****** One Joke Too Many by G-boy ******
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One Joke Too Many

As college graduates began the seasonal internship at our law firm, the
customary 'Welcome Aboard' party was planned. My boss, Mr. Duhurst, asked me if
my wife Dianne and I would mind hosting the party at our home, as his was being
remodeled by his new wife, Pamelia. How can you refuse the request of your
boss, particularly when his much younger wife seems to have a vice grip on his
balls?

When his wife of thirty-seven years died, Mr. Duhurst grieved for almost a full
year, until his daughter brought home her college roommate. As soon as Pamelia
got him alone, her campaign to become the new Mrs. Duhurst began. I couldn't
fault him too much; her brassy blonde hair and her voluptuous figure had
certainly piqued my interest. Until she opened her mouth. Then the loud, brash,
vulgar speech would give away the secret of her lower class mentality. I
shuddered to think of what her idea of remodeling would be. Mr. Duhurst's home
was a beautiful contemporary brick house, nestled in a hollow of oak and maple
trees. I wondered if she planned to slap tires on the sides, and green vinyl
siding, to emulate the trailer she obviously was raised in. For the insides, I
was sure she had plenty of black velvet paintings and faux animal prints.

So, I agreed, and paged my wife into my office. Dianne is a lovely Asian-
American, standing only four feet, ten inches tall. Her round, girlish face,
and small frame have fooled many plaintiff's attorneys into thinking that she
would be a pushover in the court room, but that little girl body and face hide
a razor sharp mind, and forceful nature. As soon as the door was closed, we
kissed passionately. Then I told her the bad news; the intern party was our
responsibility. She surprised me by readily agreeing. Since she was due in
court in twenty minutes, we didn't have time for a quickie in my office, and
she wanted to be in a peak mental state, she gave me a quick blow-job.

I watched her little head bob back and forth, and listened to the slurping
sounds she made, I was to the point of exploding, when she opened her throat
and slid my eight inches all the way down her throat. She then began to hum
deep in her throat, and I could not hold it. Jet after jet of my juice shot
directly into her belly. She slid my manhood out of her mouth and licked her
lips.

"You're getting old," she laughed. "Used to be able to last at least ten
minutes."

We kissed again, and she ran off to her court date. As for myself, I had to go
downstairs and outside for a cigarette. I kept meaning to quit this nasty
habit, but have not been able to yet.

One of the new interns, Bradley, was outside as well. I groaned inwardly. He
was a pleasant enough looking fellow, about five feet, eleven inches, with a
well developed frame, and thick brown hair. His face was slightly Roman in
appearance, and he had a crooked smile. When he opened his mouth, however, he
revealed less than average wits. I'm sure he was intelligent and studious, but
he lacked severely in 'people skills'. I smiled to myself, and thought, "He and
Pamelia would make a great couple."

I lit a cigarette and dragged deeply.

"Hey, Gary," he began.

"Mr. Lawrence," I corrected.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he sneered. "I thought we of the brotherhood of banned smokers
wouldn't need to do with such formalities."

"At the workplace, we adhere to the rules of the workplace," I stated firmly. I
am not usually such a stickler for rules; having your wife give you a blow-job
in your office is certainly not normal policy, but the young man was, after
all, an intern. If we fail to teach him the rules now, he will have rough going
when it comes time for him to join a firm as an associate. We finished our
cigarettes in silence, and I went back to my office.

My secretary, Keisha, a very attractive African-American in her early twenties,
flashed her bright smile at me. The blouse she was wearing flashed a little
more than a smile at me. Her purple nipples, large and hard, flashed through
the pale, thin material. She stood up, and her short, pale colored skirt
flashed a good three inches of her dark and lovely thighs at me as well. My
penis began to grow inside my slacks, and I was grateful for my suit jacket
being buttoned.

She followed me into my office and sat down in front of my desk. When I sat
down, I realized I was looking directly at her white panty covered crotch. I
quickly averted my eyes. She smiled again.

"So, you're having the intern blow out at your crib?" she asked.

I nodded my head.

"Afraid so," I admitted.

"Good. I don't normally go to those things, but, if it's at your place, I'll
make an exception," she said. "Hell, I've been your secretary for two years
now, and I ain't never seen your home."

"Really? Oh, Keisha, believe me, it's an unintentional slight on my part," I
began to apologize. She waved her hand.

"No, no, I just never had no reason to be crashing at your place. Hell, you and
Dianne live in the ultra white section of town, anyway," she laughed.

Then she thought about it for a second. "If I do come, you going to bring me
the coffee? I mean, when we're here, I get you your coffee."

I nodded my head and smiled. She leaned close to me, which gave me a clear view
of her unbound breasts.

"I take a lot of cream in my coffee," she husked.

If Dianne had not given me her full attention a few moments earlier, I would
have flooded my now too tight underwear with a load of semen. As it was,
Keisha's strong sexual innuendo was giving me cause for concern that I might be
creating a large spot of precum on my slacks. I shifted in my seat, and we
finished the dictation we had begun before Mr. Duhurst had interrupted us.

The Friday night rolled around. Dianne and I had hired a caterer and bartender,
as well as a jazz trio and baby sitter for our infant daughter. Mr. and Mrs.
Duhurst were the first to arrive, and Pamelia immediately began to inspect our
many collectibles and grill us about where we'd gotten each piece of musical
equipment. Neither Dianne nor I play any musical instruments, but we both
appreciate the workmanship that each instrument entails. We also collect
Japanese pottery for the same reason. I was glad that our daughter was two
houses away, as the loud voice of Pamelia would have surely roused her from her
sleep, and distracted both Dianne and myself from the party. The dapper Mr.
Duhurst seemed ill at ease; I'm sure by this time he'd noticed that his wife
was out of place in almost any given social situation. A few drinks later,
however, he'd loosened up slightly. Keisha arrived shortly afterward, with a
gathering of the interns in tow. Bradley was among the group. I lightly kissed
her on the cheek and fondly welcomed her to our home. She and Dianne greeted
each other warmly; they had no animosity between them, just a friendly rivalry
for my attention.

As the stragglers made it into the party, we chatted and nibbled and drank. I
did notice that Bradley was putting the drinks away faster than the bartender
could make them. I excused myself from the few interns that were buzzing around
me, and approached him.

"Go easy on the booze," I hissed.

"What? I ain't driving," he loudly exclaimed.

"You are at a party, hosted by your supervisors," I reminded him. "There are
appropriate ways to behave at such gatherings, and drinking them as fast as you
can is not an appropriate way to behave."

"What? You afraid you going to run out before the party's over?" he sneered.

I shook my head and walked away from him. Dianne, Keisha and Pamelia were
admiring an intricate painted bowl when I approached. Keisha linked her arm
around my waist.

"I'll take that coffee now, boss," she giggled.

Her long gown opened at the side, to reveal a long, silk clad leg. I couldn't
help but look at the leg for a brief moment, before excusing myself to make a
pot of coffee. As I walked away, I heard Dianne say, "God, I wish my legs were
as long and pretty as yours." I heard Pamelia agree, and they began a
discussion of diet and exercise. When I came out of the kitchen, I heard
Bradley begin a not very funny racist joke. The punch line, predictable for the
type of joke it was, earned some nervous laughter from the other interns. Which
only served to encourage another from him. I handed Keisha her coffee. She
frowned at me.

"I swear to God, that boy tells one more 'nigger' joke, I'm going to slap the
shit out of him," she told me.

My wife and Pamelia agreed with her. Pamelia grabbed her pocketbook and said,
"Don't worry, in a few minutes, that boy will be as sick as a fucking dog," and
walked over to the bartender. We watched as she pointed to Bradley, and
whispered to the bartender. The bartender, a small African-American male in his
late forties, smiled and nodded his head yes. Pamelia handed him something, and
walked over to her husband. They began to slow dance to the soft music of the
jazz trio. Keisha, Dianne and I watched as Bradley finished his third or fourth
tasteless joke, and turned to the bar for his tenth or twelfth refill. The
bartender quickly filled his glass, and served another few drinks. Bradley
gulped his drink and demanded instant attention from the bartender.

What happened next was almost poetic justice. We watched as a sickly green
pallor came over his proud face. A sheen of sweat formed on his face, and he
put his hand over his mouth. He asked the bartender something.

We almost laughed out loud when the bartender loudly said, "Hell, how the fuck
I knows where the bathroom be? I just a stupid nigger, white boy,"

I quickly walked over and grabbed Bradley's arm. I led him to the small
bathroom off of the foyer.

"I told you to go easy, didn't I?" I hissed, as I opened the door for him.

He barely made it the three short feet to the toilet before his insides came
spewing out. I closed the door and left him to his misery. Pamelia met me in
the foyer. She had a large smile on her face.

"How's he doing?" she laughed.

"Puking his guts up. What'd you give him, anyway?"

"An old trick my momma told me. You don't feel like giving up the pussy, put
some eye drops in his beer. He'll be too sick to fuck," she said. "Of course, I
ain't never not felt like giving up the pussy, so I ain't never used it before.
But, God damn, I may be poor white trash, but I don't have to act like it. That
boy's supposed to know better than that."

I gained new respect for the new Mrs. Duhurst. Shortly afterward, we heard loud
snoring coming from the foyer bathroom, and had to direct everyone to the guest
bathroom off of the main hall.

At around eleven thirty, only a few of the interns were left, along with
Keisha. We politely, but firmly ushered them out as well, and the hired help
left. That left just Keisha, Dianne, and myself to have some coffee.

"So, what do we do with joker boy there?" Keisha asked.

"Fuck, I'd forgotten all about him," I exclaimed. "I thought he'd left."

"Nope, he's still out cold," Dianne informed me.

"Well, fuck him," I hissed. "Little shit deserved what he got."

"Yeah, I'd like to fuck him," Keisha snarled. "Wish I had me a big 'nigger'
dick, fuck his stupid white ass silly. Let's see how funny that would be."

Dianne and I looked at each other and laughed. Dianne looked at Keisha and
said, "No 'nigger' dicks here, but would you settle for a 'whitey' one?"

Keisha looked baffled, so Dianne excused herself and went upstairs to our
bedroom. She returned just as I was refilling our coffee cups. She held
something behind her back.

"Come into the kitchen, Keisha, and I'll show you what I mean," my wife said to
her. They got up and went into the kitchen. I heard Keisha laugh out loud. A
few minutes later, they emerged from the kitchen. I noticed Keisha's gown
billowed out in front of her. She stood in front of me and slowly pulled the
slit of her gown aside to reveal the ten-inch strap on dildo that she now wore
around her waist.

I had known what Dianne meant by her 'whitey' dick comment, because she and I
use that strap on often in our love-making. First, she greases my anus
thoroughly while I suck on her 'dick' to get it good and wet, then she slowly
slides that monster into me and thrusts in and out until we both explode in a
massive orgasm. Then I grease her anus thoroughly while she sucks on my dick to
get it good and wet, and I slide my eight inches into her hot, tight ass, and
we fuck hard and fast for a second orgasm. I've always found the sight of my
small wife sporting such a large erection to be extremely sexy, but the sight
of that plastic monster framed by Keisha's golden brown skin made my cock stand
up at attention. She had removed her stockings, and now she slowly pulled her
gown off over her head, and stood before us, completely naked, save for her
high heeled pumps and a thin belt around her waist, and two thin straps around
each upper thigh. Her large breasts were capped by large, hard purple nipples,
and she stroked her new 'prick' slowly and seductively.

"God damn, this thing's too good to waste on that little fucker," she said.

Dianne reached out for the strap on dildo.

"Well, if you don't want to fuck that little piggy, give it here," Dianne said.
"I'll ram it up his ass good and hard."

Keisha swung away from her grasp.

"Oh, no! I get first crack at his crack!" she laughed at her own joke. We
laughed as well. Maybe we'd had a bit too much to drink, as well. I mean,
Dianne and I are usually very private about our private lives, yet, here Dianne
was, revealing a secret of our love making to my secretary. Keisha had to know
we didn't have that strap on dick for decoration; we used it for ourselves. I
watched, my dick straining against my jeans, as Keisha waddled toward the
bathroom. Her large breasts swayed as she walked. Her ample buttocks also
swayed, and I wanted so badly to bury my face in that succulent brown flesh,
and spear my tongue into her puckered brown anus.

"Back in a few minutes," she said.

"Oh, no!" Dianne exclaimed. "It's our dick. We get to watch!"

Keisha stopped and looked at Dianne. My wife had one hand buried in her crotch,
and was visibly turned on by the sight of the tall African-American beauty that
stood before us, sporting a ten-inch erection.

"Well, then, come on!" Keisha said. "Let's drag his ass in here and get the
show on the road!"

Keisha and I raced to the foyer bathroom. Bradley lay sprawled on the bathroom
floor. He stirred slightly as we carried him into the living room and lay him
face down on the couch.

"Oh, no, roll him over," Keisha ordered. "I want to see his face when he
realizes he's getting fucked by a home girl."

I rolled him onto his back and Dianne and Keisha unzipped and lowered his jeans
to his ankles. Dianne also unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the sleeves down to
his elbows. He was securely trussed by his own clothing and intoxication. We
all looked at his flaccid member. Keisha flicked at it with her fingernails.

"I guess it's true, what they say about white men," she laughed. "What a little
dick."

Dianne unzipped my jeans and eased my erection out of its confines. She stroked
it for Keisha's admiration.

"Not all white men," Dianne giggled. Keisha looked at my hard cock, then looked
into my eyes. She slowly licked her full lips.

"Yum yum, I want some," she said.

Dianne and I undressed and sat down on the couch to watch the deflowering of
the joker. Dianne sat down on my lap and I eased my erection into her slippery
wet tunnel. She shuddered through a small orgasm as soon as my prick was all
the way inside of her. Keisha looked down at her victim.

"Now, how I do this?" she asked, the first sign of uncertainty easing into her
voice.

"Wet the tip, and give it a hard push," Dianne gasped as I began to slowly
thrust in and out of her shaved pussy.

Keisha applied a little spittle to the tip of the phallus, and aimed it at
Bradley's tightly puckered ass hole. The first attempt missed completely, and
she nearly toppled over from her kneeling position. The large strap on dildo
grazed Bradley's scrotum, and he stirred slightly. Keisha took aim again, and
missed again. Dianne clambered off of me and ran to the other couch. She
grabbed the large dildo by its shaft and gripped Bradley's ass cheek in her
other hand. She guided Keisha toward her mark, then released. Keisha gave a
mighty lunge, and drove nearly three inches into Bradley's unsuspecting anal
cavity. Before his sphincter muscles had a chance to react to this invasion,
she pulled out slightly, and thrust in again. Bradley woke up with a scream of
agony. He struggled valiantly, but was impaled on five inches of the dildo, and
trapped in his own clothing. Keisha, undaunted, pulled out and drove the ten
inches completely into Bradley's tight, gripping ass.

"Fucking nigger bitch! Get off of me!" he screamed at her. Tears of pain
streamed down his face, as Keisha began to fuck in and out of him in earnest.

"Who the fuck you calling bitch, you little pussy?" she snarled at him, and
slapped his balls as hard as she could.

Dianne climbed back into my lap, just in time to catch a spurt of my semen as
it shot out of my over excited cock. The juice splattered her small breasts and
belly, and she scooped up as much of it as she could. We shared the salty sperm
amongst ourselves, then watched as Keisha fucked our little prisoner savagely.
She had muffled his screams with one of her breasts, and was coming close to an
orgasm as the base of the dildo rubbed harshly against her clitoris. I watched
in fascination as Bradley's small penis grew in size, to reach a full five and
one half inches long.

"I think he likes getting ass fucked," Dianne informed Keisha. She pointed to
Bradley's now throbbing erection. Keisha looked down at his dick and laughed.

"You like that, bitch? You like being my little pussy?" Keisha taunted him.

Tears of shame now mixed with his tears of pain as his penis jerked and small
dribbles of semen puddled up on his chest and belly. A few thrusts later,
Keisha orgasmed loudly. She collapsed on top of him and panted for air.
Finally, she pulled out of him, and sat up.

"Get dressed, you little pussy," she snapped at him. "I'm sick of looking at
your dumb white ass."

Sobbing, he scrambled to his feet and pulled his clothing on. He ran quickly to
the door, and exited our house. Keisha slowly stood up and picked up her gown.
Dianne looked at me. I nodded my head.

"Keisha, you don't have to go, do you?" Dianne murmured.

Keisha looked at Dianne. She seemed unsure of what to do. Dianne approached her
and gently stroked her small hand over Keisha's flat stomach, toward those
golden brown globes with the purple tips.

"We'd like it, if you'd stay," Dianne murmured, then leaned up and softly
kissed Keisha's lips. My cock struggled to life as I watched two exotic
beauties open their mouths and tenderly touch each other's tongues.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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