Maggie Redux Ch. 1

She let her anger push the damn weight, straining her midsection, feeling the pull all the way to her pussy. Fuck you, machine. Fuck you. Take that. Ungh. And that. Suddenly, the first hint of a pull in her thigh warned her she had reached her body's limit. No matter what she did, which machine she used, her abs never twinged, never gave out. It was always the goddamn legs. In spite of the jogging.

Maggie lay there gasping, the bar still resting on the top of her feet, sweat pouring down her leotard between her fat tits. She knew she smelled different than all the honky bitches, a subtle sweetness, muskier than their pale, acrid odor. She liked hers best. Her mind buzzed as it always did when she was gasping like this. Shit. What the fuck's the point? She was gonna turn fifty next month, hadn't been laid in three years, beat her brains out keeping her tall, ripe body in shape, waiting for, what? Some young black stud? In this Midwestern town, with it's corn fed, handsome, all white farmboys, whose big night out was the Friday night high school football game? There was one other black family in town, the Smithers, two doors down, but Alma worried she'd tempt Horace, so they saw little of each other these days.

Her husband's police officer buddies tried, they couldn't have been nicer, really, but they were all married. They all felt an obligation to her since Eddie'd gotten himself shot in that botched robbery, and were amazingly kind about visiting him in the VA hospital every month or so. But, of course, he just lay there, the ventilator working his lungs, eyes closed, being fed through a tube. Maggie's heart twinged for the poor son of a bitch, trapped there, in a State that wouldn't let her pull the plug. The health coverage for the cops in this town was so good, he'd still be going three years from now, and meantime, Maggie was trapped.

She slipped her feet sideways to the floor and sat up, grabbing the towel and wiping her face and chest. She caught the skinny kid behind the towel rack ogling her. That was the thing that drove her nuts. She had the strangest collection of men hit on her. With the innate prejudice of this area that had been just north of the Mason-Dixon line, it took some courage to even consider dating a black woman, particularly one who was coal black, though her features were the small nosed, big eyed, distinctly non African, white style beauty of her quadroon grandmother. She'd never been sure, but there had always been talk about a white New Orleans politician way back there in the Smith family tree.

When she was younger, they used to say she looked like Dorothy Dandridge. She always scoffed, refusing to let the implied compliment go to her head. Her daddy always told her, keep your feet on the ground, Maggie. She felt a little twinge of guilt, even now, because she realized she still styled her hair like Dot. Anyway, she couldn't carry a goddamn tune in a bucket.

What she got was these skinny liberals from the local high school, wispy hair, glasses, she suspected they couldn't get a hard on in a million years. Thought they were doing her a favor. The fat Puerto Rican cop had made a pass at her too, but he was even worse. Wife had left him for beating on her. Her pussy twinged as she remembered Eddie, his big frame dominating her as no other man ever had, his big cock stroking in her cunt as he mumbled his jive, big city fuck words in her ear. "Hot tits, baby, hot cunt, move that fat ass Maggie, you whore. Love it baby, love that fat thing inside your wet pussy. Oh shit baby, yeah go ahead, feel good? Yeah well hang on, Daddy ain't finished yet honey. Y'okay? Yeah, well lets go, move that black ass. Third time's always the best for you anyway, baby." A shiver lanced through Maggie's pussy as that memory seemed suddenly so vivid. Oh Eddie, you poor, unlucky bastard.

He was otherwise the perfect model of the new black man, light skinned, handsome in a white way, well spoken, with his slight Boston accent, from BU, but he got a boot out of letting people occasionally assume that Harvard was the only school in Massachusetts. They had a good time during the six years they had lived here together, with a middle class bunch of nice white people, and the money, with his Army retirement pay and the Police Lieutenants salary, was terrific. Maggie had no money problems, but she sure wasn't happy.

As she rose and headed for the locker room, she caught a look at herself in the full length mirror. The leotard acted as a girdle, her big tits stood high on her chest, and her ass looked smooth and curvy. The exercise kept her hips from getting flabby, but she couldn't quite get rid of her tummy. Still, she knew it looked sexy, her body, and she had gotten good at detecting the little sideways glances all the young studs gave her. There wasn't a white woman over thirty whose body could hold a candle to hers.

She met the eyes of the mayor's son, a wimpy little guy who looked down, shamefaced, when he realized she had caught him. "Fucking asshole" she thought as she smiled at facing him down. Jenny Warren was taking a shower as she stripped quickly, padded in to the corner away from the young blonde, and turned on the spray. Maggie's tits sagged some when released, but otherwise her muscles held her body up well, though it was full and generous. Young Jenny took a peek, then looked away, blushing. Maggie's West Indian black skin showed few wrinkles, and her thick bush of pubic hair was very prominent. She paid no attention to the embarrassed teen trying to make her slim, cheerleader's body somehow sexier by working out.

The warm water felt good, soothing some of the pain in her leg, taking some of the anger away. Not all, of course. She soaped up her pussy, just as Jenny walked by, blushing. She felt a moment of pity for the poor little rich gal who had never known a black of any age in this white-bread town. But it passed quickly, as she felt a little zing when she rubbed, down there.

Jenny was gone when she finished, though she noticed her leotard had been moved. Must have been in a hurry, young Jen. Maggie's plain white bra was wrinkled as she pulled it out of the gym bag, but smoothed out once she squeezed her boobs in. Just a hint of cleavage, didn't want to look too slutty. There was no one to impress, anyway. It would have been nice to just wear shorts home, and a tank top, but not here in deep middle America. No, her modest silk polka dot, it covered her up, couldn't be criticized, but her ass swaying moved the cloth sexily. I'm not fucking dead, she thought, putting a smile on her pretty, sensual face as she walked out of the locker room. Okay, boys, eat your honky hearts out..

Across town, at that moment, Bill Warren was sitting in study hall, daydreaming about Maggie. He knew Jenny was down there today, and his little sister often came back with tales of the gorgeous nigger's fantastic body and the way it freaked everybody out. Jenny was resigned to the way he grilled her about it now, wanting to know every detail, which machines she used, who else was there, he had even worked up the nerve to ask Jenny about whether Maggie's boobs sagged, was her pussy gray at all, was it thick? He'd been this way ever since freshman year, before her husband got shot, watching her jog as he delivered papers.

The first time she had realized he was her paper boy, she had stopped near her house, the pale morning light damn near letting him see her cunt hair, big nipples poking out, the sweat dripping, staining under her arms, that unique, sweet smell overpowering. That moment lived in his memory. "Hi, honey. Got my paper? Here, I'll take it. What's your name, honey?" Then the sight of her ass, wobbling slightly, a stain in a triangle that ended at her butt crack, as she ran ahead of him and into the large white frame ranch house they lived in.

Since then, it became a ritual, as he tried to time his route so she would be almost finished when he got there, and she would often pause and talk briefly to him. "How's school, Bill? You get that algebra problem you told me about? Oh, it's okay honey. I had trouble with Math too. All the way through College." Later, she would often comment about his football career. "Two touchdowns Saturday, Bill? Too bad you guys lost. You okay with that? You know, havin' a good game but still losing? It used to piss Eddie off, when he..." She had stopped, a sad look on her face, and he would reach out and touch her at times like that, gripping her arm, or her hand. Her smell would be on him, then, and when he went home and beat off as he did each day he saw her, he would sniff the residual odor. He once hit the ceiling of the bathroom with his jism when his whole hand had gotten wet with her.

His dad was after him to give the paper route up, wanting him to concentrate on football and his grades. But Billy knew he would end up at State University with a scholarship, in spite of his dad's dreams of Notre Dame. His grades were mediocre, he was long on size and strength, but short on speed. He'd get a scholarship, have a good five years, then come back to work in the family Wholesale business. No one knew about the poetry he wrote in the journal he locked in his closet. Ever since he first saw Maggie.

"Thy sweet, sweet presence fills my soul,

With dreams of love, and growing old,

To taste thee in that lovely fold

Where I would be were I but bold."

His cock was stiffening as he thought about whether Jen would have any new tidbits for him today, and was startled when Kelly punched his arm. He looked up in surprise, as she bumped him with her hip. "God, you were juicy last night, Billy. I think there's still some in there. Will you pick me up after the game tonight?"

He was used to changing gears quickly, and answered "Sure, babe. You gonna wear that black thing? And the stockings? You know how that turns me on." The blonde chuckled. As she walked away, trying to twist her hips in a sexy way, the image of Maggie's firm ass leaped into his mind.

Jenny Warren shivered as her hand pummeled her clitoris. She couldn't help it, no matter how many times she told herself to resist this wild desire for that black slut. That fat, hairy, kinky pussy. Those big, wobbly tits, with nipples that were the size of a fingertip, tilted slightly down, but stiff under the water. That smell of her sweat, sweet, dank, as Jenny would hold the wet leotard against her face when she could time it just so, getting out of the shower before Maggie. The sight of that smooth black hair, she'd seen a couple of gray ones out in the gym today. Jenny could smell her own cream now, bubbling up, as her hand worked faster and faster. Had to finish quick, before Billy got home. He'd quiz the hell out of her, and she had to get off so she wouldn't show her own excitement.

Her peak came, washing over her, and she giggled as she used her other hand to cup underneath her seeping hole. As she sniffed the hand, she wondered what Maggie's smelled like. It would be different, she was sure. Probably still tart, but maybe a bit of that sweetness. Her friend Jennifer tasted acrid, rather bitter. Jenny liked her own taste better, and licked her hand. That gave her another surge of orgasmic pleasure.

She heard Billy running up the stairs just as she was drying herself off from her second shower in the last hour, trying to keep calm. Lately, that one cum didn't satisfy her, and she felt edgy now. She slipped her white cotton panties on, then her cheerleader shorts. The bulky white sweater was a little warm, but kept her braless tits from showing. Once Billy left, she was thinking, maybe she'd do it again. Just that thought caused her a wave of excitement.

To Be Continued...