Author's Note…

 

Now that we're getting into the proverbial good stuff, I wanted to take a moment to talk to you about the style this story is written with. Black Coffee, White Milk features a monologue structure, which I'm not even sure I really like. It's an experiment, and as an experiment, I've been happy with it so far.

 

Certainly, between this story and A Disappearance at Bear Lake, I've found some new inspiration from adopting unusual formats of story-telling. Whether or not either of them were successful, they both felt like the literary equivalent of Viagra when I was writing them. If any of it has worked for you, please send me a PM and let me know. Like all experiments, I'll take the good results and work with them, while leaving the less favourable results behind.

 

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"Black Coffee, White Milk #2"

 

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It's far too early in the morning for me go into any unnecessary details here, but the whole ordeal shocked me. I never knew a negro’s ass could glow so red. I marvelled at how silently she took blow after blow, be it from my hand or from the ruler I took from my desk. Nyomi had mean sweat breaking out of her forehead when I was done with her.

 

For the next couple days, the girl was inscrutable. Everything I asked, she did with a smile. Dotted her i's and crossed those t's. And Nyomi said nothing about the scolding she had received and there was also no more cream in my coffee, either. I was starting to wonder if she hadn't tried to pull this shtick of her's on Edwards, with far less successful results. It appeared all that Nyomi had really wanted was to be put in her place. A simple spanking.

 

Then, after a few days have passed, Nyomi brings me another cup of weak, milky coffee. And she's grinning at me, knowingly. I look down into the cup and smirk. I get this game now, right. We're both on the same page.

 

Now, just as the little nigger's ass is glowing bright red again, she starts to mutter to herself about "black coffee", like she's making a mental note or something. Then, Nyomi turns her head and asks me if I also prefer my "black holes with or without cream and sugar"?

 

So, now my whole beard is grey. And when Nyomi steps into my office to say goodnight that afternoon, I remember seeing traces of my dry cum, just below the brim of her skirt. I didn't point it out to her. I saw no ring on her finger, so I didn't think it'd be an issue for the girl.

 

There was roughly another two weeks of bliss, then HR turned on the music for the last time. I was sad to see Nyomi go, I really fucking was. Now, I had my way with her again, during Nyomi's going away party. The one the other office girls threw for her. And she was dating Tony at the time, but I never thought it'd be anything serious. Nyomi was going places; Tony, sadly, wasn't. That's just the truth, sorry.

 

…Shit, that coffee really is as good as it smells. Christ.

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking — what you have been thinking, this whole time: what the fuck would ol’ Tony ‘clusterfuck’ Marshall want calling you at an hour like that? After, what — *phsst — twelve years?* And I’ll tell you, but before I do, let me clarify something.

 

Right around my promotion to executive, Tony Marshall rose to the same rank. He was on a streak back then, believe it or not. The office was his oyster. And, of course, being a man of colour at the time, it only seemed fair that he should take pride in his accomplishments. He really earned them. His first months working here, I remember seeing Tony show up in his father’s tattered suit. That was some sincere American Dream shit.

 

So, I'm on the phone. It's late as all fuck. Tony tells me all about his marriage to Nyomi. They're still together, they've got two kids. One's in university, the other is about to leave high-school. Then I ask him why he's calling me and I swear to God, he invites me to dinner. "A dinner party?", I asked.

 

"No", he told me. "Just me, my wife and yourself." I'm not really feeling sleepy any more, at this point. I feel kinda on edge, honestly, like I'm being set-up somehow, you know? I make a joke about Tony's kids being too old to eat with their folks, just to have something to say, then Tony drops the A bomb on me: "No, the kids will be at Nyomi's sister's place. We — Uhm, we — Well, there is something Nyomi and I wanted to discuss— Or, I guess, ask of you. This is hard, I don't know how to say this. I know it's been a long time."

 

What I heard in Tony's voice wasn't threatening like I expected it to be, but instead, it was pleading. It caught me off guard. Really, it did. "You need money, Tony? Have you been drinking?" That's what I ask him. Then he says: "No". After a long, long silence, he says: "my wife wants another child." Before I can say anything back, Tony finishes: "another one of your children."

 

And BOOM, the A-bomb goes off… My mind has never done math faster in my life. I'm seeing all the years add up, right there in front of my eyes. The first child was from the secretary shuffle, the second was from the Naomi's going away party, that one the girls threw for her. Then I realize: Tony must have known about the Christmas party. Do you believe that shit?

 

…Yeah, I've heard of poor saps raising some nob-head who isn't their kid, but this just blew my mind. Who does it on purpose, y'know? And yeah, I accepted. I accepted Tony's invitation to dinner. I'm not sure exactly where it's meant to lead, but…

 

Well…

 

Monday morning, you make the coffee and I'll tell you all about it…

 

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(TO BE CONTINUED…)

 

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/3ymyhd/black_coffee_white_milk_2_mfm_cuck