Saturday, 5 November 2016


Hi. Don't know where to start my story so I'll begin by telling you a bit about myself. My name is Corrie and I'm 31. I'm about 5ft5 with blue eyes and short blond hair. My husband says it makes me look a bit boyish. I don't have big boobs, 32b and a nice rounded bottom. I met my husband at a Young Conservative ball when I was 14 and he was 17. He is the only man, until recently, that I have ever had sex with. Not that we had sex when we met. We are both strict church-goers, and when he went off to university I stayed at home on daddy's farm. He came back and joined his daddy's firm and we got married. I had 2 boys and quickly settled down to be a country wife and mother, living in a bungalow on my dad's farm. Sex with Peter is ok. We do it every Friday night and always in the missionary position. We have never done oral sex, but I thought it was very nice. All this changed 2 months ago. I had taken my boys to their private school and was driving down the country lanes near me when I got a puncture. I was on my way to my friend Sues for a coffee and girly chat so I was dressed in a flowery summer dress and sandals. Not the outfit to change a wheel! I had an idea what to do, but there was no way I could get the wheel nuts off. I since learned that the garage use a power tool to put them on, so what chance did I have? After struggling for about 15 minutes I heard a voice behind me. "Want a hand?" I turned round and saw a black man about 6ft 2 with a shaved head and a very nice smile. I said ok. He changed the wheel in about 5 minutes. "Would you like to come to my cottage and get a bit cleaned up?" he asked, pointing to a farm workers cottage across the road. I agreed and off we went. The cottage was small but neat. He said his name was Paul and he was a farm worker. "The only black farm worker in Worcestershire!!" and we both laughed. We were standing quite close together and he reached out and cupped my boob. I looked up at him stunned. No- one except my husband had touched me there. As I looked up, my mouth open in surprise, he bent down and kissed me, pushing his tongue into my mouth. I was stunned but started to kiss him back. He picked me up and carried me to his kitchen table. He sat me on the edge and moved between my legs, which opened automatically. My arms, which I put round his neck when he picked me up, stayed there. He pushed me back so I was lying on his table. There were some papers on the table, but he swept them off onto the floor. My arms fell across my face as I felt my dress being lifted over my knees. I half expected the familiar clumsy nudging of a cock near my pussy, but I felt what I now know was his tongue. Oh my god I had never felt anything like it. Both my hands went down and grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into me, and firework went off in my head. I though sex with Peter was good but this was amazing. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better he pulled away and before I could even think what was happening I felt him slide into me. I had never been so wet. He went straight in and started banging really hard, grabbing my boobs like handles. I started to orgasm straight away. I had never had sex like it in my life. My head went from side to side I kept saying "oh god, oh god, oh god". "You fucking love it don't you? You love a big fat black cock fucking your posh white cunt," he snarled. Normally I don't like swearing but this just turned me on more. Before I knew it he was grunting and I felt him cum deep inside me. That pushed me over into one final orgasm. He pulled out, laughing. I just lay on the table, gasping like a landed fish. "You're one fine fuck, lady. What's your name?" "Corrie," I replied. "If ever you want a good fucking again, Corrie, ring me." He wrote his number on a piece of paper and put it in my bag, then he left. When I finally recovered my wits, I made myself decent and drove home. In the bath, I vowed never to ring him. Two days later, I dug the scrap of paper out of the bin. Shaking, I dialled. A deep voice answered. "Paul, its Corrie." "Come round about 12" he said, "and dress sexy." I wore some black riding boots, a light blue long linen skirt, a white blouse and a bustier, some Chanel No. 5 and a bit of dark red lipstick. I never dressed up for Peter. When I arrived at Paul's cottage, he gave a whistle of approval. "Sweet," he said, "but put on more lipstick." I applied another coat. "More," he said. Turned on beyond belief, I painted it on. My lips looked puffy with arousal, and with all the lipstick on, I looked like a prostitute. I realised that was what Paul wanted. He wanted a white whore. The thought made my go so moist and set hundreds of butterflies loose in my belly. I had never felt such sexual arousal. There followed an hour of the most brutal sex, in fact I have to call it fucking, I have ever had. He fucked me doggy, which I loved, on my belly with his big black hands on my boobs and with me on top, which he loved but I wasn't very good at. He said practice would make perfect. I realised then that this would happen again. And again. Finally he got me to suck him. The feeling of him swelling in my mouth was incredible. I think I made up for lack of practice with enthusiasm. He grabbed my blond crop with one hand and thrust in and out of my mouth. Just as I felt him tense up, he pulled and came all over my face. It went in my mouth and hair, everywhere. He then smeared it across my face with his big black cock. I just died. Since then I have become his slut. I have shaved my pussy for him (I told Paul I read it was unhygienic). I went to the shopping centre in Redditch dressed as his slut girlfriend, in short white boots, a short minidress half unfastened, and lots shiny metallic lipstick. He loves me in lipstick. He loves me smearing it down his cock. He loves cumming down my throat and across my face and hair. With practice, I can get 3/4 in my mouth, and I aim to deep throat him by Christmas. We saw some friends of mine in Redditch, but they didn't recognise me with my dark glasses on. Lots of men looked at me though. Paul said it made him feel proud. In the multi-storey car-park he made me suck him off, pulling out and cumming over my face and tits. You should have seen the look on the ticket guys' face! A few times I have met him on my way to church. This is harder, because I have to get Peter to get the boys ready, but I make an excuse about needing to get some things from the shop for lunch. I already have the things in my boot, so Paul gets a suck or a fuck in my Sunday best. I feel so wicked in church afterwards! I now meet Paul 3 or 4 times a week. In my craft room at home I have a hidden stash of what I call my "slut gear", boots, minskirts, leather skirts, basques and stockings and loads of Pauls favourite lipstick! I don't know where I'm heading. It can only end badly. Paul takes pictures and video of us fucking and sucking, and winds me up by saying he's going to invite some friends over to gang-bang me. He has also taught me to be a potty mouth. If I can't meet him, he gets me to do phone sex with him. I sit at my desk with my legs spread, fingering my shaved pussy, telling him I want his big black cock to fuck me like a slut and cum all over my face and tits. And the language I use when we fuck would make a navvy blush!

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