Heather Brown - Blow girl

A few minutes later a battered pick-up truck with AAA painted on its doors pulled up by the curb. Its driver got out and I could quickly see that he was black. As he advanced toward me carrying a case with his tools in it, I suddenly found myself feeling apprehensive. It wasn't that I was prejudiced, it was just that I had always lived in white neighborhoods, had gone to school with white children, and really had had no experience with black people. I couldn't help myself, but they seemed so different.

"Hello, ma'am," he said politely as he came up the walk toward where I was sitting. "I'm the man from Triple A. You the lady with the door that won't open?"

I stood up and told him I was, stammering over my words.

"What's the matter?" he asked with apparent concern. "Is something bothering you?" He was a nice-looking man, well over six feet tall, with a small goatee and a medium Afro, and strong masculine features. I could see his powerful muscles rippling his khaki work shirt that was rolled up to his biceps.

"No," I said, getting myself together. "Well, I guess I'm kind of upset about not being able to get into my apartment. See, I came home with a headache and…"

"Don't worry 'bout a thing," he said understandingly, "I'll fix you right up. Is that it up the stairs?"04:28.2/08:21.7 I nodded yes, and we began climbing the stairs. As I watched him ascend the stairs, I couldn't help but notice the sensuous movement of his high, firm asscheeks and his long, strong-looking legs.

He fiddled around the lock for a while with some sort of tool, and the next thing I knew the door was open. "Come on up," he said, "the door's open now. Have you got a spare key inside, or do you want me to make you one?"

"Thank you," I said, "but I've got one, I think."

"You better check before I go," he suggested. "You don't want to get caught like this again."

"I guess you're right," I agreed, and went upstairs and into the apartment. I walked through the living room toward the kitchen where the spare key was kept. I reached up to the pantry and got down the cookie jar where it was supposed to be, and felt around for it. "Yes, it's here," I said loudly so he could hear.

"No need to yell," he said right in my ear. I almost jumped up into the air. I'd thought he was still out by the front door, but he had followed me into the kitchen.

"Oh, excuse me," I said, flustered. "I thought you were…"

"Is something wrong?" he said.

"No, no," I said quickly, "I just thought you were still outside, that's all. You surprised me." His face wasn't six inches from mine. He smiled as I was trying to explain my jumpiness to him, a ribbon of snow-white teeth splitting his handsome black face.

"Heh-heh," he chuckled, "I'll bet I know what's wrong with you."

"What do you mean?" I said. "I just told you." "You've never been alone like this with a nigger before," he chuckled sardonically. "That's what's making you so jumpy."

"No," I protested. "Well, I mean, I.."

"Well, have you?"

"No, no, I haven't. But it doesn't make any difference to me." But it did. He was right. Or was he? Was it just because he was black that was making me feel this way? Or was it because I was so tired of being alone and now I found myself with an attractive man? Or maybe it was both. In any case, I suddenly became aware of a tightening between my legs and a simultaneous dampening of my cunt.

He seemed to be reading my mind. "Listen, lady, I ain't gonna do nothing you don't want me to. You asked me to fix your lock, and, presto, I did it. Now if you need anything else, let me know and I'll try and accommodate you, otherwise I'll be on my way." Then there was silence as he hypnotized me with a black stare and tied my tongue.

Finally I stammered, "What.., what's your name?"

"Luther Jackson," he said, "at your service, like I said. Now, heh-heh, is there anything else I can do for you?"

I was weakening. "I can't think of anything at the moment, but why don't you stay and have a cup of coffee?"

He nodded his head.

"Is instant all right?" I asked.

"I don't really want no coffee," he said as he sat down on the couch. He must have been about six feet four and over two hundred pounds, and about five pounds of that had to be cock, judging from the huge bulge in his pants. "Now why don't you sit down and let's get acquainted," he said.

"Well, I suppose if you don't want any coffee, I might as well," I said, taking a chair across from him. My skirt climbed halfway up my ass, and I gave it a tug and a mumbled curse.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" he asked.'

"Oh," I said, "I was just complaining to myself about how short this skirt was." I was getting so steamed up I wondered if he could see that my panties were wringing wet when my skirt rode up. If I got any more excited it would start running down my leg.

"You certainly have no reason to complain," he said. "You have beautiful legs. And you really don't have to sit clear across the room, you know. I'm not a monster, you know."

"I didn't think you were, I said as I moved to sit beside him. I could feel his eyes on my legs as my skirt slid up. My panties were so saturated I might as well not have had any on at all. They clung translucently to the cleavage of my pussy, sopping in my slit, my cuntlips oozing against them. I made no move to pull my skirt down.

"You know," he said, "you're really very attractive. How come you're here alone? How come your husband wasn't around to let you in?"

"He's a truck driver and he's gone a lot," I said. "He's on a five-day run someplace."

"I'll bet you get lonely with him gone all the time like that."

"Not really," I said, but I looked at him in such a way that he knew it was a lie.

"You've never had a black man before, have you?" he said suddenly.

"We've already talked about that," I said.

"You know what I'm talking about now," he said firmly. "I mean, you never fucked a black man. You've never had a black prick up your honky cunt."

I was speechless. The image of a jet-black cock sliding in and out of my pliant cunt rendered me wordless with the choking anticipation of forbidden desire. A combination of my restlessness and frustration from being alone too much of the time, and my subconscious lust to be flicked by a black man, made words useless. I threw myself at him, my hands wildly fumbling with his fly, knowing I couldn't wait a second longer to see his black cock. I pushed his pants down as he got up and stepped out of them. As he sat down again, my head flew to his groin.

I had been right when I'd estimated that his cock was a big one. If anything, it was even bigger than Red's eleven inches. It was an enormous black shaft with an even blacker knob the size of a plum on the end of it, jutting Menacingly out of a bush of crinkly black hair. I couldn't wait to plunge that cock into my mouth, work my lips up and down the stem furiously, tickle its giant head with my voracious tongue. And that's what I did.

As I sucked on his gigantic prick, Luther placed his large black hand under my skirt and began to press against my sopping cunt. Then he grabbed the dripping crotch of my panties and as easy as swatting a fly ripped them out from between my legs. He began to tickle my already rigid clitoris which was sticking out like a miniature hard-on. As he flipped my clit, he inserted his two middle fingers up my fucking canal, working them around in the morass of goo to touch all the most sensitive spots so that it seemed he had a map of my cunt. I couldn't stop creaming as he turned me on to greater and greater heights. With his cock still lodged firmly in my mouth, I glanced over to watch him finger-fucking me and noticed a growing dark stain on the couch from the accumulated oozing of my cunt. I watched as he withdrew his fingers and placed them on each side of my cunt, and then as the force of his strong fingers pulled the pink gooey lips apart, exposing the gaping mouth of my cunt, copiously drooling hot cream from its depths.