Hospice Care
                        (MF, interr, size)

                   Original story by Dick Coxx
                      Rewritten by SHATTIMS

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A pretty blonde wife volunteers for a Hospice Care program to help
ease the pain of a terminally ill black man. She does much more than
she expected.

I read this story in Kristen's Collection. The author declined to
provide an email address, so I have not been able to ask for
permission to reuse the idea or the words I kept.

The story had an interesting premise, and it started well. But I found
the second half preposterous, as an uptight church-going lady quickly
became a total slut with no apparent motivation.

I kept the first part with minor changes except for deleting a few
paragraphs, then threw out all but a few phrases from the second half.
My version is more than twice as long as the original.

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There is nothing much more emotionally wrenching than watching your
mother die, especially from a prolonged and painful illness like
breast cancer. Traci Jones had been very pleased with the hospice care
that her mother had received during her final weeks. Hospice care is
supposed to help terminally ill patients die with comfort and dignity
after all other medical measures have been exhausted.

Traci's mom died at the early age of fifty-three and, after a period
of mourning, Traci decided she wanted to help other hospice patients,
as had the good women who had helped her mother die gracefully.

Traci inquired at her church about becoming a hospice caregiver and
was encouraged to take the required training. Although Mike, her
husband of ten years, wasn't very interested in helping, Traci finally
prevailed over him to join her as a hospice caregiver.

Traci taught high school by day, so accepted an evening shift as a
hospice caregiver. Her first patient was an elderly black gentleman,
Malcolm Taylor. Malcolm had recently turned sixty-nine but still had a
full head of hair even though it was mainly salt and pepper gray.
Malcolm had been a boxer when he was younger. Until his terminal
illness he had maintained his aging body with daily rigorous walks and
workouts at the gym.

Traci and Mike planned to meet their patient before going to Wednesday
evening church service. Mike drove their new BMW over to Malcolm's
apartment on the other side of town. The patient's apartment was close
to being the proverbial "tenement slum", but Traci didn't want to
prejudge her new patient. In fact, Malcolm seemed like a very nice
fellow despite his being black. Traci didn't think of herself as
prejudiced against Negroes, but she hadn't been around black people
very much.

Because Malcolm was terminally ill with cancer, Traci was authorized
to give him some marijuana for medicinal purposes to help ease his
constant pain. Malcolm readily took what was offered, as he had been
in a lot of pain lately.

Mike and Traci's weekly visits to Malcolm went on for several weeks.
The old fellow found himself looking forward to seeing the beautiful
white wife. Traci was an excellent cook and Malcolm loved what she
prepared for him. She brought home cooked food with her on every
visit. He especially enjoyed her blackberry cobbler. He was also very
grateful that Traci always brought the stash of medicinal marijuana
along with her great tasting food.

But Malcolm looked frailer with their every visit, and Traci realized
that her patient might not live too much longer.

"Malcolm," Traci asked one week, not exactly sure how to phrase the
question, "is there anything that I can possibly do for you to make
your last days here on earth any better?"

"Why, yes, there is, Missy." The old black man called all white women
"Missy" regardless of their age. "You are such a comfort to have
around. I'd like to have you spend the night with me."

"Oh, my," she laughed, "you have some sense of humor."

"No, I'm serious. I get so lonely at night, and besides, I worry about
something happening to me with no one around."

"You don't have to worry about that, you have your magic button."

Malcolm was very proud of what he called his magic button. It was a
little signaling device that hung around his neck on a cord. If he
should fall, or have a heart attack, or something, he could press the
button, and the special phone in his apartment would automatically
dial an emergency support team, then switch to highly amplified
speakerphone mode. The person taking the call would try to talk to
him, or could listen to his breathing or moans, and could call an
ambulance.

"Yes, but the person that answers might be a thousand miles away, and
what if I'm too sick to push the button? Besides, my magic button
doesn't help with loneliness."

"Oh, Malcolm, I'd like to help you, but it just doesn't seem right. I
mean, it would be if I could convince Mike to stay, but," she looked
over at her husband, who was shaking his head as if to say 'no way',
"he's just told me he couldn't do that. So you see, it would just be
you and me here alone, and I'm sure you understand ..."

"I know, it's too much to ask, but you did want to know what you could
do to make my last days better, and that is what would help the most."

Traci didn't know what to say. The man was obviously very lonely, and
in a way she felt good that she had been able to bridge the racial
barrier enough that he could tell her what he really wanted.

Before she could come up with any words, he went on, "Of course I know
you couldn't stay tonight, but would you think about doing it some
other night?"

Shortly afterwards, they said their good-byes as she and Mike went on
to Wednesday evening church services and then back home.

Later that night, as his lovely wife was getting ready for bed, Mike
said, "Can you believe what that old black codger said? He actually
said he wanted to fuck you."

"Mike! Shame on you," she replied indignantly, "he said nothing of the
kind. Malcolm said that he would like to have me there for the night,
not ... what you said. We could just talk, and I could help put him to
bed."

"I really don't think that's what he meant, dear. He wants to stick
his big black cock into your sweet little white pussy before he dies."

"Stop it! I don't ever want to hear that kind of coarse language from
you again."

"That's tough. I'm just telling it the way it is. There are many men
out there who would love to fuck you, and you know it. Any black man
would give his left nut to fuck you. Black men only want to rape white
women. Don't you know that? He wants to fuck you just like every other
black man does."

"Mike," Traci said emphatically, "first of all, that's a very
prejudiced thing to say. Black men are people, too, and I imagine
there are as many good black people as white people. Secondly, that
old black man is one of the gentlest people that I've ever met. I know
he respects me for who I am."

"Traci, you are just kidding yourself. Fucking is one of the most
basic of instincts. If that old guy can still get a hard-on, he would
love to stick it to you."

"Right," replied his wife sarcastically.

Traci put on her black lace nightgown, turned off the bedroom light
and slipped into bed with her husband. Mike had a raging hard-on just
talking about the old black man possibly fucking Traci. She must have
also been turned on because that night they made the most passionate
love that that they had made in a long time, not just once but twice.
Mike thought that twice was highly unusual but he loved it. His dick
almost got hard a third time thinking about the black man's big cock
thrusting in and out of his wife's tight little white pussy.

The next morning at breakfast, Traci said, "Okay I'll do it."

"Do what?" asked Mike.

"I'll spend the night with Malcolm."

"What? You're crazy!"

"No, I'm not crazy. He's a lonely old man, and he had a dying request,
and I'm going to do it."

"Traci, honey, you can't do this to me. I'm shocked that you would
even consider it, but don't you care about me? How do you think I
would feel sleeping alone at home and thinking about him fucking you
all night long?"

Actually, his little white dick was fully erect and twitching as he
said that, but he wasn't about to let her know that.

"You're just being silly. Nothing is going to happen."

"I don't believe it," Mike replied, shaking his head, "but I know you
well enough to know that when you've made up your mind I can't do
anything to change it."

"OK, it's settled, then. Next Wednesday when we go over we can take
both cars. You can stay for dinner, then drive home. I'll go directly
to the school in the morning."

"No way. If he's going to get to fuck you, I'm not going to hand you
to him on a platter. And I'm not going to sit there and watch him
drool over what he's going to get as soon as I leave. So you can just
drive over there by yourself if you're planning to spend the night."

"Oh, Mike, Mike, have you no faith in me at all? I'll bet you just
said that to try to convince me not to do it, but it's not going to
work."

"'Do it', huh? So you are going to fuck him."

"You know that's not what I meant," she said, but she was blushing.

The next Tuesday when Traci got home she couldn't get Malcolm off her
mind. How was he going to react to the idea of her spending the night?
What if he hadn't meant it at all, or had had second thoughts? She had
been thinking that she would surprise him Wednesday night, but she
decided she should call him instead, and let him know what she was
planning.

Malcolm was surprised, but surprised and delighted. He let her know
that he was looking forward to her visit with great anticipation.
Traci tried to listen carefully to his words for any hint that his
mind was in the gutter the way her husband's had been, but he seemed
every bit the gentleman he had always been.

The next night Traci got away from school as quickly as possible after
her last class. She dashed home to pick up the dessert she had
prepared, the clothes she would be wearing the next morning, and the
cosmetics she would need. She told herself she didn't want to drive in
that rundown neighborhood after dark, refusing to admit the real
truth, that she hoped to get away before Mike got home from work. She
thought about a bath, but reasoned she could make do with Malcolm's
shower.

As she was getting things together Traci was surprised to discover
that she was feeling nervous. 'You're being silly,' she told yourself,
'it's not like you are going out on a date, or something.'

'Oh, sure,' her conscience told her sarcastically, 'you're just going
to spend the night with some guy.' Not wanting to listen to that kind
of nonsense, she pulled out a bottle of wine and poured herself a
good-sized glass which she drank as she laid out some food for Mike
and wrote a note to him. The wine did help; the butterflies were
nearly gone by the time she climbed into her car for the drive to
Malcolm's place.

She didn't want to leave her car on the street overnight, not in that
neighborhood, so Traci was relieved when she found a space in the
apartment complex parking lot. As she swung her beautiful legs out of
the car, she heard a whistle from a black man sitting on the tenement
steps.

"Ooohhh, whee. Look at 'em pretty white legs. Me and my big 'Willie'
here sure 'nuf would likes to see where they meet."

Traci blushed bright red at the Negro's lurid comments. She quickly
tugged on the hem of her skirt, but not before she had given the man
quite a show. She should have worn a longer skirt, or maybe pants. Why
in the world had she picked one that only came to her knees?

As she walked up the steps to ring the doorbell, she almost lost her
courage. 'What,' she thought, 'if Mike is right? What if he tries to
rape me, or something?'

'You're being silly,' she told herself, 'the poor man is close to
death. He probably couldn't even get it up, and he certainly wouldn't
have the strength to force me.' But somehow the thought of him trying
to get it up gave her a curious tingle.

Traci paused at the door. 'Should I ring, or just go on in? He might
be in bed, and I'd hate to make him get up.' But she couldn't quite
imagine walking unannounced into the man's apartment, so she rang the
bell. The door opened almost immediately. He must have been waiting
for her.

Malcolm smiled and welcomed her in. "Come in, come in," he said, "I
wasn't sure if you'd show. Make yourself comfortable. Let me pour you
a glass of wine."

Traci thought about the large glass of wine she had already drunk, and
she knew that it didn't take much to make her tipsy, but she accepted
his offer, and he shuffled off to get it. She settled in on the sofa,
and soon Malcolm joined her, sitting close beside her and lighting up
a joint. After taking several deep drags on the reefer, Malcolm
offered the roach clip to her, but she shook her head.

They chatted for a while about various things, as she sipped her drink
and he continued to smoke the potent weed. Before long she felt like
she was breathing in a thick haze of marijuana smoke, but she knew
that it was helping him with his pain, so she didn't complain. She
could tell that she was getting a bit lightheaded and giggly, so told
herself sternly that this was the last glass of wine for her. What she
didn't realize was that it was the secondhand smoke, as much as the
alcohol, that was loosening her up.

At one point Malcolm shook his head, and said, "Missy, you have no
idea how happy I am that you came tonight. I told you when you came in
that I wasn't sure if you would come. That's not exactly true. I was
standin' there by the door, hopin' you would come, but almost sure you
wouldn't."

She turned to him, rested her hand on his thigh, and gave him a
slightly spacey smile. "I'll tell you a secret. When I was walking up
to your door I almost turned around and left."

"I'm sure glad you didn't, but why did you almost do that?"

"No, it's too embarrassing," she demurred, "I can't tell you that."

"Don't be embarrassed. Tonight I jest feel like we're very good
friends, and good friends can tell each other anything."

"Oh, yes," she gushed, leaning her shoulder against his, "I feel like
we're good friends, too."

"That's wonderful. So tell your good friend what was bothering you."

"Well, for one thing, I've never been," she couldn't resist a giggle,
"alone with a black man before. And to think that I would spend the
whole night here ..."

Then she got very serious. "Do you know what my husband said? He said
he thought you might ... you know ... try to take advantage of me."
Suddenly she was blushing furiously, and pulled away from him.

"I don't wonder," Malcolm said, reaching over and patting her thigh.
"I realized in thinking back on what I said that it could have been
taken the wrong way. I'm really sorry, Missy, that I didn't say it
better, and I hope I didn't cause a problem between you and Mike."

With a rush of relief she looked him in the eyes, shook her head and
said, "no, no problem. But, oh, I'm so glad you said that!"

Her hand went back on his thigh as she spoke, and he rested his on her
thigh at the same time.

"But, my dear, I think now it's time for me to make a confession. When
I started thinkin' about how you could have taken it the wrong way,
and then thought about you saying 'yes' anyway, well I sorta' started
wondering if maybe you would come expecting ... well, expecting a
little more than I thought at first you would."

"Oh," she caught her breath. There was that tingle again. And it
really was nice to be sitting here so close to him. She stroked his
thigh a bit, and the tingle intensified as he echoed that by stroking
hers.

"We said we were like good friends tonight, right," he asked. "So
would it be OK if I said something I really shouldn't say at all?"

"Yes, anything," she assured him.

"While I was waitin' for you to come, and thinkin' about, you know,
what I said a minute ago, well, I started having some feelings in me
that I hadn't had for a long time, and I started gittin' sorta' ...
you know ... well, excited. I'm really sorry, I shouldn't of been
thinking that way about you, but you really are a very pretty young
woman, and I jest couldn't help myself. Can you forgive me for having
feelings like that about you?"

The tingling was getting worse, but she told him of course she forgave
him, "Don't worry about it, I understand."

"You're so good to me, like an angel that has come into my life, at
its very end. Could you do one little favor for me? I jest want you to
stand in front of me for a spell and let me look at you."

"Of course, Malcolm, you want me to stand here, like this?"

"Yeah, but close your eyes. I want to be able to look all up and down
your body, but I don't want to embarrass you, and I know you'd be
embarrassed if you saw me staring."

If he thought he was making this easier for her, he was wrong. She
wasn't exactly embarrassed, but she was definitely getting turned on,
and having her eyes closed was just intensifying the feeling. But,
after all, he deserved a bit of happiness, with all he was going
through. She only hoped that he couldn't see her shivering.

"Oh, Missy, this is just so fantastic. I can't believe you're doing
this for me. Can you cross your arms now? Yes, like that. Now rub your
hands up and down your arms. Oh, yes, honey! When you were sittin'
beside me I wanted to rub my hand up and down your arm, but I know'd I
shouldn't."

Oh, God, this was too much. As she rubbed her arms she was imagining
that it was his black hands on them, stroking up and down, up and
down.

"Why don't you move your hands up to your neck, now, and stroke your
neck, because I wanted to do that, too. Doesn't that feel nice? I'm
imagining how soft your skin feels. ... Now stroke your cheeks. Yes,
like that."

This was crazy. Why was she doing this? It was like she was hypnotized
or something, and had no choice but to do whatever he suggested.

"Now move one hand to your mouth, and stroke it lightly, while you move
the other one down to your shoulder. Slide your fingers across from one
shoulder to the other, right below your neck. Keep doing it, back and
forth, back and forth.

"You can go a little lower, you know. Let your fingers slide inside
your blouse as you push, then out over your blouse as you pull back
the other way. Doesn't that feel good?"

"Oh, yes, very good," she gasped, imagining his hands on her mouth and
stroking her just above her breast.

"I'm guessin' you might like to move your hand a bit lower, but you
don't feel you could do that with me watching you, could you."

"No, no, I couldn't do that."

"I'll tell you what. I'll close my eyes now, so I can't see what you're
doing. And you don't have to tell me, neither, so you can be free to do
whatever you want. Oh, and you can open your eyes now, so you can be
sure that mine are really closed."

"But you haven't closed yours," she exclaimed as she opened her eyes
and looked at him.

"No," he smiled, "I was waitin' to see if you were going to open yours.
See, mine are closed, now. I promise to keep 'em closed 'til you say I
can open them ag'in."

Now she had a crazy urge to look at his body. His hands were clasped
at his belly, and ... OH, MY! She could see his sweat pants tented out
immediately below them. 'Well, what did you expect,' she told herself,
'after the show you've been putting on for him.'

One corner of her brain was sending out alarm signals, but she ignored
them. They were being swamped by the signals coming from other parts
of her body. She really did want to touch her breasts; no she really
NEEDED to touch her breasts. And he couldn't see her, so why not?

She was soon lost in her passions, stroking and squeezing her breasts
with both hands, and so wishing that her blouse and bra were not in
the way. She had closed her eyes again, and was imagining that they
were his hands working their magic on her. She was shocked to suddenly
hear his voice.

"Oh, baby, I can tell by the sounds you're making that you're really
getting into this. I want so much to be able to open my eyes and see
what you're doing. Please, baby, let me open my eyes."

Her eyes jerked open in horror, and her hands stopped moving. Had he
been cheating? Was he already watching what she was doing? No, his
eyes were still tightly closed. He was being a true gentleman. But she
couldn't let him see what she was doing.

"No, I'm sorry Malcolm, I can't do that. I wish I could, but I can't."

"Why, baby? I need it so much. I promise I won't touch you or
nothin'."

She shuddered and squeezed her breasts convulsively. He needs it so
much. He needs it so much. I should let him ... NO! That would be
naughty.

"Please don't ask me, Malcolm, please!"

"Oh, I get it. I'll bet it's because you've got your blouse open, and
I could see your bra. Or maybe even your tits. Is that why I shouldn't
see?"

Traci blushed beet red. "No," she finally got out, "no, it's not that,
it's just ... oh Malcolm, we shouldn't!"

"I don't see what's so bad about it. When you had your eyes closed I
was staring at your boobs, through your blouse, and that's all I'll be
seeing now, right? PLEASE, baby, PLEASE!"

Her hands were busy stroking and squeezing again, and she was
imagining them being his hands, and she was dying for him to see what
he was doing to her.

"Oh, Malcolm, honey, it's OK, you can look."

His eyes popped open, and a huge sexy grin appeared on his face. At
the edge of her vision she thought she saw his hands moving, and she
was dying to see what they were doing, but she didn't dare look. Her
eyes were locked on his, and his were cycling between her face and her
breasts.

"This is so hot, baby. Now I want you to move one hand down and rub
your belly. ... Oh, yeah! ... Now take both hands an' put them on your
hips. ... Yes, right there at your waist. ... Now close your eyes, and
start sliding them slowly down the side of your body. ... Pretend those
are my hands movin' up and down your hips."

If he only knew! She was already pretending that every touch was him
touching her body. and it was driving her crazy.

"Move your hands clear on down past your hips to your legs, and move
them back up, then down again. Be careful that you don't go too far,
though. You don't want to let me put my hands inside your skirt, do
you?"

She shuddered. Actually, she'd love to have him put his hands inside
her skirt, but she mustn't let it happen.

"No, that's true, you mustn't do that."

"Right, we have to stay within the rules here. Now slide your hands
around to the back of your legs, and start moving them up. Remember,
we're pretending those are my hands stroking your legs. Careful, now,
I must just barely touch you on the upward stroke. We wouldn't want
your skirt to be pulled up too much. Now I can press a bit harder as I
move back down your leg. Bring my hands up the back of your legs one
more time. Keep coming ... How do my fingers feel, now, stroking your
ass?"

"No, we mustn't do this. This is naughty."

"I'm sorry, you're right. Put my hands back around to your hips, where
they belong. It's OK if we move them up and down just a little bit
right there, isn't it? ... Now bring my hands around to the middle of
your waist, to your belly. Don't go any lower, that would be naughty,
wouldn't it? ... Pretend I'm reaching around you from behind, and
rubbing your belly. That's safe, isn't it? ... Don't my hands feel
nice, stroking you there?"

"Oh, yes, they do."

"Perhaps just a bit higher would be nice, don't you think? But be
careful, don't touch your breasts. Having a man touch your breasts
might be dangerous, you know. I mean, I'm sure it would feel very
nice, but we mustn't let ourselves get carried away."

'No,' she thought, 'don't torture me this way. I need your hands on my
breasts.'

"So, what do you think, baby? If I just barely let my fingers graze
the bottom of your breast, so we hardly knew it was happening, we
could control ourselves, don't you think? We know we mustn't go too
far, so maybe just a little bit wouldn't hurt. I mean, it's not like
I'm really touching you, we're just pretending. And a while ago you
were stroking and squeezing your breasts, so this wouldn't be any more
than you've already done, right?"

"Oh, yes," she moaned, "that feels so good, so good, so good. I love
feeling your hands on my breasts. I mean ... pretending."

"I'm going to circle my fingers around your nipples now. DO it! ...
Smaller and smaller circles, ... now PINCH!"

"OH GOD! OH GOD! OH GOD!"

"I'm going to keep pinching with one hand, but I'm going to move the
other down to your belly. ... Yes, like that. Keep going ... lower."

"NO! NO! You have to stop. You're almost touching me down there.
Please stop, please stop, don't go any further. Oh God, oh God, your
fingers are driving me crazy. Please take them away. Please!"

"OK, we're going to move that hand back up to your waist. Stop shaking
like that. You'll be all right, I promise. But now my hand needs to
touch your belly. It needs to touch the naked skin of your belly. Are
you going to let it do that?"

"Yessss, I want to feel your hand on my naked belly."

"OK, unbutton the bottom button of your blouse, and pull the tails out
of your skirt. We must be very careful; you mustn't let me see
anything I shouldn't see. You have to keep your panties hidden. It
would be naughty if I saw your panties."

"Yes, that would be very, very naughty. ... Oh, I hope you didn't see
that. There was just a little bit there, but it's hidden again now.

"Oh, your hand feels so good on my belly. Can I stroke it a little
bit?"

"Yes, we're going to stroke it, back and forth, and back and forth, and
up and down, and around and around in little circles. It's OK, isn't
it, if it goes just a tiny bit inside the waist of your skirt? My
fingers need to feel your belly button. ... Yes, like that. Oh, God, I
wish I could really be touching you, and not just pretending like this.

"Oh, baby, I can't stand it any longer. We have to bring my other hand
down, and slip both of them inside your blouse. ... Yes! Yes! like
that. ... Oh, Missy, my thumbs are itching to move up just a little
bit. ... Just a little more. Surely it can't be much farther. ... YES!
I feel it. I feel it! My thumbs touched your bra. Did you feel my
thumbs touch your bra? Now my fingers need to touch it too. Tell me
what kind of bra you have on, so I can imagine what I'm touching."

"It's nothing special. Just an ordinary white cotton bra."

"Oh, it's special to me. I love touching your bra. Please let me move
my whole hand up and cradle your cups in my palms. ... Oh, my
wonderful, wonderful baby! You're making me so happy! I don't deserve
this."

"It's OK, I don't mind a bit. Really, really, I don't. Don't you know
I'm enjoying this too? In fact it's really happening to me, while
you're just imagining it, so don't you think I'm enjoying it even more
than you are? Oh, I wish there was some way I could let you enjoy it
even more. Without, I mean, you know."

"There is one thing you could do, if it wouldn't be too much. I wish I
could see my hands, I mean your hands pretending to be my hands, I
wish I could see them right now ... where they are."

"That's the least I can do! Here, why don't we unbutton my blouse,
like this. Just a few more buttons and we'll have it all. Now you can
see your hands on me, see. Oh, your hands feel so good, squeezing me
like this."

"I want even more. Take your blouse off and throw it over here where I
can touch it, and stroke it, for real."

"Oh, Malcolm, this is very naughty, but I don't care. I love feeling
your hands squeezing my breasts, and at least you should be able to
feel something. So here, here's my blouse. Feel it all you want."

"Oh, god, I love seeing your whole bra, and the curve of your breasts.
No, don't squeeze them right now, I want to look. Put your hands
behind your head, and arch your back forward. ... Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Oh
yeah! Just seeing you is so hot! Now I need to see a little bit of
your tits for real. Keep your hands behind your head, but bend forward
at the waist. ... Head up now! Look at me. ... Oh, God, I'm in heaven.

"Stay bent over like that but take your hands down now. Put them on
your knees; on your knees under your skirt. Remember, those are my
hands you're feeling."

"Oh, Malcolm, oh, Malcolm, your hands feel so wonderful on my legs.
What if you moved them up, just a little bit?"

"OK, honey, just a little bit, but not too far because that would be
naughty, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know. Do you really think it would be naughty if you saw my
legs? I mean, women wear miniskirts, and shorts, and swim suits, and
show off their legs to men they don't even know. Wouldn't you like to
see my legs?"

"Oh, baby, you know I would! But be careful. You mustn't let me see
your panties."

"Yes, that would be naughty, wouldn't it. Very naughty. No, no, I
mustn't let you see my panties. I mustn't. ... There, now you can see
my legs, but you can't see my panties, can you? Please say you can't."

No, I can't see your panties. Even if we pulled your skirt up to your
waist I wouldn't see your panties, because the way you're bent over I
can only see your tits. Your tits would be covering your panties even
if you didn't have a skirt on at all. How would you feel about that,
honey? How would you feel about not having a skirt on at all?"

"Oh, no, that would be too naughty, too naughty."

"Yes, I suppose it would be, but is it too naughty that my fingers are
rubbing your panties now? Please don't say it is. I love feeling your
panties with my fingertips."

"But it's so naughty for you to be touching me this way."

"Yes, I know it's naughty, but it's not too naughty. Do you
understand?"

"I suppose you're right, and it does feel so nice."

"Of course I'm right. You can trust me. We might do some things that
are a little naughty, but we're not going to do anything that is
really nasty, now, are we?"

"No, we mustn't do anything nasty."

"Right, baby, naughty can be nice, but nasty is bad."

"Yes, naughty is nice, nasty is bad."

"I know something just a little bit naughty we could do. What if we
move my hands around to the back of your panties where they can rub
your ass?"

"That's not nasty?"

"No, it's just a tiny bit naughty, and it would feel so nice.

"Oh, God, yes, it does feel so nice. I love feeling your hands
squeezing my ... squeezing me back there."

"Say it, Missy, or I'll take my hands away. What are my hands
squeezing?"

"My ASS, my ASS, you're squeezing my ass."

"Let's try something, just to see. Bunch your skirt up, clear up to
your waist. I want to be sure I can't see your panties. ... Yeah, like
that, and no, I can't see a thing, so you can leave it there.

"Now I'm going to stroke your ass again. Isn't that better, without
your skirt in the way? What am I doing, Missy? Tell me what I'm
doing."

"You're stroking my ASS, and it's driving me wild."

"Oh, dear, we can't let you get too wild, now, can we. I think it's
time to move my fingers. I want to touch more of your panties, but you
mustn't let me touch your panties between your legs, because that
would be nasty."

"Yes, nasty, nasty!"

"OK, not between your legs, but how about the front of your panties up
higher, where your belly button is? That would be naughty, but not
nasty, right?"

"Yes, let's. But it's kind of hard, because my skirt is all wadded up
there. I mean, your fingers could go down lower, but that would be
nasty."

"Yes, I can see what you mean. Your skirt is in the way, and it's
making it hard for us to keep from being nasty. We don't want to be
nasty, do we?"

"No, no nasty."

"We just want to be a little more naughty, right?"

"Yes, naughty is nice, very nice."

"So we're going to have to be a little more naughty just to be sure we
don't get nasty. Put my hands back on your waist, outside your skirt."

"Why? This isn't naughty at all. I need to feel your hands on my
panties, PLEASE!"

"Oh, you will. But first you need to find the button or hook that is
holding the waist of your skirt. And you probably have a zipper below
that, right?"

"Yes, it's a button, and I found it."

"You may need both hands over there to unbutton it, and unzip."

"Yes, I got it. And now we can slip your hands inside my waistband
like this, and oh God, oh God!"

"True, but I'm not going to do that. I'm going to use my hands to push
the waist of your skirt down over your ass."

"Oh, but if you do that ... see what you've done? You made my skirt
fall off altogether."

"Isn't that kind of naughty? Not nasty, but naughty."

"Yes, so naughty, so naughty. I feel so naughty."

"Now I want to look at you some more, so I want you to shut your eyes.
Are they shut? So you can't see how I'm looking at you?"

"Yes, they're shut. Are you looking at me?"

"Yes, but I can't see what I need to see. I need to see your panties.
I know you're feeling so naughty that you want me to see your panties.
Admit it. Tell me you want me to see your panties."

"Oh, Malcolm, I do, I do, I want you to see my panties."

"So stand up, baby, stand up so I can see your panties. Oh, YEAH! Keep
your eyes closed, baby, so I can stare at your whole body. Do you feel
my eyes probing you all over? I'm staring at your panties, all over
your panties, even the part that's between your legs. It's naughty to
look at you this way, baby, but it's not nasty. I can look, and not
touch. No, I can't touch your pussy, baby, and I can't see it naked.
That would be nasty. But it's covered, so I can look at it. Doesn't it
feel really naughty to know I'm looking at your panties where your
pussy would be if I could see it? Doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes, that feels so naughty, I love the way it feels so naughty."

"What I can touch is your bra. You already let me do that, didn't you?
So now I need to touch it again. Oh, yes, that feels so good to me.
Doesn't it feel good to you, too?"

"Oh, yes, oh yes, it feels so good. I love feeling your hands on my
tits."

"I wish I could be touching your skin, rather than your bra. Don't you
wish I could touch your skin?"

"Yes, but that would be nasty."

"I don't know, I don't think so. Touching your pussy would be nasty,
but touching your tits is just very naughty. Go ahead, unhook your bra
so we can be very naughty. You know you want to do it."

"I do, I want it so much, but you're sure it's not nasty, just
naughty?"

"Go for it. Naughty is nice, very, very nice."

"OK, I will. I know this is very, very naughty, but I don't care. ...
OH GOD! That feels so fantastic! You're touching my tits. ... Now
you're touching my NIPPLES! OH GOD! I love the way you're pinching. I
love the way you're pinching. I think I'm going to COME!

"Stop it, Traci! You mustn't do that! That would be nasty."

"I don't care. I don't care. I don't care if it is nasty. OHHH!"

"Traci! Open your eyes this instant! Get control of yourself."

Traci opened her eyes and got the shock of her life. Malcolm was still
sitting on the sofa in front of her, but now he was stark naked. In
her sexually aroused state there was no way she could keep her eyes
from zeroing in on his crotch. And such a shaft he had sprouting from
there. It was rigid and swaying back and forth, but SO BIG! It must be
nearly twice as long as Mike's, and she had never imagined that anyone
could have something as fat at that. Her mouth dropped open and she
simply stared, fingers still pinching her nipples.

"You like it, don't you?"

Traci simply nodded, unable to speak.

"Kneel down in front of me so you can see it up close," he ordered,
and she obeyed.

"This is nasty, now, Missy. You don't care if it's nasty?"

She shook her head, eyes never leaving his cock.

"Nasty is bad. You want to be very bad, don't you?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Then reach out and touch it. ... That's right, you can stroke it. ...
Oh, not so fast. We don't want it spurting all over everything, now, do
we? Slow and easy. ... That's right.

"Oh, baby, my johnson wants to kiss your nipples. You'll let it do
that, won't you? Just bend down and push your bra out of the way.
First one tit and then the other.

"Oh, my, I think I saw a little spasm in your body from that. My
johnson is already making you start to come. Shouldn't you kiss it to
say thank you?"

Traci shuddered and bent down to kiss the tip of the huge black rod.
Mike had asked her to do that and she had always refused, but tonight
she was eager to comply.

"Now it's my turn, baby, to kiss your tits. Up high on your knees, and
let me bend forward so I can kiss you there. We really don't need this
bra any more, do we. Let's get it out of the way."

When Malcolm's lips enclosed her nipples, Traci suddenly found her
voice. <B>"OH GOD, ... OH GOD, ... I WANT IT, ... I WANT IT."</B>

He pulled away long enough to ask, "what do you want?"

She grabbed for his cock and started pumping frantically. "I want it
IN me, IN me, IN ME," she chanted, over and over.

"Sure, baby," he grunted as he pushed her onto her back and came down
on top of her, latching onto her nipple once again. His hand went to
the sopping wet crotch of her panties.

Her pelvis started jerking up and down, forcing his hand against her.
"FUCK ME! ... FUCK ME! ... FUCK ME," she screamed.

With her ass bouncing up and down he had no trouble pushing her
panties down far enough to expose her glistening cunt lips, but going
farther was going to be a problem because she had her legs spread as
wide as possible. He solved the problem by grabbing her knees and
pulling them up to her tits then swinging around her near leg and
aiming his cock directly below her wadded up panties.

"Put it in for me, Missy," he whispered hoarsely.

Traci didn't need to be asked twice. She reached between his loins and
guided the huge black organ towards her widespread pussy. Malcolm
eased the tip against her tight opening and began to press forward. At
first it appeared that the giant black monster wouldn't fit. Malcolm
grunted as he thrust his hips forward in a powerful stroke. Traci
screamed out loudly as just the thick knob penetrated her
near-virginal opening.

Malcolm knew she could scream all night and not bother anyone. Nobody
in this neighborhood had ever investigated a scream before. They
figured that someone was either getting beaten, or getting the fucking
of their life. Traci was about to get the fucking of her life.

Indeed, she already was. That huge cock had only just started to
penetrate her and she was already bucking as wave after wave of climax
hit her. Sex with Mike had never been anything like this. Malcolm took
his time: in an inch, then let her scream and buck a bit; as soon as
she started to calm down he fed her another inch and she started up
all over again.

Finally, Malcolm worked all ten inches of his thick black cock into
her tight white pussy. As he ground into her, his kinky, coarse black
dick hair intertwined with her curly fine blonde pussy hair. This was
intermingling of the races at its best. She ached to feel their juices
intermingle, too. She needed his cum so bad!

He pulled out several inches and then shoved hard. She screamed again,
in pure passion this time. Her whole world dissolved. Nothing could
survive pleasure this intense, but somehow she did. Oh, God, he was
pulling out again. He's going to ... he's going to ... YEEEEEESSS!
This time her cervix was flooded with months of pent up sperm, and
added its spasms to those wracking her entire body.

It was several minutes before her body calmed down enough that her
brain could start working. By then Malcolm's cock had shriveled and
popped out of her cunt. But with her first semi-rational thought she
knew beyond a doubt that her husband's puny white dick would never
again be enough for her. She'd give herself to Malcolm as often and as
long as he was able. After that ... well, she didn't know what would
come after that, but one way or another she'd have to find a big black
cock to satisfy her. Maybe that guy outside who said his big Willie
wanted to find out where her legs met. She sure would like to find out
how big his Willie really was. Her pussy was already beginning to
twitch again at the thought of what lay ahead.