White Kitty

Posted in: Ethnic Experiences


I’m not a dawg, really. I’m responsible, just turned 37, take care of my two great kids, I’m civil to my ex, got a stable job, a nice ride, an apartment with toys. I do okay. I work hard and get paid. My problem? Has been my problem for three decades: I love pussy. White pussy, to be exact. As much as I can get. That’s why I have an ex. Too many exes. Just haven’t found the right fit. I know just when it started. I was seven. That 2nd grade teacher, Miss Olsen. All vanilla skin and glow. What the hell was she doin in our hood? Downtown Boston. Just her walking into that elementary school was an invitation for any red-blooded African American male to fuck her — the principal, her team teacher, the UPS guy, my own father for God’s sake. On parent-teacher nights, it was a steamy room chock full of sexual tension and brick hard dicks (and pissed off mamas, too). Didn’t know my daddy was so interested in my educational development. It was the first time he ever came to a parent-teacher conference. None of em got her. My oldest brother saw her one day, then started picking me up from school. He had hot looks and cool lines, but Miss Olsen wouldn’t give it up. Me. I have to say my boy dick stood straight up when I’d catch a glimpse of her ample white thighs beneath her skirt. Didn’t know then quite what to do with it. Didn’t take me long to figure it out. I can still beat my meat real good thinking about Miss Olsen. To top it off, she was really sweet, and a dedicated teacher. Her voice had bells in it. She taught me how to read. Wanted to get those words just right so I could see her blue eyes open real wide, and that pink mouth would follow, then she’d toss her head just enough to make her mousy brown hair bounce. Yeah, it started with Miss Olsen. Don’t get me wrong, I adore beautiful black women. All that flavor wrapped in one silky ebony package. Most sisters have heart and can fuck. I mean really fuck. Wrestle you between their muscled legs and wear you out. But they know the score. Maybe it’s the innocence of a white chick (real or not) that makes me stiff. And don’t give me any skinny Barbie doll. She needs some meat on dem bones. Something I can grab onto, her big ass when I come right through the front door, humpin her mound like I was a jack hammer on speed, I need some traction, gotta pull those hips right into mine. Or large round breasts, real, so I can pinch her rosy nipples and make her squeal while I’m doin the dog. Makes my cock sit up like a doberman pincer just thinking about it. It’s difficult to walk like that. But I’m used to it. Walking, with a hard dick. Now, here in this prissy, led by caucasions, very religious Western movie kind of a town, I am in the minority and I walk a lot. Not as much free white pussy cat-calling around like you’d think there’d be. Believe me I look every day. Especially on these walks in the park. I take on the gym before work, but walking is what really beats the pent up sexual edge out of me. Even if I do see a wiggling booty in front of me, I’m usually spent by the end of my walk. Like that booty right there. Dressed in satin red shorts, her butt cheeks fightin under the cloth like two pit bulls let loose as she does her power walk. She’s kind of short. The regular stride on my 6-foot frame catches me up to her in no time. I don’t want to seem obvious. Plus, to tell the god damn truth, some white chicks are just true blue bitches. Just being a normal gentleman can get you that back-up-off-me look. Usually, I’m just polite. Unless, of course, she approaches me. Then I check out the look in her eye. If those black pupils are round enough to yell Fuck Me! right from the get go, then I’m on her. This one. Reddish brown hair in a ponytail. She has a few extra pounds on her, curves in all the right places. I can tell she’s serious about her workout. Doesn’t see me comin. Man, I could just pick her up and pull her into those bushes right there and push myself into her bush right there, and . . . “Hello,” her kind voice startles me and I skip a beat. “Umm, hello.” She slows. I slow. “Do you come her often,” she asks without waiting for me to answer. “I myself just moved here so I’m giving this track a try.” Friendly. I look in her eyes. Pupils regular size. She’s just being nice. “I’m here almost every evening,” I say. “I like the fresh air.” This woman’s skin is translucent. I guess redheads have pale skin. It almost glows in the dusk as the sun creeps down the west side. She’s got green eyes with a little glint of fire in them and perfectly round tits. I can see the sweat form in tiny drops and trickle down between her breasts. She’s saying a bunch of stuff and smiling a lot. I’m not listening too closely. She says it’s her first real job out of college, teaching grade school kids. She likes it. I’m trying to listen but frankly I’m wondering if her mound glows like those globes. Does she have a lot of red hair there or a little? Is she as tight as a clenched fist? Has she ever fucked a black man? She’s gotta be all of 22 years old. Before I know it, I’m following this bright angel off the track and onto some sidewalk that leads into the thick pine trees that cover the park. We come upon the pond. It is kind of hot tonight. Redhead is unlacing her shoes, still gabbing, pulling off her anklets and sticking her toes in the cool water. I sit beside her. Oh, she stopped talking. Looking at me. Ummm. “So my name’s Chloe, what’s yours?” Joe, I say, realizing she just repeated the question. “Sorry, my mind was on something else.” What else? she asks, as she pulls her legs up and crosses them criss-cross style letting her knees touch my thigh through my sweat pants. “Really?” Yeah, really, she smiles. “I was thinking about how your skin glows in this sunset.” “Well, thank you, I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve been talking non-stop. Must have swallowed a chatter bug.” She’s really cute, I think, and really young. “Sorry. Joe, what do you do with your time, I mean for a living?” Mostly scope out white pussy, I think. “I’m an architect.” She’s great. She picks up the conversation right from there while I’m busy taking what I’m pretty sure is a sly look down one of her milky thighs around the edge of her red shorts and into her crotch. I’m hoping maybe skin, open a bit, so I can see pink folds unfolding. Nope, tiny white cotton briefs. That’s not so bad. She looks at my face, surprised. “You don’t talk much, do you Joe?” No, I admit. “I’m more of a doer than a talker.” “Actually,” she says more slowly, “you’re more of a looker than a doer. Let me help you.” It’s a real shock to me when she takes my big hand by her delicate fingers. Then she, very firmly, pushes my fingers under the edge of those white cotton panties. I look in her green eyes, black pupils as wide as nickles. Bingo! She’s moves closer so my fingers can get full feel of her swollen slippery vagina. She’s soft and hot. Making stud stand up like a soldier in my sweats. I fondle and rub and pinch until my thumb finds her bulging clit. Now, just how long has she been thinking about my fingers? Her lips are on my ear. Her breath smells like peppermints. “I’ll let you touch mine, if you let me touch yours.” She’s a talker. Aight then. I take one of her hands in my other hand, that’s not probing her pussy, and place it on the peak in my pants. She’s not gonna settle for that. She expertly uses both hands to uncover my rod and starts to jack me up and down. I move two long fingers into her hole. Whoa, tighter than a clenched fist and slick as a greased rubber slide on a summer day. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin about,” I say, suddenly doing the talking. “Baby, you are so fine and so forward. Damn, girl I hope you don’t spread this all around too thin.” I like a wench but not a whore. And though I’m forever thinking about banging a willing woman under these pine trees, I don’t for the life of me have a condomn in my possession. “I’m particular,” Chloe says. “And you meet my particulars. So, don’t worry, my shy little Joe. Let teacher do the work.” She is working my cock with both her hands like sh
e wrot
e the book on manual manipulation. “Now,” she says, “I’m gonna teach you how to fuck. I know you think you know how to fuck. But you need a lesson.” Did I say this girl could talk? She’s up on me in a flash. Not even gonna take those shorts off is she. Or panties. She pulls all that cloth aside and manuevers the throbbing head of my dick right up to her waiting hole, then stops. “Tell me what you want, Joe.” Right on the tip of my tongue. “I want you to fuck me, teacher. Good and hard.” Then, Miss Chloe does. She kneels down and pushes me in like her vice-like cunt is memorizing every vein on my post. Then she slides back up and slams down again. This sweet little redhead is bangin the shit out of me. We’re sitting upright with her ass in my lap, her tits smashed up against my chest and she is workin it. All out in a public park. Shit, I don’t even care if anyone sees us. Miss Chloe is teaching me a very long, hot, exceptionally drawn out important lesson and I am her attentive, intelligent student. Don’t stop, girl. “I know what you want, Joe.” She’s talking again. “You want this pussy. Everyday. Don’t you. Every minute of every day. In the morning before you’re completely awake, in the steamy shower at the gym, on your lunchbreak across your drafting table, just before dinner on the kitchen floor.” Her teeth are on my neck. I’m crossing that finish line Miss Chloe. Hope I passed the test because I’m coming in for the grade. My cock pumps hot cum into her and keeps pumpin. She’s not talking now. Just a lot of deep moans and growls. Her orgasm is all about those redhot walls milking my cock like a well-oiled machine. Electric shocks, jumpin and bumpin. She’s finally kissing my lips with her pink mouth. And I’m thinking I sure love the way this white kitty purrs. Already thinkin that I gotta tap that pussy again real soon. I’m a dawg.

VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0.0/10 (0 votes cast)
VN:F [1.9.22_1171]
Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.