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Menage on the Orient Express (Queens of Spades): An Interracial Cuckold Tale

by Anita Blackmann


Copyright 2017 Anita Blackmann


Published by Deadlier Than the Male Publications


All characters in this story are 18 or older.



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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.






Table of Contents

Excerpt

Menage on the Orient Express

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5


Bonus Material: Office Fling (Queens of Spades)

About the Author

Other Books by Anita Blackmann

Connect With Anita Blackmann
























Excerpt


I was panting, gasping for breath as I squirmed on the bed, the flashes of light emanating through the window from the passing countryside having something of a hypnotic effect on me. I writhed and moaned, giving up on thoughts of having his cock inside of me for the moment, eager to cum, once again. Suddenly, he stood up. Stunned and confused, I looked up. He had his pants off in a heartbeat but it was too dark to see in that moment, then he was on me, his hard body pressed to mine. He kissed me, letting me taste my own sweet juices from his lips and tongue, my cunt aching in overdrive. As I squirmed beneath him, he moved, the thick rounded head of his steel-hard cock bumping against my dripping, engorged void. I gyrated my hips as much as his body would allow, struggling to impale myself on his hardness, to no avail. He pulled back, chuckling.


"Not yet," he said, only getting to the letter "y" of yet before reversing and plunging his cock, deep inside. He caught me completely off-guard, robbing me of my breath and making my eyes go wide in surprise. He forced several incredibly thick inches inside of me, spreading me like I had never been spread before. I don't even know how much he had in there but it was enough for him to pull back, his bumpy veins teasing my clit and G, driving me insane. I came.


My entire body seized for just a moment. Not a breath, not a heartbeat. All I could do was grind. Then, just as suddenly, blinding pleasure tore through my being, lighting me up and overwhelming me. I grabbed tightly on his bulging biceps as he plunged into me, pleasure coursing through every vein and nerve ending. Heated, gasping, grunting, and grinding, I took all I could get, vaguely aware of his cock working deeper, even as he fucked me faster.


I wrapped my legs around his midsection, pulling him deeper into me, still. I ground my body against him, crushing my breasts against his hard musculature. I pulled on his neck until he got the message, leaning down to kiss me again, plunging ever deeper into me. Just how big is this thing? I wondered.


I bit gently on his lower lip, letting go when he returned to kiss me once more. Full-body contact was what I craved – as much of his flesh touching mine as we could muster. I didn't just want him in me, I wanted him to be one with me.


He filled me and stretched me. I knew he was big – massive, even – but I was surprised at how readily my body adjusted to his length and girth. His pounding was rhythmical and precise, like a well-oiled fuck machine. But it wasn't just that, it was the little tiny moves. A little to the left here, a little to the right. Up, down... a twist of the hips. It was as magical as it was methodical. "Oh," I gasped. "Fuck me..." I didn't know if he was close, but I sure as hell was.


The compartment was suddenly filled with light. It was not from outside the train but the corridor! "Babe, are you in here?" came the voice.


MIKE! MY HUSBAND!


What... I thought, have I done...?


Menage on the Orient Express


Anita Blackmann


Chapter 1


Okay, I have to start off by being totally honest about it. It wasn't the real Orient Express. That train stopped running long ago. Heck, it wasn't even in Europe but it was still pretty swanky and ridiculously expensive. Too expensive for my husband and I, as a matter of fact. It all came down to dumb luck.


My Pandora app wasn't working for some reason so I turned on the radio, just as they were telling people to call in to win tickets to the party of a lifetime, a costumed event on the storied Orient Express. Realizing I had nothing to lose but a few seconds of my time, I dialed.


And won! Just like that!


The train was to depart from LA's Union Station at 8 PM on Friday night and arrive in Seattle at 8 o'clock, Sunday morning. In between, it was one great 20s-themed party. Mike, my husband, was every bit as excited as I was. As a matter of fact, it coincided with our fifth anniversary and even though we originally wanted to go to Hawaii, we were waaaaay behind in our savings for it. "Now," he said, "we can spend a little of it on our costumes for the weekend and put the rest to our trip next year!"


"What if we have a kid?" I countered. I had recently gone off the pill and Hawaii was to be our last hurrah – at least for a while – before starting a family. Mike shrugged.


"It wasn't like we had the money for the islands, anyway." He was right about that. At least, we decided, we were having this fabulous weekend.


I will have to say, one of the advantages of living close to LA is the wide range of thrift shops available, along with places that sell wardrobe from movies and television. We made an afternoon of it and came away with enough to cover the two nights and a day that we would be on the train. Classic. Elegant. Roaring 20's style!


We arrived early and boarded. We had our own sleeping car! We knew we were going to have plenty of time so we decided to dress on the train, promising not to turn around and look at each other until we were through, to enhance the whole experience.


I had found this shimmering red flapper dress for the first night's party. I complimented it with a pair of lacy black opera gloves and a matching black feathered boa, adding a dash of white to the mix with my grandmother's pearls. I pinned my hair short and tight, holding it in place with a headband with a lace and costume jewelry piece that matched with my necklace. I went a little heavy on the makeup, with more around the eyes and a dark red lipstick, just to give me a touch of a femme fatale look. The top didn't allow for a bra and my panties, stockings, and heels may have been modern but on such a crowded train, I didn't think anyone would see them, so I didn't give them much thought as to how they looked.


Men have it a lot easier when getting ready than we do. Mike kept asking me if I was done yet, over and over, for the last few minutes. Finally, I said I was and on the count of three, we turned around. I have to say, my husband sure cleaned up nicely. He had a great Ramon Novaro vibe going on, despite normally being the whitest white guy going. "Dashing," I said.


"And you, my dear," he said in a well-modulated, leading man tone, "look absolutely fetching." An antiquated term, to be sure. Well played, I thought. He offered me his arm, something he hadn't done since our wedding reception, I think. "Shall we adjourn to the dining car for coffee or tea or whatever it is they drank before the party starts?"


I giggled. "Tea sounds about right, right now," I said.


I first saw him in the dining car as we drank our tea. Mike and I were talking and the train lurched forward, briefly causing me to look past my husband, toward the far end of the tables. He was sitting down but I could tell in that instant that he was a big man. Not just tall but meaty – perhaps, even buff. Handsome, too, with a killer smile. His skin was smooth and a rich, chocolatey brown. He could have been just about any age from 20 to nearly 60 – I've heard from African American friends that "black don't crack" but his eyes told me more than his complexion ever could. There was intelligence there. There was confidence there. Our eyes only locked for a moment but the feeling was electric. I gasped. Maybe Mike would think it was because of the lurch of the train.... Oh, my goodness... MIKE! Trying to clear my brain of its brief fogginess, I turned back to my husband. He was looking at me like he expected an answer.


"So," he said, "what do you think?" Oh, holy crap! He is expecting an answer. Only thing was, I had zoned out on the question. I was dumbfounded, shaking my head, ever so slightly. Man, sexual chocolate did a number on me.


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