Photographic Evidence

I wrote this story after seeing someone post to the forum that there aren't any black wives cheating on lesser-endowed black husbands with hung white guys in the Literotica file. Now there's at least one such story.

*****

Tonya rolled back over so she could watch Jason walk to the bathroom. He looked real good from that back: Smooth, but tightly muscled milk-chocolate body with plump, firm buttocks that bobbed as he walked, a slim waist rising to a broad back, pronounced biceps, muscular legs, and that colorful sleeve tattoo that came around back to cover a shoulder blade and, as she knew, a bulging pectoral muscle. He had all the makings of a black bull from the back. Not so much from the front. It wasn't that he was deficient in equipment—he could scratch her itch well enough when he had a mind to. He just wasn't built like the clichéd legends of a black man looking as good as he did from behind. And of late, he didn't seem to have much of a mind to hang on long enough to scratch her itch.

Still, he had been a good catch, nearly ten years her junior. And a successful career now as a weatherman on a local TV station. They treated him like a sex god at the station, and the women viewers seem to have fallen into step with that.

He might have done it for her tonight if he hadn't come home with the scent of the other woman on him and kept it when he'd come to bed. If she suggested that he shower before they had sex, though, it might give away that she was on to him. She knew he preferred showering after sex. If she hadn't gone to that office party and caught a whiff of his producer, that Gail Pascoe witch, the scent might not have become that obvious to her. Now that Tonya had made the connection, though, she realized that this had been going on for a couple of months.

What did a white woman older even than Tonya have any business coming into a black couple's life anyway? If Jason had wanted a busty flaming red-headed white woman, he should have gone for one of those to begin with and not wasted his time with nice, trim black woman like Tonya. And that Gail Pascoe. Was she disappointed when she found that Jason didn't quite live up the black bull legends?

Tonya had had to fake her orgasm tonight. She hadn't had to do that before that white bitch had come onto the scene. What Jason had missed in inches had been made up in vigor. Now that he surely was screwing two women—at least—he'd lost stamina. And the scent of the Pascoe woman on him. How could Tonya build up to an orgasm with that scent in the room—on his body—no matter how hunky his body was or what a young man he was. There certainly wasn't anything wrong with him on the semen production end. A month ago, she would have said "young stud," even without all that went with that. That white witch had spoiled that image for her.

Tony rolled back over and pretended she was asleep when he came back from having taken a shower. He must have sensed something wrong, though, because when he came back under the covers he was naked—he usually wore sleep pants—and he was half erect. He embraced her from behind and put his lips to the back of her neck and then down to her shoulder blades. The scent was gone, and Tonya felt the difference. She stopped pretending she was asleep, jutted her buttocks back into his groin, and gave him a low moan. The moan was extended as the fingers of one of his hands came around her waist and dipped down to her pussy.

The man knew what to do with a woman's pussy. Tonya could get an orgasm from Jason's hand working her pussy faster than with his dick in it. And better yet was the combination of his hand work and . . . yes. Yes!

He was working his dick into her ass—not her pussy, her ass. This was a tighter fit for what he had. Greater pleasure for both of them as long as he was working her clit and inside her box with his fingers. Which he was doing, as his dick slipped in and out of her ass.

Heavy breathing from both of them, and she was writhing in his embrace and sighing and groaning for him, just as he was grunting for her and pistoning her ass harder and harder. With a long sigh she exploded on his search fingers and soon thereafter he dropped a load in her ass.

See what can happen if you scrub that woman's scent off you? she wanted to scream in her brain.

Twenty minutes earlier she had been half way to the divorce lawyer's office in her mind, already scheming to get the best of the household stuff in the settlement. Now she wasn't so sure. He could still do her. And, all things considered, he had a great body. As long as she kept the image of most of his body in her mind as he was working his dick in and out of her ass, she could drum up an orgasm on her own.

And he had a good-paying job. And at least his fingers were magical. And, above all else, now, as he lightly snored, his dick having slipped out of her ass, the bulb pressing in the crease where her buttocks dipped into her thigh . . . now he smelled of her, not of that white bitch he was screwing.

* * * *

Fight won out over flight. The next Saturday, when Jason said he had a meeting to go to before he had to be on the air for the 6:00 p.m. news, Tonya followed his car from a distance—right to Gail Pascoe's house.

Tonya parked around the block, deeper into the subdivision than either Jason or the Pascoe woman would drive to get to the TV station from there. She came into the woman's backyard between two houses on the street where she parked. The woman's backyard was heavily wooded, with thick bushes that went right up to a narrow patio served by a full-length, wide sliding glass door. The view of the inside was through the woman's kitchen and into the living-dining area.

The two—Jason and the Pascoe woman—were standing, plastered to each other in the living room. She already had the top of her dress down around her waist and her bra on the floor. She had huge knockers, and Jason was cupping them and feasting on the nipples. The Rubenesque woman was leaning back, her long, red hair falling down her back to her waist. She was laughing.

Tonya's hands went to cup her own breasts, which she thought were just fine. Nothing like the bazooms on that woman, of course, but fine enough. She ran her hands down her slim sides. The woman in there was a fat cow in comparison to her. If Jason had wanted a fat white cow with big tits and flaming red hair, why in hell had he pursued Tonya? Of course, truth be known, Tonya had pursued him. She might not have pursued him quite so hard as she did if their premarital sex hadn't all been in the darkened backseats of cars and in the dead of night with the lights off. He'd done great work with his fingers and lips. And his dick had reached far enough into her then, when it was sheathed in darkness, she thought. And even then he preferred the ass, saying it was safer.

The Pascoe woman was naked now and jiggling into the kitchen where there was a bourbon bottle and two glasses on the kitchen counter. She turned her back to the counter while she tossed off a slug of bourbon. Jason was undressing in the living room. Tonya reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She was hiding in the bushes enough not to be seen from inside the house, but she could get clear cell phone shots. She fired off a couple of the voluptuous-figured woman. A natural red head, as the trimmed hair at her snatch confirmed. And a couple shots of Jason walking, naked, into the kitchen. He was in full erection, and Tonya thought bitterly, that he someone looked larger in the Pascoe woman's house than she knew him to be.

He was handed a glass of bourbon, which he lifted to his mouth as Gail Pascoe went on her knees in front of him and took his shaft in her mouth. She easily deep-throated it. More cell phone shots of this. And still more of Jason sitting in a kitchen chair turned toward the sliding-glass doors and the Pascoe bitch astride his lap, facing him, making the most she could out of fucking herself on his dick. The best shots, though—and what the two in the kitchen seemed to enjoy the most—was of the woman bent over the kitchen table on her belly, with Jason plastered behind her, cupping and squeezing her tits and fucking her in the ass.

* * * *

"Yes, and this disturbs you, does it?"

Tonya was sitting in her high school counselor office and consoling one of the senior girls, Kaisha Brown, who was sitting across the desk from her and trying out a dozen different expressions without seeming to be able to decide on the one to keep.

Kaisha had a reputation. Tonya didn't really know what the girl was bringing this issue forward. She rather thought Kaisha was bragging, and Tonya now could see why she would.

"Well, shouldn't it? Look at him?" But then Kaisha blushed as well as a jet-black woman can blush. "Or . . . don't look at him. Sorry. I forget you work here."

Tonya most certainly had looked at the photo on Kaisha's cell phone that another senior, Buck Fulton, had sent to her. Tony had never seen a dick that big in erection on any man, white or black, before. And this was on a white boy—man, obviously. And he had the body to do with it. Nice tats too-a wide wing sort of thing across the small of his back, accentuating the bulge of his butt cheeks, and a panther on his lower left belly, looking like it was about to pounce on that gigantic erection.

She wouldn't mind at all playing a cougar to his panther.

He was a star basketball player at the school. All the girls swooned over him and he had a reputation for trying out any girl who would let him—which was a whole lot of girls. Tonya hadn't been immune to his charms herself—and most definitely wasn't now that she saw a naked photo of him—well, three naked photos of him in different in-the-altogether-and-ready-for-action poses. She'd already surreptitiously e-mailed the photos from Kaisha's phone to her own while the young women—trying to conjure up what she thought distraught would look like—told her about Buck having sent her the photos.

"Are you disgusted . . . or something else at seeing these photos, Kaisha?" Tonya asked. "You can be completely honest with me. I'm not condoning it, of course, but let's be honest. I understand that most girls here would want to receive photos like this from Buck. You don't?"

"Well . . ."

"You can tell me. Are you disturbed because of what he is signaling he wants from you—what he has to give you—or because, if you are honest, this is what you want too?"

"Well . . ."

"How old are you Kaisha?"

"I'm eighteen. Four more months and I'll be nineteen. I was held back a year."

"Buck is already nineteen. Did you know that? He was held back a year too."

Tonya wasn't going to say how she knew how old Buck was, but she knew for a fact that she hadn't been the only female staff member to check that out. Buck was six foot three, at least 180 pounds, and looked like a man of twenty-four. Divinely so, giftedly so. And now Tonya knew that he had a dick long and thick enough to make Wonder Woman scream.

"No, I didn't know that." Kaisha said with an uncertain voice. She stopped snuffling. This information seemed to be meaningful to her.

"Tell me. It won't go further than this room. Are you a virgin?"

"No, ma'am." It came in a small voice after a prolonged pause that Tonya refused to fill with words.

"Do you want Buck to fuck you? That's the message I see in these photos."

Kaisha didn't answer, although she looked up at Tonya with a shocked expression on her face with Tonya used the word "fuck." The silence was enough of an answer for Tonya. She opened one of her desk drawers and sifted through a collection of packets she had there until she found a couple of Magnum condoms.

Only Magnums would do in these circumstances.

"I can't tell you what to do about what you seem to believe is a problem in this, Kaisha," she said, as she pushed the packets across the desk, "and I certainly can't give you permission to do what you seem to want to do, that you're both old enough to do, and that you admit you've done before. But I can advise you to be safe, and I can give you these."

When Kaisha left, obviously happier than she'd been when she came into the office, Tonya opened her cell phone and downloaded the photos of Buck Fulton. "Well, well, well," she whispered to the room. "Our divinely endowed Buck likes slim black women. And he puts what Jason is swinging—or not—to shame. Perhaps what's good for a black man on a white bitch is equally good for a white bull on a hungry and revengeful black diva. Wouldn't that serve Jason right?"

While she was in the mood, she reviewed the photos she'd take of Jason and the Pascoe witch in the act—the acts—and contemplated how this photographic evidence might be put to best use.

* * * *

"Yes, thank you for coming to see me, Buck." Tonya had met Buck at the door to her high school office and directed him to a love seat set against the wall opposite her desk. She had dressed with him in mind—a severe gray tweed business suit make up of jacket and a short skirt, but with the jacket unbuttoned almost down to her navel and nothing underneath the suit other than a red silk scarf tucked into her cleavage and red spike heels. As Buck, sporting a quizzical look, moved to the love seat, Tonya closed and locked the door and pulled the blind down on the window in the door.

"If this is about my grade in English, I—"

"No, it's not about your grades, Buck. It's about these photos someone sent to my cell phone." She carefully didn't identify herself as that "someone."

"Shit," was the best Buck could think of as, after taking a glance at one photo, he collapsed onto the love seat.

"I have one question for you, Buck."

"Shit, shit, shit."

"Were these photos of you photoshopped, or is your dick really that long and thick?"

What could Buck do or say in a situation like this? What would any young, hung, randy, virile, monstrously endowed nineteen-year-old guy of any color do or say when confronted in a sealed-off room with a love seat by one of the hottest school staffers—one fully meeting his preference for black pussy—who was standing over him and pulling a silk scarf out of the low-cut cleavage of two melon-plump tits, was holding two Magnum condoms in the other hand, and who was saying, "Let me see it; let me touch it; let me suck it" in a husky voice?

Why, like any red-blooded American boy, he's going to screw the hell out of her and then screw any consequences.

After Tonya had ascertained that she, as a matter of fact, could not come anywhere close to deep-throating Buck's championship dick, he fucked her missionary style on the love seat, with her velvet-brown legs hooked on his milk-white hips, as he hunched between her legs and pounded away in her stretched-to-the-max pussy, not able to get more depth than half of the thick shaft, but doing the job better than a moaning Tonya ever had had before.

And then he nailed her doggy style with her bent over the top of her desk on her belly and a randy, virile Buck fucking her vigorously and deep from behind. And then, because she'd only brought out two condoms, both of which quickly were filled, Tonya crying out, "Oh, you nasty boy," as Buck worked his dick inside her ass to unload bareback for the third time.

Three nights after that, after he'd led the basketball team to a win, they celebrated the victory in the backseat of Tonya's rocking car in a deserted lovers' lane as he showed her how well he could dunk his balls in both of her hoops.

The next Monday night Buck lay on his back in Tonya and Jason's bed and Tonya rode his dick to paradise. Then Buck flipped Tonya on her back, thrust inside her, and, bent over her quivering body, ran his tongue over her nipples, one breast after the other, and blasted the bulb of his condom in three bursts as the live news report ran on a TV across the room, with station weatherman Jason Jackson cheerily describing the hot front moving over the mountain peaks and promising heavy rains.

"Do your parents never leave town for an overnight?" she asked Buck, as they lay there in an embrace, Buck's still gently moving, only half of his shaft inside Tonya, but still reaching deeper than Jason could.

"Yes, often on the weekends. This coming weekend, for instance."

"Then perhaps we could . . . I'd really like to do it in your bed."

"Sure thing. It's a date," Buck said, working out in his mind how he was going to have to rearrange his weekend with Kaisha.

And then when Tonya left the bed for the bathroom, he quickly scooted to the other side of the room and retrieved the cell phone he'd set up to record the entire tryst. He was the sharing kind of guy, and why would a guy nail a hot school counselor thirteen years his senior and not share the conquest with the world?

Of course, the next morning he thought better of that plan. But he didn't erase the photos from his cell phone.

That Saturday night after a head-board-banging-against-the-wall wild fuck in Buck's bed and he had left the room to take a shower, Tonya moved over to the laptop he'd left open and turned on on a desk. He had opened the Internet connection after Tonya had convinced him to run a porn movie so that they could mimic it in the bed. It only took her a few minutes to use his account to download the photos she'd taken ten days earlier of Gail Pascoe, naked, in her kitchen and of her fucking herself on Jason as he was seated on her kitchen chair—but without showing Jason's face. She posted these to an Internet porn site and was back in bed before Buck came out of the bathroom.

Although she regretted giving up Buck's luscious cock, from the middle of the next week she'd cut him dead on sexual encounters, saying she had grown tired of him. She tried to keep a straight face when she said that, because how could a woman grow tired of a young, horse-hung white boy stud like Buck?

But her purpose—other than a little balling fun—had always been revenge on Jason's hookup with Gail Pascoe and a shot across his bow to either shape up with her or ship out.

Buck didn't take the rejection kindly. He carried through with the previously rethought idea of uploading the photos of his own trysts with Tonya Jackson onto the Internet.

That particular damage was only temporary, though, as white high school principal Nate Chandler ran upon them the very same day as he was doing his daily perusal of porn sites. He recognized both Tonya Jackson and Buck Fulton immediately. He'd been wanting to get his own dick inside that hot black momma, Tonya Jackson, ever since she'd signed onto the staff at the high school. He'd learned he really liked black pussy when he'd seen photos of Buck fucking hot black senior Kaisha Brown that Buck had put on the Internet and Nate had forced him to pull off the Internet. But he'd used those photos to blackmail Kaisha into letting him fuck her. And god was she hot. He now had a distinct taste for black pussy.

Kaisha was a good lay, but every time he'd fucked her he'd been thinking of nailing that Tonya Jackson. Here was his chance.

What worked once would work just as well a second time, he told himself. Caught red handed in his posting hobby, Buck was forced by Nate Chandler to take the photos of him fucking Tonya Jackson off the Internet—but Nate kept copies in his cell phone.

He stood at her office door for a moment, cupping a hand under his mouth and exhaling, trying to determine whether his breath was fresh. Then he lifted his arms and took a whiff of his arm pits one after the other for reassurance before knocking on the door.

"Mr. Chandler, what can I do for you?" Tonya asked brightly as he entered her office. Tonya had always found the principal arousing. He was young and hunky.

"Quite a lot, actually," he said, with a smile. "I think you'll enjoy it. I've got a real big one too. I believe you like them big . . . and white." Cocky he was, but he'd always had his way with women. And none had complained about his equipment being too small.