Monday, 6 August 2012

Story: The Lodger, Part 2

The Lodger, Part 2
by Shem

For months we shared our secret menage and slipped into a pattern, a routine, a way of things, as always happens through familiarity. Adrienne and I lived together as husband and wife. Adrienne and Derek lived together under that same roof, as lovers. I had accepted it, and I felt powerless to do anything else. They would retire to bed together and say goodnight to me matter-of-factly, as though there were nothing unusual about it. Some nights they would get drunk, and they would cuddle and flirt in front of me before stumbling upstairs. Other times, Adrienne would ask me to leave them, as she had on that first night. I wondered from the knowing little half-smile on her face whether she knew how much this little humiliation excited me, plunged me into a dark place of submission to my fate, and left me stroking myself ecstatically on our bed. While I slept alone, they fucked intensely, sometimes for hours on end, and as lovers they were an enigma, a source of fascination, almost worship, for me as I lay awake listening to the sounds, imagining the scene. I knew that what they were doing, what they were going through, was something quite different from the sex life that I had shared with my wife, and that it was something I would never experience, never be capable of experiencing. I began to feel a real sense of the physical superiority of Derek, my cuckolder. I could never satisfy Adrienne as he did, I had never made her cry out with joy, sob uncontrollably, beg for more, stay up all night, stay home all day caring for nothing but being fucked by her lover. She was like an addict for him. I knew the word for it I suppose, but I felt a huge painful lump of sorrow rise in my throat every time I admitted it to myself. She was in love with him.

"Can you call the office for me, tell them I'm not well and I won't be coming in today?"

This became a familiar request from my wife. I would look over at Derek, knowing that he would be fucking my wife all day, and wondering what that felt like. I always did as she asked.

One morning I brought coffee up to Adrienne and Derek in their bed as I had gotten into the habit of doing, and Adrienne surprised me a little.

"Max, its your birthday next week. We'd like to do something for you. Derek and I. Anything you want. Go somewhere, do something. You're so sweet to us, you make us so happy, we'd like to do something special for you."

"Oh ... OK. Like what?"

Derek was eyeing me, complacent and intruigued with the conversation as my wife answered, her head still on his chest and her beautiful small breasts covered primly by a hand on the sheet as she propped herself up.

"I don't know, anything you want. Have a think about it."

"OK Ade. That's a nice thought. I'll think about it."

After work that evening I caught Adrienne alone in the kitchen. I had been thinking and fantasizing all day, plucking up the courage for my proposal. I didn't want to say it in front of Derek. Even with my wife I was flushed bright red, I could feel blotches on my neck revealing my embarrassment. But I had to say it, this was a chance in a lifetime.

"Adrienne, about your proposal."


"For my birthday treat."

"Oh! Yes of course. Did you give it any thought?"

I had to just come right out with it.

"I ... I'd like to ... w-watch."

"Watch?" She raised an eyebrow. "Watch what?"

"You and Derek."

"Ohhhh. Oh ... Oh. Right. I see ..."

A grin came over her face. She looked me up and down briefly, letting me squirm in my embarrassment.

"And how would that work exactly, Max? What would you like us to do?"

"I ... If I could just be a fly on the wall. You could do what you normally do. When I'm out."

She laughed out loud this time.

"Ooh, Maxy. You little pervert, you."

"I know. But you said anything I want. That's what I want most."

She paused a moment, still grinning.

"Let me discuss it with Derek. We'll let you know."

When Derek came home, she asked me to leave them so they could talk, so I went upstairs to the bedroom. At first I could hear them kissing and canoodling, then I heard them chatting and laughing. Then my wife called me down. I was trembling as I walked into my own living room to greet them. They were on the sofa, arm in arm. It was Derek who spoke.

"Adrienne tells me you want to watch us."

I blushed scarlet.

"That's ... that's right Derek."

He grinned. He could see me squirming with shame.

"That's what you want more than anything else?"

I nodded, eyes lowered. It seemed so shameful to be confessing this to Derek, another man. That what I wanted more than anything else in the world was to watch him fuck my wife.

He looked at Adrienne, then sighed.

"OK Max, your wish has come true."

He smiled.

"Th-thank you Derek."

My eyes were still lowered in shame.

"For one day only," he went on, "you can be a fly on the wall and a Peeping Tom with us. We'll just treat you like part of the furniture."

"Thank you. But if I can help you or s...serve you while I am here, please let me know."

Derek grinned.

"OK Max. We'll bear that in mind."

All week I was beside myself with excitement at what was going to happen on my birthday. All of those things I had heard, imagined, wanked over, I was going to see them happen with my own eyes. A real man and a real woman, making love as God intended. My beautiful, beloved wife, being fucked by a black man. Adrienne, her pretty white mouth stuffed with cock. Derek's cock. Despite myself, those particular words and thoughts made my little dick hard every time ... Derek's cock. I had never seen it. But now I was going to. Quite often that week I would find myself having to stifle an erection on my journey to work as my thoughts kept turning to my birthday treat. At more sober moments I felt some gloom at how twisted and perverted my existence had become. How could I call myself a man? What man would request as a birthday treat to see his own wife fucked by another man, in his own home? Adrienne had called me a pervert. I couldn't deny it. And yet ... how glorious those fantasies were. Not just fantasies either, this was really going to happen. I knew what my little white penis wanted, and the brain would always follow.


Watching my wife lying back on the bed, a little glint of sweat underneath her white breasts, her legs spread wide, beckoning, begging for his cock, my whole body felt numb, and my little penis throbbed just to see it. I looked up at Derek as he stood savouring the sight, my beautiful wife spread at his mercy, his possession and conquest. He stroked his long black penis absently. I looked at his cock, stared at it in awe, I could not take my eyes off the thing ... I felt no shame, no self-consciousness. They were holding very true to their promise and ignoring me utterly, caught up in each other. I was almost literally a fly on the wall to them, and insect, a creature of no consequence, whose presence did not matter.

Derek's penis. A thing of beauty and power, no question about that. Heavy, black, veined ... a sheen of sweat creating a blue-black depth of colour and darkness. Latent menace and power. I was beyond words, thought, morality, looking at another man's cock and silently worshipping as it prepared to penetrate my wife.

Adrienne's cunt. A gateway to my wife's body, to her reproductive system, a portal of white and pink feminine flesh. Also a thing of exquisite beauty to me as I looked from Derek's cock to the place it was soon to enter. Her cunt had never seemed more beautiful, it seemed to be the centre of her, as she lay spread for her lover.

These two things of beauty were about to meet before my eyes. The obscenity and beauty of it, my head was vibrating with swooning wonder. The sheer superiority of them, this couple, my wife and my black lodger. Individually they both had something I could never have. Derek, he had this huge, awesome cock, enough to make a woman his over and over again, to make women want him, return to him, beg for him. Adrienne had her beautiful female body, her white cunt, to welcome and please a cock like that. With her pretty white face she could please him with her mouth. Then together they had even more – a beautiful symmetry, contrast, passion. A sexual act that I could never be part of. Just to see it, just this once, that was my privilege.

Then finally, it happened. I saw it. He held his cock in his hand and rubbed the tip against her pussy lips. She groaned and arched her back, spreading as wide as she could, begging him to enter. The cock hardened to an incredible size, I could see it throbbing. He pushed, gently. My wife's cunt was so wet the whole thing slid inside in one movement, so his jet-black balls rested against her g-spot. I couldn't believe the whole of this huge thing was inside her. To think that I had thought I was filling her, satisfying her ... how deluded I had been. Now, a man, a real cock, was penetrating Adrienne in front of my eyes. She grunted softly as he gently started to fuck her. She was looking right into his eyes. I touched my little cock. I thought I was going to spunk it, I wanted so much to save it. Sweat dripped from my forehead as it did from the lovers. Derek was speeding up the fucking, subtly and over many minutes. It wasn't something I noticed as it was happening. Eventually he was pumping, thrusting in and out of her, pushing her back into the bed. She was red, flushed, delirious with pleasure. They looked like wild animals, beautiful animals. I was watching something out of nature. A strong, powerful man fucking a beautiful woman. I lost all sense of time. It might have been hours they fucked and fucked. They were covered with sweat, the sheets were wet. I wondered whether it was always this good, and hoped that maybe my presence was adding something. I was utterly forgotten though. Adrienne seemed to come several times. I had never seen anything like it. Finally Derek came, pumping his cock into her. I imagined his semen flowing into her womb as I watched. So natural. He gripped her hips in his black hands as he expelled the cum, then threw her back onto the bed. He was done with her.


Adrienne was slurring her words, heady with the grass. She put on a little half-cup black and pink bra, then leaned towards me.

"Mmm, my sweet little hubby. Are you enjoying your birthday treat? How is little pee-pee holding up?"

"G ... Good. Great. I've never felt like this. I'm delirious Ade. So wonderful. You and Derek. Its just so ... beautiful. So perfect."

"That's sweet. You make me so happy Max. I'm the woman with everything. I'm so lucky to have you."

She took another drag of the joint then eyed me again curiously.

"So is there anything else you want, Maxy?"

She exhaled, breathing softly now, almost whispering, sultry.

"It is your birthday. I'm in a generous mood. Now would be the time to ask."

"I ... Well, I ... no."

She giggled and handed me the joint. Derek was asleep now, spent from fucking my wife.

"Oh, come on Maxy. I can tell there's something. This is your chance. Give pee-pee a treat for once. Just let go. In this room, Maxy, anything goes. This is where I come to get fucked by my black lover remember?"

I exhaled the smoke and felt the intoxication, physical and mental. I must have lost all sense of shame and inhibition because I don't know where my next words came from.

"I want to wear some of your panties Adrienne."

She giggled. She sat up on her knees, stifling her laughs with her hand.

"Ooh, baby. My oh my. Wait til Derek hears this!"

"Oh God, please Adrienne ..."

She giggled again, couldn't stop herself.

"Come on," she said, extending her soft hand, "let's go and find something pretty for you to wear."

"So, my little Maxy wants to wear some of my knickers, now ... let's see ... these are very pretty."

She held up a pair of lacy, sheer white panties with a little bow at the front. Her knicker drawer, a magical place, was casually open as I sat trembling and naked on our bed. She tossed the panties over to me. Just the touch in my hand was electric, taboo-breaking, dreamy. I couldn't believe this was really happening.

"Ooh, hold on ... how about these? Would you prefer these?"

The tiny panties were hooked onto her raised little finger as she stood, hand-on-hip, questioning. They were pink with white trim, sheer and see-through at the front, satin at the back, with a girlish little flower decoration on the elastic. They were perfect. My throat was so dry I could hardly speak, couldn't say the words.

"Y ... Yes. Adrienne. I ... I want ..."

"You like these ones do you?"


"And ... you want to wear them while you watch us fuck?"

"Oh God. Yes Adrienne. Yes ... please."

She laughed and tossed them over to me.

She watched me curiously, a grin on her face, as my trembling fingers thumbed out the elastic and I stepped into the panties. My little cock shuddered as the feminine fabric brushed over it.

"I say, you do like that don't you? Look at my little Peeping Tom in panties ... all dressed up like a pretty little girl ... now ... shall we go and show you to the man of the house?"

It had to be faced, and although my heart thumped and my throat felt choked with fear at the prospect, I had known it was coming all along, and something about being exposed before Derek in sissy panties made my penis throb and shudder.

I had goosebumps as Adrienne led me by the hand back to the top room, both of us wearing only panties. She looked beautiful. I looked shameful and humiliated. She poked her head around the door.

"Got a surprise for you big guy", she said.

I could hardly bring myself to enter the room, but she tugged at my hand.

Derek laughed when he saw me. My wife couldn't hide a smile.

"He wanted to wear some of my panties. Doesn't he look pretty?"

"You look pretty babe. He looks like a sissy."

She giggled.

"Sissy. I like that."

She gestured to my armchair.

"Are you going to sit back down, sissy? I think I need more cock now."

I obeyed, and watched from the chair as Adrienne knelt by the bed and took Derek's flaccid penis into her hand. She stooped to lick it gently. Derek grunted, coming back to life a little after their morning's fucking. I watched my wife licking it up and down, licking his huge balls and looking up at him for approval. Then she took the head into her mouth and started to suck. She took a lot of the penis into her mouth, more than seemed possible. Her lips were taught around it as she sucked, and gently bobbed on his cock. His eyes met mine, and a grin came back to his face. I tried to imagine what he must be feeling, looking over at me, a married man in his wife's panties, gazing at him while my wife sucked his cock. She sucked lovingly, and for a long time. Again, so different from anything I had ever taken part in. She was truly immersed in it, her mouth showing her love for his black cock. My own little penis was erect again in the panties as I watched it. Derek closed his eyes as she sucked harder, enjoying the sensations. I could see that he was going to come again. I wondered whether Adrienne would take his cum into her mouth. She had always avoided that with me. When the time came and he arched his back, she seemed to manoevre to keep his cock firmly in her mouth as he unloaded. I could see his cock pumping but I couldn't see the cum. It was all pouring into my wife's mouth. I saw her throat bob as she swallowed. I imagined the liquid from his cock pouring down her throat into her stomach. A true act of love and worship.


My little white cock had never been stiff for so long. All day I had seen the most incredible scenes of my life, all in my own home. I had felt like bursting but had restrained myself from playing with it the whole day. I didn't want to do it in front of Derek. I wanted to sustain the sick joy, the ecstasy I felt watching my wife with her black lover. I knew an orgasm would disrupt it. But now I lay alone as the lovers slept, exhausted, in the bedroom upstairs that had been intended as a Master suite for me and my wife. I had kept the panties on. The soft silkiness felt so right as I touched my stiff, sore little thing for the first time. A million images from the day raced through my head as I exploded into the little pink panties.


Friday, 6 July 2012

Story: The Lodger, Part 1

The Lodger, Part 1
by Shem

Derek spoke softly, but I could hear him talking to my wife.

"I'm sorry about what I said last night Adrienne."

"That's OK. You were drunk. I know you didn't mean what you said."

He paused and looked at her intently.

"I didn't say that."

Adrienne looked mock-confused, but excited, slurrring her words a little.

"What do you mean?"

He took her hand in his. I thought this a little forward, right in front of me.

"Adrienne, what I said was, I'm sorry I said what I said. I didn't say that I didn't mean it. It was just inappropriate of me to say. You a married woman and all."

He glanced up at me for the first time, his eyes a little lazy with the wine. I wondered whether he realised I could hear their conversation. But then I thought suddenly, in fact somehow I knew, that he did know I could hear it. Either he didn't care, or he wanted me to hear.

She sighed, and then quite naturally rested her head on his shoulder.

"Oh Derek", she said, "you're a good man."

I had a thick lump in my throat as I sat across the room, listening and watching. For a long time no one said anything. I just watched my wife resting her head on Derek's shoulder. She looked beautiful to me at that moment, feminine and vulnerable as she had never looked before. Something about the contrast between them, Adrienne petite and girlish almost, Derek most definitely a man -- tall, muscular, relaxed. I was filled with love for her, but also with dread and foreboding.

The last six months flashed before me in those few minutes ... Derek moving into our house, a lodger just divorced. Our common curiosity about him, giggly and gossipy at first ... a black man, smart, courteous, but most definitely black in a way that jarred our white middle class sensibilities whether we cared to admit it or not. His brashness, his humour, his confidence. Our growing friendship, nights of dinner and intimate chat, after which I would end up fetching the whiskey and we would all stagger up to bed drunk and slow, but happy. "Such a lovely man", Adrienne would say, repeating herself as people who have had too much wine tend to do. The strange atmosphere I had begun to feel, we all felt it I am sure, a growing weight, a headiness, melancholy, expectant almost. Dreamlike, and disturbing in the way that all dreams are, but definitely real.

"Derek ...", she whispered, her voice trailing off.

"Yes Adrienne."

He smiled down at her.

"Do you want me to ask my husband for some privacy?"

How odd it might seem to someone else, but in my woozy headed state, accepting of a reality of which I was not yet conscious, what she was suggesting seemed perfectly natural to me ... that I might offer them privacy, in my own house, take my leave and accept that I was not part of what was happening here. It was like water trickling, flowing downstream, so natural a conclusion to the course of our relationships that in my inhibition-free state it seemed absurd to question or resist it.

Derek leaned over and whispered in her ear. She giggled then raised her head from his shoulder and looked at me.

"Darling. Would you mind going up to bed ahead of me? Derek and I would like some privacy now."

She knew I had been listening.

My face was flushed scarlet, I could feel the heat in my cheeks, and my throat was too dry to answer. I nodded and got up. I felt as if I was outside my own body, like I had no control at all, even getting up and walking upstairs - as Adrienne smiled and rested her head back on Derek's shoulder - seemed involuntary, like I was obeying some script, some natural law, a force far greater than me. I was excited at the same time, wildly excited in fact, but not erect ... my little friend had shrunk back, as if in deference to a greater power at work. As I walked up the stairs, I thought I might masturbate with the knowledge of what was going to happen, but my compact little penis remained flaccid and numb throughout the night as I listened for any sounds I could catch from downstairs, and later, after the nocturnal creaky shuffling of movement, from Derek's room upstairs from ours. I knew she was there with him. I could not pleasure myself, although later I often thought back with unparalleled orgasmic thrill on that night, so quiet and calm, but so filled with truly erotic moments. Adrienne resting her head on his shoulder, a universal signal of a woman's submission and longing ... the night I knew for the first time, for sure, that my beloved wife wanted another man, so much that she did not care about her sacred vows or the consequences, and that for all her protestations of love, there was a cold, pragmatic contempt underneath it all, which she betrayed by this indifference. And then, to be sent to bed ... time for the grown-ups to have some time alone. A man and a woman, things I did not need to know about or see. Such a gentle humiliation, but so acute, so choking.

I must have succumbed to sleep in the early hours, and when I awoke the bed was still empty. There was a little shudder when all the events of the night before came back to me. It had happened, it was all real. What happens now? I wondered how it would be today, and I didn't know how I was going to behave. I needn't have worried ... the natural, almost involuntary flow of my responses, if not my feelings, continued into the day without really missing a beat. I made coffee, and sat alone for a couple of hours before I heard footsteps. It was Adrienne. She looked dozy and sleepless, but radiant, dressed in just a black shirt of Derek's and her white knickers, her tanned legs on display in all their magnificence. Her light brown hair was a mess, and she casually passed a combing hand through it as she came over to me and kissed me on the cheek.

"Mmmm", she muttered. "Morning."

"Good morning."

I passed her a cup of coffee. She drank from it and leant on the counter, looking at me with a happy expresssion. I could feel her affection for me, but I knew that was not the only source of her obvious and delirious happiness that morning.

"You're so sweet", she said. "I'm so lucky to have you."

I felt numb and swept up, like I was still very much in the midst of this momentous thing. Not much was said, not many words were needed, but I knew that we were talking about things that were quite real and profound, and that everything had changed. Eventually I found some words for her.

"I just want you to be happy Adrienne."

She smiled, flushed and kissed me again.

"I am happy, honey. I am so happy I can't describe it."

I stepped back and looked at her. She looked so beautiful. For the first time, I felt a stirring as my little cock throbbed and swelled at the sight of her. My wife. The words and pictures were spinning around in my head ... my wife ... another man ... Derek ... a black man. Another man has fucked my wife. A black man has fucked my wife. Yes, a black man. Why did that detail, my cuckolder's race, make my little cock so hard? I thought something inside me knew, but couldn't quite work it out in words. No matter. I was breathing hard now, and Adrienne was looking at me quizically. She glanced down at my modest crotch protrusion.

"Do you need to go back to bed for a while, honey? It might ... sort you out. Might be just what you need."

She came over and stroked my hair, then leaned and whispered in my ear.

"I'll come with you if you like. We could ... talk about last night."

So knowing, and so beautiful. It made her seem immensely powerful to me. I don't even remember nodding my assent, we both just knew it was going to happen, so she took my hand and led me to the bedroom.

We snuggled in our bed, and I felt the heat of her body against mine. Our embrace was warm, loving, immense, but also quite different from anything that had gone before, in crucial details, and in the feeling it gave me. For a second I had thought we were going to make love. But Adrienne, having discarded Derek's shirt to the floor, had pointedly kept her knickers on, a little white cotton barrier I had not known before in our bed. She stroked my hair tenderly, breathing deeply, a sleepy, affectionate, slightly condescending look on her face. My cock was hard as a stone, but I was lost as to what to do with it. Ever so gently, my wife led the way.

"You know, ever since I first saw Derek, I wondered what it would be like. But I never thought it would actually happen."

I stiffened even more at her words, the little thing was sore now. I answered with a choked, dry voice.

"And now it has happened."

"Yes. It has."

I knew she was aware of the effect this was having on me, and my shameful excitement that would not hide itself but declared itself more at every turn. She grinned.

"You can touch yourself if you want. While we talk."

I had never pleasured myself in front of Adrienne before, it felt like a private, almost shameful thing before, but now she was inviting it, prompting it, and I couldn't help myself. How everything had changed, so quickly.

"Thanks", I said, grateful for the small erotic chance she was giving me, after the night she must have had. I reached and stroked myself for the first time ... it would never be large, but I was surprised to find it just a little bigger than it had felt before, hot, swollen and aching.

"So what ... what was it like Adrienne?"

She chuckled. Happy at the memory.

"It was wonderful Max. It felt like something that was meant to be. I had thought about it and imagined it so many times, but in fact it was better in reality. Warm, intense, surprising. Even ... well, loving."

I gulped. I was stroking my cock now as Adrienne looked at me intently, teasingly.

"What happened downstairs? After I left you."

"He kissed me. We kissed. So tenderly, it was a new experience for me. It felt like we had known each other so long, we'd been building up to it for so long, but it was still a bit surprising. I never kissed a black man before. His dark skin, full lips. I wanted him, he knew I wanted him, and he could do whatever he wanted with me, but we had a lot of fun just kissing and cuddling like teenagers for quite a long time."

I thought I might blow just hearing this, but I was in a strange and sweet ecstasy hearing her talk, touching myself in front of another, ignoring my shame and almost relishing it, and thereby breaking my own little taboo as Adrienne had broken her wedding vows. I pleaded with her to go on.

"He touched me, slowly and tenderly, just natural and nothing too aggressive. His hands on my breasts, I swear I was almost proud of myself, my nipples were so rock hard when he touched them, dark brown and dappled. Like never before."

Like my little cock now, I thought. Never seemed so perfectly hard. I imagined my wife's nipples under his touch, like little hot stones, standing to attention.

"His tough fingers gently stroking up the under side of my thighs. His hands felt so different to yours, so masculine somehow. My whole body felt like one single thing though. I felt it all over. He was loving my whole body, and we still had our clothes on. Its never felt like that with you."

"Did you ... touch ... him?"

"I kept trying, reaching for him. He held me back, like he was waiting, teasing me."

"He kept you waiting." I thought my little cock would burst at her words.

"Yes", she said, then whispered softly, "but when he let me touch it, well, my oh my."

"Was it like mine?"

Adrienne suppressed a laugh.


"What was it like?"

She smirked, glancing down at my penis.

"You want me to describe Derek's cock to you Max? While you stroke your ... your little pee-pee?"

The gentle teasing, the childish term she used to describe my penis, it was like she knew all my pathetic buttons better than I did. My 'pee-pee' was so stiff now it hurt.

"Yes ... please Adrienne ..."

"Well, let's see ... I touched it through his trousers and I could feel the size. Then I unzipped him and took it out and ... well, I got another surprise. I had thought he was erect you see. But then there was this huge thing, flaccid and heavy, swinging out. Bigger than yours is now. Imagine that, Max -- Derek is bigger when flaccid than you are erect. I had never thought of your penis as big, far from it, I suppose I had got used to it ... but I never realised quite how small it could seem in comparison to someone like Derek. So much cock. All for one girl. I was thinking, ooh, all for me?"

"What did you do?"

"Just played with it for a while. He let me. Stroked it with my fingers, feeling it pulse and react. It was a new experience for me, feeling a real cock like that. Then I kissed it. Licked it. Licked these huge black veins running down it. I shifted onto the floor, on my knees, and took it into my mouth. So much cock, Max! It feels like I can still feel it. My mouth was full of this flaccid, meaty cock, gagging. I couldn't help thinking about your little one, how small it felt, like my own thumb, and how this was something so different. So different. Then it started to get harder, longer, and I couldn't take it all in my mouth any more."

"Go on. Please ..."

"I sucked him. As best I could. Sucked the head of it, he was grunting like he liked it, and I just wanted to please him, to please this huge ... cock. I worked it up and down with my mouth and tongue, trying to get it into my throat. I wanted to show Derek I could do it. That I wasn't just some square married white woman who can't handle real cock. He seemed to like it, he was grinning and grunting, grabbing my hair."

I was choking, dry-mouthed, still stroking, about to burst, hearing my wife talk like this.

"Then all of a sudden he just pulled me off his cock and held my face up to his. He said: I've been waiting for this for a long time Adrienne. Thought about it every night since I came here. Seeing you with Max, knowing what you needed. And now I'm going to fuck you."

I had to stop stroking my little dick at this point. I didn't want to come in front of Adrienne like this. Well, I wanted to hear it all first anyway.

So she went on, telling me, very slowly, what had happened. How they had rushed upstairs, excited, flustered, how he had practically ripped her clothes off, thrust her down on the bed. She told me how wet she had been, like never before, and how even his huge penis had penetrated her so easily, filled her, hot and wet. She talked softly into my ear about how that had felt. As though Derek had penetrated her whole body, not just her vagina, but all of her. I was delirious hearing it, my memory of it fuzzy with the ecstacy, the mental image of the black penis penetrating my wife repeating over and over in my head, and I exploded before her story climaxed. Adrienne looked at me, tenderly, with something like pity but a little love as well, as I lay there with my softening penis in my hand, covered in my own cum. She offered me a tissue to wipe myself, smirked, and left the room.


I had hurriedly showered and dressed. Adrienne was still in the kitchen, drinking more coffee. I heard the sound upstairs I had dreaded. Derek's footsteps. My cuckolder, coming down the stairs. He had fucked my wife, slept a peaceful sleep, and now he was awake and heading towards me. I couldn't face him.

"I'm going out for a walk," I said to Ade, and I could hear her chuckling to herself as I closed the door.

I stayed out all day. Walking around the park, sitting on benches, lost in a daze. It didn't seem real. I was shaken and confused. Hurt ... yes. Humiliated ... yes. A thick lump in my throat all day. This had to be wrong, so wrong. I had to go back, tell them Derek had to go, this was all unacceptable. I had to tell Adrienne she couldn't do this to me, she had to respect our marriage. It was all wrong on so many levels, it had to be stopped. I had to be a man again.

My penis begged to differ. It betrayed me, hardening every time I thought of what had happened, which was very often that day. It was so hard it hurt. I knew that on some not very deep level, I wanted this. It excited me. Thrilled me. If not, why was my little thing so stiff it was sore? In a sordid public toilet in the park, I wanked again. I couldn't help myself. It was a glorious sunny day. I didn't read, go anywhere, didn't even eat. I just lay back on the grass and let it all spin through my head. I was safely away from them, off in my own head, in fantasy land, not having to deal with the reality.

But I knew it was waiting for me. As the sun began to set I forced one foot in front of the other and headed home. When I came to the door I was trembling. Afraid to go inside my own house. It was a different place now. Conquered territory. A perverse thought, ugly and uncivilised ... but with a large degree of truth. My hand shuddered as I put the key in the lock. It wouldn't catch first time. I forced it in with a shove and opened the door.

They were both there, waiting for me. They both looked as though they were trying not to look too happy. I couldn't meet Derek's eye, until he forced me, coming over and putting his strong hand on my shoulder.

"How are you doing, Max?" he asked, smiling.

I buckled slightly under his touch, weakening, and he reached for a chair for me. I sat down, suddenly exhausted.

Adrienne put a cold beer down in front of me, gently touching my shoulder as Derek had done, and I gulped from the bottle.

For a long time I couldn't speak. My wife sat, self-contained, confident, opposite me, next to Derek. At one point, she squeezed his hand as if to indicate something to him. Something about the familiarity of this made me shudder. It was Derek who spoke first.

"I ... think I know a little bit of what you're going through, Max."

I almost smiled. How could he?

Then he went on.

"Believe it or not, I've been in one or two situations like this before."

"What ... what kind of situations?"

"Well ... situations involving ... husbands and wives. Couples."

"I see."

Adrienne smiled knowingly. Perhaps they had already talked about it.

"You see," Derek leaned a little towards me, imposing himself, "society, conventions ... they teach you to think in a certain way, react in a certain way. You are brainwashed into thinking that certain things are allowed, and certain things aren't. That there is only one way of being a man. One way of being a couple. But all that ... its just bullshit Max."

He let his words sink in a little then continued.

"There are no rules, Max. There's just us. We are all adults. We can do whatever we like. We can decide our own rules and have our own ways of living. Our own ... relationships."

I thought about his words. I understood on some profound level. I just couldn't see where it was going, what it meant for me.

"I ... I think I ... agree, Derek. But ... what does that mean for me, for me and Adrienne ... what happens now?"

"Do you love her Max?"

"Of course I do. More than anything."

Adrienne flushed, smiled at me full of warmth.

"Don't you want her to have everything she could ever want? People, women especially, are always being told they can't have it both ways. Don't you want to give this to your wife, as a gift, a gift of love? Letting her have it both ways ..."

Both ways? Again, deep down I knew what he meant, I just couldn't put my finger on it. I was silent again for a long minute. Finally I spoke.

"Yes. Yes I do want that."

I looked at my wife.
"I want everything for you Adrienne."

She touched my hand.

"Thank you honey."

Derek smiled.

"I admire you Max. It takes guts to say what you're saying."

This seemed perverse to me. We all knew what we were talking about, what I was consenting to, submitting to. It seemed shameful to me, but I was compelled towards it and couldn't stop myself.

"So what do ... I do ... what do I do now?" I asked.

"You want my advice Max?" Derek broke in, not waiting for an answer. "Just go with what you feel. Don't think too much. I've been here before ... and I think you'll know what feels right. How to deal with it. How to ... behave."

I knew, I knew so well, and I followed my cuckolder's advice. I did let go. I followed my heart, or the strange perverse force that was propelling me. I didn't think. I just went with it.

I left them alone and went to watch TV, in a daze. I don't remember what I saw. I could hear them chatting, giggling, making dinner. They called me in to eat, but I couldn't. I just drank and stared at the TV. Adrienne came to check on me a couple of times, stroking my shoulder affectionately. After they had eaten they came and stood in the doorway.

"I'm beat, I'm going to bed," said Derek. He looked at Ade.

"Me too," she said.

I was choked again and could hardly speak.

"G... Good ... Goodnight," I said.

"Night Max."

"Goodnight honey."

Adrienne kissed me on the lips then turned to follow Derek. He placed a gentle black hand on the small of her back as they turned to go upstairs, smiling at me as he did so. Adrienne looked back and flashed me a little wave with her fingertips as they disappeared.


Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Story: Karen's Master, Part 2

Karen’s Master 
By Shem
Part 2 - Karen Submits

Karen’s fingers were shaking as she held the photograph, checking for the third time that she had brought it as she waited for James to answer the door. She could have made a copy, but she had ripped it straight out of the wedding album. It felt like more of an offering that way, a sacrifice, and token of obeisance. Richard would not notice it was gone, not for a long time. Perhaps his mother would be the first to notice, she always liked to look through the albums when she came.

She looked down at the photo, the happy couple. Richard beaming proudly, Karen slim, white, innocent. No hint of what the future held for this marriage, for this couple. The thought excited her somehow. The beautiful contrast between the innocence of the picture and the wicked destiny she was leading it to, the sordid design which had held the tingle in her panties ever since she had taken it from the album and secreted it away in her handbag while she waited for the summons from James. It had only been four days as it turned out, but those days had been torture more than ever before, now that she had seen a glimpse of James’s world. Who was he with? How far was he going with his hobby this time?

Karen felt her knees weaken and hurriedly pushed the picture into her bag as James opened the door. He moved aside to let her enter, then slammed the door. He said nothing. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. She knew what that command meant, and sank to her knees, shuddering.

“James, I … “

He placed two black fingers over her mouth, the inside skin white and hard against her lips.

“Don’t talk, bitch. Later.”

His hand moved to his fly. She knew what he wanted. He seemed impatient, he had a need to be fulfilled and as always Karen was thrilled to think it was her that he wanted to please him. The sharp crackle of the zip as it lowered rang loud in her ears. Time seemed to stand still. Now she was the impatient one. Her breasts moved under her heavy breath as she waited, kneeling, her tongue sliding about involuntarily inside her mouth, salivating at what she was about to receive. The heavy, heaving bulge on the black lycra. Dormant power. Her eyes were fixed on the thing, her mind empty of everything, giving itself to worship this thing. Her body, knees digging into the carpet, her full, sagging breasts, her stretchmarked belly, her moistening cunt, all of it had but one purpose which was to serve this thing, to worship it and give it pleasure. This cock. How much of every day did she spend thinking and dreaming about it? What a slut, what an air-headed bimbo she had become, thinking only of this black man’s cock all day. But it felt so right, so natural. When she let her mind wander, this was where it wandered to. Why resist nature?

He reached into the lycra shorts and took the thing out, letting it swing down heavily in front of her face.

“Oh God,” she gasped involuntarily at the sight of the beautiful black organ. Her heart thumped, she was breathing heavily as she opened her mouth and let her tongue extend to lick it.

The hot touch of the cock against her tongue was just as magical as the first time. She licked, lovingly, with the tip of her tongue, all along the immense length of it, worshipping with all the restraint she could muster. She knew he liked it slow like that. She licked down the growing shaft to his huge black balls, and applied her tongue lower down, all around his crinkled dark globes of pure manhood. His first groan of approval sent shivers all over her kneeling body. How she loved to please him!

The mighty cock was stiffening now, growing in length and girth to what Karen knew to be a quite awesome full size. Sometimes she found herself laughing out loud when she thought of the comparison with her husband’s floppy little thing. Karen knew what James liked. She continued to lick along the shaft and under the bulbous round head, tickling it with her tongue, until the moment that James gave the unspoken command to suck.

After several minutes of devoted tongue-ing from her kneeling position, the command came. He grabbed the hair on the back of her head into his fist, almost forcing her mouth wide open. Obediently she opened wide, took the black cock head into her mouth and sucked, eyes up on James as if for approval, she knew he liked that too. The head was quite a mouthful, not much smaller than a tennis ball, and she sucked it gently while stroking her tongue along the taught groove underneath. My oh my. Now she was groaning with pleasure too. Her cheeks tightened with each sucking motion, but the cock filled her mouth so much there was little movement, just the tightening of the little muscles in her cheeks. Slowly she worked down, extending as much as she could of the huge thing down into her throat.

She had practised at home for him, wanting to do better for him, give him the pleasure he deserved. She had bought a huge black toy (her husband had seen it and made no comment), which of course had multiple uses, and practised until she was now quite accomplished at taking such a large thing into her throat. She could see that it was pleasing James as she took it almost all the way, up and down. Like a real whore. His married white whore. Karen knew she had competition and wanted to get the edge however she could.

She felt the cock penetrate her throat, avoiding the gagging that would spoil his pleasure. It was so deep that she felt the wiry, black pubic hairs brush against her nose, inhaling their musky, manly smell. Her pretty face, the face in the wedding picture, just an orifice, just a cunt for his cock to fuck now. Her whole head and neck like an elaborate white cunt for him. He felt it and made some slow thrusts, fucking her mouth and throat. She made a muffled groan of approval, and he grabbed her hair again and thrust harder. When Richard had tried to thrust into her mouth, early in their marriage, she had reacted with fury, throwing him off and rejecting him for days. With James it was so different. She wanted him to fuck her head like this, to do whatever he wanted with her body, she just wanted to satisfy his cock.

Her face was red, there were tears in her eyes as the intense fucking and sucking went on, Karen on her knees in the hallway, James standing imperious over her, using her face as his fuck-toy. She lost her sense of time, caught up in the physical sensation of having her mouth and throat filled with cock as never before, being fucked and used so beautifully, so selfishly. Her make up that she had spent so long applying, wanting to look pretty for James in her middle age, all a mess now of cock juice and sweat and tears. It was not just physical, it was overwhelming emotionally for her. Never had she felt so subservient, such as sense of worship and gift of herself to another. Her Master.

His grunting and thrusting was getting wilder, he arched his strong back and it was all she could do to keep her mouth on the thing, keep sucking when she could and stay on her knees. He grabbed her head with some violence now and held it down on his cock, deep in her throat. She braced herself and felt the hot jet in her throat, opening further, determined to take it all. She felt it pump through his cock, ten, twelve pumps, then slow, the cock mercifully relenting and softening in her mouth. A lot of cum had gone straight down her throat, now the fat cock head lay on her tongue, still oozing white essence. She savoured it in her mouth, licking the head again, then gazed up at James as she swallowed.

He grinned. “Good girl,” he said, the closest to praise she had had in a long time.

She was still fully dressed, on her knees, face-fucked and used, full of his cum. Deliriously happy. She had never swallowed for Richard, in fact the very thought disgusted her. But for James it seemed a beautiful thing, an act of worship and devotion. Signifying something. A special bond, stronger than her marriage bond. Ownership.

He lifted her by her hair, a cruel contempt in his eyes, so aware and sure of his power over her. He zipped up.

“Thank you James,” she said, wiping her mouth and dabbing at her mascara.

“OK. Now get out of here, bitch, I got things to do today.”

“Wait … please, James. I have something for you. Something special,” she pleaded as he ushered her out the door.

She took the wedding photograph from her bag and put it in his hand. He looked down at it, grinned with cocksure recognition, then slammed the door in her face.


Karen felt her phone vibrate as she stood chatting to the other mothers waiting to collect their children. That name, she felt her heart thump when she saw it. James. Excusing herself from the conversation, she collected herself as best she could and answered.

“James! I’m so happy you’re calling me …”

“So you been pokin’ round my house bitch?”

“I … yes … James I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I was so excited. I wanted to know you better. To be better for you. Give you what you need. James you know … I’ll do anything for you James. Anything.”

“Get over here tonight. Nine. Your husband will understand.” Then he hung up.


It was the first time she had been to James’s place in the hours of darkness since that first time she had given herself to him, and walking the dark street on the approach called it back into her mind, walking that night, shaking with nerves, compelled by her own desire and frustration to go home with this man she had only met a couple of hours before. Walking away from the pub with a black man, feeling the eyes on her, a white woman walking away from her husband, the flush of alcohol taking her inhibition away, the black man’s hand on the seat of her jeans as they stepped through the door. The black man her husband had met online, cultivated and now introduced to her, how strange and twisted, yet how exciting and irresistible at the same time. A very modern way of meeting to be sure, but the mixture of fear and exhilaration, pride and shame that she felt when she looked up at this dark man, or looked at her white hand in his black hand, was distinctly un-modern. Ancient, primal somehow. More powerful than modern morality or political correctness. A feeling, a magnetism, something natural that was sweeping all before it.

That feeling had only grown in power from that first night until now, as Karen obeyed his summons and walked in her evening high heels up to those same steps, those same emotions … fear at what he might do to her, excitement at not knowing, the thrill of being in his power … they were all still there, magnified tenfold.

Trembling fingers as she knocked. The usual wait in the dark hall. The door swept open. James, she could barely meet his eyes, beckoning her inside. A camera on a tripod in middle of the living room. He looked down at her shoes.

“Take your clothes off. Leave the shoes on.”

He left the room and she disrobed as quickly as she could so that when he returned she stood, naked and exposed, in only her high heels, like a piece of merchandise available for his use. When James returned she shivered as she glanced at his hand. He was carrying the dog collar and chain, and what looked like a riding crop.

“So you want to be my bitch Karen? Not just a fucktoy, a real bitch, like those whores you saw when you poked around here? You think you’re up to that?”

“Yes … oh yes James. Anything … please let me … be your … bitch.”

It felt strange saying that word out loud. Strange but thrilling.

“A bitch needs training. You ready to be trained?”

“Yes James. Please train me to be your bitch.”

“First of all I gotta punish you. Don’t ever snoop around my place like that again.”

“S…Sorry James. I won’t, I swear.”

“Bend over, bitch.”

She bent over and touched her toes, exposing her ample, fleshy middle-aged bottom to him. She had bent for him before, but this time was different. Before she had felt the intoxicating anticipation of feeling the huge tip of his cock touch her pussy lips from behind. Now she waited for something else, something painful, something she had never experienced before. If anything the fear she felt brewed up an even greater excitement, as though something life-changing was about to happen to her. She was wet between her legs, and a bead of sweat dripped from her forehead, flushed from her upside-down posture. The seconds ticked by. James knew the power of making a woman wait. She knew something about what was coming, but didn’t quite know what or when.

For a split second she heard the swish of the crop through the air, then felt a ringing, stinging pain as the first blow struck her. She couldn’t remember a sharper feeling of pain, different from the agonizing ache of childbirth. She cried out, agony and ecstasy.

“You like that, bitch?”

“Y… Yes James. Thank you.”

Another whiplash, without warning. Tears in her eyes now. Then another, and another in quick succession. She had never been physically punished before. Through the pain and tears she could feel a kind of liberation, a glorious submission that took her outside of her humdrum self. One more savage blow, he was merciless now, enjoying his mastery and power. Then the hardest blow, and he appeared to stop.

Karen was holding back the tears and the stinging radiated from her behind now as he left her there, bent, naked, exposed, punished, humiliated. She felt a drop roll down the back of her thigh, the part she could never quite shed the cellulite from … was it sweat? Blood?

“On your knees now, bitch. Kneel.”

She sank to her knees and looked up at him, mascara running down her cheeks.

“Anything to say to me before we start your training?”

“Th … Thank you James.”

He smiled, then dropped the crop. He retrieved the dog collar from his belt.

“You gonna take the collar now bitch. Bow your head for the collar.”

She did as he commanded and lowered her head, exposing the back of her neck to him. Her whole body tingled with pleasure as she felt the cold metal of the studs on her neck, James’s black fingers wrapping the leather around and fastening it. It felt mesmeric to feel it around her, on her knees for her Master, accepting the collar as a symbol of her status and role, her glorious submission, more than just a physical restraint that would facilitate his use of her.

“Down bitch.”

She looked up at him, confused … she was already on her knees.

 “Right down. Kiss my feet.”

She obeyed and stooped at his feet, feeling the tug of the leash on her neck as she did so. Her cold, trembling lips touched his black shoes and she puckered and kissed.


She extended her tongue and without a thought began this ultimate submission and abasement, licking at his shoes. She felt the reverence, the worship, the primal exchange, and wallowed in it as she licked. All her love for her Master was playing out in her lapping, her leashed body giving utterly to him, so deserving of this.


Karen was sore as she crept back into her own bed. Richard was asleep, or at least pretending to be. She looked at the clock … 04:38. Her training, a thrilling adventure, flashed through her mind. Being led around like a dog on all fours, leashed and collared. The perverted photos James had taken for his album. James standing, holding the leash, Karen on her knees at his feet, eyes on the camera. Another, with his huge flaccid cock draped over her shoulder … a display of ownership, the cock owned her. Perhaps he would use that one opposite the pretty wedding picture she had given him.

Then finally, the reward, he had given his bitch what she came for, his cock … he had never fucked her so hard. She had never been drilled and pounded like that, so intensely, for so long, losing all sensation and thought til she felt that being fucked was all that existed. Then when he flipped her around, a new experience, something she had never felt before as he forced the huge cock head into her smaller, drum-tight hole. Pain, mixed with pleasure, just like the whipping she had taken, the cheeks still raw and sore from that as he pushed further into her. She wanted to accommodate him and finally she did as he thrust gloriously in and she felt his pubes touch her scars. His muscular thighs slapped against her as he buggered her mercilessly. Then hot cum inside there, another new sensation.

Now she ached with pleasure, felt the soreness in her cunt and behind, kept in her panties as she lay back in her own bed, too excited to sleep, thinking of her new life as James’s bitch, used and happy. How far she had come. She felt pride as she delicately traced her fingers along her scars as she lay in bed, there on her now, for her husband to see the next day perhaps, as she climbed out of the shower, a sign to show him how utterly she was owned by another, a kind of branding. The mark of her Master.

Friday, 17 February 2012

Story: Karen's Master, Part 1

Karen’s Master
By Shem

Part 1 – Karen Spreads

Karen felt the heat overwhelm her as she lay back on the bed. A round drop of sweat rolled down her upper lip. Her forehead glistened. A slight breeze from the window gave her a momentary sliver of cool. But she was wet all over, having rushed over in the heat of the morning through the park, straight from dropping off the kids. The sweat made her whole body feel slippery, afloat, unreal, in the folds under her arms and her breasts. Between her legs. Her cheeks were red, and there were little flushed patches all over her body, as though it had already happened.

She had been more than distracted, she had thought of nothing else since the phone call at the breakfast table, his name flashing up – James – and the whole space, a family morning scene, changing utterly in an instant. Her husband’s glance, knowing, but powerless, meek. She had ducked into the garden to receive the curt summons, her first in over a week. It had felt like the longest week of her life, filled with longing, daydreams, questioning, speculation, panic, and desire. Then as she hung up, even her own children were almost invisible to her, they seemed nothing but a chore to be completed as soon as could be, terrible to think it but so true in that moment that she could not deny it to herself.

So she had hurried from the school, almost delirious with anticipation, the sunshine bringing a sweat that she barely noticed, and it was all that she could do to keep the semblance of composure and stop herself from running all the way to his flat. The greetings of other parents, neighbours on their way to work, were all ignored. Her mind was on one thing only, her throat dry with the thought of it, the rest of her body moist, not least her sex. Her knickers – just plain white briefs, if only she had known – were wet by the time she got to his block, flustered and hot. And now she lay on his bed, naked, shining, waiting. He liked to make her wait. In her wildest fantasies she had wanted some kind of greeting, but he had just thrown open the door, pointed, and said the fewest words possible to her:

“On the bed. Naked. Spread.”

Then he went back to his phone call, strolling into the living room in his white vest and boxers, the white of the vest setting off his jet-black skin, his biceps accentuated as he held the phone to his ear, and not a bead of sweat on him. He had not met her eye. As she lay on his bed, breathless, her desire only grew by the second as she obeyed the last of his commands and spread her legs for him. She felt shivery in the heat as she lay ready for him in this most basic and animal of postures, the human equivalent of ‘presenting’.

It excited her that he wanted her like this. She looked down at her body, thirty eight years old in a few months, a little fuller around the tummy after two births, a little longer in the breast, and it thrilled her that this body should be an object of desire for James - a black man, a man who was, in her eyes, little short of physical perfection. Oh, he didn’t love her, or worship her as she worshipped him, she knew that well enough. But even to be used for his pleasure, just for a time, was a thrill enough for her. The seconds ticked by, and turned into minutes. And still Karen lay there with her legs spread, waiting for him.

She looked down at her cunt. It looked and felt beautiful to her now, no longer a thing to be hidden away, intellectualised out of existence, but the centre of her being. It was as if her whole life and soul radiated out from between her legs. It made her laugh to remember that she had once thought herself a feminist. No, she thought, this cunt is me, open, glistening, waiting to be penetrated and used for its Master’s coarse pleasure. That was her reason for being, above all others. The little coiled hairs had grown back, and there was a trim bush that she hoped would not displease him.

It had been eleven days since she had last been here. As she waited, feverish, Karen wondered again who he had been with. She had tried to bat away feelings of jealousy. For one thing, she was a married woman herself. More importantly she knew that a man like James was too great a sexual force to ever restrict himself, he was a man who saw whatever he wanted as his right to take, and the world generally went along with that.

He had had many women, she knew that. He had different ‘interests’ that he liked to pursue, some of which he had told her about and some of which she had picked up in their five-month acquaintance. There were black women. He still had a taste for ‘sisters’, and she had even seen him once by chance in the street, with a proud, shapely young woman with extravagant golden braided hair, who had seemed to look down her nose at Karen as though she pegged her as a rival, despite the affectation of not knowing each other that Karen and James had performed. Then he liked what he called ‘party girls’. When pressed, it seemed like this meant young white girls, often teenagers, that he picked up in clubs. But he never went back to them, he just used them once then threw them away – his words. He also liked to try women of different races and nationalities, and he had boasted once that he had had Chinese, Japanese, Indian, Latino, French and any kind of women you cared to mention. But what made it so hard to hold off her jealousy was also, perversely, the thing that should have given her comfort. James’s greatest interest, his passion, his ‘hobby’ as he had once called it, was fucking married white women.

So on the one hand, Karen knew that she fell into his favourite category of sexual adventure. On the other hand, she knew it was unusual for him to go that long – eleven days – without indulging in his passion. All of which led her to the suspicion that there was another little white wife on the scene, which choked her in a way that no number of party-girl or ‘sister’ rivals ever could. She resolved, somehow, to try to find out. But for now, she was glad to be back in his bed, waiting.

It must have been half an hour at least that she lay there. It felt longer. She gasped inwardly when he appeared in the doorway, a slight sneer breaking his lip. She was wide-eyed, gazing at him, and she stretched her legs a little wider, offering her cunt, showing him. He grinned and nodded slightly – good girl, he seemed to be saying. She started to breathe heavily as he took his vest off in one movement, displaying that beautiful tall black torso from above her.

Then the boxers came down. This was it, hello again, God she had missed it terribly, this thing of dark, veined beauty that occupied almost all of her waking thoughts. His cock. Flaccid, heavy, swaying, menacing, magnificent. Black. Jet black. A thing of worship. Conqueror of countless women. How many gloried in it as she did? Quite a few in all likelihood. He held it gently in one hand, teasingly brushed the tip against her wet cunt lips as it stiffened.

“Oh God. Oh James. Please …”

This wasn’t like the first time, when she had feared it. She knew she could take it all, in her cunt, feel the thick, long, hot darkness inside her, taking over her body. She was proud of her cunt, proud that it had been in a state of perfect union with such a God-like cock and taken it all. She was bigger inside, looser, since the kids, she knew that, and Richard had remarked on it, their sex life had suffered, and she could feel herself that her husband’s penis would never fit snugly again but thrash about awkwardly, as if lost. So for a time she had felt some loss. But now, with James, it was so, so different. His penetration, his power, his fucking, was something altogether different to whatever she had done with Richard. This was a man and a woman in union as God intended. His cock becoming her, taking her body, owning her.

It only made the anticipation more intense as she saw it reach its full growth in his hand, and he stepped forward to claim her married cunt again. Almost touching, looking, gasping. The size of it. Then the first contact, always electric, so different. The huge brown head on her wet lips, barging her clit, shoving rudely like a battering ram for the length it led. She groaned, loud, shameless, as he slid inside her and started to slowly thrust. She felt whole again, a whole woman, with the missing piece restored, as though her spine had been removed and replaced. The shudder came so quickly, maybe the third thrust, as she came for the first time. He looked down at her, savouring his conquest, then took over and went at her hard and selfish, almost wild. To be fucked so hard by that cock, for so long, took her to another plane, one she could never quite recapture when she masturbated. There were shrieks and moans, gallons of sweat pouring out of her. He stopped for a second – after 10 minutes? 20? 30? – to flip her onto all fours.

Again he made her wait for a moment. She waited for the hot tip of the cock to touch her wet behind, but felt a hard spank instead, and orgasmed again. He carried on slapping her as he fucked her from behind, and his black hips slapped into her ample white flesh to create a parallel and continuous slap. Her tits swayed furiously as he pounded her. She knew he liked to see that, and knowing it added to her delirium. When he was close to coming, he grabbed her waist so hard, thrust his hips so hard, went so far inside her with his cock that she felt it must break her. She felt the extra throb in his cock as the white essence gushed out into her cunt. Ten, twenty ever harder thrusts, and he was done with her.

That was all he wanted that day. He woke up wanting a hard fuck, he told her. She thanked him for calling her and not someone else. Was it because she was closest, she asked, half-joking.
He didn’t quite answer but told her:

“I felt like fucking another man’s wife. Some white pussy.”

As they lay there in the heat she took his cock into her mouth, gently, cleaned it for him, lovingly and greedily, with her tongue. Then he had to go, but instead of kicking her out, full of his cum, as he had done so many times, he told her she could stay in the flat if she wanted. Karen was thrilled, overwhelmed with gratitude. Just to be there in his bed, alone, fucked, used, trusted.


Snooping. Such a thrill, tiptoeing naked around his flat. Not quite naked - she had pulled on her plain white panties, out of some strange sense of shy half-propriety, covering her sated pussy, filled with his seed. Knowing he could bound through the door at any moment (although he probably wouldn’t) just added to the excitement. Obsessed with James, she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know his secrets. She opened drawers, and felt a frisson of fear each time, giving her goosebumps.

Did he have porn? Every man did, that’s what her husband had told her, shamefaced, when she had discovered his bizarre box in their basement. That day came back to her as she gently poked around James’s bedroom. Richard’s fallen face when she showed him. His stumbling attempts to explain. Then the tears and the confessions. She had looked through it all, horrified but fascinated. DVDs. Women’s underwear. Magazines, some straight top shelf stuff, others with stronger images of sex acts. Always the same theme, the same types – black men and white women. Karen had never seen black men’s cocks before. She had felt more than a tingling as she leafed through it all, alone in the basement, seeing those thick, long, smooth dark organs, so different to Richard’s pale flabby little thing. Then the faces of the women, white women like her, some young, some middle-aged. Looking at the camera with black cocks in their mouths.

One picture, one pretty white brunette in particular had captivated Karen, and despite her feelings of revulsion she kept going back to look at that one. The woman’s grey-blue eyes looking straight at the camera. Her pretty lips stretched, mouth wide, filled with a thick, dark, black man’s cock. A hint of a grin, a beckoning, or a challenge, dimpling those soft white cheeks. The eyes too seemed to speak to her. Ooh, look at me. Aren’t I a bad girl? You’re no better. I know you’re curious. I know you’re excited. You’re thinking about it now. You’d love to try it. She had put the box away, taken a long shower, masturbating, then waited for her husband to come home.

Did James have something like that? She couldn’t imagine it. Her husband was a fantasist, a pervert. James was a man. He lived in the real world, for himself. He didn’t have to dream about sex between black men and white women, about what it was like to feed a long black cock into a waiting white pussy. About what it was like to see it. No, she couldn’t imagine it. But she kept looking all the same. In his drawers. Under the bed. Then in his wardrobe. There. A white box, larger than a shoebox, heavy as she eased it to the floor. Shocked when she opened it, but it soon became clear and she exhaled heavily, a mixture of relief and excitement. This was James’s private collection, no doubt about that. But this was pictures of real people, of James himself. This was real life, photographed, not some fantasy world. Karen sat on the floor in her white knickers, breathed deeply, her heart pounding, and prepared herself for the thrill of it, the excitement of what she was about to do and see. She couldn’t resist. The risk that he might return – what would he do? Punish her? It was all part of it. She was going to take her time. She wanted to see all of it.

There were pictures, prints. Lots of women and girls, on James’s bed, nude, in their underwear. Tied up. That’s a thought. Kneeling, mouth open. Taken from above. She knew that pose. He liked that. Liked making her wait like that, teasing her with his cock, showing it to her, right in her face, coming close to her lips, but not letting her lick, not letting her suck as she longed to, till he was good and ready. The pictures backed up his boasts, there were all kinds of women in there. These were just the ones he had photographed – how many more were there? Karen herself had never been photographed, and she had been here countless times. There were pictures with James in them. Usually his cock. In a woman’s mouth. Penetrating white pussy as his conquest lay back on the bed, legs spread joyfully.

There were a couple of toys. Handcuffs. Then a metal chain, which she pulled, and out came a full leash and handle with a metal-studded leather dog collar. A little shiver when she saw that. He had never shown it to her, never suggested it. Hands trembling, she raised the collar, tried it on around her neck, felt the cold metal studs on her hot skin, and felt light-headed. Oh, she wanted that. How could she let him know? She sat and savoured the thought for a while.

She had almost reached the bottom of the box. There were some DVDs, plain, homemade. Another time maybe. If only she could ask him, and watch them with him. Real video, she had no doubt of that. James with other women. Watching porn together had perked up her sex life with Richard a little after her discovery and his pathetic blubbed confessions. Things had developed a little. It started with straight 70s stuff, then when she asked for something ‘different’, out came the ones with the black men and white women. She had loved those as much as her husband did. It showed in the sex. They gradually started talking more, and she made no secret of it, her enjoyment of those. He always let her choose which ones to watch, and she always chose her favourite black ‘actors’, envying the women, those sluts.

Right at the bottom, a plain black album. His prize possession? It felt like it somehow. She carefully opened it. On the first page, a wedding photo. A young white couple, the husband handsome if a little short. The beaming bride in her twenties, the picture looked to be about fifteen years old judging from her shoulder length wavy hairstyle. Then on the facing page, a woman on her knees, James’s cock in her mouth, looking up at him, wide-eyed, as he took the picture. The same woman. Older now, around forty maybe. Her wedding and engagement rings clearly visible against the black veined skin of his cock as she gently held it. The next page had pictures of her spread out on his bed, the way he liked his women to wait for him, and then one of him fucking her, her face flushed pink.

Karen’s heart walloped against her breast as she turned the pages. Who was this woman? Was this album all about her? But then on the next page, another wedding photo. A different couple. Bouffant hair, cheap and chintzy dress, this must have been taken in the eighties, and the couple had a working class look about them. Then opposite, as before, the white wife servicing James, wedding ring and all. So this was his private collection. His hobby in an album. Karen herself hadn’t even made it into his married white sluts album. The pages went on in the same format, wedding photo of the happy couple, then the slut conquered by James on the following page or pages. Couple after couple. She counted seventeen in all. There were a few gimmicky, kinky shots, where James had had a little fun. One was of him fucking a woman in front of pictures of her wedding and her children, obviously in her home. There was one woman fucked in her wedding dress by James, not long after the wedding judging by the comparison with the real wedding shot – she still looked young. There were a couple of real nasty, hot ones. Those were the ones that Karen kept flicking back to. One, a white woman with her legs spread. On the page facing, as usual, were the woman on her wedding day and her hapless husband. She appeared to have a small tattoo just next to her cunt, which Karen could just about make out – did that say ‘James’s Bitch’? Karen started to touch herself when she saw that. Then another, a wife wearing the dog collar she had found in the box, kneeling at James’s feet, with her Master holding the leash.

Karen was breathing hard as she closed the book. Something stuck in her memory, more than all the shocking and thrilling images she had seen. A woman’s face, familiar somehow. She flicked back through the collection of wives. There she was, the one Karen remembered, close to the end of the book. Dark curly hair, slim, Jewish-looking. The usual slut poses. Jewish wedding photograph. Karen racked her memory as she put the box away and lay back on the bed. She tried to empty her mind and let it come to her. Her fingers drifted into her panties again. Then it came. Rachel. A member of her husband’s tennis club. On the board of directors at the kids’ school. A lawyer or something? A magistrate. A slut.

She had been in James’s flat alone for two hours when her phone rang. It was him.

“You still there?”

“Yes James. I’m sorry, do you want me to leave?”

“No. Stay. I want a bitch on my bed when I get back. So wait there, assume the position …” he laughed, “don’t know when I’ll be back though.”

“Of course James. But I have to leave at three to collect the kids.”

“OK. I’ll get someone else round if I’m not back then.”

Then he hung up. Something stung her in his last words, but somehow thrilled her a little as well. She was just a piece of cunt to him, interchangeable and replaceable. She was just one of over a dozen married white women that he had fucked and used, in some cases even branded as his property. She had to look in the album again. She wanted what they had, these sluts. She had part of it, but not all of it. How could she show him?

After a quick shower, and one last lingering browse through James’s collection of married women and cuckolded white men, Karen lay back on the bed again. She peeled her knickers down and spread her legs. Then she waited. It was almost one. She knew she might be waiting here like his whore for two hours and not get fucked at the end of it. But she liked it, she wanted to go further, submit her body to him for his use, whether he took advantage or not. The clock ticked away, the occasional breeze drifting across her naked white body. As it got closer to three, she started to feel regret. She wondered who he would call to take her place. Finally, reluctantly, having left it as late as she possibly could, she dressed and closed the door behind her. Out in the street, in a hurry just as she had been in the morning, she hardly noticed the people she passed. She had already dashed past a blur of a woman, slim, black curly hair, a few grey streaks. Then she turned. Was it Rachel? She strained to see the woman’s face and catch her direction. She couldn’t quite see. The woman turned left towards James’s flat. Karen wanted to follow, but had to get the children, so she marched off again in the opposite direction, more flustered than ever.

Friday, 1 October 2010

Story: The Serial Cuckolder

This is one I wrote as an experiment a while back, from the cuckolder's perspective, and intended as the first of a series. Hope you enjoy it.

The Adventures of Mark,

The Serial Cuckolder

By Shem

Part 1 - Jane


I have read with interest many so-called ‘cuckold’ stories, generally written by the kind of pathetic losers (of which you, dear reader, are perhaps one) who actually get a kick out of what for most men, and for any man worth his salt, would be the ultimate in humiliation - another man fucking their wife. So I thought I’d tell my story, which is, so to speak, the other side of the coin. For while I personally don’t identify with that peculiar fetish, I must say I approve wholeheartedly, as it leaves all the more women for normal hot-blooded men like me to fuck. And as I can tell you from my own experience, fucking another man’s wife has a special magic all of its own, a magic with which nothing else can quite compare.
            Let me tell you a bit about myself. My name is Mark, and I am a sex addict. There – I confessed it. Now I can relax and be frank. I won’t lie to you; I have always been successful with the ladies. I was blessed for whatever reason with good looks, height, a muscular physique, a confident, commanding personality, and – yes – a big cock, all of which combine to create a strong appeal to most women I come across. Even in my younger days, before I had any money or any power, I could always get girls, and I must have had a hundred before I was 25. Yes, say it loud, I love women, and I can never get enough of them. Nowadays I run my own publishing business, employing - you guessed it - mostly attractive young women, thanks to a rather unsubtle recruitment policy in which I naturally take a hands-on role. Being the boss of my own business only makes it easier with the women, both my lovely employees themselves and the women I meet outside of work. They say that power is an aphrodisiac for women, and that certainly appears to be true in my considerable experience. Its supposed to get harder as you get older, but in my case its just getting easier all the time. I go to work every day, and my office is full of sluts in their late 20s and 30s who just don’t have the fear and inhibition that many younger girls have. Plus they are often desperate for a fuck. If they gossip about me afterwards, so much the better, because I know from experience that my physical endowments more than make up for any petty concerns about my ethics among the majority of the girls I come across.
All of this means that now, in my mid-30s, I pretty much have pussy on tap whenever I want it. I employ 42 women and I must have fucked 25 of them at one time or another. If they start getting clingy with me I usually just fuck them one more time, then sack them. Once, a wide-eyed little slut named Ashley, just out of college, tried to sue me for wrongful dismissal, so I went round to her flat, charmed her till she sobbed and apologised, then told her to kneel down and suck my dick, which she did, the little whore. Then I came in her mouth and left. A month or so later I got another lawyer’s letter, so I went back round there, bent her over her kitchen table, pulled her skirt and panties down and spanked her till she cried again. Then I fucked her stupid and told her not to try it again. That was the last I heard of little Ashley.
But I digress from your favourite theme, don’t I? Don’t fret. The thing is, when women are so freely available one does become somewhat sated with it all, and the need for a little more excitement begins to rear its head. You begin to miss the challenge of the chase, and the thrill of genuine conquest. This was the situation I found myself in around five years back, when I got an invitation from my best college friend, Andy, to join him, his wife Jane, and their two young children at a villa they had rented in Italy. They were to stay for three weeks, and I was invited for the second week. Now, needless to say, kids are not really my bag at all, but I needed a break from London, and a holiday planned by somebody else is always welcome. All I needed to do was show up. Plus, although (or perhaps, because) Jane had always rather disliked and disapproved of me, I had always quite fancied her, and liked the idea of seeing her lying around in a bikini for a week. So I had no trouble in accepting the invitation.
The holiday turned out to be the relaxing pleasure that I had anticipated. Andy collected me at the airport, and all I had to do was sit by the pool, drink beers and G&Ts, and have my meals made for me. The kids were well behaved, Andy did most of the looking after them (since Jane played this role at home) and Jane was quite as fetching in a bikini as I had hoped. At 31, she was still slim and in-shape, the only evidence of her two births being the small and somehow sexy stretch marks on her belly. She had long, wavy black hair and large, dark eyes that I found very seductive. She must have been 5’9 (a good couple of inches taller than Andy), with long and shapely legs, superbly framed by a burgundy-red bikini. Every time she walked towards me on those fine long legs, wet and glistening from the pool, I stole a glance through my dark sunglasses at her pussy mound covered by the wet bikini, and imagined the dark bush inside. After a couple of days I was lusting after that pussy so badly it was driving me crazy, so I started to think about whether there was any way I could make a pass at her without Andy finding out. But I just couldn’t see it. Although I was on my best behaviour, restricting my usual arrogant or “sexist” comments to a minimum, with a resultant softening of Jane’s attitude toward me – she had barely shot me a disapproving look all week – I just couldn’t see her standing for any nonsense from me. I knew I was highly likely to get a slap in the face and an early lift to the airport if I tried anything. Looking back, I must be honest and say this: the fact that Andy was my best friend never once entered my head, at least not as an obstacle to my designs. If anything, it added to the excitement of my fantasies. If I could have gotten away with making a straight pass at Andy’s wife, I would have done it, no question about it. But when you have a way with women, life has a funny way of tossing them effortlessly into your path, and so it proved for me.
On the fourth day of my visit, Andy announced over breakfast that he was planning to take the kids to a water park for the day, but that Jane would be staying behind to have some time to relax without the kids. He hoped I didn’t mind just having Jane for company for the day. Naturally I was more than happy with this arrangement, and I was all smiles as the car pulled away with Jane’s husband and kids inside.


So the fragrant Jane and I spent a lazy morning sunbathing by the pool, exchanging occasional small talk, reading, enquiring whether the other would like a cold drink, and so on. All very amicable, but not overly warm. I spent a lot of time ogling her through my shades as usual. She had the most beautiful long thighs, which were covered in divine little goose bumps whenever she emerged from a dip in the pool. Her stern mouth was a little softer in the sun, more full than it had seemed in the past. It was getting toward lunchtime when she surprised me by lying on her front on the flat sun-lounger, undoing her bikini straps and lying topless, but face down, just a couple of yards away from me. Her back was just as slender and enticing as the rest of her, perhaps a little paler due to lack of exposure.
“You want to watch out, Jane”, I said, trying to sound casual. “You’ll get burned on your back. It’s almost midday.”
“Hmm”, she mumbled, eyes closed as she enjoyed the warmth of the sun. Then to my surprise she propped herself up and looked at me. She had caught me looking at her, but I didn’t feel embarrassed. Her nipples were almost visible as she propped herself on her elbows and smiled at me. “I’ll tell you what, Mark”, she said. “How about you rub some lotion on my back, then I’ll fix us some lunch. Deal?”
Oh God, yes. Deal.
“Sounds good to me”, I said, affecting as casual a tone as I could.
So she lay back down and I moved over to rub the lotion into her shapely back. I lingered and massaged her slowly as I did it, and to my delight she gave a few grunts of approval. I had to concentrate to keep from getting a hard-on. I was in agony. I just wanted to flip the tease over and fuck her right there. I summoned all the confidence that had netted me so many women in the past. I coughed.
“You want me to do the backs of your legs too?”, I asked her, my faux-casual tone fading now.
I felt her start just a little as I made the rather forward proposal, but then she relaxed again and said yes, thanks, why not. So I oiled the lovely thighs I had been ogling just minutes before. I was growing in confidence, and I carefully rubbed my hand up her inner thigh until it almost, almost touched the synthetic fabric of the bikini between her legs, her last burgundy barrier to intimacy, the flimsy shield of her pussy and the remains of her modesty. I thought I heard a small moan as my hand gently pushed the limits of decency. Was it a moan of pleasure? I couldn’t say for sure. It certainly felt right. But something was still holding me back. I didn’t want to be the one to cross the last boundary. At the back of my mind, despite my restless cock twitching and throbbing uncomfortably into life, I still had a vision of the mess I could end up in if I screwed this up. So for once in my life I restrained myself, and gave her a friendly but flirtatious little slap on the back of her thigh.
“There! All done …”
She looked up at me, and for a split, unguarded second I thought I could see a little shock and disappointment in her eyes. But she quickly composed herself.
“Right, yes, thanks Mark. I’ll go and get lunch ready in a moment.”
I was wracking my brains for a way to make progress with this little flirtation, this lovely little ritual of physical contact, without risking blowing everything. And then it came to me, simple and beautiful.
“Jane”, I said, removing my sunglasses and adopting a serious tone. “I’m not really hungry to be honest. Why don’t you just return the favour instead?”
Again she looked a little surprised, but before she could protest I handed her the lotion and lay on my front on my own sun-lounger. She could not refuse my request – to do so would, after all, have implied an inappropriate level of intimacy in what she had just asked of me. And we were still playing games. Delightful, hot, flirtatious little games, but games nonetheless. I wanted to try to crank up the level of our intimacy until a boundary would be crossed without her noticing it, without her being shocked into sobriety.
I echoed her little moans of pleasure with louder moans of my own as she rubbed my strong back. Her soft hands, still slightly cold from the pool, felt wonderful. Then I let softer groans escape me as she moved onto my legs. I felt her hand move towards my crotch, stopping just short as I had done, and I let out a sigh that was faint but as unambiguously sexual as I could make it. I couldn’t see her face, but I just hoped that Jane was still enjoying our little game. And when I sensed with some regret that the rub was coming to an end, it was she who moved things on.
“If you turn around I’ll do your front as well.”
This time I was shocked. She had crossed a boundary here. No one needs help oiling their front, so her request implied a clear enjoyment of what she was doing, and a clear green light to me as far as I was concerned. Now it just remained for me to tip us over the edge. Grinning to myself, I turned around. As I turned, Jane looked flushed, and she gasped a little when she saw my way of pushing us further over that line, when she saw what I had for her. My cock was rock hard, at its full length, bursting out of the top of my shorts. There was no going back now. Jane gulped. My throat was dry. We were both silent for what was maybe a few seconds but felt like minutes. I looked at Jane’s lovely, exquisitely embarrassed face, but she did not return my look. She was looking at my cock. Her eyes were wide and her mouth a little open. In fact, she was looking at my cock like she was a marathon runner looking at a glass of iced water. Then, finally, she reached out her delicate hand, and touched it.
That touch was more than erotic. It was sensational, electric, I could almost feel myself falling – her soft hand feeling the length and girth of my cock, plunging us finally over the cliff into the delightful but dangerous waters of sexual intimacy. I thought I was going to come in her hand like a frustrated teenager, but I managed to hold back. All the lust I had felt for her was concentrated and gently released in her accepting caress. I felt waves of pleasure coursing through me at her touch, stronger than I had ever felt from a woman. This was what I had been missing in my years of easy conquests. I had never felt so hot for any woman. I sat up slightly and we looked each other in the eye for the first time since her hand had touched my cock. Her look was unlike any I had seen from her before – not a hint of the haughty pride that had always been her most salient quality. No, she looked dazed, perhaps a little frightened even. And submissive. Yes, the lovely Jane, my best friend’s wife. When I saw and felt the submission in her eyes, my cock went up a notch, if that were possible. I could see it, and I could feel it. I had always had an instinct with women, and I acted on it now. It was time to take control. She was still stroking my rigid cock when I spoke to her, my voice forceful now.
“You like that, don’t you Jane?”
She gulped and shivered.
“Mm Hmm”, she said, as though dumbstruck.
“Put it in your mouth, Jane”, I ordered.
Sure enough, without a word or gesture of hesitation, she moved from her sitting position on the edge of the sun-lounger to kneel on the patio next to me. Then she bent over, opened that lovely mouth, and licked the huge head of my penis. My cock was already hot from the sun, and the new wet heat of her tongue felt like molten metal. She licked the shaft, glanced up at me as if for approval, then opened her mouth wider and took my cock into her mouth. I held the wavy, jet-black hair at the back of her head as she gently sucked, working her head up and down. Then she looked up into my eyes, her mouth full of my cock, wide and taught around it. I felt on top of the world, better than I ever had, realising for the first time what these new waters I was charting were really all about. I just can’t attempt to describe the feeling, but I think you can guess the key to the magic I was feeling. No, I can’t describe that feeling, that intense pleasure, but I can say this: until you have looked down and seen another man’s wife with your cock in her mouth, you really haven’t experienced the finer things in life.
I let her enjoy my cock for a few minutes, working it, worshipping it, like a slut on heat now. Now that she had crossed the line there was no restraining her. Maybe, I mused, she had been lusting after me all along, and was just as frustrated and horny as I was. I vaguely recalled that the water park trip may have been her suggestion. I smiled, relaxed and confident now in my power over her. As she sucked my cock I felt for the first time in years the thrill of real conquest, and for the first time ever, the thrill of literal conquest, of taking another man’s wife and seeing her submit to me, her church promises and her eternal virtue discarded for the sake of my cock; discarded just for the chance to service my cock like a cheap whore, and to open her legs for my pleasure. What a rush. And the main course was still to come.
I tugged at her hair and pulled her head off my cock. She looked confused and disappointed.
“Please …”, she muttered, “… let me …”
My my, what a tramp sweet Jane had turned out to be. I laughed.
“Don’t worry Jane, there’s plenty of time for that. Right now, I’m going to do what I’ve been wanting to do all week. I’m going to take you upstairs, lay that sweet dark pussy out on the bed, and I’m going to fuck you.”
“Yes … Mark …”, she whimpered.
I chuckled again as I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. She felt limp and submissive – this educated wife and mother looked no more than a bimbo in a bikini for my use now. My right arm over the backs of her thighs, I carried my conquest over my shoulder up to the house, feeling a playful joy as I imagined a primitive man carrying his prize home from a raid on a weaker tribe. She muttered a little, and I thought I hear her say “oh my God”, as I strode purposefully up the stairs. She tried to resist a little, saying a soft “not there” as I carried her to the room she shared with her husband, my best friend Andy. In response I spanked her behind sharply.
I entered their room, and threw her down on the bed. I pushed her down onto her back, and ripped off the bikini top in one violent movement. Then, more gently now, I did what I had been dreaming of doing all week. I peeled those burgundy bikini pants down over her shapely hips, revealing her pussy with its dark bush, glistening and wet, then down over her long thighs, and tossed them to one side.
 “Open your legs”, I said softly, and she obeyed instantly, moaning a little as she did so.
Now I eased off, and stepped back away from the bed to admire her naked body, and to savour the moment. And this was another of those moments I wish I could describe more vividly. My best friend’s proud and elegant wife, lying naked before me, her legs open in the ultimate posture of animal submission to a man, waiting, offering her married pussy to me for my pleasure. My cock was rock solid. You just can’t beat a moment like that, a sight like that – the feeling of power, of superiority, of cruelty, mingled with the delicious anticipation of actually penetrating that waiting cunt and fucking it hard. And knowing that that is what she wants, what she is longing for. A savage, cruel, immoral, boundary-smashing fuck from my cock. I can see she wants it. She even starts to beg for it.
“Fuck me Mark … please? … fuck me hard … do what you want with me …”
She held her arms up above her head, as though they were tied together, in an even greater gesture of submission. I noticed her wedding ring still on her finger – a lovely detail that gave me another quiver of pleasure. Then I removed my shorts and held my hard cock out towards her, teasing her by brushing her pussy lips with the bulbous tip. Again that touch felt hotwired, straight from heaven. My cock touching her pussy for the first time. “Please …”, she moaned again, and I pushed the head of my cock right up to her opening. She cried out sharply. (“Do it! Fuck Me!”) Then I relented, and pushed my cock hard into her pussy, which was tight but wet and accommodating. As my cock slid into her I savoured the glorious sensation of penetrating another man’s wife. I don’t know how or why the brain contributes to the physical sensation quite so much, but I can definitely say that nothing - nothing - feels as sweet around your cock as married pussy. And here I was enjoying that sweet sensation for the first time. Jane cried out with pleasure as I buried my long cock  inside her. I caught a little cry of shock and joy as I pushed further into the deeper parts of her cunt and nudged her cervix hard. I had been expecting and hoping for this. I had seen Andy in the locker room plenty of times and I knew for a fact that his cock was, to be charitable, below average in size. It just made it all the sweeter knowing that Jane had never felt this before, and that she would always be disappointed by her husband now that she had felt my cock inside her.
I fucked her slowly but with long strokes as I savoured the sweet feel of her pussy alongside all those delicious psychological elements – the triumph, the conquest, the power, even the humour in the situation. I almost laughed as I thought of Andy, out fussing obliviously around the kids and shopping for my dinner as I fucked his wife in his bed. I looked down at Jane’s flushed and delirious face and thought about the fiercely independent, indifferent, judgemental woman who had always been so cool toward me in the past. That almost brought a chuckle, but I had a better thought, more wicked and more synthesized with my physical sensations. I started to fuck her harder. And harder. And still harder. Soon she was screaming.
“Oh, God! Yes! Y… Mark! Yes! Fuck me! … Oh God, Oh God …”
I banged that bitch into the bed until her tits shook like maracas and my cock felt like it was hitting her heart. I felt her stiffen, then shake a little, felt her orgasm, then pounded her some more. I was going to make that pussy sore. Fucking had always been my chief form of exercise, and I could fuck for England. I pounded her till her face was red and contorted. She was lost in the fuck, and I knew she had never experienced anything close to the intensity. I held off for a long time, as long as I could, then let go. I could feel it coming from my balls as I rammed into her for all I was worth. I held Jane down on the bed by her tits, squeezing and twisting them hard, then came like a train into her cunt. My cock pumped and pumped and I could feel her filling up with my cum. When I was finished I pulled out, squeezed the last drops of cum onto her tits, then left her, panting breathlessly on the bed, her pussy oozing my cum, and left the room. I looked back at her one more time from the doorway, and chuckled to myself. How easy it had been in the end. There she was, woman-of-the-year Jane, fucked to a stupor on her bed, her mind empty and dazed, her cunt full of my cum – she was, for that moment at least, quite literally my cum depository now, nothing more. I laughed out loud as I left.


My aim in leaving her there was to leave her wanting more, and leave her in a state of confusion, and it worked a treat. I knew I had her now, she was mine, but its always fun to tighten the grip of power. So I relaxed in my room for a while, took a shower, threw on a shirt and new shorts, made a sandwich, then read a book for a while in the lounge area. After an hour or so, I heard Jane’s footsteps. When she came tiptoeing sheepishly in I saw that she had showered, her hair was wet, and she had slipped into a light blue summer dress. She looked lovely. I usually tire of women very shortly after fucking them, but Jane still looked beautiful to me, a young wife and mother, brown from the sun. And it felt great to know that I could fuck her again right then and there if I wanted to. But I had decided to tease her a little, so I just looked up at her briefly then went back to my book. She coughed and approached me, then spoke.
“Yes, Jane?”
“I … That was …”, she took her breath in sharply. She shivered slightly. I had never seen her so tongue-tied and lacking in confidence.
“Oh, Mark … I have never … can we … will we ever …”
I put my book down, stood up, looked down at her, and smiled. I put my large hands gently on her shoulders.
“I know, Jane. I know what you’re going through. Its OK. Just enjoy it. Just feel it. Its fine.”
“Oh, Mark!”
Then she threw her arms around my waist and rested her head on my chest. I felt my cock stirring again, and I could feel it touching her body. I know she could feel it too because she pressed herself harder into me and breathed deeply. My hands were still resting on her shoulders, so I applied a soft downward pressure as a gentle command. She bent her knees a little, but hesitated, uncertain, so I leaned over and whispered …
“On your knees … On your knees, girl.”
She sighed heavily as her legs went to jelly and she sank down to her knees in front of me. This time there were no coy games. She quickly took out my still half-flaccid cock, and greedily fed it into her mouth. She sucked and sucked it, her soft cheeks concave with the suction, like it held the nectar of the Gods. She was back at work on my big cock, and nothing was going to interrupt her this time. She was gazing adoringly, pleadingly up at me as she bobbed her pretty head back and forth. Again I saw her wedding ring, she was cupping my balls with her left hand, and I shuddered again at the frisson I got from the little gold symbol. There would be no orgasm for Jane this time. No, this was all about me and my pleasure, my best friend’s wife on her knees before me, sucking my cock, desperate to please me and demonstrate her submission to me. I smiled the smug victor’s smile again as I looked down at her. Oh, Boy. Oh, yes. I felt like one of life’s winners alright. There she was, about to complete her transformation, just as soon as I was ready to cum into that pretty mouth. Andy’s beautiful wife - my cum dump. The mother of his children – my submissive whore. It was so beautiful I almost laughed again. She was doing such a great job on my cock, it was like she was born for it, and I could feel it coming up from my balls again. I grabbed the back of her head by the hair and started to fuck her head forcefully, thrusting my cock into her throat. She was shocked, and almost gagged, but I could see that she wanted to please me and she kept going. I grinned, still fucking her mouth aggressively.
“That’s it, Jane. Good girl. Coming now. Swallow it all. Show me you’re my bitch now.”
She groaned as I said it. She groaned with pleasure. I could see she had wholly given in now, released herself into her submission to me, she was not thinking, only feeling, and she was absolutely loving it as all women do once they find a real man to tame them. I felt my hot cum course up my cock and into her mouth. It kept coming, it must have been pouring down her throat. Again she spluttered, almost gagged, but then swallowed like she had been told. There were tears in her eyes as the throbbing of my cock slowed down, but she continued to suck and swallow. Finally, I pulled it out. She gulped and swallowed one last time, then I took her chin in my hand and held her face up towards me.
“Well done, Jane.”
“Thank … Thank you, Mark.”
“My pleasure. Now, I’d like a beer by the pool I think.”

I was already reclined on my lounger when Jane came out with my beer in a frosted glass. We stayed out there most of the afternoon, only adjourning to the house for one more fuck which, while not quite having the same lightning magic as the first, was very enjoyable all the same, and a little more experimental. Jane was getting dirtier every time, the little slut, and her shocked, confused expressions were gradually replaced with pure joy and abandon. Out there by the pool in the sunshine, I felt better than a king. I could openly admire Jane’s bikini-clad body and know that it was now my property, it was conquered territory. God it felt good. We chatted, and she seemed a different woman, interested in me and approving of my opinions. As the afternoon wore on, we both knew that Andy must be back soon. We didn’t need to discuss discretion as that was obviously imperative. As for anything more happening between us, that was not discussed either. I knew Jane would never be averse to another fuck from me, that was more than obvious, and for my part I was keen to sample her again if the opportunity presented itself. But there was never any question of this being something that would affect Jane and Andy’s marriage, or that Jane and I would pursue a romantic affair of any kind. She knew too much about me to have any illusions on that score. All the same, I could see that I had changed her a little, and she appeared lost in thought at various points in the afternoon.
When Andy did return with the kids, it was all smiles and how-was-your-day. Andy commented that Jane was looking radiant from her day in the sun, and that he hoped we hadn’t been too bored. I reassured him profusely. He cooked us dinner, and it all went wonderfully – we were all getting along better now that Jane’s attitude to me was warmer. I could see that Andy noticed this and that it made him happy. Perhaps improved relations had been one of his intentions in leaving us alone together. Although Jane was looking smoking hot, I managed to restrain myself from making any risky physical contact with her, other than feeling her foot under the table a couple of times during dinner, and softly spanking her rear once in the garden when the others were at a safe distance. She giggled with delight for a second when I did that. It was all most unlike the Jane I had always known.
We said goodnight, and as I lay back on my bed I felt serene after the splendid day I had had. Not only had I fucked a beautiful woman all day, a woman after whom I had been lusting to distraction all week, but I also felt like I had made a discovery. That I had stumbled on one of the great secrets of life. I felt only contentedness as the waves of sleep engulfed me.

            It was still pitch dark when I awoke. I felt an odd sensation as I raised my groggy head. Someone else was in the room. Then she whispered and all was clear.
            “Mark! Its me … Jane …”
            “Jane? Hi … where’s Andy?”
            “He’s asleep. Can’t you hear him snoring?”
            In the dark silence, I could indeed make out a faint snoring bass rumble. I still couldn’t see anything, but I heard Jane removing some clothing and climbing into my bed. I felt her warm breath on my naked chest.
            “I had to come”, she said. “I couldn’t help myself.”
            “I see”, I chuckled. “So, what can I do for you?”
            She giggled and gave me a playful dig in the ribs. We were still whispering.
            “What do you think, you bastard?”
            “Really, Jane, I have no idea what you are doing in my bed”, I teased.
            “You just want to hear me say it, don’t you?”
            “Yes I do, you little slut. Say it.”
            She sighed, defeated in our little game.
            “Fuck me, Mark”, she whispered, her soft breath alone enough to stiffen my cock.
            “What’s the magic word, Jane?”
            “Please. Please fuck me, Mark.”
            I rolled over onto her and felt her lithe legs open and wrap around me. We kissed, our tongues meeting in surprise and excitement at their new acquaintance. During the day, we had been like animals, fucking rampantly, the male claiming and taming the female. Now, we were man and woman, we were lovers, and it was a new and delightful pleasure. She was already wet, so my cock slid softly into her, meeting firm but easily passable resistance from the walls of her cunt. It was warm in our embrace, in the dark under the covers, and I was still a little dreamy, so I fucked her slowly and softly this time. I was gentle and quiet, but the fuck was still fantastic. If anything, she felt better than she had during the day, and the sly secrecy and daring created a new little thrill that we could somehow feel in our connected flesh. It felt like we were one – her arms were wrapped lovingly around me, she was stroking the back of my head as my hot cock gently coursed in and out of her warm, wet womanhood. Again I arched my strong back and pushed it as far in as it would go. I had to cover her mouth with my hand as she gave out a little shriek of pleasure. The muffled noises she made were red hot, and as we came together, our bodies jerked a little and she whispered my name, her nails digging hard into my back.
            When it was over, we kissed softly again, and lay for a while in a warm, sweaty embrace. We listened to hear if Andy was still snoring – he was, so we relaxed and giggled a little. Once I began to feel sleepy, I knew we couldn’t risk Jane falling asleep, so I squeezed her butt hard and spanked it lightly.
            “OK, bad girl, you’d better get back to your husband.”
            “You’re right”, she whispered, sighing a little. “When will I see you again?”
            “In the morning.”
            She poked me in the ribs again.
            “You know what I mean.”
            I chuckled softly.
            “Whenever we get the chance, Jane. Try to relax, play it cool. Enjoy the holiday …”
            “I am”, she said. “I am enjoying it, very much.”
            “Me too, babe.”
            She kissed me on the lips again, then slipped out of bed and out the door, back to her sleeping husband.


            It was after 11 when I awoke again. The sun was streaming through the shutters into my room. A grin spread over my face as the fantastic events of the previous day came back to me. So that’s why I was so tired – that’s why I slept so well and so late. I had spent the whole day, and part of the night, fucking my best friend’s wife. I showered, dressed, and trudged downstairs. I bumped into Andy in the hallway.
            “There he is …”, he said jovially. “The sleeping giant awakes!”
            I grinned at him.
            “I must have been tired. Catching up I suppose …”
            Andy had his arms full of sheets and was headed for the laundry room.
            “Doing laundry already?”, I asked. “We’ve only been here a couple of days.”
            “Yes, I know, but our sheets have gotten fairly grubby already, so I thought I’d wash them. Must be the heat. Are yours OK?”
            “Hmm”, I said, “now that you mention it, mine could probably do with a wash as well. I was tossing and turning all night. I’ll go and get them.”
            “Oh no, its OK”, he said, heading back up the stairs. “I’ll get them. You go and get some coffee – Jane’s just made some fresh.”
So Andy went up to fetch my sheets as I sauntered into the kitchen. Jane was waiting for me with a cup of coffee and a wicked smile. I quickly stroked the back of her thigh as I took it.

For the remainder of the week, Jane came to my room every night, and we fucked passionately, but as quietly as we could manage. One night we had a narrow escape when one of the kids woke up. Jane had to rush out, pretending she had been in the bathroom, and then go to attend to the child. Otherwise, we would snatch a small clandestine encounter here and there. One day, to my delight, Andy went to the shops with the kids, so we had another hour of wild daylight fucking in their bed. One evening, Andy went to read to the children and put them to bed. While he was upstairs, I grabbed Jane, kissed her briefly, then held the back of her head, forced it down so she was bent over the kitchen table, reached up under her dress, pulled her panties down to her knees then fucked her hard from behind. I held my hand over her mouth to muffle her noises. Jane was back sitting demurely like the perfect wife, but a little flushed, her pussy sore and full of my cum inside her panties, by the time Andy came back down to serve up dinner.
Another day, I was taking a nap while everyone was out by the pool. Jane came up to my room on the pretext of taking a shower. She knelt and sucked my cock while I kept an eye on Andy and the kids through the window, to make sure that none of them came inside. At one point Andy even looked up and noticed me at the window. He smiled and waved, so I waved back, then chuckled as I looked down at his wife, out of his view of course, with my cock in her mouth.
When the time came, it was with some regret that I said my goodbyes and thanked everyone for a wonderful holiday. Jane caught me alone for a second, and whispered “I’ll call you”.

As the plane took off headed for home, I sat back and reflected on my discoveries. Fucking Jane had been wonderful, and I certainly intended to see her again. But there was more than that. I felt like I had found something I had been looking for. I had discovered a secret wonderland of the forbidden, the special buzz of fucking a married woman, and I intended to get down to pursuing my new interest to the full as soon as I got back. And pursue it I certainly did. I began to chase married women wherever I could. It was more work, more difficult than your average single bimbo of course, but as I now knew, so much sweeter in the victory, and so much sweeter in the fucking.
I did see Jane again, many times. In fact, she became one of what I like to call my ‘default’ fucks – women, of whom I tried to keep 2 or 3 on the go at all times, who would be available for me to fuck with zero effort if I felt like it, or on the rare occasions I had failed to pick up some new trim. Jane was very keen, desperate at times in fact, so it only took a twinge in my cock and a phone call, and I would be over there fucking her in Andy’s bed in broad daylight. Once she even turned up at my office, so I let her suck my cock then sent her on her way. My usual default pussy material had been sluts like Charlotte, one of the secretaries at work, who was so in awe of me that she would literally do anything to please me, anytime. (I had even told her to wear slutty clothes and underwear to work in case I felt like fucking her.) But Jane became my first married default fuck, and very obliging she was too. Whenever I thought up a new kinky game or experiment I wanted to try, I would invariably use Jane. I told her to put on her wedding dress one day, then I fucked her in that. Another time, I called Andy on my mobile to set up a squash game, while his wife was sucking my cock. All fabulous fun. Jane loved it too, and became more and more dirty as time went on. She even asked me to take her anally, which I did, much to her delight. I decided to treat her very rough one day, bitch-slapping her face, spanking her hard over my knee, then fucking her savagely. And guess what? She absolutely loved it, she just came and came.
After a while, as other women crossed my path and the chase for new married pussy took up more of my time, I began to see less of Jane. In fact, I had not seen her for several months when, almost three years after I had first fucked her, I got a call from her out of the blue. She told me she needed to see me. I wasn’t too interested, as I was busy chasing a young blonde newlywed I had just hired for the purpose, but she virtually begged me to go over there. Plus, she told me, she had a new twist for me, a new game, very taboo and very bad. This got my attention, so I drove over to her house that afternoon.
When she opened the door, I had to admit to myself that she looked good, as though she had been working out a lot, getting her hair and nails done and whatever else women do when they want to beautify themselves. She smiled and beckoned me in. She brought me a drink, and we sat down for a moment in the living room. Her face was serious.
“Mark”, she said. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
She paused for a moment. Uh-oh, I thought.
“Jane … you haven’t told Andy about us, have you?”
“Oh, God no. No, its not that.”
“Good. What is it then?”
“Well, the thing is, now that the kids are both in school, Andy and I have been trying for another baby.”
She paused again, and drew in her breath. She seemed nervous.
“Congratulations”, I said sardonically, sipping my drink.
“Mark, you … you don’t understand. Its been six months already. We’ve been trying for six months. I … I think our problems might be … related to what happened between you and me.”
“Oh. So its my fault, is it?”
“No, of course not, Mark. Its just that, well, after I had been with you, I found I just didn’t find Andy exciting or attractive in that way any more, so our sex life suffered. It’s just got worse and worse. I … I … couldn’t get … you know … I couldn’t get … wet … with Andy. After a while I think it started affecting him as well, so he was struggling a bit to get it up, or sustain anything in any way that would satisfy me. I really love Andy, I do, I want our marriage to work, don’t get me wrong. Its just that things haven’t been going well for us … sexually … and he’s low on confidence.”
I was getting impatient.
“OK, Jane. So?”
“Well, I thought that if … if I were to … get pregnant …then it might, you know, improve things, and make Andy feel better about himself. At the moment, we’re both desperate. Its making us unhappy, and we’ve started fighting about it.”
I was beginning to understand. My cock twitched. I knew this was red-hot.
“Jane – are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. Yes I am, Mark.”
“Say it, Jane.”
“I … I want you to fuck me again Mark. I need you. I want you to … to impregnate me. I want to have your baby Mark, and Andy and I will raise it. No one will ever know. Andy and I have been … trying, so there’ll be no suspicion.”
I was enjoying the thought, and my cock was rock hard now. She went on with her pleading.
“Please, Mark. Think how exciting it will be. Impregnating me. I’ll be yours forever.”
I put my fingers over her mouth to stop her talking. Saying it out loud seemed to take some of the excitement out of it. I led her by the hand up to the bedroom. I undressed, and watched as she did the same. Then we stood, naked, kissing gently and embracing for a few moments. She started stroking my cock softly, lovingly, staring at it. She smiled wistfully.
“I’ve missed your cock, Mark”, she said.
I could feel that same magnetic magic in my balls that I had that first time with Jane. It was as though I was about to fuck her for the first time, as though it was my first time with a married woman. I understood why. Another taboo was being broken. This was the ultimate – to impregnate another man’s wife, to take her pussy, use her body as a vessel for your offspring. I eased her down on to the bed. She spread her legs, and I looked down again at that beautiful dark pussy, open, available, mine. Her arched back, her open legs, her submissive posture said it all. Fuck me, she was saying, take my cunt and my body, its yours to claim. I held my throbbing cock and gently touched the lips of her pussy. I felt that strange, first-time tingle, that sense of a line being crossed forever. A sense of power, that feeling which encompassed all of Jane’s submission and the sheer thrill of her unfaithfulness to her husband, that I had felt that first time, was magnified ten times, concentrated in our touching organs as I pushed my cock slowly into her cunt, penetrating her, conquering her all over again.
That fuck was without doubt the greatest fuck I had ever had, and that is really saying something. All missionary, plain vanilla, nothing fancy, just starting slow and speeding up until I was pounding her pussy and she was screaming with wild abandon. I thought my cock was going to explode. She came herself, and then came the real moment, the moment of magic, as I unloaded my balls into her unprotected pussy, the cum pumping out of my cock and setting to work inside her married cunt. We were both panting for breath when I slumped off her and onto the bed. Her face was bright red, but she was smiling joyously.
“My God, Mark. That was … that was wonderful. Thank you. Thank you.”
She leaned over and kissed me.
“Any chance you could come over again tomorrow?”

I did, and within weeks, I got a call from an ecstatic Andy, telling me that he and Jane were expecting another baby. I congratulated him warmly. I did visit Jane again, a few months later, for another experiment this time. I just wanted to see what it was like fucking a pregnant woman. I enjoyed it, and I know she did too.
When the baby was born, Andy called me again.
“It’s a boy”, he said. “A pretty big baby. Much darker hair than the others. We love him though. And guess what? We’re going to call him Mark. We wondered if you’d like to be the Godfather.”
To which I of course agreed. And everyone, as they say, lived happily ever after. I still fuck Jane from time to time, and she still makes a hot bit of pussy, and goes in for the odd kinky game. There was something extra special about fucking her one Saturday and knowing that Andy was out in the park, looking after our child. Most of all though, I will always remember Jane for introducing me to the joys of married women, of whom I have had quite a few experiences since that time. I’d love to tell you about a few more of my conquests and adventures, but those must be left for other days, and other stories.