Years ago, I undertook a journey into the American South, ending up in South Carolina, where I got to mingle with several horny hotwives. I've since undertaken other journeys, but this one I vividly wrote about in my book: Southern Hospitality or Horny Wives of Pinopolis.
* * * * *
I was unaware of when Polly returned home. I was asleep at the time. My fingers ached on account of the length typing I had done for another hour after her pretty photographer friend left. I’d enjoyed a second soda out of the fridge and made myself two more sandwiches. I finished them within a half hour of returning upstairs to continue from where I left off. I don’t remember what did it for me, but I was too weak to continue and simply hit my head on the pillow and I was off like a light.
That was until I heard someone whispering into my ear.
My eyes fluttered awake. Someone now was blowing into my ear. I turned my head and blinked a couple of times until I saw the smiling face that was Polly’s leaning over me.
“Wakey, wake, babe,” she kissed me. “Your whore is back from work.”
“So I see.”
She had relieved herself of her power-blue suit and was in her bra and matching pantyhose. I pulled her downward and gave her a perfect lengthy kiss. She bubbled with chuckles as I slid my lips down her chin to nuzzle against her neckline.
“I hope I didn’t leave you homesick, darling,” she said.
“Not really, no.” I brought her up to speed regarding what I’d been doing since she left, then told her about her friend and the photo album she had brought which I gestured where I left it on a chair beside the bed before falling asleep.
Polly went and grabbed the album and brought it to bed with her. “Did you look through it?”
“You know I did,” I said. “Or wasn’t that your intention the whole time?”
She laughed, then opened the album beside me. “Yeah, you’re right. What do you think of the photos?”
My eyes went to the arranged photos in the album page she was viewing. Each presented a snapshot of Polly in the midst of other smiling white women—Linda was in plenty of them, and so too was Marsha—frolicking naked, partying up, surrounded by other men, all naked. Marvin appeared in several of the photos, including Marsha’s husband Eric. Polly went on flipping through the pages. Majority of the photos were shot at night time and the setting was a beach with a large camp fire ablaze in the background. Other photos showcased Polly and the rest of her horny clan having orgy sex. There were white men fucking them as they were black men too.
“How recent are these photos?” I asked.
“Not too recent, I’m afraid. Most go as far as five to seven years. These ones at the beach was at Myrtle Beach over in North Carolina. They have secluded nude beaches there. Do you have nude beaches back where you’re from?”
I shook my head.
“Aww, why not?”
“Different way of life back home, and folks aren’t as free-living as you might think. If you attempted such back home, they’d burn chase you out of the country and possibly ban you from returning.”
“Is it that bad there?”
“Not saying it is. Life is just way too conservative there. But there’s people who’d love this, but don’t go telling it to their face.”
“You’d love it if we took you to one. It’s a great place to be free. Matter of fact, I’m gonna talk to Linda to see if we can go there before you leave; you really ought to experience it.”
“I’ve heard of such places. Do people really have sex there?”
“That’s usually not allowed—you could get fined and kicked out if caught—but there’s places people go to enjoy themselves. That was where we were at when Mimi took these photos. She’s studying to be a cinematographer.”
“Is she married? I didn’t see any ring on her finger.”
“She’s engaged. And you want to know another secret? She hasn’t had black cock yet.”
“Mmm. That something you think she would be willing to change?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to be the one to ask her. There’s plenty of unsatisfied wives around like me just dying to get fucked real good. Most haven’t had great sex since Christ was a carpenter. And I just know they’d loved to be fucked by a real black daddy like yourself.”
She closed the album book and threw it across the bed then got me to lie on my back. She dug into my pants and she whipped my cock out of its hiding place and lathered it with her tongue before applying her mouth to it. She stroked my dick between her giant globes, beat my cock against her cheek, then went back to smacking her lips on the tip.
“Looks like the longer I stay here, you women are gonna eat me up and suck me dry,” I said.
She smiled. “I’ve been starved for so long, darling.”
Polly continued bopping her head on my cock, slurping her way down my shaft to my nuts, but suddenly stopped when her phone started ringing. I looked around for where the noise was coming from and realised it was inside her handbag. Polly groaned with irritation but chose to ignore it and went back to blowing me. The ringing ended but then resume again.
“Now who the fuck!” she rasped.
“Why not see who it is,” I suggested. “Could be Linda calling.”
“Yeah, could be.” She gave my prick a parting kiss before going to rescue her phone out of her handbag from where she had left it on her vanity table and swore when she saw whose number it was. “It’s my fucking husband,” she spat. “Sorry, darling. I just need to take this.”
She turned around and leaned forward, resting her elbow on the table, before answering the call. “Hello, Ellroy,” she snapped. “What’s it now?”
I didn’t bother about her phone chatter as I did admiring the sight of her twin mounds of ass cheeks looking so pristine and perfectly crafted in her pantyhose gear. My hand went to stroking my cock as I lay there watching her, picturing myself enjoying that sweet booty of hers. Feeling impatient, I came off the bed and approached her behind.
Polly was busy on the phone and barely knew I was behind her until I laid my hands on her hips. She half-turned to see what I was up to but didn’t attempt to stop me. I positioned her as I wanted her to be and got her to move her feet apart. Polly grasped my intention and further rested her tits on the table. I listened as she went on talking to her husband while I rubbed my penis up and down her vulva, then when I felt hard enough slipped it into her.
Polly tensed and held her breath for a moment as she felt me thrust deep into her. She grasped the table’s edge while holding tight to the phone.
“Uh-huh, yeah . . . So, what was it that Bradley say to you again? Oh, I didn’t know he was into that . . .”
My hands wrapped around her thick waist and maintained a steady rhythm fucking her in long strokes. The warm grasp of her pussy around my prick was so enticing. So fucking ecstatic. I attempted not to slam into her hard yet, though she thrust back at me like she wanted that so bad. I didn’t want to give away that I was fucking a whore-wife while she attended to her husband calling from wherever. It was hard work fucking her with these long strokes—the sight of her huge ass dared me to cut the bullshit and fuck her harder. I gradually began to up my tempo.
Polly fought to quell her gasps as I started hitting her harder. I could tell she wanted so bad to shut her husband down.
“Uhh . . . yes, yes, I get you. Uh, don’t you think it’d be better letting him do all the work instead of just you? I mean . . . Ohh . . . I thought you and him were team members or something. Oh . . . okay, if you say so . . . Aaahhhh . . . I have to go, I’ve got something cooking downstairs. Yeah, okay. Talk later. Bye.”
She ended the call and sighed as she slid her phone across the table.
“God, what a whiner,” she said. “I thought I wasn’t ever going to rid of him. He just wouldn’t shut up for me to even get a word in. Asshole things the world revolves around him and nothing else.”
“What was it he wanted?”
“Nothing really. Just wanted to let me know how shitty his week has gone because of this or that. He’s part of a supervising team working at reconstructing a church somewhere outside Charleston. Always he bitches about the guys he’s working with and talks about how much he has to beg them to get off their assess to work.”
“Proud fellow your husband is,” I grunted, not losing pace of plugging her pussy.
“He’s a fucking whiny bitch, is what he is, darling. But enough of him—Come on, fuck me, daddy.” She tapped my arm, urging me to kick up the pace. “Uuhhhhh yeah . . . fuck me. MAKE ME YOUR BITCH!”
I smacked her butt and unleashed all roughness on her. I grabbed her by her shoulders and she groaned aloud as I went on pounding her hard. Her booty made thunder-like claps each time I slammed into her. Slow-burning fire lit my cock the longer we fucked. My hips and pelvis didn’t want to quit jerking forward. Polly whimpered and screamed and thrust back at me, wanting every inch of cock I could feed her with.
“You’re my bitch-whore,” I murmured.
“Yes, daddy. Yes . . . yes . . . I’m your bitch-whore! Fuck me daddy! Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmeeeee . . .”
I stopped and led her back to bed. She lay on her back and reached under her thighs and spread her pussy for me. Her pink wet orifice winked at me to come and fuck it some more. I spat on my palm and rubbed it over my penis then slid closer and rammed it into her cunt.
When I came, it was with a bang.