Incendiary Circumstances Ch. 10

Unlike before, this time, Marie required no convincing. In the space of a few short weeks of summer she'd been transformed from a fifty-two year old teacher and housewife whose sex life was in severe decline, to a wanton slut-in-waiting eager to submit her mouth for a young black man's pleasure.

Now Blaine was naked as she stood by his side, every square inch of him visible except for that 12" by 3" cylinder protruding from his groin. That was covered by a thin terry cloth towel that Marie clutched tightly in her hand. He'd just told her to "kiss it."

She'd protested at every step along the way. She hadn't even wanted to discuss sex. But she'd inadvertently blurted out secret knowledge of Blaine knocking up a white girl then confessed and embarrassing episode involving a black man named Andre from her own past just to even things up.

Even uncomfortable talk of sex is talk of sex. A few kisses were reluctantly given and instantly followed by resolutions to avoid behaviors unsuited to a married woman and a young man one-third her age. Yet her good intentions became passionate make out sessions in less than a week.

Marie was certain she could handle the soft, sweet kissing sessions with Blaine. They were nice, the proper blend of tenderness and passion. His strong arms felt so good holding her body as his tongue traced her ovaled lips like a NASCAR driver under the yellow flag of caution.

The young black kid was such a refreshing change from those awkward twelve tentacled squids she'd had to fend off when she was Blaine's age. If Blaine were representative, perhaps the younger generation wasn't in that hand basket headed for Hell after all.

Marie had tingled all day in anticipation of Blaine making a move on her at the end of their shift. So comfortable was she in Blaine's powerful embrace and two minute apiece kisses, she'd given up her protests and telling him it was wrong, and just accepted the pleasant excitement as something they'd continue to enjoy without regret.

The arousing prep work Blaine was putting in was even paying positive dividends at home where afternoon masturbation sessions proved a wonderful release. When the burning returned after dinner, her husband Dave became the beneficiary.

Dave probably wondered how his luck had suddenly changed but was not prepared to see it stop by asking for an explanation. Marie considered telling him. After all, it was only kissing, and Dave had done much worse. In the end, the questions he'd probably ask kept her silent on the matter.

Marie's best intentions to hold the line at simple, if passionate, French kissing sessions were as easily overcome as those to prevent the kissing in the first place. Blaine's hand crept up her side, playing a game of chicken with her breast. Every time she was sure he would cup her there, and prepared to remove his hand, he changed direction.

Marie spent the better part of an hour one afternoon on an extended period of high alert. Her anxiety was compounded by the fact that part of her wanted him to touch her there. Blaine's kisses were exceptionally ardent and her vagina exceptionally wet. In all honesty, she was as much to blame for that first touching as Blaine...maybe more.

Blaine's big hand moving on her torso had driven her crazy. Her nipples were demanding contact. Blaine had been instructed that all the touching there would ever be between them would be their mouths, their lips, their tongues. It seemed the black college student was trying his best to comply with Marie's wishes even as he got a close to the boundary without crossing it when Marie herself twisted in such a way that her breast contact his hand.

Marie immediately removed the hand but it was, for all intents and purposes, too late. Blaine knew what had happened and so did she. His hand wandered to her breast more and more often until Marie gave up trying to remove it. She warned him, of course, the following morning, not to try that again but the admonition was ineffectual because neither of them desired its enforcement.

Blaine's new knowledge that Marie's rules were flexible, more guideline than decree, meant that he was destined to seek her bare breast, something Marie protested vehemently before accepting so completely she'd even partially undressed herself in public, in her car, on Blaine's orders, just so he'd have easier access to her when they were alone.

Skin to skin touching led to Marie letting herself be stripped naked above the waist so her young colleague could engage in nipple play and soon rough nipple activities. The mature beauty's submission to him and her wanton responses to the aggressive "caressing" he gave her tits led to Blaine no longer being able to control his arousal.

The inordinate size of his cock meant that Blaine had to release it to prevent the insufferable pain a full blown hard on in his jeans would cause. Once out, Blaine was obliged to discharge his semen in order to soften his cock enough to return it to his pants.

It was Marie who insisted on cleaning up his messy cum from the walls and floor of that musty corner in that musty room, finally resorting to lapping up the salty liquid just to feel a second-hand closeness to the young black stud because she feared a complete loss of control were there ever to be a direct transfer of Blaine's essence into her mouth.

But it was that driving perversity, witnessed by Blaine when she was on her hands and knees suctioning pools of semen from the concrete floor and desperately fingering her slick tunnel, that had her standing next to the black stallion, holding his cock by a thin towel and exchanging depths-of-her-soul kisses with a paramour more than three decades younger than she.

"I said, kiss it," Blaine reiterated, halting Marie's mental journey of self-awareness and justification of her current situation.

Placing a hand at the back of her neck, Blaine directed Marie's head toward his groin much as Andre had more than fifteen years earlier. This time she didn't go fleeing into the night. This time she bent at the waist until her lips contacted the towel and, indirectly, the cock supporting it.

Blaine heard the guttural moan that escaped Marie when her lips parted, seeking to surround and capture Blaine's cotton encrusted phallus. Blaine felt the softness of her puffy lips grasp at him and the hardness of her teeth bite at him. When she tried to capture the cloth in her teeth and pull it off, Blaine pulled her head back up and kissed her again.

The kiss must have lasted more than a minute before Blaine broke it. During its duration Marie let go of the ends of the towel she was clutching and slid her hand beneath the white terry cloth draped over Blaine's erection not unlike a man sliding a hand up a woman's skirt. Her shudder was violent and involuntary as Marie experienced that incredible skin-on-skin contact between her hand and that fabulous phallus.

"Oh Blaine!" she shivered as her fingers pushed back along that silken skin until her entire forearm was under that towel with his penis. She could feel the warmth of his cock shaft the entire length of her forearm and it thrilled her. The cock head nestled in the crook of her elbow and she was just able to tickle his scrotum with her fingernails.

"Shit," growled Blaine, grabbing Marie's free hand and looking at her watch. "I have to make a call. Can you get my cell out of my pants?"

Reluctantly, Marie dragged her hand out from under that towel even as she mentally screamed an epithet at her young tormentor.FUCKING CUNT TEASER!!! Perhaps she should have just slid to her knees then and exorcised the sexual demons still tormenting her from the night she ran from the back seat of Andre's car.

Marie handed Blaine his phone and returned to caressing his cock while he dialed. He placed his hand on top of her head and directed her to her knees even as he manipulated his phone. Marie again grasped the long cock shaft, this time with both hands, and began kissing the length of it leaving splotches of pink lipstick she'd refreshed while Blaine showered on the white cloth.

"Hey baby," Blaine purred into the phone like Marvin Gaye crooning "Sexual Healing."

Marie felt like she'd been punched in the gut. Here she was fondling the biggest cock she'd ever encountered, committed to breaking her marriage vows for the first time ever, as nervous as she'd ever been, and this teenager she was expecting to use her mouth to satisfy was talking shit to some girlfriend?

She was completely confused. She should have stormed out, should have told Blaine to go fuck himself before storming out, but memories, regrets of what didn't happen with Andre prevented her. She knelt right there stroking and kissing Blaine's towel covered cock.

Marie could only hear half the conversation as Blaine flirted in some ghetto dialect while she knelt on concrete and tried to distract him with her mouth.

"I know you be wantin' some of what ol' Blaine's got."

"I ain't be done wif work yet."

"I thought your ol' man was sayin' you couldn't ha no mo a dis."

"No, I ain't lettin' him watch. I already tol' him dat."

"Right now?"

"Yeah, I be wif her. I already tol you I be at work."

"I tol you she ain't no biotch. She nice."

"Ain't none a yo bidness if'n I let her suck it or not."

"Yo sho yo be quick? I ain't got da worl's time."

"I need my bag," Blaine said, ending the call, finally returning his attention to Marie.

She was in a state of complete confusion as she, once again, released Blaine's cock to fetch something for him. Who was that woman he was talking to? A lover? That seemed obvious. Why had he called her while the two of them were playing?

Marie felt completely humiliated listening to Blaine flirting with another woman while she stroked his cock. Yet somehow that humiliation had her cunt burning up like it had a hundred and six degree fever. Yes, she'd get Blaine's bag; she'd do whatever the fuck he wanted.

The towel had begun to droop when Marie returned with the bag. It was already at a forty-five degree angle to the floor and appeared, Marie imagined excitedly, ready to drop, giving her a first glimpse of his actual, naked cock.

Blaine rummaged through the bag and, just as that towel began to fall, he found a pair of spandex workout shorts and turned his back to Marie. She got to see his naked buttocks again as the towel tumbled to the floor. Blaine pulled on the shorts so tight they appeared to be a second skin.

The spandex pouch in front still had Blaine's hand in it, adjusting the position of his semi-hard phallus when he turned to face Marie again. Taking his hand from inside his crotch, he continued manipulating his dick from the outside, trying to get things comfortable.

"How does that look?" Blaine asked cupping his crotch and bouncing it up and down a couple of times before letting it go.

"I-It looks great," Marie stammered. "Huge but great." Marie giggled trying to relieve her own tensions.

"Feel it," Blaine commanded. "See if it feels natural."

"I'm not sure how something that colossal should feel," Marie giggled again.

Blaine's crotch looked as big as a large grapefruit as she reached out and ran her hand around it. He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply as she fondled his cock. Marie squeezed, stroked, pressed, and hefted the mighty black penis that filled her hand and spilled over in every direction. Blaine was pinching and pulling at her nipple. Marie thought she would climax on the spot but Blaine pulled away.

"I need to borrow your car," he told her holding out his hand for her keys.

Every fiber in Marie's being wanted to tell Blaine and whatever slut he was going to see to go fuck themselves. But she didn't, couldn't. Instead, she handed over her keys docilely because she knew the woman on the phone wasn't the only slut, she was too. The difference was woman on the phone had known the satisfaction of Blaine's cock and she hadn't.

"Back in a few," Blaine shouted over his shoulder as he pulled on a tee shirt and sneakers.