Julie Goes Black 4.6/5 (34)

I know a lot of women who say they’re beautiful. Most aren’t. I was fortunate enough to have been born that way, and reaped the advantages of it all through high school and then college. I was raised in a middle-class southern family, but recognizing my looks would get me far in life, my family scrimped to send me to the best schools in the country –

primarily so I could meet a nice, wealthy young man and marry him. Not completely aware of that at the time, I can clearly see it now. If I had a daughter, I’d probably do the same thing.

In my second year at Harvard, when I was twenty-two, I met and eventually married Mark. He comes from a wealthy family who made their money in real estate – a lot of it. I’ve heard that at the time of his death, Mark’s father was worth nearly a billion dollars, and that Mark, one of three siblings, now has a vast amount of it. Anyway, back to my story. Rich and beautiful, I should’ve been happy with what I had, right? And, I thought I was.

Mark bought me a huge house in the suburbs, provided me with all the money I could possibly spend, and gave me a new high-end sports car each year. We held balls and banquets almost monthly and vacationed at all the right locations with other jet-setters.

You wouldn’t recognize me because I’m not famous and don’t want to be. I’ve been in the local papers several times regarding charity functions and the like, and am pretty-well known in my community for doing these type things. It is now ten years later and a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since Harvard. At thirty-two, I have maintained my figure and workers still stop working to stare at me as I pass, all manner of men hitting on me constantly.

I know I am still a knockout and play that to the max whenever I have to. After my marriage to Mark I was the toast of numerous large charity organizations that required me to travel periodically to other cities. I held the chairmanship in several of these organizations, and wielded a lot of power. In short, my life was a dream.

Things changed when I was guest speaker at a large charity event in Manhattan one year. After the three day event concluded, I decided to hang around for a week and visit some of the local sights. On my first night alone, I dressed in a short dress and heels, going to the hotel bar for a quick drink and just chill out. The bartender mentioned there was a swanky night club on the fifth floor that had a band. I went there, had a light dinner and a half-bottle of wine.

Someone slid into the chair across the table from me and I saw it was a large black man. Although the place was crowded, I was instantly on guard for my safety. I’d never really been friends with a black man before but know a couple of black business men who contribute generously to our causes. I don’t fantasize about having sex with them, but I don’t do that about handsome white men either.

Although my family occasionally made racist comments as I was growing up, I don’t believe they, or I, were racist – just ignorant about normal life. This man had the deepest voice I’d ever heard, saying something that instantly made me laugh. Maybe it was the three glasses of wine I’d drank. His name was Paul, and he said he was a local business man.

Paul was big and handsome, reminding me of the star on the TV show, The Unit. He was well-dressed, and charming. I’m long-legged and slim, but Paul dwarfed me with his size. None-the-less I felt totally in control, but instantly at ease in his company.

After another drink Paul asked me to dance. Mark never minded me dancing with other men because he wasn’t the jealous type, so I agreed without even thinking about it. I slide comfortably against his wide chest and he folded his strong arms around me comfortably. We drifted to the slow song. I noticed immediately that he was an accomplished dancer. I also noticed after only few moments, an insistent pressure against my stomach. It was obvious that Paul had an erection – and it felt substantial through his slacks.

I tried pulling back, but he held me so close I finally just settled in and prayed for the end of the song. That song turned into another slow piece and as I looked up into Paul’s deep brown eyes, I found I was suddenly having a little trouble breathing. My mouth felt like cotton and I was trembling. I’d clearly had way too much alcohol.

I was also feeling a growing dampness between my legs, and that would never do. Paul lowered his head, his broad lips only inches from my own. Maybe it was the alcohol, but oh god I wanted to. Instead, I pushed myself back.

“I have to go,” I muttered. “I’ve had way too much to drink, Paul.” On wobbly knees, I made my way back to the table, feeling him clutching my elbow to steady me.

“Yes, I can see that you have. I’ll help you,” he said smoothly.

In the elevator I made sure I stood at least three feet away from him but even at that distance I could still feel his heat, and I could see his semi-hard erection outlined against his soft slacks. My breathing problem escalated and when I raised my eyes, I was staring into his bottomless dark orbs once more.

He moved closer and I could smell his cologne, making my pulse quicken. The elevator door opened at my floor, jarring me back to reality. Without hesitation he took my elbow, leading me down the silent hallway toward my room. I was grateful for his help because the hallway kept floating in front of me and I was having trouble navigating.

When we stopped outside my door I searched for my entry-key with my right hand, but he suddenly grasped my left, forcing it downward, wrapping my finger around his semi-hard penis. It was very large – okay, gigantic. I couldn’t move my hand, just holding on as my mind raced like a jet. Somehow, the door was open.

Not realizing I’d spoken until the words were already out, I muttered, “I have to see it.” It was like it was someone else speaking and I realized the liquor was making me slur my words a bit.

Somehow, I was suddenly standing inside my room and he closed the door behind us. My mind was blank as I fumbled with his belt and the top button of his slacks. With my legs trembling so hard I barely could stand I slid his zipper downward – pushing his pants and shorts down until they fell around his ankles.

His cock, though still not completely stiff, was almost a foot long, looking like a huge lump of black coal. Throughout it all, Paul hadn’t spoken. Now, in his smooth deep voice, he said, “Is this the first black cock you have seen?”

It was, and I’d never seen an uncircumcised one either. My husband was Jewish, and the fumbling experience where I’d lost my cherry in the backseat of a car during my first year at Harvard, didn’t count. It had been a total disaster, and I hadn’t even seen the boy’s penis – but that hadn’t felt half as large as this one.

As it stiffened, soft skin covering the bulbous head pulled back, exposing the single eye in the tip, eventually folding itself in wrinkles behind the spongy baseball-sized crown. I could barely reply, around my mouthful of cotton. Licking my dry lips, not able to look away from it, I said, “It’s the only one I’ve ever seen, with the exception of my husband’s.”

Before I could react, Paul grasped my hand again and wrapped it around his pulsating penis, just behind its throbbing head. My fingers, though long and slim, could barely reach half-way around the girth. As though alive, it jerked twice in my grip as I felt Paul’s hands on my shoulders insistently pressing downward.

I’m not stupid. I’ve been around long enough to know what he wanted. I was just helpless to prevent it from playing out. Kneeling in heels was difficult, so I kicked them off and sank down on the soft carpet.

I found his large black meat only inches in front of my face, my hand looking stark and pale against his black skin. Whether it was because of all the drinks I’d consumed, or the animal heat he’d generated inside me, I admit I wanted to taste that cock more than anything in the world. Stretching my mouth as widely as possible, I lovingly took the entire head inside my mouth and nearly swooned. It was like ambrosia, a potent drug, something I had to have.

3 Comments

  • Thomas

    Reply Reply February 13, 2020

    A very exciting story but could have been better if we knew her future relationship with Paul and the reaction of her husband when she tells him about her night of sex with a superior black man.

  • L

    Reply Reply February 14, 2020

    Very hot! He fucked her as she needed it.
    He owns her now, all her husband can do is accept it.
    If she stays with her hubby, he will learn to suck BBC.
    He will be a white also. I Know bI would.

  • Cuckold Pete

    Reply Reply February 15, 2020

    Wow, what a truly awesome HOT story – i would hope my Hot Wife could find a regular/Permanent Lover who could take total control such as this!

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