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I was laying on my bed, thighs splayed, experiencing the most powerful orgasms I’d ever had in my life. They came in waves, with the first being a tsunami. My abdomen cramped violently, and there were loud grunts that these convulsions elicited from me, then I’d lie sweating in flash after flash of mind shattering after shocks.

All brought on by my bedroom fantasies of Vanessa.

“God, what is she doing to me, “ I wondered, lying on my bed with a sheen of sweat covering me, occasionally wracked by another after shock.

I had become almost compulsive in my need to masturbate thinking of this black beauty, up to several times a day now. The orgasms I achieved, just imagining being with her, were far beyond anything that any man had ever been able to bring me remotely close to.

I wished that weren’t true. I desperately preferred the image of myself as the All-American girl next door…the image I had lived right up until my eyes had met Vanessa’s, just days before. But I knew it was no longer a true image. I wanted—I lusted—this fantastic black creature more than anything in my life. I knew I’d do anything now—including risking my marriage—to have her, and her beautiful black flesh, in my arms—or between my thighs.

The morning of my date with Vanessa, I found myself naked, combing my hair in my bedroom mirror. In a reverie of Vanessa, I watched my breasts swing freely as I brushed my long blonde hair. I wondered what they might feel like with Vanessa’s lips sucking on them, softly biting my protruding nipples, which were hard and stiff fantasizing in this way about her.

Suddenly my husband, Andy, stepped into the mirror’s image. Placing his hands gently on my shoulders, he leaned over, kissed my neck, and whispered, “So beautiful.”

As he walked away, I felt ashamed, but my body shuddered. He was now the interloper, the intruder, on my reverie of Vanessa. I can’t explain it, but I felt he’d somehow defiled me in preparing myself for the real love of my life, this radiant Jamaican creature I now adored more than him—Vanessa Johnson.

At work, I began to notice that Vanessa had a bevy of young girls who hung around her office just as I did. A pang of jealousy sprung up in me. I wondered if they too were her dates…or even more.

I felt confident I could win her from any ‘competition,’ though. I had always done so with the men I’d set my sights on. With this in mind, I stopped in her office doorway, leather mini and all, to say, “hi” and ask some contrived question—but really to command her attention from the other ‘admirers’ flitting about.

“Vanessa, could I ask a quick question, “ I said confidently to the tall, black beauty.

I’d caught Vanessa on the phone. She wheeled around in her chair, and, somewhat brusquely, replied, “Sorry sweetheart, I’m busy now. I’ll have time for you later, perhaps.” Then she spun back around again and continued with her conversation.

She hadn’t even noticed my skirt.

I flushed red and felt foolish. As I walked away, I could see some of the other girls had witnessed this casual brush off and were smiling slightly—even giggling—as I had to leave her office—dismissed!

Strangely, when I got back to my desk, instead of being furious with her, I wanted her even more. It was as if I desperately wanted to prove myself to her. For the rest of the day, all I could think about was this beautiful, powerful personage I had fallen so desperately in love with…in such a short time.

I couldn’t wait to be with her that evening.

My thoughts that day were of all the men who had pursued me over my high school and college years. I’d felt idolized as Captain of the Cheerleading Team and as Homecoming Queen. I remembered being voted “Class Beauty” in high school, and posing for the picture in my yearbook, with envious girls and admiring boys all looking on. I was always the one being pursued.

But now that had all changed. I was now the nervous one, the one who hoped they could… ‘measure up’. I sat at work wondering, “Will she like me tonight? Am I good enough for her?”

I worried I might not be.

We drove to the restaurant in Vanessa’s Jag with the top down. We must have been a sight to see. A tall black woman, closely cropped, and her young, longhaired, blonde ‘friend’.

Vanessa wore a short dress that showed off her long black legs. I wore the black, leather mini and a low cut black top. When we arrived at the restaurant the young, black parking attendants couldn’t believe their eyes. These two gorgeous opposites arriving, seemingly, as a couple.

After we got out of the car, I came around to Vanessa’s side and she leaned over for a kiss. I responded with a quick kiss on her full lips and we entered the restaurant, hand-in-hand, leaving the parking attendants slack jawed.

When we were shown to our table, Vanessa led me through the restaurant by the hand. Old businessmen’s heads swiveled as they watched us, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Soon they were buzzing and whispering to each other as they pointed in our direction.

I never felt so proudly displayed as I did holding Vanessa’s hand and being pulled through the lounge area, all eyes on me. As has so often happened in the past, my body responded to all this attention and my breasts swelled, with my nipples protruding to obscene proportions. I’m sure the men could all see my body’s heightened arousal while being in the companion of the statuesque Jamaican who played the role of the dominant partner.

We were seated at a somewhat hidden booth around a corner in the back of the restaurant. Shortly after being seated, Vanessa’s long fingers began to stroke my bared thigh as she casually reviewed the menu. I felt very much in the presence and command of a sort of superior being. I tried to deny it to myself, but I felt ‘lucky’ to be the woman seated along side her this evening.

Soon her fingers were gliding high along my inner thigh and approaching the thin veil of my panties. I gently closed my thighs to restrict access, if for no other reason than common decency in such a public place. This slight move drew a look of reproach from Vanessa:

“Leasa, are you playing little games with me?”

“Vanessa, we’re in public…the waiter will come soon.”

“Do I look like one of the little boys you’re used to dating—or the little boy you’ve married?”

“Umm…uh..well, no, but Va—“

“Then don’t disrespect me that way! When I touch you—however intimately—you are to happily offer yourself to me. Do you understand? Or would you prefer we end this evening, not to continue our relationship until you’ve grown up?”

“But…I…well, no. Vanessa I don’t want that…” I tried defending myself, but she was too strong, too smart, for me.

“Then behave yourself like a young adult. And stop these childish games.”

From that point her hand began again its slide northward along my thigh. As it ran to the point where my thighs touched, I now wordlessly, gently, parted them, affording the access this powerful woman had demanded. I was now open to her desires.

Soon her fingers were stroking my pussy through the thin layer of silk that was my thong panties. I could feel my lips growing moist as she stroked them—all the while looking over her menu. I could soon hear the slight squishing sound of my wet nether folds under the torment of Vanessa’s playing fingers.

At this moment the waiter turned the corner and faced us. He was stunned to see this dominant black Amazon’s hand stroking the young blonde’s, barely veiled pussy, all in plain view.

Vanessa, bold as ever, slowly began asking questions about the menu, even as her fingers continued playing between my spread thighs. I was too humiliated and embarrassed to even make eye contact with the man. In the corner of my sight, I did see the bulge forming in his pants, and I could hear how he exaggerated his answers to Vanessa’s questions—an excuse to continue observing her fondling of my intimates.

After he had left, Vanessa pulled her hand out from between my legs and grasped my chin directing me to look into her eyes.

“My, my Leasa. You are so wet tonight. Do women always make you so wet so easily?”

I shrugged. I didn’t know what to say. I felt ashamed and humiliated at what I was letting her do to me—in public.

I could smell myself on her fingers.

“You know what we call a woman who gets as excited as you for another woman?”

I just looked into her eyes speechless…I shook my head, no.

“A bull-dyke.”

The term slapped me. It was the most derisive term that could be used against a lesbian girl when I was in high school. I am ashamed that I once used it to describe one of my gym teachers who used to stare at me when I undressed in the locker room.

“Are you a ‘bull-dyke’ Leasa?”

I shook my head, no, again. I fought back crying because I desperately wanted to be mature, so I wouldn’t lose Vanessa’s respect.

“Yes, Leasa. That’s exactly what you are. Look how wet my fingers are from you.”

She then held the sticky digits before my eyes, leaving a sticky trace along my chin where they had recently been.

Then while looking into my eyes, she held the fingers under her nose and crudely sniffed them.

“Mmmm…When a girl gets this hot from the mere touch of a woman…well, that’s definitely bull-dyke material. Leasa, sweetheart, I’ll have to watch you around my other girls. You’re the type who may not be able to keep her hands off all the other pussy running around the office.”

Tears were welling in my eyes now…

“Please, ‘Nessa, be nice…”

“I thought I was…or are you too good to be a dyke? Is that it, sweetheart? Would you feel dirty to admit your true feelings, the true you…the real Leasa?”

I began crying at this point. Vanessa then quickly held her napkin to me and dried my eyes, shushed me, then put her large black lips to mine. We kissed deeply. Her hand fondled my breast. I could feel her long tongue snake into my mouth and coil about mine. Like a serpent she was slowly ensnaring me in her coils. And I gave into her…willingly.

The waiter came around the corner again. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat, to politely interrupt our lovemaking.

“Should I return, later,” he asked.

“No,” Vanessa replied, with me still in her arms, “It’s inappropriate to start the dessert before the meal, eh?” she kidded the waiter with a lewd wink.

“Uh, yes madam, if you say so,” the embarrassed waiter answered.

During the meal, Vanessa continued to play with my pussy. Without looking up from her meal she said:

“Leasa, you’re much too wet…you’re pussy is ruining your lovely thong, drooling for me like it has all night. Go to the ladies room and remove it!”

“But Va—“ I stopped myself in mid-sentence. I knew better than to try to argue with her. I dabbed my lips with my napkin, and then grabbed my purse and excused myself to the ladies room.

In one of the cubicles, I removed my thong. It was embarrassing because Vanessa was right. It was almost ruined it was so soaked with my vaginal secretions. I put it in my purse and returned to the table.

Vanessa just held her hand out—demanding her booty. I thought of asking her to wait till we were back in the car. But I could tell by her look that I shouldn’t to try to cross her. I opened my purse and handed her the thong.

Vanessa held it up and stretched the crotch of it.

“Darling, do I make you this horny?”

My face was red. Without making eye contact, I nodded. I could hear Vanessa giggle triumphantly. I thought I heard her mumble something about a, “bull-dyke.”

Vanessa looked me up and down. She stared at my breasts.

“I’ve wondered Leasa…what size cup are you?”

Why she insisted on continuing to humiliate me, I had no idea. But I could see she was definitely enjoying it.

“Um…36C,” I stupidly answered.

“They look so firm,” the black woman smiled, and then reached up and began squeezing my left breast. After playing with me, for any one passing our table to see, she said:

“Leasa, go remove it. You’re too beautiful to be confined.”

“Vanessa, I can’t!” I was determined to put my foot down.

She held me sternly in her glare: “Yes, Leasa. You can. And you will.”

We glared into each other’s eyes, but I could feel my will weakening. I just wanted her too much.

I grabbed my purse again and returned to the ladies room.

In the cubicle I removed my blouse and then unsnapped my bra. I knew the blouse I was wearing was too shear and too tight to go braless. Everyone in the restaurant would notice.

As I returned to the table my breasts bounced obscenely. A waiter passing by nearly dropped his tray. I was a spectacle for everyone to see. The bar could have demanded a cover charge for the show I put on as I strutted back to Vanessa.

“That was quite a performance, Leasa,” my ebony mistress smiled.

“Yes, they call it a command performance,” I hissed, half angry, half aroused by it all.

In response, Vanessa tweaked one of my swollen nipples, whispering, “Show off.”

“I think it’s you showing off,” I answered, “Showing me off to the men in this place, and showing off your mastery of me, no?”

“Maybe,” she answered. Then glancing down at my protruding nipples, she added, “But you’re the type that likes it.”

I had no answer for her. I thought she might be right.

When we left, all eyes watched me bounce and jiggle to the door. Outside the carhops ogled my tits as they brought the car around.

Before getting in the car, Vanessa hugged me to her and brought her lips down on mine in a deep tongue snaking kiss. The boys just stood and stared. Then Vanessa reached down, bringing up the back of my skirt, and palmed my naked ass for the boys to see. She squeezed my cheeks crudely for their excitement.

When she was done she parted her lips from mine, smacked my bottom loudly with one hand, and we proceeded to get into the car and left.

When we got back to the office parking lot, Vanessa pulled me up to my car. I waited for a good night kiss but it was not forth coming. I felt it was a bad sign that she would ever ask me out again—maybe I hadn’t made the grade.

After saying good night, Vanessa just offered her hand. We awkwardly shook hands as a ‘goodnight’.

I opened my car door and sat down into the seat of my car. Before I could shut it, Vanessa got out of her car and came around to my open door, standing right in front of me.

Looking down on me she asked:

“Leasa, didn’t you want a goodnight kiss?”

I looked up at her, as she moved her loins close to my face, and nodded: “Yes.”

Then she lifted her short skirt up to her hips, baring her naked pussy, inches from my face:

“So do I.”

I stared into the moist lips glistening in the lamplight, then sunk my face into them.

I kissed the swollen wet lips, licked them, ran my tongue up one and down the other. I was out of my mind in heat for this black goddess and her gorgeous mons.

I stuck my tongue into her vagina as deep as I could, as if I were frenching her. I ran it in and out of her. Vanessa moaned deeply. It excited me to know I was making her moan that way. I was thrilled I could give this woman I worshipped such pleasure.

I nibbled at each of the thick lips of her labia. Then glided my tongue down and up each again. I kissed her clit and sucked the engorged nub into my mouth, sucking as I would a man’s dick. Vanessa began moaning and grunting more violently and loudly now.

Suddenly she cupped the back of my head with both hands and ground my face deep into her mound, grunting and groaning. She went on for what seemed like minutes, humping herself onto my face. My nose was being rubbed repeatedly deep into the folds of her pussy lips as I slobbered away between her thighs, wanting more and more of her.

When she was finally done, Vanessa looked down on me, smiling blissfully. I looked up adoringly at her, my face wet and sticky with her vaginal juices.

Vanessa finally tickled me under my chin and whispered:

“Do you know what a ‘rug-muncher’ is?”

I drove home later that night, my face still soaked with the remains of Vanessa’s passion. I could see the stickiness all over my lips and cheeks whenever I’d view myself in the rear view mirror.

Before leaving the parking lot, Vanessa had asked me over to her house on Sunday to join her and ‘some friends’ in her hot tub. I knew her ‘friends’ were two over-weight lesbians from work who were both at least in their fifties.

I accepted with trepidation.

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