Los Angeles

After another gang bang session at my sister’s, I did a photo shoot for work and left Miami. Not for the last time. I would visit there every few months, staying with Sandra, sleeping with many of the black men in her little black book.

When I was in New York I cheated. When I was in Chicago I cheated. I never cheated at home in Los Angeles. I was too scared to get caught. I was scared I’d lose my privileges. I lasted maybe a year.

As any woman addicted to something that gives them pleasure, as any woman who learned they are meant for black men, I eventually started cheating in Los Angeles.

It was only one man. He and I met up many times.

I recall working out at the gym. I was on a leg machine doing squats, working my body, working my booty, keeping it in shape for them. Up and down I’d squat, picturing a black dick below me. On a few occasions I snuck off the women’s locker room to masturbate. On this day I didn’t have to.

I knew he was watching me. They all do.

He was huge, a football player for the Raiders. I avoided him out of fear my husband, or the company my husband worked for, was his agent.

My desire to cheat, to have sex with a black man, was too great. It’d been several weeks since I was out of town for a photo shoot, getting fucked by one.

“Sup,” he said, behind me at the water fountain. I knew his eyes were on my ass.

“Hi,” I turned around, nodding to him.

“Hey, I know your husband.”

“Ah. Yeah, he’s an agent for Lakers, Raiders, stuff like that.”

“Yeah, sorry, but,” he lowered his voice. “He really screwed me and a fellow player over. We could’ve had $5 million more a year, but he screwed us out of that.”

“Um, ok,” I didn’t know how to respond.

“Just thought I’d tell you,” he said. He took his leave.

“Wait,” I called out to him.

“What?” he turned around, annoyed.

I purposefully dropped my keys. I bent over, giving him a view of my ass, taking my sweet time picking them up. Bent over, I smiled at him. He was nodding his head.

That’s all it took.

He was fucking me in the men’s locker room five minutes later. He was slapping my ass, pounding my pussy from behind. Several men came and went, embarrassed by the scene they witnessed, quickly leaving. We didn’t care. We kept going at it like animals.

I gave him my number when he was done. I pulled my tight yoga pants up, my pussy oozing cum, and we left.

The next we day we fucked in the parking lot, in his Bugati

A couple days later, in the gym, near closing time, for a quickie.

That weekend, I lied to Preston saying I was doing a photo shoot Saturday. I was in bed bumping my ass up against the football player’s chiseled, black body, working that dick of his until he filled me with cum.

The next weekend, Preston and I were out by the pool, sipping wine. When I was done, I kissed his forehead and told him I was seeing a coworker that night for a girl’s night. Another lie, another night of vigorous fucking from a huge, black football player.

It went on for months. There was no romantic love, only lust. I used my body to pleasure the both of us.

Then he got traded to the Eagles. It was over. In more ways than one.

One last night, one last round of sex. We did it in my bed, in my home, while Preston was supposed to be away.

I should’ve predicted I’d get caught. I should’ve known Preston would forget something and come back after leaving for the airport a few minutes earlier.

There I was, in our bed, on all fours, with a long, black cock embedded in my ass.

I was gripping the sheets, cumming from the anal stimulation. I turned to my right and saw Preston standing in the door way, nodding his head as though he knew I’d be like this – cheating, using him for money. I guess he knew that’s why I married him just like I knew he used me for a trophy.

We didn’t stop. He kept pounding my ass until he came inside it. When he pulled out, his cum was oozing out of me, onto our bed sheets.

He went to the shower, I joined him, making out with him in the steam, saying goodbye and thanks with my mouth on his.

He left and Preston was out by the pool, drinking a cocktail. I grabbed a bathrobe, and sat next to him.

“So. I guess I’ll pack my things,” I said. Preston nodded, not looking at me.

“I can stay with a friend,” I added.

“Yeah,” Preston sipped his drink.

I sighed and went inside to pack a small bag.

That night, before I left, Preston was on top of me fucking me one last time. He filled my pussy in minutes, then collapsed on top of me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. It was a half-truth. He nodded, and rolled off me. I got dressed and left.