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Jane leaves her husband and sordid friends for the summer and meets a dark stranger.
Things got complicated at home so I escaped to Florida. It wasn’t just the sex between George and me and our partner-swapping neighbors, Mary and James, but when other couples and even the occasional stranger were brought into the mix things just seemed to spin out of control.

Don’t get me wrong I loved it, especially at first, but then the overwhelming emotions of jealousies and competition almost became an inhibition to sexual reward. The mantra of, “Don’t think it just feel it,” even kept us from discussing what was happening. It all became a bit empty and a bit weird. So last spring when I went to Florida to close my parent’s winter house for the summer I stayed. As usual I got my parents on the plane back to their home in Philadelphia then cleaned up their house to button it for the summer, except this year I stayed all summer and into the fall, right up to the week my parents came back down for the winter.

It was good to be alone with time to reflect on the whirlwind life of sexual adventure we had been experiencing. Of course it did bother me that my husband George was unwilling to join me in Florida for the summer. He insisted on teaching his summer classes at the university. I understood and appreciated his academic ambition but I also knew he was unwilling to give up spending time in bed with Mary and James. Since most boundaries of sex had long disappeared I was not shocked to see what I saw through the sexual haze of one of our wilder evenings. But there it was, George and James in a sixty-nine position sucking each other’s cocks to renewed erections. Mary was licking both my pussy and anus clean of their seed right after the men double skewered me and finished together inside. I could render no judgment of the guys and watched in fascination as they went on forever right through to swallowing each other’s come.

The sights and sensations were all undeniably incredible. Even after countless orgasms on the cocks of the men when it seemed impossible for Mary to have any effect on my then rag doll of a body, the feeling of Mary pushing up on my legs behind my knees as she took long laps with her tongue from my anus to my clitoris brought me to one powerful orgasm then another. The last thing I remember hearing was the slurping and grunting of the men as they thrust into each other’s mouths. I didn’t even hear myself wailing but they all said I went off like a feral cat in heat.

I didn’t think I would stay in Florida all summer, I kept promising to return in a few weeks and then a few weeks more. I told each of them to come down and visit me, but not all of them at once. I regularly spoke on the phone with each of them. It was not my husband George but James that kept asking me to come back while also promising me he would come down and that he loved me and couldn’t bear being without me. Mary would talk dirty to me telling me about the things the three of them were doing together. Occasionally she got me to masturbate and come for her. As it turned out my entire exile passed without any of them making the trip.

I soon settled in and grew comfortable. I won’t describe my daily routine except to say that I always found two or three hours in the middle of the each day for the beach. It was usually my only outing of the day. I spent hours reading while basting in the sun. On the hotter days I would break the heat by occasionally wading out into the water of the gulf. On the rare occasion when there were waves I would bodysurf or boogie board. That was the extent of my activity. I had no interest in sex. I had gone cold turkey.

There was no shortage of opportunity, especially when I went to the beach. Men as well as the occasional woman made attempts to talk to me. The aggressiveness of their attempts to seduce me were as varied as they themselves, but my commitment to being alone ultimately became apparent to them and their aggressive advances soon waned.

I admit I took to a slight teasing of my admirers who never seemed to miss my entrance from the walkway through the dunes. I found pleasure in their attention, and realized it was as much of what attracted me to the beach as the sun and the water. I would open my beach chair then pull my swimsuit cover off over my head while stretching to full height revealing my latest swim suit find. By the end of the summer I had spent over a thousand dollars on suits running the full gamut from one piece Lycra race suits to the skimpiest Brazilian bikinis in all of Florida.

I would apply my sunscreen with care. I had always applied a total sun block cream to my face before leaving the house but otherwise I used an oil-based product that made my skin shine and take a deep tan. Beginning with a foot propped on the edge of my chair, I would spread the oil upward over my calf and knee and thigh. Then I would do the other leg until I covered my butt by running my hands inside whatever material of the suit there was. I would put the oil on my arms working inward until I did my neck and abdomen and my breasts by running my hands inside my suit to cover each of them.

One day an older man appeared with an offer to do my back and after a brief pause to consider it, I agreed. After that there was always a man ready to apply the oil to my back and I admit the feeling of their hands on me often made my pussy respond and more than once almost caused me to abandon my secret pact of summer celibacy. Yet I resisted all temptation, and clipped our conversations to brief pleasantries. As the summer progressed I became friendly with a few of these guys and they always remained gentlemen even after I declined their invitations.

There was one regular to the beach that was seemingly unaffected by my immodesty. He walked onto the beach and straight into the water until he was chest deep when he began swimming along the shoreline to the north. He walked past where I sat facing the gulf without ever even glancing back at me, not once. I often watched him swim until he was completely out of sight. I never saw him return, so I didn’t see the front of him, but his backside displayed an unbelievable physique. He was tall and leanly muscular with narrow hips and a narrower waist that fanned upward and outward to broad lean shoulders. With each step his butt cheeks went noticeably concave beneath his tight boxer trunks. His skin was the deepest, darkest color I had ever seen.

Every day for the first two weeks of May the mysterious black man walked past me to swim in the Gulf until he disappeared to the north. Still, never once did he pay any attention to me. Then he was gone. I didn’t see him for weeks. He reappeared in June for a couple of weeks, almost every day the same thing. The last two weeks of the month I again didn’t see him at all. Then he was back, walking across the beach as comfortably and confidently as a panther to wade out and swim away. The days I faced my chair in a way that I might see him approach the water he never showed up, so I went back to sitting facing the water just like I always did before, after all seeing my mysterious man from the back was better than not seeing him at all.

On the hottest, most oppressive day in early August I almost didn’t go to the beach at all but my new addiction was to the sun and the sand so in spite of the heat I lugged my chair across the waterfront and began applying my sun oil. I wore a new suit with more material I had purchased for the hot days so when wetted it would help keep me cooler. I had just stood up to do my shoulders and chest when a deep voice startled me.

“Please don’t turn around, it would be my pleasure to cover your back.” He sounded like Lou Rawls, and I knew immediately it had to be him.

He had taken hold of my shoulders so I really couldn’t turn but I wanted to respect his wishes anyway. When I offered the bottle over my shoulder, he relaxed his hold and took it. A moment latter I felt his large strong hands spreading the oil on my back from the base of my spine, beneath the strap that crossed my back then across my shoulders and along the tops of my arms. When his fingers slipped beneath the halter strap and spread the oil up along my neck covering both sides at once I felt my crotch moisten almost wishing his hands would slide along beneath my halter straps to encircle my breasts. Instead his hands, done, merely dropped away.

When he began to speak, “Would you like to have dinner…” I turned around.

The startling scar caused me to reel a bit rearward, almost tripping back over the chair before the man caught hold of my wrist and pulled me back upright. I reached up and put my hand over the scar on his face, my fingers touching the top of it just above his left eye. He didn’t move. He let me trace the raised line of scar tissue down over his brow, over the lid of his eye, his cheek and the edge of his mouth as it angled toward the middle of his chin.

“Iraq,” was all he said.

“Would you tell me the story over dinner?” I asked.


“Then I accept your invitation.”

“Thank you, I am honored, you are very beautiful.”

“ Thank you, and you are quite handsome.” I said, more than a little flushed by the exchange.

We agreed to meet at the second story restaurant overlooking the beach we both frequent. I drove the six miles back to my parents house in a fit of excitement and trepidation. I had enough time for a long bath. I fought the urge to masturbate so as to avoid awakening those senses. I was determined to keep my inner slut in check, to stay on the wagon of my sexual sobriety.

I hadn’t carried a selection of nice clothing with me on my impromptu trip to Florida, but I did have a basic conservative navy blue dress for going out to dinner with my parents. It covered my cleavage though it hugged my figure down to mid thigh. When I told the host at the restaurant I was there to meet someone he escorted me without hesitation out to the dinning area on the balcony that overlooked the beach. My mystery man, I didn’t yet know his name, saw me and stood up from the table dressed in black slacks, a tan shirt open at the neck, and a black sport jacket.

He was quite tall and looked good. His face looked polished and glowed in spite of his darkness. He took my hand in greeting and gave me a slight kiss on my cheek. His other hand briefly touched my shoulder.

The heat of the day had broken so it was comfortable on the balcony, the sunset was dazzling and the food was good. The story of the scar was fantastic but believable. “It was early on when things were just getting dicey in Fallujah…”

I sat across from him spell-bound by the story, growing accustomed to his face, a truly handsome face in spite of the scar, perhaps even more so because of it. I don’t know when he had me. It may have been when he first stood at the table to meet me, looking so damn good in the sport coat, but most assuredly it was when he told me the story of his scar. Oddly he was injured intervening in a domestic conflict. At first I wanted to interrupt him with a number of questions but as the tale progressed they all got answered. By the time he reached the end of his story one irreverent comment welled up in the back of my head. For a moment I weighed whether or not I should risk it and risk appearing insensitive.

“So,” I decided to risk, a slight smile commandeering my lips, “You got that scar over a woman?”

Darren’s face, yes, I knew his name by now, blossomed into a big toothy grin. “I KNEW I was gonna’ like you.” He said, “Actually it was. It turned out the girl who was wearing a burka at the time was beautiful, really, even as beautiful as you.”

“You Darren, if nothing else, are a wonderful flatterer,” I said.

“Unfortunately, things ended badly, and I was fortunate to escape with only this scar.” He said. We fell into a prolonged silence.

“What was the girl’s name?” I asked

“Sanna,” is all he said.

After another prolonged silence I ventured on, “And you became lovers?”

“Yes.” There was another pause in the conversation that had taken on uncomfortable weight. “That too ended badly,” he finished.

We sat across from each other in silence for a long time. I knew he had already told me more than he intended and realized the evening was over.

We left the restaurant and he walked me to my car.

“I’m sorry for ending the evening on such a sad note,” he said.

“No, really, It’s sad for sure, but I’m glad you did,” I said.

“It felt good to tell someone. Well, goodnight.” He said and then he leaned to give me a polite goodnight kiss.

When our lips met I tipped my head back and pressed my mouth into his escalating the kiss. He pulled back for a moment looked at me in the dim light and kissed me again, stronger. Our mouths opened. Without hesitation I pushed my tongue into his and the kiss exploded. Our bodies pressed together. The kiss became a series of explosions. The brilliance left me breathless.

He pulled away just enough to say with a directional tip of his head, “I’m two blocks down, come back with me?”

“Want to run?” I said, taking his hand and pulling him into the direction of his head tip. I hadn’t felt so giddy in years. We ran almost a block laughing together before he planted his feet and pulled me back into another kiss with him. Another explosion. I could feel the knot of scar tissue on his lip and instinctively sucked on it. He pulled me tighter to him. I wrapped both arms around his neck and stood on my tiptoes to press the length of my body along his. I felt his hardening member still angled down against my lower belly and hip.

My hand again in his we walked another half block before stopping to kiss again, his hardness, greater, had shifted higher. Each kiss unleashed a fuller flood of wetness in me.

When we resumed our walk he said, “ I haven’t been with anyone since.”

I turned to him again and looked into his dark face silhouetted by the street light behind him and said. “Don’t worry, I will be so easy.”

He broke up laughing and so did I and we ran again until he said, “Here,” running with me right up to the door where he lifted a cover, pressed something with his thumb and the door kicked open with an electronic buzz. My pulse was racing. That first kiss had pushed me off. I wanted more of him. My addiction took control. I needed all of him.

It was pitch black inside. He turned on no lights, simply pulling me to him in a deep dark kiss. My mouth was hungry for him. I hadn’t “made out” quite like that since high school. Darren more than obliged me, moving one hand into my hair and the other over my breast. When I gripped his cock through his pants my mouth, my weakness, grew hungrier still. I began opening his belt and sinking to my knees at the same time.

When his fully hardened pole was finally out my hand was there, running inward from the end along the gratifying length and girth. My mouth followed. The head, full and round with a prominent ridge, passed my lips and slid along the roof of my mouth toward my throat. I tightened my grip with my hand and bobbed my head repeatedly and rapidly with my tongue swirling and dancing firmly against the underside. I went deeper, teasing my gag reflex, getting used to having the head of his cock just about opening my throat, numbing me there.

I walked my knees back a little so I could lean further into him with my jaw forward, straightening my neck, all the while bobbing on his cock relentlessly. I heard him moan, his hand went to my hair, and I knew he would soon no longer be able to resist pumping his hips. I wanted him to thrust. I put my hand around the back of his thigh, so taught, almost as hard as his cock, and pulled. The tip of his cock broke the barrier of my throat and plunged past. He thrust reflexively. Both of his hands had gone into my hair. My nose and forehead pushed against his abdomen three or four times before he growled in his wonderful agony as the first pulse of his orgasm spilled down deep in my throat. I pulled back to taste his pulsing come.

Squeezing his shaft in a tight grip of both hands I stroked each salty load into my mouth. There was so much, the fragrance filling my mouth and nostrils with a familiar pungency, the silkiness spreading like joy to every nook. I brought my lips to pucker over the very tip of his terrific cock and a final spurt pushed out along my lips and ran down my chin. I did it on purpose, I know men like it. When I opened my eyes expecting him to be looking down at me I saw nothing, the room had remained completely dark. I closed my eyes and the colorful images I had been seeing returned.

I took the head of his cock back into my mouth and sucked as hard as I could. I wanted every last bit. I knew it would cause him some pain but I wasn’t going to stop until he made me. I squeezed and sucked harder still without a response. I heard him switch on the light and I could detect the lights through my closed eyelids. When he finally complained and began lifting me I gave one last hard draw.

“Hey”, he said, then clenched his fist in my hair and pulled me up until we were face to face. I pushed my finger up along my chin scooping the drip into my mouth. I stood there with my fingertip in my mouth smiling at him like a coy young girl. “You are a surprising little vixen, aren’t you” He said, laughing.

“I think I should be going.” I said.

“You aren’t going anywhere just yet.” Darren said. He placed a hand on each side of my head and pulled me into another fantastic kiss that carried with it an erotic lack of squeamishness. Then he slid his hands around me and began to lower the zipper of my dress.

I didn’t go anywhere for the next four days.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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