("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. You may post freely to non-commercial "free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- My Hen Night by Mandy (Isabel.rollings@ukonline.co.uk) *** Just before I got married some of my friends kept telling me I should "go black". Then, on my hen night, just before the wedding, they spiked my drink, got me really drunk, and arranged for me to be gangbanged by some black guys. I should have been angry, but I soon realised that it was the best thing that could have ever happen to a white bride-to-be. (M+/F, nc, alcohol, orgy, intr, gb) *** Up until the time I met my husband I had very little experience of sex. I'd had some one-night-stands, of course, with guys I'd met in pubs and night clubs, but these had been very unsatisfying because most of them had brewer's droop - in fact, more often than not as soon as they got on top of me they fell asleep they were so pissed. It didn't do much for my confidence. I have never really thought of myself as much of a catch, anyway, because an accident when I was two (my parents sat me in front of an open fire wearing inflammable clothes) left my hands, forearms and the bottom half of my face permanently scarred. Not badly, but enough to notice. About the only thing that really got me going was one night when me and my friends went to a reggae club and several black guys asked me to dance with them. Later on they gave me some blow and I got really uninhibited and let them kiss and grope me one by one on the dance floor. There were about ten of them, and one or two of them stuck their fingers up me, but that's as far as it went. A few nights later, over a few drinks, my friends reminded of how wild I had been - at least by my usual standards - and I admitted that I had been aroused. One of my friends had married a black guy, and she suggested I meet one of his friends. I decided against it because my father had always told me that if I ever brought a black man home he would disown me. Which was strange, because I had never once mentioned black men, and in any case my father didn't have anything to disown me with. I found out later, by the way, that my mother had once had a fling with a black guy who had got her pregnant and dad had paid for the abortion. Wow! This was such a shock! But me finding this out was a long way in the future. Meanwhile, my friends kept trying to convince me that I should try going out with a black guy, and they told me that there were several they knew who fancied me and didn't mind about my hands and the lower half of my face being a little scarred. They were attracted by my long wavy ginger hair, which grew down to my arse, my grey eyes, my 38DD breasts, my "sticky-out arse", my ample "thunder-thighs" and the fact that when I went out I always wore a short flared dress and knee-high boots (red, white, silver and gold were my favourites). There were times when I felt tempted, but always, just as I was about to give in, I resisted the temptation, still scared, stupidly, about my father's reaction. When I met the man who became my husband he was attracted by exactly the same things that these black guys were supposedly interested in. Maybe there was a black man inside him trying to get out, although he can't stand reggae, rap, hip-hop or anything like that, but he does like jazz and blues. (He got really mad at a black guy one night who claimed Eric Clapton was the world's best blues guitarist. This guy had never even heard of Elmore James, one of my husband's favourites, who was black.) Well, let's get down to the nitty gritty. My hen night, which took place the night before I was due to be married. It was only afterwards that I found out that what happened that night had been planned by my friends, in particular the one who had a black husband. It was she who suggested that on my hen night I wear the same clothes I was going to be married in - a white dress, silk at the top with a multi-layered nylon skirt down to the knee, white fishnet stockings and suspenders, white silk knickers, white lace-up over the knee boots with kitten heels, a white leather blouson jacket and my wedding veil. She also suggested the pub we went to. We went out at about half-seven and after we had a few vodka and tonics black men suddenly started appearing and offering me drinks. They were very sociable, asking me my name, asking me whether I was getting married, when, who to, was he white, telling me what a waste, etc, until finally one of them asked me into the back room for a dance. I was passed from one black guy to another, and they were very brazen, kissing me, feeling my breasts, rubbing my thighs, prising my knickers aside and trying to finger me. It was uncomfortable at times, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't turned on. Eventually I became completely uninhibited. I found out later that my friends had arranged for these black guys to spike my drinks until I was completely legless. Then they called for a hire car and I was helped in there with five black guys. The car stopped outside a house on an estate, and the five black guys helped me out. The driver, who was also black, got out too. I was taken up some stairs, fell onto a bed, and remember my knickers being taken down. They didn't take off anything else. They just lifted up my skirt and started to take me. All six of them took me in every hole, coming every time. After about two hours more turned up, and I was dimly aware that my girlfriends were standing behind them laughing at me and egging them on. The funny thing was that my personality seemed split - one half of me seemed to be watching what was going on, the other half was enjoying every second. I think by the time the tenth or eleventh guy had finished the "watching" half of me stopped functioning and I was just floating in sexual ecstasy. The fact that I was to be married in a few hours' time didn't even enter my head. My husband to be didn't exist. All that mattered was that I was lying there being fucked and fucked and fucked and I was having the most terrific orgasms. There was pain, yes, but God it was worth it! We carried on until daylight. Long before then I was taking an active part, kissing them passionately, caressing and sucking their cocks, eating their arses, and letting them take me from behind. They were ejaculating all over me - over my hair, my veil, my face, my chest, my skirt, my stomach, my thighs, my boots, my white silk gloves. It was glorious! Right at that moment I was deeply, deeply in love with every guy who was there. Crazy I know. But right then I would have married them all. Finally, at about nine in the morning, after I'd been fucked by 28 black guys, I was driven back to my friend's house to get me cleaned up for the wedding. But now I was starting to have second thoughts. There was no way that my fiancé satisfied me the way these guys did! Oh hell, what was I to do? I asked the driver to turn round. To hell with getting cleaned up and getting married. I wanted more black sex! So we turned back, and I spent two more hours getting fucked even more by these black guys. I knew then there was no way I could go through the rest of my life without having more and yet more black guys. My girlfriends persuaded me to go through with the wedding. After all, they said, just because I was married to a white guy there was no reason I should be faithful to him. None of them had been faithful. I then found out that apart from the one who was married to a black guy anyway, not one of the others was loyal to their white husbands. All of them had had black lovers on the side. Some of their lovers had just fucked me. I suppose I should have felt betrayed by my friends; after all they had tricked me into being gangbanged by nearly 30 black guys the night before I was due to be married to a white man - and in my wedding outfit as well. But I wasn't angry at them at all. The thing that did make me angry was that I was now going to marry a man who previously I had been satisfied with but now, compared to black guys, was, well, nice, but not all that exciting. But as they said, I didn't have to restrict my sex life to him - anyway, he'd be a good front, and keep my dad quiet. Meanwhile, I would have black guys whenever I could. During the wedding reception I was particularly frustrated. Every time I looked at someone, I imagined he was black. Every time I danced with someone, I yearned for him to be a black guy who would finger me on the dance floor and then whisk me away and fuck me. Whenever I went to the toilet, I hoped a black guy was lurking behind the door, and that he would lock the door and fuck me silly. I kept wishing and wishing that I had invited all the black guys that had fucked me last night to the wedding reception! I just wanted all our wedding guests to be horny young black guys! That night, when I went to bed with my husband, it was the first night that I didn't want sex with him. It really sounds awful, doesn't it? But it's the truth. Right there and then I wished he was black. Right at that moment, I would have done anything to have a black guy in bed with me rather than my white husband. When we made love, I imagined that I was actually being made love to by some of the guys who had gangbanged me before my wedding, and that they had tied my husband to a chair and made him watch. Finally they untied him and made him lick me clean. Then they made him suck their cocks and then they butt-fucked him before giving him a good beating while once again I was being gangbanged. Only then did I have an orgasm. I had to do something. I pictured with horror the forty or fifty years of marriage stretching before me always having to fantasise to have an orgasm with my husband. I decided that night I would tell him that from now on I wanted black sex. But how? Then I had an idea. I would ask him to tell me his fantasies, then I would tell him mine... END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 42