Blondie Balls My Black Boss

Cuck lets blonde wife spend night in black boss's hotel room

Two years or so after my sexy little blonde hotwife got her first taste of the special eroticism of interracial sex, a significant new development occurred when my boss flew down south from Chicago to spend some time working with me. I had an idea that the real purpose of his trip was to have an excuse to visit his aunt, which he pronounced 'awnt' in New Orleans. When we'd discussed his trip on the phone, he had hinted at his true intent of wanting to spend more time with his aunt, who was a mother to him. She had raised him, briefly in New Orleans, then through high school in Chicago after emigrating north, before retiring to her hometown and Louisiana heritage.

Eager to be shed of him as quickly as possible, I had circumspectly suggested that I would gladly cover for him by setting appointments in New Orleans and reporting he'd made those calls with me. Grateful for my collusion in his little deceit, he offered to take Blondie and me to dinner.

What makes this story memorable is that Beauregard, or Beau, was black. In the current spirit of diversity in corporate America, he'd been promoted over older, more qualified, white candidates and had been my supervisor for a few somewhat uncomfortable months. Possessing the requisite degrees in business and finance, Beau had no field experience in our specialized marketing of a line of institutional financial products. Having no desire to relocate to cold, crime-ridden Chicago from the Gulf Coast, I did not covet the position myself, and thus made a genuine effort to familiarize my new, so-called supervisor with our market.

While somewhat suspicious of my motives, Beau seemed truly pleased, that I was willing to accept a younger, less experienced black man as my superior and help him learn the business. Not to say, however, that we did not have our differences. Out to prove himself, he frequently came up with ideas he thought were innovative, only to learn the company had previously tried similar programs that hadn't proved effective. Being the senior, most experienced of Beau's regional managers, it was generally left to me to show him this, so our relationship was a bit uneven.

Blondie had first met Beau at a managers' meeting in Colorado a couple of months earlier, where wives had attended. She'd found him attractive and had remarked to me that she'd gladly fuck him if she got the chance. We'd been in a hotwife/cuckold relationship since early in our marriage, so her open lust didn't surprise me, especially knowing how interracial sex turned her on. Since that trip, we'd fantasized frequently about her fucking Beau but had agreed it was a scenario fraught with risk. He seemed a bit of a puritan, married to an overweight, religious, straight-laced, tea-totaling schoolteacher. They had five, closely-spaced kids, indicating his virility and potency, another turn-on for my bayou belle.

In Colorado, Blondie had lamented that Beau was wasted in such a conventional marriage, so when she learned that he was coming to Mobile, she quickly informed me that if I didn't want to shepherd him around, she'd gladly keep him occupied. I reminded her that my new boss seemed awfully straight-arrow and any attempt to seduce him might endanger my position. My short, little Cajun cutie smiled knowingly and purred,

"Well, you know, cher, it just might be the other way around if he likes what I do to him, hmm?"

My exasperated glance brought a smug murmur, "An' have you met any black guys yet who don't like what I do to them, hmm?"

I just grinned, shaking my head as she continued, "They always seem to want to come back and get some more of it, don't they, sugar pie?"

"An' I betcha your big ol' good-lookin' boss would be just the same way, don't you sugar?"

Beau flew in late Sunday and took a cab to the Admiral Semmes, an old but stately downtown hotel. I met him Monday morning and we put in a reasonably pleasant, productive day. About 4:45 he suggested we knock off and return to the hotel. After making several phone calls and discussing more business for another hour, we repaired to the bar to await Blondie.

When she walked in a little before 7:00, she was radiantly beautiful. She'd had her full, shoulder length, platinum hair freshly bleached the previous week and it appeared she'd had her nails done professionally sometime earlier in the day in the same shade as her frosted, hot pink lipstick. Her cream-colored, business suit had a short, tight skirt and her shapely legs looked great in tan pantyhose and pink spike-heeled pumps with dainty ankle straps. She'd accented her pink satin blouse with multistrands of iridescent pearls and matching earrings.

She turned several heads when she strolled in, flashing her dazzling smile at an obviously impressed Beau...giving him a warm hug...noticeably pressing her buxom little body against him longer than necessary. Holding him close, letting him get a good whiff of her intoxicating perfume, she looked up, directly into his eyes, and purred flirtatiously,

"Well I'm just so glad you could finally make it down, Beau. I told Rick after the meeting in Colorado that I sure was hopin' I'd get an opportunity to get to know you a lot better, cher."

There was a noticeably suggestive emphasis on "lot" which she drew out in her Cajun-inflected, Louisiana drawl, "laaahhht bettah, shayah."

We had a couple more rounds of drinks at the hotel bar then decided we'd best get some food. Beau had knocked back four bourbons fairly quickly, more than I'd ever seen him drink before, and was showing signs of their effect. I was surprised at his pronounced difference in demeanor this evening...he was definitely loosening up...it was evident that his very correct business English was lapsing into a more relaxed black idiom. Most tellingly, he hadn't quit grinning since my gorgeous little Dixie Pixie walked in.

For her part, even though they were both early-thirties, Blondie behaved as if he were the most worldly, sagacious, charming man she'd ever met. She feigned fascination with his every word, smiling warmly at him and gazing into his eyes while listening raptly to his tales of corporate intrigue. She laughed heartily at his every feeble attempt at humor, flirting shamelessly. I foolishly hoped that her behavior could be attributed to nothing more than a good wife's earnest efforts to be especially nice to her husband's boss.

The restaurant Blondie selected was in the entertainment complex just down the street. The complex included three differently themed bars, one of which had a dance band playing during happy hour and on into the evening. At the restaurant, the combination of our continued drinking and the muffled, thumping beat down the way was making Blondie tap the table rhythmically with her long pink nails and move her body provocatively to the music. Attentively watching her movements, Beau teased,

"I don't suppose you like to dance, Blondie?" My Dixie Pixie replied with an unbelievably sexy, hot pink pout of those full lips, sighing with contrived exasperation,

"Well of course! I love to dance but ol' stick-in-the-mud there doesn't. All he ever wants to do is sit back and watch me prancin' around half-naked for his viewin' pleasure."

Beau raised an eyebrow at that too-candid revelation and looked at me appraisingly, a crafty smile on his face, and, I was willing to bet, forming an interesting mental picture of my wife "prancing around half-naked." Tilting her head at him and smiling sexily, Blondie cooed,

"I bet you're a real good dancer aren't you, Beau?"

Beau gamely responded with a big grin, "Sure, all us black dudes got natural rhythm, you know."

Peering into his eyes, Blondie winked suggestively and murmured,

"Mmmm, I just bet you do. An' I hear tell that comes in real handy for other things, too, tu sais (you know) cher?"

Cutting a sly glance at me, she purred,

"You know, Beau, ever since I was a jeune fille (young girl) growing up over in Baton Rouge, I've always heard such interestin' things about black men, such very interestin' things."

Gazing steadily, she smiled seductively and murmured,

"Sure makes a girl curious, you know?"

They held meaningful eye contact for a good ten seconds before he shook his head with disbelief at what he'd just heard. Cocking his head at me with an eyebrow lifted, he tried to laugh it off,

"Hey, Rick, are modern Southern women all this outspoken nowadays?"

I grinned back at his loaded question, "Beau, when my little sweetie is drinking, there is no telling what will come out of that luscious mouth. That little Louisiana belle is liable to say anything at any time to absolutely anybody."

Blondie was still smiling serenely at Beau as she purred seductively, "Or do anything..."

Again they exchanged a long, significant look. Undeniably, all the alcohol we'd consumed was easing everyone's inhibitions, although mine not enough to keep me from having misgivings about Blondie's intentions toward my corporate honcho. Was she just flirting or was she actually trying to seduce him? If she were serious about it and it backfired on us, what then? Facing back to me, smiling prettily, she said,

"It's still early, Rick, so why don't we go in after we finish dinner here an' dance just a little while, d'accord (okay)?" Smiling playfully at Beau she mocked,

"After all, I have never had the opportunity to dance with someone with natural rhythm."

Holding her eyes on his, Blondie continued meaningfully,

"An' Dickie boy, if you just wanna sit back and watch, I bet your boss wouldn't mind showin' your wife all his best moves tonight, would you, Beau?"

Blondie knew I did not like to be called Dickie in public and only did it to needle me or tease me. It's what she called me when she was fucking black guys and wanted to play the game of taunting and humiliating the white, cuckold husband. Most black guys ate it up. I'd generally go along with game because, in truth, it did add to the excitement, but I hated being called Dickie out in public. I flashed that my horny mate had just signaled her intentions for the evening.

There was an awkward lull in the conversation as Beau and I sat there pondering Blondie's question. Sit and watch what, exactly: his best moves on the dance floor or his best moves in bed? Knowing my sweetie's tastes and tendencies, I'd bet the farm on both. It was a long few seconds before I finally nodded.

"Sure, why not?" said Beau, returning her steady gaze, and flashing me an uncertain smile as he opted for the more innocent interpretation. He continued, "Sure...yes...of course, Blondie... I'd love to dance with you."

At that very moment the band down the hall struck up the old Elvis song, "Big Boss Man" and Blondie smiled brightly at Beau and cooed,

"Well now, isn't that just so appropriate, sugar, hmm?"

With a start I realized that 'sugah' had been aimed at him not me. It was the first time she'd called him anything but Beau or cher. Blondie started humming the tune...moving her body to the rhythm as she gazed across the table at him. Smiling warmly, she raised her eyebrows and sang softly along with the band,

"Well, I'm gonna get me a boss man, one gonna treat me right, work me hard in the day time,"

She paused here. Then with another wink and a wicked smile, she improvised,

"An' work me hard all night."

"Big Boss Man, can you hear me when I call? Oh you ain't so big, you just tall that's all!"

"Big Boss Man, gonna work me hard tonight, oh, oh yeah, oh, oh yeah!"

As she sang the words softly, her steady, mocking gaze never left Beau's face and he grinned back at her gamely but uncertainly.

Despite the relaxing effect of the alcohol, I was getting very uneasy with Blondie's outrageously flirtatious behavior. After all, the guy was my manager and up until tonight, I'd considered him a prude. I knew full well that my sweetie could be quite brazen and her actions unpredictable when she drank. From the moment she'd greeted Beau at the hotel bar, there had been a mounting air of sexual tension in our little trio, and that sultry reference to being curious about what she'd heard about black men, turned the erotic atmosphere as thick as our Gulf Coast humidity.

Her question about me watching Beau show her his best moves was a glaringly obvious double entendre. Still, having no idea of just how far this might go, I told myself to let it play out. Beau certainly seemed to be enjoying himself, undeniably feeling the booze and clearly unable to keep his eyes from lingering speculatively on my sexy spouse. Who knew? He just might be receptive to a seduction. Looking like she did sitting there, Blondie would be hard for any man to resist.

Holy crap! Was it really possible that my wife was going to fuck my boss tonight?

Beau called for the check and a few minutes later we strolled down the brick cobbled walkway to the bar where the band was playing. As soon as we entered the smoky, dimly lighted club, Blondie hooked her arm through his and said,

"C'mon, Big Boss Man, take me out there an' show Dickie boy how to keep his woman happy!"

Handing me her purse, she said, "Make yourself useful an' grab those three open stools at the bar an' order us a drink. I'll bring your boss back in a while, d'accord?"

She pulled Beau onto the dance floor and they began to boogie...her without inhibition...him with more restraint...apparently more concerned than Blondie with the many pairs of eyes following them. Blondie always attracted male attention but this was different. This was, after all, the city of Mobile, in South Alabama, where black males, even executive types in expensive suits, still weren't frequently seen dancing with white women in those days. The lingering existence of that particular social taboo didn't appear to have any impact on my tipsy babe, who quickly began incorporating a variety of overtly suggestive moves in her dancing. Looking around and seeing no familiar faces, I thought,

"Thank god, the crowd appears to be mostly tourists and business travelers tonight!"

There were only four other blacks in the room; two couples sharing a table between the bar and the dance floor from me. Smiling to myself, I wondered how shocked those watching would be if they knew just how much that beautiful blonde, white woman liked black dick. Blondie had been having sex with other men while I watched since her twenty-fifth birthday and how that came to pass is related in two stories in Loving Wives: How Blondie Became a Hotwife and Blondie Finally Begins Her Hotwife Life.

She'd had her first black lover just two years ago, an event proving to be of major consequence. Impressed with the sexual prowess of black men and the size of their equipment, she'd quickly developed a fondness for the forbidden pleasures of interracial sex. The heightened eroticism of culturally prohibited intercourse made my small, white, Southern sweetie highly responsive to black men, to the extent that she could sometimes achieve orgasm with them during intercourse, something she did infrequently with her white partners, including me.

Blondie looked great with her perfect makeup, her platinum hair, her cream-colored suit with the pink blouse, short skirt and sexy pink, high heels, out there strutting her stuff. Beau's concerns seemed to be waning as he gradually relaxed, appearing to be mesmerized by my lovely, alluring Southern belle, who was ever more flagrantly flaunting her glowing sexuality. I told myself once again to just let it play out, to wait and see where the evening took us. When Blondie drank like she was drinking tonight, she could become very impetuous and very determined to get what she wanted—and very unhappy with me if I tried to prevent it.

They stayed out on the floor for several numbers before returning to the bar to cool down. Beau was sweating slightly and Blondie's face was glowing with exertion and obvious pleasure. Slipping her arm around Beau's waist, she pulled him close...standing with her hip firmly against his thigh. The same height as me, he was a full head taller than her.

She smiled sweetly at me and said, "This guy really has some nice, sexy moves, cher, some real sexy moves." Smiling at Beau, she gibed mischievously,

"Well, you're right, sugar—looks like you've proved that part of the rumor—you have definitely got rhythm, baby."

Just then the bandleader announced to the mostly older crowd that it was time to slow the pace a bit, a pronouncement greeted by a number of muted cheers from the older dancers and jeers from the few younger ones. Blondie looked at Beau expectantly, took both his hands in both of hers, cooing seductively,

"Well how 'bout it, handsome? I'd be awfully interested in seein' what kinda moves you mecs noirs (black dudes) have on the slow numbers, hmm?"

Turning to me, she winked, saying, "How 'bout it, Dickie boy? You mind if your boss takes your wife out there for a little belly-rubbin' session, hmm, cher?"

When I said nothing, she murmured, "Why don't you just sit there an' drink while I see if I can find out a little more about what these mecs noirs are supposed to have, d'accord?"

Beau threw me a look of startled incredulity but didn't resist as my insistent bayou belle pulled him out into the growing mass of dancers, where they would dance the next five songs without returning to their drinks. Thankfully the crowd was large for a Monday night—a convention the bartender told me—and the place was busy.

From the bar I caught frequent glimpses through the packed, semi-darkened, dance floor and could see that from the start of the first number, Blondie had her body pressed firmly against his, and well before the end of the song she was pushing her pelvis in and rotating it against his thigh. Their significant difference in height put her crotch at the level of his middle thigh and his crotch against her belly.

It was obvious to anyone watching, that my gorgeous, blonde babe was rubbing her hot little body all over my big, black boss. Her shapely legs were enclosing one of his and her lovely bottom was twisting slowly and seductively with the music. They were smiling and talking, and several times, when Beau bent his head down, apparently to hear her better, their faces were so close I thought for a panicky moment that she might actually kiss him. That would incite a riot in this place, I was certain. I'd already noticed a few watching white people nudging each other and whispering back and forth, most probably condemning this vulgar violation of southern culture.

Beau was avoiding eye contact with me, but Blondie connected frequently, winking slyly a number of times. Once, as they slowly turned, Blondie was facing me, her face resting against his chest; she looked straight into my eyes, opened that luscious mouth and ran her tongue suggestively around her lips a couple of times. Smiling impishly, she dropped her chin to her chest, leading my gaze down to her hips just as she pushed her belly into his groin and twisted her hips with a circular grinding movement against his leg. She looked at me again, her eyes smoldering, and her lips pouting in a provocative air kiss.