The Black Blonde



Illustration Copyright 2014 by Lamair Nash

Fiction File Entry #102 (Sexy bits and naughty thoughts that may yet become full-blown comics…or something.)

She got between his legs and began to pump him luxuriously with both hands.

“I want that creamy filling.  Gimme that creamy filling.”

She was working him over good, double-fisted.  Her face was dangerously close to his shaft.

He let out a spasm—shot short.  The juice splashed her right eyebrow.  He gasped—“Oh shit”—and spurted longer, in a tinselly arc, across her lips, nose and right cheek.

“Mmmmm,” she hummed, her lips against the base of his cock.

He dribbled what seemed a whole other load, sounds gurgling in his throat, his chest subsiding.

“SweetJesusAlabama,” he said, swiping his face.  He peeked at her through two parted fingers.

She was nuzzling the tip of his cock now as if it were a very tasty and exotic bonbon, contented as a child with her treat.  She had been watching his face the whole time, smiling, coaxing, and then most appreciative. 

“Hi,” she said, gently squeezing him between ringed thumbs and index fingers.

That was the moment he fell out of love with his wife.  How could he have forgotten?  His wife had been away on a business trip.  Nine days, 13 hours and 29 minutes.  He didn’t miss her, not a single second, and he knew it was over, finally, truly over. 

It had been for a long time.  The breakdown started before the black blonde—he had to be honest—but there was no going back to his wife after the black blonde.