It was about midnight, and Sarah and I were lying in bed. I had my arm round her shoulder as she nuzzled my neck. 

“Guess who got in touch today?”

“I dunno, babe, who?”

“Guess!”

“Ok, er, your sister.”

“Ha! No! That bridge is well and truly burned, although it was her husband’s fault as much as mine. Guess again.”

“Oh, I don’t know, fuckin’… Kim Jong Un!”

“Correct-a-mundo! How the fuck did you know that? Me and big Kim are like that.” She crossed one finger over another. “Actually, it was Moses.”

“Oh, right, ok. God himself was too busy hoovering Heaven, so he asked one of his minions to do it.”

“Not Moses from the Bible, Paul…” she let that hang in the air, and a strange feeling spread up through my thighs and my groin, into the pit of my stomach, “the guy I was seeing when I met you. Remember him?”

“Er, vaguely,” I lied, “black guy, was he?”

“He was.”

“Sort of a… heavy-set dude?”

“He was built, yeah.”

“Ok, so what did he want?”

“Well, he saw my latest WhatsApp status and reached out to say hello.”

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and checked Sarah’s status. It was a picture I’d taken from our holiday last week. She was sitting up on her sun lounger, looking over her shoulder at me.

“Jesus, Sarah, I didn’t realize you’d posted that on WhatsApp. It’s kinda revealing.”

“I’m wearing a bikini. By the pool. That’s what people do, Paul. It’s called a holiday snap.”

I watched it again.

She wore a tiny white bikini. The bottoms were a G-string style, with a playing card symbol on the little triangle at the back. Sat on the sunbed, her ample bottom caught the eye.

“Will everyone see that?” 

“No, don’t worry, it’s only for my private contacts. Moses must still be in that group. Anyway, guess what he said?”

I lay there silent, blood flowing into my loins and a strange feeling creeping over my heart.

‘Damn, girl, I miss that ass.' "Isn't that nice of him?”

“Well, hun, it seems a bit disrespectful to me, don’t you think?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s only being playful.”

“Was he upset when you left him for me?”

“Ha! He didn’t give a monkey’s about you. We weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend,” she paused again, “it was just a sex thing.”

Her fingers brushed my nipples, then drifted down across my abs.

“What kind of…” 

“So anyway, I messaged him back on WhatsApp.”

“Really? To say what?”

“Just to thank him for the compliment and ask what he's up to. He asked if you’re still away from home a lot with work.”

“How does he know about that?”

Her hand had reached my pubic curls, and one finger touched the base of me.

“Paul, I never loved him like I love you, babe."

She looked up into my eyes as her fingers traced along the top of my bushy thatch.

“He wasn’t attentive and eager to please me like you are in bed. In fact, it was the opposite. He never ate my pussy; he never even kissed me.”

“Never even kissed you?

"No, he just had me on my knees as soon as he came in here and made me try to deep-throat his enormous cock.”

“Here? He came here? Is he still in the area?”

“But of course it was impossible. I could only manage half of it before I choked and gagged as he started to get hard. So bloody thick and long, Paul.”

“I thought you didn’t like giving oral sex?”

“I don’t with you, but somehow it was different with him. I got this overwhelming urge to please him, no matter how degrading his demands.” 

Then she whispered in my ear, “I even sucked his balls.”

"Oh Sarah,” my voice was faint, the tone resigned, as vivid images of that sordid act forced themselves into my mind: sweet, pretty Sarah with her lips stretched wide to accommodate two huge black testicles, drool dripping from her chin as she slobbered on his giant plums.

“He always had a thing about my bum. He called me his PAWG.”

“Pork?”

“No, silly." She gave my dick a little slap, then, feeling I was getting hard, she squeezed it.

“P.A.W.G. It stands for phat ass white girl. He always fucked me from behind.”

“I thought you didn’t like that? You’d feel like a dog; that’s what you always say to me when I suggest it.”

“I know, but it’s different with him. He makes me his bitch. I just seem to become, oh, I don’t know, a slut for him.”

“Slut,” I seemed compelled to repeat the word. 

“Guess which his favorite panties are?”

“What?”

“He always makes me wear his favorite panties.”

“Jesus, Sarah, I don’t know, maybe those crotchless black ones I bought for you last Christmas?”

“No, it’s these ones.”

She pulled back the cotton sheet that covered us to reveal that she wore a pair of small white mini briefs decorated with a cherry pattern.

Also revealed was my penis, now fully erect and pointing up towards us.

“He says they like a virgin’s, innocent and pure. It’s our little role play. He gets me on all fours, then yanks them down around my knees so that I can't spread my legs as I’m restrained by my own knickers.”

“Sarah…” 

She traced a finger along the swollen vein on the underside of my penis.

“And then he puts his knees outside of mine and takes me from behind, and because my thighs are close together, and his black cock is so girthy, it feels like I am a virgin, tiny, tight, and ruined as he fucks me with his BBC.”

Through the dizzy fog of my inexplicable arousal, I realized she’d change the tense. ‘Made’ had become 'makes,' and ‘fucked’ was 'fucks.' From past to present; from then to now. 

Ding-dong

I was startled by the doorbell.

“Jesus, who on earth can that be at this time of the night?”

She waited for a second, watching, and then let out a little laugh.

“Ha! Don’t be a silly boy, Paul; go down and let him in.”