Newly Wed Pussy

It's been six weeks since our wedding and Mark and I are still settling into our new two-bedroom apartment on the edge of the city. We chose the place because the rent was reasonable and it would let us save for a house. Mark works long hours in sales and travels more than either of us likes. The morning he left for a five-day conference on the West Coast I drove him to the airport, kissed him hard at the curb, and watched his plane take off with that familiar mix of loneliness and quiet freedom.

By the time I got back the apartment felt too quiet. Boxes still sat half-unpacked in the living room. I spent the morning putting away dishes and hanging clothes, then decided a run would clear my head. The building has a small gym on the ground floor. I pulled on tight black running shorts that rode up the curve of my ass and a thin white tank with no bra underneath. My nipples pressed against the fabric the second the air-conditioning hit them.

I was stretching in the hallway near the elevators when I first saw him. The maintenance man was up on a ladder replacing a fluorescent bulb. Broad shoulders strained the faded blue work shirt. Dark skin stretched over thick arms. When he climbed down and turned I got the full picture—six-four at least, solid muscle under that uniform, a heavy gut that somehow made him look stronger rather than soft, and a face that looked like it had seen every kind of trouble and still smiled through it. He was older than me by a good fifteen years, maybe forty, with a low fade and a thick black mustache.

“Morning, miss,” he said, voice deep and easy. “Name’s Darius. You the new tenant in 408?”

“Emily,” I answered, offering my hand because it felt polite. His palm swallowed mine. Rough calluses scraped my skin. He held on a second longer than necessary and his eyes dropped straight to my chest, then lower to the strip of bare thigh between shorts and sneakers.

“Anything you need fixed, you call the office and ask for me. I’ll take care of you personal.” He gave a slow grin and released my hand. I felt the heat of his stare follow me all the way to the gym door.

I ran hard on the treadmill, trying to shake the way his size had filled the hallway. When I finished and walked back upstairs my tank was soaked through and clinging. Darius was still in the corridor, this time crouched by a utility panel. He looked up as I passed and that grin returned.

“Looking good after a workout, Emily.”

I mumbled a thank-you and kept walking, cheeks hot.

An hour later I was in the shower when the knock came. I threw on a thin cotton robe that barely closed over my breasts and opened the door. Darius stood there with a toolbox and a work order.

“Air filter needs changing in every unit this week. Won’t take five minutes.”

I stepped aside. The robe gaped when I moved and I caught him looking at the inner curves of my tits. He walked straight to the utility closet in the hallway, dropped to his knees, and pulled the filter panel open. The closet is narrow. I stayed a few feet back, arms crossed, trying not to notice how the fabric of his pants stretched tight across a thick bulge when he shifted position.

“Come here a second,” he said without looking up. “I’ll show you how to do this yourself next time.”

I hesitated, then stepped closer. He was on his back now, shoulders against the wall, legs spread. From that angle I could see straight down the front of his pants. The outline of his cock was unmistakable—long, heavy, resting against his thigh like a length of pipe. My mouth went dry.

He talked through the filter change in that same deep voice, but his eyes stayed on my bare legs. When he finished he stayed on the floor a moment longer, openly staring up between my thighs. The robe had ridden higher. I knew he could see the bottom edge of my pussy lips if he looked hard enough.

“You ever had a real man between those legs?” he asked quietly.

I froze. “Excuse me?”

He sat up slowly, still on the floor, and unzipped his pants with one hand. The sound of the zipper was loud in the quiet apartment. His cock sprang free—thick, dark, already half-hard, the head flared and shiny. It had to be nine inches easy, maybe more, and so thick my fingers wouldn’t close around it if I tried. Veins ran along the shaft. His heavy balls hung low underneath.

“I asked if you ever had a real man stretch that pretty little white pussy.”

I should have ordered him out. Instead I stood there staring, pulse hammering in my throat and between my legs. My husband Mark is average—five and a half inches on a good day, thin. This thing in front of me looked like it belonged on a different species.

“I’m married,” I whispered.

“I know. Ring’s right there on your finger. Doesn’t mean that tight cunt don’t need something bigger.” He wrapped a fist around the base and gave it a slow stroke. It thickened further, rising until the head pointed at my face. A clear bead of precum formed at the slit.

I took a step back. He stood in one smooth motion, pants still open, cock jutting out. He closed the distance until the heat of that massive dick radiated against my stomach through the thin robe.

“Touch it,” he said. “Just once. Then I’ll leave.”

My hand moved before my brain caught up. Fingers brushed the hot, silky skin of the head. It jumped under my touch. I wrapped my hand around as much of the shaft as I could and squeezed. He was so thick the tips of my fingers didn’t meet. The weight of it surprised me. I stroked once, feeling the skin slide over the hard core beneath.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Feel how heavy that black cock is. That’s what your husband can’t give you.”

I stroked again, longer this time, watching the head flare and the precum smear across my palm. My pussy clenched hard. I could feel myself getting wet, the lips swelling against nothing.

“Enough,” I said, but my hand kept moving.

He reached out and tugged the belt of my robe. It fell open. Cool air hit my bare breasts and the soft mound of my pussy. He looked me over like he was deciding where to start. One big hand cupped my left breast, thumb brushing the nipple until it tightened into a hard peak. The other hand stayed on his cock, guiding it so the head rubbed against my lower belly, leaving a wet trail.

“I’m going to fuck you, Emily. Not today if you’re not ready, but soon. That little married cunt is going to open up for this dick and you’re going to beg for more.”

He stepped back, tucked himself away with difficulty, and zipped up. The bulge was still obvious. He picked up his toolbox and walked to the door.

“You know where to find me when that pussy starts aching.” He left the work order on the counter with his cell number scrawled at the bottom.

I locked the door, leaned against it, and slid a hand between my legs. My fingers came away slick. I fingered myself right there in the hallway, two fingers pumping into my wet hole while I stared at the number, until I came hard enough that my knees buckled.

That night I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw that thick black cock, the way it had pulsed in my hand. I got up twice to masturbate, first with my fingers, then with the small vibrator Mark and I kept in the nightstand. I came both times whispering Darius’s name into the pillow.

The next afternoon the air conditioning died. The apartment climbed into the mid-eighties within an hour. I called the front office. They said the maintenance man would be up shortly. Of course it was him.

I answered the door in a short sundress with nothing underneath. I told myself it was because of the heat. Darius’s eyes dropped straight to my hard nipples poking the thin cotton.

“Filter again?” I asked, trying for casual.

“Looks like the compressor. Might take a while.”

He came in, set his tools down, and went to work. I sat on the couch and watched the muscles in his back move under the shirt. Sweat darkened the fabric between his shoulder blades. After twenty minutes he had the unit running again. Instead of leaving he walked over and sat beside me, close enough that his thigh pressed against mine.

“You been thinking about it,” he said. Not a question.

I didn’t answer. He took my hand and placed it on the thick ridge in his pants. My fingers curled around it automatically.

“Take it out.”

I unzipped him. His cock sprang free, already hard, the head dark and shiny. I stroked it slowly, watching the way the skin moved. He leaned back, one arm along the back of the couch, and let me work.

“Suck it,” he said after a minute. “Show me how that married mouth works.”

I slid off the couch onto my knees between his spread legs. The carpet was rough under my shins. I wrapped both hands around the shaft and licked the head, tasting the salty precum. He was too thick to take easily. I stretched my lips wide and forced the head past them, tongue working the underside. He groaned low and put a heavy hand on the back of my head.

“Deeper. I know you can take more than that.”

I pushed down until my jaw ached and my eyes watered. Still only half of him was in my mouth. Spit ran down the shaft and over my fingers. I bobbed slowly, sucking hard on the way up, letting the head pop free with a wet sound before taking him again. My free hand slipped under my dress and found my pussy already soaked. I rubbed my clit in tight circles while I sucked him.

“That’s a good little slut,” he growled. “Look at you choking on black cock while your husband’s off working. You were made for this.”

I moaned around him. The vibration made his hips jerk. He held my head still and started fucking my mouth in short, controlled thrusts. Tears spilled down my cheeks. Drool soaked the front of my dress. When he finally pulled me off I was gasping, chin wet, lips swollen.

He stood, pulled me up, and stripped the sundress over my head in one motion. I stood naked in the living room while he looked me over—pale skin, full C-cup breasts with pink nipples, narrow waist, the trimmed patch of dark hair above my pussy, the soft lips already shiny with juice.

He stripped out of his own clothes. His body was thick with muscle and a layer of solid fat that made him look powerful. His cock stood out from a nest of black hair, so hard the head was almost purple. He picked me up like I weighed nothing and carried me to the bedroom—the same bed where Mark and I had made love the night before he left.