Claire’s Diary Forbidden Desires
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
Claire’s Diary
Forbidden Desires
Clair’s Dirty Little Secrets
An Interracial Cuckold Tale
Mary Not Wollstonecraft
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© Copyright 2023 by Mary Not Wollstonecraft
This is a work of fiction and not intended to promote a lifestyle. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is merely coincidental.
Claire’s Diary
Forbidden Desires
Present Day
Saturday, September 16th
Dear Diary,
I’m working later into the night this month. I don’t get home until almost two a.m. some nights. Bob’s unhappy with my swing shift job and complains about caring for the kids while I work. He told me to get on a midnight or day shift. He says he hates being my babysitter and, if I must work, get on a permanent graveyard or day shift that makes it easier for him.
“That way, Claire, they can be in bed the whole time you’re gone. Or with a babysitter, while I’m at work, too,” Bob said the other day.
I should have known this was what would happen. Bob is so selfish.
Well, last night, we actually finished early. Ten thirty, and everything was done. Everyone left but me and Shovon. Shovon and I stayed to clean the workstations, but we finished before 11 p.m. I was about to leave when he asked if I wanted a little drink.
“How about a snort of bourbon with me?” he said, holding a bottle of Penelope Bourbon. “It’s excellent.”
“I hope to shout. That’s the good stuff,” I said. “Penelope Bourbon Barrel Strength is at least sixty-five dollars a bottle.”
“Seventy,” Shavon said, pulling the cork out. He poured us a shot each. “And worth every penny.”
As I wrote in the past, he’s an extremely handsome black man, tall, muscular, well-mannered, and flirts with me. It’s always been innocent, pleasant, fun, and nothing serious. I think he likes me, but I always considered it was flirtatiousness for the sake of being flirtatious and nothing more. After all, we’re both married.
Clicking the shot glasses together, I winked at him, and we drank the shots. Once we returned the glasses to his desktop, Shavon refilled the drinks. Loosening his tie, he pulled off his coat and sat in his big captain’s chair. At once, he stood and waved his arm at his chair.
“My lady, why don’t you sit her?”
“Oh, how gallant of you.” I sat in the chair while he pulled up another sat close to me.
When he did, for the first time, I noticed the big bulge in his slacks. Oh, my god, I’d never seen such a tent in a man’s pants. Drinking the shot, in a few sort sips, I started at his crotch a moment or two and then looked away.
“Clair, I have to tell you, you look wonderful tonight. That skirt and blouse really suit you well. It’s not quite a schoolgirl uniform, but nicely youthful. You always look so sexy.”
His hand fell to his pants. Shavon rubbed himself momentarily, and his bulge swelled. His deep brown eyes drank me in. I’d never felt so exposed while being fully clothed before. After a moment or two, I felt the moisture between my legs. He drank his shot in one swift move and poured us another.
“Oh, this ole thing?”
Taking another tiny sip, I tried to deflect him, but wanted him to continue. From the start, I’d had a fascination with him. In the three months I worked for him, he’d always worn a suit and tie and never removed his coat. I’d wondered how he’d look naked. Again, I sipped my drink, taking only a quarter of the shot.
Then there’s that big meat showing all mounded up at his crotch. My god, how big might that monster be? A twinge of guilt hit me, and I gulped the rest of the bourbon.
“You look amazing no matter what you wear.” He slammed his drink down as if to draw courage from the booze.
My moisture thickened.
He reached out, took the seat handles, and pulled me where my legs were inside his knees, and we were close, with one chair almost touching the other. Taking my hand, he guided me to his crotch.
My hand cupped his covered cock, which felt like hot, fogged steel. My nipples hardened, and I gazed into his eyes, knowing I shouldn’t, but not caring that was. He removed his hand from my wrist and ran my fingers over his massive hardness.
Shit, I had the most wicked thoughts. Guiltiness gnawed at me.
“If you want to leave, it’s okay. I won’t force you to do anything. But, being totally frank, I’ve fantasized about you since your first day.”
“I don’t want to leave. Have you really thought about me — that way?”
“Yes. I’ve jacked off thinking how hot you’d be in a bikini or even better naked. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Fuck, I got so wet when he said that.
“You’re married.”
“So are you. When I fuck my wife, I imagine making love to you. After I’m done with her, I sneak off, thinking of you in the bathroom, and jack off.”
“Is your wife white?”
“No.”
After a moment of contemplation, I shoved my husband from my mind. Pushing the chair back, got on my knees. I unbuckled his belt, opened his fly, and worked pants and boxers down, exposing the blackest cock, darker than Shavon’s swarthy skin. It flopped up on his belly. Big, black, and glistening in sterile, fluorescent lights.