Florence
- 3 years ago
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When In Florence... free porn video
On cold, bitter days, such as the day it was when I first met her, business can be pretty bad. This isn’t wholly surprising for my occupation, which is a car salesman. Winter is the slowest sales season for us- no one really wants to be walking around the car lot when it’s cold and windy and raining. Summer and spring are our best months when it gets warmer and approaches Memorial Day. It's about then that people decide they need a change, which is where we come in. We talk all the necessary bullshit and use the appropriate jargon and BAM! The new car is sold, good and ready to go.
I work for Morgenstern Motors, a company that started out here in New Jersey but then spread out across New England and the East Coast and is fast becoming a nationwide company. Lloyd Morgenstern started the company in the seventies, and within the decade, he had two other sales yards in Trenton. By the late eighties, he had businesses up and down the East Coast and today, nearly forty years later, Morgenstern Motors is a nationally recognized conglomerate. Not bad for a kid who was straight out of business school and selling second-hand cars.
Not only does Morgenstern Motors sell second-hand cars, we also sell brand new cars. We try to accommodate for all lifestyles and classes. We have the cheaper models and second-hand vehicles for the new, student drivers and working class families. Then there are the basic brand new cars for those approaching the middle-class line. We have mini-vans and trucks for the soccer moms and larger families, and then we have the slightly flashier brand new cars, for those who have a bit of extra money to spend but don’t want to seem like they're rubbing it in everyone’s faces. These types are what we refer to as the ‘subtle rich’ the people who would have been ‘old money’ back in the day.
My personal favourites are the people who are out to show off. They flash the cash and spend big. They buy the flashiest, most ostentatious cars imaginable to prove to everyone that they are richer and better than you. These people are my definitely favourite types. Usually, they are rich kids, fresh out of college with daddy’s money to spend. ‘New money’ or ‘nouveau riche’ as it were. They haven’t done their research so all we have to do is use big words, show off the flashy leather interiors and BAM! A Lexus has just been sold to some nineteen-year-old kid. I make my money off those kids. Those kids who spend daddy’s money are paying for my lifestyle.
On the day I met her, it was damp and cold and a bitter wind was blowing. Business was pretty slow so I was playing around on the internet in the office, sitting directly underneath the heat-pump. I’m the general manager for the first Trenton branch of Morgenstern Motors, and because business was slow that day, I had sent one of the other guys home and now it was just me and Peter hanging around the office. Peter was the new guy, straight out of High School and eager to please and prove to everyone that he has what it takes to be the next big salesman.
There was nothing to do, so I sent Peter out back to clean the interior of the new cars and make sure everything was fine with them. While Peter was out back and I was messing about on the computer, a young woman and a teenage girl came onto the car yard. They had a look around for a bit, checking out some of the cheaper models of cars we had and talking between themselves.
I watched them from my desk, through the large plate glass window that looked out to the car lot. The slightly older of the two women was beautiful. She was a goddess. You can tell by the way people are dressed as to what sort of cars they will buy, and these women were dressed very nicely. The younger of the two women, the teenager, was dressed in a nice pair of jeans and woollen long sleeve top. The older of the two was wearing a tight pair of jeans, a plain white top that was slightly sheer, and an orange blazer. I suspect that on someone who was paler and fairer of skin, the orange blazer would have looked tawdry or tacky, but on this particular woman, with her beautiful dark skin and coloring, it was perfect.
She wore plain jewellery; plain pearl studs in each ear, a thick silver chain necklace and two gold bangles on each wrist. The shoes she was wearing were plain black heels. She was dressed very simply and plainly, but she was presentable and well dressed. I guessed that while she was not poor, she was not rich either. She was middle class with perhaps a little money to spare. I stood up from my desk, buttoned my suit jacket up and ventured outside to speak to the two young women.
“Hello,” I greeted the two women. They both looked up from the car they were inspecting and the slightly older of the two women smiled at me, a beautiful, confident smile. “Looking to purchase a car are we?” I asked.
Orange blazer smiled at me again and then spoke.
“Yes,” she answered. “My niece needs a new car.” She had quite a thick accent and I guessed her to be African, though what part of the Continent she was from I didn’t know. But mixed in with her African accent was quite a strong British accent. She was, I guessed, to be what would be referred to as Afro-Caribbean.
“Excellent,” I said. “What were you after?” I showed the two women around the car lot, showing them different types of cars that fitted their brief. I found out more about them as I tried to sell them a car.
Florence was the older of the two women and was the main caregiver of her niece Clementine, whose mother was ill. I admired this beautiful young woman for taking her niece in and raising her on her own. It can’t have been easy when you’ve got an ill sister and young niece, and you’re not that much older than your niece, but she had done a good job, by all accounts. The young girl standing in front of me was polite, friendly and intelligent. I found Florence very endearing. I wanted to find out more about her. I wanted to learn all about her. I wanted to learn her. I was entranced by this women. She was amazing.
After a few hours test driving different cars and seeing what would best meet Clementine’s needs, a small dark green hatchback was chosen. It was from the upper end of second hand, it wasn’t a gas guzzler, it was a smooth ride and easy to manage, seeing as Clementine was a new driver and fresh out of driving school. I slapped a sold sticker across the front windscreen of the car and escorted Florence and Clementine into my office where we discussed payment plans and I got the appropriate forms for them to fill out and did a credit check on Florence, which she passed.
Once all the paperwork had been seen to, I gave Florence the name and number of the local mechanic that we work with, in case she wanted any additional mechanical check-ups done. I handed over ownership of the car and the two women were on their way. I returned to my desk utterly smitten with Florence. She was beautiful. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I filed some of the paperwork and flicked back through Florence’s personal details. I saw that she lived on the outskirts of town. I then concocted a plan to perhaps visit Florence and Clementine and check up on them in the guise of seeing if the car was fine and they were happy with it and then seeing where things led with me and Florence. But I couldn’t do this straight away- that would perhaps seem too suspicious or overly eager on my part.
I decided that I would wait a week. After a week, I would visit Florence, check up on her and the car and then see where things went from there. For the seven days leading up to my proposed visit, whenever I had a free moment, I found myself reading through Florence’s details and memorizing them. She was twenty-nine years old, born in Ghana but she held British citizenship and American residency. She was a personal assistant for a CEO of a private hospital and was well educated. I memorized both her cell phone and home telephone numbers, and I was very tempted to ring her and ask if everything was fine with the car.
For three days I thought about doing this, but each time I told myself no, I couldn’t do that. On the beginning of the fourth day, I decided to ring Florence. After dialing the number and waiting for an answer, I suddenly realised how foolish and futile this potentially was. I was about to hang up when I heard a click on the other end and the voicemail message. Thank God , I thought. I left a quick message, of which I asked if everything was okay with the new car, and if they had any questions or issues they could contact us and we could help them solve any problems.
Neither Florence nor Clementine rang me back after I left a message, which was probably a good thing seen as it could potentially disrupt my planned visit to their house, later on that week. I normally didn’t go and check up on customers and make house calls, but I was very, very taken with Florence. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to speak to her and I wanted to find out everything about her. I wanted to see where it could go. This woman was so beautiful and charming and smart, and I was very smitten with her.
On the seventh day, after a painful week-long wait, I decided that I would go on the charm offensive. On my way home from work, I purchased a large bunch of flowers from the local florist and made the drive to the outskirts of town, where Florence and her niece lived. I was worried that Florence wouldn’t be too thrilled that I had studied her details and found where she lived, which was why I had the flowers in hand, as a sort of peace offering, in that event.
I found her house and saw lights on, which was a good indication that someone was home. I parked out on the street, psyched myself up, grabbed the flowers and walked up the path to Florence’s house. I knocked on the door and waited.
After a few moments of shuffling around and muffled noises on the other side of the door, it was opened and Florence stood there in all her glory. She was wearing a long, straight black skirt that skimmed just past her knees, stockings, and a plain red long-sleeve top. Again the bright colour of this top was doing wonders for her skin tone. She looked amazing. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in a large bun and I could see a few pins and clips flick in the light when she moved her head.
“Hello?” she asked, an odd, questioning look crossing her face.
“Hi, Florence,” I started. “I’m Matt Hubbard from Morgenstern Motors, I sold you the car last week and I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay with the car and there were no issues.”
“Thank you very much,” Florence answered, smiling her beautiful smile. If I was smitten before I was even more so now. “The car is fine. Clementine wants to spend every waking minute in her new car.”
I presented Florence with the bunch of flowers. She beamed at me in response and blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
“Is this a bad time?” I asked, using the flowers as my segue to perhaps gain an invitation inside.
“Not at all. In fact, I was just about to settle down for the evening and watch a movie. Would you care to join me for some wine and cheese?”she asked, moving aside and motioning me inside. Success , I thought smugly. A good movie or book and a wine and cheese platter were rather a weakness of mine, so I gladly accepted the invitation. Things were going good. She hadn’t rejected me or slammed the door in my face, so my hopes started to soar a little.
I came in off the doorstep and Florence took my coat and hung it up on the rack near the front door. She took me through into the lounge and told me to make myself comfortable. “I’ll get a vase for the flowers,” she said. “They’re beautiful, thank you, Matt.”
While Florence was looking for a vase, I took the time to look around the living room and the rest of the house. The house was quite small, it being just on the one level, but it was all open-plan and well laid out. It may have been small, but it was cozy and warm, and I instantly felt very comfortable and at ease. The white walls were modestly decorated, but what decorations and pictures were there were very nice. Most of the photographs on the wall and coffee table were black and white, and on closer inspection I found them to be older members of Florence’s family and obviously taken back in Ghana. There was a lovely, large painting above the TV stand of an African sunset.
Scattered around the living room and dining area were a few other pieces of African artwork and sculptures. On the floor was a large red and orange rug that had been weaved a very intricate looking way. It was different to the standard Persian or European rugs and carpets that most people buy from the store and have in their homes. There were wooden sculptures of giraffes and zebras and ornamental vases and pots of differing shapes and sizes as well. All in all, it was a beautiful house, very comforting and homely feeling.
“That was a nightmare to get through customs,” Florence said, laughing as she came into the living room with the vase of flowers, which she placed in the centre of the small round dining table. I had been crouching down and feeling the rug and I felt myself go red when I realised that she had caught me feeling up her home decor .
“It’s very beautiful,” I said, rising back up to my full height, which was a rather average 5’7.
“Thank you,” she said. “It belonged to my grandparents. It was given to them on their wedding day in 1955. They were both eighteen years old at the time and madly in love.” Florence smiled warmly and with longing, her brown eyes lit up when she spoke of her family.
“Are they still married?” I asked cautiously.
“It will be sixty-one years of marriage next month,” she said. She then corrected herself. “It would have been sixty-one years next month. My grandfather died when I was ten and my grandmother, after a long battle with illness died seven years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling slightly awkward.
Florence waved me off. “It is okay. Sadness and sorrow make you remember the happy times and they cause you to celebrate all the good things and the shared memories that were created.” She smiled at me again and I saw the sadness in her face, but also contentment and understanding of life that can only come with difficulties or troubles that were faced. “Do you mind if I get changed into something more comfortable?” she asked. “I don’t normally make a habit of sitting around in my work clothes.”
“By all means,” I said. “This is your house.”
I sat down on the sofa while Florence went down the hall to her bedroom to get changed. I picked up a photograph from the coffee table and examined it. It was a photo of her as a child, dressed in her Sunday best, her dark hair in two short and stubby little pigtails, ribbons tied in her hair and a cheeky grin on her face. I smiled and put the photo back, looking around the living room. It then struck me that Clementine wasn’t around. She was either in her bedroom, or she had gone out for the night.
“Clementine not here?” I asked, shouting to Florence.
“No,” Florence shouted back. “She is at a friend’s house for the night.”
Score , I thought happily. It meant that, if anything were to happen, we wouldn’t be disturbed. When Florence returned she was wearing her robe, a heavy, fluffy white number, her face was free of all make-up and her hair was down. I noticed that her black hair had inky, slightly blue undertones to it, especially when it glinted in the light. She looked so radiant and beautiful. A true Goddess.
She went through into the kitchen, where she rummaged around preparing the cheese and wine. I heard the clink of glasses as she got some down from the cupboard, and I heard the distinct sound of a knife being pulled from the knife block. You know the sound, as you pull the knife free, it makes that cool shiiiiiinnnnnnk noise, and you feel like a professional chef. I used to do it over and over as a kid, pulling knives from my dad’s knife block. I used to mime cutting vegetables and preparing food when no one else was home. Except one day I cut the tip of my finger off and had to run to the neighbor's house, my hand pissing blood everywhere. Not fun. Not fun at all.
Florence came back into the living room, carrying a wooden board with three different types of cheeses, crackers, grapes, slices of apple and some ham. Apparently for Florence, this was a whole meal, not just a light, pre-dinner snack or treat. I was hungry by this stage, though, so I was rather glad when I saw that she had a whole different selection prepared. She placed the board down on the table, pushing some of the photos back to make room. She managed to juggle the two glasses and a bottle of red in one hand, and in the other she held a bottle of white wine. I got up and helped her with this so that nothing was broken or spilled.
“Thank you,” Florence said. She sat down close to me and I caught a subtle whiff of her scent, which reminded me of sunshine and summer. “Reserve judgement please Matt, but tonight’s film is a very girly, very cliché romantic movie.”
“My favourite type of film,” I said. Florence laughed and told me that I was a bad liar. As Florence had told me, the movie was predictable; clichéd, girly, chick flick dribble and as the non-existent plot progressed, I found myself hating the movie more and more, but I was glad that food and wine were there, otherwise I don’t know if I could have survived that. I was just glad to be in Florence’s company, though, and I was glad that she hadn’t rejected me when I first appeared on her doorstep.
Perhaps it was the wine and rich food starting to go to my head, but as the night progressed I found myself increasingly distracted by the beautiful woman sitting next to me. She noticed that I was staring and she gave me a questioning look.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare. But you’re just so beautiful.”
Florence blushed and cast her eyes downwards modestly, but when she looked back up, she was smiling in response, and I saw the hint of flirtation in her medium brown gaze. Her eyes were the colour of hazelnuts - a warm, medium sort of brown. Dark brown, but not so dark as to be considered dark , dark, and light brown but not so light as to be considered light, light. They were a very pretty medium brown.
Feeling confident, thanks in part to the wine and the flirtatious looks Florence was sending me, I decided to go for it. I leaned in to kiss her. She had full, soft lips, and the two seconds our lips were connected were heaven for me. She pulled away rather quickly and I was afraid I had done something wrong or misinterpreted the signs. I was relieved when I saw her put her glass of wine down and smiled invitingly at me.
I leaned in once more and we kissed. This time, it was longer and steamier. We started out kissing slow, taking our time and getting to know the other. You can tell a lot about someone or the sexual encounter you’re about to have by the kiss. Some women who are shy, coy or even inexperienced give small kisses. They either don’t know what to do, or they haven’t figured out their personal nuances or ticks yet and they are happy to do as instructed. Then there are the women who like to control the other person with their kiss. They lead in this dance, setting the tone and pace for what is to come. Florence was a mixture between the two.
After five minutes of gentle lip service, it was amped up a notch when I felt her lips part underneath mine. I gently pushed my tongue up against her mouth and it opened further. I felt her tongue against mine and I heard her moan softly. I decided then and there that Florence was the quietly confident type. She was confident within herself and her abilities, but she wasn’t taking over or trying to control me. She knew what she was doing, but she wasn’t brazen about it.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a confident woman. I like a woman who knows what she wants and knows what to do. It’s always been fun to be at the mercy of a woman who’s using me for her own needs and desires, but this right now, what I had with Florence, was better.
The kiss became quicker and more rapid, both of us getting lost in the desire and the need, our tongues pressing up and sliding over each other. I was rather aroused at this stage and I felt my erection starting to press up against the zip of my suit pants. I leaned into Florence more and placed my hands in her hair, drawing her closer still, my personal desire over-riding any consideration for Florence’s comfort. She broke away from the kiss, smiling and laughing at me. She stood up from the sofa, still smiling.
“Okay then,” she giggled. She untied her white fluffy robe and let it fall to the floor. Underneath she was wearing only a silk chemise. It was short and sheer, edged with lace around the top and hem. She looked phenomenal. Her breasts were average size, but I could see her nipples pressed up against the sheer fabric. She was wearing underwear, but she looked at me dead straight with her beautiful brown eyes and slipped her panties down her legs, kicking them off when they got to her ankles.
My eyes scanned all over her body, from her curvy waist and hips to her perky breasts and then the slight shadow of dark hair underneath the chemise. I was in heaven. I could have died right then and there and I’d have been a very happy man. Florence was beautiful and incredibly sexy standing there in her little silk chemise. She smiled at my dazed expression. She retreated back down the hall, but before she disappeared entirely, she said, “I expect you to be naked when I return.”
Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice. I undressed so quickly, loosening my tie, untucking my shirt and taking my pants and socks off, throwing these all aside, standing nude in Florence’s living room. If there was a world record for undressing the quickest, I probably broke it. Florence was still smiling when she returned from her bedroom with a condom packet in hand. Now it was her turn to examine me and see what I had to offer. My cock, which is long and thin, was standing stiffly to attention under Florence’s scrutiny.
I am well aware that my cock is not the thickest you’ll ever see, I am very much aware of that, but I find this no hindrance, even if slight disappointment crosses the faces of some women when they first see it. My cock is long and thin, and I find that I can hit certain places when having sex with women that can drive them crazy. Florence didn’t seem disappointed when seeing my dick for the first time, which was a relief for me seen as everyone knows the stereotypes and cliches about black men, and I simply assumed that she might only have ever slept with black men.
Florence and I sat back down on the sofa, resuming what we were doing before, except this time we were kissing with more urgency and desire. I cupped her breast through the silk chemise and I felt her nipple go hard instantly, a firm little point through the soft fabric. Florence moaned against my mouth and my arousal grew. She felt for my hand, and when she found it she pressed the condom packet into my palm. I broke away from the kiss, tore open the foil and rolled the condom onto me, discarding the packet on the rug which had once belonged to Florence’s grandparents.
With me now protected, Florence moved so that she was astride me, her dark gorgeous thighs next to my considerably paler thighs. She shuffled forward and I felt myself just shy of her entrance. I felt her hand grip the base of my cock as she very slowly lowered herself onto me. She closed her eyes, leaned forward and made a low ‘mmmmmmm,’ sound on first contact, which grew slightly louder when she had my whole length inside her. She slowly bounced up and down on me, testing the waters and trying to figure out how to go about this.
“You’re so deep,” she whispered in my ear. “Oh my God,” she mumbled when I started thrusting inside her, slowly and deeply. I smiled at her comment, thinking that it was one of the perks of having a cock that was long and thin. Slowly and deeply I went, rolling my hips with the motion, gaining a great deal of satisfaction from Florence moaning and mumbling. Slowly but surely I went, deep inside her, holding Florence to me as I thrust inside her.
I was very slow and deliberate with my pace and my thrusts. I wanted to savour this moment here with Florence. All week I had waited for this, and I had no intention of this being a quick shag. Slowly and deeply she rode me, commenting on how deep I was inside her every now and then, which of course served to bolster my male pride.
She started moving with me, rolling her hips with mine. Her eyes were closed but her face was contorted with the pleasure and I heard her moaning and her ragged breathing. This became faster as she built up to an orgasm, and as it washed over her she opened her mouth and moaned audibly, clenching her muscles as I felt them spasm around me, but I stayed in the same position, hitting the same spots, moving inside Florence slowly and deeply. She felt so good. In fact, she felt incredible. I looked down at her chest and saw her breasts moving up and down, the dark nipples two firm points against the silky fabric.
I moaned loudly when Florence bucked and gyrated her hips, wrapping her arms around me, my face pressed to her chest. I could feel her rapid heartbeat and hear her breaths coming quick and regular. I felt my own orgasm slowly starting to build, so, holding Florence’s hips, I increased the speed and slammed myself into her. She returned this motion and for a while, the only sound in the room was our flesh slapping together, her moans and my groans as I felt my impending orgasm.
Florence cried out again with another orgasm, clenching herself tightly around me. In one full motion I came, still thrusting deeply inside her, filling the condom with my fluid. I kissed her as we finished together, both of us coming back down to earth at the exact same moment.
Florence very gently pulled herself off me, holding the base of my cock so as not to make a mess or potentially break the condom. Florence leaned over to the coffee table and handed me a tissue from the box next to the half-eaten plate of food and the empty wine bottles.
“You didn’t come here just to check on the car you sold us and to give me flowers,” Florence stated.
“Yes I did,” I replied, trying to maintain my guise.
“I told you before Matt, that you’re a bad liar,” she said, laughing. She snuggled up against me and I kissed the top of her beautiful head.
“Truth be told this last week you’ve been on my mind constantly. I found myself thinking of you all the time during the quiet times at work, which was all the time,” I chuckled a little. “I’ve been smitten since the first time I laid eyes on you.”
“Thank you for checking up on me Matt.” She moved her head and kissed me, her tongue exploring my mouth, giving me the answer I had been desperately seeking for a week.
Author’s Note: Check out my other stories, the Jeff and Brianne series, Lesbifriends, Lesbinaughty, The Holiday, Revenge Affair, Another Revenge Affair, Our Little Secret, Love Nest, Paradise lost & found, Misfit Love, After-hours Antics, The Bachelor Party, La prisonnier Francais, Maîtresse en titre, Maîtresse en titre dans l’amour, Mrs Malcolm, Just What I Needed and Study Break.
I work for Morgenstern Motors, a company that started out here in New Jersey but then spread out across New England and the East Coast and is fast becoming a nationwide company. Lloyd Morgenstern started the company in the seventies, and within the decade, he had two other sales yards in Trenton. By the late eighties, he had businesses up and down the East Coast and today, nearly forty years later, Morgenstern Motors is a nationally recognized conglomerate. Not bad for a kid who was straight out of business school and selling second-hand cars.
Not only does Morgenstern Motors sell second-hand cars, we also sell brand new cars. We try to accommodate for all lifestyles and classes. We have the cheaper models and second-hand vehicles for the new, student drivers and working class families. Then there are the basic brand new cars for those approaching the middle-class line. We have mini-vans and trucks for the soccer moms and larger families, and then we have the slightly flashier brand new cars, for those who have a bit of extra money to spend but don’t want to seem like they're rubbing it in everyone’s faces. These types are what we refer to as the ‘subtle rich’ the people who would have been ‘old money’ back in the day.
My personal favourites are the people who are out to show off. They flash the cash and spend big. They buy the flashiest, most ostentatious cars imaginable to prove to everyone that they are richer and better than you. These people are my definitely favourite types. Usually, they are rich kids, fresh out of college with daddy’s money to spend. ‘New money’ or ‘nouveau riche’ as it were. They haven’t done their research so all we have to do is use big words, show off the flashy leather interiors and BAM! A Lexus has just been sold to some nineteen-year-old kid. I make my money off those kids. Those kids who spend daddy’s money are paying for my lifestyle.
On the day I met her, it was damp and cold and a bitter wind was blowing. Business was pretty slow so I was playing around on the internet in the office, sitting directly underneath the heat-pump. I’m the general manager for the first Trenton branch of Morgenstern Motors, and because business was slow that day, I had sent one of the other guys home and now it was just me and Peter hanging around the office. Peter was the new guy, straight out of High School and eager to please and prove to everyone that he has what it takes to be the next big salesman.
There was nothing to do, so I sent Peter out back to clean the interior of the new cars and make sure everything was fine with them. While Peter was out back and I was messing about on the computer, a young woman and a teenage girl came onto the car yard. They had a look around for a bit, checking out some of the cheaper models of cars we had and talking between themselves.
I watched them from my desk, through the large plate glass window that looked out to the car lot. The slightly older of the two women was beautiful. She was a goddess. You can tell by the way people are dressed as to what sort of cars they will buy, and these women were dressed very nicely. The younger of the two women, the teenager, was dressed in a nice pair of jeans and woollen long sleeve top. The older of the two was wearing a tight pair of jeans, a plain white top that was slightly sheer, and an orange blazer. I suspect that on someone who was paler and fairer of skin, the orange blazer would have looked tawdry or tacky, but on this particular woman, with her beautiful dark skin and coloring, it was perfect.
She wore plain jewellery; plain pearl studs in each ear, a thick silver chain necklace and two gold bangles on each wrist. The shoes she was wearing were plain black heels. She was dressed very simply and plainly, but she was presentable and well dressed. I guessed that while she was not poor, she was not rich either. She was middle class with perhaps a little money to spare. I stood up from my desk, buttoned my suit jacket up and ventured outside to speak to the two young women.
“Hello,” I greeted the two women. They both looked up from the car they were inspecting and the slightly older of the two women smiled at me, a beautiful, confident smile. “Looking to purchase a car are we?” I asked.
Orange blazer smiled at me again and then spoke.
“Yes,” she answered. “My niece needs a new car.” She had quite a thick accent and I guessed her to be African, though what part of the Continent she was from I didn’t know. But mixed in with her African accent was quite a strong British accent. She was, I guessed, to be what would be referred to as Afro-Caribbean.
“Excellent,” I said. “What were you after?” I showed the two women around the car lot, showing them different types of cars that fitted their brief. I found out more about them as I tried to sell them a car.
Florence was the older of the two women and was the main caregiver of her niece Clementine, whose mother was ill. I admired this beautiful young woman for taking her niece in and raising her on her own. It can’t have been easy when you’ve got an ill sister and young niece, and you’re not that much older than your niece, but she had done a good job, by all accounts. The young girl standing in front of me was polite, friendly and intelligent. I found Florence very endearing. I wanted to find out more about her. I wanted to learn all about her. I wanted to learn her. I was entranced by this women. She was amazing.
After a few hours test driving different cars and seeing what would best meet Clementine’s needs, a small dark green hatchback was chosen. It was from the upper end of second hand, it wasn’t a gas guzzler, it was a smooth ride and easy to manage, seeing as Clementine was a new driver and fresh out of driving school. I slapped a sold sticker across the front windscreen of the car and escorted Florence and Clementine into my office where we discussed payment plans and I got the appropriate forms for them to fill out and did a credit check on Florence, which she passed.
Once all the paperwork had been seen to, I gave Florence the name and number of the local mechanic that we work with, in case she wanted any additional mechanical check-ups done. I handed over ownership of the car and the two women were on their way. I returned to my desk utterly smitten with Florence. She was beautiful. I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
I filed some of the paperwork and flicked back through Florence’s personal details. I saw that she lived on the outskirts of town. I then concocted a plan to perhaps visit Florence and Clementine and check up on them in the guise of seeing if the car was fine and they were happy with it and then seeing where things led with me and Florence. But I couldn’t do this straight away- that would perhaps seem too suspicious or overly eager on my part.
I decided that I would wait a week. After a week, I would visit Florence, check up on her and the car and then see where things went from there. For the seven days leading up to my proposed visit, whenever I had a free moment, I found myself reading through Florence’s details and memorizing them. She was twenty-nine years old, born in Ghana but she held British citizenship and American residency. She was a personal assistant for a CEO of a private hospital and was well educated. I memorized both her cell phone and home telephone numbers, and I was very tempted to ring her and ask if everything was fine with the car.
For three days I thought about doing this, but each time I told myself no, I couldn’t do that. On the beginning of the fourth day, I decided to ring Florence. After dialing the number and waiting for an answer, I suddenly realised how foolish and futile this potentially was. I was about to hang up when I heard a click on the other end and the voicemail message. Thank God , I thought. I left a quick message, of which I asked if everything was okay with the new car, and if they had any questions or issues they could contact us and we could help them solve any problems.
Neither Florence nor Clementine rang me back after I left a message, which was probably a good thing seen as it could potentially disrupt my planned visit to their house, later on that week. I normally didn’t go and check up on customers and make house calls, but I was very, very taken with Florence. I wanted to see her again, I wanted to speak to her and I wanted to find out everything about her. I wanted to see where it could go. This woman was so beautiful and charming and smart, and I was very smitten with her.
On the seventh day, after a painful week-long wait, I decided that I would go on the charm offensive. On my way home from work, I purchased a large bunch of flowers from the local florist and made the drive to the outskirts of town, where Florence and her niece lived. I was worried that Florence wouldn’t be too thrilled that I had studied her details and found where she lived, which was why I had the flowers in hand, as a sort of peace offering, in that event.
I found her house and saw lights on, which was a good indication that someone was home. I parked out on the street, psyched myself up, grabbed the flowers and walked up the path to Florence’s house. I knocked on the door and waited.
After a few moments of shuffling around and muffled noises on the other side of the door, it was opened and Florence stood there in all her glory. She was wearing a long, straight black skirt that skimmed just past her knees, stockings, and a plain red long-sleeve top. Again the bright colour of this top was doing wonders for her skin tone. She looked amazing. Her black hair was piled on top of her head in a large bun and I could see a few pins and clips flick in the light when she moved her head.
“Hello?” she asked, an odd, questioning look crossing her face.
“Hi, Florence,” I started. “I’m Matt Hubbard from Morgenstern Motors, I sold you the car last week and I just wanted to make sure that everything was okay with the car and there were no issues.”
“Thank you very much,” Florence answered, smiling her beautiful smile. If I was smitten before I was even more so now. “The car is fine. Clementine wants to spend every waking minute in her new car.”
I presented Florence with the bunch of flowers. She beamed at me in response and blushed. “Thank you,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”
“Is this a bad time?” I asked, using the flowers as my segue to perhaps gain an invitation inside.
“Not at all. In fact, I was just about to settle down for the evening and watch a movie. Would you care to join me for some wine and cheese?”she asked, moving aside and motioning me inside. Success , I thought smugly. A good movie or book and a wine and cheese platter were rather a weakness of mine, so I gladly accepted the invitation. Things were going good. She hadn’t rejected me or slammed the door in my face, so my hopes started to soar a little.
I came in off the doorstep and Florence took my coat and hung it up on the rack near the front door. She took me through into the lounge and told me to make myself comfortable. “I’ll get a vase for the flowers,” she said. “They’re beautiful, thank you, Matt.”
While Florence was looking for a vase, I took the time to look around the living room and the rest of the house. The house was quite small, it being just on the one level, but it was all open-plan and well laid out. It may have been small, but it was cozy and warm, and I instantly felt very comfortable and at ease. The white walls were modestly decorated, but what decorations and pictures were there were very nice. Most of the photographs on the wall and coffee table were black and white, and on closer inspection I found them to be older members of Florence’s family and obviously taken back in Ghana. There was a lovely, large painting above the TV stand of an African sunset.
Scattered around the living room and dining area were a few other pieces of African artwork and sculptures. On the floor was a large red and orange rug that had been weaved a very intricate looking way. It was different to the standard Persian or European rugs and carpets that most people buy from the store and have in their homes. There were wooden sculptures of giraffes and zebras and ornamental vases and pots of differing shapes and sizes as well. All in all, it was a beautiful house, very comforting and homely feeling.
“That was a nightmare to get through customs,” Florence said, laughing as she came into the living room with the vase of flowers, which she placed in the centre of the small round dining table. I had been crouching down and feeling the rug and I felt myself go red when I realised that she had caught me feeling up her home decor .
“It’s very beautiful,” I said, rising back up to my full height, which was a rather average 5’7.
“Thank you,” she said. “It belonged to my grandparents. It was given to them on their wedding day in 1955. They were both eighteen years old at the time and madly in love.” Florence smiled warmly and with longing, her brown eyes lit up when she spoke of her family.
“Are they still married?” I asked cautiously.
“It will be sixty-one years of marriage next month,” she said. She then corrected herself. “It would have been sixty-one years next month. My grandfather died when I was ten and my grandmother, after a long battle with illness died seven years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling slightly awkward.
Florence waved me off. “It is okay. Sadness and sorrow make you remember the happy times and they cause you to celebrate all the good things and the shared memories that were created.” She smiled at me again and I saw the sadness in her face, but also contentment and understanding of life that can only come with difficulties or troubles that were faced. “Do you mind if I get changed into something more comfortable?” she asked. “I don’t normally make a habit of sitting around in my work clothes.”
“By all means,” I said. “This is your house.”
I sat down on the sofa while Florence went down the hall to her bedroom to get changed. I picked up a photograph from the coffee table and examined it. It was a photo of her as a child, dressed in her Sunday best, her dark hair in two short and stubby little pigtails, ribbons tied in her hair and a cheeky grin on her face. I smiled and put the photo back, looking around the living room. It then struck me that Clementine wasn’t around. She was either in her bedroom, or she had gone out for the night.
“Clementine not here?” I asked, shouting to Florence.
“No,” Florence shouted back. “She is at a friend’s house for the night.”
Score , I thought happily. It meant that, if anything were to happen, we wouldn’t be disturbed. When Florence returned she was wearing her robe, a heavy, fluffy white number, her face was free of all make-up and her hair was down. I noticed that her black hair had inky, slightly blue undertones to it, especially when it glinted in the light. She looked so radiant and beautiful. A true Goddess.
She went through into the kitchen, where she rummaged around preparing the cheese and wine. I heard the clink of glasses as she got some down from the cupboard, and I heard the distinct sound of a knife being pulled from the knife block. You know the sound, as you pull the knife free, it makes that cool shiiiiiinnnnnnk noise, and you feel like a professional chef. I used to do it over and over as a kid, pulling knives from my dad’s knife block. I used to mime cutting vegetables and preparing food when no one else was home. Except one day I cut the tip of my finger off and had to run to the neighbor's house, my hand pissing blood everywhere. Not fun. Not fun at all.
Florence came back into the living room, carrying a wooden board with three different types of cheeses, crackers, grapes, slices of apple and some ham. Apparently for Florence, this was a whole meal, not just a light, pre-dinner snack or treat. I was hungry by this stage, though, so I was rather glad when I saw that she had a whole different selection prepared. She placed the board down on the table, pushing some of the photos back to make room. She managed to juggle the two glasses and a bottle of red in one hand, and in the other she held a bottle of white wine. I got up and helped her with this so that nothing was broken or spilled.
“Thank you,” Florence said. She sat down close to me and I caught a subtle whiff of her scent, which reminded me of sunshine and summer. “Reserve judgement please Matt, but tonight’s film is a very girly, very cliché romantic movie.”
“My favourite type of film,” I said. Florence laughed and told me that I was a bad liar. As Florence had told me, the movie was predictable; clichéd, girly, chick flick dribble and as the non-existent plot progressed, I found myself hating the movie more and more, but I was glad that food and wine were there, otherwise I don’t know if I could have survived that. I was just glad to be in Florence’s company, though, and I was glad that she hadn’t rejected me when I first appeared on her doorstep.
Perhaps it was the wine and rich food starting to go to my head, but as the night progressed I found myself increasingly distracted by the beautiful woman sitting next to me. She noticed that I was staring and she gave me a questioning look.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare. But you’re just so beautiful.”
Florence blushed and cast her eyes downwards modestly, but when she looked back up, she was smiling in response, and I saw the hint of flirtation in her medium brown gaze. Her eyes were the colour of hazelnuts - a warm, medium sort of brown. Dark brown, but not so dark as to be considered dark , dark, and light brown but not so light as to be considered light, light. They were a very pretty medium brown.
Feeling confident, thanks in part to the wine and the flirtatious looks Florence was sending me, I decided to go for it. I leaned in to kiss her. She had full, soft lips, and the two seconds our lips were connected were heaven for me. She pulled away rather quickly and I was afraid I had done something wrong or misinterpreted the signs. I was relieved when I saw her put her glass of wine down and smiled invitingly at me.
I leaned in once more and we kissed. This time, it was longer and steamier. We started out kissing slow, taking our time and getting to know the other. You can tell a lot about someone or the sexual encounter you’re about to have by the kiss. Some women who are shy, coy or even inexperienced give small kisses. They either don’t know what to do, or they haven’t figured out their personal nuances or ticks yet and they are happy to do as instructed. Then there are the women who like to control the other person with their kiss. They lead in this dance, setting the tone and pace for what is to come. Florence was a mixture between the two.
After five minutes of gentle lip service, it was amped up a notch when I felt her lips part underneath mine. I gently pushed my tongue up against her mouth and it opened further. I felt her tongue against mine and I heard her moan softly. I decided then and there that Florence was the quietly confident type. She was confident within herself and her abilities, but she wasn’t taking over or trying to control me. She knew what she was doing, but she wasn’t brazen about it.
Don’t get me wrong, I like a confident woman. I like a woman who knows what she wants and knows what to do. It’s always been fun to be at the mercy of a woman who’s using me for her own needs and desires, but this right now, what I had with Florence, was better.
The kiss became quicker and more rapid, both of us getting lost in the desire and the need, our tongues pressing up and sliding over each other. I was rather aroused at this stage and I felt my erection starting to press up against the zip of my suit pants. I leaned into Florence more and placed my hands in her hair, drawing her closer still, my personal desire over-riding any consideration for Florence’s comfort. She broke away from the kiss, smiling and laughing at me. She stood up from the sofa, still smiling.
“Okay then,” she giggled. She untied her white fluffy robe and let it fall to the floor. Underneath she was wearing only a silk chemise. It was short and sheer, edged with lace around the top and hem. She looked phenomenal. Her breasts were average size, but I could see her nipples pressed up against the sheer fabric. She was wearing underwear, but she looked at me dead straight with her beautiful brown eyes and slipped her panties down her legs, kicking them off when they got to her ankles.
My eyes scanned all over her body, from her curvy waist and hips to her perky breasts and then the slight shadow of dark hair underneath the chemise. I was in heaven. I could have died right then and there and I’d have been a very happy man. Florence was beautiful and incredibly sexy standing there in her little silk chemise. She smiled at my dazed expression. She retreated back down the hall, but before she disappeared entirely, she said, “I expect you to be naked when I return.”
Well, she didn’t have to tell me twice. I undressed so quickly, loosening my tie, untucking my shirt and taking my pants and socks off, throwing these all aside, standing nude in Florence’s living room. If there was a world record for undressing the quickest, I probably broke it. Florence was still smiling when she returned from her bedroom with a condom packet in hand. Now it was her turn to examine me and see what I had to offer. My cock, which is long and thin, was standing stiffly to attention under Florence’s scrutiny.
I am well aware that my cock is not the thickest you’ll ever see, I am very much aware of that, but I find this no hindrance, even if slight disappointment crosses the faces of some women when they first see it. My cock is long and thin, and I find that I can hit certain places when having sex with women that can drive them crazy. Florence didn’t seem disappointed when seeing my dick for the first time, which was a relief for me seen as everyone knows the stereotypes and cliches about black men, and I simply assumed that she might only have ever slept with black men.
Florence and I sat back down on the sofa, resuming what we were doing before, except this time we were kissing with more urgency and desire. I cupped her breast through the silk chemise and I felt her nipple go hard instantly, a firm little point through the soft fabric. Florence moaned against my mouth and my arousal grew. She felt for my hand, and when she found it she pressed the condom packet into my palm. I broke away from the kiss, tore open the foil and rolled the condom onto me, discarding the packet on the rug which had once belonged to Florence’s grandparents.
With me now protected, Florence moved so that she was astride me, her dark gorgeous thighs next to my considerably paler thighs. She shuffled forward and I felt myself just shy of her entrance. I felt her hand grip the base of my cock as she very slowly lowered herself onto me. She closed her eyes, leaned forward and made a low ‘mmmmmmm,’ sound on first contact, which grew slightly louder when she had my whole length inside her. She slowly bounced up and down on me, testing the waters and trying to figure out how to go about this.
“You’re so deep,” she whispered in my ear. “Oh my God,” she mumbled when I started thrusting inside her, slowly and deeply. I smiled at her comment, thinking that it was one of the perks of having a cock that was long and thin. Slowly and deeply I went, rolling my hips with the motion, gaining a great deal of satisfaction from Florence moaning and mumbling. Slowly but surely I went, deep inside her, holding Florence to me as I thrust inside her.
I was very slow and deliberate with my pace and my thrusts. I wanted to savour this moment here with Florence. All week I had waited for this, and I had no intention of this being a quick shag. Slowly and deeply she rode me, commenting on how deep I was inside her every now and then, which of course served to bolster my male pride.
She started moving with me, rolling her hips with mine. Her eyes were closed but her face was contorted with the pleasure and I heard her moaning and her ragged breathing. This became faster as she built up to an orgasm, and as it washed over her she opened her mouth and moaned audibly, clenching her muscles as I felt them spasm around me, but I stayed in the same position, hitting the same spots, moving inside Florence slowly and deeply. She felt so good. In fact, she felt incredible. I looked down at her chest and saw her breasts moving up and down, the dark nipples two firm points against the silky fabric.
I moaned loudly when Florence bucked and gyrated her hips, wrapping her arms around me, my face pressed to her chest. I could feel her rapid heartbeat and hear her breaths coming quick and regular. I felt my own orgasm slowly starting to build, so, holding Florence’s hips, I increased the speed and slammed myself into her. She returned this motion and for a while, the only sound in the room was our flesh slapping together, her moans and my groans as I felt my impending orgasm.
Florence cried out again with another orgasm, clenching herself tightly around me. In one full motion I came, still thrusting deeply inside her, filling the condom with my fluid. I kissed her as we finished together, both of us coming back down to earth at the exact same moment.
Florence very gently pulled herself off me, holding the base of my cock so as not to make a mess or potentially break the condom. Florence leaned over to the coffee table and handed me a tissue from the box next to the half-eaten plate of food and the empty wine bottles.
“You didn’t come here just to check on the car you sold us and to give me flowers,” Florence stated.
“Yes I did,” I replied, trying to maintain my guise.
“I told you before Matt, that you’re a bad liar,” she said, laughing. She snuggled up against me and I kissed the top of her beautiful head.
“Truth be told this last week you’ve been on my mind constantly. I found myself thinking of you all the time during the quiet times at work, which was all the time,” I chuckled a little. “I’ve been smitten since the first time I laid eyes on you.”
“Thank you for checking up on me Matt.” She moved her head and kissed me, her tongue exploring my mouth, giving me the answer I had been desperately seeking for a week.
Author’s Note: Check out my other stories, the Jeff and Brianne series, Lesbifriends, Lesbinaughty, The Holiday, Revenge Affair, Another Revenge Affair, Our Little Secret, Love Nest, Paradise lost & found, Misfit Love, After-hours Antics, The Bachelor Party, La prisonnier Francais, Maîtresse en titre, Maîtresse en titre dans l’amour, Mrs Malcolm, Just What I Needed and Study Break.
Avriella
- 04.11.2021
- 41
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- Category:
- Interracial
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