photo copyright 2009 by Lucretia                         

Going Shopping

by Rawclyde !


     "I'm gonna go shopping, honey," said Atalanta to her husband, Adolf, one sunny Saturday afternoon.  She was standing provocative as a howdy to hell, in the doorway to her husband's sloppy book-crammed study.

     Adolf, who was prematurely gray and going bald, looked up from his losing battle with the manuscript he was destroying with corrections that could never correct the manuscript's major fault ~ lack of soul.

     His wife was an amazon of volcanic beauty ~ like a vision ~ and Adolf's already glazed eyes lacquered up more as he looked her up and down.

     Atalanta was also a successful journalist for the Minority Gazette, written and published on the other side of town.  Meanwhile Adolf was going nuts failing month after month to find a publisher for the hack "paperback" novels he was constantly, futilely working on.

     Atalanta felt so sorry for him ~ and for herself too ~ because his anxiety to match her flaming success produced nothing but the continual reoccurance of uncurable herpes on his scab encrusted cock.  Atalanta was horny as a thousand and one trombones in May.  All she could do was walk around his desk and lightly press against his lips the magnificent bulge of her snuggly veiled grotto of supreme delight.

     Adolf's hands slipped around her curvaceous hips and pressed her closer for a long moment.  Atalanta slowly ground her hunger up against his hunger ~ then broke away.

     "See you later," she said.

     "Watch out for the traffic," chortled Adolf as she hustled out the door.  The tan-melting-away-to-creamy-white curve of her scrumptious ass sneaked out the bottom of her shorts rather startlingly, noticed Adolf, as she walked out.  The tingling sensations left upon the lips of Adolf told him there were no panties under those damn things.  Why did she have to dress like that just to go shopping?

     Because she was beautiful, that's why!

     The touch of her cool, naked, inner thigh against his cheek as he had kissed her snugly, barely concealed, big kunt ~ lingered as it always lingered ~ and the dusty goblet standing on the floor of Adolf's cobwebbed soul was filled to the brim with ~

     Love for Atalanta!


     Atalanta did not rightly know why she dressed like a delicious potato-chip dip ~ just to go shopping.  All it did was make her more horny than she was already.  She shrugged as she drove along the sunny boulevard in her 1984 Chevy van.  The way she dressed was just the latest style.  That's all.  And, yes, she looked good ~ damn good ~ a definite compliment to the moving ideals of beauty.

     Besides, when passing men went through various mad contortions trying to or trying not to look at her, it gave her an arousing sense of power.

     As she walked into the supermarket, she let the center of her balance settle into the momentous knoll of womanly reward barely concealed by her shorts.  She knew that her long smooth legs toasted just right by many a distant run along the beach, took male eyes on a sleigh ride with a motor up to her snugly concealed bounty.  And she knew that the breezy V of her half-unbuttoned sleeveless blouse, stuffed full of two big taunt-nipple-ed mammeries, over adventurously led male eyes down to ~ the grassy knoll.  Her body was a schooner carrying a shipment of goddess blessings.  Her kunt, packed full of dynamite womanly frenzy, was the bow.  Atalanta sailed into the super-duper-market.


     She thumped a melon ~ and glanced up at a big black buck in bulging blue-jeans who had his hand buried in the bananas.  He was staring at her with his mouth open, his thick bottom lip dangling like a waterfall.

     "It's ripe," said Atalanta to this, this soul brother.  Smiling, she placed the melon in her shopping cart.  She was sure his eye caught a sassy splash of aura as she leaned over.  As she pushed her cart past him, drool dribbled down the front of his shirt.

     About a half hour later ~

     Atalanta was wheeling her loaded grocery cart out the supermarket door when she heard a deep voice croon, "Hey baby."

     She couldn't help but glance over at from whence it come.  There under the supermarket veranda next to a bench stood the same dark dude she'd seen inside.  Atalanta brought her cart to a halt, quizzically regarded the big guy.

     He beckoned to her with one strategic finger.

     Atalanta parked the cart, strolled over, blushing.  She stood before the stranger.  She stood awfully close.  "What's up?" she asked.

     He pulled a banana out of his hip pocket, peeled it halfway, offered her a bite.

     "No thanks." Atalanta smiled, shaking her head slightly.

     The big dude dwelt luxuriantly in the green green grass of home that he saw in Atalanta's eyes ~ for Atalanta's eyes were green ~ and this guy was experiencing a vision ~ a vision of himself taking this woman home and fucking her in his backyard ~ on the lawn.

     "Sure you don't want a bite?" he said, waving the banana in front of her face.  "It's good for you. Full of nutrition."

     Atalanta sniffed, amused.  "No thanks."

     The black man bit into it ~ chewed ~ gulped with an expression of over-dramatized satisfaction on his handsome thick-lipped face.  He grinned disarmingly.  "Are you sure?"

     "Well," hesitated Atalanta.

     The stranger's eyes were depth-fully black ~ offset by a sky-full of teen-beam twinkles ~ as he held half-gone mellow-yellow just in front of her face.

     Atalanta's lips parted slightly.

     He slipped it in.

     Atalanta bit off a piece ~ chewed ~ gulped.  "Mmmm, not bad," she admitted.  She raised her foot to the seat of the bench next to which they were standing, rested it there.  She grinned back at the grinning dude.

     "Baby," he said soft and low, as if they were laying side by side in a Hollywood bedroom.  "I think we're good together.  I think we'd make a great team ~ especially when it comes to enjoying ourselves."  He rested a warm hand on Atalanta's cool knee.  The way she was standing, with one foot on the bench, allowed the soul brother, when his eyes took an exhilarating sleigh-ride down the front of her, to dig on the sight of more than a few curly auburn hairs sneaking out one side of the yielding crotch of her shorts.  "I mean it," he crooned.  "I'm sincere."

     His hand on her knee moved gently up her thigh as he "rapped" to her ~ until one of his fingers was actually combing through a few of the soft hairs that could not be imprisoned by the tantalizingly narrow crotch of Atalanta's amazing packed-to-the-hilt shorts.

     Atalanta blushed ~ bashfully lowered her eyes.  My God!  His jeans were about to burst with the largest damned peter she had ever ~ yes ~ she knew then that they were, for sure, going to fuck.

     She silently pulled his hand away and turned around ~ fetched her cart ~ courageously threw a challenging smile over her shoulder as she smoothly strutted to her van.

     He followed ~ his eyes glued to the bold beautiful ass fluttering, curving, peek-a-booing back at him from Atalanta's shorts.

     He helped her put her groceries into the van through its side door, brushing up against her intoxicating body whenever he could, his nostrils a twitter with many seductive perfumes.

     The big black buck in bulging more-than-ever blue jeans slammed the van door shut and shoved away the grocery cart.  A half-eaten banana lay in the bottom of the discarded cart.

     Atalanta noted that the screaming-for-kunt head of his thick dick had inched its way halfway to his knee.  Standing at his side, facing him, she let her knoll of ecstasy timber softly against the side of his leg.  Her eyes, lacquered up with animal shine, were half closed as she breathed heavy on his ear.

     He turned his head.  Her slightly smiling lips were half an inch from his own.  He inhaled deeply, digging lavishly on this female entity who was rubbing-up against him like an alley cat, sneaking her hands under his T-shirt, tracing patterns along the top edge of his jeans, pulling softly on the hairs of his belly.

     Atalanta's entire being funneled itself into her pussy as she bent back and grinded it against his leg.

     His hand slyly beat a path into her blouse and explored the cool, warm, turgid, soft, surrendering world of this woman whose name he did not know.

     A couple of young lads sitting on a nearby wall were spellbound with open-mouthed awe and silent as the wall on which they were perched, as they watched these two adults fondle each other.  The man's back rested against the side of Atalanta's van.  His leg jutted out with the woman draped all over it.  His hand heartily massaged her ass right there in the middle of the grocery-store parking lot.  Her fingernails traced light designs up and down the big bulge in the big dude's jeans.

     Finally Atalanta lifted herself off the man's leg, moved around so that she stood directly in front of him.  With her body almost, but not quite completely, shielding from public view what she was doing, she reached into his jeans and flip-flopped his ballistic phallic of love into an upright position so that a generous portion of it was sticking out.  She leaned against him, stretching her arms high above her head.

     He slid down the side of the van about a foot and pressed his thick black man lips against the white woman's golden shoulder.  Now both his hands massaged her ass excessively as she excessively ground her impressive mound of delicious treats, still wrapped, against his bull-like nuts, still packaged also.

     Atalanta could feel the hot exposed head of the man's giant cock next to her rib under her blouse.  A shudder shot up and down her spine.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself harder against him.  Then with a husky quiver she moaned in his ear, "Fuck me, you brute."

     "Shouldn't we seek some privacy for such venture, baby?" baritone-ed the soulful feller.

     Atalanta undid his belt and unzipped his fly for reply.

     So he just slouched down further ~ until the purple blooming head of his unleashed upright hard-as-rock cock snuggled up to the juicy barely-veiled slit that was dying to gobble it up.

     Atalanta backed off and tucked her fingers into the leg of her shorts.  Assertively she pulled the narrow crotch aside ~ settled the flopulant lips of her cavernous pussy upon the summit of the tallest thickest oak she had ever come across.  With one hand holding to the side the stretched fabric of her shorts and with her other hand clutching at the shoulder of the gent to whom the great oak belonged, Atalanta settled down to the business of sexual relief ~ gyrating softly, breathing heavy, perspiring with intoxicating aroma under the California sun ~ and it sank in further and further and further...

     "Ye gads, Larry, they're fucking!" said the one 12-year-old boy to the other sitting over on the wall.  "Larry?"  He who had let the words explode out of his mouth glanced over at his little buddy.

     Larry had his pants undone and was wacking his pud as he watched Atalanta and her new stud do it in the parking lot.

     "Ye gads, Larry!  You're wacking off!"

     Life drove on as usual all around the coupling couple.  Car doors slammed.  Traffic smoked.  People strolled by.  Clouds raced across the sky like an endless brigade of fanciful dreams.  At first glance, Atalanta and her new soul brother appeared to be engaged in an intimate kiss only.  But actually...

     Atalanta had a big robust pussy and for the first time in her life all her empty spaces were filled ~ and with good black cock.  It stretched her muff wider than it had ever been and pushed in and out with a sensual rythym all its own.  When she was sure there was room for no more, more forced itself in and there was plenty more coming.  She began to tremble, held onto the feller's shoulders, dug her nails into him as her undulating hips pressed forever forward.  His cock smashed through ~ into her never before visited places and wrecked havoc as more and more came bursting in after that ~ bulging her stomach, bending her ribs, brushing by her heart and pounding inch by inch up her throat until her head itself, with its long auburn hair trailing away in the breeze, had its brains shoved aside and replaced with black dick.

     After they were done, as Atalanta was wiping a truck load of cum off her thighs with her accomplished stud's handkerchief, she asked him his name.

     "Dick," he replied.  "Black Dick."

     "Figures," smiled Atalanta with hot rosy cheeks.  "I'm Atalanta.  Glad to meet you."

     They shook hands ~ like a done deal was in the works.

     Meanwhile, the two lads on the wall fell off their brick perch with their own little boy cum in their hands and raced home to tell their older brothers all that they had seen in the grocery-store parking-lot that sunny day.


     "My God, you're watching TV, Adolf!  How come you're not in the study writing you're fool head off as usual?" quoth Atalanta as she strutted through the living room with an arm full of warm melting groceries.

     "What for?" droned Adolf, slouched on the couch.  He was watching a re-run of the old western serial, Rawhide.  "I don't have anything to write about."

     Atalanta disappeared into the kitchen, knocked around in there for awhile and meandered back out.  "What about me?" she said as she flopped down on the opposite end of the couch.  "Why don't you write about me?"

     Adolf squinted at her ~ and at her exquisite long legs spread out at a wild angle of uninhibited challenging repose.  Adolf could smell the stimulating aroma of dinner bubbling on the stove in the kitchen ~ smelled like split-pea soup.

     Atalanta turned her head away and stared at television, masking well any anticipation she might have concerning ~

     Adolf's discovery.

     She was sitting  in such a way upon her end of the couch that the whole story of what she'd done that afternoon at the supermarket was more-or-less being confessed without one word spoken.  Her back kind of half-rested against the arm of the couch, her attention seemingly directed at the television.  One leg was stretched across the seat of the couch toward Adolf.  Her other leg was bent and resting on the top of the back of the couch.  Her whole body, in other words, especially when she slid down a bit further, was aimed at Adolf ~ especially the smooth inside of her tan thighs ~ and more especially the gung-ho bulge of rosy-lipped pussy peek-a-boo-ing out from either side of the damp frayed crotch of her shorts.  Adolf spied a curly black hair dangling from the lighter auburn hairs that were also so discreetly being displayed to either side of the voraciously beat-up crotch of Atalanta's shorts ~

     And this was Adolf's discovery.

     There was suddenly more aroma in the living room than just dinner cooking.  There was also the distinct bitter-sweet aroma of a sexual adventure just experienced emitting from Atalanta like the smoke from a barn just burned down.

     A thought like a bullet shot through Adolf's head:  Atalanta, his sweet Atalanta, had fucked another jig-a-boo.

     Adolf took a long look.  Sure enough, there was more than just one black and curly hair entwined in his wife's slightly revealed pubic garden.

     Adolf's throat was suddenly dry.  He could hardly breath ~ and a little creek of sweat rolled from his armpit down the side of his body and soaked into his shirt.  Painfully he gulped.  And huskily he said, "I love you, Atalanta."

     She turned her head and looked at him ~ saw the tears in his red-rimmed eyes.  A little smile of disdain played upon her perfect lips.  She slipped further down the arm of the couch 'til her head rested there.  One foot, bare, landed in her cuckold husband's lap.  Her other foot, up there on the back of the couch, tapped signals in the air in front of his face.  

     Adolf, who was going bald and running out of places to go, surrendered his pride ~ totally ~ and kissed Atalanta's knee.  Which knee?  You decide, precious reader.

    Her fingers, in a most superlative way, ran through what hair there was on Adolf's head ~ manipulated his ear and steered him easily along her inner thigh ~ until, with his teeth, Adolf snapped the final threads that held together the crotch of Atalanta's shorts.  He backed off a little and stared at his wife's wide-open slit.

     He kissed it ~ again and again.  It hungrily kissed him back with its crusty, swollen, man-eating lips.  After a minute or two of this ~ urgently, authoritively, Atalanta hissed, "Suck."

     And Adolf did.


(copyright Clyde Collins 1989/2011)


photo copyright 2010 by Lucretia                        


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