I love an audience…. SeXStoRY

Not much talking in here, but this IS how it happened. As I shoveled another forkful of the best tasting spaghetti salad I had ever tasted into my mouth, I made a quick survey of my surroundings. It was summer outside, and the sun had set on the oppressively hot day, the AC inside was like stepping from a balmy outside into a welcoming refuge. The three women in the room all were engrossed in the movie playing on the big screen, while I could have cared less. A chick flick, all I wanted to do was eat, do my thing, and leave. I knew it was odd for me, a black man, to be sitting in this room with this trio, but the offer of spaghetti salad I had often requested before from one of the women was irresistible. To my left was Kristi, the real reason I was here, or actually, what she could do for me. She had done it for the past 15 years, ever since the first day I met her really…she was my pot dealer. At 5’5”, she wasn’t hot but she wasn’t bad looking either; a simple, plain-Jane, ordinary run-of-the-mill lesbian pot dealer. Brown haired, slightly over-weight and a hippy, she actually held down a very influential job; the same job as the other women, now that I think of it. But the kicker was that I had often talked to her about her lesbian lifestyle, I knew that she was really bi-sexual. Nothing ever happened though, because I looked to her for my pot and would not jeopardize that relationship. Any user knows that when you find a good score you keep it quiet and my job doesn’t “allow” me to smoke so…an impasse there. Lounging in the loveseat perpendicular to the coffee table which now served as a dinner table, was pure peanut butter. You know that feeling after a good smoke out when you have the munchies and only something sweet will do? Well Noël was it for anybody, man or woman. Judging by her appearance, you wouldn’t have known where in the universe they made her. I have always had a soft spot for leggy brunettes with blue eyes and hers were the color of the ocean. d***k at a party last Halloween, I had told her I wanted to fall into her eyes and just swim around. She blushed, laughed briefly as she gave me a quick hug, then walked away to talk to another friend at the party. I felt stupid afterward but she never said anything about my quick flirt, so I made nothing of it. It was her skin tone that really set her off though. Remember that peanut butter, coat her in it and she would not have changed colors. Absolutely creamy smooth legs led from indecently short grey sl**p shorts to dangle over the arm of the loveseat that set a bob to the perfectly shaped breasts under the t-shirt of a local college we both happened to graduate from. I wanted to stare, hell, I did stare, but she was the other half of my pot dealer’s lesbian couple…another stalemate. How Kristi ended up with Noël, I have no idea, but thank whatever gods there are for that match. The blonde woman sitting on my right on the sofa was the reason for me eating, Kristi’s mother. Now this was a woman. Forget all of the sexist notions that a woman should be able to cook; Susan was an “old-head.” A true hippy from the sixties and seventies, she could throw down in the kitchen; I would stick my elbow into my ear if she told me to, for more of the pot brownies she made me on my last birthday. Breasts that stuck out like torpedoes tented her sleeveless floral print shirt; I often found myself hoping to catch one in the eye if we ever bumped into each other around a corner or something. This magnificent rack that would make any hunter happy to catch a glimpse of, perched opposite a posterior you could see even as she walked toward you. Not as tanned as her daughter’s partner, she still turned a head or two when in the grocery store. Ironically she also sported a set of baby-blues, though more of a sky blue than the ocean deep. With perfectly unblemished skin still taught and without wrinkles, she is, was, and will forever stay as the picture of what a MILF really is to me. The last time I had seen Susan was at the local Applebee’s. I was there to meet an older woman I had chatted with on X-Hamster who never showed up. She had seemed surprised to see me but we chatted for a while, had a few drinks and parted ways. It was then that I had mentioned that I wanted more of the delicious spaghetti salad I now found myself greedily wolfing down. It was then that I noticed that Susan was watching me eat with a slight smile on her face. For some reason suddenly embarrassed, I turned back to watching the movie and continued to shovel pasta. When I finished eating I asked to use the restroom before we smoked the blunt laying on the table and was told to use the one in Kristi’s bedroom because the toilet in the hall-bath was broken. I remember becoming suspicious when as I passed Noël, she grinned up at me like she had stolen all of Whoville’s Christmas presents. But anytime those blue spotlights are on me, it takes all I can think of just to put one foot in front of the other. A distinct “stop it!” was whispered but I had no idea who said it so I continued through the room toward my destination. What awaited me when I came back though was to change my life…like a peanut butter sandwich after a smoke. On the table was the quarter ounce that was my “order” from Kristi. On the TV was the movie. But on all three faces were the same shit-eating grin I had observed before on only one. I went from suspicious to DEFCON 2 so I checked my fly in case I was flagging, but no problems there. “What…?” I asked with a f***ed chuckle that was met with what I could only call even wider grins all around. I checked my nose in case of a flopper I had missed on my way by the mirror but nothing there either. “What’s wrong?” I repeated this time visibly alarmed and not really expecting an answer. The one I got stopped me cold. It was Susan who asked the last question I expected from this particular group of women. You see, that woman I was to meet in Applebee’s was from the area, her profile had said. She said she, like me, wanted to keep her private and professional life separate. It was even her suggestion that I wear the hat I had worn to the bar so that she would recognize me. “Are you Dr. Pussy?” To say that I was floored is an understatement. I literally missed putting one foot in front of the other and stumbled forward. The look on my face was one of pure terror. If it is possible for a black man to blush, I did it then. As I peered up at them from one knee, the three immediately burst into uncontrollable laughter. Noël, I found, looked especially delicious as she held her stomach and raged. Kristi’s chubby face was hidden behind the shower of hair that had fallen to hang down to her breasts. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. It was Susan though that I focused on. Her blue eyes locked onto mine. “I guess ya’ are, huh?” she drawled between peals of laughter. Her West Virginia accent announcing to all where she had been raised. “Don’t lie. You were at the ‘Bee’s’ to meet someone the other day.” I gaped like a goldfish out of water, which only made those monstrous mammaries shake menacingly as if the weapons they resembled had prematurely detonated inside their holsters. Suddenly, Noël changed the channel on the TV and my X-Hamster profile appeared. Now, it doesn’t show my face or my body, but anyone who knows me can plainly tell that it was made by me. Not only was the height and educational background the same but so was my linguistic experience, not many young black college grads from the Roanoke area speak French and Spanish too. Lucky me being too damn quick to answer those questions truthfully. The most obvious sign that ‘Drpssy’ was me was the profile pic. Long ago, in an altered state of consciousness, I had related the story of the profile picture that had materialized on the screen. I had seen it on a license plate and later a picture and couldn’t resist. “SIKMIDUK” became my signature “Sick My Duck.” I had said it frequently over the years, stupidly believing no one would notice. “I didn’t know you liked older women,” Kristi cleared her throat between giggles, “Doctor…” but then she lost it again. Susan, for her part quietly ordered, “You know what to do…” How could I deny my true identity? I matched this profile to the letter. I figured with nothing to lose I had only one direction to go from here, and the look in Susan’s eyes as she stared into my soul had something else headed in that direction already. So I simply picked myself up off the ground and grabbed the set of balls that I normally keep under wraps until anonymously behind the keyboard. When I kicked my shoes and socks off, Susan’s smile died and she arched an eyebrow. Never losing eye contact, she encouraged me to continue. It was only when Noël murmured “Oh my God…” did Kristi finally raise her head to peer through the cascade over her face. By that time, I had peeled off my shirt revealing my single tattoo and farm toned torso. When I reached for my belt, Kristi turned to face her mom but continued to stare in my direction. “Mom…,” she began but was cut off by the abrupt shushing of Noël. Whatever else happened she wanted this to continue; and to tell the truth, so did I. I unbuckled the jeans I wore and only silence met the sound of the zipper sliding down. Noël no longer lounged in the loveseat; she now sat perched on the chair like a hawk over a field. Her already hypnotic eyes were as round as golf balls with the whites clearly visible around the blue. Too late to stop now, I thought. I stepped out of my Levi’s eager to continue the show. The outline of my rapidly inflating erection was clear against the green plaid of my boxers and butterflies filled my stomach. As I gazed back toward Susan, I found her already poky breasts to be even more peaked with the addition of a raised dot on each, her nipples the size of dimes. The lust behind her bifocal glasses was plain to see and my breathing increased as she merely nodded, giving me permission to carry on. My heart beat like a drum in my chest; I actually heard the roar in my ears when I lowered my boxers and stood before my audience. I know that I am no Adonis, and unlike what most white women think of black men, my cock doesn’t fall to my knee caps. That said, I am no slouch either, at 7.5 inches erect, I had never had any complaints from any of my previous rendezvous’. I guess it’s kind of ironic, to stand at only 5’7” with a 7.5” dick. Because I stared intently at Susan’s seeking her approval, I was rewarded with the gleam that came to her finely carved face. “What do we do, Sue?” Noël inquired. She was, I saw, nervously looking back and forth between the face of her partner’s mother to my natural flag pole. I tightened my butt cheeks sending a surge of bl**d to the already engorged member and a glistening dollop of pre-cum emerged. She licked her lips and I swore her chestnut hair perked up on top of her head. Susan said nothing but still locked me into her sights. Her nipples continued to perk, now to the size of nickels. “Mom, now this enough…,” Kristin began again but was again quieted this time by both other audience members. I knew that she had not yet been with a black man and probably feared that something would happen now. Her mom though knew otherwise. Noël had no idea what was going to happen but began to open and close her knees expectantly. If anything my dick head flared again knowing my impact on the women. “Watch,” she said cryptically to the two younger women then reached into her bag to toss me a small tube of baby lotion. Standing about 7 feet from the women, I squirted nearly a handful of the pink jell into the palm of my left hand then closed the bottle and gave it to the now frozen peanut butter beauty balanced on my right. I admit, fresh from the bottle, that stuff is COLD! It’s a good thing I was so turned on or I might have lost my erection. The gasp that came from Kristi told me that she had never seen a man masturbate. Well this was going to be a show for her to remember. I coated my chocolate pole from the root to the tip in the pink goop and firmly grasped onto myself. Sliding my hand up and down produced a squelching sound that seemed abnormally loud in this land of normally lesbian love. With my right hand I reached down to grab a hold of the sack swinging ponderously below the pink purple-headed monster these women had awakened. I rotated my left over the head while squeezing my swollen testicles and groaned with the pleasure it produced. Working the shaft rapidly I met each woman’s eyes in turn. Noël’s jaw dropped when my cock produced a clear drop which fell with an audible plop onto the hardwood floor. Susan’s eyes now matched the peanut butter brunette’s. On Kristi’s face was a look of shock and something else too. I was right in this was her first time seeing a man jerk off. The other thing I saw was her excitement; she knew that this was a private show for those in the house only. Even she breathed faster as the clear fluid formed a puddle at my feet. I stroked faster as I felt the familiar tingle in my legs that signaled my coming release. “Now.” Susan ordered. And now it was. I felt my orgasm begin and strained with the pressure to hold it back as my pink covered hand flew in a blur over my screaming head. I held off so long that my legs went weak and I fell to my knees, sweat fell from my forehead to form another clear puddle on the cherry floor. I thought my heart was going to burst along with my cock head and the groan I knew was coming broke loose. Suddenly I was there. My arms shook as my arms locked in orgasm. I roared as the first squirt covered the distance to Susan and Kristi sitting on the couch. Most reached till the other side of the table with only a thin white trail leaking onto the edge. Not willing to miss the once in a life time opportunity, I rotated my hips to the right to face Noël’s cream colored legs and stroked out another volley which landed across her ankles before she shrieked and pulled her feet out of the line of fire. The third shot was the cannon though. It actually reached Kristi on the couch. This was a monster orgasm and that third shot confirmed it. My white sperm formed the trailing body of a comma on her purple Grateful Dead t-shirt, the head though was firmly planted on her chin. A fourth shot came too fast for me to put pressure behind it, but the fifth again leapt toward the duo on the couch and made me groan again. Susan’s black sneakers, under the table, didn’t stand a chance. My man goo formed a line across them both at the toes. The sixth and seventh both traveled to the table but never reached its top. Each landed on the tables drop edge and looked like melted wax from a candle. The eighth went only half as far, maybe 3 feet and the volume had reduced by so much I knew I had only a few shots left. Kristi, now covered in cum from the chin down looked horny enough to gore a dragon. If I had known beating off for her would be such a turn on, we would have done it years ago. Susan, somehow free of cum, showed me that perfect smile as the ninth spurt barely escaped my pink colored flesh pipe. It landed in the clear puddle formed below me to contrast nicely with the red coloring of the floors finish. The tenth wasn’t really a cumshot at all, just a drop of sperm that refused to fall from my dick until I squeezed and shook the tip. I sat back on my haunches breathing hard as only cumming can make one pant. My body shook as I continued to stroke but nothing came out. The room was silent, only the clock on the wall breaking the silence. I was exhausted; the whole ordeal, from me leaving to go to the bathroom to where I hunched now, had lasted maybe 5 minutes. I breathed deeply with my eyes closed, composing myself. Just then Noël’s cell phone rang with an annoyingly popular dance tune and she answered with a quaver in her voice as she left the room, “Mom, you will NOT believe what I just saw…” “Get up and go get that shit off of your hands,” Kristi ordered as she pointed accusingly at me then the cum coloring the floor, “then get a towel and wipe your nut up off my fucking floor you fucking jerk off.” Susan and I just laughed at what she said while Kristi merely glared at us both and sparked the forgotten blunt on the table. “Oh, and you don’t get any of this till that cum is gone either!” I finally got things cleaned up about halfway through the blunt but was ordered to remain naked while we smoked. It was the most erotic thing I had done in a long time and I loved it. So did my audience it seems; as I got up to leave, Kristi slipped another quarter ounce into my back pocket then reached around and grabbed my package through my pants. “Next time you come for a sack ‘Doctor Pussy,’ you will drop ‘em at the door or don’t bother coming at all.” You know, to this day, I still get a quarter at least twice a week. What a way to earn some smoke.