It was after seven in the morning when I got home, still slightly drunk and definitely dishevelled. I'd had a night of incredible sex, been fucked for hours, the best I'd ever had, and I was going to see him again soon. Very soon!

I undressed in the bathroom, but then decided I wanted to sleep with his smell still on me. So I crawled into bed naked and slept for eight hours. I woke feeling refreshed, truly alive. Immediately, I thought about the previous night. I'd never had sex like that before; it had been mind blowing. From the moment Michael asked me for a dance, I had an idea how the evening would end.

He was tall, about six foot five I'd guess, and well built, very well built. He smelled faintly of woody aftershave, had great teeth, his manners were impeccable… oh, and he was black.

As we danced, his arms holding me against his muscular body, he said, ”I've never seen you here before.” A corny opening line but true.

“No," I agreed, "I've been living in Spain.”

“Nice." He smiled. “You have a great tan.”

"Thank you,” I said and then laughed, "but not as nice as yours.”

Flashing flawless white teeth as he laughed, he asked if I wanted another drink.

"Yes, why not?” I looked into his brown eyes. “You can help me celebrate.”

"Celebrate?"

"Yes, I'm newly divorced.”

You don't look old enough to have gone through all that,” he said.

"Only just,” I admitted with a wry smile. ”I'm nineteen.”

We walked to a table and he pulled out a chair for me. "Want to talk about it?"

“Not a lot to talk about.” I sat and gave a quick shoulder shrug. “My name's Amy Smith,

I'm nineteen, newly divorced, and I'm looking for a job.”

"What do you do?" he asked.

I shook my head. ”Nothing of any use, according to my ex.”

“Well, he's obviously biased.”

"Oh yes, he's that all right. Hypocritical, too.”

"How's that?"

I took a deep breath, which he misunderstood. "No, no… don't tell me,” he said, raising his palms toward me, “it's none of my business.”

"I've not told anyone about it yet.”

“Well, leave it at that. I don’t want to upset you.”

I chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry, I'll not be upset. Fact is, I feel free for the first time in my life: I can do what I want, go where I want, and wear what I want. So, no problem, Michael, you won't upset me.”

He signalled for another drink and put a big, black hand on mine. ”I'm all ears.”

I smiled at him. He looked so earnest, so interested. ”Okay, here goes… I was reared in an orphanage; never knew my parents. The staff were great. Unlike a lot of the kids, I actually loved it there. When I was thirteen, I got a job delivering newspapers in the evenings. A year later, I did a morning round as well. The shop owner was a divorced man, around fifty, quite a nice guy really. He never tried anything on; well, apart from telling me every day what nice legs I had and encouraging me to wear skirts instead of jeans.”

"He was certainly right there,” Michael said. "They're gorgeous legs.”

"Thank you.” I squeezed his hand and carried on, "Anyway, as my sixteenth birthday approached, the staff began to look for a job for me and a place to live. That was when Henry stepped in. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Henry was the shop owner. Right, so, days from my birthday, I was called into the office, and matron told me that he’d offered me the flat above his shop. I was thrilled, of course. Then matron dropped the bombshell: Henry wanted to marry me.”

“Wow," Michael said, eyes wide. "He was thirty-four years older than you.”

“Yes, he was. But, as I’ve said, he seemed a nice chap. Whatever, I went round that evening after he’d closed the shop and he made me a lovely dinner. Afterward, he showed me an engagement ring and asked me to think about becoming his wife.”

Michael frowned but didn’t speak. But I could tell he was quite surprised at this part of my story as I continued, “Henry took me back to the orphanage that night and we spoke to the matron. I said I was ready to marry Henry and she asked if I was sure. I said that I was certain. She looked a bit like you do now, Michael.” I smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. He slowly shook his head.

“Anyway, weeks later, we were married and, honestly, I was over the moon. Then it just got better, or so it seemed. Henry sold the shop to a property developer for just over two-hundred-thousand pounds and announced that we were going to live in Spain. He already had a house over there in a small place called Xaviar, near Benidorm.”

I took another drink, looking at Michael over the rim of my glass. "It was a beautiful place, Michael, absolutely gorgeous, right on the sea front. The waves actually lapped at the bottom of the garden. Every morning I got up and ran naked into the sea. I was in heaven; I couldn't have been happier… well, apart from the sex, that is.”

Now Michael raised his eyebrows and I continued in a low tone, “It was a case of let's go to bed, a quick fumble, wham-bam-thankyou-ma’am, and then he went to sleep. Sadly, Henry wasn't a very good lover. I’d had more satisfaction when I’d masturbated in the orphanage. He left me completely dissatisfied, never even asked how I felt. Even at sixteen, I knew it wasn’t good enough, that there must be more to making love than Henry’s swift, selfish fucks.”

I put my hand to my lips and mouthed, ‘Sorry, bad language.’ Michael softly said, “That’s okay, carry on with your story.”

“Well, Henry wasn't a fool. He realised that he wasn't enough for a healthy and horny — very horny — teenager, so he suggested I take a lover. Just like that! Obviously, I was horrified. But, the more I thought about it, the more appealing it became and, eventually, I agreed.”

Michael grinned. “I bet you did,” he said, and asked if we could go outside for a smoke.

"Great, yes,” I said, "I'd love a cigarette,” and we took our drinks onto the large balcony.

It was a lovely night and I was surprised that no-one else was there. We sat at a table, lit cigarettes, and I continued my story.

"There was a lad who worked at a bar near to our house; a black lad, a really nice boy, but big, very big… a bit like someone sitting not a million miles from me.”

"Thank you ma’am.” Michal doffed an imaginary hat.

"Well, I got chatting to Karl, the lad I fancied, and let it be known that I was interested and that Henry always went to the Brits ex-pat club on a Thursday night, leaving me with the house to myself. Karl was interested all right and arranged to call the following Thursday. Henry seemed pleased and even bought lingerie for me; you know, sexy little g-strings, stockings, that sort of thing. That Thursday, off he went to his club as usual and around came Karl. We sat talking for a while, me flashing my stocking tops.”

I stopped to sip my drink and inhale my cigarette. For some reason, it felt right to be telling this man, a total stranger, about my life. I was comfortable and Michael was certainly a good listener.

“So, of course, we went to bed. Karl was good, far better than Henry, and I, at last, had a nice orgasm. But it didn’t seem as powerful as those I'd read about in Henry's books. Or like some I'd seen in porn films.”

"Have you seen many blue films?"

“Only about half a dozen or so. Why?”

“Well," he laughed, "here's where this beautiful young lady gets up and walks out of my life.”

"Why would I do that?" I was mystified and he laughed again, but it sounded forced.

"I make blue films,” he said.

It was my turn to laugh. And mine was genuine. "You actually make blue films? Porn movies?”

“Yes. I formed a company two years ago to direct and star in my own films. I've made fourteen so far and a German company market them and handle all the distribution. So far, I've been quite successful.”

I sat back, staring into his face. He smiled ruefully and drained his glass. "Is that it? he asked, “Should I go?"

"Yes, but only as far as the bar. I'd like another brandy, please Michael.”

We stubbed out our smokes and I followed him inside. We found two bar stools and Michael helped me up on one and moved his closer.

“So, you're not going, Amy?”

"Certainly not,” I giggled. "I'm intrigued, tell me more. For a start, what’s the name of your company?"

"Big Black Productions,” he said, and I burst out laughing.

The brandy was kicking in by then and I leaned closer, flicked my tongue in his ear, and whispered, "And exactly how big are you, Michael?"

“I guess you’re not talking about my business?” He raised his eyebrows and I smiled, dropping my gaze to his lap.

"That's not big,” I smirked, "that's huge.”

“Well, to be honest, I was a bit like you. I didn't have any particular skills, I'd done a few dead end jobs — you know, flipping burgers, serving bar — and, at each job, word somehow got around that I was… well, big. In no time, I had women coming on to me, usually married women. I didn't like to say ‘no’, so I obliged them. Satisfied their curiosity. The strange part, though, was that some husbands knew about it. Not only knew, but approved.”

"And so you decided to make some money?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “At the moment, I'm planning a series on wives cuckolding their husbands. It’s the big thing nowadays, so to speak,” he smiled, “and the Germans are coming over next week to finalise a contract. They’re talking about two films a month for the next two years. Trouble is, though, I haven’t yet found a girl who I consider suitable.”

"Really? But you just said there was no shortage of women who fancy a bit of…” I leaned in to whisper, “you know, your big black cock.”

“That’s true. But, remember, nearly all of them are married and they don't want to appear in a film. Unless their old man is behind the camera, of course. I’ve had plenty of those.”

"What do you pay?"

"Why?" He looked into my eyes. “Would you be interested?"

I shrugged. “Might be,” I said, try to be noncholant while I was really on fire. "I'd need to know how much I can earn.”

"Do you trust me, Amy?"

“Hmm… we’ve only just me but — yes, I think so. Yes. Why?"

"Come home with me and I'll show you the set up. There’s a pay scale I adhere to which is in my office but I also have a copy at home.”

I drained my drink. Why mess about? "Lead on,” I said, dismounting the bar stool.

~~~

Michael lived in a beautiful apartment above a parade of shops. Proudly, he said that he'd bought two flats and had builders convert them into this large home.

"It's gorgeous,” I said, feeling my feet sink into the deep pile carpet as I stood admiring his music collection.

"Put one on,” he said. "Something we can dance to while I fix a drink.”

I found a collection of old songs and stood swaying to Blueberry Hill by Fats Domino.

"Good choice,” he said softly from behind me and kissed my neck. I turned and draped my arms around his neck, my body moulding into his while we gyrated slowly in time to the music.

"I think I've got good taste. In music and men,” I said and kissed his mouth.

Our mouths remained locked as he undressed me, whispering appreciation as he discovered I wore stockings and a wispy thong. I removed his jacket, tie, and shirt. I loved the feel of my nipples pressing against his broad chest. His tongue was like a serpent in my mouth and I eagerly sucked on it before he eased down my thong and guided me back onto a couch. Suddenly, I felt his mouth on my cunt.

Nobody had ever done that to me, it was something I'd only dreamed about. I arched my back, raised my hips to his face, and heard myself mewing with pleasure as his tongue lapped my clitoris.

“Michael… oh my God, Michael.”

From my clitoris, his tongue slithered between my cunt lips and he gripped my buttocks as he feasted. I was ecstatic. I'd never felt anything like it and when he moved away, I opened my eyes to see his hugely thick and long cock in front of me. It certainly was something else!

I’d never sucked cock but I didn’t need any lessons. It was his turn to moan as my lips closed over the enormous head. I sucked him into my eager mouth and I felt fingers caressing my slit. I wished I could open my legs even wider for him. He moved his hips very slowly back and forward, fucking my mouth. I was practically in a frenzy of lust. His cock was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and I greedily sucked and licked it like a giant lollipop. I also licked his huge, hanging balls and gently stroked his thick shaft until he eased away and leaned above me on strong, muscular arms.

"Ready?"

By way of an answer, I pulled him down to me and kissed him, tasting myself on his lips.

"More than ready,” I breathed as his cock nudged between my puffy labia. I was so wet, so ready, that he penetrated with surprising ease. I must admit, even though he entered me without pain or discomfort, I felt stretched to my limits. Inside me, he was even thicker and longer than I'd thought.

“Oooh, Michael, yes,” I crooned. "That's fucking beautiful.”

I wrapped my legs around his back and moved with him as he began fucking me, gently at first with each stroke long and deep. I moaned with desire and pleasure. Michael’s cock wasn't just big, it was solid, rigid as an iron bar, and all the time he fucked me, he kissed my nipples or flicked them with his broad tongue.

I dug my fingernails into his back and urged him on. "Fuck me, Michael,” I gasped into his ear. "Fuck me hard. I was born for you to fuck me.”

"You're beautiful, Amy,” he sighed, plunging his monster along my tunnel. "Work with me and we'll make a fortune.”

"If this is work, I’ll work for nothing.”

"Oh no,” he laughed, driving into my depths, "this isn't work, this is sheer bloody pleasure.”

"The best ever,” I grunted and rolled my hips to meet his thrusts.

He moved faster now and I gripped his muscular buttocks, heaving myself back up at him.

"Come inside me, Michael" I hissed, "I want to feel it all shooting up me.”

His big hands went under me and I squealed as he fingered my anus.

"I'm going to fuck you there next time.”

"Oh fuck, yes.” I felt a tremor in my legs. "I'm going to cum, Michael… you’re making me cum.” Harder, faster, and deeper he plunged. And then I felt his cock expanding. "Michael, oh Micha…. oh, oh… yessss.”

"Look at me, Amy.”

I opened my eyes and looked at his face. Stars danced and exploded in my brain, lightning flashed.

"I'm coming,” he said simply, and I felt him erupt. I screamed and held him tight as jet after jet of his seed sent me into raptures. He was like a pump, spurting and flowing, filling me to overflowing, and another orgasm hit me. I screamed again but my voice seemed so distant and I closed my eyes, still acutely aware of his magnificent throbbing cock buried deep inside me.

He was still inside when I opened my eyes again. I’d no idea how long I’d been resting but, amazingly, he was still hard. Incredibly, he began rotating his hips again, this time very slowly, and I heard squelching from my soaked cunt.

"That was a fuck, Amy,” he whispered, "now I'm going to make love to you.”

I felt my body reacting to him, my cunt muscles squeezing him, holding him, our sweat mingling while we kissed. "You're unbelievable, Michael. That was the best ever.”

"And you're gorgeous,” he smiled. "My best ever, bar none.”

He withdrew a long way and then eased back in. I felt every wonderful inch and moaned with pleasure, feeling his balls slapping against me. They still felt full and heavy and I knew then that this was the start of something big between us!

"You'll make me cum again,” I breathed.

"It's your fault. You turn me on. Everything about you turns me on: your face, your lips, your mouth, that incredible bottom, just everything.”

"What about my cunt, Michael? Tell me you like my cunt.”

He licked my ear as he whispered, “Like? I love your cunt, it tastes and feels lovely.”

A thrill ran through my body at his words. I'd often used the C word in my masturbation fantasies; it was a word I really liked to hear. I clutched his buttocks and asked him to tell me again.

"I'd eat my breakfast from your cunt, Amy.”

“Oooh, fuck yes, Michael.”

“Your… hot… juicy… little… cunt,” he said, plunging in and out with every word.

"Fuck my hot little cunt, Michael, fuck it hard, please.”

My climax approached rapidly as he drove into me, his eyes fixed on mine, and soon I felt him spurting again. Every muscle in his body seemed to be taut for a few moments and yet his cock still spurted. Then with a deep sigh, he was done, and lay on top of me.

“Hmm,” he mumbled, “you must finish your story. Tell me what happened, why the divorce.”

“Not now,” I said, head resting on his shoulder and fingers gripping his sticky, hot shaft.

We closed our eyes…

***

Authors note - thanks to JWren for working his magic in editing this story