Her Biggest Negotiation free porn video

Waiting out front of the airport for an available limousine, I looked across at the beautiful Caribbean landscape off in the distance. The balmy temperature and tropical scenery were a stark contrast to the overcast skies and cold temperatures I had left behind at home that morning.

I was in the French West Indies, for a week-long session of meetings of legal counsel in advance of the ratification of a pending international treaty. To be sure, there had been no complaints about the location for the conference by those tasked with attending. The only caveat being the nagging assumption that there wouldn't be very many opportunities to take advantage of the beaches, French restaurants, or shopping while we were there due to workloads and meeting commitments.

I had kissed my husband and children goodbye that morning, and wished that they could be there with me to see the breathtaking scenery.

Eventually, I was able to flag a limousine, which took along an ocean road to the north end of the island.  We lawyers from all the signatory nations were all to be encamped at the same luxury resort; and when I was shown to my lavish suite, it was all I could do not to drop my jaw. It was exquisite, to say the least - open terrace from the bedroom with a panoramic view of the turquoise ocean. Granite bathroom fixtures; even a sunken granite hot tub on the private patio. Looking around the room, I sighed when I thought I might not be able to take full advantage of such gorgeous accommodations. Though I had come prepared with a couple of bikinis, I wondered if I'd ever have cause to wear one.

The conference began that very afternoon with a reception and a keynote address, and there looked to be more than a hundred people in attendance.  Clearly, the beautiful location had dramatically reduced the number of 'no shows'. The weather was beautiful but hot, and the air conditioning notwithstanding, we all felt a little silly in our formal business attire. We women could at least wear skirts and heels and summery blouses beneath our jackets.

Waiters brought us all flutes filled with Veuve Cliquot champagne, and a French delegate gave a welcoming speech. Afterwards, we were all milling about when a few members of the delegation from the United Kingdom arrived late. My eyes - indeed the eyes of every woman in the room - were drawn to a tall, strikingly handsome young black man in their group.

In truth, he looked far too young to be a lawyer with a practice in international law (at least relative to my fifty-five years), perhaps thirty at the oldest, and, though dressed in a beautiful grey suit, white shirt and black tie, he appeared to be blessed with the body of an Olympic track and field athlete. He was absolutely gorgeous, and I think every woman in the room proceeded to undress him with their eyes.

The champagne flowed, and perhaps it was the Caribbean location, but the atmosphere was upbeat and effervescent despite the serious work ahead of us that week.

At one point, I found myself standing alone out on the deck overlooking the ocean below, glass of champagne in hand. Suddenly, I heard someone approaching and turned.  It was the handsome young black man from England.

He smiled and introduced himself - his name was James - and relative to my five-foot-one-inch frame, he appeared to stand in the neighbourhood of six-foot-four-inches. His voice - accented with an elegant English accent - was deep and incredibly sexy for someone so young (I later learned that he was all of twenty-eight). We began chatting about the conference, and I soon learned that his devastating good looks were complemented by an equally agreeable personality (not to mention gobs of charm).

Indeed, he was quite the specimen: youth, looks, charm, education, style, and a body that, judging from the form-fitting, well-cut suit he had on, was fit for a Playgirl centrefold. Standing there chatting with him, I guessed that the notches on his belt, or the trophy panties in his dresser, might already fill a trunk.

Though our conversation was completely professional, there was something in his penetrating eyes and confident demeanour that made me feel like we were the only two people on the deck. I felt myself blushing in response to his attentions. Though right-handed, some sub-conscious impulse made me bring my champagne glass to my lips with my left (wedding-fingered) hand. I laughed to myself, feeling slightly silly, as I was old enough to be his mother (in fact, James was the same age as my son, and only a year older than my daughter!) That said, he was, as my daughter would say, "ridiculously hot."

That said, and despite my better instincts, there was still something unmistakably flirtatious in his tone and demeanour; and as such, bizarre as it seemed that someone so young was paying me that kind of attention. I felt a girlish and playful tingle in my tummy that I hadn't felt in many, many years.

In my defence, I am by most accounts 'very well preserved' and look somewhat younger than my drivers' licence declares. I am also considered quite attractive. I have a wavy mane of long, blond hair (albeit from a bottle now, to cover the all too obvious grey), sparkling green eyes, full lips, flat tummy, and a fit (though curvaceous and fleshier) figure. My hips are wider, and my bum far rounder than when I was a younger woman, but I am still very attractive to men. My breasts, I am proud to say, though very large, have remained firm and buoyant and have managed to stave off gravity's worst.

Though hardly high maintenance, I am quite concerned with my appearance, and do all that I can to look my best and maintain my looks as I approach, gasp, sixty. As a self-acknowledged shopaholic, I make sure to always dress as stylishly as I can. On that particular day, I had my hair up and wore a black Dior skirt, white blouse, a set of pearls, and black Manolo Blahnik heels. Given the heat, I had opted to leave my matching black jacket in my suite - one decision for most women in my situation to make; quite another for someone so conspicuously large-busted.

Though opened to the appropriate button at the beginning of the reception, over the course of the day and in response to the delicious tropical heat, I had undone a few more buttons on my blouse. Though by no means too daring, my blouse did afford a meagre glimpse of the lacy white (a formidable size 32GG) bra beneath. I confess I had a little fun catching James stealing occasional peeks at the top of my tastefully-exposed décolletage.

With the opening day's schedule concluded, we all retired to our respective suites for the evening. I had to admit, my encounter with James left me feeling a little buzzed and I found myself watching for him the next morning. In my thirty-two years of marriage, I had never strayed or been unfaithful to my husband. And though I didn't intend to change that, my nascent fixation was something I hadn't felt before. I kept telling myself that I was being stupid. That beyond an innocent and harmless thrill, it was truly much ado about nothing.

Observing James from afar throughout the day's meetings and discussions, I couldn't help but notice that he garnered a great deal of attention from the female lawyers at the conference. There didn't seem to be a single issue that groups of women didn't feel compelled to 'discuss' with him. More than one of the other men must have felt slightly chagrined by all the attention he was getting.

That evening, I had just changed out of my business attire and into more weather-appropriate flip-flops, sleeveless tee, and short sarong, when the phone in my suite rang. To my surprise, it was James! I was completely taken aback and found myself stammering a little when he invited me to dinner. With a smile on my face, I graciously accepted. I quickly changed into something a bit more formal, and the two us taxied our way to a lovely French restaurant in the nearby town.

It was impossible not to appreciate the incredibly romantic setting of the restaurant: ambient lighting, flowers, the European flavour, and the fragrance of the Caribbean ocean wafting in from the water's edge nearby.

The food was superb, the wine just as good, and the two of us happily sat across the intimate table from each other, talking about anything and everything for hours. He genuinely fascinated me, and I seemed to intrigue him equally, judging by his attentiveness. Having married quite young, I had never dated a black man as a younger woman.  I found him incredibly sexy. 

And despite the difference in our ages, he seemed mature beyond his years; bright and wildly engaging. We seemed to share so many interests. I couldn't understand how he could possibly be single.

At one point, perhaps carried away by the effects of the wine or the flirtatious conversation or both, my mood got the better of me.

"I hope you're not repulsed by this, but if I were about thirty years younger and not incredibly married, I would be summoning all my powers of feminine persuasion to seduce you, young man," I said.  “Oops, did I say that out loud?"

James flashed his perfect white teeth in a broad, confident smile.

"Please," he countered. "First, you're hardly old.  Second, I'm wildly flattered not repulsed; and third, I would be very, very okay with you trying to seduce me, Sara.  You're incredibly charming and intelligent, and a very sexy, very attractive woman."

My young companion proved to be extremely good for my ego.  His attentions, flattering compliments, and his ability to make me feel like the absolute centre of the room, was practically making me swoon. I found myself unconsciously fingering my wedding ring as the evening wore on.

We left around midnight, and the buzz of the evening and my young 'date's' dazzling charm left me feeling a little light-headed. James, ever the gentleman, saw me to my door. There was an awkward pause - the kind of pause where under different circumstances we would have kissed - before I bade him goodnight. Leaning with my back against the inside of my closed door, I let out a soft sigh.

The next day, I found myself watching for him yet again, and felt a pang of disappointment when he failed to show (he finally appeared after lunch, looking incredibly 'dishy' as usual). Again, I felt like a silly school girl, but when I did see him, I felt a conspicuous flutter in my tummy.

I was absolutely loath to admit it, but in our short time together it seemed that I had developed an unmistakable crush on this man young enough to be my son! I shook my head at the realization and experienced the first genuine pangs of marital and parental guilt. It was all so crazy, not to mention implausible.

I had managed to talk myself down from the high of my naive little fantasy world when I became conscious of some very nice men's cologne in my orbit. I turned to find James smiling his million-dollar, panty-dampening smile. I demurred and blushed a little before smiling back. I think it was then that I first fully appreciated the intensity of the attraction I felt for him (and what he might have felt for me, unless I was completely deluding myself) despite the untenable situation, that was, my marriage, my children, and James's age.

Our meetings finished for the day by early afternoon. I told myself that under no circumstances would I initiate anything further, so was both excited and anxious when James invited me to do a little shopping and perhaps have an early dinner together.

The weather was glorious. We changed into casual clothes and walked along the ocean into the centre of town. The streets were quaint and charming, and dotted with the designer label stores you'd expect to see in Paris. In his fashionable shorts, polo top, and designer sneakers, James looked incredibly handsome. What was more, his casual outfit afforded me a better opportunity to fully appreciate his beautiful body.  Broad-shoulders, narrow waist, all incredibly buff.

It was hard for me not to drool. At one point, as we were crossing the street, a car flew by us travelling incredibly fast. James grabbed my wrist protectively, and I couldn't help but notice that he had incredibly large hands.

After window-shopping for a while, we came across a store that carried my absolute favourite line of French lingerie. I had never been able to purchase any of their selections other than online, so my excitement at the chance of visiting one of their stores in person was considerable. I was prepared to do some serious browsing even with James there with me, but he decided to leave me to it by myself and try to find a wine store. We would meet me back at the lingerie store a bit later.

In the best French I could manage, after browsing all the beautiful bras and panties, I asked if I could try some on. Perhaps owing to European conventions, the store's change rooms afforded one a lot less than total privacy. I slipped out of my clothes and tried on a beautiful matching bra and panty set in an incredibly delicate, semi-sheer turquoise lace. I must have been browsing longer than I thought, because just as I emerged from the change room to show the female sales clerk how it fit, James approached, wine bottle in hand.

I was slightly horrified, standing there in front of him in incredibly brief underwear. My nipples and pubic hair were distinctly visible through the semi-sheer fabric.

"Oh my god, don't look!" I cried with a bashful grin. "This is so embarrassing! Don't you dare make a face!"

I hurried back into the change room and closed the door, but not quick enough to deny James a good look. With the most adorably sweet and reassuring tone of voice, James spoke to me through the slatted change room door.

"Sara, please believe me when I say that you are absolutely stunning. Your husband is a very lucky man. You have the sexiest, most beautiful body I think I've ever seen."

Blushing but flattered, I managed a quiet 'thank you' from behind the change room door.  I was so touched by his kind words.

I objected vigorously when James then insisted on buying the bra and panty set for me as a present. I tried and tried to say no, but he would not back down. The clerk wrapped my purchases and we left. By that time, it was already dusk, and as we made our way to a district that had been recommended for good restaurants, we came upon a little outdoor bar with live music.

Couples were slow dancing to the sensual music. It was crowded and some were almost dancing on the sidewalk. Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed James, drew him into the throng of couples, and started a slow dance with him. We both giggled playfully but soon let the music take over.

I pressed myself against him and he held me close with his strong arms. His cologne filled my nostrils. I could feel his taut torso as we embraced. Finally, 'our song' ended and we stood apart, somewhat awkwardly, sharing a silent moment together, only smiling.

James quickly bought a long-stemmed rose from a street vendor and presented me to it. I positively beamed. I smelled the flower's fragrance and kissed him softly on the cheek. 

The initial rush of sentiment was followed by a wave of guilt, but I managed a sincere, heartfelt thank you just the same.

"Oh James, you are so incredibly sweet."

Still struggling with my feelings, he picked another ridiculously romantic location for dinner. This time our table directly overlooked the ocean, which was a mere ten feet or so below the ledge at our table. Again, the food and wine were beyond reproach; and again, we settled into a long, enjoyable, immensely flirtatious conversation about everything from art to philosophy.

Eventually, our conversation came around to sex. Once again, the wine loosened my inhibitions and self-censorship. Begging my husband forgiveness in absentia, I lamented the fact that paradoxically, as his sex drive had waned, and as I had gotten older, mine seemed to increase exponentially. Indeed, I confessed, my desire for sex was sometimes unquenchable.

We talked about all the wonderful nuances and variations of intimacy, great sex, and passionate love-making, including the important distinctions between them; and seemed to be in complete agreement about absolutely every aspect when it came to sex. I was left with the very strong impression that he was doubtless an incredibly capable and attentive lover, and that he knew well the finer points of making love to a woman.

I silently envied the women who would benefit from his skill and passion in the bedroom. I had never been with a black man before, but my mind wandered to lusty thoughts, and the sex mythology in respect of male penis size got the better of me for a moment.

I expressed my bafflement that he was still single, and suggested that there had to be a legion of young women banging down his door on a nightly basis. He smiled softly but averted his eyes, almost shyly, and looked down.

"Great sex, even just good sex, can be very elusive," he said quietly.

I said it was that way for us all, but he continued and I sensed that there was something that troubled him.

"It can be frustrating, finding that someone you're physically compatible with," he continued.

I could see that there was something he wanted to talk about yet didn't. Since I didn't understand what he meant, I asked him to explain. "What do you mean by 'physically compatible?'" I asked.

"Never mind," he answered. "It's not important."

My female curiosity was piqued, and I could see that it WAS important to him. I tried to get him to tell me what it was with gentle teasing.

"Young man, you know I'm not going to let you leave this restaurant without telling me, right? I'm an incredibly stubborn woman and I find the topic of sex fascinating," I said with a smile.

James smiled back, and then paused, choosing his words carefully.

"Let's just say that a lot of women turn me down."

"Turn you down?" I shot back. "Why on earth would they do that? You're the sexiest man I've ever met! Are they crazy?"

"They tend to... shy away from me," he replied with a bit of a sigh.

His slightly sad tone touched me, and I had to know more, so I pressed him. He asked that we talk about something else and I could see that he was wishing he hadn't brought it up. But my curiosity now had the better of me. As gently and diplomatically as I could, I pressed him one last time to explain to me why women could possibly be reluctant to make love to him. He paused again, searching for the right words.

"Women tend to shy away at the moment of truth."

"But why?" I asked, still incredulous.

"Let's just say that most women find sex with me to be quite uncomfortable and/or painful, at least initially."

When it finally occurred to me what he was referring to, I felt my face go flush and a wave of butterflies course through my tummy.

"Oh, I see," I said, no doubt showing my blush. I looked into his eyes. "You mean women are intimidated by your size?"

He nodded, looking away a little uncomfortably. I felt my heart flutter in my chest.

"Awww, sweetie. Really? I believe that when you really care for someone, you can overcome almost anything. There are things you can do... to make it less... I mean..." I stammered.

"Not if the woman refuses to even try, or worse if it just doesn't... fit," he said.

As difficult as it was not to react to his confession with wide-eyed shock and awe, I tried my best not to sound TOO shocked or prying.

"My goodness! Really? You mean sometimes you're too big to fit inside a woman's... "

Again, he nodded.

I couldn't imagine something big enough to scare a woman off without at least trying. But then I thought about my own past.

"Can I ask, were these younger women?"

"Some," he answered. "But some were older."

"I see," I said. "Let me tell you a story from my own past. When I was much, much younger, I went to bed with a guy who was extremely large. I got scared and made excuses about not wanting to have sex before marriage, but the truth was that I was afraid he would hurt me. But when a woman matures, and certainly after she's had children, that fear goes away. In fact, sweetie, as women age, they become more and more turned on and excited about the prospect of sex with a man who's big. I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but I regret turning that boy down to this day."

James looked up and our eyes met.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied, with a look loaded with subtext.

"Poor lamb, my husband is rather small," I said. "I love him dearly, but sometimes I have the most intense fantasies about a lover with a..."

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Perhaps we SHOULD talk about something else," I said.

We moved on and talked mostly about the work still to do before we all headed off in different directions at week's end. We walked back to the resort, both feeling a little tipsy, and once again James escorted me to my door. Once again, there was an awkward moment as we said our goodnights; however, this time I took his hand in mine and kissed him softly on the check.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening," I said.

The next day we broke off into our own delegate groups for much of the day, and I didn't see James at all. I privately worried that the things I had said the night before had spooked him into thinking he had a sex-crazed older woman after him. Still, I almost pined to see him. This of course only reinforced the feelings of guilt I was grappling with. I tried to put it all out of my mind and focus on the task at hand.

Our meetings finished at midday and I decided to take advantage of a rare opportunity to take in a leisurely swim in the ocean and enjoy some sun tanning.

Back in my suite, a cool bossa nova played softly over the bathroom's sound system as I stood before the floor-length mirror. I stripped off my dress and silk stockings and appraised myself in my lacy bra and panties. Though I was far fleshier than I'd been even ten years ago, I remained happy with most of what I saw. Mine was a woman's body, to be sure; conspicuously large breasts still relatively firm despite their size and weight, with little sag, slim waist, legs still shapely.

I stripped off my bra and brief panties and put on my new sea foam-coloured bikini. The way the top buttressed and fore-grounded my huge bust made me feel sexy; the tiny bottoms emphasized the curvy, hourglass lines of my waist and hips. Donning sunglasses, I wrapped a sarong around my waist and put up my long silvery-blond hair.

When I stepped off my patio and onto the beach proper, I spotted James and a few women from the conference already enjoying the beach and sun! Apparently, they had had the same ideas as me.

Having had no contact with him at all that day, and with him being surrounded by a gaggle of younger, bikini-clad colleagues, I felt myself experiencing a silly pang of jealousy. I stifled my feminine response and smiled and waved to them as I approached. In the bright sun, James' beautiful black skin contrasted with the all-white entourage around him, but there was something else that accentuated that contrast. 

Consistent with European trends in men's swimwear, James was wearing an incredibly form-fitting, Riviera-style men's box-cut. He stood to adjust his beach recliner as I approached and I took full advantage of my dark sunglasses to drink in his panty-dampening body: incredibly taut and chiselled, with a gloriously tight ass, broad shoulders, and a washboard stomach you could bounce quarters off. But when he turned to smile at me, I felt a tingle deep in my lower belly, since through the thin nylon fabric of his powder blue swimsuit, I could easily make out the distinct outline of his dormant manhood.

It was absolutely huge. The outline of the soft (albeit wrist-thick) shaft extended all the way to his hip. It was all I could not to drop my towel and jaw. His somewhat pained confession the previous night suddenly made a lot more sense. James was clearly a very, very big boy.

The group of us exchanged pleasantries and acknowledged the postcard-worthy weather and setting. I was by no means alone in my appreciation of James' conspicuous endowment.  As he stood, several other women fixed their eyes on his eye-popping package. Unfortunately, like someone unable to resist staring at the sun, I looked up too late and noticed James had already caught me staring at the front of his swimsuit.

At one point, after observing that as a black man sun tanning held less fascination for him than the group of us Caucasian women, he got up to take a plunge in the turquoise waters. With it now just us women, the conversation immediately turned to the subject of James.

"Oh my god," sighed one woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties. "I think I just experienced a visual orgasm from looking at his body."

"Honestly, I've never seen one that big before.  It reaches all the way to his hip!" added another.

"He would tear me in two with that thing," gasped another, a dumbfounded grin on her face. "But oh my god, what a way to go!"

I smiled a little bashfully as the group of them tried to estimate the size of his flaccid organ (the final consensus being roughly nine inches). If that were true I thought to myself, in a soft state James (in addition to being noticeably thicker already) was double the length of my husband's erection!

Finally, one of the women turned to me and smiled.

"Don't mind us, we're just jealous.  All he can talk about is you and how gorgeous and fascinating you are."

I didn't know what to say.

"It figures," she added. "The only woman amongst us with a wedding ring on her finger, and that's the one he wants."

James emerged from the water, before his appreciative audience, looking more ripped and impressive than ever. The group of us enjoyed an hour or so in the sun before our numbers began to dwindle. Eventually, only James and I remained. I lay there, unable to shake the image of his enormous endowment from my mind's eye.

"I think I'm going to pack up and head back to my suite," he said.

With a slightly trembling voice and my heart in my throat, and before I could talk myself out of it, I threw caution to the wind.

"Would you care to join me in my suite for a glass of wine?" I asked.

James smiled and eagerly accepted my offer.

The two of us grabbed our robes and walked the short distance back to my suite. I could feel his eyes on my bikini-clad body as I walked slightly ahead of him. Suddenly self-conscious about my motives for inviting this handsome young black man back to my room, I tried to lighten the air by engaging in some superficial small talk and thereby avoid thinking about what was really going on: that the two of us were likely about to make love.

Once inside, we remained in our swimsuits, and I uncorked a bottle of sauvignon blanc; pouring a healthy-sized glass for each of us. We clinked glasses and agreed to enjoy our wine out on the secluded patio.

"I love the colour of your bikini," said James.

I thanked him, and, looking down, drew my fingers across the front panel of my skimpy, sea foam-coloured bikini bottoms.

"I love your swimsuit, too.  Very sexy," I said. "Can I ask you a question? I hope it won't embarrass you."

"Ask anything you want," he answered confidently.

I looked up into his eyes then back down to the front of his swimsuit.

"Being so well endowed, do you have a difficult time finding a swimsuit that fits properly and isn't uncomfortable for you to wear?"

"I have to buy something in a fabric that stretches a lot, and even then I usually buy a suit with a waist size several sizes bigger than I need so it's much roomier in the front," he explained.

I felt light-headed with lust and was losing all composure or discretion. I eyed the granite hot tub next to our chairs.

"Would you like to sit in the hot tub? I've got it set for a temperature that's actually quite refreshing."

"I would love that," he replied.

I felt my hands shaking, but there was no turning back.  I was going to be unfaithful to my husband.

"I don't mean to put you on the spot, but it feels so much better in the nude," I said, the quiver in my voice betraying my school girl case of nervous excitement.

"It's so true.  I'm okay with it if you are," said James.

Old enough to be his mother, I slipped off my bikini and stood before him in the nude, taking a liberal sip of wine to steady myself. As I stepped down into the foaming, temperate waters, I caught my reflection in the sliding doors leading to the bedroom and its king-size bed; the bikini tan lines drawing the eye to the small, neatly-trimmed patch of pubic hair between my thighs and the palm-sized areolas of my heavy, undulating breasts.

The water seemed to calm me. "It feels wonderful," I purred.

James coolly stepped out of his swimsuit and stood before me; nonchalantly laying it atop his robe. My face went crimson as I looked up and caught sight of his now fully unveiled manhood. He remained stoic when he heard me stifle an involuntary gasp.

Indeed, I had never seen anything like it. Though forewarned, the size of it still completely took my breath away. It was monstrously large; the length of it tapering down from a tiny patch of tightly-curled pubic hair. Still dormant, it was difficult to assess what was more impressive - the trunk-like thickness or the awe-inspiring length. It swung heavily between his strong thighs: enormous, thick-veined, and capped with a huge, pleasingly-shaped head almost the size of my fist.

He smiled then feigned nervousness, tentatively touching the water with his toe, before slowly stepping into it; the sheer weight of his flaccid penis causing it to swing in an exaggerated arc between his thighs.

The hot tub was enormous, and we set our wine glasses on the black granite edge and moved around in the water. Again, almost by some unwritten agreement, we engaged in some playful though superficial conversation. Beneath the bubbly waters, I could clearly see the ebony anaconda swaying between his legs.

"It feels so good, doesn't it?" I commented. "Being in the nude in the warm water."

"Feels wonderful," he replied, drawing his hand across his broad, wet chest.

The air was electric with sexual tension that neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge. There was a long pause before I finally capitulated.

"So, James, what's a gorgeous young man like you doing soaking in a hot tub in the nude with a married woman older enough to be your mother?"

James fixed his beautiful eyes upon mine.

"Sara, please, you're all I can think about. I haven't been able to think about anything but you since I first saw you from across the room that first day. You're the sexiest woman I've ever met. I don't care how old you are."

My heart was in my throat.

"Really?" I asked, blushing.

"I can't get you out of my mind. I know it's wrong; that you're married, with children. But I can't help it.  All I can think about is kissing you; making love to you."

"Darling," I sighed. "I want that, too."

Without taking our eyes off each other, James slowly but deliberately moved towards me in the water. My chest heaved and I could feel my pulse racing.

He gently brushed the loose strands of hair from my eyes and tucked them behind my ear. I could feel my body trembling. Reaching down, he placed his full, sensuous lips on mine. My whole body came alive with the touch of his lips on mine. Soft and gentle and delicate, our kisses slowly became more and more passionate. Placing a large hand on my waist, he drew me in closer. I sighed when his giant organ brushed against my hip. With his other hand behind my neck, he gently nibbled my ear lobe and traced a line of kisses down my throat. I was quickly losing all sense of control; his kisses were making my legs weak and the area between my legs ache.

"I've wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you," he said in that deep, sexy voice.

Finally, he slowly took my hand and placed it on his huge penis. I looked down, my smallish hand was absolutely dwarfed by it; my fingers unable to grasp all the way around it.

"Oh my god," I sighed.

"Big, isn't it?" he said; a confident grin forming on his lips.

I could only nod in the affirmative.

"Why don't we dry off," he asked.

Again, all I could manage was a silent nod. We emerged from the foaming waters and lovingly dried each other off; exchanging passionate kisses as he towelled my fleshy behind with his huge hands. I took James's hand in mine and led him to the expanse of my king-size bed. "Sit down, darling," I said, kneeling between his parted thighs.

His penis was rapidly getting even bigger, and lay heavily across his hip. The size of his giant black stalk defied description.  I could only marvel at the dimensions of it and wonder in awe how any vagina could truly accommodate it without at least some tearing.

"It's okay to use both hands," he said, looking down.

I dutifully complied; drawing back and forth on the taut foreskin with both hands. It felt more like a smooth, velvety baseball bat than a penis, simultaneously scaring me and firing my lust.

"Don't be afraid of it, okay?" said James, in a way that sounded like both a tender reassurance and a desperate plea. "If you get scared, I'm not going to be able to fit it inside you at all."

"I'll try not to, darling," I stammered, my eyes fixed upon easily the biggest penis I'd ever set eyes on, including those I'd had the pleasure of admiring in the couples-oriented videos I secretly watched on my computer at home.

"It's okay to want it, Sara.  A nice, big black cock. It's okay to be curious."

He ran his fingers through my hair at the back of my neck.

"You want it, don't you, luv? Even though it scares you," he said. "You want to know what it feels like to have something this big inside that beautiful little white pussy of yours."

Indeed, as formidable a challenge as James was likely to be, I wanted him to touch me in places I'd never been touched before.  I wanted to experience the physical cocktail of pleasure and pain that women doubtless encountered when they offered him their invariably virgin-tight nether regions.

"Oh my god, darling.  Yes, I want you inside me," I gasped. "But please be patient with me, okay? I don't want you to damage my insides."

James kissed me tenderly on the lips.

"I promise to be as gentle as I can, luv. But you're going to have to trust me, too.  I may have to push it a little sometimes. The important thing is that you relax."

"You need to get me very, very wet," I implored, feeling a little drugged with lust. "But first I want to taste you. I want to see if your enormous cock will fit in my little mouth."

I positioned myself between his thighs; cupping his sac with one hand, then stroking his huge, hardening shaft with both. I kissed along the surface of it and playfully nibbled it with my teeth, leaving a long smear of lipstick along the length of it. I felt like a wanton bitch in heat. I marvelled at the weight of it in my hands, lifting it and tracing my tongue along the underside. The smell of his sex filled my nostrils. Squeezing the trunk-like shaft, a large pearly drop of pre-cum oozed from the tip. I pursed my lips and suckled the salty discharge.

I'd always been highly skilled at pleasuring a man orally, but somehow this was different.  With my husband, it had become just that, 'pleasuring him orally.'  With James, it was pure carnality. This was 'sucking cock' - a massive one at that - plain and simple. I spat as much saliva on it as I could muster.

"Good girl," said James encouragingly. "Lots of spit."

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and enveloped the huge head. James closed his eyes as I began swirling my tongue about the head. With my hands working the rest of his colossal shaft, I leaned in and managed to force a bit more into my mouth. He was so thick my tongue was largely trapped against the bottom of my mouth. My nostrils flared as I was forced to breathe through my nose. I leaned forward again and felt the head press against the back of my throat. I tried to relax, fighting off the reflex to gag.

The combined actions of pumping and sucking quickly drew James towards orgasm. He groaned from the pleasure of it and leaned back on his hands. I began to fellate him with greater and greater enthusiasm; the sound of my saliva churning in my mouth was positively obscene. Spit seeped from my lips and trickled down his shaft and over my fingers.

"Oh sweetie, that's right.  Suck that big black dick," groaned James; my mouth stuffed with a mere fraction of his oversized manhood.

As my efforts continued unabated, I felt his sac tighten.

"I'm going to cum, Sara," he warned. Unable to speak, I grunted my acquiescence. I wanted desperately to swallow every last drop of his cum.

Another moment or two passed before a volcanic burst of warm cum exploded down my throat. The volume of it was staggering. I swallowed hard, and often, for several seconds in a desperate effort not to gag. But despite my best efforts, a cascade of white discharge exploded from my mouth and mixed with the spit covering my fingers. The top end of his sex was smeared with a pasty blend of my spit, his semen, and my lipstick. Like a hungry slut, I licked my lips and sucked the remnants of his orgasm from my fingers.

James kissed me, sensually, suckling my tongue and tasting his own cum. We then took refuge in the sunken hot tub to recuperate, replenish ourselves, and wash the sex and cum from our bodies.

James began suckling my huge, buoyant breasts between sips of wine; marvelling at their weight and the size of my areolas. I moaned with the intense pleasure of his lips on my sensitive breasts.

The warm, swirling, bubbly water cleansed our bodies of oils, semen, and sweat, reinvigorating us. Refreshed, we dried each other off once again. I caught myself giggling as I playfully and lovingly towelled his enormous phallus dry. Afterwards, we slipped our robes back on and cuddled on the expansive bed. We kissed passionately, rekindling our desire and resuming our love-making with renewed enthusiasm. As we did, James's intimidating, foot-long pussy-destroyer was restored to its full virility and pressed hotly against my inner thigh. I swooned from the feel of it, so dangerously close to its natural point of entry.

I kissed him with my soft, pillowy lips and gently fingered the short-cropped hair at his temples.

"Oh James, I have such a hopelessly big crush on you. I know, it's silly.  I'm old enough to be your mother.  But I want you to make love to me so badly," I swooned. "But I am a little scared. Please don't be upset with me; it's so huge. I'm incredibly wet, but I don't see how it could possibly fit. But I promise to be a good girl and try my best. Promise me again that you'll be gentle with me and take it slow?"

He looked into my eyes.

"I promise. Just promise me that you'll try your best to relax? The pleasure will be so much more intense if you do. And give it time. You'd be surprised," he added with a grin. "Even though women say it's uncomfortable and even painful at first, believe it or not, they also tend to end up experiencing orgasms in the double digits," he said with a grin. "The kind that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl."

As I undid my robe and lay back on the bed, James knelt between my parted thighs and let his own drop from his shoulders. I looked down at the forearm-thick organ swinging heavily between his thighs; the tip of its massive head coming to rest atop my neatly-trimmed strip of pubic hair. My breathing quickly intensified as the conspicuous disparity in size - between his massive penis and my smallish maidenhead -- became all too apparent.

"Oh my god," I gasped. "As bad as I want this, I'm not sure I can do it."

I watched him stroke his weapon with both hands to ensure that it was absolutely rock hard. I found the site of this intensely erotic, if not intimidating: the strong arms and chest, narrow waist, flat tummy, sculpted thighs, and the focused attention on his powerful, young cock. With a sexy, sleepy-eyed expression on his face, he worked the entire length of it, from the small thatch of pubic hair at its base to the beautiful head.

"You like that?" he asked as I watched him. I nodded, then gasped as he gently rubbed the tip along the pouty pink lips of my sheath.

"Just relax," he said soothingly. "Nice deep breath in, then let it all out..."

On my anticipatory exhale, James leveraged his hips and, gripping his massive stalk with both hands, pressed the tip against my sticky wet entry point.  Forcing my pussy to stretch and dilate far beyond what it was accustomed made me wince. Though I tried my best to relax, I gritted my teeth and clutched the bed sheets tightly with my fingers. Try as he might, after several initial attempts, he could still not gain a foothold. My labia seemed unequal to the challenge of accommodating James's enormous cock. Even James, experienced as he was at difficult penetrations, looked concerned that he might not be able to fit it inside me.

"Are you sure you've had two children, luv??" he asked. "You're as tight as a twenty-year-old!"

Patience and perseverance won out eventually, though, and aided by my natural wetness, my tightly stretched lips finally enveloped the massive crown.

"Oh my god!" I hissed through gritted teeth, as my beautiful black lover slowly worked his hips, edging inside several more inches.

He stopped momentarily, though never retreating or giving up the ground he had worked so hard to attain, and let me catch my breath. I reached down between my parted legs and massaged my clit in an effort to mitigate the initial pain and discomfort. My GG-cup breasts swayed to and fro in unison with every one of my quick inhales and exhales of breath; my nipples were puffy and enlarged.

James redoubled his efforts, and, after several moments, had managed some five or six thick inches. I swooned and thought I might faint. I had never felt anything like it.  My vaginal canal convulsed from being so stretched. I couldn't help but detect a slight, self-satisfied grin on James's lips as he watched my face contort and slacken with every additional inch: winces, then gaping-mouth sighs, then back again; my eyes, as predicted, rolling back in my head.

"Oh my god, darling, it's so big!" I cried breathlessly. "Please," I pleaded, somewhat panicky. "I think it's too big.  You're hurting me."

"Just relax," he whispered. "Don't worry.  I don't expect you to take it all, sweetie, and I'll know when you're about to top out. I promise not to hurt your cervix. Believe me, it's going to start feeling better and better. Just focus on the pleasure, okay?"

I placed my faith in the belief that he was likely an expert at reading women's faces for visual clues by now; and at a little better than seven or eight forearm thick inches, I was completely maxed out.

He stopped and let me adjust as best as I could to the oversized intruder lodged inside me. After a few moments, James began to slowly pull out, then push in again. Like a train starting from a standstill, he began working up a rhythm; increasing the span and pace of his thrusts with every forward and backward combination. I tightly gripped his muscular biceps, my fingernails almost cutting him as his penis overwhelmed my delicate little pussy.
 

"It's so big," I whimpered.

Indeed, it felt as if I were being penetrated by some huge, rigid anaconda. Still, just as he promised, the initial and overwhelming discomfort was beginning to subside as my pussy slowly adjusted. His thickness was such that my labial lips were drawn inward with every in stroke. This had a delicious, unintended consequence as the top of his shaft brushed my clit each time he forced his way back in, intensifying the pleasure that was now outpacing the pain.

Adding to the carnal eroticism of it all was the sound that our love-making was generating.  My tight vacuum seal and incredible wetness combined to create a slick gooey sound that punctuated every thrust. I began to coo and purr as he continued to make love to me and I began to feel an entirely new sensation in my lower reaches.

As these new and intense shivers of pleasure began to flutter and build deep in my belly and vagina, I realized that I was approaching the first 'vaginal orgasm' of my sexual life. I let out a deep, guttural moan as it swept through me in waves, causing my body to contort.

"Oh, darling," I gasped, in my languorous state. "I never knew it could feel like this."

James was clearly a master cocksman, using his incredible size as an instrument of feminine pleasure rather than a rough, self-indulgent battering ram. Though capable of causing me significant pain, he had clearly learned the lovemaking art well. He pressed on, averting his own orgasm in order to prolong and intensify my ecstasy, and allow me to savour the singular pleasure of an extraordinarily well-endowed lover.

That said, and perhaps understandably - and provided I interpreted his smile correctly - he also took a special delight, whilst I was in the dizzying throes of passion, in hearing the moaned and favourable comparisons to my husband:

"Oh god, James, you're triple the size of my husband!"

My adept young lover treated me to a protracted series of teeth-clenching orgasms. Quickening his steady rhythm to just before the crescendo, then subsiding, then building again slowly towards yet another pleasurable peak. I bit my lower lip and emitted a heavy groan each time the tingling deep in my belly peaked and my pussy convulsed. I lost count at eight magnificent orgasms.

Still, James obviously understood that all good things come to those who are patient; understood that once I had better adjusted to his size, he would be able to push my envelope, pardon the pun. In truth, I desperately wanted him to. Clearly, he understood instinctively that in addition to being 'made love to' I also wanted to be royally 'fucked', that I wanted both a sensitive lover and a bestial stud. Perhaps it was the look of deference in my eyes; a look that signalled that I wanted, no needed him to fuck my brains out, and mercilessly so.

"Oh god darling, I love your huge cock!" I cried hoarsely. My cheeks were flush; beads of perspiration were now forming on my brow.

"Turn over on your hands and knees," he instructed.

I let out a startled whimper as he withdrew his monstrous organ without warning. My vaginal canal, so thoroughly stretched, remained frozen in a gaping 'O' for a time, even after he had pulled out, the tender folds raw and ruddy.

I turned over and got on my knees; one hand tightly gripping a pillow, the other braced against the espresso-coloured headboard of the bed. I looked back as James stroked his slick cock and re-positioned himself behind me, my poor, beleaguered pussy exposed and vulnerable to his next and possibly roughest assault.

Without my saying a word, it soon became clear that he had read my mind. I wanted it dirty, vulgar, and sweaty. He expressed a touchingly sincere admiration for my curvaceous derriere, describing it as, "a thing of beauty," and, before caressing it with his hand, playfully bit the soft, ample flesh.

My trimmed delta, just below and between the pleasing arcs of my behind, lay exposed to him; the pouty folds of my tight quiver vulnerable to his pending assault. James pressed me down at the back of my neck to afford him more unfettered access, my cheek and large, fleshy breasts rested atop the crisp, white sheets. My pillow was now tucked beneath my tummy.

I turned again to watch as he guided his hulking weapon to its tender target; my eyes peering through sweaty strands of my wavy, blond hair. Despite the newly acquired benefit of firsthand experience, it was still not lost on me that he was about to penetrate me once again with something longer and much thicker than my forearm. Despite the renewed anxiety, I summoned my courage and resolve with a series of lusty taunts.

"You like my tight little pussy, don’t you, sexy boy?" I sneered, turning to look at him with a nervous grin. "Are you going to fuck me with that huge dick, sweetie?"

A cocky, sexy smirk formed at the corner of James's mouth. "You just relax, luv. In a few minutes, when I get this big black dick inside you, you're going to be calling me 'sir.'"

Hitting his mark, gripping his giant tool with both hands, and aided by a pelvic thrust that concaved the sides of his butt, he once again slowly stretched my orifice to its maximum aperture.

I sucked air in through my teeth and bit down on my knuckle, hard. With intensified resolve and vigour, he began wedging his gigantic weapon into me from behind. Yet despite the more forceful entry, the pain was slightly less intense the second time around and passed far quicker.

I was still vice tight, and still worried about tearing, not to mention whether he might bang my ovaries out. But this time, the feeling of being so profoundly stretched was dizzyingly pleasurable, even primal. I think I felt more profoundly sexual than I'd ever felt before, and began to moan like a bitch in heat as my young black lover had his way with me.

He was penetrating me so deeply, I thought he might soon bang up against my tonsils.

"Oh my god, James!! It's so big!" I moaned.

He gripped my womanly hips tightly and began driving his way into me in a steady rhythm of long, relentless strokes. The flutters and tremors and tingling came flooding back, and I cried out with yet another intense climax.

"Oh god - fuck me!!" I hissed, teeth and jaw clenched. "Please don't stop!"

He continued his engine-like assault for what seemed like an eternity. The soreness in my delicate little labia became almost too much for me to bear. Eventually, and mercifully, James warned me than he would soon cum, and not a moment too soon, as I felt exhausted, sore, and ready to collapse.

"I want you to cum all over me," I purred.

He finally withdrew from me and sat back on his heels, knees and thighs spread, while I turned over and lay on my back, making a target of myself. I cooed and sighed while he worked his giant tool with his hands, rubbing my clit and pinching my nipples while I watched him, entranced.

"That's it, darling," I said. "God, I love watching you stroke that huge cock. I still can't believe you fitted that thing inside me!"

James clenched his teeth and began to grunt. His sac tightened and the tip of his lengthy manhood erupted, spewing thick streams of hot white cum all over me. Again, his discharge was almost comical for its sheer volume.  There was just so much of it! Large gobs splashed across my voluptuous breasts and tummy; pearling atop the pubic hair between my legs.

I sighed, spreading his warm semen over my heavy bosom as I fixed my eyes upon his, fingering his cum between my ravaged pussy lips, and suckling gooey remnants from the now sticky diamond of my wedding ring.

I smiled at him brightly and we embraced each other on our knees; James's spent monster now swinging passively between his legs. I kissed him sweetly on the lips. Then, looking into his eyes, I lovingly took James's enormous, ebony weapon in my hand.

"Thank you for sharing your lovely cock with me, young man... I mean 'sir,'" I said with a purr, as James held me in his arms. "That was a love-making session I'll not soon forget."

Truly, mine was a very happy, albeit sore, pussy.

Lying in the warm embrace of my young lover felt wondrous. From our bed, my eyes scanned across the main room of my suite. There, in its tasteful vase, was the long-stemmed rose James had given me that romantic night we had danced together. Reaching down between my thighs, I touched my tender pussy and winced.  It felt positively hot. The two of us finally drifted off into a deep and revivifying sleep.

After we awoke, the two of us showered together in the spacious, stand-up shower. We revelled in the luxury of the hot steam until the hot water began to wane. Kissing and scrubbing and giggling ensued.

Too sore to make love again that night, the two of us spent another romantic evening together at a local restaurant. In fact, James spent the remainder of the entire week ensconced in my suite.

The next morning, as the entire group took their places at the conference table, I caught James's attention from across the room, blushing and smiling bashfully at him when he watched me wince when I sat down. Indeed, by week's end, I was having difficulty walking normally, let alone sitting!

"You may have ruined me for my husband forever," I observed later that night, lying in his arms post-coital.

But as all good things must, my idyllic week with James eventually came to an end. Parting at the airport, we stole a final, clandestine chance to kiss in a secluded spot in the terminal. I bid my beautiful young lover goodbye. And as if it had all been nothing more than a lusty daydream, I kissed my husband and greeted my two children upon my return.

Time has passed since that brief, adulterous interlude, and I have since returned to my life as a wife and mother with renewed conviction. Indeed, I have never been unfaithful since.  Nor do I intend to be again. But now and then, perhaps when I'm travelling for business and waiting to check in at some lovely hotel in some strange, romantic city, I will spot some handsome young man in a suit from across the room, and remember...