I froze.
“Well I don't see why not. It's been a while since he made the trip anyway, and he can easily do the job of four.”
I knew I had to act quickly, but without betraying my intentions. I knew there was a game afoot between Monica and me. If that sneaky bitch thinks that she can ruin my plans, she had better come stronger.
Taking a step towards Uncle, I deliberately took a misstep and pitched forward, taking everyone by surprise. Uncle lunged towards me to break my fall, but I had timed it perfectly, and he missed. Thud! My body hit the solid Green Hart floor.
I lay as still as possible, moaning weakly. “Quick, Monica, bring me a wet rag and the smelling salts.” The wet rag I did not mind, but I was not inhaling any salts. I instantly made a miraculous recovery.
“I am okay. Sorry, I just felt a bit faintly; maybe it's because I missed breakfast.”
“Well, my darling, come sit down and have something,” said uncle softly, at the same time ushering me to the table.
Just then, Big John walked into the kitchen with a big basket of laundry with Miss Betty, the cook, in tow.
Seeing Big John, it became hard for me to swallow. In the corner of my eye, I could see Aunt Monica shifting nervously from foot to foot. Now was my chance.
“Uncle, I will take my breakfast upstairs, for I doubt that I can sit up much longer. I feel the dizziness coming back again. Can Big John help me up the stairs?” I said in the weakest voice I could muster.
“Of course he can. John, Carry up Miss Wendy to her room. You can finish what you're doing later,” commanded Uncle.
John dropped the basket and scooped me up. As he turned to head up the stairs, Aunt Monica’s eyes met mine. I could see fire in them; there was no more sarcastic smile on her pretty face. But I was not finished playing the sympathy card yet.
“Uncle, can Big John stay here and protect me? I will feel much safer with him around. Not a single incident has occurred with him on watch. Right, Aunty?” I said, immediately putting her on the spot. Yes, bitch, two can play that game, I thought.
“Uh, ah, yes, that's true,” replied Monica dryly. But if looks could kill, I would have been savagely murdered.
“Well, I guess we can manage without him. We have been anyway. Okay, he will stay.”
There was nothing Monica could say with her whoring self, without raising suspicion.
Smiling at her, I said, “Thank you, guys.”
I rested my head on his chest and asked him to take me upstairs.
I felt like prey in his powerful arms. His rock hard body moved with the force of a tiger. I instantly felt a heat in my pussy, a low moan escaped my lips. John subtly squeezed my ass. “Mmhmm,” I moaned softly again.
In my room, he placed me on my bed. By now, my breathing had become labored. I reached out my hand and rubbed his big cock through his pants. “Tonight, after sun’s down,” I whispered. Without a word, he turned and walked out the room.
They finally left four hours later. As I watched them from the balcony, my heart raced with excitement, which seemed to travel down between my legs. I kept opening and closing them, as if they would turn into a makeshift fan and cool down the heat that lay at their center.
Later that evening, I had supper early and, dismissing the cook, I retired to my room. I changed into a red silky nightgown I had bought a month ago from a shop that traded in East Indian goods in St. George's.
The evening was cool and there was not much of a moon around. The wind was starting to pick up from the east; in the distance, lightning blazed across the sky. I could smell and feel the change in the environment. Thunder clapped violently. “Rain will not be far behind now,” I thought out loud.
I looked out onto the dark ocean, or where I knew it to be, for I could see nothing further than fifty yards.
The rain started, hitting the tin roof, with what sounded as individual big drops scattered unevenly and then suddenly changing into a cluster that covered everywhere, changing its beat to one of a soothing, even flow.
I suddenly became aware of a presence behind me. Turning slowly around, my eyes came to rest on the impressive frame of Big John. A small gasp burst through my sealed lips at his sight. Standing naked and with both his feet planted on either side of the doorway like the Pillar of Hercules, he stood there stroking his huge rigid cock back and forth.
My pussy stared to twitch, my nipples grew taut as blood rushed into them, ripening them as cherries in summer. My eyes shifted off his manhood, up his chiseled physique, to his eyes. They locked in on mine, projecting their hypnotic power over the distance between us.
I felt their subtle pull on my spirit and obeyed their soundless command. I moved slowly towards him and I saw his bulging biceps contracting and relaxing as he manipulated his manhood.
At the altar of this sex god, I bowed down to pay tribute to the rod of my sexual salvation by forcing it into my mouth. Who am I fooling? The thing was massive. The only miracle here was how the hell he was able to get it up and how I was going to take it.
The sides of my mouth felt like they were about to be ripped apart. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I relaxed my jaw and managed to finally get some in. Reaching around, I grabbed his ass cheeks, trying to force more of his cock down my throat. I could care less if it strangled me. The twitching increased between my legs. I could feel my juices running down my leg.
“Ooooh, ooooh, ssssssh,” moaned Big John.
His moans drove me dizzy with lust. I sucked his cock hungrily. Taking my right hand, I caressed his balls, coaxing more moans from him.
John's legs of steel buckled. As he stroked my throat, I could feel his body trembling. I knew he was close; it would only be a matter of time.
Releasing his balls, I reached over and pulled out my milky white breast, then with both hands stroking his cock back and forth, I felt his ass tighten and he cried out,” Ooohoooo, aaaaaaha, oooho, Wendy.”
I pulled my mouth off and he coated my breast with his warm juices that ran down between the valley of the twin peaks and vanished under my nightgown. His massive cock trembled in my hands as I licked it clean.
Grabbing me by the arm, he led me to the bed, where he lay down on his back with his beautiful rock hard cock towering above his navel. By now, all I could think about was him stuffing my pussy full.
John, in his excitement, reached up and tore my nightgown to pieces; the man was a barbarian.
I reached down and guided his stiff pole to my soaking wet hole.
Then, sitting down slowly, I felt it penetrate me. “Aaaaaaha, that's it, aaaaha, John, oh, John,” I cried out in pleasure. I could feel it rubbing the whole circumference of my pussy, which was only too glad for the massage. His massive cock opened up like never before.
“Ohhhh, mmmmhm, ssssh, ooh, sweetheart, yes, promise me you will always fuck me,” I moaned in ecstasy.
“Yes, ooooh, ride John horsey; ride it,” thundered John in his deep bass voice and, at the same time, pulling me down hard on it. This rough way of ordering me around turned me on even more.
I felt his juicy cock filling every void in me. It was the sweetest thing in the world. I gyrated back and forth on top of it. I could die right there in that moment; everything became a blur. I dug my fingers into his granite chest and rode as hard as I could into sunset of ecstasy.
My pussy, legs, and stomach started vibrating and, suddenly, I arrived at the gates of heaven. “Ooooooooh wooooooo, Johnnnnnnn, oh my God, ooooooooh,” I screamed as I came. It was the longest come I had ever experienced.
I saw blackness for a split second or two and then bright lights. Clearly, I was no longer on earth; it was only my body shaking with hundreds of tremors that returned me to my senses.
John was now in a heated frenzy. He rolled me over and started pumping me even deeper. With each deep thrust, I could feel it under my navel. This should have been uncomfortable under ordinary circumstances, but this was no ordinary time. As I heard the rain bea
ting down steadily on the rooftop, while the curtains fluttered in the air, the light in the lamp would flicker every so often, casting shadows of gyrating and pulsing bodies against the walls.
I offered up a silent prayer that he would fuck me into next week.
My expanded pussy strained to contain him. He started to move his waist in circles; that felt so good, I lost my senses.
“Just like that, baby, I love you, oh God, just like that,” I moaned. “You like fucking white pussy, oooh. Do you? Do you?”
John went crazy with desire. “Yes, yes,” he cried as he gyrated deeper and deeper into my hole.
Turning to the mirror to look at his arse, my eyes met Monica's. The bitch was standing in the doorway naked, pushing a large cucumber into her pussy. Her eyes were filled with passion, lust, and jealousy.
John, sensing something had shifted in me, looked into the mirror too.
Seeing the pained expression of jealousy on her face while watching the cucumber diving in and out of her wet pussy dripping with her wetness, as she played with her breast, turned me on even more.
“Fuck me, John; fuck me harder, harder. This is your pussy, oooh, baby, I love your sweet cock. Tell me this cock is only mine, tell me,” I cried out while looking at Monica's hot body.
John looked over at Monica and cried out in a heavy lust-laced voice, “Yes, yes, this cock is yours.”
Tears started flowing down Monica's face, but she kept stroking her pussy harder.
I reached up and put my tongue into John's mouth. This only amplified our sensations, making me push up my hips and snatching his arse, forcing all of his sixteen inches into my pussy, which he was only too happy to oblige.
Closing my eyes, I arched my back as the first tremor hit me. I sucked his neck and felt his body shake; even his cock was now vibrating in me....
“Ooooooh, oooooh, ooooooh, ooooh.”
The sound was echoing all across the room, followed by sharp exhalations as everyone came together, then a deep stillness except for the rain beating softly on the roof.
Dear Diary, after that night, things became very tense about the house. I knew it would only be a matter of time before things got out of control. So I started planning my return to England.
However, I needed not worry, for a week later, a Mulatto by the name of Julien Fedon launched a bloody rebellion on the island, seizing control over everywhere except the capital.
Big John and several of the slaves ran off to join in the cause. I was never to see him again.
Uncle, fearing for our safety, sent us back to England until things cooled down. Aunt Monica and I made up on the long trip back home.
A month ago, she left again for Grenada to join her husband. The rebellion was crushed and the leader disappeared into thin air. Uncle said Big John was killed, but not in any battle; he was poisoned by a jealous lover.
I cried for three days because of my love for him, but there is more to it. I now hold an even darker secret. I am expecting Big John's offspring any day now.
The Mandingo: Letter from the Tropics (Part 3)
Dear Diary,
Today marks the fifth anniversary since I returned to England, may God save the King. Scanning through your pages, it is no secret that I have neglected my journaling.
Today, I once again take up the pen with exuberance, for many things have transpired since I last commandeered a pen across your blank landscapes.
Tomorrow is my son Marcus Adams the First’s fifth birthday. He is a very handsome lad, in fact, all who cast their eyes upon him say, there is not a finer specimen anywhere else in His Majesty's King George III’s kingdom, may God save the King.
To say that I was relieved that he could pass for white is an understatement. Racial tension is at an all-time high here, with the liberals pushing for chattel slavery reform.
My parents and everyone from our social circle wish to know who the father of my child is. His dark skin and features are of a Spanish/southern Italian descent. My story is that his father was a Spanish officer that was killed in the uprising in Grenada in 1795.
Anyway, returning to London was somewhat of a shock to my senses, having led a slow and relaxed lifestyle in my somewhat brief sojourn in the West Indies. I returned to a bustling metropolis of extreme contrast.
Yesterday was the first population census ever taken in London. There are now one million people living here from all walks of life. There are Chinese, Negros, and many Irish, many of whom make up our police force. The latter, that is.
Last year saw the introduction of the hated income tax. Poor King George could not have ascended the throne at a more unfavorable time. There is still outrage about the loss of the American colony in 1776. Crime and poverty is at an all-time high and it is times like these I pray for the solitude and beauty of Grenada.
Enough of these depressing issues. I have great news. Today, I booked my passage aboard the Lady of the Sea, a merchant vessel that sails to Barbados and then on to Grenada.
I leave in two weeks or so; it depends on how soon they can find a load to make the trip worthwhile.
Being quite familiar now with my soaring libido must have you wondering what has become of my sex life here in London. After the baby, I rekindled my affair with my old lover, who, as you can remember, was married and still is. We fuck off and on, but it is no longer the same for me since experiencing Big John.
However, let me come to the defense of my lover here. It is no fault of his, for he puts his best foot forward, or should I say “cock.” It's just that my standards of fucking have evolved where few men, nature permitting, can go.
However, I have found another lover, who is a German banker. His sexual taste leans more to the dark side, having recently introduced me to anal sex. I never imagined I would love to be fucked up my arse, but I now relish it since no one I have been with here can fill my pussy the way big John did, may he rest in peace.
A month ago, the German and I had dinner. He asked me to come up to his room to show me a painting that he had acquired on a trip to Paris. I followed him upstairs and we entered into a dark room. He lit a lamp on a small desk that looked as it had been around when Elizabeth I had taken the throne.
“Where is the picture?” I asked.
Coming up behind me, he turned me to the right. On the wall hung a solitary picture framed in copper-colored wood. The scene was comprised of two naked women. One had black curly hair and broad hips. She was leaning over a bridge that spanned a large pond in what appeared to be a park somewhere. Her pear-shaped breast fell downwards while her head was facing right, with a look of ecstasy plastered over it for good reason.
Behind her on her knees was another woman whose round, slender arse was spread out, while her red hair fell to her back, reminding me of Monica. Her face I could not see, for it was buried between the woman's thighs. The painting itself was not signed. It was painted on canvas in oil. The colors were quite vivid and conveyed its sexual message clearly.
I felt my pussy getting moist.
“Have you ever experienced another woman licking and tonguing your pussy while fingering your arse?” asked the German in a heavy accent.
“No, I have never,” I replied weakly.
At the same time, images of Monica stroking her pink, wet pussy with the large cucumber flooded my mind, causing my pussy to start twitching.
“Ah, I see that you have someone in mind,” he said while lifting up my dress.
Bending me over the little antique desk, he slid my undergarments down and buried his tongue in my ass and two fingers in my soaking wet pussy.
“Ooooooh, oooooh,” I moaned in ecstasy.
I could feel his warm tongue making circles in my arse. My knees felt weak, so I placed most of my weight on my forearms. My eyes stayed rooted on the picture. I imagined it was I who was leaning over the bridge and that Monica had come up behind me and was softly eating my dripping pussy.
“Oooh, Monica, eat me, oooh,” I cried out in sw
eet passion.
Hearing me call out Monica's name, he increased his stroking with his tongue while he withdrew his fingers from my pussy and proceeded to rub on my clit.
By now, I was on fire. Suddenly, he withdrew his tongue and stopped playing with my clit.
“Don't stop; what are you doing?” I cried out weakly.
Keeping me pinned down on the desk, he dropped his pants. He then leaned over to the left and retrieved a small bottle of oil. He held it over the lamp for a minute and then poured the warm oil over my ass. It reminded me of Big John’s warm juice.
“Ooooooh, sweetie, no, you must not do that; no, we should not go there. It's so wrong.”
I cried out in lust.
Ignoring my pleas, he applied some oil over his stiff eight-inch shaft. Rubbing it against my forbidden hole, he slowly slid it into my arse. The pain was immediate.
“Please, no, no, let me suck your cock instead,” I begged him.
“Keep looking at the picture and think about your friend eating out your sweet juicy pussy,” said the German in a husky low voice.
He then slid it in further.
“Breathe and relax. Don't fight it, darling. Let it massage you. Yeah, that's it,” he coaxed me on.
Relaxing my arse, I allowed him to penetrate further. It began to feel good. I recalled the first night I saw Big John's pole in Monica's tiny mouth, how my pussy flowed like a river.
“Oooooh ssssssh, ooooh, deeper, fuck me, fuck me. Oooooh.”
I begged him for more.
This excited him and he was soon drilling my arse. I kept looking at the picture, thinking about Monica's body and long, red hair.
I could feel the German reaching the end of the road. So I shoved my arse hard back against him. This caused his cock to touch a sweet spot in me.
I moaned sweetly while I reached back and rubbed my clit vigorously.
Reaching out, he wrapped his hand tightly over my throat, cutting off my air supply. I heard him cry out and thrust so hard and deep. While I felt like I was about to black out, he released my neck, causing me to explode uncontrollably while gasping for air. At the same time, I felt his hot juice spewing in my arse.
The Mandingo Diaries: A Case of Taboo Page 2
