The Traveling Woman

"Fuck-me,-you-black-son-of-a-bitch. Fuck-me-like-you- fuck-your-mother!" Each word was punctuated by the pounding the trucker was giving my pussy. He was more than fucking me now. He was punishing me, punishing my smart mouth, punishing me for my racial attitude. But more important than all that, was the fact that he was fucking me, fucking me harder and with much more savagery than my husband could ever do. Patrick made love to me constantly. This man was fucking me. And sometimes, nothing takes the place of a good fuck!

One moment I was conscious of his hard black cock poking deeply inside me, the next moment I was lost in orgasm. Wave after wave of passion flowed over me, washing me into a world of blackness, of vibrant color, of passionate fantasies with hundred of black men, thousand's of cocks, millions of hands touching me, probing me, shooting hot come all over me! And then it was over! I began to float back to reality, and as reality hit me, I suddenly became aware of my surroundings. I suddenly became aware of the cold floor under my back, the ugliness of the room in which I'd just been fucked like a slut. And I was aware of the labored breathing of the man who still lay between my legs, as well as my husband whose gaze was unbroken as he stared at the small patch of me that is called pussy, and was at that moment still full of a black man's cock. And I was aware of the blond woman whose pussy I had already eaten, and whose mouth had served as a place for my husband to release his come, and whose pussy had already had the pleasure of the trucker's cock.

But most of all, I was aware of the Highway Patrolman standing at the door of the bathroom, watching, staring, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here. And I could see the bulge in his pants.

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