her vagina now fit his broad organ like a snug, tailor-made glove. Her cooze had been conditioned to release more lubricating juices and to accept the huge intruder. She was in a frenzy of uncontrolled lust and animalistic cravings. 

Rufus lifted his narrow hips off the blanket to meet her bobbing, sending thrills shooting through her svelte body. 

"Here it come, mama!" he hissed between his clenched, bared teeth.

"Fill me up, daddy! Fill my hot cunt with your negro cum! Fill my slutty pussy!" she screamed.

Afterwards she lay spent, resting her head on his broad chest, her hand lazily twiddling his now-floppy cock. "Did I go okay, Rufus?" she grinned.

"Oh yes. You always do great, Missus Garner."

Her brows knitted, she regarded his satisfied face. "Why do you call me that? Why don't you call me Stacy?"

"Oh, I respect you too much to be so familiar."

"I wish we could lay like this forever, with the sun on our bodies in this field. Wouldn't that be grand? Oh, Rufus, tell me you love me again! Say it for me, please."

"I surely do love you, Missus Garner. I love you and that tight pussy of yours!"

Stacy smiled contentedly. "I wish I was some colored girl. Then we could be together forever. I could give you a house full of colored children and wait on you. Life would be so simple then."

"Yeah, or I could be white, like you."

She paused, considered his words, and said, "No. No, you have to be black."

Jezelle was by now quite tipsy. She giggled incoherently, for no reason. She sat on the edge of Stanley bed as he gently slid her uniform off one of her slender shoulders.

"My boyfriend and me, yeah. We used to tear it up regular. Den dat fool up an' joined de army. Now I'se all alone in dis world."

"You're not alone, Jezelle. I am here for you."

"Yes'm, but yo' is my boss, and I'se yo' maid," she hiccupped.

Stanley continued to slide her uniform down until one dusky tit was exposed. As he had expected, she had a bulbous areola and fat nipple, just as her mother had. He took her plump tit into his mouth and sucked on it noisily. 

Jezelle did not seem to notice, and she went on, "And yo' is a white boy, mister Garner. A white boy o' class an' money. I'se jist a poo' nigger gal."

Stanley garner removed his lips from her long, jutting boob long enough to say, "You needn't be poor, Jezelle. I will see to it that your compensation here will be increased considerably, now that we are such good friends."

She smiled slyly. "How much?"

"Well, I hadn't thought of it. Shall we say double your present salary?"

"Three times it would be better, suh."

"Yes yes. Okay. Three times your present salary," he croaked in desperation.

"And maybe yo' kin get another girl t' help me with all mah chores, Mister Garner? "

"I'll get a maid for you," he sputtered feverishly, trying to work his hand between her tightly clenched thighs.

"And I want ev'ry Sunday off, so I kin go t'services. I be a Christian, Mister Garner."

"Okay, you can have every Sunday off, Jezelle."

She smiled with self-satisfaction and her thighs parted as if driven by powerful springs.

"Oh God yes. . ." Stanley moaned as his hand cupped the wide saddle of her crotch, feeling the pillow of her pantied bush and the rubbery firmness of her pussy lips.

Jezelle opened her mouth in a perfect 'O' and moaned deeply, her body beginning to quiver beneath his touch.

Stanley could feel the heat radiating from the girl's pussy. She slid her simple cotton panties to one side of her pouty mons and began to stroke her damp cunt slit. Her thick bush felt like steel wool on his knuckles.

"Ewww yeah! Dat's it, Mister Garner. Play wit' mah fine black pussy! Make dat kitty purr!" she petite maid gushed.

Garner could stand it no more. He swung out of bed and kneeled between the pretty girl's muscular thighs and buried his face in her steaming crotch. Her musky aroma filled his flaring nostrils and he breathed in her scent deeply, glorifying in its animal power. His stiff tongue found her large, erect clitoris and he eagerly lapped the throbbing button. 

"Oh my, you sho gots da talent fer diss, Mister Garner! You sho'nuff do! Lawdy, you 'bout t' make my silly black head pop!"

She ground her thighs tightly against his burning ears and tilted back on her ass to present herself more fully to the older white man.

"Lick dat pussy!" Jezelle commanded in a lust-thickened voice.

Jezelle fondled her own dangling jugs as Garner administered to her soaking slit. She brought one plump-nippled tit to her full lips and began to suck it, nipping at it gently with her teeth.

When her climax came it was sudden and violent. She grabbed the back of her boss' head and shoved his face deep into her furry crotch, squirming her hips against his nose and tongue. She threw back her head and let out a primal scream that shook the windows of the master bed room. So hard had she pulled Garner's face into her wide twat that he could not breathe, and he began to squirm and fight to come up for air. She held him tight, his efforts to free himself only adding more sensations to her hot womanhood. Pussy juice gushed from her twitching twat lips and soaked into the expensive silk bed covers.

She released her captive only after her orgasm had run its course. He fell back on his ass, gasping and sputtering, fighting to catch his breath. Jezelle fell on her back, he legs dangling over the edge of the bed, twitching and jerking uncontrollably.

At last she rose on her elbows and regarded her boss. His color was returning, and she spied a tent in his pajama pants. She languidly extended a crooked finger and bade him to come to her.

"Lets see what yo' packin' dere, Mister Garner," she said with a devilish grin.

He stood between her parted thighs and she yanked down the waistband of his pajamas. 

Jezelle hid her disappointment. He springy erection was no more than five inches in length, and quite thin. His balls looked small to the girl, and they were held up so tightly on the underside of his cock that they almost merged with his organ. She forced an interested grin and gripped his hard-on with her black fingers. At least it was rock hard, she thought.

"Lets put that sucka' t' work," she cooed.

Garner positioned himself over the winsome maid. She worked his penis and aimed it at her gaping cunt hole. Suddenly his body stiffened and she felt jets of his jizz hit her squarely on her pussy. Garner grunted and his body shuddered, then he fell limply over the young black woman.

"I'm sorry, Jezelle," he muttered, "but you are so damned exciting that I just couldn't hold back."

"Thas okay, Mister Garner. Thas okay."

Jezelle stood up and rearranged her uniform and slid her panty crotch back over her puffy sex. She inspected herself in the full-length mirror in his room to make sure she was presentable.

"Will dat be all, Mister Garner?" she said with a crooked grin.

"Yes, Jezelle. Thank you for all your assistance", Garner mumbled, the side of his face pressed against his bed covers, his bare white ass sticking off the edge of his bed, his knees still on the rug. 

Taking full, proud strides she left the room.

"Glory, child, where you been?" asked mama Tubbs, the Garner mansion chief.

Jezelle smiled smugly. "Oh, I was tucking in Mister Garner. I swear, that man is certainly one licentious lout!"

Tubbs sniffed the air. "Oh, I can tell! You smell like a spilled can of sex, child."

Jezelle sat at the breakfast table and opened her calculus book and began reading. She had a test that week.

Outside, Stacy pulled her SUV to a stop on the long circular driveway in front of the Garner mansion. Her pussy still throbbed from the punishment administered to it by her black buck Rufus. His jizz was still oozing slowly from her yawning cunt and soaking into the crotch of her riding breeches. She hoped she could make it to her bedroom before any of the hired staff noticed.



Stacy's Riding Lesson Ch. 04



Stacy flew across the foyer of her mansion. Along the way he discarded items of her riding attire; her gloves, her cravat, her jacket, letting the pieces fall to the polished marble floor.

"Jezelle," the pretty blond bellowed, "draw my bath!"

"Oh yes'm," she heard her maids voice from some unseen location.

Stacy strolled up the curved stairway to the second floor landing and her master bedroom. She threw open the double doors to her room. Who had shut those curtains, she wondered. She craved the sunlight, lots of it. She violently tugged the chords that opened the curtains, flooding the room with bright afternoon light.

"Hello, Stacy," came a male voice from behind her. She wheeled about to see her husband, Stanley, sitting upright on their broad bed.

Stacy froze in terror. She had not expected Stanley to return from the capital so soon. She had just returned from her afternoon tryst with Rufus and even now the evidence of her infidelity was soaking into the crotch of her riding breeches. Rufus had given her a cream pie that she had not been able to adequately wipe away before redressing at the stables.

"Are you so happy to see me that you are stupefied, dear?" Stanley laughed, throwing back the covers, drinking in the silhouette of his wife against the huge window of their room. He approached her and kissed her gently on her forehead. She could sense the tension in his wife's slim body, but mistook it for excitement.

Stanley was tense too. He knew his wife would be ravenously horny after his long absence. But he felt totally spent after his earlier episode with the pretty black main, Jezelle, and would not be able to accommodate his young wife's certain lust. 

Stacy knew that Stanley would doubtlessly be rutting for a roll beneath the covers with her, and yet she was still wet and sore from her frolic with Rufus less than an hour previously. In addition, she had made a present to Rufus of her thong panties, a trophy of sorts, and she was shy some cotton under her breeches. 

"I am so pleased to see you home...so unexpectedly. What a surprise," she said somewhat too formally.

"Not as much as I am happy to be home, my love," he said in an oddly detached way.

"I must be a fright! I've been riding for hours. I really should bathe immediately, dear."

"Indeed, my dear. You look thoroughly bedraggled."

"Oh, you know... the demands of the gallop can wreak havoc with one's appearance," she replied, studying the ceiling with apparent and sudden interest. "I must have worked my mount into a fine lather today."

"That is quite all right, Stacy. I have been up all night and all morning, and I really must take a short nap."

Stanley returned to his bed and was soon snoring softly. Stacy sat soaking in her bath, reflecting on the morning fireworks with her new lover, Rufus Johnson. Her hand glided over her womanhood and she could feel the changes Rufus had made to her body with his relentless fucking and his huge manhood. Becky was toughly in a state of vexation over what, if anything, she could tell her husband should he notice the changes. Later she relaxed in the large den, sipping a glass of wine and studying the huge portrait of Stanley's ancestor, Confederate General Thaddeus Garner, dressed in his immaculate grey uniform and staring out sternly into the room. Most of the traditions and customs of the Garner family had been started by General Garner. But Stacy knew the revered gentleman was a fraud, a military man who had never heard a shot fired in anger and had never held a military command. He had spent the War of Northern Aggression safely in the Confederate Capital of Richmond as the inspector of this or that department—nothing that ever exposed him to any danger. What a reprobate you were, Stacy mused. But the good general had been the role model of succeeding generations of Garner males.

"He shor be a stately gen'lman, missus," came Jezelle's voice.

Stacy frowned at having the silly black maid tread upon her reverie. "Oh, I do suppose so, in his way, Jezelle," Stacy replied, her voice dripping with annoyance. Jezelle dutifully refilled Stacy's glass. 

"Take care, you silly wench! You've spilled wine on my dress!"

"I shor am sorry, missus Garner! I shor am!"

"Oh! Just leave me in peace!"

"Yessem, I do dat."

Stacy detested the obsequious maid, but could not fathom why. Certainly the maid was inept, but she was quite young and had not fully mastered her craft as a servant. She would doubtlessly improve given time and the right amount of abusive incentive. Perhaps it was the unrefined beauty of the girl that Stacy objected too. Stacy had noticed that the girl's dusky good looks and innocent nature had the male staff licking their lips every time the maid passed them by.

Stacy decided to call her good friend, Peaches Hill, and invite her out for a late lunch. Her own vigorous session with Rufus that morning had left her ravenously hungry.

"Yes, Peaches. I will meet you at the stable club."

Stacy and Peaches sat in the fashionable café at the clubhouse for the stables. Stacy was gazing about hoping to catch sight of her lover, Rufus, but she could not find him. Peaches, a slightly older woman, was all abuzz with the latest gossip. Stacy endured these sessions because she found Peaches amusing in many ways. Her large-busted red-headed friend had gone to the same exclusive women's college as did Stacy, although a year ahead of her, but since they were from the same county they had quickly struck up a close friendship. Poor Peaches! She was in an unhappy loveless marriage to a much older man, a local banker, and so the woman's thoughts often turned to romance...or just plain sex.

A young black waiter sat their salads on the table before the two women. Peaches stopped talking and longingly watched the tight buns of the waiter as he walked away.

"Oh, the scandal!" Stacy said.

"Whatever do you mean, dear friend?" Peaches was a portrait of innocence. 

"I was the way you were looking at that darkie! For shame, woman!' Stacy kept her voice low to avoid the neighboring tables from eavesdropping. 

"It's no sin just to peek!" Peaches said with a crooked smile. She leaned forward and whispered, "They say these negro boys have a much larger wanger than normal men!"

Stacy rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't know about THAT!"

"Nor I. But it is told that they do. I suppose it's from all that running around through the jungle they do... or did... with their parts hanging free."

"I really don't think that is the sort of evolutionary trait that would be passed down from generation to generation, Peaches."

"Oh yes? Then why do they have that kinky hair and the dark skin if not because of the brambles and the relentless African sun?" 

Stacy could not think of an appropriate response so she changed the subject. "Stanley is home from the capital," she said.

"Oh dear! You must be so happy!"

"Yes. I am," Stacy said icily. "Shall we order desert?"

"Oh yes! I am suddenly in the mood for some chocolate!" Peaches said, licking her lips with a devilish grin.

At the Garner mansion Stanley Garner had Jezelle belly-down rump-up on his desk plowing her from behind for all he was worth when the phone on his desk rang. Without hesitation the little black maid picked up the receiver. "Garner Estate," she answered promptly. Her quick abandonment of passion was a bit unnerving to Stanley. "Yes'm, the senator is in, please hol' on a moment," she said, then held the receiver tightly against one bare tit for a respectable length of time and then handed it to Stanley. 

"Yes, this is he," Stanley said.

"Stanley, old man! This is Buford. So glad you are back home. Listen, we need to have a meeting of... our secret society. Can you come to my home at, say, 3 p.m. today?"

"Certainly, Buford. I will be there," Stanley said with a slight air of apprehension. 

Stanley handed the received back to Jezelle, who was mewing contentedly on his polished desk, and she replaced it in the cradle. His thrusts against her backside were sending jelly-like ripples through her firm, wide ass. Her flimsy panties were only slightly pulled down, and his balls were resting on the waistband of her undergarment, raking the elastic with each thrust. Jezelle's long, pointed tits were mashed flat on his desk surface and she was gripping the far edge of the desk with tan-knuckled intensity. The musky scent of her womanhood rose and filled Stanley's nose and added to his ardor. 

He was hammering her backside with a rare determination, his lust fueled by anger at the prospect of an unwanted meeting with Buford. Stanley's teeth were clenched in a mean grimace and he slapped the black woman's ample ass. 

"Oh yas! Slap dat booty, Senator!" Jezelle bellowed.

"You like that, don't you, you black wench!" he grunted.

"Oh yas! I like it rough like dat!"

Stanley gave her rump a matching smack, harder this time, making the girl squeal with delight. Was he mistaken or was his punishment of her ass making her clench her pussy around his cock even more?

The melodic massaging of his shaft in her hot wet snatch forced his premature climax. "Here it comes!" he shouted.

"Fill me up, suh! Fill me wit' yo' hot spunk!" she screamed.

He could feel the pulse of his jizz traveling along the length of his cock and erupting into the girl's quivering gash. He gave a last mighty shove and buried his length into her from behind, pumping furious amounts of his hot semen deep into her innards. The maid's rump was humping back for all she was worth, grinding into his thighs and belly in an up-and-down rhythm. 

Afterwards Jezelle took a wad of tissue from the box on his desk and daubed at her leaking pussy. Stanley slumped in his large leather chair, his wilting pecker resting on his drained nards.

Methodically Jezelle pulled up her delicate panties and readjusted her skirt and apron, buttoning up the front of her uniform.

"Yo' missus is one lucky gal, suh," she said, and left the study, her head held high.

In the kitchen Mama Tubbs, the cook, surveyed Jezelle.

"Don't say a word, Mama," Jezelle cautioned, knowing that the older woman could read the events on her face. "The things I have to do just to keep a job," Jezelle moaned.

"Why do you let that rascal use you like that?" Mama Tubbs groaned.

"He's paying me three times what I am worth, for one thing. And another—it makes me feel sort of powerful, sort of in-charge to screw him like that. I think it is I, rather that he, who is using someone."

"What would your man think if he could see you with that white bastard, missy?"

"Oh, he'll never know. There's no evidence that some soap and water won't cancel. It's not like he's going to damage me, not with that little white pecker of his."

At the stable café Stacy was absently stirring her coffee, listing to Peaches drone on about some real or imagine scandal involving some of their peers. Then she caught sight of Rufus on the road outside the café, driving a quad runner and pulling a trailer loaded with various weapons of agriculture. 

"Please excuse me, Peaches. I need to talk to that darky about my horse's care," she blurted and rose quickly, too quickly, and departed.

Peaches watched through the window as Stacy approached the large black hand. She seemed to be berating him for some transgression, and he stoically listening. But Peaches sensed correctly that it was all an elaborate pantomime, for the benefit of anyone watching the two. The more Peaches studied the two the more she was convinced—they had been sleeping together. There was something sublingual, something in their aura that convinced her. The way Stacy tilted her head just so, the way a slight grin snaked across the black man's face, the way the blonde's hips moved convinced her. Her petite, aristocratic, blue-blooded best friend had been partaking of the forbidden fruit. Peaches rubbed her palms together in the exquisite deliciousness of it all. She was at once happy for her young friend and angry at her for not sharing the graphic details. Something this precious was meant to be shared with the ones closest to you, excepting spouses, or course. 

"I really want to see you again, Rufus, but I need to give my body some time to recover. You've put me through considerable changes, both in anatomy and in emotion, dear boy."

"Yeah, I figured as much, you being a slight white girl and all. And with your hubby home you don't need to advertise our involvement," he offered sympathetically. 

"That doesn't mean I don't want to still see you. I need . . . to see you again . . . soon," she stuttered. 

Rufus gave her a knowing smile. This girl has got it bad, he thought to himself with some satisfaction. "Well, the loft if out. Too many people coming and going from the stables this time of day. Why don't you follow me to the tool shed and we can . . . talk, awhile."

"I could cherish that! Where is this shed?"

"In back of the garage."

"You go there and wait for me, Rufus. I will follow after a respectful time."

Stacy could hardly contain herself as the minutes ticked by. She wanted to sprint to the tool shed, tearing her clothing off along the way, but propriety demanded circumspection. She idly strolled about the grounds, regarding the other riders, while slowly making her way towards the garage and the treasure that awaited her in the shed behind. 

When she had moved beyond the gaze of the riders she moved more quickly, with more of a sense of purpose and urgency. She found the shed and flung it's door open and burst inside. She was in his strong arms and grinding her lips into his, her tongue exploring his mouth. She dug her nails into his jeaned ass and moved her hips against his growing erection. "I've missed you so, Rufus!" she panted.

"We were together just yesterday," he chortled, letting his massive hands knead the flesh of her ass through her sheer riding breeches. 

"It felt like an eternity! How I longed to be in your arms again! I thought I would go mad with desire just thinking of our few moments together," she gasped as she ripped open his shirt and nuzzled his broad muscular chest, nipping gently at his hard nipples. She let her hands fall to his belt buckle and she deftly undid the belt and the strained zipped of his work jeans. She yanked down his pants with a desperate motion and fell to her knees before him. His cock, freed from its denim prison, was rapidly inflating, rising off his massive ball sack and lengthening before her ogling eyes. She watched in raptured awe as it rose to full staff, pointing her at forehead. She grasped the object of her lust with her two tiny fists and buried the purple head as deeply in her mouth as she could manage, moaning uncontrollably. Her tongue worked expertly along its underside, a skill borne not of experience but of the wanton abandon of shameless lust. Rufus threw his head back, drinking in her ministrations, feeling her moans through the turgid flesh of his organ, her slimy, slippery tongue tickling his glans. He gently guided her head back and forth on his manhood with a calloused hand on each temple of the madly sucking woman. 

Stacy removed her mouth from his cock and while brutally stroking him regarded him with curled lips. "You like this, don't you boy? You like having a white woman suck on your big black cock, don't you?"

"I sure like having you suck my cock," he admitted.

"Say it! Say you like having a white woman suck your beautiful cock!" she demanded.

"Yes. I like having a rich white bitch like you sucking my cock!"

She again buried his cock in her mouth and raked it with her teeth, her head twisting on his distended blood-engorged tool. With one hand she cupped one of his canon-ball-like ass cheeks and forced his hips towards her ruddy face, trying to force as much of his cock as she could into her small, delicate mouth. Rufus whinnied like a prize stallion mounting a willing mare, huffing and puffing as his eyes rolled back into their sockets. Stacy could sense his impending climax and she increased her noisy suckage and the working of his cock dramatically until she felt the first surge of hot, thick jism hit the back of her throat. Determined to swallow every precious drop of his spew she began frantically chocking down his choad as quickly as he could deliver it

But the volume was greater than the poor girl had estimated and frothy spurts were soon leaking from around her lips, dribbling down her chin and falling on her starched white riding shirt. Tears flooded her eyes at her defeat and she pulled her head off his cock while it was still shooting, a wad hitting her squarely on the bridge of her pert nose. Another slab of semen landed over her right eye, another on her forehead. 

She could still feel his organ pulsing but there was no more jizz to shoot. She rubbed the rubbery shaft over her face, spreading his sticky ooze around on her cheeks.

"God damn, woman! You are a natural at this!" Rufus sputtered, breathing again.

Her large blue eyes locked on his. "I love you, Rufus. I love your cock. I love having your cum on my face and body," she whispered as if in prayer. 

Stanley Garner arrived at the Buford townhouse in a state of funk. He hated attending these meetings, but it was a social obligation he, and his fathers before him, had to attend from a sense of tradition. The humble black butler showed Stanley to a stately wood-paneled room and shut the double doors behind him. Buford was already seated, along with Banker Hill and six other local dignitaries, all well-known to Stanley. 

"Stanley, my boy! Have a glass of brandy, will you? Gentlemen, we are all present, I suggest we commence the meeting," said Buford, their leader.

As one they all stood and placed their right hands over their hearts and faces a faded confederate flag.

"I pledge of allegiance to the flag

Of the Confederate States of America

And to the Republic that could have been

One nation, under God, divisible 

With liberty and Justice for some.

"I call to meeting this session of our beloved Klavern," Buford began solemnly. "We have two items on the agenda that require immediate attention. First, the white daughter of one of our esteemed local businessmen in in foal from a black man." All eyes turned to member Craven, who was turning purple with rage and embarrassment. "We have been asked to perform our sacred duty as protectors of the white race to rectify this situation."

"Are we going to have a lynching, Buford?" of the members asked expectantly. 

"Whiters, our Klavern hasn't had a lynching since 1925. No, this calls for a more clever, inventive approached. The wronged father has asked us to intercede on his behalf and to persuade the offending negro to do the right thing."

"What's that? Lynch hisself?"

"Not in this case. We want the young man to make an honest woman out of our wounded white daughter and marry her."

"Marry her? Since when did the Klan become a match-making society for miscegenation?"

"Well, it is the request of the aggrieved father in this case."

There was general murmuring around the table at this. 

"Let us table that discussion for the time being, even though time quickly approaches for our cherished white daughter to drop the frog without the sanctity of wedded bliss. Let us discuss a more recent and pressing issue. The lovely and white wife of one of our respected members, Mister Hill, has just this afternoon reported a most profound outrage taking place at the Royal Riding Stables in this very county. A white woman, a wife, has been having a most disgraceful affair with a blackamoor employed by the very same stables. Now, Mrs. Hill will not divulge the identity of the errant wife as yet, but she has identified the offending negro as one Rufus Johnson, age twenty-eight, of this county. Now, this prize buck has been cleaving into the sacred white flesh of our obviously bedeviled sister for an unknown length of time, and this is a case that calls for a much sterner approach, being that the lady in question is married. I am open to suggestions."




Stacy's Riding Lesson Ch. 04



"Why don't we just make 'em marry her, like that other colored boy? We could have a double wedding."

"Be serious, Mark."

"We could send him a threatening letter, harshly worded."

"I know the owner of the stables. I could have the negro fired. That'd teach him."

"Heck, why not just let the air out of his tires, then?"

Buford frowned. He turned to Stanley, "Brother Garner, your wife is a habitué of those riding stables, is she not?"

"Yes, she rides there regular."

"Hmmm. . . I do hate to get our distaff partners involved in this sad business, but do you suppose you could impose on her the duty of doing a little spying for us? To help identify the victim in this matter and to confirm the negro's transgressions?"

"I suppose so. Yes, I am sure she would perform such a function if I asked her to."

"Capital! We should hold off on any rash decision as to what to do in this matter pending Mrs. Garner's full report."

End Part 4