His thick, wet lips left my own and he began to kiss my chin, my jaw and my neck. He didn’t even bother to take my bra off, he just tugged it down as he sank lower to suck in one, tiny, pink nipple.

I caught my breath and bit my lip and struggled to free my arms from my clinging blouse and unsnap the bra so it too could fall away with my top and the skirt he now had pulled down into a tangled snare at my knees as his curly dark hair tickled my tummy above my panty line.

I ground my ass into the wall of the hotel room and succumbed to the frightening fantasy that I was being eaten alive by some dark animal, in a strange hotel and that no one would ever find me or know what had become of me, not my sons or my husband, not even the blank pages of my journal where I never had the courage to imagine this moment, let alone record the wetness that had been gathering between my legs for the past month. I stood wider as his hands pushed my thighs apart.

He nuzzled at my belly but soon began kissing me through my panties. He immediately pulled even that last, thin barrier aside to bathe his long, too-pink tongue in my sweet and my salt.

I instinctively reached around the back of his head with it’s black, fuzzy softness leading down to the thick muscle of his neck and shoulders that were straining now as his tasting tongue sought even the satisfaction of my bottom, licking at the ticklish hole like a hummingbird at a red, ripe blossom.
I woke up to the sound of rainy day weather report with both of my hands pressed between my tight-closed thighs.

Stan had already left for work. Like most mornings he woke, with no alarm, promptly at 5:30, showered and shaved after plugging in the coffee, poured a half a pot into his stainless steel travel mug, grabbed a health bar and a banana and left the house silently off to the city where worked as an architectural accountant, managing projects, counting nickels and dimes.

I usually slept until 6:45.

Today I was supposed to get up and put on my robe and do what I have done everyday for the last 10 years: take care of my children and keep a beautiful home.

That is all I ever wanted. Why wasn’t I happy?

Stan and I were married right out of college. The first 8 years of our marriage were wonderful. Stan’s career progressed, we had both the boys and I felt proud and fulfilled to be a pretty blonde wife with a gym-membership figure and a great mom of two beautiful, smart athletic boys.

When I turned 30 everything changed. I didn’t love Stan or the boys any less. I didn’t like our big home and our cars and our large yard with the pool and the deck and the outdoor kitchen any less. But something had changed.

Underneath it all I had changed.

Once I turned 30 something started to stir inside me - inside of my body. At first I thought I was just restless and needed more exercise. I signed up for the Spinning class at the club, but I found I had a hard time focusing on my pedaling when I was constantly focused I what the instructor’s hot cock looked like when it was hard.

“Hot cock,” that’s just what I thought. I didn’t even know where these words were coming from! I went to church on Sunday! I made cookies for the bake sale! But when I switched over to Pilates all I could think about was the cute little instructor pushing her finger up my ass while I sucked on her big, hard, 23-year-old breasts.

Now I am 34 and about to destroy the alarm clock that keeps insisting that I need to get to the big going out of business sale this weekend at the city mall.

I am supposed to be checking to make sure the boys are up for school, but instead I am still under the covers, laying on my stomach, rotating my hips as fast as I can, grinding my hard little clit against my fingers, covering my mouth with the other hand, so no one will hear me moan, or hear me cry.

The man in my dream is named Larry.

Trying to better understand what was happening to me, I did what any modern woman would do: I went online.

I started looking into mental disorders like nymphomania. I studied up on which foods acted as natural aphrodisiacs. I tried to find some kind of physical condition that would explain my little pussy getting so wet just talking to an attractive man at a store, or the gym, or even at one of Stan’s business get-togethers, that I started to carry and extra pair of panties in my purse.

Women’s room trash cans all over the city smelled like a tangle of my shame and cum.

Through all of the research I did while I was alone during the day, I came to understand that what I was experiencing wasn’t a sickness at all. It was my body’s natural response to entering into my 30’s. The fact is that most women in their 30’s are as horny as any boy at 17, its sort of like Nature’s last hurrah before you loose the ability to have children and your need for procreative sex diminishes.

I was so relieved! Not only was I not sick, I was healthy! I wasn’t crazy, I was sex-crazed, and that brings us to my next problem: Stan.

Stan and I had sex once every few months. It hadn’t always been this way, but that’s the way it was now and that’s how it had been for quite some time. We even spoke about it. The truth was he loved me as a person, but he wasn’t in love with me, and he hadn’t been for some time.

Sometimes I think that if it wasn’t for the boys, we would have gone our separate ways by now. I don’t think he ever cheated on me, we just sort of did without.

I didn’t want to do without anymore!

Once I realized what was really happening with me I immediately decided I would do whatever I needed to do to give myself what I had to have.

It was while I was online one day that I decided to click on an ad for a singles chat room at Yahoo.

Why not, I told myself, it might be fun.

That’s how I met Larry.

Larry was from the outskirts of the city in a rural area known for its cute shops, quaint café’s and pretty rolling farmland. Stan and I often drove around out there on Sunday afternoons, stopping for cappuccino’s, buying fresh corn at a farmer’s market.

Larry was different from the other men I chatted with online. He was funny and smart and had a real way with words. Neither of us had posted a photo. He said he was shy, I was afraid of being found out as a married woman.

One day we decided to exchange pictures. I was more than a bit surprised when I opened up the email attachment and found myself staring at a fit, handsome, smiling, black man!

I’ve never felt like a racist, but I was taken aback when I saw Larry for the first time. However, my reaction wasn’t one of revulsion, I found myself succumbing to other stereotypes. Was he a more passionate lover then the white men I had been with, and more importantly, how big was it?

I felt so silly, but the two of us began to joke around about it online. We had such a fun time talking that Larry eventually suggested chatting on his webcam. I hesitated at first because it felt like such a big step.

Then I gave in.

Larry and I began to have regular chats over my son’s webcam. I would hook it up to my computer and replace it before the kids got back to school. No one seemed to suspect anything and I was having a great time getting to know my new friend.

One day I got to know him even better.

We started joking again about stereotypes and the silly way people expect other people to be. Eventually I mentioned the “myth” about penis size and race and Larry laughed out loud before assuring me with a smile that it was absolutely true.
I laughed and tried to make light of the subject, when to my surprise he immediately stood up at his computer desk so that all I could see on my monitor was the fly of his blue jeans. Larry unfastened his belt pulled down his zipper and his jeans in one deft movement.

I expected to see his boxer shorts, but he wasn’t wearing any. Instead, I was faced with something heavy and dark and full and smooth. I was shocked.

I logged off and shut down the computer. I put the camera back in my son’s room.

That night I received a message from Larry asking me to meet him at a hotel near his house the next day.

I told him I would.

That is what I am still dreaming about.

I turned toward the wall in the hotel room so Larry could kiss the backs of my thighs. I reached with both hands to spread the cheeks of my ass so his tongue could find it’s sweet spot again.

I pressed my face against the wall, breathing like an endurance runner, my sweat sticking my hair to my face.

Larry came up for air and I immediately fell to my knees ripping at the fly of his jeans, revealing his half-hard cock. It was so big it seemed like it was separate from the man who stood smiling at me. His erection traced a wet trail up my neck to the side of my face as the head rose, searching for my mouth.

Taking him in I felt like I was about to gag. Just getting my mouth wide enough to swallow the shiny crown was almost more than I could handle.

“Relax your face and your throat, Sue,” Larry coaxed. “Take your time baby.”

He’d obviously coached more than one woman through this before.

Slowly, I swallowed him more and more. With both my hands wrapped around his shining shaft, I fucked him with my mouth as he urged me on and my pussy made a wet spot on the hotel carpet.

All of a sudden Larry pushed me away and pulled me to my feet at the same moment. Without hesitating he threw me face down on the bed, and before I was able to turn over, he was on me like a panther on a gazelle. He bit the side of my throat while his huge cock slowly slid into my stretching pussy.

“Aaaahhhhh,” was all I could say as I dug my nails into the sheets and then bit down on my bottom lip, but I wanted to say a prayer. I wanted to thank God for Larry and his big beautiful black cock that going so deep inside me that it felt like he might break me, but I didn’t dare tell him to stop.

Not when he was hurting me by making me feel like a woman again.

Not when he came inside of me and it felt like a thick, white rainstorm between my legs.

Not even when I have the dreams and I can’t wait until the next time we are together.

With Stan, I used to share three special words, but we don’t use them that much any more.

With Larry, there are only two.

Don’t stop…