The story you are about to read includes very explicit reference to sex. If you are not old enough to read this story where you live, or if you object to frank language about sex, please read no further.

If, however, you enjoy sexual fantasies and a bit of humor along the way, please read on!

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This story really needs Chapter One to make any sense. If you don’t read chapter one first, this one won’t make a lot of sense, and all the humor will get lost. Please read chapter one.

But, just in case you’re really stubborn, and refuse to read chapter one, here’s a VERY quick summary. In that chapter, two escaped convicts, “Kris” and “T” came to hide in my house for nearly a week.

During that time, they fucked me repeatedly, and by the end of the week, I was believing whatever Kris said. He told me that, now that I was a “black cock slut,” I would never again be able to say no to a black man. In addition, he told me that black men can smell a black cock slut any time they’re around, and that they use “code” to tell them they want to fuck. The “code” is something like “Can I help you?” or “Need a hand with that?” (This, of course, is something he made up, but I believed it, I was so spent, so receptive after a week of earth shaking orgasms.) Kris taught me how to respond to these questions, and taught me that men who use the code expect immediate responses.

That’s how I found myself in the situation you’ll read about in this story.

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Chapter Two

It was good to have Richard and the boys home, though it felt a little funny for the first few days to be going around the house with clothes on. I had gotten used to being naked. Rather liked it, actually.

I was terrified, though, of going out of the house. What if I ran into a black man who wanted me at the wrong time? In the wrong place? Unable to say no, what would happen? I limited my trips out to places I could be pretty sure wouldn’t expose me to any risk. As much as I knew I needed more black cock, I just couldn’t risk getting it in the wrong place, at the wrong time!

I managed to go more than two weeks without incident. I suppose this made me a bit lazy. I stopped thinking, stopped planning, and then, on a Wednesday like any other Wednesday, I made my first mistake.

It wasn’t much of a mistake. I went to the green grocer’s I always go to for produce. He gets his stuff directly from local farmers, and it’s much fresher than what they have in the big stores. And since it’s a small place, I know everyone that works there. They’re all Korean. I can hear them say, “Can I help you, lady?” without worrying that it’s the code. (And they say it a lot!)

So on this particular day, I needed some fresh avocados, to make guacamole for supper. Rich really likes his guacamole, and I found out that afternoon that I was out. Jason was still in school, and I had just dropped Mike off at kindergarten. (He goes half days, in the afternoons right now.) I had a couple of hours before I had to be home or go pick up Mikey, so I hurried over to the grocer’s to get the avocados.

The mistake was a simple one, I forgot to check the parking lot for other cars before going in. I had been really careful up to that point, to go in only when it there were no other customers. It’s a small place, and it would be difficult to avoid a man in the store if he were already there. I locked my car and thoughtlessly rushed into the store, my mind running through the other ingredients for the guac, to make sure I had everything else I needed.

I turned to my right when I entered the store, headed for the bin where the avocados usually are, and walked right into an older black gentleman! I crashed into him so suddenly that the contents of my purse spilled on the floor. Seeing him, I hurried to pick them up and get out of the building before he could figure out what I was, but I guess the reaction must be a quick one. Before I could put my keys back in my purse, I heard, “Oh, dearie, you look like you could use a hand.”

Shit! I was busted! I looked up meekly, acknowledging my wretchedness (after all, it had been more than two weeks since I’d had a decent orgasm), and said, “Yes, I certainly do. Where would you like to give it to me?”

He looked a bit confused at first, as though my response hadn’t been the correct one, just as Kris had warned me they might if I weren’t plain spoken enough. “Excuse me?” he responded, demanding that I admit what it was I needed more openly. From my place, squatting near the floor, I looked up into his deeply creased face (he had to be near 60) and said, softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t say that right. Yes, I need your help. I’m a black cock slut, and I really need you to fuck me. Where would you like to do it?”

Well, he looked like you could’ve knocked him over with a feather. His eyes got as big as saucers, and a huge smile deepened the creases in his cheeks. I suppose it had been a while since he’d come across one of us, though Kris made it sound as though there were a good many bcs’s out there. I finished putting my things back in my purse and stood up. In my heels I was a good two inches taller than he was. I waited for him to answer as he looked me up and down.

“Well, now, I got me a nice truck out in the parkin’ lot, unless you need somethin’ nicer,” he said, as though he was still trying to make up his mind where to take me.

“Wherever you want me,” I answered. “May I get my avocados first, and meet you there?”

“You surely may, young lady, you surely may. Just knock on the back doors, and I’ll have things all ready for you.”

I turned and picked out three ripe avocados, weighed them, and took them to the counter. “You need anything else, lady?” asked the nice Korean man behind the cash register?

“Oh, no,” I replied, “I’m sure I’ve found more than I expected!”

Even as I stood there, waiting for him to bag my purchase, I felt myself growing wetter by the moment. Kris had been right. Put me in the company of a black male, and my body just took over. I hadn’t even had a thought of saying no to this man when he told me what he wanted. I was going to have to be very careful in the future!

I put the bag and my purse into my car, and let the windows down a little so that it wouldn’t all cook while I was busy. I looked across the small parking lot and located the windowless black van parked there. It had those racks on the top that plumbers and electricians have on their trucks, but no ladder. If this fellow had been employed in that way, he was retired.

Walking over, I did as he’d instructed. I knocked on the rear doors, which did have small square windows in them. They were so high, though, that I couldn’t see in until he pushed the right door open for me. He looked around the parking lot suspiciously, then let me in.

There were steel shelves lining the right side of the van, and the floor had been covered with a thick sheet of plywood that was bolted down. I couldn’t see much of it, though, because he had covered it with half a dozen moving blankets, some of them the old woolen kind, others quilted. I was glad he had the quilted ones on top.

“Shall I take my clothes off completely? Or would you like me just to take off my skirt and panties?”

He seemed to ponder his options for a moment, and then responded. “Christmas done come EARLY this year. Go on and take ’em all off. Besides, that way you won’t mess ’em all up.”

I was glad he wasn’t in so great a hurry that I couldn’t take time to take everything off. I had worried that I might stain something, so this was much preferable to doing it with my skirt bunched around my waist. He’d turned up his AC to full, and as I stripped I got chilled. As a result, by the time I removed my bra and panties, my nipples were as hard as marbles. He watched in fascination, without reciprocating at all.

“Aren’t you going to take off your pants, at least?” I asked, timidly.

“Oh, shit, done forgot all about that, just enjoyin’ the show so damn much. You got a FINE body, young lady. A FINE body. He started to unfasten his belt and undo his zipper. I could see the beginnings of an erection there, but he was a long way from hard when he slid his dark blue workpants to his knees and faced me in the reversed captain’s chair on the passenger side. I was kneeling on the blankets farther back in the truck.

He looked a bit embarrassed about his slow response. “Ol’ George here, he don’t work like he used to. How about you give him some help?” he said, indicating that I should use my mouth to make his cock fully hard. I crawled over to him, naked, and went to work, playing with his wrinkled nutsack and sucking his half-hard cock. He sat back, put his hands on my head, and just moaned with pleasure while I brought him to full erection. When he was good and hard (about eight and half inches, I’d guess, and thick enough to keep my fingers and thumb from meeting when I held him) I stopped and looked up.

“Do you want to fuck my nasty, white pussy now? Or do you want me to make you cum with my mouth?”

He shook his aged head as though the question should never have occurred to me. “What? And miss the chance to nail a pretty white girl like yourself? I don’t think so! You just make room, and I’ll lay down. Then you can ride me. I’m too old to do that push up shit.

I scooted to the side, feeling the cool steel of the truck wall against my ass as he moved to the floor and lay down, holding his cock aloft. I have to admit that, by this time, I was so anxious to have his ancient cock inside me, it was all I could do not to jump right on him, but I straddled him and took a moment to be sure that the head of his cock was slick with my cunt juices before I lowered myself onto him, on one long, glorious motion.

“Arrrggggh..” I groaned, sitting down, holding his stiff cock as deep as it would go. “That’s what I needed. Shit. It’s been so long.”

He gripped my ass cheeks with strong, gnarled hands, and pulled me up. I leaned toward him, pushing my tits into his face, while I slipped my pussy off of him, all but the head. He sucked at my stiff nipples, and asked, “How long?”

“More than two weeks.”

He coughed, as though he’d inhaled a bug or some dust. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he was trying to hide a laugh. “Oh, yeah, much too long for a sweet whore like you to go without some black dick, isn’t it?” I nodded, and started to ride him, slowly at first, enjoying every inch of his manhood as I slid my slippery cunt walls up and down it, then faster and faster. He kept his grip on my ass, keeping me aligned, keeping me from slipping off as I got wilder and wilder.

“That’s it, honey, ride me. Cum on this old man’s dick. Cum for daddy!”

And just like that, I did. Right on cue. I bounced rapidly on him at first, then lay forward, rubbing my nipples over the rough fabric of his shirt as I worked my hips up and down, keeping my orgasm alive for as long as I could. He was breathing hard now, and driving his hips upward as I came down, grunting and moaning. No more words, just the sounds of two animals rutting. The truck rocked and bounced crazily, and I was just about to take a short break and catch my breath when I heard him grunt. He was holding his breath and slamming up into my cunt as hard as he could, so I kept moving so that he could cum.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, FUCK!” he moaned as his cock started to spew inside me. He didn’t cum a lot, which was probably a good thing. It would have been difficult to get home with a huge load of cum in me without creating a tell-tale stain on the back of my yellow skirt. (Since then, I’ve gotten into the habit of keeping panty-liners in my purse at all times for just such emergencies.) When he’d finished, I lay on top of him, catching my breath.

His strong, rough hands moved easily over my skin while his cock slowly subsided and slipped limply out of my well-fucked pussy. “Do you want me to clean you up?” I asked, remembering what Kris had come to expect of me. He just nodded, so I slid down and licked our commingled juices from his limp member, then cleaned his balls, too. He had some blue paper towels in the truck, and I used one to wipe the cum from the lips of my pussy. The rest would seep out into my panties over time, I figured, but I could get home before it soaked through them.

“So, you shop here all the time?” he asked. I thought about it, and decided he could probably tell if I lied to him, so answered truthfully. “Every week or two, I suppose, mostly in the afternoons. Will you be here to ‘help’ me in the future?”

“Oh, you bet I will, young lady. You bet I will. Yeah, I figger this store gonna get real popular with some o’ the fellas down at the hall. Real popular.” He laughed, and I wondered if I’d ever be able to come here again without running into someone who wanted to fuck me. I shook my head as I dressed, and decided to cross that bridge when I came to it. Meanwhile, there were children to pick up and guacamole to make.

This man, whose name I didn’t learn until the next time we met, two weeks later, pulled up his pants and let me out of the back of his truck. The bright sunlight nearly blinded me, but I found my way to my car, and from there to my house, where I quickly washed and changed. I smelled like sex, and it was keeping me too horny to get anything done. Only when I’d finished and redressed was I fit to go to the school to pick up little Mike.

Oh, and the guacamole? Some of the best I ever managed to make.

Another chapter soon.

Becky.

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