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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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My Hen Night
by Mandy (Isabel.rollings@ukonline.co.uk)

***

Just before I got married some of my friends kept 
telling me I should "go black". Then, on my hen night, 
just before the wedding, they spiked my drink, got me 
really drunk, and arranged for me to be gangbanged by 
some black guys. I should have been angry, but I soon 
realised that it was the best thing that could have 
ever happen to a white bride-to-be. (M+/F, nc, alcohol, 
orgy, intr, gb)
 
***
  
Up until the time I met my husband I had very little 
experience of sex. I'd had some one-night-stands, of 
course, with guys I'd met in pubs and night clubs, but 
these had been very unsatisfying because most of them 
had brewer's droop - in fact, more often than not as 
soon as they got on top of me they fell asleep they 
were so pissed. It didn't do much for my confidence. 

I have never really thought of myself as much of a 
catch, anyway, because an accident when I was two (my 
parents sat me in front of an open fire wearing 
inflammable clothes) left my hands, forearms and the 
bottom half of my face permanently scarred. Not badly, 
but enough to notice. 

About the only thing that really got me going was one 
night when me and my friends went to a reggae club and 
several black guys asked me to dance with them. Later 
on they gave me some blow and I got really uninhibited 
and let them kiss and grope me one by one on the dance 
floor. There were about ten of them, and one or two of 
them stuck their fingers up me, but that's as far as it 
went.
 
A few nights later, over a few drinks, my friends 
reminded of how wild I had been - at least by my usual 
standards - and I admitted that I had been aroused. One 
of my friends had married a black guy, and she 
suggested I meet one of his friends. I decided against 
it because my father had always told me that if I ever 
brought a black man home he would disown me. Which was 
strange, because I had never once mentioned black men, 
and in any case my father didn't have anything to 
disown me with. 

I found out later, by the way, that my mother had once 
had a fling with a black guy who had got her pregnant 
and dad had paid for the abortion. Wow! This was such a 
shock! But me finding this out was a long way in the 
future. 

Meanwhile, my friends kept trying to convince me that I 
should try going out with a black guy, and they told me 
that there were several they knew who fancied me and 
didn't mind about my hands and the lower half of my 
face being a little scarred. They were attracted by my 
long wavy ginger hair, which grew down to my arse, my 
grey eyes, my 38DD breasts, my "sticky-out arse", my 
ample "thunder-thighs" and the fact that when I went 
out I always wore a short flared dress and knee-high 
boots (red, white, silver and gold were my favourites). 

There were times when I felt tempted, but always, just 
as I was about to give in, I resisted the temptation, 
still scared, stupidly, about my father's reaction. 

When I met the man who became my husband he was 
attracted by exactly the same things that these black 
guys were supposedly interested in. Maybe there was a 
black man inside him trying to get out, although he 
can't stand reggae, rap, hip-hop or anything like that, 
but he does like jazz and blues. (He got really mad at 
a black guy one night who claimed Eric Clapton was the 
world's best blues guitarist. This guy had never even 
heard of Elmore James, one of my husband's favourites, 
who was black.) 

Well, let's get down to the nitty gritty. My hen night, 
which took place the night before I was due to be 
married. It was only afterwards that I found out that 
what happened that night had been planned by my 
friends, in particular the one who had a black husband. 
It was she who suggested that on my hen night I wear 
the same clothes I was going to be married in - a white 
dress, silk at the top with a multi-layered nylon skirt 
down to the knee, white fishnet stockings and 
suspenders, white silk knickers, white lace-up over the 
knee boots with kitten heels, a white leather blouson 
jacket and my wedding veil. She also suggested the pub 
we went to. 

We went out at about half-seven and after we had a few 
vodka and tonics black men suddenly started appearing 
and offering me drinks. They were very sociable, asking 
me my name, asking me whether I was getting married, 
when, who to, was he white, telling me what a waste, 
etc, until finally one of them asked me into the back 
room for a dance. 

I was passed from one black guy to another, and they 
were very brazen, kissing me, feeling my breasts, 
rubbing my thighs, prising my knickers aside and trying 
to finger me. It was uncomfortable at times, but I 
would be lying if I said I wasn't turned on. Eventually 
I became completely uninhibited.

I found out later that my friends had arranged for 
these black guys to spike my drinks until I was 
completely legless. Then they called for a hire car and 
I was helped in there with five black guys. The car 
stopped outside a house on an estate, and the five 
black guys helped me out. 

The driver, who was also black, got out too. I was 
taken up some stairs, fell onto a bed, and remember my 
knickers being taken down. They didn't take off 
anything else. They just lifted up my skirt and started 
to take me. All six of them took me in every hole, 
coming every time. After about two hours more turned 
up, and I was dimly aware that my girlfriends were 
standing behind them laughing at me and egging them on. 

The funny thing was that my personality seemed split - 
one half of me seemed to be watching what was going on, 
the other half was enjoying every second. I think by 
the time the tenth or eleventh guy had finished the 
"watching" half of me stopped functioning and I was 
just floating in sexual ecstasy. 

The fact that I was to be married in a few hours' time 
didn't even enter my head. My husband to be didn't 
exist. All that mattered was that I was lying there 
being fucked and fucked and fucked and I was having the 
most terrific orgasms. There was pain, yes, but God it 
was worth it! 

We carried on until daylight. Long before then I was 
taking an active part, kissing them passionately, 
caressing and sucking their cocks, eating their arses, 
and letting them take me from behind. They were 
ejaculating all over me - over my hair, my veil, my 
face, my chest, my skirt, my stomach, my thighs, my 
boots, my white silk gloves. It was glorious! Right at 
that moment I was deeply, deeply in love with every guy 
who was there. Crazy I know. But right then I would 
have married them all. 

Finally, at about nine in the morning, after I'd been 
fucked by 28 black guys, I was driven back to my 
friend's house to get me cleaned up for the wedding. 
But now I was starting to have second thoughts. There 
was no way that my fiancé satisfied me the way these 
guys did! 

Oh hell, what was I to do? I asked the driver to turn 
round. To hell with getting cleaned up and getting 
married. I wanted more black sex! So we turned back, 
and I spent two more hours getting fucked even more by 
these black guys. I knew then there was no way I could 
go through the rest of my life without having more and 
yet more black guys.

My girlfriends persuaded me to go through with the 
wedding. After all, they said, just because I was 
married to a white guy there was no reason I should be 
faithful to him. None of them had been faithful. I then 
found out that apart from the one who was married to a 
black guy anyway, not one of the others was loyal to 
their white husbands. All of them had had black lovers 
on the side. Some of their lovers had just fucked me.

I suppose I should have felt betrayed by my friends; 
after all they had tricked me into being gangbanged by 
nearly 30 black guys the night before I was due to be 
married to a white man - and in my wedding outfit as 
well. But I wasn't angry at them at all. The thing that 
did make me angry was that I was now going to marry a 
man who previously I had been satisfied with but now, 
compared to black guys, was, well, nice, but not all 
that exciting. But as they said, I didn't have to 
restrict my sex life to him - anyway, he'd be a good 
front, and keep my dad quiet. Meanwhile, I would have 
black guys whenever I could. 

During the wedding reception I was particularly 
frustrated. Every time I looked at someone, I imagined 
he was black. Every time I danced with someone, I 
yearned for him to be a black guy who would finger me 
on the dance floor and then whisk me away and fuck me. 

Whenever I went to the toilet, I hoped a black guy was 
lurking behind the door, and that he would lock the 
door and fuck me silly. I kept wishing and wishing that 
I had invited all the black guys that had fucked me 
last night to the wedding reception! I just wanted all 
our wedding guests to be horny young black guys! 

That night, when I went to bed with my husband, it was 
the first night that I didn't want sex with him. It 
really sounds awful, doesn't it? But it's the truth. 
Right there and then I wished he was black. Right at 
that moment, I would have done anything to have a black 
guy in bed with me rather than my white husband. 

When we made love, I imagined that I was actually being 
made love to by some of the guys who had gangbanged me 
before my wedding, and that they had tied my husband to 
a chair and made him watch. Finally they untied him and 
made him lick me clean. Then they made him suck their 
cocks and then they butt-fucked him before giving him a 
good beating while once again I was being gangbanged. 
Only then did I have an orgasm.

I had to do something. I pictured with horror the forty 
or fifty years of marriage stretching before me always 
having to fantasise to have an orgasm with my husband. 
I decided that night I would tell him that from now on 
I wanted black sex. But how? Then I had an idea. I 
would ask him to tell me his fantasies, then I would 
tell him mine...

END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 42