A Bad Taste in her Mouth
Amy had a bad taste in her mouth. It wasn’t from the mediocre spinach and artichoke dip getting cold in front of her as
she picked at it. It certainly wasn’t from the third glass of Pinot
Grigiot that she was nursing either. No, the wine was Amy’s attempt to
wash away the unpleasantness that lingered in her mouth left by one of
her arrogant coworkers.
“Would you like another glass, Miss?” The bartender brought
her back to reality as Amy was mumbling under her breath, going over the day’s events in her mind, trying to rehash what she should have done
better, and saying the things she wished she had said to make her
position perfectly clear.
“No thank you, I think I might have had one too many as it
is.” She reached for her purse to pay the tab and collect her senses.
She glanced at her watched and then around the bar and noticed that the
late hour had left her the last person there. Tuesday nights weren’t
particularly busy at Avanti’s, it had more of a noonday crowd as it was
located in the heart of downtown and most people headed to the chain
restaurants of the suburbs on weeknights to stay close to home. At 9:00, it was relatively deserted except for the few random busboys that
shuffled around, filling up salt and pepper shakers and a few waitresses that were counting tips and talked about the best and worst customers
of the night. She fumbled with her wallet, not really wanting to go home and unsure of what to do, where to go. She sat there, dazed and
“Here, this one’s on the house. Looks like you could use it.”
The bartender poured another glass of wine to her relief and went about
his duties of breaking the bar down. Amy picked up her cell phone and
called her husband to tell him that she was fine; she just needed some
time to herself. He questioned her, asking if everything was okay, if
there was something she wanted to talk about, and she kept repeating
that she would be fine, she just had a bad day at work and it was
something that she was going to have to work out on her own. She said
the obligatory, “I love you’s” and “see you later’s” and hung up the
cell phone before he asked too many more questions. This wasn’t
something her husband could help her with; it was outside of his realm
“In my years of experience, I’ve found that your local
bartender/therapist is the best person to talk to when your husband
won’t understand. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but I’m here for you if you want an objective ear.” The bartender didn’t stop wiping down the bar,
but made it clear that the troubled lady at the bar could unburden her
heavy load if she so chose.
Amy stumbled, “You wouldn’t understa . . .,” her voice
trailed off as she looked at the bartender. For the first time in three
hours, she realized that the bartender was a black man. She hadn’t even
paid attention to him before, or perhaps she did but it didn’t register
in her consciousness. She felt funny, faced with her particular dilemma, and not even sure how to express it, especially to the man that might
be able to lend some insight into her situation but the words wouldn’t
come out. Amy wanted to ask for his help but she felt paralyzed.
The bartender noticed her discomfort and backed off. “Take your
time, finish your wine, I’m scheduled to be here until midnight whether
there are customers here or not. We probably won’t get another person in
here for the rest of the evening.” Amy looked at him hard, studying him
for the first time. He was more than twenty years younger than she,
easily in his late 20s or early 30s and she noticed that he was very
good looking. His eyes sparkled with warmth and charm and his dark skin
of his forearms looked like velvet in comparison to the stark white
shirt he wore. The muscle definition in his chest was apparent even
through the material. He looked to be about 5’10” from her vantage point
but even that was a good 10 inches taller than her 5’0” petite frame.
For a very brief second, her mind flashed to all those interracial porno
movies her husband had “hidden” in the family room, and how many times
she sneaked a peek at them on Saturday mornings when he was out playing
golf. She had always wanted to ask her husband why his collection of
erotic material always consisted of black men with white women but she
was afraid to confront him with the fact that she knew about his secret
stash so she kept her mouth shut.
“I’m not racist,” she blurted out, regretting that she hadn’t tried to start the conversation in some other way as she heard the
words come out of her mouth.
The bartender smiled, as if amused, and went back to his duties of counting liquor bottles without acknowledging her comment.
Amy felt flush, she picked up the glass of wine and held it
to her lips and took a big slug. She had a slight buzz but she wanted
more. She wanted to get this off her chest and it was now or never. She
set the glass down and stared at it as she began telling her tale. She
had been raised in a very typical Southern home without much intimate
contact with anyone of color except those people she encountered at a
distance in her daily transgressions. She told of how her mother always
told her to treat people equally and always quoted Martin Luther King’s
words to her about judging people by the content of their character and
not by the color of their skin. Her father wasn’t so visionary. He
didn’t like anyone that didn’t look or think like him and he didn’t hide that fact. Fortunately for her, she didn’t have to deal with him that
much because he was always at work so his influence on her perspective
was minimal. When she went away to college, she was exposed to more
people of color but she never really befriended any Black people or got
to know them on a very intimate basis. By the time she was married and
in the work force, she realized that Black people had the lowest paying
jobs and it registered somewhere in the back of her mind that that was
probably unfair, but she never questioned it, that’s just the way things were and she couldn’t do anything to change it.
She downed the last little bit of wine and
continued with her story. The hospital had just hired a new head
cardiologist, a woman in fact. She was known to be the best in the
business and was sure to bring a lot of positive publicity to the
hospital, and good PR meant more money. More money meant better care for the patients, so Amy was excited to welcome her to the staff. All Amy
had wanted to do with her life was be an RN and she prided herself with
that fact that she had the best reputation for her bedside manner of any nurse in the hospital. During her first encounter with the new doctor,
Amy was caught off-guard. Amy had been emptying a bed ban for one of the elderly African American patients on CICU when the doctor walked in and said, “Why are you cleaning the bedpan for a Black, get one of the
orderlies to do it. Whites shouldn’t be cleaning up after a Black. Why
do you think their skin is that color? So you can’t see the . . . .” Her sentence fell off to laughter, apparently thinking her joke would be
funny to all.
Amy was sick. “A Black.” The words rang in Amy’s ears. They
sounded so empty, so dehumanizing when she heard the words fall from the doctors lips. Why couldn’t she have said a black patient or an African
American? She was outraged that the doctor would say something so cruel, so blatantly racist, in front of a patient and she was appalled that
the doctor hadn’t had any sensitivity training to know that those sorts
of comments were inappropriate. Amy was speechless and she looked in the eyes of the patient and saw the hurt and pain that the words had
caused. The doctor apparently didn’t notice the discomfort of either one of them and she checked the charts and went about her business. Amy
continued on with her duties, taking extra care to provide comfort to
the patient and even to sing to her to distract her from the pain, both
physical and emotional.
“What do I do? If I report her, I might lose my job and if they find out that she is racist and she’s fired, then the money that she
might bring to the hospital will go with her. Maybe it was a joke.
Doctors just aren’t supposed to say that sort of thing. What if she
treats African American patients differently than white patients?” By
the time Amy had finished spilling her guts; she was breathless and in
tears and rambling on in disconnected sentences.
The bartender had made his way to the other side of the bar and sat himself next to her. He listened intently to the story and made
copious notes on a napkin. He placed his hand on Amy’s shoulder and
promised her that everything would be okay. Amy looked at him with a
puzzled look on her face.
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Akil Galanta, I’m in
medical school, and I just work here at nights because it’s so slow it’s like getting paid to study. I’m going to take care of this so that this woman is dealt with in the most appropriate way. Let me do some
research, contact the other hospitals that she used to work for, speak
with some of the other black nurses and doctors she’s worked with to
find out the real deal and I’ll make sure that your name isn’t involved
in this at all. I’m going to contact the appropriate governing bodies of the hospital and you won’t have to worry about this anymore.
Amy felt relief for the first time in hours. She took a deep
breath and felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. She was
electrified by his touch and the strength with which he seemed to know
exactly what to do. Instinctually, she wrapped her arms around his neck
and hugged him, grateful that she felt like she had told the right
person to handle the situation. Her joy, her relief, came out in her
enthusiastic hug. He hugged her back it was more than apparent that
there was some sort of chemistry going on more than just two people
sharing a common agenda.
Akil let the wait staff out and locked the door behind them. He turned down the lights in the bar and returned to Amy. He turned her
barstool towards him and, without notice, he kissed her. Amy didn’t
fight it for a second; she let herself go in his kiss, seduced by the
feel of his full dark lips against hers, his soft tongue dancing against hers. She closed her eyes tightly and blamed it on the wine and her
highly emotional state. She was allowed to have a minute of bad judgment in the arms of her sexy hero.
Akil broke off the kiss and apologized. “I know you’re married
but I was so moved by the sincerity of your feelings and your desire to
do the right thing. Often times, white people let this sort of racism
go, ignore it, or agree. The fact that you were moved so strongly but
her outrageous behavior means you are willing to dismantle your
perception of white superiority. That’s sexy. At least to me it is.”
Amy only heard every other word; she was so turned on that she
couldn’t grasp all of what Akil was saying. She was caught up in the
fact that her son was older than Akil and that her husband was probably
waiting for her to walk through the door any second, maybe even watching his porn collection in her absence. She was distracted with this lack
of morality she felt and how much she wanted him to take things further. She couldn’t get over the fact that this very sexy young Black man
found her attractive. Sure, she knew she was attractive for her age and
that she kept herself in good shape, but she never expected that she
would be the object of desire from a gorgeous black man, let alone one
young enough to be her son.
Amy wanted him to know that his advances were welcome but she
didn’t want to appear too eager. She was trying to reconcile in her mind that thirty years of being faithful to her husband were about to erased in an impetuous act of lust. She tossed her hair back, thrust out her
chest, and licked her lips. It had been a long time since she’d seduced
anyone other than her husband so she wondered if she was doing it the
right way. Her nipples were hard and her pussy was already tingling with excitement. Amy couldn’t remember the last time she had been so turned
on, so driven by pure, animalistic intentions.
Akil, fully cognizant of the telltale signs of her arousal,
said, “I’m in med school, I don’t get many chances for sexual release
because I’m always in the books. Are you sure you want this because it
might be a little more than you can handle? With that, he took Amy’s
hand and put it on his growing erection. Amy’s eyes widened, thinking of what it would be like to have it inside her and reflected momentarily
if she would become a “slut for black cock” like she had seen so many
white women profess themselves to be on the internet. She responded by
moving her hand to his belt and unbuckling it.
Akil grabbed her hand and said, “Slow down, it’s not often that I get a chance to fuck a hot MILF, especially a white one, so I’m going to make sure you and I both remember this. You sure you’re okay with
Amy nodded frantically. There was no turning back. She
rationalized that the stars had created the events of the day in such a
way that this was her right, her duty to strike out with a statement of
racial equality like this. “Do me,” was all she could say.
Akil took Amy’s legs and spread them wide. He took his hand and rubbed it against the crotch of her pants, feeling the heat emanating
from her core. Amy responded by rubbing herself against his hand like a
stripper half her age would do. She placed her elbows against the bar
and leaned back to give him better access. She wished he would just rip
her clothes off and take her like an animal. She could sense that Akil
was far from an animal, he was in control of the situation, overpowering her with his sophistication and natural ease.
He carefully undid the buttons on her blouse as she watched in
amazement. He slid the sleeves of her shirt down her arms and tossed it
on the floor. Her breathing grew heavier. Next, he undid her pants and
discarded them with ease as well. She was before him in her sensible bra and panties. She was feeling like the grandmother that she was, nervous that she wasn’t attractive in her semi nude state.
“Turn around,” Akil whispered. She followed his orders without
hesitation and he removed her bra. He reached around her and began to
fondle her breasts sensuously. Amy was in a trance, looking at the
contrast of skin color as he pulled at her nipples and played rather
roughly with her tits. She loved every second of the sensation, rubbing
her ass on him to make sure he knew she was enjoying every second of his attention. Her husband would never have made her feel like this. Having sex with her husband wasn’t erotic, it was routine. This was living on
the edge. Akil grabbed her by the hips and pulled her panties down to
her thighs. He pushed her body forward, so her upper body was lying
against the leather padding of the bar stool. He took his strong fingers and inserted them in her wet cunt. Amy let out a loud moan. She reached around and held the cheeks of her ass wide open, giving Akil the view
and the access he needed to finger her sopping wet pussy.
“You like that?”
“Amy started spewing obscenities like the women in the porno’s
would do. “Finger that white pussy; get it ready for your black cock.
Make me cum like the slut I need to be.”
Akil withdrew his fingers and Amy cried out like a wounded
animal, panting, begging and screaming for him to finger fuck her some
“Relax,” the calmness that he had and the power he had over her made her that much more aroused, punctuating the sexual tension in the
Here she was, married, tipsy, naked in front of a fully dressed black man, and bent over with her ass in the air like she needed to be
fucked by whoever came along. Amy wished she was being watched. She
wanted someone to see her in her predicament; she wanted men to jerk off looking at her being intimate for this young black man. Her words were
coming in incoherent babble. Every sentence was punctuated with
something to do with black cock and white pussy. Akil started spanking
her lightly, well, not so lightly but not enough to leave marks that her hubby would question either. Amy started chanting, “Yes, yes, yes, oh
yes,” and fingering her own pussy, desperate to get to the fucking part.
Akil pulled Amy up by the hair and forced her to her knees. She knelt submissively, looking up at him waiting for him to give her
instructions. He pulled his zipper down and reached in his pants to pull out his cock. Amy’s mouth watered, anxious to taste it. Akil took his
dick and rubbed it over her face, smearing precum on her lips. Amy
licked it like a kitten licking milk. She grabbed his cock in her hands
and stared in disbelief at the contrast. The diamonds in her wedding
ring shone in dimly lit room and made her pussy gush even more knowing
she was being so naughty. She wrapped both of her hands around his cock
and started stroking it. Akil began fucking her hands like it was a
pussy, thrusting back and forth, getting the tip even wetter with
Amy couldn’t wait anymore; she had to have that cock in her
mouth. She closed her eyes and went for it. She could barely get her
mouth around the head. She had to use her mouth and hands together to
get it wet and suck it and stroke it at the same time. She was like a
crazed woman, starved for black cock. She licked and sucked and tried
her best to deep throat it but there was no way she could. Akil pushed
her head down and made her lick his balls and she took to the task like a pro. Sufficiently satisfied that she was hungry for cock, he grabbed
her head and started fucking her mouth. The way Amy was sucking it; one
would have thought she needed black dick to live.
Akil, noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Outside
the front door were spectators. One of his regular customers, an
attorney who often worked late, was watching the entire thing and next
to him was a black homeless man that often came around at closing to get some food. The two were both stroking themselves through their pants
and having some sort of conversation. Akil tapped Amy on the shoulder to alert her of the spectators and she looked up from her cocksucking
responsibilities and went back to her job with even more renewed
enthusiasm. She began fingering her pussy and pulling her nipples while
she was sucking, licking and blowing the ebony meat in her mouth.
Akil grabbed her by the hair and bent her over the bar. She
braced herself for the fucking she was about to get. He took aim with
his hard cock and rammed it in her in one stroke. He rammed all he could get inside her that is. Amy cried out, in pleasure and in pain. She
turned her head so that she could see the men watching her. She made
sure that they could read her lips as she said, “fuck me” over and over
again. Akil grabbed her hips and rammed his cock in her wet cunt over
and over again. He pulled her tits and slapped her ass, no longer caring if her husband saw evidence of the nasty fuck he was giving his wife.
“Make me a slut for black cock, Akil. Make me never want white
cock again.” Amy was surprised by the words coming out of her own mouth. It was as if she was releasing some long held inhibitions and beliefs
that she had never wanted to acknowledge before. Akil was taking out his frustrations on med school, reveling in his exhibitionism, and even
getting off on the fact that he was fucking a married white woman.
“Oh shit, I’m going to cum,” he said.
“Noooooooooo,” Amy called out, please not yet, there’s one more thing I need you to do. Akil slowed his pace and tried to concentrate
on molecular biology to hold off his ejaculation. Amy looked back and
took her finger and placed it in her mouth. She sucked it seductively
and put it to her ass. She pushed her finger in and winced. “I only give this to my husband on very special occasions. I want to give it to you
tonight. I want your black cum dripping out of my asshole so I can feel
like I really belong to you. Fuck my white ass please.”
Akil grabbed his dick and squeezed it tight to keep from being
too aroused. He knelt behind Amy and put his tongue to her puckered
hole. He tongue fucked her asshole and got it lubricated with his spit.
Amy was moaning, practically screaming about how good it felt. Akil took one finger and put it in her ass. It felt like her asshole was going to cut off the circulation in his finger, there was no way he could fit
his dick in there. Amy went into sexual overdrive. She was fucking his
finger like crazy, begging for another finger, for black cock “back
Akil spit on her asshole and stuck two fingers in her ass. Amy
was grunting and groaning like an animal. “Do it, do it. It feels so
nasty, it feels so good.”
Still wet from her pussy and the precum he was practically
leaking on the floor, Akil took the head of his cock and took aim at her tiny pink asshole. He didn’t want to hurt her so he let her control the penetration. Amy was not to be denied. She had her fingers in her
pussy, fucking herself like mad and she was backing up on that cock
until the head was firmly planted in her backside. Her hair was wet with perspiration and she was breathing erratically. She began a gentle
motion of rocking back and forth, and working more and more of that
magnificent black cock in her asshole.
Out of concern, Akil asked, “Are you okay,” and she responded by saying ‘fuck me, fuck me” over and over again.
“You want this black dick, I’m going to give it to you. I’m
going to cum so deep in your ass, you’ll be shitting my cum for a week.
Is that what you want?”
“Stop talking and just do it.” Amy was pissed, horny and crazed.
Akil grabbed her by the hips and started to fuck her. He fucked her hard, without regard for her safety. He pumped his long black cock
in and out of her bowels relentlessly. His balls were slapping her wet
pussy and he was long stroking her. Every time he would pull out to the
head, Amy would cry and scream for him to put it back in deeper. There
were red marks on her skin where his hands were gripping her so tightly. He glanced over at the windows and saw the two men had taken their
cocks out on the street and were trying to discretely stroke them
without drawing too much attention to themselves.
He couldn’t hold back any more. He felt the cum boil up from
his nuts. He fucked her long and hard, he fucked her deep. Amy was
cumming from getting fucked in her ass and the convulsions of her
muscles were milking the cum out of Akil’s dick. Akil screamed out as he felt the walls of her ass coated with his thick seed.
Exhausted, he fell back against one of the barstools and tried
to catch his breath. The men watching left evidence of their
participation on the window as they parted ways in silence.
Amy felt more alive than she had in years. While Akil made
efforts to clean up, Amy reached for her cell phone. “Yes, I know what
time it is. Yes, I’m fine, relax. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry . . .” She
slid her panties on as she spoke to him. “Honey, when I get home, I want to watch one of those movies you have hidden in the family room. . .
Yeah, one of the interracial ones. And I have something to tell you that I think you might like to hear. If you’re lucky, you might get a
special treat as well.”
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