I didn't want to come to this party and neither did my husband, but it's a work thing in a swanky hotel and it would have looked bad if we hadn't showed. I don't mind the guys, they're alright, it's the women, all bitchy and stuck up as if they're something really special.

They talk to me like I'm dirt, just because I don't play along and act all impressed by their holiday in Barbados or whatever it is that they're bragging about. When I tell the silly cow I'm stuck with that our last trip abroad was to Greece I get:

"Oh you didn't? That's so passé."

I'd love to tell her that we both got off with a couple of sexy German lesbians and had a brilliant time, but I'm pretty sure that such a revelation wouldn't go down too well and I think better of it.

They're sneery about my clothes as well, which is stupid because I know damn well I look ten times better and sexier than they do, none of the guys' heads turn at their hideous designer frocks, while my cute little butt all nicely packaged in my tight fitting pencil skirt gets plenty of admiring glances. My seamed stockings and heels go down a treat with the boys as well.

"A bit tarty for my taste, if you don't mind me saying so."

I don't mind at all, being 'a bit tarty' is the whole point, I'm his cute little fuck slut and I'll be getting my brains banged out later - will you? I don't think so.

The guys daren't talk to me for more than a few seconds at a time, their wives give them the evil eye if they so much as say hello to me. I'm the company whore as far as these women are concerned, even though I wouldn't shag any other guy here in a million years. There is someone that's caught my attention though, someone different that keeps looking my way, she doesn't look like she's comfortable here either.

I escape from the dead-end conversation I'm lumbered with by going to the bar to have my glass refreshed, as I stand there the black girl in a little black dress that's been watching me comes and stands beside me.

She looks me up and down and says, "I like your skirt."

"Ooh thanks, I like your dress." I tell her. Which is true, she looks brilliant.

"They're all fucking awful here aren't they?"

"The women you mean?"

"Yeah, not my type at all."

"Oh, what's your type then?" I ask her.

"Cute little blonde white girls in tight skirts and stockings."

"Er..."

"I'm joking."

"Oh," and I feel all let down now. 

"Well no, I'm not actually. I think you're gorgeous."

"Really?" and I'm flying high again with her flattery.

I look at her in a different way after she said that to me, I was attracted to her before without thinking why, now when I look at her more closely I realise just how lovely she is. Her pretty black face with neatly plucked tiny thin eyebrows, big brown eyes and luscious lips. Her frizzy hair cut so short to the shape of her head.

Her tight little dress shows off her athletic looking body to perfection, her bare sinewy legs all nicely exposed to high up the thigh. Not much fat on this girl and her tits are nothing more than bumps, no need for a bra and her nipples poke proud and free against the fabric pulled taught across them.

Well I never, a black girl this beautiful fancies little old me, well I assume she meant she fancied me when she said she thought that I'm gorgeous. It soon becomes clear that she was perfectly serious about me being her "type".

"I'm Steffanie," I tell her.

"I'm Chloe," she replies.

"That your husband then?" she asks, nodding towards my man.

She must have been watching me all evening because I haven't spoken or stood near him for quite a while now.

"That's him alright, you on your own then?"

"Yeah, I'm Mr Robinson's new deputy, I only just joined."

"He's OK isn't he?"

"Alright, but I think I only got the job because he wants to fuck a black girl."

I think she's great, she's so upfront, honest and cheeky with it. None of the stuck up bullshit like you get from the other women here. I bet they hate Chloe even more than they hate me.

She talks a lot too, she soon explains why her new boss has no chance whatsoever of fucking her, no man has, well maybe someone really, really special. But for the moment it's girls she likes and little blonde white girls are high up on her list of desires.

"I love your hair," she tells me.

"Why thank you, I er..."

"Just being honest," she says.

"That's fine, I'm very flattered, thank you."

"Can I touch it?"

"Er... yes, if you like,"

And she takes a few strands of my hair and runs her fingers through it.

"It's so soft," she says and I'm being overwhelmed by her forthright approach.

"Ever been with a girl then?" she asks, diving straight in again.

I'm left speechless at her frankness, I've had girls come on to me before but not so fast and blatantly as this. I don't know what to say but she doesn't mind, she knows she must have shocked me a bit coming out with it all like she has. Finally I get my thoughts together and answer her question.

"Well there was a girl once I really liked."

"Oh yeah, what happened then?" she asks, straight to the point again with her question.

And I tell her all about my holiday romance in Lesbos with the lovely Lara. I tell her the whole story, which is nice because I like talking about it and seldom get the chance. I'm almost in tears at the end as all those memories of my sexy German girl come flooding back. This time it's Chloe that's almost lost for words.

"Ah, that's so sweet," she says, and she strokes my hair again.

"And your husband didn't mind?"

"Well him and Lara's friend got it together, but anyway, he says girl on girl doesn't count."

"Why's that then?"

"Cos he'll get off on it as well."

"I fancy you, Steffanie, not your husband."

"He means just thinking about it."

"Dirty bastard," she says, jokingly.

"That's him," I tell her, not joking.

I've put myself right in it now, as good as told Chloe that hubby won't mind her making advances on me. He's not even fantasised about this scenario happening, neither have I, there's not many black girls to fantasise about where we live.

"Well, do you like me then?" she asks.

I feel awful that she has to ask, she's been turning me on with all her compliments and I haven't said one nice thing back about her yet. It feels awkward and fake telling her now that I think she's beautiful.

Instead of words to flatter her I do something physical, I stand closer to her and gently stroke her bare arm, as she smiles at me I tell her this little blonde white girl thinks that the statuesque black girl is one of the sexiest women she's ever met. And she laughs and says thank you because she can tell that I mean it.

I can't help looking at her arm, with my pale hand upon it she seems even blacker, I'm fascinated by her, I've never even touched a black person before. I can't help saying it even though it's so obvious.

"You're so... so very..."

"Black?" and she says it for me.

"Yes... I..."

"And you're so very white," and she strokes my arm now.

"You can say black you know," she tells me, smiling at my awkwardness.

"You don't sound black," I tell her, confronting my own racial preconceptions.

"How should I sound?"

"I don't know... Jamaican or something."

"I went to Roedeen."

A boarding school for rich Daddys' girls, where they turn them out talking posh.

"Oh ... that where you got to like girls?" I ask her.

"White girls, I like little blonde white girls."

"Yes, so you said. Shall we sit down?" I ask her.

"Sure."

We settle down on a nice comfy sofa, her dress riding up as she sits, her naked black thighs now more exposed and I'm lusting after her now. I can tell she wants me bad and that turns me on all the more, I want to touch her and enjoy her, feel her body, and get inside her panties and explore the mysterious dark charms of her pussy.

She sits facing me, resting her arm behind me on the back of the sofa, she moves her face towards mine and I think she's going to kiss me. I panic for a second, I'm married, I've got a 12-month-old baby, I don't get off with sexy posh black lesbians, I don't because I... because I've never had chance to until now...

I excuse myself and scurry off to the ladies room in a whirl of confused arousal. I'm breathing heavy as I study my flushed face in the mirror, I think no I can't, but then I picture Chloe in my mind and my pussy tells me I must let her have me. I want to touch myself right here in the washroom but my skirt's too tight and long for easy access. There's no one else in here, I could just go in a cubicle and ... then Chloe comes in ...

"I'm sorry, did I scare you back then?" she asks.

I just turn and wrap my arms around her neck and snog the sexy black beauty like crazy. It's me in control now, she's taller than me but I almost push her over as I force her back against the wall. Our mouths remain locked and it's me driving our kissing with raw passion.

I move my hands to lift her dress and I'm feeling her thighs, she's more muscle than any woman I've felt before. Her arms are around me as my fingers find her panties and I'm in them desperate for the feel of her cunt.

She breaks off from kissing me and we stare eye to eye as my fingers find her wet slit, there's no resistance and as I take her with my hand she becomes more submissive, I want her hard, I want her to shudder in joy and pain as I shove my hand up her. I want her to know I've had her as much as I can, I ram, and poke, and grab with my fingers inside her and I'm hurting and pleasing her and she's calling my name as I take her.

She sinks down a little, parting her legs more for me, she's loving it so I give it harder and I'm looking deep into her eyes as I'm twisting my fingers, pushing down inside her, then fucking her with all four digits. Her cunt hole feels big and wet, she can take all my fingers so easy, she could take my whole hand easy... I'm just about to try and fist her when the door opens. My hand's out of her in an instant.

Luckily it's no one from the works do that comes in, just as well because Chloe hasn't recovered from me fingering her so hard yet, we're still standing close up facing each other and her dress is all ruffled up. The woman that comes in gives us a look but nothing more.

"We need a room," she whispers, and while the other washroom visitor takes a pee Chloe pulls me to her and snogs me again. A big sloppy tonsils tickling french snog. She wants her turn in my cunt but my skirt is like a fortress, I'll have to strip it off to let her have me.

"Come on," I tell her, and lead her out to go back to the sofa.

My husband's standing at the bar getting the drinks for his colleagues in. Chloe's so new that he's never seen her before, she goes all shy in front of him and I begin to realise she made a big effort in being so bold with me earlier. She really does fancy me rotten.

"I..." and this isn't going to be as easy as I thought.

I've never thought about his "girl on girl doesn't count" thing properly before. Now it's become a real possibility I realise how ridiculous a statement it is. Of course it counts, we're talking about our feelings and desires and emotions, I can't give Chloe what she wants only to deny her and myself later and say it meant nothing.

If I was single it'd be different, I feel myself deflating from the euphoria I had five minutes ago. I can sense Chloe feels the same way, she's let her passions rule her head as well, gone storming in on a married woman not thinking about the consequences.

"What's wrong with you two?" Hubby asks.

"Er... we have a problem, I think," I tell him.

"What's that then?" he asks,

"We, I..." and I'm losing it again.

"I want to get a room with your wife," blurts out Chloe, fighting to have me.

"Oh, I see, and what about afterwards?"

"There is no afterwards."

Clever Chloe, that was the only right answer.