A white rich bitch falls for a well endowed black forklift operator who works at one of her husband’s warehouses

Hello, my name is Charlotte. I know you won’t believe
this and normally I wouldn’t admit to it, but I am
Otis’ cock slave. There really isn’t any other way to
put it. And the really strange part, the really, really
strange part, is that I come from a straight-laced New
England family and Otis is barely educated and was just
a worker in one of my husband’s warehouses.

This is a strange tale, one that I find hard to believe
even though I am living it. I first met Otis when he
was working at our family’s window manufacturing plant.
He was a forklift operator and I’d just come by to pick
my husband up to take him to the airport.

Otis was whizzing around the place on his forklift and
I guess because I was board and he cut quite a figure
sitting on that machine I noticed him… for the first
time. His clothes were very tight fitting; you could
almost see the muscles rippling under the material of
his shirt, and those pants he was wearing. They were
jeans, but they looked like they’d been painted on him.

I don’t know why I kept watching him work, but I do
remember that I noticed a big lump along one leg of his
pants. In a sitting position it was very noticeable. It
was obvious that he wasn’t aroused, but that meat-log
trapped under the denim of his pants was bigger than
any man I’d ever seem even in the middle of sexual
intercourse. It was amazing.

Just then Jarrod, my husband hailed me and we were off
to the airport.

I’d like to say that, that was the end of it. It would
be so much less complicated if I’d just let things be,
but that beautiful black body with that huge meat-log
kept running through my mind. I just couldn’t get Otis
out of my thoughts.

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but being on my own that
night (with my husband on his business trip) I
masturbated to the fantasy of being taken by big tough
Otis and his huge stiff meat-log. It took my breath
away just to imagine that thing stiff and engorged with
male lust. I came on my fingers twice as I imagined
what Otis could do to me with his huge weapon.

It’s horrible (but not as horrible as what I’ve done
since) but I went to the warehouse again the next day
just so I could ogle Otis’ hard black body again and to
reconfirm that I wasn’t imaging that huge tool of his.

I wasn’t imagining it, it was real. As I stood at the
top of the forklift ramp looking down on that huge
black man I realized that I was going to have to find
out what it would be like to have him. The thought
scared me; this new obsession of mine could ruin my
life. If my husband even imagined what I was thinking,
he’d divorce me in an instant; it would disgust him and
make me an outcaste in our social group.

But even with those threats hanging over me I walked
into the Forman’s office and told him that I needed
Otis to help me with some furniture at our house. I
told him that I was expecting a delivery at 3 o’clock
that afternoon and that I wanted Otis to go with me to
help out.

The Forman wanted to send two men, but I insisted that
there would be the delivery man and that I didn’t want
to take too many people away from work. I told him that
Otis looked strong enough to do the job himself with
one arm tied behind his back. The Forman got a chuckle
out of that.

So there I was, driving the Escalade with Otis sitting
next to me. What to do? I had him but what now? I knew
that I would have to tip my hand sooner or later, but
figured I’d wait until we got home. I only hoped that
this sexual obsession of mine wouldn’t backfire on me.
What if he refused to do as I asked?

I shouldn’t have worried. As it turned out Otis lives
for sex. All I had to do was take him upstairs and tell
him to undress. He didn’t hesitate for an instant, he
just ripped at his clothing until his mighty body was
glistening in front of me all black and hard. He looked
like a Nubian warrior god.

I had a hard time swallowing as his huge member began
to grow. It had started out pointing straight down,
totally flaccid, but at least 12-inches, even deflated.
Then as he stood in front of me nude and watched me
watching him, the thing as if having a mind of its own,
began to grow.

At first it just got longer and bigger around, and then
it began to snake out from his body until almost in
shock I realized that he had to be 15 or 16 inches
long. It looked like a pitch black shiny baseball bat
swaying in front of him, jumping a little with each
beat of his heart.

That’s when I lost it. I ran to him and dropped to my
knees in front of the towering beast of a man and began
to fondle him, and in no time I was sucking and licking
it. It was way too big to fit into my mouth but I
couldn’t get enough of it. I ran my lips over ever
square inch of that organ tongued his nuts. I could
taste his man tasted and he was salty like a pretzel.

Otis just stood there like an oak tree and looked down
at me worshiping his cock. He was magnificent and we
hadn’t even exchanged a word, who needed words when
there was something this magnificent available just for
me.

A fleeting though ran through my mind, I wondered if my
pussy could accommodate his monster. I could imagine
the exquisite pain that it would cause as it parted me.
I wondered if he would kill me with a thrust. Before I
knew what I was doing I was tearing my clothes off and
pushing him down on the master bed and climbing up his
oaken legs to grip his massive staff with both hands.

I raised myself up and guided his black snake against
my pink slit and pushed. My eyes clamped shut and my
lips closed tight as I concentrated on taking Otis’s
man-meat in me.

It was a Herculean task, but I managed to stretch my
nether lips enough to take the head of his massive
hard-on and then I tried to sink down on him, but I
stopped about half way down. I could feel him so deep
inside me that it felt like it was pushing against my
diaphragm.

Apparent Otis was becoming frustrated with my slow and
timid efforts because he scooted to the edge of the bed
and gripping me by the fanny lifted me bodily, with my
pussy still encircling his knob and he stood up.

Then he began to make little jumping motions. At first
he was just rising us on the balls of his feet then
sinking down to his heels. Then the bouncing became a
little more pronounced. As he accelerated of his
movements he sank in and out of me a little deeper.

I was amazed at how full I felt. I knew that he
probably was deeper in me than any man had ever been
before, and he was probably only half way in. But
within the next few minutes, as he still held me up and
bounced I began to become light headed as his big black
baseball bat snaked deeper and deeper up into me.

After a few more moments I could hear screaming. To my
amazement it was me, I was screaming as he took me
deeper and deeper, grunting now with the effort to hold
back, not to thrust, all the while taking my entire
weight in just his hands.

Thinking back to that first time I can’t clearly recall
how it felt as Otis fucked my brains out in the master
bedroom that afternoon. I remember everything better
afterwards, as we lay side by side gasping for breath,
my body ached in the worst way, but I also felt
absolutely wonderful. Otis had stretched me beyond
belief but I had never felt more female that I did at
that moment.

I looked over at Otis’ still semi-hard monster all
slick from his copious cum and mine too and I shivered.
I knew in that moment that I would worship Otis’ cock
from that day forward. The problem I had was what to do
with my husband. He’d know instantly, or at least he
would after I’d ridden Otis a few more times, that I
was no longer the same size as I used to be.

It didn’t seem to matter. I didn’t care about the money
or the social status, all I wanted from that point on
was Otis’ magnificent cock, all stiff and hard,
throbbing to his heartbeat, pounding my pussy and
stickying me up with his geysers of cum.

So six months later I’m now with Otis, we live in a
hotel room that he rents by the week. We don’t have an
extra penny to our name. My husband found out about us
(the first time he tried to have sex with me, after a
week making love to Otis, the truth came out. His
little weenie felt like sticking a dowel into a storm
drain.

Otis was fired too. But I don’t care. I don’t try to
think about the future. I’m 44 and I’m carrying Otis’
baby in my womb. We’ll probably have to go on welfare,
but the sex is still incredible and I should have an
easy delivery since Otis has stretched me so much that
a delivery should be a snap.

Leave a Reply