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heard around the neighborhood that sometimes you look for models. I could use the money, ma’am.”

“I’m just finishing a painting.” She let him peek in. There was a white girl standing there, completely naked. “Next Monday, I’ll be looking to start another; I’ll need a male model. Come back then, 11 am, I’ll see if you have the kind of body I need.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

Promptly at 11 am the following Monday, Robinson Powell knocked on Mallory Grey’s door. “Come in, come in. I forgot your name.”

“Robinson. Robinson Powell.”

“Well, Robbie, take off your shirt. Let’s see what I have to work with.”

Mallory took a deep breath when he did. Today we might say the Robinson was ripped or put together or maybe sculpted. Sculpted worked for her. Sculpted like the famous Greek sculpture of the Discus Thrower or Michaelangelo’s David.

She’d love to make something like that come alive on canvas.

“Robbie, did whoever tell you I was looking for models tell you; I do nudes?”

“Ummmm, yes ma’am. I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

To Mallory Grey all men were just about the same. She’d painted them; slept with them; pleased them with her mouth. This Robinson guy would be the same only he was colored.

Well, no, Robinson Powell wasn’t the same except for his color. When he stood before her naked, she almost fainted. Today we joke that some guy is hung to his knees. That’s obviously an exaggeration, but in Robinson’s case, it was closer to the truth than you might expect.

Mallory Grey knew two things in those first minutes as she stared at it. She wanted to paint Robinson and she wanted to get to know that cock.

She tried not smile, “I think I can paint you. When can you start?”

“Any time. Now if you want.”

“How about tomorrow, same time?”

Robinson got dressed as Mallory continued to stare. She’d been with a lot of men and boys since she turned eighteen and went off on her own. Never a colored boy.

She’d fucked boys her age, and on numerous occasions she was mentored by older artists who not only taught her artistic techniques, but also techniques in bed. A well-known Chicago area artist, 50-year-old Desmond O’Malley took her under his wing when she was twenty; introduced her to the right people in the art community.

It had been ages since he’d had twenty-year-old cunny. Desmond introduced Mallory’s cunny to his tongue. Not just once, “Mallory, I just can’t get enough of your sweet cunny.”

A month later, it didn’t take much to introduce her to the joy of pleasing him with her mouth. Over the next few years, she became his personal fellatio practitioner. Sometimes he had her perform for him on a make-shift stage in front of his circle of painters, sculptors, writers and musician friends.

He stood on that stage with Mallory naked in the shadows behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat for you tonight. We are all artists, but my dear friend Mallory is an expert in the art of fellatio.”

There were murmurs in the audience of perhaps a dozen people.

She stepped forward into the spotlight and bowed. She was blushing, but Desmond had insisted and he’d reward her later; reward her with his tongue. A tongue which she could never get enough of.

He continued, “as artist, it would be crass for us to use euphemisms for the act Mallory has agreed to perform. And just so you know, Mallory only agreed because I have promised that after the show in private I would perform cunnilingus on her.”

There was laughter and giggles. Mallory’s face could not have been any redder.

Desmond took off his clothes and sat in a chair on the stage. The audience leaned forward in their chairs watching.

She’d become extremely talented. Talented enough to perform publicly.

They applauded her work just as they did when a writer read one of his works or a musician played a new piece or a painter unveiled his latest creation. “Bravo, bravo, bravo,” they stood and clapped.

She blushed, wiped her mouth and bowed.

More than once, Desmond stood on stage and took her hand, “ladies and gentlemen, Miss Mallory Grey.” There was more applause. She was still naked. He raised his hand for silence. “As you know, our dear friend Peter Franklin, is in the hospital with severe burns from a kitchen accident. His expenses will be well beyond his means. Mallory has agreed to auction off the talent she just demonstrated to the highest bidder with all proceeds going to Peter’s care.”

There were cheers, and the bidding started.

She hadn’t really agreed; but she hadn’t objected either. She could have easily paid for Peter Franklin’s care out of her inheritance. She liked the applause; liked being the center of attention.

When the high bidder was announced, he came on stage, shed his clothes, sat back in the same chair Desmond sat in, and the audience chanted, “encore, encore, encore.” Mallory got on her knees.

When she finished, and basked in their applause, and more “bravo. bravo, bravo.” the recipient of her fellatio skill, whispered in her ear, I’ll bet your cunny can make me feel as good as your mouth did.” She wenthome with him, and spent the night on her back with her legs spread.

The audience wasn’t always just men. There were women artists there, too. They applauded just as loudly and enthusiastically as the men. One woman even engaged in the bidding. “For my husband,” she whispered to the woman sitting next to her, “no self-respecting woman would be caught dead engaged in such behavior.” The woman next to her nodded. They were married to men, but also lovers.

Among those women was Desmond’s wife Ayden, a well-respected artist in her own right.

It was Ayden, a woman in her late 40’s, who introduced Mallory to the joy of cunnilingus as both giver and receiver. “Hmmmmm, Mallory, I can’t tell you the last time I tasted such a sweet, young cunny.”

“Mrs. O’Malley do me like that again. Just like that. You made me feel so good; like nothing before.”

“I did, didn’t I. Say please,” she laughed.

Mallory did say please, and Ayden O’Malley’s tongue started again.

This time when Mallory’s orgasm (not what it was called at the time) had her seeing stars, Ayden suggested, “I know how much you like performing for Desmond in his friends. I have a small intimate group of women friends; I’d like to perform just like this in front of them.”

“Ummm, I-I-I . . .”

“Say yes, Mallory, please.” Ayden O’Malley’s tongue started again. It only took a few minutes more of Ayden’s talented tongue to break down Mallory’s defenses.

It was a much more intimate setting than with Desmond and his friends. The women sat around in a parlor. Ayden introduced Mallory, “she has the sweetest cunny, and look how young she is.”

Ayden’s friends were all between forty-five and seventy-five. There were six of them in addition to Ayden and Mallory.

“Show them how lovely you are dear.” Mallory knew Ayden meant to undress. She’d worn a simple dress which easily came off; and she wore minimal undergarments.

When she was naked and sat down, Ayden had her spread her legs. “Oh, lovely.”

“What a lovely garden.”

“I wonder if I looked like that when I was young and before children.”

Ayden exhibited a virtuoso performance of cunnilingus which had Mallory moaning, sighing begging for more. The other women cheered on Ayden. “Give her more of her tongue.”

“Lick her happy button again.”

When Ayden’s tongue had enough she stood up. Mallory collapsed in the chair, spent. Then the cheers started; the cheers for Ayden’s performance. “You can do my cunny anytime.”

“I’ve never had a woman’s tongue do my cunny, but after watching Ayden and Mallory, I’d give a woman a chance,” said the seventy-five-year-old Mrs. Wilhemina Broderick.

“Ummm,” the still naked Mallory said, standing up, “Ayden was so good to my cunny, I wonder what it would be like to do to a woman what she did to me. Mrs. Broderick?”

It was a sight to see as the old lady couldn’t get out of her clothes fast enough, then sat back in the same chair Mallory had occupied, legs spread. It wouldn’t be fair to compare her old cunny with young Mallory’s.

“Um, Ayden, you know I’ve never done this, I need you to guide me.” Then she got on her knees.

“Of course, my dear.”

For the next hour, Mallory’s tongue was busy. It was an hour because she didn’t want to stop. The taste of cunny, even old cunny, was so good, her cunny which had gushed from Ayden’s tongue; gushed even more.

Like with fellatio, Mallory became a practitioner of cunnilingus among Ayden’s older female friends.

Performing cunnilingus made her cunny just as juicy as performing fellatio. She still fucked, still enjoyed the feeling of a cock filling her cunny, but it didn’t do for her what cunnilingus and fellatio did.

Over the next three or four years, she was among the most favored bed partners for both men and women in Chicago’s artist community. “Mallory, no one does my cunny like you do. It’s always available to you,” a woman in her sixties told her. “And I’d gladly reciprocate.”

A violinist in his seventies told her, “Mallory, it’s been years since my cock got hard, but your mouth sure knows how. It’ll probably be a few days before it gets hard again but I’ll bet if you gave me a taste of your cunny that might inspire me.”

More than a few times, she shared Ayden and Desmond’s bed; the three of them. She’d please Desmond with her mouth, while Ayden’s tongue sent her to the moon. The three of them thought it was the greatest thing when Desmond exploded in her mouth at the same time that Ayden’s tongue brought her to unimaginable heights.

More than a few times, Desmond and Ayden sat on a sofa in their parlor with Mallory on her knees, fellating Desmond. “She’s very good, you know?”

“I do. Mallory, Desmond likes it when you stuff his balls in your mouth and swirl them around with your tongue.”

She complied and after she finished, “Mallory, watching you has my cunny so juicy. Scoot over here; give my cunny a kiss. I’ll thank you later; just the two of us.”

What Ayden meant was that later, they’d 69. Although it wasn’t called that then.

With all she’d done, she’d never done anything with a colored boy or girl. She hoped over the next few weeks with Robbie that would change. He was ten years younger than her; Mallory was certain she could seduce him.

What she didn’t know was that Mrs. Katherine McGuire Norton sent Robinson Powell to seduce her; maybe even impregnate her like her colored boys impregnated Lucy Conover and Amy Allsop.

There was nothing unusual about their modelling sessions until there was.

Mallory had Robbie pose like Michaelangelo’s David and sketched a very basic outline. The sketch was where she started, but she had a problem; she couldn’t take her eyes off that long, dangling cock.

Desmond O’Malley wasn’t nearly that big; not even close. None of the men who won those auctions were that big. She suspected that no one was.

She started a second sketch. This time she had him stand sideways. The view of his swinging cock was even more impressive.

Three days later, as Mallory completed another sketch, “ma’am the way you look at me; look at my cock, I think you want to do more than sketch. Or maybe you’d like to sketch it like this.” Robbie started to stroke it.

Mallory stared. It didn’t take long for Robbie’s cock to be at full mast. Her knickers were damp; then she was leaking; then those knickers were drenched and she was gushing. “Robbie, I have to say, I’ve been with a few men, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you want to do more than look at it or paint it.”

He was right, but Mallory hesitated. It wasn’t the color. In fact, she thought it was the most beautiful black. She wondered if she could create that color on canvas.

It was the size. There was never one that big. Not in her cunny or her mouth. She was intrigued by the possibilities. Fascinated.

Mallory had been sitting on a stool, sketching. Robinson was posing not ten feet away.

She got off the stool and crawled over to him on her hands and knees. “Robbie, I want to please your magnificent cock; you do know it’s magnificent, don’t you?”

“I like to hear it, but you know what I real want.”

Mallory Grey’s tongue started on Robbie’s big cockhead; not big, huge. Would it fit in my cunny? She thought.

Using her hand to guide it to her mouth. She was shocked by how thick it was. Would it fit in my cunny? She thought again.

Ten minutes later, she had an inch of his cock beyond his cockhead in her mouth. “You’re doing good, but I’ve known women who could take it all, right down to my balls.” He was thinking of that prostitute Mrs. Norton hired, Priscilla Grimes.

Mallory looked up at him with bulging eyes. She couldn’t believe it, but instead of quitting, she was determined to be as good as that woman, whoever she was.

An hour later, she had three inches plus his cockhead of that big colored cock in her mouth, sliding it in and out. That was just about as big as Desmond O’Malley’s entire cock. She wasn’t close to Robbie’s ball sack; her ultimate destination.

She was still enthusiastic as she stretched her lips as far as possible. “Ma’am, I’ve never fucked a white cunny. Your mouth is marvelous, but I’d love to stick my cock in your white cunny.”

Slowly she took that long colored meat out of her mouth. “Robbie, I hate taking it out my mouth. Your cock is marvelous, but I’ve never had a colored one, My cunny is anxious.” She smiled up at him.

There was pain; it was so big. Mallory bit her tongue. She didn‘t want Robbie to see her tears. She wanted it; she’d had good fucks before, even some of those old men who mounted her gave her cunny a thrill. This was different.

Priscilla Grimes had warned him that he could hurt women. “Take it slow, Robinson. It’ll fit, but don’t slam it in there, like you do with me. I can take it, and Robinson, I love it. Your cock is so good to my cunny.”

He took it slow with Mallory; her ass moved trying to take more. “Give it to me, Robbie, give me that big cock. I want it. My cunny wants it.”

Even when he was comfortably in, Mallory, put her arms around his neck and smiled. “Hmmmm, it’s so good. It fits perfectly.” She moved slowly beneath him. “It’s yours any time.”

“I want to see it.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant.

Robinson got on his knees; took her by the ankles and then spread her legs wide. It was a glorious sight. She’d always had sparse pubic hair. His black cock splitting her pure white thighs; splitting her pink cunny. Robinson was certain that as he watched, his cock got harder than it had ever been.

It wasn’t the best fuck he’d ever had. Priscilla Grimes, the prostitute knew how to move to make sure he got his (Mrs. Norton’s) money’s worth; all her clients got their money’s worth. If she didn’t, they’d go to some other whore.

But what made it so good for Robbie was Mallory Grey’s white cunny. He’d want it again.

As for her: there was the pain, but then there was only ecstasy, once her cunny got comfortable with his majestic size. Like Robbie, she wanted it again, but “Robbie, you were so good to my cunny; I want to learn to please you with my mouth; please your magnificent cock with my mouth.”

“You like the dark meat, don’t you?”

Her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of fucking, but she felt like she was blushing, “yes, oh yes, I like your dark meat; Robbie, I want to learn to love your dark meat. In my cunny and . . .”

“In your mouth.”

Mallory had never called Desmond’s cock his meat. She’d never called any of those men who won the auctions cocks meat. From then on she always called Robinson’s cock his black meat. As in, “keep fucking my cunny with your black meat.”

Or, “Robbie, this morning my mouth is in the mood for some black meat.” Over the next few years her mouth was in the mood for his black meat almost daily. If not her mouth, her cunny.

Over the next few weeks, the sketches, the experimentation with color were all secondary. Secondary to what, you might ask?

You know. Mallory Grey wanted it in her mouth all the time.

Robinson wanted to watch it going in and out of her pink cunny all the time.

And there was one other thing: Robbie wanted to taste her white cunny. Pricilla, the prostitute, under Mrs. Norton’s direction, taught Robinson to love the taste of her cunny. Watching his cock going in and out of her pink cunny hole, he couldn’t wait to taste it.

He told her. “Robbie, you really want to do that? Do you know how? You’re just a boy.” Old men like Desmond O’Malley and those men who won the auctions knew how. Some of them preferred cunnilingus to fucking.

Robbie wasn’t insulted. “Why don’t you let me try? When I was fucking you, your cunny looked like it would be so good to lick.”

“I’d like that. I want you to love licking my cunny as much as I loved pleasing your cock with my mouth.”

It was so much better than the way those old men did her. It wasn’t that Robbie was that much better. It was that he seemed to really want to please her cunny; not just please himself.

Besides, those men seemed to tire easily; Robinson Powell licked her cunny all night. “Hmmmmm, hmmmmmmm, so sweet, so, so, sweet. Hmmmmmm.”

Like I said, Mallory wouldn’t have known the word orgasm, but she knew that her happy button exploded in joy time after time throughout the night,

She fell asleep, exhausted. Robbie could have kept going, He whispered in her ear, “damn, there’s something special about your white cunny. It’s so beautiful. I’m going to want it again.” Mallory slept with a big smile on her face.

There wasn’t much painting over the next two years. The canvas was less than half finished.

There was, however, lots and lots of fucking. Mallory engaged in lots and lots of fellatio. Try as she might, she never took all of Robbie’s dark meat down her throat; most of it but not all. He was always pleased with her effort. “If I haven’t pleased you, I promise, I’ll try harder next time.”

As for Robbie, there was nothing better than having his face between her soft whiter than white thighs and his tongue in her pinker than pink cunny.

TO BE CONTINUED

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