White Wife's BBC Electrician Fires Her Pottery Kiln

I stood in the dusty quiet of my pottery studio, the afternoon light slanting through the high windows and catching on the half-finished pieces that lined the shelves. At thirty-two, I had built a modest name for myself selling stoneware at local galleries, but this deadline was different. The kiln had died overnight, right when I needed it most. My husband, David, was three states away on a week-long business trip, leaving me alone with a cold kiln and a mounting panic. I’d already called three electricians. Only one could come the same day.

When the doorbell rang, I wiped clay dust from my sundress and hurried through the house. The man waiting on the porch was nothing like the middle-aged repairmen I’d pictured. Marcus was tall, easily six-four, with broad shoulders that strained the navy company polo stretched across his chest. His skin was a rich, deep brown that seemed to drink in the sunlight, and the short sleeves revealed powerful, corded arms. He carried a heavy toolkit like it weighed nothing. When his dark eyes met mine, something electric snapped in the air between us. I felt it low in my belly, a sudden, unmistakable pulse of heat.

“Mrs. Harper?” His voice was a low, smooth rumble. “I’m Marcus. You called about a kiln?”

I swallowed, aware that my nipples had tightened against the thin cotton of my dress. “Yes. Please, come in. The studio’s out back.”

He followed me through the house, and I could feel his gaze on the sway of my hips. By the time we stepped into the bright, clay-scented studio, the tension was already humming like a live wire. Marcus set his toolbox down beside the big electric kiln and crouched to inspect the control panel, the fabric of his work pants pulling tight across his thick thighs. I hovered nearby, trying not to stare at the way his biceps flexed as he removed the cover.

“Looks like a bad relay and some degraded wiring,” he said after a few minutes. He glanced up at me, and his full lips curved into a slow smile that made my knees feel weak. “You’ve got some beautiful work here. That vase on the wheel especially. The lines are… sensual.” His eyes drifted deliberately from the pottery to the curve of my waist and hips. “Kind of like the woman who made it.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. I should have laughed it off. Instead, I heard myself say, “It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me like that.”

Marcus straightened to his full height, towering over me. The studio suddenly felt smaller, warmer. “Your husband’s a lucky man. If you were mine, I’d make sure you never forgot how fucking gorgeous you are.”

The confession slipped out before I could stop it. “He’s away all week. And even when he’s here… it’s been months since I felt anything close to what I’m feeling right now, just standing next to you.”

His dark eyes flared. He reached into the toolbox and handed me a voltage tester. When our fingers brushed, his large, warm palm lingered against my smaller, pale one. The contact sent a bolt of pure lust straight to my core. I was already wet. I could feel it, slick and sudden, soaking into my panties.

“Tell me you feel this too,” he said, voice rough.

“I do.” My breath was coming faster. “I want you, Marcus. Right here. Right now. I don’t even know you, but I’ve never wanted anyone this badly in my life.”

A deep, hungry sound rolled out of his chest. “Then get on your knees, pretty white wife. Let me see that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock.”

The words should have shocked me. Instead, they made me moan. I dropped to my knees on the concrete floor in front of him, my hands trembling as I reached for his belt. He watched me with heavy-lidded eyes while I worked his zipper down. When I tugged his pants and boxers low enough, his cock sprang free and I actually gasped.

It was enormous. Thick, veined, and heavy, the dark shaft a deep mahogany that flushed almost black at the wide, glistening head. Easily ten inches, maybe more, with a slight upward curve and balls that hung full and heavy beneath. My mouth watered.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, wrapping one big hand around the base and tapping the fat head against my lips. “A beautiful married white woman on her knees for BBC. Open up, baby. Worship it.”

I did. I stretched my lips wide and took him in, the salty-sweet taste of his skin flooding my senses. He was so thick I could barely get my mouth around him, but I tried, sucking greedily, swirling my tongue along the underside. Marcus groaned, one large hand sliding into my blonde hair, guiding but not forcing.

“That’s it. Good girl. Suck that big black dick. Your husband know his little wife can take cock like this? Look at you, drooling all over me already.”

I moaned around him, the vibration making his thighs flex. I worked him deeper, relaxing my throat until the fat head pushed past the tight ring and slid into my gullet. Tears pricked my eyes, but I kept going, bobbing my head, slurping noisily, my hands cupping and massaging those heavy balls. The wet, obscene sounds of my throat echoed off the studio walls. My pussy throbbed so hard I could feel my juices running down my inner thighs.

Marcus’s breathing grew ragged. “Goddamn. You love this, don’t you? Love choking on a real man’s cock while your kiln’s sitting there waiting. Bet that pretty pussy is dripping for me.”

I pulled off just long enough to gasp, “It is. I’m so fucking wet, Marcus. Please.”

He hauled me to my feet and spun me around, bending me over my pottery wheel. The wheel head was cool and smooth against my belly as he yanked the hem of my sundress up over my ass. He growled at the sight of my lacy white thong, soaked through, and ripped it down my legs in one motion. Cool air kissed my bare, glistening pussy.

“Fuck, look at that married white cunt. So pink and pretty. Begging for this big black cock.”

I felt the massive head nudge between my folds, rubbing up and down my slit, coating himself in my cream. Then he pushed forward.

The stretch was incredible. I cried out as the thick head popped inside me, followed by inch after throbbing inch. He didn’t go slow. He drove deep in one powerful stroke until his heavy balls slapped against my clit and I felt him bottom out against my cervix. The fullness was overwhelming, almost painful, but the pleasure that crashed through me was sharper than anything I’d ever felt.

“Oh my God, you’re so deep,” I whimpered, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the wheel.

Marcus gripped my hips, his dark fingers stark against my pale skin, and began to fuck me with long, punishing strokes. Each thrust rocked my entire body, making my full breasts swing heavily inside my dress. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the studio, mingled with my desperate moans and his low, filthy growls.

“Take it, baby. Take every inch of this BBC. This is what you needed, isn’t it? A real man to wreck this neglected little pussy.”

“Yes,” I sobbed. “Harder. Please, fuck me harder.”

He gave me what I asked for, pounding into me so hard the pottery wheel creaked beneath us. One of his hands slid around to rub tight circles over my swollen clit, and that was all it took. I came with a shattering cry, my walls clamping down around his massive shaft, pulsing and gushing around him. The orgasm rolled through me in waves so intense my vision blurred.

Marcus didn’t stop. He pulled out, spun me around, and lifted me onto the wide work table scattered with tools and half-dried clay. He shoved my legs back until my knees nearly touched my shoulders, folding me in half. My sundress was bunched uselessly around my waist, my pussy exposed and gaping from his cock. My wedding ring glinted on my finger as he drove back inside me in one brutal thrust.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I did. I stared into his dark, lust-drunk eyes while he fucked me with deep, grinding strokes that hit every sensitive spot inside me. The angle let him grind against my clit with every thrust. My tits bounced wildly. The sight of his thick, glistening black cock disappearing into my pale, married pussy over and over again pushed me straight into another orgasm.

“I’m coming again,” I wailed, my nails digging into his powerful shoulders.

“Fuck yes. Cum on this dick, white girl. Milk me.”

He fucked me through it, never slowing, until my voice went hoarse. Finally, his rhythm faltered. He pulled out with a wet pop, wrapped one huge fist around his gleaming shaft, and stroked furiously.

“Where do you want it?” he growled.

“On me. Cover me. Please.”

Thick, ropey jets of hot cum erupted from the tip of his cock. The first powerful spurt landed across my stomach, the second splashed over my left breast, painting my nipple white. He kept coming, long heavy strands that striped my tits, my throat, even my chin. I reached down and rubbed my clit frantically, cumming one last time as I felt his seed cooling on my skin.

When it was over, the only sound was our ragged breathing. I lay there trembling, covered in his cum, my pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. Marcus leaned down and kissed me, slow and deep, tasting himself on my tongue. When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes were soft with something like wonder.

I swallowed, my voice husky. “Thank you, Marcus. For fixing my kiln… and for giving me the most intense sexual experience of my life.”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my flushed face. Then he leaned in close, lips brushing my ear, and whispered the question that made my spent body clench all over again.

“So… when’s the next time your husband leaves town?”