“Come on,” Cyn says, pulling me towards the door. “A couple of minutes for your Aunt Cyn.” She smiles mischievously. A couple of doors down is a sports bar and Cyn leads the way to a back table. Holy shit! Sitting there with drinks half finished are Shelly and Barbara.
“Surprise!” they all yell as Cyn slips into the booth next to the other two. I stand there dumbfounded as the three laugh uproariously at my discomfort. The neglected black housewives in all their luscious glory are wishing me happy birthday.
“The neglected black housewives,” I say, grinning from ear to ear.
“Except we are no longer neglected,” Shelly says. “Thanks to you,” she adds, raising her glass.
I could never cheat on Jasmine but as I take a chair across from them, my mind momentarily flashes on the foursome scene that Barbara had described to me months ago. I can vividly see Cyn and Shelly with their faces buried in each other’s pussies while Barbara rides my cock and I play with her perfect tits. Shelly’s massive breasts and unruly pubic hair contrast with Cyn’s neatly trimmed bush and firm, high breasts. My cock stiffens when I focus on Barbara’s designer pubic hair and long, dark nipples.
Before I conjure up any more images, a pair of hands clamps over my eyes. I catch a whiff of Jasmine’s perfume just before she speaks.
“Guess who?” she asks as she leans her head down. “Don’t even think about it,” she whispers in my ear just before kissing my cheek and uncovering my eyes.
“I wasn’t,” I lie. She slides into the chair next to me and runs her hand up my thigh.
“You were,” she laughs as she squeezes my hard cock.
“Okay, but I wouldn’t have,” I answer.
“I know,” she says, kissing me on the lips.
“Hey, you two,” Shelly cries. “You know we can’t have any of that, so quit teasing us.”
Everyone laughs and I order a round of drinks, adding a Sprite for Jasmine. We laugh and toast through several more rounds with increasing amounts of explicit sexual banter that is embarrassingly focused on my prowess with my tongue.
I can’t believe they’re sitting here comparing the intensity of their orgasms induced by my tongue. My face is bright red and I want to just slip under the table, especially when Jasmine joins in with her affirmation of my skills and even discloses her Tongueman nickname for me amidst much nodding and laughter.
“I thought Aunt Cyn was exaggerating,” she says with a sly smile. “But um-huh, she was so right.” Jasmine shakes her head as she grabs my arm possessively. “And he’s all mine,” she announces adamantly.
A casual observer might wonder what a young white guy was doing with these four gorgeous black women but I’m sure would never believe the incredible sex I’ve had with each of them.
“Here’s to us housewives not being neglected anymore,” Shelly adds to the end of one of my lengthy toasts about Jasmine and I. “But, Mike, if this thing doesn’t work out,” she waves her hand between Jasmine and I. “You know where to find us,” she winks.
More laughter from everyone except Barbara who lifts her glass but smiles a little dejectedly. We clink glasses and Jasmine nudges me that it’s time to go.
“We have some celebrating of our own to do,” I say, pushing my chair back. “Thank you all for a wonderful birthday!”
Everyone stands and give us hugs. Shelly squashes her heavy breasts into my chest and squeezes my ass cheek as she wishes me a happy birthday. Cyn kisses me on the cheek and whispers another apology that I dismiss with a wave of my hand.
“I have no regrets,” I whisper in her ear.
“Me either except how I treated you and Jasmine,” she smiles.
Finally Barbara wraps her arms around my neck and stares longingly into my eyes, apparently looking for reciprocal feelings. I smile and she crushes her lips against mine in a hard, passionate kiss while she presses her body against me with an almost imperceptible grind against my hard cock.
“Happy birthday, Mike,” she whispers, her hand lingering on my cheek. Before I can respond, Jasmine loops her arm through mine and we say our goodbyes.
“That was fun,” I tell Jasmine as we walk back to the bookstore to get my car.
“I don’t trust Barbara,” she scowls.
“You don’t have to,” I answer. “You just have to trust me.”
“I do, Mike,” she says, turning to walk backward in front of me. “Take me home and unwrap your present,” she says, indicating the buttons on her blouse.
“What are we waiting for?” I ask, grabbing her hand and drag her laughing towards my car.
As you can imagine, it’s the best birthday ever!