Story: The Lodger, Part 2

The Lodger, Part 2
by Shem

shem802@yahoo.co.uk


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."

"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?"

"Yes."

"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.

**

Story: The Lodger, Part 1

The Lodger, Part 1
by Shem

shem802@yahoo.co.uk

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.

"No."

"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.

***

Story: Karen's Master, Part 2

Karen’s Master 

By Shem

shem802@yahoo.co.uk 

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.

“Lick.”

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.

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.