As we danced Tyrone’s hands roamed across my body, exploring, touching everything in and about me. He waited for me to resist, and when I didn’t he placed one of his very large, very black hands on my left breast and began to massage my nipple while we danced. I could feel his cock pressing against me, ready to leap out of his trousers.
As I looked around the dance floor I could see several other women, all white, looking at me. I imagined what they might be thinking right now. Why is she with that black man? Who is she? And, probably, I thought, they likely were thinking that they wished they had a partner with such a huge bulge in his pants.
I reveled in their jealousy, looked up at my black Adonis, and kissed him. His tongue explored my mouth and my hand slipped down between us and brushed against his cock. How big is it? I wondered. I had heard those stories about black men having huge cocks and wondered, was it true? And was this the night I would find out. Never having been with a black man before, the thought of his coal-black body against my pink skin gave me the tingles.
Tyrone looked down at me and said, “Look, pretty lady, there is a private party just a few blocks from here. What do you say we go someplace that is a little quieter and get to know each other better?”
I hesitated. Tonight was a succession of firsts for me. First time stepping out on my husband. First time with a black man. And now, asked to go to a private party. The reflection from my wedding band caught my eye; a guilty feeling washed over me.
“And? Tyrone said.
“Okay,” I said, “Let’s go.”
We drove there in Tyrone’s car. Just as we were leaving the parking lot of the club my cell phone rang. I answered and found myself on the phone with my husband, calling from Chicago.
“Hey,” he said, “How are you? Doing anything special?”
“No,” I lied, “Just housework and laundry.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ll home in two days. Can you have my shirts done? I’ve got that meeting in Los Angeles next week.”
Calling me to ask me to do his shirts. Damn him. That settled it. I was going to party with Tyrone like there was no tomorrow. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tyrone wink at me.
We arrived at a two story house set back in a cul-de-sac, surrounded by large oak trees. There were seven or eight cars parked outside and I could hear music playing. Inside there were about 10 people enjoying drinks. A mixed crowd, about an even number of blacks and whites. I heard a few whispers that concerned me. “Tyrone has a new one” and “Big Ty is trying on a married one tonight.”
Tyrone returned to my side with a drink for me. With his strong arm around my waist he asked, “Want to see the house?”
“Sure,” I said, “Who is the owner?” The interior of the house was elegantly furnished.
“Me,” he said.
We toured the kitchen, the living room, the study, and finally the master bedroom. It was dominated by a large four-poster bed with a skylight in the middle of the room. As I took in the surroundings, I failed to hear the door close and the lock click.
Tyrone touched my arm, sending an electronic jolt through me. He took me in his arms and kissed me. I returned his kiss, just like on the dance floor. I couldn’t help but notice that the sizable bulge in Tyrone's pants had returned and it thrilled me to know that I was the cause of his pleasure. In seconds he had unzipped his pants and his cock was displayed for me to see. It was hard to believe that a guy could have a cock that size. Tyrone said, "You’ve never had a black cock, have you? You’ve never had sex with a black man, I can tell by your reaction.”
I just looked at his cock in disbelief. He said, "Touch it, it won't bite". As I touched it and stroked it, my hand would not fit completely around. It felt glorious and seemed to get thicker with every stroke I took. Tyrone grabbed the back of my head roughly and pulled it closer to him. His aggression frightened me for a moment. "Suck it, and Tyrone will give you some nice loving", he said. The lover I had met on the dance floor was replaced by a man intent on dominating me.
I did what he said, opened my mouth, and started to lick the large black head. Slowly I started to take more of him in my mouth. He was moaning and telling me how good it made him feel. I wanted to please him, and at the same time, very scared of the size of his cock.
Tyrone grabbed my long blonde hair and said, "Come on, Mrs. Married White Woman, let Tyrone see your tits, you have some nice ones." I let my dress fall to the floor as he started to rub and kiss my breasts and nipples. At that moment I realized I would do anything he asked.
While sucking on my tits, he was fingering my pussy. He finished taking his clothes off and I marveled at his taut muscular body. His cock was at full erection and I got on my knees, and began sucking him again. He let out a moan, and grabbed my head, fucking my mouth; I thought I would choke as his cock slid down my throat.
Tyrone took his cock out of my mouth, and said, "Let’s stretch that pussy.” I lay back on the bed with my legs spread. Tyrone knelt down and began licking my wet pussy. I became even wetter, if that was possible. He slid up my body, kissing me, and I felt his cock at my pussy. His giant head slipped in, and I felt my pussy stretching.
I picked up my hips and wrapped my legs around his waist. More of his cock slid in and out of me. I felt a tingle deep in my pussy and knew I was about to cum. I tightened down on his cock as he tried to fuck me harder. I soon started to spasm and held him tight as I moaned and started to scream due to the intensity of my orgasm.
Tyrone just held his cock in me. He started to fuck me again, and, as I came, he filled me with his cum. We held each other tight and kissed, then withdrew his cock. We collapsed in each others’ arms, dozing.
Tyrone and I slept in his bedroom that night, the other party-goers forgotten. We took a shower together the next morning and I still had his cum dripping out of my pussy. In the shower I sucked his cock and swallowed a load of cum. Tyrone drove me back to the club parking lot to get my car. He kissed me again before we parted.
“Will I see you again?” I said.
“I have your number,” was his only response.
Two days later my life was back to its former, dull routine. I washed clothes, did the dishes and generally became my former housewife self. Then the phone rang; I answered it.
“Baby,” said the familiar bass voice, “its Tyrone. A few guys are coming over to play poker Friday night. Why don’t you come over? We need a hostess.”
The phone went ‘click’ before I could answer. “Who was it?” my husband asked.
“Just a wrong number,” I lied.
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