Okay, a word of warning from the off -- if you're going to be offended by a white cuck husband whose wife gives herself to a group of black men, don't read this piece. If a scene that features black men impregnating white women turns you into a seething ball of outrage, don't read this piece. If you're going to get all snarled up with hate at descriptions of a white man cleaning a black man's semen from a white woman's pussy ... don't read this piece.
I wonder how many vitriolic public comments will still appear at the end of this scene when it's up on Lit -- even after the above paragraph.
Right, down to it. In this piece David and Emma get sucked in to a scene they didn't envisage. They plan a meet with a black man in a hotel in London thinking it's just going to be some threeway fun. But two men turn up instead of just one. They take charge, pushing the husband out of the proceedings, and after that the wife goes back for more.
I think I've given away quite a bit of what's contained in this scene already -- if you read this preamble from the beginning -- so I'll STFU and let you get on with it.
Although, on a parting note, feedback is appreciated and, since I self-edit, etc., please forgive any howling errors that probably remain in the text.
GA -- Benissa, Spain -- 10th November 2013.
Prologue
Emma Sykes gave him the opportunity to change his mind. It was almost too late, but her husband could still call it off if he wanted. It had been his idea after all. David Sykes had driven it from the beginning, with Emma agreeing only after careful and very serious deliberation and, having eventually reached her decision, wasn't going to give her husband any cause for blaming her for the project's curtailment. If anyone was going to pull the plug, it would have to be him.
"You're sure?" asked Emma. "Absolutely certain? Once it's done we can never undo it."
"I know that," David snapped. "I thought we'd been over all this before. I thought we'd both agreed."
"As long are you're sure."
They were at the hotel, the Premier Inn within spitting distance of Tower Bridge, had travelled down by train earlier in the day. Travelling by rail had two advantages -- no problems with traffic or parking, and they could drink. By the time the phone call came through, eagerly anticipated and dreaded in equal measure, both David and Emma were feeling the buzz of Dutch courage.
Emma, thirty-five, honey-blonde hair tied in a ponytail, high-heels on her feet, wearing stockings, garter belt and a gossamer chemise, with her legs straight out in front of her on the big bed, her back against two plumped up pillows, sighed. Anticipation coiled inside her. She was nervous, and more than a little frightened sitting there waiting. She felt like a sacrifice, wondering how she had let her husband talk her into it.
David, thirty-six, short brown hair, with an unremarkable face, the kind of man that went unnoticed in a crowd, stared at his wife for a couple of beats. Then he swallowed, his eyes sliding away from her face.
To Emma it seemed he was considering the question, seriously considering it as if suddenly confronted with cold reality he had a change of heart and didn't want to see her do it.
Then he surprised Emma by saying, "I'm sure."
Emma heard the croak in her husband's voice and offered him one final chance. "Once it's done..." she said.
David chewed his lip while the bald fact of Emma's statement hung in the air. He sat in the utilitarian chair, its purple upholstery the trademark colour of the hotel chain. He looked at his wife, looked her right in the eye. "I know," he murmured.
David couldn't tell his wife was a seething ball of anxiety, Emma kept it all inside. All David saw was her shrug, as though she didn't care either way. He took Emma's ambivalence as a good sign.
They both jumped, startled by the ringing mobile phone, the accompanying vibration in synch with the ring tone causing the device to jump and skitter across the shelf attached to the panel around the bedhead.
Husband and wife stared at each other while the moment stretched. Time passed, elastic and unreal.
"All right," Emma said, eventually. "So answer it."
A pause and then David heaved himself out of the chair.
"Remember," added Emma as he rose, "you wanted this."
One -- The Cuckold
Because all the doors leading from reception were locked, requiring a key card for access, David went down to meet the visitor.
Emma was surprised when her husband returned. She had expected one man to be with David, but there were two of them. Her tummy flipped with dreadful anxiety when they walked in. It was like Christmas and a trip to the dentist in one go. A heavy sinker dropped into the pit of her stomach. The moment was upon her. Shocked, Emma sat rigid on the bed when the first one appeared.
He walked in, confident, smiling, predatory eyes going straight to her.
Emma gaped back at him, eyes round as she dimly registered some detail.
The first man was somewhere in his forties, tall, obviously well-built, latent power apparent even through his clothes. Emma had a vague impression of close-cropped hair against a skull shaped like a cannonball, white teeth glinting in his smirk. He was good-looking she saw, the overall effect attractive in a dangerous way. The man was a bad boy, with all the charm and charisma of his ilk. Emma felt the pull between her legs, shifting her rump against the mattress in an unconscious attempt to scratch the itch that tickled her inside.
The second man, much younger, taller and slimmer than the first, stepped to one side when the first man halted. He wore his hair long, dangling dreadlocks framing a lean face. Emma had time to record an impression that the second man was more serious than his friend, decent-looking but not as charismatic, before her attention was claimed by the click of the door closing behind her husband.
Emma felt the men's eyes on her as she looked at David. It was plain enough to see he was out of his depth. To her it seemed the men's presence filled the room. They were so intimidating, their looming appraisal menacing. She returned her stare to them for a second or two before her eyes slid back beyond them to her husband.
David stared back at her, his eyes confirming Emma's estimation of the situation.
Then the first man spoke. "Nice," he said, his age and experience making him the natural leader. He stroked his chin, his eyes crawling over Emma's body. "Very nice," he added.
On the bed, Emma shivered. Her skin prickled when the weight of the man's stare brought goose-pimples out on her arms.
The man turned to face David. "You staying?" he asked.
David's head moved quickly. He nodded, and Emma saw him frown. She could tell her husband was puzzled. She had seen the email exchanges and realised her husband was wondering about the presence of the second man. There had been an arrangement, plans for a meeting in the hotel and a threesome. It was obvious to Emma her husband had been thrown by the additional body and the man's question.
"Yes," David replied. "That's what we said--"
The man turned away, disregarding David immediately, dismissing him from the proceedings.
He looked at Emma again, saying, "Stand up, baby. Let's see what we've got. Give us a good look at you."
Emma threw another look at her husband. Would he do something? Was David going to say anything? This really was the last opportunity to call it off. They could still stop it. It wasn't too late, or at least she thought it wasn't too late. The fact there were two men in the room with them gave her some doubt. And they didn't look the sort to just take it. To Emma, the men, especially the bigger one, didn't come across as the type who would shrug and say:
Oh, okay, no problem. Changed your mind? Not an issue. We'll see ourselves out.
But David just looked at her, insignificant and half-hidden by the two black men, his mouth working, soundless.
"Come on," the first man cajoled.
Emma recognised the man's accent as generically London, but couldn't place him as south or north of the Thames. He could have come in from Essex or Kent for all she knew.
Then all thoughts of geography and linguistic nuance evaporated when the man gestured at her, long fingers beckoning. "Stand up. We want to see you."
Emma blinked, gulped and then eased her legs off the bed. Then she just stood there, trembling.
"I don't believe I'm doing this," she muttered.
The man grinned. "You're doing it, all right." He nudged an elbow into his friend. His chin jutted towards Emma. "Isn't she, Philip?" he added.
Philip smirked and nodded, dreads swinging in a curtain around his face. He said nothing while the first man craned his neck to regard David behind them.
"Tell her," the man said. "Tell your wife she's really going to do it." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. He winked. "Tell her she's gonna suck cock ... Two cocks ... Two black cocks."
Emma's shoes moved. She took tiny little steps, almost dancing on the spot as she squirmed, her thighs rubbing together, heat flaring between her legs. "Oh God," she murmured, eyes going wide.
She was thrilled by the authority in the man's tone, nearly overwhelmed by his complete mastery of the situation. His utter dominance by physical presence and confident demeanour sent a trickle of something inexpressible through Emma. She was drawn by sexual allure, shocked at her own body's response.
It was a defining moment.
The man chuckled and shook his head, his gaze returning to Emma. He clicked his tongue again, tutting while his head moved side-to-side. "Tell her," he said, throwing the repeated instruction over his shoulder to David while keeping his eyes locked on Emma. His voice made it very clear who the alpha male was in the scene, his tone signalling to everyone present just who it was running things. "Tell your wife she's going to be a good girl. Tell her she's going to suck cock. Tell her she's going to suck cock at one end while she gets fucked at the other. Tell her!" he insisted when David didn't respond immediately.
David gulped and stuttered, cowed by the aggression in the man's tone.
"Yuh-you're going to suck cock, Emma." He swallowed again, blinking, heat rising in his face. "You're going to suck cock and get fucked."
Still doing her little dance, somehow resisting the urge to touch herself down below, Emma saw the grin on the man's face. She threw a glance at her husband.
"Oh God," she murmured.
"That's what you want, isn't it?" the first man said. He offered her a fox in the chicken coup smile and tilted his head. "It's what you really want. Black cock." The man chuckled and nodded slowly. "Tell him, Emma. Tell your husband you want to fuck black cock."
Emma sucked a breath in through her nose. Her jaw slackened. It was a strange sensation but she felt a near overwhelming compulsion to agree. Fifteen years of marriage to David had seen one brief affair, and he admitted to the same during a mutually agreed baring of souls, a time they had both agreed to admit their transgressions without blame.
Then another stumble, another one-night-stand, caused by boredom and complacency, probably, had led them to the point where they were experimenting, both looking for ways to mix it up. Emma had seen the dangers of David's suggestion they meet a stranger for casual sex; she'd heard threesomes could go wrong -- strong emotions catching people off-guard. Emma would have preferred a swingers' club, a more level playing field, a fluid environment where they could remain a couple. This was too strong, too much too soon. They should have gone for another woman.
But they were in that hotel.
