Unspoken Pleasure (erotica)

Summary: Teacher takes 40 loads of black CUM a variety of unique ways.

Please note that this is a lengthy story that takes a LONG time to get to the actual sex... so if you're looking for a quick stroke story, this likely isn't it. On the other hand, if you'd enjoy a lengthy story of one woman trying to resist her growing temptation to try black cock... well, hopefully this is for you.

Warning: Since this story is an interracial story (not to mention the title), it should be obvious what it is about... but besides being about a woman eventually succumbing to her secret lust to become a white slut for black cock, it is also very heavy on the idea of eating CUM and uses the forbidden 'N' word sparingly but affirmatively for enhanced story telling. If this offends you, please don't continue reading.

Read and enjoy.......

So usually it's the woman who loses her sexual appetite the longer she's married... but that sure wasn't the case in my marriage.

In my marriage, it was Emery who had lost the passion for lovemaking.

During college and early in our marriage we'd fucked like bunnies: anytime, anywhere. I mean I'm not a slut, I've always been a one man at a time gal, but I've always loved kinky sex.

I gave him head in a half-full movie theatre, I gave him head in the back of a taxi, and I gave him head under his desk at work... continuing when his boss walked in to talk to him for a couple of minutes... while I kept quietly sucking him... the risk of getting caught only enhancing the rush.

We had fucked in the bathroom at the airport even as our names were paged to board the plane; we had fucked in the hot tub during a party while others watched (college was pretty wild); we had fucked at my sister's wedding... in the church. Now, we only fucked missionary style... on occasion.

I had become rather insecure when he quit wanting me. At first I blamed it on having two high school kids (we were always on the go... well I was, anyway... Emery seemed to just work more and never be at home). I definitely blamed his work as he was always working late hours as he tried to make partner. Then when he did make partner I thought he would be home more... nope... even less.

Now my daughter was in college, although still living at home, and my son was a high school sophomore. So life had calmed down somewhat... as each had their driver's license and their own car.

I was an elementary school teacher, and when I started getting attention from a younger black teacher, Jake, I was flattered; it made me feel pretty again.

Although he was almost twenty years younger than I, he was constantly flirting with me. It started subtly by his complimenting me almost daily: my hair, my outfit, my shoes.

Of course, since my husband no longer noticed any of these things (or more precisely, my husband had never noticed my shoes), I basked in these compliments.

As the fall went on, he noticed some of my fashion quirks.

"Connie, I have to admit you completely intrigue me," Jake said, as he glanced down at my legs... something he often did.

"I do, do I?" I slyly flirted back, enjoying this harmless flirting with a man much younger than I... and since I'm from the South, being with a black man would still be considered taboo to most of my family. Although I'd be lying if I denied that I'd occasionally wondered what it would be like to be fucked by him. Jake was a very good looking, well-built black man.

"You're the only staff member who wears pantyhose every day," he said.

"I'm happy you're noticing," I smiled. My high school boyfriend had loved pantyhose, which I'd worn often with my cheerleading uniform, and eventually began wearing all the time for him. I'd always found I liked the silky sheer look of the suntan hosiery that we wore with our uniforms, and felt they really accentuated my legs.

So even after we broke up, I kept wearing them, treating them as a required accessory, just like I did jewelry.

In college I discovered garter belts and stockings and thigh highs, and often wore those underneath my clothing to feel sexier... and, of course, they provided much easier access for whoever I was dating to slide his dick in me. I loved public sex, and simply flipping up my skirt instead of taking things off was much quicker.

"How couldn't I notice?" he leered, looking down at my legs again without even feigning he was doing anything else.

"My eyes are up here," I joked.

"And your perfectly pedicured toes are down there," he said, looking at my purple painted toenails enhanced by my sheer mocha nylons and my open toed shoes.

"You notice my toes?" I questioned. The only other guy ever to notice my toes was my high school boyfriend. He would suck each toe through my nylons, and get hard just by looking at my feet in nylons. His predictable erections were handy whenever I wished to embarrass him, which was often.

"Oh yeah," he nodded, in a tone completely similar to my ex's.

I don't know why... maybe curiosity... but I glanced down at his crotch and couldn't help but notice a bulge that looked truly impressive. The big black dick myth is one I had always been curious about. I mean in porn, the black dicks are always huge, but truthfully so are the white ones... I mean all the professionals have beautiful fuck-the-living-shit-out-of-me-cocks.

He smirked, catching me looking, "My eyes are up here."

I stammered, breaking my gaze away from his crotch, "W-w-what?"

Thankfully he didn't push it as he continued his compliments, "And I love the open toed shoes you wear."

"No one ever notices that," I said, flattered that someone noticed the care I put into my fashion.

"Yeah, I've never understood closed toe heels. Why hide your painted toenails? Nobody hides their fingernails."

"I guess," I said, trying to act casual, even as his avid attention not only flattered me but was turning me on.

"I mean if you weren't married, I'd be all over you," he said bluntly.

"And if I were fifteen years younger," I chuckled, my fortieth birthday a week away.

He replied suavely, "I like older women. Especially beautiful ones."

I could feel my cheeks blush at his forward response. Remarks like that couldn't be taken any other way than as pointed flirtation. Pointed as in having a goal in mind.

I had to remind myself I was married, and at work, as I tried to laugh it off, "It's mannerly to respect your elders."

He headed out of my classroom as he tossed off over his shoulder, again his intent clear, "And it's more than mannerly to worship your elders big time."

My panties dampened as I heard his not so subtle innuendo. Fortunately, he was gone from my classroom before I could respond; I really had no response for him anyway.

That night, I was home having dinner with my mother in the dining room, like I did most Thursday nights. We had a few glasses of wine as we complained about our men (Dad was still Dad, and Emery was still working long hours and none of that work was in me).

Drunk enough to share more than I should, I said, "And to make matters worse, I'm being flirted with aggressively by a first year teacher."

"Is he hot?" Mom asked.

"Why? Does that matter?" I asked.

"It always does," she said.

"Well, he's black," I revealed, thinking this would be enough to stop the conversation in its tracks.

"Delicious," Mom smiled, surprising me. "Now spill the beans."

I retold the entire semester of flirting and all the details of today's conversation.

She nodded, "Mmmmmmm, that's so wonderfully taboo."

"Mother!" I gasped. "Don't encourage me. I was tempted enough."

"Oh, is my baby girl developing a craving for some chocolate?"

"Mother!" I repeated, shocked by her words, yet based on her usual teasing about my lack of a sex life, they shouldn't have been surprising.