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Carolina's Caper

By: jay.palin



This is a long tale in seven parts, meant to be read at leisure.

Part 1

I was deep in thought as I strode down the hallway to the office restroom, grappling with the morning's problems...the little, unexpected bureaucratic ones that always seem to crop up each day. I was so engrossed that I almost didn't see her, a slim – though very curvy – African-American woman in a tightly fitted light blue sleeveless dress that lent much credit to her dark chocolate complexion. She apparently had seen me, though, and felt compelled to hug the opposite wall to avoid me running into her. She walked daintily...almost on tiptoe, as I blundered on. I looked up just before colliding with her and she murmured, "Hi!" flashing a stunning smile.

"Hi," I mumbled, still preoccupied, until I focused on her. Then I said, "Whoa, Hi! How're you doin' today?" after being struck by her facial beauty...and that of the rest of her. 

"Just fine, thank you," she said, and passed me, continuing to walk sensuously like a cat, her toes seeming to touch the floor first. I spun around after she passed, watching her, and continued walking backward a few paces until I reached the men's john, where I backed into my office mate, Joe, who was coming out the door.

"Whoa, man!" he said, then looked down the hall at the disappearing young woman. He grinned, took a pull on his pipe, and cackled, "So that's what you were looking at! I'm not surprised!"

Joe was just my temporary office mate, a psychologist who'd been instrumental in me getting my job at the institute where he worked. It was late in the year 1970, and I'd recently scored a grant through the U.S. government to train young people from inner city ghettos – "black" youth they were then called – for individual careers, by fast-tracking them through intensive, job-specific programs. I'd allied myself with the institute, and – since I'd brought a large sum of grant money into its think tank – top management was in the process of finding me a permanent office. 

"That was Carolina Brown," he said, leering at me as I got back to the office. 

"So, what's her story?" I asked, turning back to my tasks.

"Master's degree and a Teaching Credential, from Detroit...Wayne State," he responded. "Very bright. Divorced, coupla kids, I hear, staying back there with her mother."

"Nice to look at," I offered, my mind not really on what Joe was saying.

"Careful, son," he said. "She's a power freak. She'll turn you every way but loose."

I looked up and saw that he'd meant what he said, since he'd fixed me with a no-nonsense look that was rare for him, replacing his usual grin with pipe clenched between his teeth. Joe's ancillary job, it seemed, was to gather as much information about the women in the office as he could, and dispense the knowledge to those he favored. Horny old dog, I thought to myself about the married 48-year-old, 18 years my senior. I should talk. My own sex life was lurid enough, since I was obsessed with women, especially the more exotic ones. Minutes later I'd forgotten about his warning...and then Carolina walked in after tapping lightly at the open door. 

"Hi, Joe," she cooed, in a faux sincere tone, and walked in to lean toward him on both hands over the front of his desk. She'd done this before, I sensed, on more than one occasion. My desk faced his, though separated by six feet or so, and was set off at about 45 degrees from his in the big office. 

I returned to my work: detailed recruitment criteria for people who were going to staff my project. Joe and Carolina conversed in hushed tones, no doubt because of my presence. Though I was very busy my mind soon lost its focus on work. My gaze followed the attractive black woman's movements as she bent her knee closest to me, leaving her empty high heel on the carpet while lifting her calf, and began to scratch the back of her other knee with her foot. I watched as the maroon-painted nail of her big toe worried one particularly troublesome spot, her pose spreading the six-inch kick slit on the back of her blue dress. She wore no hosiery, and I was mesmerized by the pale, light tan sole of her well-formed foot. Through the slit I saw that her upper legs were smooth and supple, though well developed – not unlike those of a former athlete – and unblemished in their dark color. 

It was one of those dreamlike instants that a bachelor might muse about in a free moment, when he's kindling fanciful, sensuous feminine images, as opposed to thinking about some rudimentary task during the workday. Regardless, I continued my staring, and followed the line of her thighs up past her high, muscular butt, then up her back to her beauteous profile and her short, straightened hairdo, parted casually in the middle, that ended at her neck. Though I have a good suntan for a white guy, I'm sure I blushed as she caught me undressing her with my eyes and riveted me with a gaze over her left shoulder. Her look indicated that she knew I'd liked what I'd seen. The ensuing silence was deadly as our eyes met, like the second just before a thunderclap. 

"So, this is the new boy wonder!" she exclaimed suddenly, returning her foot to its shoe and then turning her back to Joe, though again grasping the edge of his desk, hands slightly behind her at her sides. Her stance highlighted her high breasts, probably a generous B-cup – maybe larger – protruding nicely over a perfectly flat tummy, and accented her thighs, their slopes gently curved to perfection. It's as if she were posing to give me total visual access, this time to the front of her body. "I'm Carolina Brown," she finally said, taking a couple of steps toward me and extending her hand.

I stood quickly and said, "Umm, Richard, call me Rick." She looked to be about 5'8" in her heels, as opposed to my 6'2".

"Oh, I think it should be 'Dr. Pederson', shouldn't it, 'umm, Richard, call me Rick'?" she said, looking coyly up at me and pointedly making fun of my discomfiture, then scorching me with her large brown eyes.

"That's a...a new title," I said, modestly, referring to my recently conferred doctorate. Then I sat back down.

"Better use it, baby," she said, sounding cynically Machiavellian. "Most of the ol' Ph.D.s around here've never brought in as much money as you have." 

Was that a slam at Joe? I wondered. And how did she know? "Couldn't have done it without these guys," I said, especially for his ears. He didn't appear offended by her remark, but rather was amused, drawing slowly on his pipe and leaning back in his chair, grinning as he watched Carolina toy with me as one would a virgin poker player. 

"Staffed your project yet?" she asked, giving me the impression that she already knew the answer. Apparently the drumbeat had already reverberated throughout the institute about my recent success, and Carolina was merely the first to check the veracity of its message.

"No, I'm just finishing the detailed formula," I said.

"Well, I'd like to see how you're coming," she said. "I've got a half hour at the end of the day. I'll see you at 4:30, okay?" she said, presumptuously.

"Okay," I responded, hesitantly, at her aggressive attitude.

"Bye for now," Carolina trilled, waggling her fingers in the air as she left, walking with that toe-first catlike stride that made her hips and high butt swish softly, forward and back, like two velvet sofa pillows. She walks as if she's fucking, I thought, lewdly. 

At exactly 4:30 she tapped on the door and glided in. Joe had left early, since he was having an ongoing affair with a very attractive, married, Research Associate overseeing his project. Pulling a side chair up to my desk, Carolina faced me. The hem of her blue dress stretched over a taut thigh as she crossed her chocolate legs, swinging the top one languidly in the age-old rhythm that has always driven office-bound males to distraction. "So, tell me about 'the formula'," she said, with an amused look in her flashing eyes.

"Well, as you know – working in a federally funded think tank – I'll need a number of black people as line administrators on the project."

"Got anybody in mind?" she asked, leaning forward and resting her chin on one hand with its index finger pointing upward along her cheek. Her lovely dark, oval face was framed like a pixie with her rather short, shiny black hair. 

"A few," I said. "Grad students I know...and guys I was with in the Army."

"You gonna hire brothas?" she asked, seemingly surprised, using the street term in addition to its accompanying accent. "Ex-G.I.s?" Her large wide eyes had extremely long lashes. Her finely boned nose was narrow and almost aquiline, ending in a tip that she'd inherited from a non-black ancestor. Her elegant ivory teeth shone between her full, pouting lips, on this day tinted with dark pink lipstick. 

As I sat there, drinking her in, I realized the difficulty I was having in keeping my mind on the conversation. "Well, yeah," I said. "They've got leadership experience...and vets are good role models."

"Lemme see your job descriptions," she said, exasperatedly, and got up to walk behind my desk to stand next to me. Her left hip touched my upper arm and I pushed the stack of paper toward her. Her hand touched mine and static electricity from her movement on the carpet caused a palpable spark. "Mmnn, sorry," she said, acknowledging the inadvertent galvanic touch.

I didn't care. Her hip was all that mattered, which she didn't move. If anything, she increased its pressure against my shoulder. I felt her heat. I smelled her sweet fragrance. I also felt my face warming and an erection forming in my pants as she scanned the papers, leafing through them one-by-one. 

"Are you interested in one of the positions?" I asked, stating the obvious next question. 

"Lemme put it this way, sweet cheeks," she said, lapsing into a smooth, southern drawl. "First, I'm already workin' here, which means y'all gotta consider me before lookin' outside. Second, if you're lookin' to hire black vets just 'cuz they're vets, they'll end up ruinin' the project, probably 'cuz o' dope. Third, under this placid, girlish exterior, darlin', there's an experienced educator just waitin' for her big chance...to show you what she can do." Her last statement was punctuated by a quick thrust of her hip against my shoulder...for emphasis. "Furthermore," she said, pulling away to lean a hand on the corner of my desk and articulating her words perfectly, without a trace of an accent, "...our culture is matriarchal. Women run it." At this point her body was forming a long, easy, "S," in a comfortable sideways curve, and facing me from only two feet away as she made her point. I tried to keep my eyes on her face. 

"I know a little about your culture," I said. "But, I hope to do my part in bringing black men back into the family mix, like any good liberal would." I watched for a reaction to this. Her elegant ivory teeth shone slightly between her full pink lips. Her chin was vulpine, with a hint of a cleft. "Since you've shown an interest, though, let me think about it," I said. "These kids, our prospective students, are pretty tough, you know. They could cause you a lot of trouble," I continued, sounding like the archetypal whitey. 

"Let me worry about that," she offered, folding her arms under her breasts. "I can handle any brotha alive," she boasted, spitting out the label contemptuously. I was struck by the apparent antipathy she harbored toward males of her own race as I continued to look at her. The rich, dark brown skin on her face and neck, plus on her bare, lightly muscled arms and hands, had a healthy sheen to it that attested to years of devotion to expensive beauty products. Then she changed the subject: "Incidentally, Nancy – you know, that white girl up in publishing – is havin' a cocktail party on Saturday. You goin'?" she asked.

"Don't know. Hadn't heard about it," I confessed. I was brand new on the job and, though the buzz was out that a new, single, white Ph.D. was in the office – and feminine smiles were easy to come by in the hallways – no one had extended a social hand to me.

"Well, you have now...an' you're goin' with me. Okay?" Carolina asked, watching closely for a hint of hesitation. There was none. I'd never been a racist, and had enjoyed dating women of other ethnic groups for years. Aside from my Asian military experience and university social life, one of my most lustful memories centered on a coffee-colored cheerleader who had entertained me for hours on the back seat of a '54 Chevy one Spring night in high school. This brief flashback, combined with Carolina's beauty and audacity, had put a small but sincere smile on my face. Whether she understood it, I couldn't tell. 

"Sure. Give me your address and number, and I'll pick you up at...what...seven?" I asked.

"Perfect, Rick," Carolina said, relaxing a bit and reverting to being sexy. She wrote down the information and, glancing at her watch, said, "Mmm, gotta go now. See y'all Saturday, sugar," she oozed, sashaying out. I grinned at her southern pronunciation of the word "shug-ahh."

Part 2

The party was a bit stiff. The hostess had gone to a Seven Sisters college in the northeast and there was a sprinkling of those oh-so-proper folks, male and female, who held their wineglasses by their bases as they exchanged cocktail party trivia. Nearly the entire institute staff was there, though, spilling out onto the patio and garden in the unseasonably warm night. And I was kept very busy, meeting them all. Carolina saw to that.

Making no secret of who'd accompanied her, she stuck to me like glue. Picking her – our – spot to stand close to two main intersecting rooms in the concave curve of a small grand piano, she acted the part of secondary hostess or greeter. Most of the guests had to pass close by us. Dressed in blazer and slacks, I looked rather run-of-the-mill. Carolina, however, had prepared herself well. Her legs – long for her height – were clothed in black silk pants, tightly fitted to her outstanding butt and hips, then razor creased down straight, cuffed legs to show bright red painted nails peeking from black, ankle-strap heels. On top she wore a long-sleeved silk blouse with an open neck. Its pattern consisted of black, green and red splashes of color – the hues one associates with sub-Saharan Africa – with a hint of gold.

Her face was a beautician's dream. Perfectly done, very dark red blush on her cheekbones was complemented by a lip gloss of bright red to match her nails. Mascara on her lashes made them look an inch long, and her eyelids were dusted with shadow the same color as the dark blush, with a hint of what looked like gold dust. She wore small gold studs in her ears and a large-linked gold necklace around her dainty neck. The open collar of her blouse drew my eyes constantly to the fine bones of her clavicle. Her appearance was stunning, and was much appreciated by the male guests as the evening wore on.

The women reacted differently. Each time one engaged me in conversation, Carolina would link her arm through mine and press a thigh against me, looking up at me fondly as if I were dispensing the wisdom of an oracle. I was uncomfortable with what seemed to be a cunning motive behind her public show of affection toward me, particularly when she grabbed my hand and stretched up to breathe in my ear, "Gotta go to the ladies' room, Rick. Back soon." She tarried a few seconds more for effect on those around us, batting her lashes against my cheek and smiling as if we were sharing an intimate secret. "Watch out for these horny bitches!" she whispered in breath like honey, and turned to go, lifting my hand up toward her as we separated. 

I continued to socialize, talking to the institute librarian, a slightly overweight white woman in her late twenties whose wine consumption had made it easy for her to ask me: "So, when're you gonna take me to lunch?" As I finessed her bold question, I began to look around for a savior and saw Carolina. She was speaking with some people across the room. She saw the woman hitting on me and beamed, giving me a finger-wiggling wave as she continued her conversation. 

Joe's beautiful, brunette Research Associate, Linda, about 28 – there without her husband – also talked with me for a while. "Enjoy being in the spotlight?" she asked. 

"Is that what this hot, tingly feeling is?" I asked, being openly suggestive with her since she and Joe had used my apartment near the institute for their lunch hour trysts. I leaned down at her and whispered, "I've smelled your perfume on my sheets...more than once." 

"You'd better be careful," she said. "A lot of people are watching you, very closely." Like Carolina, though white, Linda struck me as a very perceptive, ambitious woman on the way up who would do anything to further her career...or the number of notches on her bedpost. 

Joe then stopped by, causing Linda to drift away since she was anxious to avoid her lover's spouse. Joe introduced me to his wife and a couple of other attractive female employees in another department. One was Sarah, a thinly built former Peace Corps volunteer in Kenya who boldly asked me to accompany her to a new museum exhibit in town. The other was Rita, a tall, willowy, large-breasted Native American/Hispanic woman whose penetrating dark-eyed gaze seemed to melt all of my self-conscious defenses. There appeared to be a large population of women on-the-make, who were dying to do much more than meet and merely exchange pleasantries. 

Then, an informally clad young woman in her mid-twenties stepped up to me and introduced herself as Leola. She was dressed in a dark green long-sleeved turtleneck sweater and matching corduroy jeans, both of which were skin tight. Her flawless skin was the color of café au lait, and her figure was breathtaking...as good as any beauty queen. She looked to be a quadroon. She had a short, barely black "natural" hairdo, and light hazel eyes behind glasses with rectangular black plastic frames. She oozed sexual energy and I was immediately taken with her. After a quick biographical exchange, she murmured, "So, when are we going out?"

"Huh?" I asked, dumbly.

"You heard me!" she flashed, slightly more loudly. "If we don't, you'll never know what you're missing!"   

"Uhh...I think maybe...," I said, though was interrupted as Carolina walked to my side and linked arms with me. She'd seen Leola and me meet and, after a few minutes, had extricated herself from her conversation to stride across the room and reclaim me.

"Lee-o-la!" she seethed, her voice dripping with saccharine, potential invective that made me shudder. "You look so slick tonight! Now," she hissed, "you wouldn't be hustlin' my date, would you, li'l sista?"

"Uh-uh, girl," Leola said, breaking her continuing, unblinking look at me through light, feline eyes to acknowledge Carolina with a quick glance. Looking right back at me and flaring her nostrils, she said, "Givin' 'im a li'l sniff. You know how I jus' looove white boys!" 

I felt much like an unattached woman must feel when two horny, alpha men begin parrying over who is going to win the privilege of going home with the catch of the day. "'Scuse me, ladies," I muttered, finally tired of it all, "I've gotta get some air," and left them both to walk outside onto the patio. I lit a cigarette – a habit that I'd not yet broken – and walked toward the totally dark corner of the garden, which was now empty of partying guests. In moments I heard the click of high heels on the patio, then silence as Carolina caught up to me on the grass near the house's adjoining garage. 

"Sorry 'bout that, Rick," she said. "But that high yella bitch an' her friends are always givin' me shit!"

Fed up with the whole game, I groped for a reason to relieve my tension, saying, "It may surprise you, Carolina, but I get really pissed off when I hear racist labels, especially from educated black people!"


Carolina's Caper



She looked at me and gasped in disbelief, uttering a quick, sardonic laugh. "Oh, you do, do you? Well, we can't have that, can we...white boy?" She then wrapped both arms around my neck and climbed my frame to kiss me, surprising me by sticking her long tongue deeply into my mouth. She moaned in her throat as my groping hands traced her breasts, then moved down her back to grasp her ass, which filled my palms with the firm, hot flesh under her silk pants. After a series of fervent, sloppy kisses, she pulled back and whispered, "I want some o' you, Rick," and slipped her hand to my crotch to stroke my growing erection. She then stuck her hand inside her pants, pulled it out, and held it quickly under my nose, filling my nostrils with her wet, musky odor. "Mmmm, an' you wanna give me some, too, huh!" she said, as her fingers slowly drew down my zipper. I stubbed out my cigarette and she gave a delighted squeak as her soft hand pulled my cock through my boxers' fly, running it to and fro on my hardening prick. 

Though it was dark and no one could see us, I looked around for potential witnesses. Seeing none, I was nevertheless nervous, then spied a door leading into the garage a pace away. It was unlocked and I walked through it, drawing Carolina behind me into the room's gloomy depths. I found a nice niche next to an upright freezer, not visible from the door, so that if someone walked in, at least we might escape being caught in flagrante delecto. If the lights came on, however, we'd be...ahh, shiiit, she's got me in her mouth! Carolina had squatted, rather than kneeling, to preserve her pants from dirt and damage, as she began to fellate me. 

"Mmm-hmmm, mmm-hmmm, mmm-hmmm," she moaned as her head moved quickly on and off my dick. "Gimme your juice, baby," she crooned, gasping for air, then went back on me with a vengeance. Then she was quiet for a while, and all I could hear were the soft sounds of her full lips smacking wetly on my tumescent member. But quietude's not a natural state for her, it became eminently clear. She soon began protracted words of encouragement, almost a mantra between mouthings: "C'mon, baby, c'mon...gimme your cum...gimme your cum...gimme your cum," until after about five minutes I felt ready to explode. "C'mon...fuck my mouth...my hot mouth...blow your sweet load...in my mouth, darlin'."

And I did...Gawwd, did I! Each orgasmic pulse poured spunk into her sucking maw, which she swallowed immediately. Her hands worked beautifully, in concert with her lips, as she pulled each blast from me, then dribbles, then droplets, which she voraciously took down to my last gasp of, "Ohhh...ohhh...ohhh...fuck!"

"That should hold you for a while, 'til you get me home, Ricky!" she said, matter-of-factly. I hadn't been called Ricky since I was ten. We straightened our clothing, she visited the bathroom inside, we thanked the hostess, and left. On the way home she sat almost in my lap, stroking my crotch, kissing me, and whispering sexy things wetly in my ear. "Ya' know, I've never blown a black man!" she confessed.

"Why not?" I asked.

"'Cuz they don't like eatin' pussy," she said, stating a prevailing popular tale of the time. "At least my husband didn't, or any of the others I've been with." She watched me for a reaction, then said, "Well...?"

"Not to fear, Carolina," I assured her. "I was raised on it!"

"Ooooh, good, baby," she said, squirming her ass into the car seat. "Hurry up! Drive faster!"

Part 3

Carolina loved cunnilingus. Five minutes after we'd entered her apartment and I'd assured her Doberman Pinscher that I wasn't a burglar, we were undressed and my tongue was lapping at the hot slit nestled between the short, tight ringlets of her pubic batch. All ten of her fingers were woven in my sandy hair, pulling my head gently – though firmly – into her dripping center as I knelt before her. She was sitting back on her red sofa, with one of her spread legs lying flat, and the other bent back widely, supported by her foot on the cushion. As she moaned and murmured enthusiastically, I noticed, curiously, that her nail polish and lipstick matched the color of her couch perfectly. 

I hadn't had the time to fully appreciate her naked body before kneeling between her splayed legs. The feverish speed at which she'd stripped and assisted me in undressing, and her desire for me to eat her, had precluded foreplay. There would be time later to become familiar with her slim, athletic build, I thought. At the moment I was pleasuring her and watching its effects on her flawless face. Gone was the hard, purposeful, "political," look. Replacing it were soft, rapturous features that reflected her rising passion. Her neck was taut – its muscles tensed – and was still ringed by her gold necklace, but her face was relaxed and upturned, with eyes closed and red lips open slightly to reveal pure white upper teeth. A high mewling came from her throat, interspersed with the gasping gibberish of sex. "Oh, baby, yeah, baby, oooh, love it, baby, lick me! Mmmnn, mmmnn, mmmnn...ooh, baby, yeah! Yeah!" she keened, almost non-stop. 

She tasted perhaps one degree shy of sublime, her thick nectar reminding me of a mix of sweet shrimp and peaches, with a dash of pepper thrown in. She leaked profusely, forming an enlarging spot on her sofa cushion, and I sucked at her, conceitedly wanting to show her my talents. I slipped my shoulders under her thighs, splaying her legs further apart, and reached under her taut buns so that my thumbs spread her puffy outer lips – tinged with nearly black skin – revealing her inner pinkness. Her clit stood out, awakened from its hooded slumber, and invited my tongue to flick at it and increase the tempo and trill of her continuous mewling. She released her hold on my head and clutched at the sofa's fabric, grabbing fists full of fabric and using her arms for leverage as her hips began thrusting forward and upward. "Aaangh, aaangh, aaangh," she cried, as her prominent stomach muscles tightened and her thighs began to quiver. 

Then, I began tongue fucking her, digging as deeply into her vagina as I could, while pulling out to lave upward over her pulsing nubbin. And finally she reached her pinnacle, thrusting her cunt up to my mouth and screeching in a high soprano as she threw back her head and released all of that tension...all of that deception and cunning...all of that racially-bred rage. Her climax must have lasted two minutes as I held her trembling torso fast, which I'd manacled with my surrounding arms, until she went limp, still mewling, still gasping. 

The moments of silence seemed to last forever, until she looked down at me with half-open eyes and a placid smile and said, "Oooh, Ricky. You're just...precious!" pulling me up to her and 

kissing my juice-covered face. "Jus' pray-shuss," it sounded like, and she repeated it, just as I guided my rigid cock slowly into her. She was extraordinarily tight, and it took two or three slippery pushes for our loins to fully meet. "Mmm, yeah, baby. You feel so gooood! C'mon up here!" she invited, and we moved sideways so she could recline on the couch. She reached to the back of her knees, opening herself completely to my slippery cock, and I spread my knees, pulling her narrow hips between the open "Y" of my upper thighs. With a modicum of thrusting, both of us could now experience a nice, get-acquainted fuck. 

Carolina wanted to see everything that was happening. "Mmmm, look at us," she said, appreciative of my rigid white prick, shiny with her juices, as it slipped in and out of her black cunt. Her soft hands lay on the top of my upper thighs, pulling ever so gently inward each time I lost myself in her moist depths. Because of the angle, though, she wasn't able to see the appetizing pink of her open, swollen vagina as it clutched at my stirring probe. Even though her head was raised as she watched our fusing, and her tight abdominal muscles rippled as she strained to see, my view was by far the more rewarding. I looked up at her face, her mouth open in concentration and gasping heavily, and marveled again at her beauty...the chancy merging of at least three races. She'd admitted to me earlier that there had been at least one white forebear long ago – a slave owner in South Carolina, from whence came her name. There'd also been a Cherokee Indian woman who had crept into the woodpile before that Native American nation's forced migration to the West during the Nineteenth Century. 

And, regardless of her ambition, political or otherwise, and her serendipitous use of me, I was certainly glad that I was with her on this night. I looked down at her trim body...probably 34C-22-34, I guessed, and reached to cup her chocolate breasts, temptingly upright and firm though she was on her back. Their aureoles were the size of a half-dollar and were, like their thimble-sized nipples, almost pure black. Their flesh was solid and yielding, not at all fat. The daintiness of her small, curvy frame filled me with a momentary feeling of savagery as I nearly submitted to an impulse to grasp her willowy body and crush it to myself, viciously feeling her bones yield to my much greater strength. But, my violent, almost retributive, mood was interrupted by her gorgeous mouth again. Her lips – now nearly devoid of lipstick – were open in a pleading "O" as her head lolled back and her face took on the blissful cast of another impending orgasm. As her excitement grew, she began pealing sounds and words that were very flattering. 

"Oh, Ricky...I knew it!" she whimpered. "I knew you'd be goood!" Then she got more guttural, rasping, "Yeah...yeah...yeah...ooh...fuck...fuck...fuck...ooh...yeah...baby," as I began whipping into her faster, taking deep strokes that were stopped only by her cervix. Looking me directly in the eyes, she raised her upper back and shoulders off the cushions, propping herself up on her elbows, and began to knead her breasts, rolling and pinching her nipples between fingers and thumbs while she thrust her pelvis up to meet mine. In a few moments I heard her breath catch in her throat, and felt her vagina tighten on me, fluttering around my probe as it parted her folds, and she climaxed again, this time very quietly, save for high, intermittent squeaks emanating from her constricted throat. Taking that as a signal, I lowered myself to hold her in my arms and our mouths met in a searing, tongue-lashing kiss. She then screamed into me and began a lightning-fast thrusting, throwing her vulva up to me with such rapidity that I couldn't possibly maintain her pace. She came...and came...and came, disengaging from our kiss and screaming my name, "Riiiiiiickeeeey," until finally wearing herself out from her thrashing. She lay languorous and passive in my arms for minutes as her lungs struggled to cease their spasming gasps.

After a few minutes I asked, "Were you a jock? An athlete? At one time?" partially trying to hide the fact that I hadn't cum. 

"Mmmm-hmmm," she murmured. "Ran track in high school...and a little in college. My uncle was my coach," she said. "He also took my cherry...when I was a young teenager," she confessed, bitterly, shocking me into silence as my white liberal mind mulled over the consequence. She noticed my stillness and, embarrassed, said, "I'm sorry! What kind of hostess am I?" as we disengaged, my still-erect dick pulling from her slick pussy with a slish. "Want a drink? Bourbon okay?" She pronounced it "buhh-bun," and I loved it. She started to get up and crumpled back onto the couch, saying, "Wow, I'm a little wobbly. Could you get it, sugar? It's in the kitchen cupboard with glasses. There's plenty of ice." 

Carolina giggled softly as my cock pointed my way to the kitchen. While pouring the whiskey, I pondered the possible ramifications of nailing a fellow employee, particularly a black woman, given my position as a white boss on a black-focused project. But that thought was put on hold as I re-entered the living room. Carolina had gotten to her knees, sticking her beautiful ass in the air, and was resting her head on her arms which lay crossed on the sofa. Her soft black eyes pierced me from behind her mile-long lashes as I walked toward her, my rod now hanging at half-mast. "Can I have a sip?" she asked, making it sound like "see-up." I handed her the glass and she raised her head slightly to taste the drink. She handed it back, thanked me, and I took a long pull, relishing its sweet, burning taste. I was standing close to the sofa and felt her stroke my thigh, then reach to caress my softened prick with her smooth hand. "Ricky, darlin', will you...will you do me like this? I really love it from behind." She then raised her head again and, looking me straight in the eye, palmed my dick and stuck out her long pink tongue to lick around the glans, teasing the coronal ridge and swallowing a bit of her thick juice that had congealed behind it. "Huh-aahhh?" she asked again, now tickling me to hardness with her encircling tongue. "I need it. I...need...you, baby," she whispered, with some hesitance, it seemed. 

I set the glass down and moved behind her, positioning myself between her spread knees. She was too low, so I grabbed two pillows and she knelt on them, proffering both of her holes to me. Her hard, muscular butt was a delight to feel, and I reveled in its tight, muscular striations. Her little black anus looked inviting, but her quim – with its prominent black lips and dripping, pink inner lining – was too appetizing to resist. Her narrow, chocolate, vee-shaped back with its vertical spinal muscles drew forth visions of Dark Age conquests from my Viking gene pool as I grasped the curve of her hips. "You want this?" I murmured, teasing her pussy with my purple cock head. It made soft, liquid, squishy sounds as her buttocks trembled in my hands.

"Ohhh...Gawwd...yeah, Ricky! Jeezus! Cum in me!" she demanded. "I wanna feel your hot, white cum inside!"

"Shhhh...shhhh," I whispered, teasing her further, then inserting myself an inch to pull out, then another, then yet another, withdrawing my probe quickly to increase her hunger. Then, cruelly, I asked, "Gonna stop being a racist?" as I thrust more deeply, at which she groaned my name. "Huh?" I asked again as I gored her more deeply, which was met with a prolonged groan, ending in a whimper. "I'll fuck you any way you want, Carolina...but you've gotta be nice! No more racist bullshit!" I growled, and began taking long, slow plunges into her, making sure I grazed her G Spot each time I entered, until my hips smacked loudly against her dusky globes. 

She held her head high, craning her neck upward, as I anchored myself to her, nearly encircling her small waist with my large hands. And I twisted her saddle lewdly as I rode it, stirring her inside each time my pale dick disappeared into her clasping chocolate pussy. "UNHnnn, UNHnnn, UNHnnn," she keened constantly as our fusing increased its tempo. "UNHnnn, UNHnnn, UNH," she continued, as her head began circular thrashing motions as if to lend impetus to her backward thrusts. 

In this position Carolina abandoned herself totally to sensation. No words were spoken. She uttered only feral grunts, groans and moans. And those had an effect on me, as I lost myself to our animal coupling. I was sweating now, splashing drops of perspiration from my forehead and nose onto her flawless backside, which gave our slapping bodies a sensuous lubricant worthy of two Olympian lovers. And, again she was there...cumming...this time falling forward onto her front, with me following her to continue my drilling. I reached under her to diddle her clit as I continued plunging, causing her to scream and tremble. Determined to keep her going, I licked my thumb and quickly wormed it onto her ass, which caused another cry from her as I felt my cock plundering her through the thin membrane between her two holes. 

Suddenly, with little forewarning, I was cumming into her, causing from her a brief, delighted yelp and a series of sucking vaginal movements around my embedded prick. Perversely, I withdrew my thumb from her anus and plugged myself into her partially open asshole. For an instant she recoiled, then – as if thinking better of it – pushed her butt up to me and relaxed her bung, allowing me to spill the remainder of my load deeply into her colon. We lay fused that way, gasping, until normal breathing returned and we fell into a sweet afterglow. I kissed and licked her from the nape of her neck down to her butt, causing her to mewl in delight...until I bit her soundly on one butt cheek.

"Owww! Get yo' white ass offa me!" she trilled, wiggling from my grasp and turning toward me. Then I saw her smile and her eyes soften. "What am I gonna do with you?" she asked tenderly, and leaned up to kiss me softly. I turned and sat back on the couch, stretching my legs out in front of me, and grabbed my glass of bourbon, now warm and devoid of ice. 

"You could get me a fresh drink," I said. She got up, taking the glass from me, and tiptoed to the kitchen with her incomparable walk. Naked, her body seemed to swivel around a horizontally floating internal axis at the base of her spine like a black, coiled spring. My God, she was sexy! I'd seen very few women in my life as profoundly feminine as she. 

"Oops," she said, hunching her shoulders and covering her mouth with an embarrassed hand as she grinned back at me. "You're runnin' out of me," she giggled, and – sure enough – there were a couple of streams of my cum shining down her inner thighs as she stepped from the room.

Returning with the drink, she said, "I'm gonna freshen up, darlin'. Don't go anywhere," and disappeared into the bathroom. She emerged, wearing a white terrycloth robe and fresh lipstick to kneel on the floor between my legs. "Y'all gonna get married...someday?" she asked.

"I was once, for a couple of years," I answered. "But, I couldn't keep my fly zipped. I don't want any kids anyway, and that's the only reason to get married," I pronounced, "until maybe I'm old."

"Hmm...I got two kids," she said, bringing it up for the first time. "Can't have any more. I might get married again, though, 'cept good men are so hard to find."

I'd seen her small hysterectomy scar but had avoided bringing it up. "Yeah...most of us are insensitive pigs," I said, truthfully.

"A few are okay," she said, "like you," she said, scooching forward on her knees and laying her forearms on my spread thighs. "Ya know," she said, changing the subject, "you got a real nice thing," and reached to cradle my deflated "thaang" in her hands. "It's nice 'n' looong...'n' thiiick...'n' it's got this beautiful head...kinda like a big plum when it's hard." She was moving her hand very slowly up and down my rising cock, almost in time with her sensuous murmuring.

Embarrassed by her compliments, since in the Army I'd seen some black cocks that were truly enviable, I said, "Mmm...seems to do the job."

"Y'all still don't get it, do you," she said, seeing through my uneasiness. "The best thing about a cock is the guy it's attached to." At that she stretched her mouth open over my "plum," and with a serious look in her eyes, slobbered all over me for a few seconds, squeezing the head by swallowing and working the muscles in the back of her mouth. She pulled off and jacked me with a few strokes, saying, "I love your stuff, Rick...your cum. When I tasted you at Nancy's I almost came in my pants."

"Ahh, you're too easy," I said, jokingly, wondering if her flattery was a setup for something. 

"Listen, muthafucka, I'm anything but easy," she bristled. "I've been in California four whole months now and you're the first man I've had."

"Well, then, you must be pretty horny," I said. "C'mon up here," and I pulled her up to straddle my thighs, parting her robe and peeling it off of her shoulders. Her sweet mouth had gotten me up again, and I needed some more of her.




Carolina's Caper



She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and kissed me deeply with toothpaste-freshened breath, as my hand poised my cock at her wet opening. Trembling, she seated herself down on me, gasping as she did so. "You've been with...black women before...huh...sugar," she said.

"Mmm...best pussy in the world," I muttered, exaggerating the truth to flatter her.

"Now who's bein' racist?" she asked, pulling from me to search my eyes, though not stopping her slow vertical movements. 

"Hey, scratch any American...regardless of color...and underneath you'll...find a racist," I said, haltingly, since she was flexing her inner muscles around me as she rose from my loins. "That doesn't mean...we can't...respect each other." 

"Mmmm, I looove fuckin' you, Ricky. Not many guys are as idealistic as you, at the same time bein' as smart," she flattered. "'Course, not many girls are as sharp 'n' sexy as me, either!"

"Listen, let's talk about you and your job skills later," I said, snickering. "I'm gonna get up now," I warned, starting to rise off the sofa. 

"Can I come with you?" she asked, her eyes shining humorously.

"I fully expect you to cum with me, woman!" I barked with double entendre, and rose to my feet as she encircled my buns with her legs.

She giggled as I rose to my feet, bringing her up with me.

"I'm not going anywhere. I just wanted to stand up!" I said. "Loosen your legs and stand on the edge of the sofa," which she did, and we fucked like that for ten minutes, with my arms around her waist. I pulled her onto my cock roughly, with her squirming and clawing at me, until once again she shrieked in orgasm. We lay back down, my legs tingling from the strain, and as she was recovering on her front she languorously rolled her luscious butt back and forth at me, inviting me to take her ass. I did, with alacrity, since she'd lubricated it liberally with lotion while in the bathroom. Before I left Carolina, I spent my last load of the evening far up in the dark recesses of her bowels. I arrived home – in the middle of the night – a very happy man.

Part 4

"Why did you come to the party with her? And then you hired her!" huffed Gail a few weeks later, speaking of Carolina, as she sat in front of my desk in an armchair. Gail was one of the institute's gossip mongers that I'd met at the cocktail party. My office mate, Joe, had forewarned me about this one, a tall, statuesque though vindictive brunette who dabbled in community theatre as an actress in off hours. Her praise for anyone seemed quite limited.

"Because she asked me," I said, "and, I must say, I enjoyed her company!" I wanted to see if Gail were merely nosey or if she was a white, racist bitch.

"Well, there are dozens of women who...," she said, but was interrupted by me.

"Gail, I try to make it a policy not to socialize with fellow employees," I said. "But I'm new here, and needed an escort to my first office social function. Carolina asked me...so I went."

"Yeah, but...," Gail said in a lowered voice, "she's so political!, so dogmatic!" And at that she raised both of her shapely, nylon-clad legs and placed them on the outer corner of my desk. I almost laughed outright at the blatant display of her thighs under her short skirt...which met fetchingly a bit further up, their nexus covered by brief, black panties. "I mean, you're a...a dandy guy and, well...I could've fixed you up." "Dandy" was the sort of adjective my parents had used when I was growing up. She said this with a finger at the corner of her full mouth. There was entirely too much saliva pooled behind her lower lip. She reminded me of a female Praying Mantis, having just finished coitus, that was drooling in anticipation of devouring its sated mate.

By this time I'd gotten my own office, but I was in the habit of leaving the door open in the afternoons, since the sun turned it into a hothouse, given the old building's lack of air conditioning. As a result, uninvited visitors dropped by constantly. Leola dropped in periodically to hit on me. And others – Sarah, Rita and Linda – regularly came by to talk at length. It was a bachelor's paradise, I thought, yet I soon fully understood the lack of productivity involved in government programs. In a business setting, such time wasting wouldn't be tolerated. 

I had hired Carolina, a fact for which Gail was now berating me. But, to her credit, the black beauty remained on her best behavior publicly while working with me on the project. During the day, of course, she made liberal use of the phone, calling me and whispering sexy things she was going to do to me in the evening. She did this even in the presence of her secretary. And, though I was naïve enough to think our affair was secret, I began to suspect that the rumor mill was working at peak efficiency.

On the project, Carolina was very demanding. As earlier planned, I'd hired several black veterans, all of whom were good with the students; but few were very proficient at lesson planning. She was placed in charge of that critical project component, a fact that angered Gail. But, I thought Carolina's classroom experience – and Masters degree – made her a natural for the job, since Uncle Sam required detailed documentation...and getting the follow-on grant for Phase 2 of the project depended on it. 

I heard criticism from many. Carolina denigrated the black male staff. "Those idiots think writin' is something you do with a two-inch pencil on the back of an envelope." The staff guys complained of her imperious behavior and – without saying it openly – likened her to the stereotype of an overbearing white bitch. Those few weeks were pretty demanding, and I ended up working a lot of evenings...those on which I wasn't fucking Carolina.

"I appreciate your concern about the political nature of our work," I said to Gail, looking at my watch – six o'clock! – and hoping that she would lower her legs and let me get back to work. 

This was especially the case since Linda suddenly appeared at my open door, tapped, and asked, "Is it a bad time for our meeting? I could come back." She'd intentionally broken into my talk with Gail, since I hadn't had a meeting scheduled with her at all.

I gave Gail's legs one final glance and started shuffling papers, saying, "If you'll excuse me, I've got to speak with Linda."

Gail left, closing my door soundly, with me feeling ambivalent about being alone with Linda after working hours. "Thanks for rescuing me," I said to Joe's adulterous girl friend.

"You looked a little uncomfortable," Linda said. "I told you weeks ago that you'd better be careful. I should've warned you to choose your friends more carefully." Grabbing my mug, she said, "I'll get you a cup of coffee," and left the office, her luscious thighs whispering against one another, barely covered by yet another of her collection of tight, ultra-short dresses, this one of a maroon color. When she returned with my brew, she closed the door softly, put down my mug, and sat on the near corner of my desk...on one butt cheek, with her legs slightly parted. 

Linda was about 5'2", 105 pounds, with an outrageous, 34C-22-34 body. Her legs were curvy, soft, and delicious looking without pantyhose. Her dark brown hair, groomed with several hundred brush strokes per day, reached to the middle of her back. The day's last rays of sunlight, shining through my westward facing office window, picked up very dark auburn highlights that contrasted with her green eyes and shone on her full, glistening lips. Her bust line strained at the buttons covering it. As stunning as she was, I had to remind myself that she was a respected professional at the institute, not just another marginally educated bimbo like many of the other women. At least I believed this until she reached down between her legs and pulled out one of my desk drawers so she could hang a low heel on it and relax her leg. I looked up and asked, "Working late tonight?"

"Yeah, with my husband school," she answered, "he's at the library every night 'til late, and working is a good way to spend my extra time." 

Right, I thought. You've got to make up for those long lunch hours, fucking my friend Joe in my apartment. "I'm glad I wasn't married when I was in grad school," I said. "Having only the female spouse support the household can strain a marriage." 

"Mm-hmm," she agreed, opening her propped leg further from the other, which was rooted to the carpet. It was at that moment that I detected her musky odor, causing my pulse rate to increase. Leaning slightly forward and looking into the sunset, she shaded her eyes with her hand and said, "You know, last night I had the filthiest dream about you."

My heart was beating so rapidly I wasn't sure I heard her correctly. I asked, "Uhhh, what?"

"I dreamt that we fucked for hours," she confessed softly, then dropped her hand and looked directly at me, "...in the most obscene manner imaginable."

"Whuh, that's nice," I gasped. Recovering, I asked, "But, what about Joe?" yet I was also thinking about the rumored married guy that she'd had a fling with before taking up with my friend...a guy who'd been fired for some unknown reason. 

"That's over," she said with finality. "Joe's not very adventurous." She didn't seem to care that I knew about her affairs. 

"Well, Linda, from what I've heard, you usually stick with married men," I said, directly. "It's dangerous for a woman in your position to mess around with a single guy...who has little to lose when things go awry."

"I'll take my chances," she countered. "C'mon, let's fuck...right here," she whispered. "I know, and you know, that you want me. I've seen you undress me with your eyes...more than once."

"That's a nasty habit of mine!" I blustered, starting to light a cigarette. She took it from me and broke it in half, rising and stepping between my knees as I sat. 

"C'mon, Rick, don't lecture me about having nothing to lose," she murmured, leaning her hands on my chair arms and kissing lightly down my jaw as her eyelashes fluttered against my cheek. "I know who you're fucking, and it could cause a big stink if the director found out. You've got a sensitive project...a pilot program for the whole country. An interracial affair with a staff member is very high risk."

She was speaking of Carolina, obviously, and the big boss of the institute, Dr. Hammersmith. My groin pulsed with blood as she pulled my head toward her and attacked my mouth, reaming her tongue into it. "Linda! It's too dangerous here!" I gasped.

"Wanna go up on the roof, then, bad boy?" she cooed, kissing me deeply again and stroking my erect prick, which was stretching skyward in my pants. She then grabbed my hand and stuck it under her dress. She wasn't wearing any panties! And her full, curly bush was sopping wet! "Mmmnn, yeah," she moaned in her throat as my fingers stroked at her swollen pussy. The entire office stank of her rich, fecund smell.

And I was lost, as I usually am when my pants are open and a woman is stroking my erect cock. I stood, and as she was stripping my tie from my neck while I was unbuttoning the top of her dress, we were moving toward an armless chair at the side of my desk. By the time I'd sat in the chair I had the top of her dress pulled down, her bra off, and one of her tits in my mouth, while I roughly groped the other one. "Alright, Linda, goddammit," I rasped at her, "...c'mon...I'll fuck you 'til you're ragged!"

But Linda was one disciplined lady. She said, "Easy...easy, big fella. First, let me get a good look at you." And, she was on me quickly with her wide, full-lipped mouth, dropping to her knees before me like a crazed whore I'd known in Bangkok. She sucked and moaned with such enthusiasm that I grabbed the chair's seat at my sides, gritted my teeth, lifted my face toward the ceiling and held my breath. She devoured my cock to the balls with long, quick plunges, breathing without pause. When my eyes opened after about a minute, I saw her hand flicking from side to side under her dress. She began to mewl, her hand took on measured strokes, and her head stopped its rapid bobbing. She then throated me slowly perhaps a dozen times, my glans stretching her tightening gullet muscles, until I knew the moment to fuck was near. "Okay, Rick," she panted, "...make my dream come true!" She spoke these words through strings of saliva and mucous that spanned the distance between her mouth and the end of my rampant hard-on, as she stood to straddle my thighs. 

I'd been told by Joe that Linda was a fantastic fuck, but I had no idea of the raw truth of that claim until the next couple of hours or so had elapsed. "Sit down on me!" I growled, wanting to exert some control over her as I stirred her wet, smacking pussy lips with my cock head.

Instead, she teased me, revolving her hips in a flat circle so that her drooling gash titillated my glans, causing me to groan out of frustration. She continued her slow equatorial movements as she looked down at me, heavy-lidded green eyes smoldering behind long, dark brown lashes. Her hands were busy unbuttoning my shirt, which she pulled backward off my shoulders to bare my chest as my mouth and hands nibbled and squeezed at her fulsome breasts. 

"You want me?" she gasped, her upper torso and face flushed with rising desire. "Huh? Wanna fuck me?"

Here was a woman of singular purpose, yet one who knew how to prolong the sweet agony of anticipating that moment when the sex organs of a couple mesh for the first time. She's probably done this dozens of times with men, I thought, as I groaned deeply in my throat, hungering to feel her steamy insides clasped around me. And she probably would have continued if I hadn't dropped my hands from her breasts and grasped her hips. "Aaaanngh!" we both cried together, as I pushed Linda down onto me to my balls.

"Ooh...ooh...ooh...Gawd...Rick!" she whimpered, as we writhed against one another, her cunt slipping up and down on my cock no more than an inch or two at a time. It was so damned good, and she was so tight and wet, that my hands abandoned her hips, and once again I began to squeeze her tits and nibble at her nipples with my lips stretched over my teeth. For perhaps a minute she threw her head back as I continued working at her breasts, making high keening sounds in her throat. Then she lowered her head and tightened her arms around my neck to grunt softly into my mouth, tonguing me each time our loins rolled against those of the other. For many minutes we fucked, with her thrusting her hips forward and backward – hardly moving vertically at all – and grinding her clit against my belly. 

I wanted this to be good for her, too. She was a powerful woman in the institute...not a boss, yet one of its earliest employees, with a well-respected mind. My ego, therefore, drove me to perform well, plus – in the back of my mind – I sensed that if I disappointed her, my future at the institute could be compromised. So, when she came the first time we were both pleased. She showed it by screaming into my mouth, muffling any sound for a full minute, as her small, fleshy body froze, then contorted...froze, then contorted...in her trembling rush to orgasm and its following descent. Already knowing the answer to the question, I whispered in her ear, "Like that, baby? Want some more?"

"Ooo-hoo-hoo...Rick...it's good...this way...with you," she gasped, and then started to moan as I reached around her to grasp a buttock in each hand and lift her on and off of me perhaps six inches at a time. Each time her spread thighs met mine on the down stroke, they slapped together, aided by our perspiration by this time, which was flowing freely from our faces to course down between our respective fronts to mingle with her juices. "Yeah...yeah...yeah...yeah...I want...a lot...more," she rasped, as my rampant cock bottomed out incessantly at her cervix.

Neither of us heard my office door open, and I couldn't see it since my back was to it. The first indication that something was amiss was my feeling Linda's vagina squeeze my cock with a sudden spasm, as if I'd been caught in a vice. She'd stopped her plunging onto me and sat immobile in a spread eagle over my thighs with my pulsing prick still in her. Her arms were still around my neck, but she was looking over my shoulder at someone standing in the doorway. I quickly glanced in that direction, and my eyes met those of Carolina who – after three seconds – spun on her heel and stalked away, I assumed toward the lobby elevators. "Shit!" I yelled. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

A very cool Linda put her hands on each side of my face and admonished, "Stop it, Rick! Who's she gonna tell? And what's she gonna say? That she caught me fucking her lover?" Her self-satisfied smile showed not a trace of embarrassment, guilt or remorse. "Now, c'mon. I'm gonna get up and lock the door, and we're gonna get back to what we were doing!" 

I was surprised at her total lack of panic, and I missed her luscious body as she rose from me and I stripped off the rest of my clothing. She, too, shed her loosened bra, and her dress, since it was hanging from its closure at her waist. Returning to me, she pulled my face to hers for a kiss, her right hand behind my neck, and with her left, she jacked me off slowly, though that was unnecessary given my near-bursting erection. With one hand I swept aside the papers littering my desk, and turned Linda to bend over it. "Put your leg on the desk," I growled excitedly, lifting one knee to spread her and elevate her slightly. Her magnificent, round ivory ass was now before me, with its little pink rectal star looking very tempting. But it was her incredibly wet cunt that I wanted more of, with its pouting inner lips beckoning moistly to my turgid cock. 

I was in her again, this time roughly, taking full deep strokes and causing her to groan sharply with each plunge. I was angry with Carolina...more at her presumptions than anything else. I was also angry with myself for having succumbed to this manipulative, married trollop whose professional reputation, it seemed, continually excused her from violating conventional norms. 

So, feeling every bit the pawn in a chess game at that moment, I directed my fury at Linda's flesh. "Unh...unh, unh, unh...Jee-zus...unh...ohh...ohh...ohh...Riii-iick...unh...yeah...fuck...me...yeah, uhh, uhh," she grunted as I pounded at her. I purposefully drilled at her G Spot, feeling its rough surface against my slick glans as I hammered at her. I gripped her hips, digging my fingers into her soft flesh, as I lifted her knee off the desk with my feral drilling. My thighs thwopped against hers in a rapid rhythm and sweat dripped onto her upturned butt as I gored her. And, soon she was there again, this time uttering a clear, piercing scream that could have been heard two floors away. But I didn't care. If I were going to go down in flames, this would be the way to do it, I thought, insanely. 

Before Linda left about ten p.m., walking very gingerly, I'd taken her ass – somewhat hesitantly on her part – and had filled her with cum, once in her cunt and once in her mouth, both times as she lay on my desk. I dressed and fell asleep, laying my head on my arms that were folded on my well-used work surface. 

The jangling phone woke me from a sound sleep as I drooled on my forearm. My desk lamp was on and my watch said 11:30. It was Carolina.

"Was it good?" she asked. "Can that li'l white ho-bitch fuck as good as me?"

"Umm,Carolina, I...", I said.

"Don't gimme that 'Umm, Care-oh-lina' shit!" she interrupted, making fun of my Yankee pronunciation. "I been sittin' here at home cryin' my eyes out for three hours, 'til I realized, I'm cryin' over a white boy who'll never care 'bout me...'cept for some hot black booty to fuck!"




Carolina's Caper



"I'm sorry...truly, truly sorry," I anguished, meaning what I said and realizing that this probably would have happened sometime anyway. I'd just hoped we could've lasted for more than a few weeks, before I'd been caught with my hand...my dick!...in the cookie jar.

That must've struck a chord, because Carolina began to sob. "Aww, Rickeeey! I told you once I needed you. An' you were so good...not just in bed but on the job. An' I felt like I was bein' appreciated for my mind...and my humor...and my...".

I interrupted, "But you are! I appreciate you more than you'll ever know! But I can't be faithful to anyone! I just don't seem to have it in me!" 

"I wanta be with you again," she said evenly. "Tonight's impossible. You smell like her an' I couldn't stand that. Maybe tomorrow evenin'...on your desk!"

I figured that I owed her something, egotistical bastard that I am. "How about dinner tomorrow night, then we'll go to your place," I suggested, with forced magnanimity.

"Mmm, okay, darlin'," she conceded. "See you in the mornin'...an' Ricky...you'll understand why I'm gonna be a touch cold."

"Sure, baby, you're entitled," I said, and we hung up.

The next day, Friday, went by and Carolina was very distant from me at the office. Then we went to dinner and, afterward, spent an absolutely exhausting night fucking. I crept out of her place at dawn, with her hanging on me, crying that I hadn't given her a chance to prove herself. In retrospect, I've never felt more self-loathing than I did then, having hurt her in the particular way that I had. 

Monday Carolina called in sick, complaining of stomach cramps. Tuesday and Wednesday it was the same story. Though I'd called her each day, on Friday she told me that she was leaving the project and the institute...going back to Detroit...to reunite with her kids.

Part 5

"Dr. Pederson, this is John Hammersmith," the voice said on the other end of the phone. I'd only met the institute director once, when I'd brought in the grant money. Why was he calling? "Could you come up to my office, please?" he asked.

Hammersmith's office was one floor up, so I took the stairs. On the way up I ran into Linda, who was coming down. "Hi, cutie," she whispered, looking around to see if she'd been heard. I squeezed her hand as we passed one another. 

"Rick! Can I call you Rick?" the director asked.

"Yes, sir, please," I responded, wondering why I was being called on the carpet.

"I got a call from Congressman Walt Frementz, whose district encompasses central Detroit," he stated. "One of his constituents, Carolina Brown – who worked for us 'til last week – told him that you'd been...uhh...fraternizing with her while she worked on your project."

"Yes, sir, but...," I started to say, though was interrupted by Hammersmith. I was profoundly disappointed that Carolina had ratted on me in such a Machiavellian fashion. 

"Hear me out, Rick," the director said. "And relax! Want some coffee?"

"Uhh, no thanks, I'm coffee'd out," I said. 

"Now, Rick. You probably know that Frementz is on a special House Committee overseeing government-funded education projects," he said. On hearing this, my world started looking exceedingly bleak and, like any grad student worth his salt, I began to formulate an objection and started to speak. Hammersmith stopped me with a raised hand. "Yours, in particular, is a model worthy of replication nationwide. Aside from that, it means millions in the institute's coffers over the next few years."

"I fully intend to replicate it," I said, "...and become a program director here at the institute."

"Good!" he said, slapping his hand on his desk. "That's what I told Walt, uhh, Congressman Frementz. And, Rick, I know you're a young, bright, good-looking guy – God knows, when I was your age I was takin' 'em on two at a time! – but be real careful with the women here. Most of 'em are lonely, hungry in more ways than one, and just itching to waltz away with a man who has a bright future." He said this with a horny glint in his eyes.

"I've gotten that impression," I said.

"I'm sure you have," he said almost under his breath. "Oh, by the way, you've got a real friend at court – Linda, you know who I mean, our clinical psych guru – who's told me all about Carolina Brown chasing you until you caught her," he said, with flint in his eye and brimstone in his voice. 

"Is that all, sir?" I asked.

"That'll do it, son," he said. "Keep your powder dry and your pen...barely moist with the company ink. I'm sure you'll find a suitable replacement for Ms. Brown. By the way, Frementz tells me that she's just been hired by the Michigan Department of Education." 

I returned to my office, found Linda sitting there, and closed and locked the door. "You look a bit down," she said, smoothing the hair back over my ears. 

"I've just had a lesson in how the machine works," I said, falling into my chair.

"Well, let's talk about it after hours," she said. "I've got something to keep me busy 'til well after five, then I'll come and see you. I see the lock on the door works," she said, winking, as she walked out. The door opened again and she stuck her head in, saying, "Oh, keep Saturday night open for dinner at our place. I want you to meet my husband. And don't bring a date...I'll fix you up!"

Part 6

I arrived at Linda's place Saturday evening at 7, as arranged, with two bottles of good French Bordeaux. "Hi! You must be Rick! I'm Jim, Linda's husband," said the energetic, intelligent-looking man in his late twenties, shaking my hand. About 5'10" with sandy hair like mine, he had a soft body type unlike mine, fleshy rather than muscular. He was dressed in a polo shirt, khakis and sandals. I'd worn brown jeans, a wide collar sport shirt and motorcycle boots that I'd spent months burnishing to a fine antique brown. 

He poured me a glass of scotch and Linda appeared from the kitchen, radiant looking in full makeup. She wore a thigh-length apron over a red miniskirt and a long-sleeved off-white cotton blouse open at the neck. She hugged me lightly and rubbed a perfumed cheek against mine. "Glad you could come. Dinner's almost ready. I'll join you two in a minute," she said, disappearing into the kitchen.

"How's the project going? Linda's told me all about it," said Jim.

"Oh, you know," I responded, "...just your typical federally funded hassle. What about law school? I hear you've got a year to go."

"Great! But I'm only doing it so I can go into politics!" he enthused. "And I couldn't have managed without my partnership with Linda." I thought it odd that he'd put it that way, but let it go. "My other love is photography, ever since I was a kid. Here's some of my work," he said, leading me through an arch into a small room, the walls of which were covered with framed photographs. Some were quite good...especially the landscapes. The predominance, though, were of Linda, in all states of dress, from mackinaw jackets and jeans in the mountains to the briefest of bikinis on sunny beaches. Some shots of her relaxing and looking dreamily off camera, with fair skin, green eyes and flawless shoulders and arms, were stunning. She'd be quite an asset as a politician's wife, I thought. As I looked closely at the pictures, I remembered her smell, her taste and the feel of her long silky hair. I took a quick sip of my drink to still the blood pulsing to my groin, and Jim said, "Here's some of my equipment." 

In the corner of the room surrounding a double bed were two cameras on tripods, one a 35 mm SLR and the other an expensive Swedish Hasselblad with a large lens. Lights and reflectors were carefully placed out of the way. "This must be where you take portraits," I said, noticing several photo albums in a nearby bookcase.

"Mmm...yeah," he said.

"There you are!" Linda said, walking around the corner. She'd removed her apron and my eyes went to her taut midriff, which was exposed since she'd tied her shirt tail in a knot below her full, jutting breasts. Her short red skirt brought out the healthy flush on her sumptuous legs. She looked at Jim and said sharply, "You didn't bore Rick with the photo albums, did you?"

He hesitated, looking from her to me, and said, "Uhh...no. Maybe later."

"We'll see," she said, linking her arm in mine. "C'mon, dinner's getting cold," and led me to the table. "It was a bit short notice for me to find you a date, so I guess we'll just have to entertain you," she smiled, pointing to a chair at the end of the small dinner table.

"That's fine," I said. "I'd hate to fail at impressing a new woman tonight," at which she smiled sweetly.

Two hours later we'd finished Linda's four-course dinner, highlighted by a delicious leg of lamb. The wine I'd brought was also gone, with Jim drinking two glasses to our one. Then he opened another bottle, offering some to me, which I declined in favor of a cognac. We'd come to a hiatus in the dinner conversation, apparently having exhausted all the niceties. 

"You're divorced, huh," Jim said suddenly.

"Yup," I said. "Couldn't make a go of it."

"Should've had a contract," he said. I heard this with a complete lack of understanding. "Linda an' I have one," he said, sounding like a proud, slightly drunk, barrister as he looked at his wife. She flushed slightly at his statement...a flush that I'd seen a couple of days before as she'd prepared to mount me. 

"What sort?" I asked.

"Well, when we were in L.A. we were pretty wild...you know, swinging, with an 'open marriage'," he said. "So, when we decided I should go to law school and prepare for politics we agreed that I'd stop playing around. But, since she was gonna support us, and would still have the time to play, we agreed that she could continue doing so...until I passed the Bar exam."

"That's practical...very modern," I said, wondering where all of this was going.

"Yeah...an' when that happens next year, she'll stop and we'll start raising a family," he said proudly. "It's all in the contract! An' ya know, you're the first guy she's brought home!" he pronounced, pouring yet another glass of wine.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It was so rational, logical, unemotional...even cold. The whole contractual arrangement sounded like a bizarre fiction. I snapped a glance at Linda and, though appearing slightly uncomfortable, she was giving me a look of quiet lust. "There's one thing that Jim hasn't told you," she said, taking a sip of wine. "He likes to watch me." She took another sip and regarded my reaction over the top of her glass. "He wants to see you make love to me...tonight. Clinically speaking, he's a voyeur," she said, with her cool, professional tone. "It'll turn him on to watch us fuck," she concluded, setting down her glass. I was nonplussed. I'd always had difficulty understanding these non-judgmental, amoral psychologists. 

"Lemme show ya something," Jim said, rising and walking unsteadily into his photo room.

Linda looked at me and whispered, "It's okay. Do this for me, please. I want you so much tonight." 

Jim returned, spreading open a photo album in front of me. It contained shots of Linda nude with other people, apparently at orgies in Los Angeles, and some of her alone at their current home, with her spread in the most lewd positions, using vegetables and latex "marital aids" in all three of her orifices. She was even pictured with a dog in a very compromising position. I scanned a few pages and closed the book, exhaling politely, "Nice, uhh...photography. But, aren't you afraid this'll catch up with you someday?"

"Oh, we've been super discreet," he assured me.

Minutes later we were in their softly lit living room, after I'd fortified myself with another cognac. Linda and I sat on a plush sofa while Jim sat across from us in an armchair with a coffee table in between. Linda's hand was rubbing my thigh, from my knee up to near my crotch, which was producing her desired response. Her head lay against my shoulder, and her chest rose and fell rapidly as her breathing quickened. Soon she raised herself and turned to me, pivoting on one knee and placing her other between my thighs. I raised my head slightly to accept her soft kisses, with her lips tracing my jaw line and her tongue brushing my mouth ever so slightly. "I'll make you happy," she murmured, just above a whisper. "I'll be really good to you...and you'll make me feel whole...complete...fulfilled," she promised, kissing my eyelids closed and causing my cock to swell. "Touch me?!," she begged and, gasping, uttered, "Feel how wet I am for you." 

I looked across at her husband as I placed my fingers, palm up, under Linda's soaking crotch. Tonight she was wearing panties. He was watching us with a foolish grin, and rubbing the top of his thighs with quick, spasmodic movements. Linda groaned long and deeply as I pulled her panties aside and slipped two fingers into her vagina, and she turned her face upward to register her early pleasure. Jim responded with a dry cough and I noticed him rubbing his crotch as his wife groped at mine. Linda then lowered her face to me and we locked in a tongue-lashing kiss, causing a duet of moans from us. My fingers moved in and out of her slowly as she stuck her wine-tinged tongue into my mouth, with me sucking on it gradually harder, until she was nearly hyperventilating. In a moment she pulled back, with fire in her eyes, and stood up, pulling off her brief, black panties and letting them fall to the floor. She straddled me in a flash and I grabbed again for her snatch, catching a pool of her sticky juice. With my other hand I made short work of the knot that tied her shirt tail, and quickly pulled it off her shrugging shoulders. 

"Leave the skirt on!" I heard Jim demand. I made an instantaneous mental note to smack him if he continued giving such orders, and unfastened his wife's black bra to bare the bounty of her full, bouncing breasts. I smiled inwardly as I tasted Linda's tits, since she'd obviously used an appetizing body balm on them. It tasted of vanilla and cinnamon, causing me to suckle forcefully at her nipples, elongating them into hard, bright red buds as I pulled them into my mouth. 

She was moaning now, haltingly, an eerie soft wailing broken by high squeaks and gasps as I tortured her tit flesh. Her fingers trembled as, time after time, she was unable to lower the zipper on my tight jeans. Her nectar began to drip from her pubic batch onto my pants as she straddled me and, finally, she whimpered in desperation, "You do it, Rick, please!" I did, also fishing my erection through my open fly, and she cried with joy as my rigid cock sprang into her hands between her legs. In a flash she dropped to the floor on her knees, taking me in her mouth as she had a few days before, sucking me deeply and moaning as she did so. At that, Jim rose from his chair and walked slowly toward us. I was ready with a punch just in case, but realized that he only wanted to raise Linda's skirt, which he did, pulling it up to lay it on her lower back so that he could see her magnificent alabaster ass while she throated me. He was fisting his own cock now, as it stood erect from his open fly. Apropos of nothing, I noticed that it had a pronounced upward curve, like an Arabic scimitar. 

Feeling constricted, I unbuttoned my shirt and unfastened my jeans, preparing to get naked. At that, Jim left and returned with his 35 mm camera. He moved off to the side to capture the light on Linda's face as her lips stretched to engulf my cock, and he snapped three or four shots using the camera's motor drive. I assumed that each picture would record a progressive sequence of his wife's gobbling, from sucking on my glans then gradually to her nose buried in my pubic hair with her jaw obscenely distended. His photography done for the moment, he then retreated to his chair and resumed masturbating. 

As much as I was enjoying Linda's ministrations, I wanted us naked. So I disturbed her frenzied head bobbing, lifted her away slightly, and wiggled from my loosened clothing, having some difficulty with my boots. Soon all was well, however, and she'd removed her skirt to a groan from Jim, who appeared almost ready to ejaculate. No matter, I thought. He's an observer and he'd better have some stamina, since I felt ready to go all night. For comfort, I lay lengthwise on the sofa, on my back, and pulled Linda atop me in a "69" position. Soon we were lapping at one another's organs with no thought of her husband. Her thick nectar was delicious, and copious. It ran down my cheeks continuously and I was forced to gulp it on occasion because of its profusion. I'd missed eating her during our first two trysts, and silently cursed myself because of the pleasure it was now bringing her, as well as her husband. He was clicking away rapidly with his camera with one hand as he abused himself with the other. Linda mewled continuously, whimpering noisily as she throated me, and appeared to have a dozen miniature orgasms, occasionally freezing her thrusting bottom, and then grinding her clit slowly on my chin as she puffed and grunted in her gullet. After all that, however, her jaw became tired...and she must have sensed that I had no intention of cumming. She pulled off me, still jacking my turgid length, and let herself go, just as I stuck my middle finger in her anus and feathered her nubbin with a hundred rapid licks. "Yeeeeaaaahhhh!" she shrieked, "yeeeeaaaahhhh!" and then she screamed again, until her quivering buttocks relaxed and her head slumped against one of my thighs. 

As I kissed at her sopping opening to bring her down gently, Jim began arcing ropes of cum into the air to land on the carpet at his feet. As he did so, he made very little noise, but just exhaled in quick, repeated grunts as the last of his spunk poured over his fist. 

Still resting atop me, Linda admonished, "You'll have to clean that up! I'm not going to!" I was mildly amused that I'd been allowed to hear such a domestic pronouncement. Maybe their contract specified a strict division of labor regarding housework, I thought, cynically. I suddenly felt thirsty and excused myself, asking directions to the bathroom where I peed and drank some water. I returned and my hosts were still in their respective positions, with Linda's arms clutching a large sofa pillow. My cock was nearly flaccid by this time, and I sat next to Linda, emulating her by covering myself with a pillow.

"You've got some kinda control, man!" Jim said. "Linda's a great cocksucker, and she couldn't get you off!" I winced at his vulgar use of the term regarding his wife, but just shrugged, letting the remark go. "Got some nice shots, though!" he gloated. "C'mon, let's go in the photo room," he said, getting up and leaving us behind. I looked at Linda, who leaned over and kissed me and said, "Let's go, Rick, I've been issued quite a challenge!" and got up to walk ahead of me. Her soft, delectable bottom moved as if it were a cream-colored pillowcase containing two playful kittens.

When we walked into Jim's photo room, he'd placed lights around the double bed and adjusted their reflectors and screens to dampen their intensity. The place was fully lit, yet appeared warm and cozy, not harsh and glaring. "Okay, honey," he said to Linda, "sit on the bed and let Rick stand between your legs." We assumed the position to his satisfaction, and Linda once again began fellating me. This time, however, she was languorous rather than frenetic, and the act reminded me of the stagy sort of blowjobs one sees in X-rated movies. Her gorgeous green eyes looked up at me lovingly...submissively...and she paid a great deal of attention to my balls, my perineum, and...oh, my Gawwd, her mouth felt good!

My earlier nervous anger with Jim had faded, and – at Linda's whispered urging – I'd decided to play along. So, her husband's directions no longer mattered. And he was feeling good about his role. He said, "Take it in your cheek, babe! That's it! Let him poke it out! Let's see some drool! Good! More! More spit!" At this point Linda was dribbling saliva in continuous strings down her chin to pool on the bedspread. "Now, in your throat, babe! Good!" Linda was plunging her mouth onto my rod until it smacked in her throat with flat, liquid, choking sounds, and pulling off for breath when she needed to. "More spit! Yeah! Look like you love it, babe!" She had closed her eyes and done her best to smile with a mouth full of cock, as well as drool copiously, and her husband continued to snap away, now with both cameras. Her tongue was in the very bottom of her throat, and she was taking my full length without hesitating. "Spit! More drool!" he began chanting, almost manically, and finally, he stepped to her, pulled her open mouth off me, and spat a huge glob between her open lips, at which point she returned to throating me, this time gushing a huge amount down her front for the camera's sake. Not normally known for a queasy stomach, I was appalled at what Jim had done to further violate our already compromised intimacy. "Not gonna cum, huh?" he asked me. I didn't answer him. "Okay, let's see some fuckin' then," and he went to a cabinet to reload one of his cameras. 




Carolina's Caper



Linda ran to the kitchen to grab herself a glass of water and I reclined on the bed on one elbow, once again to experience a flagging dick. But she was soon back, after cleaning the spit off her tits, and crept toward me on all fours, looking at me as if she were ready to devour me. I was glad she'd drunk some water, clearing her mouth of her husband's saliva, because she tasted ultra sweet as she lay on me and entwined her limbs with mine, squishing her satiny breasts against my chest. In a minute I was hard again and she'd enveloped my dick between her closed thighs, moving them up and down so that my shaft massaged her clit and her wiry pubic hair teased at my glans. She lifted her head, breaking a smothering kiss, spread her legs over my hips, and placed my cock at her opening. Her eyes shone with lust as she wiggled a bit to seat me properly, then slid herself down onto me suddenly, moaning, "Ooohhh, Gawwd, yeeaah, Riiick!" She then fastened her lips to my neck, sucking hard, and began thrusting up and down with my shaft between her legs, grinding it against her vulva. Her hips hammered against me as, in effect, the top of my cock masturbated her to a scalding climax. I tried to move, thinking I'd enhance her pleasure, but she shouted, "Hold stiiilll!" and clutched at me, scratching at my shoulders and chest until she was finished. My neck stung where she'd "hickied" me, and for obvious reasons I decided at that moment to wear turtlenecks the following week. 

"You're too much, babe!" Jim cried, as she lay panting on my chest. "Those'll be great shots!"

The absurdity of the situation hit me and I almost giggled. Instead, though, I rolled us over and began taking long missionary strokes into Linda. She raised her legs in the classic upright pose, bent at the knee, and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me closely to her and mewling as we kissed lightly. "Mmmmm," she murmured, as I started my deep thrusts. Her eyes were half open, looking into mine, and revealed extreme bliss as my iron-like rod probed her wet vagina from labia to cervix. "Mmmmm," she moaned again, licking wetly at my open, panting mouth. I'd reached a point that I sometimes do in lovemaking when I'm not sure I can cum at all. No matter, I thought, she's matching each of my strokes with thrusts of her own. Not only that, but she kept lifting her legs higher, backward to her breasts. Soon I raised myself and she astounded me with her limberness, tucking her ankles underneath her upper arms and shoulders, allowing me ample access to piercing her womb. I increased my pace, driving forward, down actually, and she was yelping constantly, like a young puppy, each time I plumbed her heated depths. 

Jim was behind me now, worrying me a bit. I kept hearing his camera snap as he was very close, capturing shots of his wife's rapturous face from between my legs as I drilled into her. His breathless photographer's voice kept saying, "Great!...great!...wow!" as the motor drive whirred away.

Linda then looked up at me, her eyes glazed with frantic lust and brow furrowed worriedly, and she mouthed, almost silently, "Ohh, cumming! Cumming! Cumming! Ohh, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" and her legs broke from under her shoulders and flew down to grasp me around my driving buttocks. Her ankles locked behind my plunging hips and her body began thrashing about like a rag doll, with her hands and arms clutching uncontrollably at both me and air. At the peak of her orgasm she screamed deafeningly for about 10 seconds, causing the walls to ring with her echoes. I slowed down, in deference to her paralyzing joy, and stirred her gently for another minute or so until she was able to breathe deeply, at which point her ankles broke their lock behind me and her legs lolled exhaustively at my thighs. Her head, turned slightly toward her husband – who was still taking photographs as he stood next to the bed – showed a girlish, closed-eyed peace that I'd not seen before on her beautiful face.

At that point Jim dropped his pants to reveal a splendid, curved erection, and he teased his near-comatose wife's lips with it. Without opening her eyes, she took him in her mouth and lay there as he systematically fucked her throat until he blew what I assume was quite a load. She swallowed it unflinchingly, without spilling a drop. I'd pulled out of the woman, granting to her husband his consensual marital right, and had sat in a nearby chair to witness the strange event...an unlikely picture, since my erect cock and balls had still not spilled their seed and I felt a trifle alone. 

Jim was sitting in another chair, reloading his camera again, and had apparently finished tending to his wife since she'd sucked him off. Linda was now lying on her tummy, languishing in the peace of a sated woman, for a while at least. She asked Jim softly, "Honey? Drinks?"

"Sure!" he bubbled. "Rick?" I shook my head in the negative. "Linda?"

"Grand Marnier, please...a big one!" she said. Jim went to the kitchen and she murmured to me, "I'm so glad you joined us. That was phenomenal. Can you stay the night?"

"Maybe some other time, Linda," I said. "I'm still feeling my way around."

"Okay," she said softly, acceptingly, as would any good psychologist. "I understand."

I'm not sure you do, I thought. I felt like an animal performing at a zoo. For a brief moment I flashed on recent memories of the extremely tender intimacies that Carolina and I had shared...until I'd fucked that up because of my God-damned libido, with this...this, New Age married whore. A "contract" indeed... .

"Here ya go," Jim said, handing his wife a huge snifter of the strong orange brandy as he settled into his chair.

Before I could rise and make my excuses to leave – which Linda no doubt sensed – she asked, "Rick, c'mere for a second," and I stood, walking limp-dicked toward her reclining form. She reached over and placed the top of her snifter around my hanging prick, dipping it into the thick, burning, liquor. I flinched, and she said, "Oooh, sorry," and leaned forward to take my sensitive barb into her velvety mouth again. For many seconds she sucked it clean of the orange liquid, reminding me of what an imaginative Vietnamese prostitute had done years before with a frosty mug of Heineken. The heat of her mouth, of course, caused me to postpone my departure.

Chuckling, the enthusiastic Jim then tossed a large black dildo on the bed with a tube of lubricating jelly. "Linda likes this up her ass," he confided, winking at me as if to share a male bonding secret. 

Linda had gotten up on all fours. "Do me like a dog, Rick...or should I call you Ricky?" she asked, pointedly and smiling indirectly, indicating that she might know more about my intimacies with Carolina than I'd previously thought. Was this a competitive thing? I wondered. How could she know of such private matters? Am I just being paranoid?

Paranoid or not, Linda was tempting me again...and I complied with her request. I lubed the dildo quickly, and set it aside on a ledge next to the bed. She lifted her left leg, pulling it forward to splay her gaping pink slit, and leaned on her elbows, looking down between her legs to see my scrotum swing toward her as I teased her lips. Jim snapped her grimacing, contorted features as I teased her inner lips with my cock. "Both of you are freaks," I finally said as I pushed into her, losing my prick to the balls in her hot cunt. 

"Yeah...and you love it...huuuhhh," she gasped as I drilled her deeply. "C'mon...put that...big black thing...in my ass," she begged, beginning to hum with delight as I drilled her. I slid the latex probe into her quite easily, given its ample length. For such a small woman, her colon was remarkably large...and flexible, much like her pussy. Linda had become so practiced at fucking over the years that she worked her vagina like a professional. Her muscles, it seemed, could accommodate any penis, from that of a small boy to that of an elephant...without giving pause to either. I honestly felt as if I'd met my match that night...at least insofar as American women were concerned. 

Her husband, Jim, spent the rest of the time snapping pictures of his wife, especially when she was climaxing, and was surprised when I finally had an orgasm. I'd withdrawn the dildo from her ass and replaced it with my own member, sawing away and feeling next to nothing as I flicked her clit so that she could have another orgasm. My heart wasn't in it. Jim exhorted me on for a "money shot," but I couldn't do it. I became tired and a little bored. It was only after Linda cleaned me off with a warm washcloth and licked me hard again, very gently, and tit-fucked me, that I closed my eyes and covered her with a monumental load of semen. Both she and her photographer husband took particular delight at me coating her hair, face, breasts and belly with my load as I straddled her lovely torso. 

I left at about midnight, with their pleas for me to stay over ringing in my ears. But I was happy to repair to my own bed and, the next day, reflect on what had happened. I concluded that I could never become a sexual exhibitionist. I was bad in front of an audience. I also missed the sweetness of coupling with Carolina. 

Part 7

The grotesque affair with Linda continued for months. It was in the Fall of '71 and she'd gone to Philadelphia for a week, acting as the institute's representative at a conference of State and Federal educators. Just a day before she was to return, I received a call from her. "Rick, last night I had some trouble," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "I was raped...in a parking lot...outside the restaurant where I've been eating," she confessed, finishing in a sob. I'd never imagined that Linda would...or could...cry about anything. We'd nearly been caught a half-dozen times, fucking in restrooms, in the public garage where we parked our cars, on the roof of the office building, and on each occasion she'd merely laughed hysterically...being incredibly turned on – it seemed – rather than seeking relief in tears as would many women.

I was shocked and asked, "Have you called Jim?"

"Yes," she said, "...with just a few details. "We decided that I shouldn't go to the police. If it got out, it could ruin our plans."

Jeezus, I thought, incredulously. You've been raped and you're worried about the impact on your husband's future political career? "Are you all right, Linda...physically, I mean?" 

"Mmm, yeah...a little bruised," she said. "I'm flying back today," she sighed nervously. "Could you come with Jim to the airport to meet me?" she asked. "He's so unprepared. It'll give him strength. He looks up to you, you know."

I was appalled, but held my tongue. He's un-pre-pared? He's been quite prepared to fill nearly two albums with pictures of you and me fucking our brains out, I thought. "Of course I'll go with him," I assured her, wondering if she were still in emotional shock. "Shall I phone him now?"

"Yes, please," she said. "He's too proud to call and ask you, of course," she admitted.

What planet are these people from? I wondered. We hung up with my mind racing. A three minute call to Jim established the time when he'd pick me up. When I saw him I realized that Linda had been correct. He was so manic that all he could do was giggle nervously as he explained the negative superficial effects his wife's experience could have on their professional future. But, apparently, he trusted me blindly, as did Linda, since she'd begun making noises about continuing her adulterous relationship with me even after Jim graduated law school and passed the Bar. She'd also become uncomfortably possessive of me regarding other women, seeming determined to keep me apart from temptation by using her astounding physical stamina and lewd imagination, which knew no bounds. 

Linda hugged and kissed us both at the airport. Jim retrieved her bags while she and I got the car and picked him up at curbside. As he got behind the wheel, she said to him, "Honey, I want to sit in back with Rick...and maybe take a nap, okay?" He didn't object. I got the feeling that, though able to drive, we were being spirited home by a ten-year-old. Linda seemed relaxed, though, curling up under my protective arm and falling asleep on the way home while her hot little hand lay on my crotch. When we arrived at their place, she begged me to stay the night with them. It wasn't the first time that Jim and I had sandwiched his wife in slumber as the three of us shared their king-sized marriage bed. This night our sharing was, of course, sexless, given Linda's trauma of the night before.

The next morning I left both of them sleeping and went directly to the office. Much to my surprise, an early call came through from – of all people – Carolina Brown...calling from Philadelphia. "Hiiii, Rickeeey," she cooed into the phone. "Been a long time, shug-aah," she murmured, rekindling in me an immediate sensuous response below the belt. 

"Carolina! God, I've missed you!" I blurted out, without hesitation. My anger with her for trying to mess up my project had faded to an unpleasant, though understandable, memory.

"Really, babeeey?" she sang. "Well, maybe I'll come out an' see y'all. Do ya really miss me?"

"You betcha," I said. "Why are you calling from Philly?" 

"Here for the big conference," she responded. "Saw your little friend, what's her name?...Linda?" she asked, playing for effect. Of course she knew Linda's name.

"Uh-huh," I said, guardedly.

"Yeah-uhh. Didn't really spend any time together," she explained. "Just light conversation. We were runnin' in different crowds. Ate at the same place, though," she admitted.

"Good conference?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah...okay," she said. "Ya know, Rick, that woman's sick...sick in the head. Understand she had a little trouble coupla nights ago, too!"

"Really!" I said, playing dumb. 

"Mmm-hmm. Some low lifes grabbed her in the parkin' lot," she said, then waited for my response.

"Yeah?" I countered, waiting for Carolina to continue.

"You watch yourself, Rickeey," she warned. "That broad's real sick...'specially now...in more ways than one!"

"What do you mean, Carolina?" I probed, anxious to hear her side of Linda's plight. What wasn't she telling me? 

"Listen, darlin', I gotta go now," she said. "I'll phone ya next week from my office in Dee-troit."

"Okay. Thanks for calling, Carolina," I said, and hung up, determined to quiz Linda after work. Toward the end of the day I called her, asked how she felt, told her I was dropping by, and showed up to her open arms. She'd slept half the day, and Jim was sequestered in his study. 

"I want the whole story," I said, pouring myself a drink, which had become a habit when I was in their home. 

"I ran into Carolina...several times," she said. "Finally, we had a cat fight in a woman's restroom...over you. We screamed at each other. We also happened to eat at the same restaurant, on several nights, though at separate tables."

"And?" I asked, knowing that this was just prefatory.

"Well...night before last...on the night it happened, I'd had some wine and gone to the restroom before leaving. When I came out the cabs taking our crowd to the hotel had all gone," she said. 

"Mmm-hmm," I said, implicitly demanding more.

"Well, I walked out, asked the maitre d' to call another cab, and he said one would be there in ten minutes," she said. "Then, I walked around the corner, into the parking lot, to have a cigarette." Linda smoked occasionally, when she was drinking. "Then, two guys grabbed me – one black, one white – and dragged me into a van in the parking lot." 

Jim walked in to join us. "Hey, Rick!" he saluted.

"Jim," I acknowledged. "I've asked Linda for all the details."

"Oh, good," he said. "I had a couple of classes today and she went to the doctor, so I haven't heard 'em either."

Once again I was shocked at the skewed priorities of this modern American couple. "Do you feel okay talking about this?" I asked her.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "The doctor – who's a good friend, by the way, very discreet – gave me some Valium after taking some smears and blood samples. I'll be okay," she said, calmly, with dilated pupils. She was wearing a heavy, fisherman-knit sweater with a turtleneck and tight blue jeans. She tucked her lovely legs beneath her and started again to speak.

"I'm gonna get another drink," I said. "Anyone else?"

"Please...a glass of red wine," Linda said. Jim shook his head in refusal. 

"Describe the men," I told her.

"Mmm...tall, heavily muscled...thirties, long hair. Like I said, one black, one white. Each had black tattoos," she said. 

I'd heard somewhere that black tattoos were indicative of men who'd had them done in prison.

"One stuck a bandana in my mouth, opened my coat, ripped open my blouse and knelt on my shoulders and arms," Linda continued. "I'll show you the bruises. The other lifted my skirt and ripped off my panties and pantyhose."

"In the van," I said, for clarification. 

"Right. And what's so strange is...," she continued, "is that it went so...so smoothly...it's almost as if they did it for a living. I mean, they had a mattress, there were no windows in the van, and they worked like a...like a team," she said, shuddering and gulping half of her glass.

I tried to picture a "smooth" rape. Jim said nothing, but began nervously to rub his fists, first with one open hand, then the other. "What then?" I asked, not really wanting to hear the worst.

"The white guy took me first," Linda related. "He was big and rough. The black guy held both my legs back at the start, then let go of one and the white guy took it, laughing and telling me to hold it myself. The black guy then jacked himself, milking stuff into my mouth...as thick as toothpaste. It tasted awful. Then the white guy came in me and they switched. The black guy came on my face, then they took me at the same time, with the black guy in my ass."

Jim got up and started pacing nervously. "Bastards!" he muttered. "Sonsabitches!" 

Since Jim had seen other men service his wife in a variety of ways, apparently his current objection lay primarily in Linda's violation being non-consensual. 

"Was that it?" I asked.

"Yeah, other than a little forced cocksucking to get them up when they needed it," she said. 

"Did you try to scream when you weren't gagged?" I asked.

"No," she said, quietly. "They told me they'd kill me if I did."

"Then what?" I asked.

"Then they opened the side door, pushed me out, and drove away," she said. "The license plate was covered. It was dark so I couldn't even see the color of the van...dark blue, maybe."

Jim was now covering his face with his hands, sitting on a footstool. "Did you cum?" he whispered, the question rendering me incredulous. 

"Jim! Of course not!" Linda said, archly. "It was horrible!"

I felt sick to my stomach. "And you're absolutely against telling the police...or anyone other than me...and your doctor," I said. By now, of course, it would be too late to report the crime. 

"If we did, we could be ruined," Jim said, and Linda nodded, in apparent agreement.

"And you're our closest friend, Rick," she said. "We...love you...as much as a married couple can!"

"Okay, friends," I said, exaggerating the point. "Give me some time to think about this...and come up with some conditions of my own. Right now, given that it's Friday night, I'm gonna get drunk...and stoned! Break out the dope, Linda, I've gotta process all this weirdness."

I got wasted, and spent the night on their couch. I was awakened by Linda in the middle of the night, who was covering me with a blanket in the dark. Apparently Jim had gone to bed. She knelt next to the sofa and kissed me sweetly, running her hand under the blanket to my groin. In my sleep I'd developed a raging erection, and she uttered a little gasp as she felt me through my pants. "Ohh, Rick...honey...I'm still sore and can't make love tonight. Just a couple of more days, okay? But let me taste you. God, I've missed you this week!" she murmured, and unzipped me, mewling in her throat as she got up to straddle my ankles and take me in her wet mouth. "Give yourself to me, sweetheart. Let me swallow your cum!" she whispered, just before probing her throat with my turgid prick. I'd actually planned to stray and see someone else on the weekend – having set my sights on the enticing Rita – but Linda's early return had altered those plans. And, why stray when one can be serviced by such an expert? I thought, as the semen surged from my balls into her vacuuming mouth. I realized then that I'd become something close to a compliant slave to this woman...as well as the feckless voyeur who was her husband.