Another night of disturbed sleep. It was too hot. I was too distracted. Lying next to my peacefully sleeping husband, I tossed and turned; my mind consumed with the thought of my lover taking me over and over again. Every day without him increased my desperate yearning for Dion. I was consumed with an almost frantic desire to be taken by him; to be used by him.
The next day passed in a blur of domestic tedium. In the middle of the children’s supper, my phone buzzed. Reaching for it, I opened a text from one of the other mums. “Shit, shit, shit,” I gasped to cries of bad words, mummy from the children. In my distracted state, I had completely forgotten we were getting together for a drink this evening as a year group. Racing upstairs, I jumped in the shower, then dressed, pulled my hair into a ponytail, and applied some makeup.
I came back downstairs in a white, long-sleeved, Bardot top; the off-shoulder look of which exposed my bare shoulders and the absence of a bra. With the top, I had pulled on skinny denim jeans, which ran tight over my toned bum and legs, and a pair of flat, pastel pink pumps.
James dropped me off at the wine bar and then returned home with our children. Arriving late, I saw everyone else already around a table. And there, smiling at me, eyes twinkling, was Dion. My stomach lurched. Calm, Clara; act natural; nothing to see here; just don’t focus on him and give yourself away.
Squeezing in between two of my best friends, I avoided eye contact with my lover and took a healthy draft from the glass of white wine that was placed in front of me. “That sort of day, Hun,” Amelia grinned sympathetically. Nodding, I took another, placed the glass down, and exhaled slowly.
The evening passed in conversation, gossip, and more than a little wine. All the while, I was in a state of inner turmoil. Sneaking looks at Dion whilst trying to keep my eyes on others. Engaging him in conversation enough not to be obvious by ignoring him, and not too much as to be obvious in paying him too much attention. My mind was racing, trying to detect the merest hint that others had worked it out. Guilt driving suspicion that someone must have detected the bond between us despite my best efforts. And my anxiety was fuelled with every light touch of his foot against my leg.
As the gathering reached a natural conclusion, and having caught my eye, Dion made an open offer of a lift home. I waited, not wanting to be the first to accept, but once Amelia had agreed, I quickly added my thanks before anyone else could take up the offer.
“He is gorgeous,” a tipsy Amelia whispered as we followed Dion to his Range Rover. “Can you imagine how amazing he is in bed?” she continued, clutching my arm.
“He seems really nice,” I responded lamely, glad she could not see me blush in the darkness. I increased the pace slightly, hoping reaching the car would kill this line of conversation before it became apparent that I didn’t need to imagine what Dion was like in bed.
“Nice is the last thing I’d want him to be,” my friend retorted, with a conspiratorial wink. I nudged her gently, giggled, and playfully rolled my eyes, hoping it was a convincing response. Fortunately, there was no more time for Amelia to pursue her musings over his prowess; we had reached the car. I breathed.
After a brief discussion, Dion suggested it made sense to drop Amelia off first and then take me home. Letting Amelia take the passenger seat, I slid into the back. As she talked, Dion’s dark eyes met mine in the rear-view mirror. My heart skipped and I fought to control myself. Trying to focus on the conversation, I pressed my thighs together, feeling the tingle and the dampness grow. Amelia led the light-hearted chat, mercifully unaware of the unspoken conversation being conducted with surreptitious glances.
By the time we arrived at Amelia’s house, I was beside myself with desire. After thanks for a great evening, a kiss on both cheeks for Dion and an affectionate hug and promise of coffee with me in the morning me, she weaved her way to the front door. Sighing with relief, I climbed into the passenger seat. My pulse was racing. I could feel my own heat.
The silence stretched out. Tension hung heavy in the air. I broke it with three simple words. “I want you.” Three simple words that encapsulated weeks of sleepless nights and inner turmoil. Of constant guilt. Of constant longing. Of a constant ache.
“Show me how much you want me; tell me how much you need me, Clara,” Dion instructed in a calm and utterly commanding tone. Hesitantly, my hands moved to untuck the Bardot top and lift it free of my jeans.
“I can’t think; I can’t breathe; I can’t sleep,” I whispered, fingers exploring with aching lightness across gym-toned belly. “You; your hot breath on me; you inside me,” my voice barely audible as I crossed my arms, took hold of the hem and dragged the white cotton garment up and over my boobs, which flopped free with a gentle bounce.
“You fill my every waking thought. The thought of you. The thought of your beautiful cock, proud and hard for me,” I continued, watching his trousers begin to tent; goosebumps forming on my skin as I teased over it with fingertips. Lips parted slightly, eyes hooded with desire, I gently cupped my full, firm breasts. “That perfect black cock. Thick. Long. Black. Big. So…fucking…big,” I groaned softly, massaging the soft, pliant fleshy mounds; fingers rolling over my hardening nipples.
“The heat of you between my legs; the contrast between your hard black muscle and my pale white skin,” I murmured in a voice tight with desire. A hand cupped over a boob, I trailed the other hand down, letting it glide over my taut stomach and onto the button of my jeans. Popping the button, I freed the zip; releasing the hand from my breasts, I lifted slightly in the passenger seat and tugged the denim down over my pert buttocks. Dion’s chest was rising and falling now, his cock straining painfully against the crotch of his trousers.
“Your manhood opening me as I lie there at your mercy.” Easing into my lace thong, I traced fingertips along my glistening labia, until they connect with the clit. A soft moan escaped my parted lips as I described slow, deliberate circles over the hard nub, feeling it swell and the intensity of my arousal build. Looking across, I saw Dion release his shaft from its captivity.
“My tight pussy stretching around your beautiful black cock as you push yourself deep inside me.” One hand reaching up to tease my hard, jutting, nipples; the other toying my clit, which pulsed with each circling motion I applied to it. My eyes fixed on my lover’s huge member, jutting proudly from his lap.
“My cries of ecstasy as you fill me with your magnificent cock, erasing all other thoughts from my mind.” Sliding my hand down over the dripping wet folds, I plunged two fingers deep inside my aching quim and began urgently pumping them into myself. Dion had taken himself in hand now, stroking his rampant length as he drove.
“Filling me; fucking me; making me scream your name as you take me over and over again.” Establishing a steady rhythm with the two fingers, I pressed a thumb firmly against the hard nub of my clit, circling it in time with the movement of my fingers. Hips rocking against my hand, my breath ragged, I closed my eyes and let out a low moan of lust, just as Dion pulled the car over and parked on a stretch of road away from the glare of street lights and passing traffic.
“Ride me; I want you to cum on my cock,” he growled, pushing the driver’s seat fully back and yanking his trousers down. Desperate to have him inside me, and focused entirely on the towering mass of black meat, I kicked my pumps from my feet and urgently peeled off my jeans.
Clambering across, I straddled my lover, placing my knees on either side of his muscular thighs. Reaching down, I guided his engorged glans towards my sopping mound. With the broad tip nudging against the puffy lips of my labia, I placed my hands on his broad shoulders and looked deep into those dark, hypnotic eyes. Settling on my shins, I lowered my bum and slowly impaled myself on his shaft.
“Oh fuckkkkkkkkkkk,” I exhaled, as his thick girth stretched my aching pussy; the inner muscles shifting to accommodate his vastness deep inside me, until the head connected with my cervix. “So fucking good; so fucking deep,” I whimpered, beginning to ride my lover.
Dion’s hands moved onto my hips, gripping them as I rocked against him; his mouth moving to soft, fleshy mounds bouncing tantalisingly in front of his face. Burying my face in his hair and gripping his shoulders hard, I dug manicured nails deep into the muscle and let out a series of almost anguished sobs whilst I rode him frantically; beads of perspiration forming on my exposed skin.
“You really are a needy little thing, aren’t you, Clara,” he growled, his hands softly guiding the movement of my hips across his lap. “Desperate for my cock,” he continued, watching me bit my lip and nod frantically in agreement as he began to rock his hips in synch with mine.
“So desperate that you haven’t even noticed where we are,” he murmured, eyes twinkling with mischief. I jerked my head and looked wildly around, taking in the surrounding area. With a feeling of gut-wrenching panic, it dawned on me that he had parked outside my house.
“Are you insane?” I gasped, a gasp that transformed into a silent scream when Dion lifted me slightly and then dropped me onto his shaft, thrusting up violently so that the head rammed into my cervix.
“Don’t tell me this doesn’t turn you on even more; my black cock buried in your married cunt, with your husband metres away,” he growled, the gentle movements of his hands turning to a firm grip of my hips that propelled me over his pelvis in a manner that left me sobbing with desire.
Frantically scanning the house for signs of movement, but driven on by a frenzied lust, I rode my lover like a woman possessed. Suddenly, I saw a light go on in our bedroom. Heart in mouth, I gripped his shoulders harder, digging my fingernails and drawing blood as I ground my clit feverishly against his pubic bone. “Oh, my fucking God,” I whimpered; half in passion, half in abject terror, as James appeared at the window.
The light was on in the bedroom, it was pitch-black outside, and the car was parked in the shadows. But if my husband had detected what was going on, he would have seen his wife, top pulled up, tits exposed, a black cock buried to the hilt inside her unfaithful body, fucking a man he would have recognised as Dion in the driver’s seat of a car.
“I’m cumming; fuck, I’m cumming, Clara,” my lover groaned, just as I saw my oblivious husband draw the curtains. The combination of arousal and relief tipped me over the edge. Pleading with him to fill me with his black seed, my hand flew to my mouth to silence myself as that whimpering request turned to a shrill scream of release. Back arched and pale white boobs pressed against his handsome dark face, my walls clenched onto his ebony shaft, I rode him hard through my climax as Dion pulsed streams of his hot cum deep inside me.
Shaking with the aftershocks of my orgasm, I slumped forward onto him. We lay there in silence, perspiration running down between the soft flesh of my firm breasts pressed into his panting face. Slowly, our breathing recovered and heart rates slowed. With a look of mutual agreement, I lifted slightly, releasing his manhood. As I did so, his cum and my juices seeped from my swollen labia and formed a sticky puddle on his lap.
“I really need to go,” I whispered, breaking from a passionate kiss and scrambling awkwardly across to the passenger side. We dressed hastily, both now fully conscious of the risk of discovery.
Slipping into the house, I tiptoed into the kitchen and washed in the sink; shame and guilt rising as the arousal abated. Undressing in the dark, I crept across the bedroom, and slid quietly into bed next to my now snoring husband. Eyes wide open and mind racing, sleep evaded me until the small hours of the night.
