Cheaters never prosper, they used to tell me. I've made a life of cheating, and while I wouldn't say I've prospered, I wouldn't complain.
My wife never really understood me. Hell, I never much understood her. But over the years, we managed to develop an "understanding". We don't pry too deep into each other's affairs, business or otherwise. I still remember the first time I broke those solemn vows to love no other but my lovely, frigid, back-biting, bitch wife. I mostly remember that girl's tongue.
Her tongue tasted of rye whiskey and cloves, the flavor not unlike the woman. Rough but welcome. The waxy texture of her lipstick was smeared across my chin as we parted ways long enough for a sharp intake of air, before suckling at each other's tongues again.
This girl wasn't the sort you'd expect to see on a magazine cover, with their plastic perfection that was cut, stitched, and inflated. No... hers was the charm of an old bordello whore.
Clearly she'd been cut, but not by a surgeon. There was a jagged mark beneath her collarbone. There was a crescent shaped scar that I somehow knew was from a broken bottle. Bar room brawl or sadistic lover, the scar had a story all it's own, I was sure. I wasn't sure if it was better than the story that accompanied the bruises on her wrists. It looked as if she was just recovering from a nasty rope burn. There was another variety of burn on her shoulder-blade. As she'd slid out of her coat, baring her shoulders earlier, I'd noticed what looked like a brand etched into her with a coat hanger and white heat.
With so many scars and stories, I knew she wasn't a delicate flower. She'd earned every scar and wore them proudly. Her body was a road map of pain, and her fingers had traced every angry red line that was raised across her ebony flesh.
I can't say I bothered to ask her name. In the weeks that followed, it became my obsession, that name I never thought to get. It would have made it a lot fucking easier to find her, I was sure. But at the time, it seemed... invasive. Almost rude.
Odd that I should be so shy, but I remember distinctly wondering what to call her. The thought occurred to me as I grasped the rough lace of her panties, and jerked at them savagely until they ripped free leaving an angry welt across her thighs, exposing her desperate cunt to the air conditioning of the hotel room. The scent of her lust mingled with the mildew stink of the cold air.
I don't know why, but it made me hard.
I'd met her in the hotel bar in Texas. She had been sitting silently, a thin streamer of smoke wandering from her cigarette. The ash had grown to almost two inches in length as it burned itself away untouched. Motionless as she was, it was easy to overlook her. Indeed, it wasn't the woman who broke the silence, but rather the ice in her long empty glass as it settled with a merry tinkle. Though there was already a second glass in front of the chair next to her, it was still quite full. A scotch or rye perhaps, the amber liquid had ashes floating in it, as if someone had butted out a cigarette in it.
Her lithe form was hunched over the table. Dressed in equal parts for a brawl or a fuck, her boots suited her personality. She wasn't too hard on the eyes, and the way she crouched over her empty drink was somehow fetching. It was the crude slouch of someone suffering silently with only a glass keeping them company. Though the act itself wasn't particularly attractive, it was clear that she thought no one was watching.
It appealed to the voyeur in me to sneak a peek at someone behaving naturally when the camera was off. There was an honesty in people that was hard to find when they knew they were being watch. As I spoke, she didn't startle, but that moment of honesty was gone as she straightened in her seat, "... mind if I sit?"
At least she didn't say otherwise, and she didn't strike me as the type of woman that would be timid about telling my type of man to piss off. She wasn't the type to exchange many pleasantries and any feeble attempts at conversation were stifled by the feel of her toes against my groin.
She was as dark as licorice, with the bearing of a tomboy that had come into her own once puberty hit. She knew what she wanted and had no time for those who couldn't give it to her. Hers was a careless sort of beauty, short black hair cropped conservatively at chin length, and highlighted the natural way, by too much time in the sun. The sun had also kissed her skin, gracing her form with the sheen of pure ebony. It was slick and shimmering from her sweat, the skin glistening in the twilight heat.
I scooted closer, wrapping my arm around her waist. Her skirt was denim and clung to her hips like a lover. Already we had an understanding of sorts. She hadn't said a word, her legs parting as I dug my fingers into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. I could feel her heat, her excitement palpable in the warmth that radiated from her. Her thighs trembled as I traced the pattern of her lace undergarments. They were stained already with her excitement, leaving my fingertips damp.
Her teeth descended on my collarbone. It wasn't a playful sort of nip. She almost drew blood as she bit me. It was painful even through the fabric of my oxford, but it was the kind of pain one could easily grow addicted to, as she nuzzled at my throat. Her lips left a sticky trail of her red lipstick across my neck. It stank of artificial cherry and need.
Those tiny fingers of hers came down hard on my shoulder, and I almost fell off the stool as she pushed me away. I knew she was meaner than she looked, but that didn't scare away the stray thoughts I kept having about what her cunt tasted like. I was already well beyond the point fear could cool my prick down. Wordlessly, she got up from the table, her firm ass peaking beneath the hem of her skirt as she made her way to the toilets.
I thought I saw her offer me a subtle invite. Whether the invitation was there or not, I knew I had to let myself into her. The door to the ladies room hadn't managed to shut itself before I'd gotten there. I pushed open the door, the girl waiting for me in the flickering light of the fluorescent. She stood there, dark and nameless as we made eye contact again. I felt as if we had an understanding, because she didn't say a word as she rested her hand on the bulge in my trousers.
As she lowered herself to her knees, my zipper was clutched in her fingers, and descended as well. My pecker had never been one to stay seated, and it sprang out as she tugged the elastic of my underwear beneath my balls. Not bothering to remove her thin top, she pressed her firm round breasts beneath veiny cock, her cleavage guiding it upward to tickle against her plush lips.
She gave it an almost reverently soft kiss.
Soon she was giving my bulbous cock-crown a deep, heavy kiss, suckling for pre cum at of the tip and letting it trail down her lips by a thick strand. Moving her head forward she took initiative and swallowed my needy penis right down her mouth. Her breasts pillowed beneath me, she suckled it down inch by torturous inch, leaving the rest to be wrapped about by her firm tits. Bobbing her head and breasts in sequence, she began to suckle on my dick as if it was a lollipop... and she was ravenous.
Still silent, she watched me, her eyelids low with lust as her luscious breasts pressed beneath my rock-hard shaft, massaging it with their softness as her lips left streaks of strawberry down the length. Spittle ran from the thick red borders of her lips as she pressed her tongue against the tip of my cock.
Her lips were pursed, suckling messily at my need, her saliva running down her own breasts now as she inhaled me. Her slim fingers cupped my scrotum in a cool grip, the unrelenting rhythm of her hot breasts and firm wet lips making the contact almost electric. But certainly not in a bad way.
Her thumb teased down the seam between my balls as she slurped noisily at the rubbery meat. Thinly manicured fingers traced circles between my tangled pubic hair. The sight alone of the lithe and sexy young thing pleasuring me with hands, breasts and lips was enough to make most boil over, let alone the FEELING.
The rough lash of her tongue as she lowered her lips around my hot cock was glorious, while she seemed to almost suck the very breath out of me with the force of her lips as she raised her head. And again... and again... while her breasts pressed so tightly around my cock, it was like deflowering a virgin again and again. She squeezed my nuts almost reassuringly, as she lifted her head again, inhaling deeply from the engorged tip of my pecker. I could feel my face turning red with excitement as I tried to fend off thoughts of covering her sweat slickened breasts with my spunk.
It was boiling already...
It was my turn to push her away, my breathing ragged as I fell to my knees next to the negress. She put up no resistance, but I fought her regardless, pushing her down to the rickety wood floor of the bathroom. Her skirt was already hiked up, and I didn't have time to remove her panties. I had to be inside her now.
Prying aside the cotton undergarment, I brushed the head of my reddened cock against the vibrant pink lips of her sex briefly before plunging myself into her folds with a shout of pure pleasure. This wasn't the sweet sort of lovemaking my wife favored. No, this was brutal and visceral... like an animal. My hips thrusted up against her pussy with a wet slap. Even restrained beneath the low cut t-shirt, her breasts were shuddering back and forth with each impact. I could feel my brow was furrowed, sweat dripping down my body and onto my "lover" as I fucked her. There was no sugar coating it as my firm full heat stretched the colored girl deliciously again and again. This wasn't love making or simply sex. She was being fucked... so utterly, the mere thought of it days later would be enough to make her wet instantly.
I shivered at the vicious clenching of her twat, moaning, "Oh God..." It was too soon! I felt my testicles tightening with their payload already, and bit my lip sternly, trying to keep control. But my hips just refused to listen as I pounded at the dripping sex of the girl frantically. I could smell the scent of her arousal mingled with her cheap perfume. The scent of sweat and bathroom sanitizer tainted the muggy air.
Humid with the twilight, it made my lungs heave for breath, but I refused to stop. I pressed a hand against her left thigh, spreading her legs wider as I slammed into her aching sex over and over. I supported myself with a firm grip on her breast, squeezing hard enough to be almost unpleasant. Almost.
My ass clenched as I let out another, "Oh God... Uhhhhh..." and lost myself in her.
The warm wet splash of my seed flooded her, painting the walls of her twitching pussy white. Remembering myself too late, I tugged out my swollen organ just in time for the second spurt of cum to spray against her inner thigh. I pulled my hand off of her breast in favor of taking firm hold of my penis and coaxing each trembling spurt of cum out of my reddened cock. Frantically tugging at it, I moaned again and again with each new spasm, seed spraying all over the battered lips of her pussy, as well as the midriff of her t-shirt.
"Uh... I'm... UHHHH... sorry..." I murmured in-between aftershocks that offered no more sperm, but made my legs feel weak. At last she got up as my pecker seemingly bucked it's last tremor. My fingers were trembling, my spent dick growing limp in my hand as the lights caught the gleam off of my wedding ring. I looked down at it for a full minute before I turned back up to the dark woman who'd "made" me break my vows. To this day, I blame her for my infidelity, though we both knew even then whose fault it really was.
But as I looked up at her, standing over me with her nonchalant beauty, I was face to twat with that pussy I'd fallen into again and again. I could smell her still and I could feel a slight flutter in my pecker, even after having just cum my guts out. She didn't move. Fact is, she didn't even say anything, not that I expected her to. But I looked up into her eyes, and again, somehow... I still felt we had an understanding.
My wife and I fucked like it was a chore, and we came with the excitement and regularity of reading the morning paper. I looked into that girl's eyes and I understood how wrong that was. Sex was supposed to be zesty and explosive. And altogether more frequent then my wife and I had it! I remember then, on the floor of the toilet, licking my lips and smiling my best shit eating grin before asking the black girl, "Did you want to see my room?"
She didn't say a word. And she didn't have to. Her tongue tasted of rye whiskey and cloves. With a tongue like that, I don't suppose she ever had to waste time with words.
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