Dutch Lessons

A trickle of semen running down my thighs tickles as I try, in vain, to get a gulp of the Black man’s milk.

I think about smearing it in my panties or my dress, but it’s porterhouse on my tongue, so I swipe my fingers in and suck them in between my lips. I might not be a cum freak, but the product of my one-night stand is sweeter than I expect, like everything else about tonight.

My pussy is still crammed full of baby batter, as evidenced by the fullness and residual pulsations from when my Nigerian lay sank his third load-deep into my quivering snatch.

But I’m getting away from myself.

…

I haven’t always been a fan of hooking up with one-night-stand Africans, nor have I always been the madam in a female-led entertainment dynamic that entails my husband lapping leftovers from the latest Black Buck out of me between my legs and slapping his own blinding splatters on the kitchen floor.

I met my man, blonde and handsome Hans, when I was eighteen and he was six years my senior. We fell in ass-over-balls lust, not least because of our mutual thirst for dirty sex.

But how could Hans resist me? Short but busty, I was full of welcoming white curves in a backside men wanted to use as a pillow and a basketball hoop at the same time. I never had one of those skin-and-bone Victoria’s Secret bodies, but only dogs like bones, right?

I’ve kept myself in a barn-a-larm shape over the years with a healthy diet and exercise. I’m five-three, one-fifty-eight pounds, and, Muh Gawd, my bra size is 38F. If I go for a jog, I need two sports bras, because if I don’t, my monster carriage, pumped to the limit with hormones, will bounce up and down in a five-finger shuffle, driving the men in my local park into frenzies. They’re usually glad I don’t.

I have shoulder-length, curly brown hair and large brown eyes. I also have some rebel cocks in my pocket. I…er… I mean tattoos. On my left ribcage, I have a star, which was joined by a smaller one right alongside it, and a black spade on my right butt cheek. This was done after my first forays into mud shark porn with Hans, fulfilling his request to have experiences with others, and my downward spiral into Blacks-only dating that’s led me to this place five years after the lightning-fast ride I call a previous marriage.

Back to my story, though, I get dressed as quickly as possible, careful not to step in the black guy’s teeth-rattling cum piles. My sex partner is still lying on the bed, basking in post-pussy-coma. The sex was hard and furious, much more so than in my blue moon hookups with my husband, but that’s the way it is with Black men.

I am, and always have been, something of a size queen. Me and Hans experimented with swinging and threesomes early on. Most couples use these to fix the relationship or bring back a sexual spark. We didn’t have any gaps in our relationship or sex life, but we were kinky and liked new conquests.

Despite his slightly below-average size, Hans made up for it with his oral skills—he’s a witch with his tongue, and I’ll never kick him out of my bed—but my forays with white men were unsatisfying. Of course it didn’t help that none of the white guys I hooked up with were worth revisiting.