Wife on the Prowl

4 min read

I’m out on the prowl.

I’m out searching for a stud to take home tonight. Someone who would be my worthy lover for the night. Someone tough and capable of fucking me in the presence of my husband and not be bothered about him watching.

It’s hard sometimes to find such a type of man. You won’t believe me admitting that, but take it from me. I’m no working girl, but I’ve walked these streets times aplenty, and I know my words are true. Good men abound everywhere. But worthy studs are rare. Finding them is like digging for diamonds. You have to comb the streets night through day to sniff them out. I never bother with the ones who send me messages online. Time without number they turn out to be white bois masquerading as black men. Black is the only colour I fuck. Black men are the only worthy men I take home to bed.

Today there was a festival happening out on the promenade. The tourists were out in large numbers, mingling with the local revellers. Dozens of fireworks shot and exploded into the crimson sky. The women were out too — obviously, I was not the only fisherwoman on the streets today. You can tell them just by looking. Like me, their eyes are always roaming, always searching. They make like they are captivated by the parade, by the spray of confetti over their heads, by the loud, celebratory music that’s everywhere, but really they are out to sample the men. Out here on the promenade, there was plenty to choose from. I observed a few glances and caught several catcalls my way. But I was in no hurry. Always I’m searching for a diamond in the rough. I don’t have strict criteria, but I know them when I see them.

Some days I seek out two, even three studs. Those are days when my hormones are raging and my libido is on fire. Today though, I wanted only one.

I set about investigating the dive bars that fill the back streets of the promenade. Curious eyes followed me as I sauntered past alleyways, crumbling tenement houses, and roadside gatherings. Talkative voices become hushed as I strolled past. I made eye contact with several, but I was undaunted by their stares. These are my hunting grounds where I’m bound to find the sort of studs I want. Here, none of those other women are brave enough to bother me.

A bar door swung open in front of me, and I stopped and uttered a gasp at the sight of an African Black god who had just stepped out of it and was blocking my path. He wore a sleeveless open jacket and grease-stained pants. Shaved head, sculpted muscular forearms, and a prominent scowl on his face. He glared at me like I was a nuisance to his sight. Or maybe it was because of the colour of my skin.

I attempted walking around him but he blocked my path. He said nothing. I said nothing. I was afraid and simultaneously excited. He sensed my horniness.

“I know what you want,” he said to me.

His scowl broke into a leer. I knew right away that I wanted him and he knew it too.

“Excuse me,” I said.

I tried walking past him again. He grabbed my arm and I cried and fought his grip as he twisted my arm behind my back and shoved me into the bar, past its swinging doors.

A light in the room came on. I kept fighting to be free but it was futile. He was massive as well strong. He propped me against a table and pushed my dress upwards to expose my rump. I didn’t have on any underwear.

He dropped to his knees, spread my ass cheeks apart and thrust his tongue into my ass crack. I instantly melted. I grabbed hold of the table, wanting him to continue.

To my consternation, I realized he wasn’t alone in the room.

Other Black men came and surrounded me. They groped me all over as if I were a virgin maiden about to be defiled. They rushed me out of my dress. They shoved me down on my knees and I watched them scramble to unbutton their jeans and shorts. My fire was ablaze. My African god shoved his cock rudely at my face and like the horny white whore that I was, I opened my mouth and swallowed.

The others took their turns on me. One after the other I sucked, I slurped, I choked, and I gagged on their cocks. I sucked so many cocks that I couldn’t tell one from the other. I spat on their dicks. I slobbered until I finally laid on my back on the ground and begged my African god to fuck me first. He stripped himself off his clothes then came down on me.

His cock was huge and impressive. I felt the world stop when he thrust inside me.

I screamed.

I wrapped my arms around him tight.

He went ahead and fed my pussy some more.

The others stood watch around us, blocking what little sunlight filtered past the doors. I saw the men, but the light in the room distorted their faces. For a moment, they all looked like ghostly creatures. I heard them murmur. I heard them laugh, goading my African god to fuck me harder. Afterwards, he lifted me off the floor. He balanced my butt in his hands. I cried as his cock brushed against my G-spot. I responded by grinding my pelvis against his, feeling his cock stretch my cunt. He rested me on the table and held my legs apart and fucked me so hard I almost passed out from cumming so hard.

He pulled out of me and came over and sprayed his seed across my face. While I sucked him off, another man took his vacated place and went ahead fucking me. Everyone took turns — there was no rush. They turned me over on my face and fucked me from behind. They fucked my mouth as well and spurted their seed down my throat.

They sprayed cum over my body.

They laughed and called me names — “slut… whore… bitch…

I loved every minute of it.

They finished with me, then put on their clothes and left the bar. I thought I was alone at first, but then I looked up and saw my African god smiling at me.

“Let’s go clean you up,” he said.

My body and my blonde hair were sticky with sweat and semen. I wasn’t ready to lose my diamond. Not when I’d had it this good.

“Okay,” I said. “But after I get cleaned up, you’re coming home with me.”

Thank you for enjoying this tale. I’m taking time to work on something bigger. Till then, do show your love and appreciation for my work by clapping hard for it.

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