Okay i just want to thank everyone who read the previous installment and offered useful feedback, to those who didn't well I'm sorry if interracial isn't your cup of tea. Right now I'd like to state that this is an interracial story, black guy on white girl so if that's not what you're into or if it stirs up strong feelings of distaste please feel free to pass this story over. This is an official warning so, I don't want to hear anyone whining about how much they don't like interracial on the comments...of course any comment on writing style, story flow, character or just wanting to shoot the breeze is welcome. plz state if you are okay with me replying to comments, i really do love to talk writing so just let me know. and without further ado, enjoy.
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I woke up Saturday morning to the sensation of two fingers ramming the tight folds of my pussy. I didn't know when I had started fingering myself or if I'd even been conscious at the beginning. God yesterday seemed like a sweet dream now with nothing but the lingering soreness in my hole and clit as proof that it had really happened. I touched my pussy gently, almost shocked that it had returned to nearly its original shape, losing almost no tightness. In the porn films they would always act like their pussies would never work again after fucking a black guy but I guess if that were true no porn stars would ever do interracial scenes, they'd end up to torn open to work.
I looked over out of my window into the clear darkened blue sky, an indication that it was still rather early. I thought of rolling out of bed but my fingers wouldn't stop thrusting in and out of my cunt and flicking my aching clit. My toes curl in the sheets as I began to focus my memory. I thought of the way Kyle looked, how his big black cock glistened, covered in my juices, and the pain I'd felt with each thrust. With these in mind I recreated the event using my fingers as an incredibly inadequate replacement for Kyle. Still it was enjoyable and after two orgasms I felt ready to get up and get ready for the day. I took a quick shower, threw on one of my hundreds of cheer t-shirts and short red gym shorts.
Downstairs my little sister was eating a bowl of cereal, I assumed my parents and older sister were upstairs sleeping, my baby sister was really the only one who bothered getting up this early on Saturdays.
I grabbed the cereal box and sat down at the table across from her. She looked up at me for a moment then back down to her bowl. Our relationship wasn't what most would think of as far as sisters. I was too old to argue or fight with her; instead I held those confrontations with my older sister. Sarah more or less lived her own life separate from mine, in her own little fourteen-year-old world.
After breakfast I tried calling Brittney and got her voicemail. I left a non-descriptive message, telling her to call me as soon as she got the chance. The rest of my morning was as typical as they came. I did some homework, updated my facebook, and jetted off to my favorite resale shop, all the while Kyle stuck in the back of my mind. Even as I looked at clothes I let my mind wander to what I would look like with each outfit half pulled down while he tore my cunt apart from behind. I didn't tolerate such thoughts for long; afraid they'd make me so moist it would seep through my shorts.
I found a few things I liked, all for prices that would make the designer of each item cry. The checkout line wasn't long and when I got to the front I saw that the person working the register was a typical cute white boy, the kind all my friends besides Brittney drooled over. He shot me a cocky little grin and I smiled back politely. I had hoped that would be the end of it but he continued, drawing out the scan of each item so he could make chit-chat about the weather and what great fashion taste I had, and music (some band we both happened to like). I could tell what was coming and wanted desperately to just get it over with. Having thought about Kyle for the past two hours I needed to get home and relieve the tingle in my pussy.
"...So anyway thanks to that I got some tickets to their concert next week. I got two and I don't know who to give the extra one to and I really think you'd have a good time. Wanna go."
He tilted his head slightly shooting a cocky smile; he was so arrogant and rightfully so. By white boy standards he was cute, any other girl and he would've been butt fucking her in the changing room already. Unfortunately for him I wasn't any other girl, I'd felt a real cock and now his pale little prick couldn't interest me.
"No thanks," I said, smiling as warmly as possible, keeping him from breaking out into a rage, something I learned overconfident guys like him tended to do when they got rejected.
Grabbing my bags I headed to my car, a mustang convertible my dad had bought me just the year before. I sat my bags in the seat beside me and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. I could feel it stronger now, the burning tingle between my legs. It was like an inch my fingers couldn't hope to reach deep enough to scratch. Why hadn't he called I wondered, even if he didn't want to fuck today he could at least call me to say hello, to let me know he was actually interested. Since I'd left him last night I'd wondered if I'd freaked him out by asking to be his slut. What kind of girl says that, even though that's how I felt. I couldn't call us boyfriend and girlfriend, such a relationship was to level and it didn't suit my craving. I was his slut because I wanted his sex the way a junkie wanted heroin, the way a gambler needed a casino. I was addicted, happily so, and to call myself his girlfriend in my heart would feel almost gross, a lie so blatant anyone who could see my thoughts would think it was ridiculous.
When I got home everyone had long gone about his or her own business for the day. My father out to golf, my mother in Indiana watching a cheer competition, and both of my sisters somewhere else, I didn't really care where.
Thinking about the possibility that Kyle didn't like me left me too depressed to masturbate, instead I threw myself on the couch and flicked on the TV. There was a dating show on; I watched it with fleeting interest, my mind centered on the terrifying fact that Kyle wouldn't be calling. I stretched out on the couch, ready to kick my flip-flops off when my cell phone started to ring. Damnit I thought, Brittney had to call back now, when I'd already thought myself into rejection.
I answered the phone without looking at the number, the voice I heard was not Brittney.
"Hey Alex, how are you feeling?"
"Kyle," I breathed not hiding exhilaration.
"Ya how are you feeling, I was pretty rough yesterday, I hope I didn't hurt you."
"Of course not, that's ridiculous. Yesterday was...was beyond words."
I listened to his thick masculine voice giggle; it sent waves through my body. Just talking to him was turning me to mush, I suddenly broke out without warning or reason, stating that I loved him and I wanted to be his slut for the rest of my life.