“Hi, Clara,” a familiar voice called from behind me. Standing with my husband and children in the middle of the department store, my heart lurched and my face froze as I unexpectedly heard the deep timbre of my black lover’s voice.
I turned rapidly so that my husband wouldn’t register the panicked expression on my face. “Dion, fancy seeing you here; what a lovely surprise,” I replied in a slightly high-pitched voice. “James, have you met Dion? His daughter, Tiffany, is in Rosie’s class,” I explained, still not trusting myself to look at my husband. My pulse was racing and I felt slightly sick.
“Dion? The Dion Simmons who played centre forward for City? How did you not tell me, Clara,” James blurted out like an over-excited teenager, eagerly shaking Dion’s hand. Mercifully, my husband was fixated by meeting his idol, allowing me time to pull myself together.
Panic turned to guilt as I stood listening to my husband and my lover discuss football, his career, and the current season. How can I do this to him, I thought, feeling my face burn with shame. But then, a moment later when Dion looked at me, all thoughts of husband and family vanished immediately from my mind; all I could think of was him taking me again and again and again.
I drifted back into the present, hearing Dion say, “if you are around a week on Saturday, would you both join me for the next home game? Lunch in the Chairman’s dining room and then watch the match from the box.” Faced with an entire day of concealing my emotions, my inner voice was screaming for me to say we couldn’t. But before I could construct an excuse, James had enthusiastically accepted. Dion looked at me in triumph; I replied with a wain smile and a resigned shrug.
On the Saturday of the match, we arrived at the stadium to be greeted by Dion and his former team mate, Anthony; another hero of my husband’s, apparently. Like Dion, Anthony was a tall, handsome, utterly charming, black athlete.
I had dressed in a cream cashmere polo neck that was tight across the swell of my breasts, a black, brown and cream houndstooth wool miniskirt, and suede knee-length Spanish riding boots. Over the polo neck, I had put on a tan suede jacket, cut short to the waist, and with zips on the sleeves. It was the same outfit I had been wearing the first time Dion and I met. Perhaps there was some subconscious message I was sending myself; I couldn’t decide.
Over lunch, they entertained us graciously. Then, after some speeches of welcome from the Chairman and Manager, Dion and Anthony escorted us to our seats in the box. Clearly pre-arranged, Dion and I were seated next to each other in the back row, with James and Anthony immediately in front of us. It was a cold afternoon, and a steward dispensed blankets for the ladies. Dion took mine and, with a grin of anticipation, spread it over both our laps.
The game started and immediately the noise in the stadium was incredible. Dion’s leg was pressed against mine under the blanket, and then I become aware of the movement of his arm. “What are you doing?” I whispered frantically, as his hand glided across my stomach and lazily made its way down my leg to the hem of my skirt.
“Shhhh,” Dion mouthed, studiously keeping his attention on the pitch, whilst he slowly pushed the wool skirt up my thighs, before lightly resting his hand on my stockings. Despite the blanket, I felt exposed and completely in his power.
The barest hint of a smile flashed across his handsome dark face as Dion’s hand ran along my leg. Deft fingers slid over and onto the inside of my inner thigh, and began to trace up towards the gap at the top of my legs. The only thing separating me from him now was the thin black lace of my knickers. I looked sideways at him, hardly daring to breath. Slowly, his fingers glided very lightly over the lace. I let out a small gasp; my hips shifting forward in the seat to meet his touch. I looked at him longingly. Amidst this large and noisy stadium, and with my husband sitting just the other side of him, this felt incredibly intimate; my desire more intense.
Explaining some tactical point behind the on-field play to me, Dion began to trace his fingers across the lace, running up and down the folds of my puffy labia. “I know you didn’t think football would be interesting. But go on Clara, tell me you love it,” he grinned with utter self-assurance.
“I’m beginning to see the attraction,” I agreed breathlessly, feeling his fingers explore inside my knickers, reaching tantalisingly towards my aching quim.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it,” James gushed, looking back over his shoulder at us; oblivious to Dion at work under the blanket, deftly sliding his long ebony fingers down onto my mound. Willing myself to keep a mask of composure, I smiled and nodded; feeling my lover placing fingers on either side of my outer labia and rest his middle finger on the moist pinkness between them.
As James turned his attention back to the game, Dion spread apart the puffy lips and eased a fingertip between my slick folds. My eyes closed momentarily and I gripped his thigh tightly under the blanket, suppressing a moan.
My eyes opened and the back of my husband’s head came into focus. A sickening feeling of shame and guilt hit me like a stinging blow. I could feel the colour rising on my face. But guilt was not the only cause; a heightened feeling of lust washed through my body and mind in response to Dion’s touch. This was so wrong. It always was. My inner voice urged me to pull his hand away. But, as with each time previously, try as I might, I couldn’t resist him; I succumbed to my innermost yearning.
Commentating on the play in a casual manner, Dion began to caress the sensitive insides of my labia, whilst his middle finger plunged deeper into my soaking tunnel. I bit my lip to avoid letting out an audible moan; my breathing ragged; the muscles of my soaking tunnel gripping his digit as he began to stroke me.
“Cum for me, Clara,” he murmured, as a wall of sound erupted around us in response to another City attack. “Imagine my big black cock filling your married cunt,” he continued, pressing against my g-spot as he ran fingers rhythmically in and out of me.
Pointing to various parts of the pitch as if explaining more nuances of the game, he leant closer. “Cum hard on my fingers, Clara,” he whispered in my ear as the crowd broke into a long series of chants. “Show me how much you have craved my cock whilst lying awake in bed at night unable to sleep,” he commanded in an even murmur, pressing his fingers deeper into my pussy.
Dion’s words took me over the edge. Losing control, I felt the climax erupt deep inside me. Stifling a low sob, my thighs quivered as I ground on his hand, riding the waves of an intense orgasm. The ex-footballer continued to thrust his fingers into me until I pleaded with my eyes and pushed him away with my hand. The sounds in the stadium grew louder again as the climax subsided and my senses recovered.
Slowly, he withdrew his hand, allowing me to adjust my thong and slip my skirt back into place. Whilst I regained my composure, and just as the crowd roared City on once more, Dion lent in. “You want me to fuck you at halftime, don’t you, Clara,” he asked nonchalantly, indicating to the time on the scoreboard. Avoiding meeting his gaze, I nodded. I wanted him so badly.
Halftime saw a return to the Chairman’s lounge for drinks. “Do you mind if I borrow your wife,” Dion asked James, explaining Anthony would take him to meet a couple of their fellow professionals. “With her background in media, I think the new communications centre will be of more interest than yet more ex-professionals yapping on about the beautiful game,” he winked conspiratorially.
“Be my guest,” James gushed, before heading off with the other tall black footballer.
“Oh, I will,” Dion confirmed, once my husband was safely out of earshot, leading me towards the door. “I didn’t get a chance to say earlier that you look stunning in that outfit. It looks familiar; do you wear those boots every time you want me to fuck you,” he enquired, holding the door open for me.
“I sometimes wear them when you fuck me; but I want you to fuck me all the time,” I corrected with a pout, once safely in the corridor. Leading me down it, Dion came to a door into a storeroom. Reaching for the handle, he ushered me inside.
Closing the door, he pushed me back against the wall. We urgently found each other’s mouths; tongues entwined. Pressing me hard against the wall, Dion tugged roughly at my skirt, rucking it up around my waist and exposing the tops of my hold-up stockings. Simultaneously, I frantically fumbled at his belt and unzipped his suit trousers; yanking them and his boxers down over his toned black arse.
Continuing to kiss hungrily, he pushed up the soft cashmere of my white roll-neck and roughly pulled my breasts from my lace underwired bra. At the same time, my hand slithered down between our bodies, searching for his rapidly hardening manhood. Finding it, I ran my porcelain white fingers over the domed head and down along the underside of its considerable length, before closing them around the thick ebony shaft. Dion moaned in my mouth and kneaded my firm boobs as I felt him swell and pulse at my touch.
Hooking arms under my legs, Dion lifted me and positioned his throbbing ebony member against my glistening mound. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I draped arms over his shoulders for balance, I waited, my body aching for him. Running the tip along my labia, he lined himself up and pushed forward. Our eyes locked and we simultaneously let out low groans of relief as, after a brief moment of exquisite resistance, his wide glans parted my folds and he penetrated me.
“You needy slut,” he grinned, shifting his hands so that they were under my buttocks, and easing himself deep inside me. Cupped in his hands, I pushed forward, impaling myself; my eyes like saucers as his huge ebony member stretched me wide.
Still holding my stare, Dion balanced me on his hands and withdrew his cock until only the head was inside my aching pussy. He held himself there for just long enough to make me mew with frustration, my heels twitching against his taut buttocks. Then he slammed himself fully home and I let out a small anguished cry as the head hit my cervix for the first time.
“Fuck me with your beautiful black cock,” I moaned into his ear, my manicured nails raking down his back and grabbing at his shirt. A look of dominant satisfaction on his face, Dion drove into me, taking me hard and fast, pounding me with deep, almost frantic thrusts; my boobs bouncing and my body juddering in time with his intense hip movements.
My legs tightened around him, and I could feel my pussy clench with every thrust. I was terrified of being heard by one of the endless stream of staff passing in the corridor, so I dropped my head onto his shoulder and bit gently into the padding of his jacket to silence my moans of pleasure. The very real prospect of being interrupted lent a frisson and urgency to our frantic coupling.
“Cum with me,” I pleaded, sensing he was equally as close. And then, after a few more powerful thrusts, Dion grunted, thrusting even deeper; I saw his eyes glaze as he pumped rope after rope of sticky white mess against my cervix. At the same time, I bit down hard on his shoulder, my entire body stiffening as I surrendered to the spasms coursing through my core; the muscles of my tunnel clamping tight around his thick ebony muscle, milking it of its seed.
We eventually came to a standstill, with me draped limply on his torso, aftershocks rippling through the pair of us as we balanced against the wall. Wordlessly, he withdrew from my still-quivering pussy and gently set me down. Whilst he put his softening cock away and zipped himself up, I placed my knickers back over my sticky mound and smoothed down my skirt. “Amazing,” he smiled gently, leaning forward and kissing me softly on the lips. “But we’d better get back.”
Having gone via the toilet to refresh my face and hair, and make sure I didn’t have too much of a freshly fucked look, we re-joined everyone just in time to take our seats for the second half. Anthony gave Dion a knowing smile that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat and avoid my husband’s eyes as he turned to say, “The first half was so intense; I really hope they can keep that going through the second.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is building to a climax, mate,” Dion grinned enthusiastically, his fingers drifting up over my thigh and into my knickers, which were sticky with his cum. I looked sideways at him, and sighed with exasperation and anticipation.
