Black Pastures

posted in: Interracial, Mind Control, Stories | 0

Interracial Mind Control

by wettstarr.copyright

Just after John and I purchased our new, 4-bedroom dream home in Whispering Pines, I received the bad news that my boss, Dr. Lewis, had decided to retire, and consequently I had to find new employment. It wasn’t Dr. Lewis’ fault; he had been suffering with arthritis for a long time, and he just couldn’t continue any longer. I had worked for him for 6 years, and had gained valuable experience as the office manager of a medical office, and I was confident I could find another good position.
John was confident as well. Even though he earned a handsome salary as an electrical engineer, he was pleased that I had found a satisfying career as well. The added benefit was my fat salary, which helped us qualify for our new,
4,000 square foot home, with enclosed pool and 3-car garage. The mortgage was large, however, and John’s salary wouldn’t carry it forever; I would have to find work.
John and I had been married for 5 years, and we had no children, although we certainly planned to have some after John firmly established himself in his profession, after we had accumulated some savings, and after we had the home
that we wanted. We now had the home we wanted, now we had to save some money as a nest egg before we began with our family plans. It would take a couple of years, but I was looking forward to it. Although I had a career of my own, I
badly wanted children, a home, and a full, happy family. I couldn’t wait.
Within a month, I landed a plush position with an established medical practice owned and operated by Dr. Miller. He was a psychiatrist, who specialized in family therapy and behavioral modification, and he had an excellent reputation
in the local medical community. He had a modern, spacious office not more than 20 minutes from our new home, and he offered a more than adequate salary for the position. I would even have my own office and bathroom, complete with closet and shower, as well as a reserved parking space in the nicely landscaped parking area. I was delighted.
John was delighted too. We could now start to manage our finances again and save some money. Although John worked long hours, and even some weekends, we were close and had a good sexual relationship. We spent more than enough time together to maintain good communication and the kind of relationship that I was sure would provide a good foundation for the family I had always dreamed about. I already had the bedroom picked out for our first child, and was mentally planning the furniture and decorative scheme for that important event. Things were working out just as we had hoped.
My first few weeks with Dr. Miller were hectic, as I learned all the procedures for the office, and learned to interact with the Doctor as well as with the other employees, who included the receptionist, Bambi, the Doctor’s medical assistant, Kandi, and the head nurse, Suzi. They were all great to me, and helped me with all the issues that inevitably came up in a busy medical practice. They were all extraordinarily bright and cheerful, though none of them were over 30 years old. As I was just 26, I seemed to fit right in.
Dr. Miller didn’t spend much time with me, as his practice was very busy. I noticed that nearly all his clients were women in their 20s or 30s, who were having personal or marital problems of one sort or another. Of course, I didn’t
know the medical details, but I handled the office finances and I couldn’t help but notice the hefty fees they were paying for the Doctor’s services. It was standard policy for a new client to provide a $5,000 down payment, then it went
up from there, and some clients paid as much as $15,000 for 3 or 4 months of treatment. But it seemed Dr. Miller was consistently effective, and our clients seemed highly satisfied with his services. At any rate, new clients continued to show up at the office every week, and the pace of work never slackened.
John’s career was beginning to take off, and he was assuming new and heavier responsibilities, and spent less and less time at home. It worried me, and sometimes I got depressed, but I understood the painful trade-offs involved. Bambi noticed that I was a little down, and tried to cheer me up. She invited me to lunch with Suzi, and I accepted immediately. We drove to a local lounge to eat and chat. I told them the situation and they sympathized with me. Suzi said she had experienced similar problems with her first marriage, when she had finally asked Dr. Miller for advice, and she swore his help was just what she had needed at the time. She suggested I do the same. Bambi said she too had received some useful advice from Dr. Miller, and said I would be a fool not to tap into that covenient resource. She said it was stupid of me to go on in such an unfulfilling and depressing way.
I had to admit that neither Bambi or Suzi seemed either depressed or unfulfilled. In fact, for a receptionist, Bambi seemed to be living very high on the hog, and I couldn’t understand it. If you don’t mind me saying so, she dressed like an expensive whore, drove a new Corvette, and flaunted jewelry that made me gag with envy. As Office Manager, I knew her salary, and it wasn’t nearly enough to afford that car and those clothes. Suzi was the same, although she wore a white a nurse’s frock during the day; I could only imagine what she wore outside the office, and I’m not sure I wanted to know. It occurred to me that none of the girls in the office were married, and I learned during our lunch that both Bambi and Suzi had been divorced. Neither seemed anxious to re-marry.
But they were emphatic that I should consult with Dr. Miller, and that I would be glad that I did. I mulled over what they had to say, but I didn’t do anything about it. Then one day Kandi came into my office to correct some paperwork, and she mentioned that Suzi had told her about my situation and she asked if I had consulted with Dr. Miller yet. She said that she and Suzi were concerned about me. I told her there was nothing to be concerned about, that my problems were probably short-term, and would surely pass with time. She said she understood. Then she asked me if John and I had ever owned a Lexus, as she was planning to buy one and wanted to know what auto dealer to visit. A Lexus? How could Kandi afford a Lexus? I told her, “No,” John and I had never owned a Lexus, and I couldn’t help her with that
particular issue. Then, out of curiosity, I asked Kandi if she had ever been married. She smiled a knowing smile, and said yes she had, but it had ended in an amicable divorce and now she lived the single life and owned a townhouse in Oak Forest Preserve. Oak Forest Preserve? My god, that was the most exclusive single community in the entire metropolitan community. How could she swing that? I kept my questions to myself, and went quietly on with my endlessly dull life. John’s work schedule didn’t change, and I found myself increasingly alone, even on weekends. I distracted myself with cheap novels, exercise, and rented movies. But, I had to admit, I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy with anything. Eventually, I determined to ask Dr. Miller about some of these so-called problems. I didn’t think it would be anything he would be terribly interested in, but it was worth a try.
The next week, during our weekly meeting to review the office finances, I briefly mentioned my situation to Dr. Miller. He took it in stride, and asked me to stay after hours for a brief consultation. I agreed it would be a good idea, so I did.
After Bambi left, and I locked up the office, I hesitantly went to Dr. Miller’s office. The Doctor listened to my brief description of my condition. He didn’t say much. Then he rose from his desk, and paced slowly around the office. He stopped, looked at me, and said, “Mandy, I think I have something that might be helpful for you.”
He pulled some CD’s off his shelf and shuffled through them. He selected two CD’s and handed them to me. “Mandy,” he said calmly, “I recommend you listen to these CD’s, while you are alone, at least once a day for the next week. When the week is over, bring them back and we will review your case.”
That sounded easy enough to me. I agreed, left his office, and drove home. Of course, John wasn’t there, so I changed clothes, and went to the kitchen to prepare a salad for my dinner. I put one of the CD’s on the house sound system,
and listened while I ate one more boring salad. The first CD was a letdown, to
say the least, just some mood music, nothing more; there was no self-help
advice, no pep talk, no comforting voice. Just some quiet music. But, good girl
that I was, I did as the Doctor had ordered and I let it play through; then, I
played the second CD, which was just more of the same.
The next morning, I played a CD in the car on the way to work, and the second
one on the way home. They were both the same—quiet, soothing music. I didn’t get
it; how could this help my empty, dull, suburban life?
I did tell Suzi I had talked to the Doctor, and that I was working with him. She
seemed excited.
“Did he give you a CD?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “He gave me two.”
“Great,” Suzi said, “that should do the trick.”
I looked at her quizzically. “Really?” I asked.
“Really,” she said, then she left my office with a bounce.
The week went by uneventfully, I returned the two CD’s to Dr. Miller, and he
replaced them with two more. More of the same. I did notice that Bambi, Suzi,
and Kandi were stopping by my office more frequently, apparently just to check
me out. Evidently, they thought I was going to turn into an alien or something.
But, they were cheerful and upbeat as always, and I loved working with them. I
just didn’t want to be the office drag.
That weekend, John finally had some time off, and we went out to dinner, and
ended up in bed for some badly needed sex. John and I had a healthy sex life,
and we did it whenever we could. John was a considerate lover, and always did
his best to satisfy me. I always thought we were a pretty sexy couple. However,
this particular night—I remember it so well—abruptly and permanently changed
things for me. I didn’t even notice at first, then it dawned on me. My husband
had a small prick! It had always seemed more than adequate before, but tonight
it just seemed small; it seemed small in my hand, it seemed small in my mouth,
and it definitely seemed small in my pussy. I had always considered John to be a
good man and a good husband, but I felt like I was fucking a teenage boy, maybe
an underage teenage boy. How could I be in bed with a little-dicked man? This
couldn’t be right. I gritted my teeth and did my marital duty. Thankfully, it
didn’t last too long, John got his rocks off, and I rolled over to my side of
the bed. I put Dr. Miller’s CD in my Walkman, placed the earphones on my head,
turned off the light, and dozed off to the sounds of the now familiar music.
The next day was Sunday, and John and I went to church as we always did, then to
brunch, then home for another dull day in Whispering Pines. I quickly changed
clothes, hopped in the car, and made for the Galleria Mall. I told John I had to
pick up some new shoes for work. He understood, and started to mow the lawn.
I had hardly used my credit cards, but it seemed to be the time to max them out.
I found all the boutiques I usually avoided and shopped for some very necessary
clothes, the expensive, indecent, foxy stuff. Shoes came next, then some vulgar,
exhibitionist jewelry. Where was I going to keep this stuff? I now had clothes
that John would never approve of, and I couldn’t unload it at home. I sat in my
car and decided. I would just take it to the office and store it there. No
problem. While at the office, I prepared letters to the credit card companies
instructing them to change my billing address to the office address. No need for
John to fret about my now impulsive spending habits. With that done, I went
home, made dinner for John, pretended to have a headache, and went to bed with
my Walkman.
I left early for work the next day. I found my clothing scattered about my
office, just as I had left it. First, I picked out an outfit to wear—a black
spandex mini, some 5-inch platforms, a gold silk blouse, some gaudy gold
jewelry. I felt better already. Then I organized the rest of the clothing in my
private closet. After I put it all away, I still had room for more. That was a
good feeling.
Bambi came in first, and was surprised to find me in so early. She immediately
noticed my clothing, and smiled a knowing smile. She was dressed much like me,
except she was wearing an exquisite silver top. I wondered where she bought it.
We got into a clothing conversation, and she rattled off all the boutiques that
had the hottest stuff. I desperately wrote down the boutique names, then got out
the phone book, and checked the addresses. I plotted another shopping trip for
the next available opportunity.
Suzi visited an hour later. She complimented me on my clothes, and suggested we
have lunch later. I agreed, and Kandi agreed to come also. Dr. Miller was on
vacation, and we could get away with a long lunch break. We went to an expensive
lounge, and ordered salads and mixed drinks. Kandi offered me a cigarette, and I
immediately agreed, though I had never smoked. She lit it for me, and I inhaled
feverishly. My head went light-headed, then recovered, and from that very first
drag I was a satisfied addict.
Of course, Kandi and Suzi smoked too, and we lounged around smoking and drinking
for a couple of hours. I told them about John’s problem, and they laughed. Suzi
told me she could help me out. She knew some guys with some tools that I might
appreciate, and said she would get back to me with some useful information. For
some reason, I believed her. She was incredibly foxy, sitting in that lounge
minus her white nurse’s frock, dangling a cigarette, pouting her lips over her
third drink. Her tight, short skirt climbed up her thighs, and her ample breasts
pressed against her thin sweater. Just the kind of girl I needed to hang out
with. I guessed she rode a big one every night, and I hated her for it. Then I
caught myself; it wasn’t her fault if she was a satisfied bitch, it was my fault
for being in my ridiculous situation with a husband that sported a little boy
dick. A little boy dick for a woman like me, it all sounded so ludicrous. I
sucked on my cigarette and frowned in frustration.
A couple of days later Suzi called me on the interoffice phone and gave me the
information I had been waiting for. She wanted me to meet her at the Crazy Horse
Club that night at 8; she said it “would be worth my time.” I eagerly accepted,
and thanked her for her help. She said, “Anytime, honey.” Her voice was like
sweet nectar to me. John wouldn’t be home until 11 at the earliest, so I
canvassed my office closet for an outfit and went home to prepare myself for the
night out.
I liked the clothes—some skin-tight leather pants and a brazen tank top—but I
hated my hair. I hated the color, I hated the cut, I hated the look. I did the
best I could with it, and left the house dark for my loving, hard-working
husband. I stopped at the convenience store and bought some cigarettes and a
lighter, then zipped down to the club. It was huge, with 4 or 5 separate bars,
several dance floors, and flashing, pulsing lights. I finally found Suzi—I
hardly recognized her, she looked like a wanton porn slut in some leather hot
pants, fuck-me boots, and satin halter top—and we sat down amidst the crowd, the
lights, and a pulsing rock song. My puss was already beating with the music.
Suzi looked at my outfit and smiled. Soon, we were surrounded by some studs, who
Suzi apparently knew pretty well. Some of them sat down with us and bought us
some wine. Suzi leaned over to me and, under the music, whispered in my ear,
“Which one do you want?”
I was shocked by my first reaction, which was, “I wanted them all, all the
time.” But thankfully I didn’t say that. After all, I was descending into open
adultery, which was firmly against my convictions, and I should at least be a
little selective, at least for starters. I just knew I wanted “Big.” Suzi knew
it too, and suggested that I take Rod out to the parking lot; she said he liked
to show off his car to hot bitches like me. So, I was a “hot bitch” now. When I
heard Suzi call me that, right to my face, my pussy yelped, then involuntarily
swelled against the crotch of my tight leather pants.
When we got to the parking lot, Rod led me to the side of the club, where we
found his Cadillac Sedan. It was black with heavily tinted windows. We climbed
into the back seat and he turned on a CD. By the time we were done, the CD was
still playing, but my head was so buzzed with sex I couldn’t hear it. God, a big
cock feels so damn good! I struggled to get back into my slutty pants and I
staggered back into the club. It was only 10, so I had time to make it home
before John got there. I checked in with Suzi and told her everything had gone
according to plan. She beamed, and I felt the warmth of her approval. It feels
so good to know that other sluts like you.
The taste of that first one only primed my appetite. I couldn’t go back now. I
was still dutifully listening to my CD’s, and was just about finished with my
second set. Bambi told me she had gone through 4 sets, then had to quit for a
while until she caught up with herself and her incessant sex life. Suzi
basically said the same thing. I could understand it. I was just getting
started, and I couldn’t wait to satiate my now demanding needs. Obviously, I had
to cut off John and get a stud on the side. That would help things tremendously.
I also needed to get my hair and nails done. That was no problem. I just checked
with Bambi, the super fox, and she gave me the phone number for her salon. I
called and made an appointment for Saturday morning. I also did some more
shopping and filled my office closet with every slutty outfit I could lay my
hands on. Kandi helped out by giving me a supply of latex rubbers. I stopped at
the pharmacy and got some more make-up and some KY, just for unexpected
emergencies. Suzi gave me some catalogues full of advertisements for sex toys
and porno movies. I sat and gazed at the pictures and nearly passed out with
lust. My eyes kept returning to that huge, black silicone dildo with the
bursting veins on page 22. I stared longingly at it and my pussy rocked with
tiny, nasty convulsions. I locked the catalogue, open to that page, in my desk
I wasn’t an adulteress, a housewife who fools around to pass the time; no, I was
becoming a cheap slut, at least in my overheated mind. And I was rolling
downhill, and I couldn’t stop it. I was out of control, and I could care less.
But, I was much too busy to worry about such ridiculous trivialities; I had more
important, slutty things to do.
John continued to work ridiculous hours, which fit my plans perfectly. I got my
hair done, which he hardly noticed, even though it was outrageous, a
white-blonde layered cut that hung heavily over my shoulders. He saw my new
inch-long nails and just shrugged. He warned me not to break one while washing
the dishes. Good thinking, pencil dick! I was always home when he got in from
work, so he hardly suspected my now decadent night life. I reeked of cigarette
smoke most of the time, but he didn’t notice that either, given that he had a
constant sinus condition and couldn’t smell anything in the best of
circumstances. We continued to go to church on Sundays, and while John sang
traditional hymns, I scanned the congregation for men who might qualify for my
stud club. Regrettably, I didn’t find any likely candidates.
I moved on to my third set of CD’s. They seemed exactly the same. I listened to
them in the car, and at night in bed while I pretended to have a headache. They
were pleasant enough, but I couldn’t account for their amazing results. Well,
that’s for doctors to worry about; I had other things on my frenzied mind.
All the girls at work monitored my progress. Suzi had a full date book that she
willingly shared with me, and that I utilized to the max. I soon discovered that
she only dated big dicks. Good going, Suzi! We thought alike. Kandi had a
younger brother who could go for hours, and we became regular friends. Bambi was
the hottest, though. She shared her secret with me while we were having drinks
at lunch one day.
I thanked her for giving me the number of her salon.
“It’s OK,” she said, “I think your hair looks great. You’re a blonde now, …
just like me.”
“I love it,” I said. “It feels so much better to have a decent cut.”
“Yeah,” she said, “I know what you mean. I had a cut like yours when I was
married too…. What a drag.”
I smiled knowingly, and wondered how long my dream marriage in my dream house
was going to last. Who gives a shit, I thought.
“I heard you’re on your third set,” Kandi said.
“Yes,” I said, taking a satisfying drag off my Marlboro 100.
“That’s when I went black,” she said. “It was great.” She paused and looked
around the lounge, then she added, “It still is.” Then she giggled like the
impossibly foxy tramp that she was.
I think I understood. Bambi was fucking black guys. And black guys had big ones.
The biggest, I had heard. But how would I know, I was just a novice, just
getting my legs into the big dick parade. I did want to know more, however.
“So, tell me about it,” I said, with the calm assurance of Bambi’s immediate
office superior, knowing full well that Bambi was far superior to me in the only
department that mattered—the Slut Department. If only I could be like her. I
wish. I fucking wish.
She didn’t hesitate. “Yea,” she said, “it was during the third set of CD’s that
I went black. And, as you know, … you never go back.” She giggled again, and
suddenly I was insanely jealous of the little slut. She was light years ahead of
“I started with Ron,” she continued. “He’s a bouncer at the Crazy Horse…. Suzi
has balled him too, … but he prefers me.” I could believe that, although Suzi
was hardly ground hamburger; in fact, Suzi was a gorgeous tramp, with globular
tits, thick auburn hair, and full, wet lips. If I was a guy, I’d fuck Suzi. But
then, if I was a guy, I’d maul Bambi.
“Ron knew lots of brothas, … and I did too, … real fast.” She didn’t even
blush as she said this. I gathered she became a gang-bang whore for Ron’s crowd,
until she met Rex, the rich owner of a local technology company, at which point
she transferred her feminine goodies to that more preferable, more economically
favorable locale.
“Rex is rich, and I like rich,” she admitted, then she added, “especially black
rich.” She took a long drag on her cigarette. “That’s the best combo for sure,
… black and rich, … rich and black…. Nothing better than that, … and I
should know.” She exhaled her smoke, and I stared at her. At that moment, I
realized I had finally met a woman who was completely happy with her life. Suzi
and Kandi were very happy women, but Bambi seemed totally at peace in her slut
paradise. I then realized what I had been so anxiously seeking—it was that fuck
heaven that Bambi so comfortably lived in. If only. If only.
“Rex has lots of friends,” Bambi said off-handedly, but I got the hint. “He has
great parties every Saturday.” Then she eyed my sleazy white-blonde hair. “And
they love blondes, … especially married blondes.” She paused, to let it all
sink in. Then she made it personal. “Like you.”
She lifted her gin and tonic to her mouth and nursed some down. My pussy turned
in circles of small, erratic convulsions.
“Why don’t you come out Saturday?” she asked. Then she pulled a pen out of her
purse and wrote the address and phone number on a napkin and gave it to me. It
felt like pure gold as I put it in my purse.
“I practically live there, you know,” she continued, “and we have lots of
room…. There’s a huge pool, and a media room, and a hot tub, and about 5
bathrooms, … and plenty of gigantic, comfortable beds…. I like it there.”
She likes it there! Who is she kidding, the arrogant, little tart? She fucking
loves it there. She’s probably the whore of the walk around that pussy
plantation. I could only imagine the long, black shafts that had been inside
her. She looked so satisfied, so fucking spoiled.
I didn’t have to think about it much. I told her I would come out, and she said
she would look forward to it. Then she told me to be sure to finish the fourth
set of CD’s.
“Why,” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “see my chest?”
I could see her chest. It was huge. She must have been a 38D, firm and
airworthy. They seemed to float in front of her.
“Yes, I see your chest,” I said, just to play along with the little slut.
“The fourth set,” she said again, as if that answered everything.
Could that be possible? Could a set of CD’s increase breast size? No, it
couldn’t be true. Could it? Now, I finally understood how Dr. Miller got away
with his outrageous fees, and his completely satisfied clients, and his
clientele of mostly young, married women, and the cash flow that nearly floored
me when I first went over the books. But, even so, this couldn’t be possible. It
just couldn’t be possible.
“Yep, … it’s true,” Bambi said. “I was a 34B in my former life.” Then she
laughed like the cheerful little tramp that she was.
I started on the fourth set right away. Bambi told the other girls and they
checked in on me regularly. We were becoming so close; we talked about
everything, right down to the dick size of the Crazy Horse manager, which of
course we had all sampled at one time or another. I loved working in that
office, and now I was starting on the fourth set too. It was then that I
realized that all the girls had breasts that were outstanding, to say the least,
certainly several steps above my depressingly average pair. What would tomorrow
bring? I could hardly wait.
I had problems though. First, I needed money, and I needed money bad. My credit
cards were maxed out, and I was spending most of my salary on a social life of
drinking, cigarettes, rubbers, birth control pills, bar tabs, clothes, and gas.
I was even getting into cocaine; Bambi said it was great with a big cock, and,
as usual, the little slut was dead-solid right.
Secondly, John was still a small-dicked dolt, but even he was beginning to
notice by new lifestyle choices, as my hair became longer and bigger and
blonder, my nails became more flamboyant, my heels got higher, my make-up
thickened, my language got loose, and my hours got more and more erratic.
Thankfully, he didn’t know anything about my money problems, and it wasn’t hard
to weasel some cash out of him when I needed some. The sucker thought he was
helping out our ideal marriage partnership, but most of that badly needed cash
went straight to my coke dealer. My final problem was that I was going to need
some money for a divorce lawyer, who, I hoped, would fleece John of everything
he had and make my bank account nice and flush for a while. I had the lawyer
picked out—Bambi was nice enough to refer me to her attorney—I just needed a fat
retainer to get things going.
Now, finally, I had the problem of big tits. Of course, I was going to complete
the fourth set, and I assumed my tits would inflate to Bambi proportions. I
couldn’t wait, but I still had to worry about John and his wimp reaction. I also
had to buy some new bras, and maybe some new tank tops and halter tops, maybe
some new sweaters and blouses. At least, I hoped I would have to. I would have
to think about that one. Until then, I would listen to the CD’s, just as the
Doctor had so thoughtfully prescribed.
Some of my problems were sorted out at Rex’s party. There were dozens of people
there, black and white guys, all filthy rich, and for the most part handsome and
buff. There weren’t many girls there, maybe 14 or 15, but they were all like us,
young and foxy and aggressively nubile. I had never seen so much blonde hair and
tit flesh in my life. Bambi and Kandi were there, but Suzi sent her regrets; she
was shacked up with some millionaire on the coast for the weekend.
It soon became clear to me that Bambi and Kandi were expensive hookers. Bambi
apparently specialized in black guys for her pimp, Rex, and Kandi went both
ways. I couldn’t figure out who Kandi’s pimp was, and I didn’t ask her quite
yet. I instantly recognized that they had this thing right, and that I had been
woefully and pitifully deprived. They had known all along, but had held their
peace. I guess they knew I would finally wake up and smell the roses.
Why didn’t I have a pimp? I suddenly felt hopelessly lost without one. A girl
like me should have a rich pimp, preferably black, with the mandatory huge,
ebony shaft and a nice, comfortable crib for his bitch. God, I ached to be a
black pimp’s bitch. That sounded so perfectly sweet. Again, my thoughts turned
to Bambi, and I immediately understood why she was so damn happy; she had her
black pimp, she was a black pimp’s bitch, and she was in her private slut
paradise. It was hard to admit she was ten times smarter than me. I thought I
knew what I was doing, but Bambi obviously had a lot to teach me.
I chatted with Rex and Bambi, and talked with Kandi before she adjourned for one
of her many sex sessions upstairs. I had never seen Kandi look so good; she was
looking better and better all the time, and she made no secret of her gratitude
to Dr. Miller and those magical CD’s. Obviously, I couldn’t argue with her.
I returned to Bambi, and waited for her cue; I was sure she would turn me on to
the right guy, which she shortly did in her usual smooth, sleazy way. Before
long, I found myself in a huge, opulent bedroom, the drapes closed, some rock
music beating into my brain, a joint to my lips, and a buff, black stud next to
me. His name was Lauren and he was perfect for me. All I had to do was to
persuade him, without saying anything, that I was to be his owned bitch.
It was my first ebony cock, but it wouldn’t be my last. Finally, I had the dick
that I deserved. And with that first cock came many more. I was buying the store
and I liked the merchandise. Lauren has a nice crib on the beach and it wasn’t
long before I moved my slut wardrobe and 36D’s into his bedroom. Of course, I
have to work 2 or 3 nights a week to supplement my income, but Lauren
accommodates me with some of his finest buddies, the ones with flat tummies,
glistening, black shafts, and bursting wallets. Our home videos would testify to
that. He’s a smooth pimp and treats me like the fine whore that I am. He parades
me at the proper time and in the proper places, and with my expensive, brazen
wardrobe, and my slutty blonde hair, and my porn star tits, I make him look
fine, fine and proud to be seen with his very white, very foxy bitch. And I
think he likes my pussy too, as he unloads in me on a very regular basis. I have
so much sperm in me I feel like I’m swimming in it.
My hefty divorce settlement took care of my credit card bills, which I paid off
so I could go on some more wildly self-indulgent shopping binges. Of course, I
fleeced John the engineer of everything we had worked so hard for, but gimme a
break, I had to put up with his pencil dick for over 5 years. Talk about mental
cruelty! The fat alimony settlement will sure help with my now raging coke
habit. I’m still working for Dr. Miller, and of course I thanked him kindly for
the use of his highly therapeutic CD’s. After my breasts filled out, I ended the
CD therapy, but I know it will always be there if and when it might be needed
again. Work is going great, and Dr. Miller rewarded me with a nice raise, which
I felt I richly deserved, as I had referred many old friends to the office for
some very necessary family therapy. Bambi, Kandi, and Suzi still work with me,
and I think we’re an awesome team that keeps the office humming. Our cash flow
is still great, and we see nothing but green pastures ahead. Or perhaps I should
say, at least in the case of me and Bambi, black pastures. Very black, very
thick, and very fertile. The harvest has been good this year.наполнение сайтов стоимость

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