Emotionally compelling Erotic stories by storyace
Older men / younger women
Older women / younger men
Sex with pregnant women
Author; Ace, Storyace
Title; The mover
codes; M/F, wife. interr, cheat
Summery; She had been cooped up on her own for too long in the country house; she craved company, someone other than her husband to talk to. She ended up doing much more than talking with the mover.
The mover; by Ace M/F interrac. cheat 3963 words.
I don't know why Morgan had to get the very cheapest deal available all the time. It was just his nature.
He hunted around for the best deal, as usual, before hiring a moving firm out of Boston.
We were moving from Connecticut to Washington D.C.
When the day of the move came, the huge truck backed into our small drive. I was a little shocked when two very black men climbed out; then I was ashamed of myself. They were just men.
I'm from Denmark, and we have hardly any nonwhite people in the town where I grew up. The little town where I lived with my husband in Connecticut was the same. I don't know why I should have felt shocked at the sight of those men. Anyway, I soon got over it.
They introduced themselves politely; Martin and Tim. Martin was taller, and drove the truck. Tim was a short man, about five foot six, which is still four inches taller than me. He had a lovely figure, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, and the most gorgeous ass.
Well, I'd been living a pretty insulated life for the last five years. A housewife trapped in the countryside while her husband went off to work and social interaction everyday. I couldn't help it if I noticed a man was attractive. There was no harm in looking.
It was going to be a long drive, and the truck wasn't ready to go until about 2 PM. We had been expecting the Realtor to come pick up the keys, but she was late.
“Honey, I'm going to head off down the road with Martin in the truck. You wait for the Realtor, and then catch up with us.”
“But Morgan, why don't you wait here with me, and send Tim with Martin?”
“We've been through this already. I'm not going to leave all of our things with someone we don't know. I keep reading stories about how these trucks get unpacked and people's possessions gets pilfered somewhere on the way. One or the other of us has to be with the truck, and there are only two seats in it. Don't worry, it doesn't move very fast. You'll catch up to us within a few hours.”
It somehow made me nervous to be in the house with a strange man. A strong black man from the inner city. I found myself wondering what it would be like; what would it be like to be held in those strong arms? What would I feel if we kissed? What was his penis like?
I wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever do something like that. At least, I didn’t think I was. But I enjoyed my secret little fantasy; I didn’t see any harm in that.
I tried hard to put my prejudices behind me. He was perfectly polite and decent.
The Realtor finally turned up around four, and Tim and I were on the road by 4:30.
It was fun to have someone different talk too. After a hesitant beginning, I found myself chatting along with him quite easily.
“I don't like it much out here in the country.” He told me, “I get hay fever and shit.”
“Really? But it’s so pretty out here. I grew up in the city and I hated it.” I said.
“And there are mosquitoes too.” He added.
“Is a nice where you live?” I asked him.
“Well, not really.” He admitted, “But at least there ain't no mosquitoes.”
I tried to get through to Morgan on his cell phone when we stopped, but didn't succeed. We didn't see the truck; we had left too late to catch up with them. We stopped again and ate.
I thought people were looking at us strangely. Then I realized that of course they thought we were on a date or something. A black man and a blond woman. Even today, and our modern world, it pushes a strange button in people, I believe. Something tribal perhaps. I thought about it some more; I was very expensively dressed compared to my companion. I had on fancy shoes, some gold, and a nice dress. He wore faded jeans and a T-shirt. I wore a wedding ring and he didn’t.
“I've heard about these games you suburban people play.”
He said to me when we were on the road again.
“What games?” I asked.
“Swapping and shit.” He said.
“Oh, we don't do anything like that.” I said quickly.
“Really?” He asked, “I thought all you fancy white people out here did that.”
“We don't.” I said firmly.
“Well, you're from Europe. Maybe it doesn't go on as much where you're from.”
“Actually, we Danish are a bit known for that kind of thing.” I told him. “But my husband and I don't go in for that.”
“No? Then why did he drive off with my partner and leave me to drive with you?”
Well, I didn't want to tell him that my husband thought that he and Martin might be planning to rip us off.
“I don't know.” I answered.
“Because he wanted you and me to be alone together out here.” Tim said. “I don't mind, but I have a woman and a kid.”
“Oh, that's okay.” I answered him, relieved. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea, but that's exactly what he did get.
“You don't mind?”
“I think it's great you have a family.” I said, before suddenly realizing that he thought I didn’t mind the idea that my husband had set me up somehow.
“But I wouldn't want you to cheat on your wife.” I added, thinking that would plaster over my mistake.
We started looking for a place to spend the night, but all the motels had “no vacancy” signs. When we finally found one, they only had one room. It did have two beds though, and we were desperate by then, so I accepted it.
I was so glad to be able to get in a bath at last after the long day. I was a little nervous about the stranger in the next room; but he had thought I'd propositioned him, and said “no”; so I really didn't think I had anything to worry about.
I came out in my bathrobe, feeling much more relaxed.
“Is your headache better?” He asked kindly.
“Yes, thank you.” I told him; “I think I must have lifted something too heavy. It's just tension in my shoulders.”
“You want me to rub them for you?” He asked.
“Okay.” I said, regretting it immediately. Why had I said that? Why had I agreed to him touching me? I couldn't take it back, it would be insulting. Somehow, the race thing was as thick as honey between us; he was black and I was white, he was a mover and I was a rich housewife; a man like that shouldn't touch a woman like me, some would say.
I sat in a chair and he started to rub my damp warm muscles. It was heavenly; I didn't even realize how tight I was. His strong firm grip gently eased my tensions.
“That feels really good.” I said, expressing my appreciation.
“You have to be careful with heavy lifting.” He said.
“I guess you don't have to worry about that kind of thing.” I said.
“What makes you think that?” He said.
“You're so strong.” I said.
“That just raises the amount I have to lift before I hurt myself.” He answered.
He rubbed my neck and massaged my head.
“You've got really nice hair.” He observed.
“Why thank you, Tim.” I said.
He pulled the robe open a little bit more, so he could massage my upper arms.
“And your skin is so soft.” He added.
I suddenly realized where his compliments were leading; I was in a motel with a strange man who was touching me, who was pleasuring me with his hands; a black man. No, I mustn’t think things like that; just a man.
I don't consider myself a stupid woman. How had I gotten here? Somewhere, I must have wanted this; should I go with my subconscious urge? What should I say if he reaches down to fondle my breast?
I had no time to consider the question before the event actually occurred. I was paralyzed with fear, shock, and desire, as the powerful black hand gently slid down inside my robe, and circled under my pale breast, lifting it slightly, touching it ever so gently, ever so reverently.
He kissed the side of my neck; “You're a very beautiful woman.” He said.
“What about your wife?” I asked him.
“I don't know, I can't resist.” He said, “I suppose it's some kind of fantasy of yours, a black working man from the city and all that. At first I was thinking it wasn't right, we came up to do a job, not get used for some weird yuppie games. But you're so damn good looking, I just can't resist. You can use me all you want tonight.”
I looked back and up at him with some alarm; he bent and kissed me.
The contact of our mouths sent a shudder through my body; I felt warm all over as both his hands went into my robe, slid down my hips and across my belly, rose to my breasts, held my nipples gently between thumbs and forefingers.
There was no going back now; I should have said “no”, I should have said it earlier; I couldn't refuse him now, I thought. His cock must be hard by now, his testosterone must be high in his body. How could I refuse him now?
I stood out of the chair and turned to face him. He opened my robe completely, exposing my nakedness. He held my petit body in his powerful arms, held me tightly to him, cupped my ass in his palm, and kissed me irresistibly.
My hands slid up his powerful back, across his wide shoulders. He was so manly, so much more manly than my husband. I could feel his penis through his trousers. I wanted it so badly, I wanted to touch it and stroke it, I wanted to take in my mouth. I pushed my groin against it and held on to him for dear life, my head spinning with conflicting thoughts and emotions as hot desire flooded my body.
His tongue slid into my mouth, and I sucked it lightly; it was so hot, wet, and alien. It moved in my mouth, promising me much more if I would let it between my legs.
We broke off after a few minutes. Neither of us had anything to say; Tim removed his clothes, slowly revealing his lean and dark frame, his near perfect physique. His big black cock.
I had been a little afraid; but when I saw it, the fear left me. It wasn't too big to handle, it was just perfect; the perfect appendage to the perfect body, a beautiful organ that I wasted no time wrapping my hands around.
We kissed in bed and fondled each other as I wondered at myself for what I was doing. But who could blame me? I had been left alone with an irresistible specimen of manhood.
Morgan could blame me, that's who.
I put the thought out of my mind as my lover lowered his head between my legs.
It was so wicked to see his strange dark face between my milk white thighs; it was so wonderful to feel his tongue slide up and down my most private place, darting in and out, so very pleasant and yet not quite sufficient to release me from my tension.
I wanted to taste his cock so bad, my mouth watered just looking at it.
“You'd better not, Helen.” He said as I made my move. “I'm a little bit high strung.”
I didn't know what he meant at first; but I understood when he came a little early.
It was so good to hold his strong dark body as he took his position on top of me, his hips resting in the valley of my spread legs.
He positioned his cock, and slid it into me easily. It was frighteningly good to feel it inside my body at last; and I started to come within seconds, but he came first. He held on gallantly, screwing me with the last of his hardness through my orgasm. It was wonderful, but too fast.
He relaxed on top of me, our passions cooling as our better judgment came creeping back.
“Shit.” He said.
“Do you regret it?” I asked him, stroking his shoulders.
“No.” He said, “I don't regret it.”
He pulled out and rolled off me.
“You can suck on it now, if you want to.” He said.
I looked at the shrunken slimy black penis that I had wanted with all my being only minutes earlier; why had I let it inside me, how had I let this happen?
There was a slight sheen of sweat across his broad chest. His dark flat belly, his narrow hips.
I contemplated the warm feeling inside myself; it had been good, it had.
I often gave Morgan head, but never after sex. Either little bit before as foreplay, or when I had my period or if he was late for work but I wanted to please him, I'd suck him until came in my mouth. Of course there was no direct sexual satisfaction for me, but I always enjoyed doing it to my husband.
Tim's penis was coated with our juices; nonetheless, I lowered my mouth over it, just to demonstrate my affection for him.
I never expected him to get hard again, not all the way. I just want to please him a little, I wanted him to know that I appreciated him as a man.
But he got hard; his penis grew and grew, until only half would fit in my mouth. Sucking it was turning me on, and I continued to do it until he stopped me.
“You're hot, baby.” He told me. “You lie back now and let me show you what a brother from Roxbury can do for you.”
Once more that big black penis was welcomed into my body. But this time was different; for one thing, I was all slimy inside. But the other thing was, the man just wouldn't stop this time.
Late into the night, he made love with me. Okay, he fucked me. There, I said it.
I had unemotional raw physical sex with a strange man; a man from a different place, a different culture, with a different color, a man hired to work for me. A wonderful man, a man I won't ever forget. A man who satisfied me like no man had in years. A married man who loved his wife, as I loved my husband.
I never would have thought that I could’ve enjoyed such intimacy with someone I'd just met. He was like a fantasy man, strong and vital and young, his alien color adding to his allure instead of subtracting from it. I loved the way he looked me as I came, so full of joy at the pleasure he brought me. His strong white teeth gleaming in the gloom at my vulnerable passion as his potent black cock continued to plunge in and out of my helpless body.
I gripped his strong shoulders, his round muscular ass, his lovely narrow hips.
How could something that felt so good be so wrong? Something primal inside me was being satisfied by this, some part of me that wanted more than I was allowed to have. A wonderful man to be my husband, and a beautiful man to pleasure me in bed.
I woke in the morning with my head still resting on my lover's muscular shoulder. I felt distress and guilt at the comfort I felt from his hand on my hip. I opened my eyes; he was awake, looking at the ceiling and frowning slightly.
“Are you okay?” I asked him.
“Yeah, I'm all right. How are you?”
“Glorious.” I answered, stretching myself and pushing the fingers of one hand behind his neck.
“I've never cheated on my woman before.” Tim said. “Lots of women hit on me, but you’re the first one I ever went with.”
I kissed him gently on the cheek, letting my free hand slide across his chest. “I hope you don't feel bad about it.” I said.
“I'll be all right.” He said, and rose to take his shower.
We started talking again as we got back on the road.
“Are you going to tell your husband about it?” He asked me.
“I don't know. I think so, otherwise there will always be a lie between us.”
“He'll probably ask you about it himself. I'm telling you, he wanted it to happen. Some guys like it, they like the idea of their wives going with another guy. Especially a guy like me, someone they don't have to be worried might take their woman away from them. I mean, being poor and from the inner city and all. The color thing turns some people on, too.”
“I don't think Morgan's like that.” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.
“You wait and see. I bet he wants to know all about it, details and everything. And the more you tell him, the happier he's going to be.”
We sat in a corner booth at rest stop outside of Washington for lunch.
“This could be our last time alone together.” I said, putting hand on his thigh under the table.
He put his arm around me and cuddled me gently. “It's probably just as well.” He said. “I sure do like you a lot, and it would probably hurt to like you any better.”
“I feel the same way.” I said, rubbing my head against his cheek. “There's a motel at the other side of the parking lot.” I added.
We enjoyed another three hours of wonderful intimacy; not three hours of fucking, but three hours of wonderful touching, kissing, stroking, loving. There was at least a half an hour of fucking in it, as well.
Tim stretched me somehow, made me bigger than I'd been, and more flexible. He took my pale ankle in his powerful grip and held it against his chest as he sat on my other thigh sliding his irresistible penis in out of me. He sucked on my toes as I came.
I licked his big black balls, I sucked his dark dick until he came in my mouth, his fluids tasting wonderful to me, because I knew they were his. It was the taste of his orgasm, the taste of his joy.
Tired out, we drove on into town. Back to real-life, back to work.
I wasn't going to tell Morgan about it, but as Tim predicted, he asked.
“Did anything happen during the drive down?” He asked me a couple of days later over breakfast.
“What you mean?” I asked, my heart rate increasing.
“With that man. I didn't think you're going to have to end up alone with him overnight, I thought you would catch up with us. Was he okay?”
“Oh yes, he was great.” I said, suddenly realizing I might have said more than I'd intended. I looked away from my husband, suddenly unable to meet his gaze; I had done him wrong, terrible wrong.
“What happened, Helen?” He demanded.
“Nothing.” I answered unconvincingly.
“Tell me, Helen. Did he abuse you?”
“No.” I said firmly.
“What happened? Something happened, didn't it? Look at me.”
I couldn't lie to him, not straight in his face. I told him.
“We couldn't find a motel. And when we did, it only had one room.”
“You slept in one room?”
“You slept together?”
“Oh my God."
He stared at me strangely, and sat down opposite me.
“Tell me everything.” He said, “How could this happen, how could you do this to me?”
I started to cry. “I'm so sorry, Morgan. I didn't mean for to happen, it just happened. It was a mistake, a terrible mistake!”
He left for work, without speaking another word to me. He didn't speak to me at all for several days in fact, not a word. I was dying inside.
“Tell me about it.” He said to me finally.
I started to speak about it; the conflict, the temptation. The primal desire, the breakdown of my civilized morals.
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes.” I admitted.
“Did you… did you come?” He asked.
“Yes, of course.” I answered, “Otherwise I wouldn't have enjoyed it, would I?”
“How many times?” He asked neutrally.
“I don't know, I didn't count.” I answered, thinking afterwards that perhaps I should have started lying at this point.
“Countless times.” He said.
We were silent for a while, then he asked; “Was he… big?”
I suddenly realized that Tim had been right. My husband's questions were revealing his voyeurism.
“Yes.” I answered, “I could wrap both my hands around and still have some left to… to suck on.”
Morgan's breathing became slightly shorter.
“You gave him head?”
“Yes.” I said
I reached over and put my hand on my husband's crotch; his cock was hard. I squeezed him gently, and continued;
“His penis is big and black, and I found it completely beautiful. I wanted it badly, once I'd seen it. It felt good in my mouth, I enjoyed pleasuring him that way.
“He was wonderfully strong. His ass was perfect. He has big hairy balls, and they’re really black.”
I began to unbuckle Morgan's belt.
“He started by massaging me. His strong hands on my body were very exciting.”
I opened my husband's trousers, and fished out his stiff penis. I looked into my husband’s eyes; he looked back at me blankly, as confused and conflicted as I was.
“He told me I was beautiful, and too tempting for him. He was just so good-looking, I couldn't resist either. He was so black, so very black.”
I lowered my mouth over my husband's hard on, and he came in my mouth within seconds, writhing and groaning with the power of his orgasm, his hands squeezing my skull as he held my face still on his lovely pale erupting dick.
It was the beginning of our new sexuality. For the first half year, the stories of my brief affair with the mover was sufficient; then I started making up new stories, fantasies of other men making love with me. I told my husband how I would love to have sex with this or that man, or with a stranger I'd met on the bus. Then I’d described my fantasy in detail until he was mad for me, and we'd have great sex.
But now Morgan wants me to really do something; he wants to set something up where I have sex with someone, preferably a black man, while he watches.
He doesn't understand that what happened with Tim was special, a combination of circumstances and mutual attraction that doesn't occur very often. Tim moved me in a powerful way. I want to please my husband, but I'm not sure I want to do what he wants me to do this time. I admit that there is some temptation; the sexual satisfaction I had from my first extramarital encounter is something that I wouldn't mind experiencing again. But there is also danger and uncertainty on many levels.
Rest assured, if I decide to do it, I'll be writing about it.
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