Angels Have Horns Pt 10

This part of my love story continues and includes themes of cuckolding, objectification, domination, submission, interracial sex and the main characters personal brand of humiliation.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to actual persons, alive or dead, is purely coincidental. Any grammatical errors are my own.

"What do you want to do?" I asked Chloe, my heart racing.

She laughed. "God, baby. You can be really silly sometimes," she said with a smile. "We're following him of course."

I quickly put the car into gear, caught up with Sully's Mercedes and together we pulled out of the dealership.

We'd accepted Sully's apology for his previous conduct. I say "we," but it was me he'd actually apologised to. And I say "previous conduct," but he'd been groping Chloe's arse again and again, she hadn't stopped him. No, it was his approach he'd been apologetic for.

In a change of tack, he'd referred to Chloe as "your slutwife" rather than "a slut." He'd still slipped his hand under her dress and told me how beautiful she was, but instead of telling me he'd like to fuck her, he'd actually asked for my permission. "Please. Allow me to stretch your slutwife for you," he'd said. "Am very thick," he'd reiterated. "Much thicker than Marcus," he'd told me as I watched Chloe's eyelids flutter and her feet shifting apart.

Then with a temerity I could only assume was born from the size of his cock, he'd lifted Chloe's dress so I could see 2 fingers buried inside her.

It was the stuff of fantasy.

Whether it was down to her desperate need to cum, Sully's supreme confidence or the idea of him being as thick as he professed that was the deciding factor, I wasn't sure. Probably all of that and maybe even more.

Trying to concentrate on the road ahead. "So you're going to let him fuck you?" I asked. "I mean, actually fuck you? In front of me?"

I still hadn't quite grasped what had happened.

Chloe gave a soft laugh. "No, sweetheart," she said. "You're going to let him fuck me in front of you. You just told him he could," she added with a smile. "I quite like it too. 'Your slutwife' has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Oh fuck. The day just seemed like one big dream and it wasn't ending. I'd just seen 7 men taking photos of my wife in a hardcore photoshoot with a porn star. Well, maybe Marcus wasn't an actual star, but with a cock like his, he bloody well should be. All observed by Mervyn, the loose talking pub landlord. Now, in the most bizarre twist of fate, we were following Sully to his home after I'd given him permission to stretch "my slutwife" in front of me. Not only that, but my amazing wife seemed to enjoy this new 'identity' he'd given her.

As far as I was concerned this moment was 5 years in the making. I'd always known it would happen, right from the first time Chloe sucked me off in my car and her reaction when we'd been spotted by a passing car driver. I'd known she was a slut and I'd known that deep down, I liked it. I'd encouraged it too, acutely aware that the thought of another man getting hard for her was immensely satisfying. Acutely aware that it humiliated me to be turned on by the idea of seeing her getting fucked. So much so, it became an obsession.

We were meant to be together, Chloe and I. Like fate had drawn us to each other. For the first time as wife and husband, as slutwife and cuckold, I would soon be watching her getting fucked by another man.........and not some random rapist. If I could describe the sheer exhilaration I was feeling, I would.

His house was a large detached property on the edge of town, barely a 15 minute drive from our home and as we pulled onto the driveway, I saw Sully standing next to his car waiting for us. He was smiling and he had every reason to.

"Please. Bring bag with clothes," he said as we exited the car, then took us inside.

The hallway was large and everything seemed white. White and gold, in fact. White tiled flooring. White walls and doors. White staircase with touches of gold paint. Gold framed artwork on the walls and similarly gold framed photos. There were other colours, but that was my impression. I didn't have the opportunity to take everything in before he took us through to the living room.

It was decorated in pretty much the same way. The same white tiled flooring and white walls with gold framed artwork. A couple of side tables with more gold framed photos. Vases, lamps and ornaments all perfectly placed as if they'd been meticulously planned, then given a permanent spot. In the centre of the room were 2 large white leather sofas facing each other, again, perfectly placed. It was immaculately clean.

"Please. Wait here," he told me, then turned to Chloe. "Bring bag," he said and led her back out.

The fear that he was fucking Chloe upstairs and out of sight was vanquished a few minutes later when Sully returned, a broad friendly grin creasing his handsome features. "Wife in shower," he explained pleasantly.

There was an awkward moment of silence because, well, I really didn't know what to say. He wandered across to one of the side tables, unlocked a drawer, took out a briefcase, then walked over to what I now saw, was a bar at the far side of room.

"Please," he said, gesturing me over as he dialled the combination locks. "See?" he said handing me a thick wad of paperwork. "Am clean. Like wife. Same clinic."

I flicked through the pages, noting his name was Soulamaine Imrani and it quickly became apparent he was regularly checked. Every 4 weeks in fact. It also became apparent that he was making his intentions very clear. I still couldn't bring myself to say anything because it was all so....casual. And why wouldn't it be? We all knew what was happening.

"Fuck many wives," he explained proudly as he closed the briefcase. "Older. Very average," he added. "Not like Chloe. Have not stopped thinking of her. Is very beautiful. Am very lucky, yes?"

It took a moment for me to understand and of course, I thought she was beautiful, but he probably said that to all the husbands whose wives he fucked. "Yeah, she is. Thanks," I said nervously.

He locked the briefcase, returning it to the side table. "Please. How old?"

"Chloe? She's 24," I told him. "I'm nearly 30."

"Ah," he said, then frowned thoughtfully. "Wife is young, yes? For cuckold?"

I hadn't really thought of it like that. I hadn't assumed there was some kind of average age for what we were doing.

"Am 46," he told me.

I nodded my head and another moment of awkward silence ensued. It almost felt as if Sully didn't want to say too much without Chloe being there. Maybe he didn't. He was clearly experienced, so perhaps that was how he worked. Maybe that's how it worked for every situation where a cuckold was about to see his wife fucked. Mostly, I felt a little bit out of my depth.

Sully clearly saw it. "Please. Relax," he said with a white toothed grin. "Is first time?"

Relaxing might have been easy for him, but I was a bag of nerves. I smiled a wan smile. "It's complicated, but it's not our first time." I explained. "Although I haven't really seen it before. This will be the first time since we got married."

"Ah, I see," he said placing a hand on my shoulder. "Will make first time good for you, yes? Put slutwife in my hands. Am very experienced. Very virile. You will enjoy. Your slutwife will enjoy, yes?"

Listening to him referring to Chloe as "slutwife" or "your slutwife" was having an effect. Almost as if he was dehumanising her in some way. Taking the emotional context away and leaving me with the bare facts as he saw them. That Chloe was a wife and a slut. Was that planned? Was he laying the groundwork for what was to come? Or was it what he called every wife he fucked? Whatever, the humiliation of it worked and whilst I was still nervous, my cock wasn't.

What was I supposed to say to that? "Yeah, ok," I answered. The new experience of chatting to a virtual stranger whose hands I'd just agreed to put my wife into, was uncomfortably exciting.

Looking towards my groin, he smiled. "Excited, yes?" he asked and I blushed hard that my arousal was so fucking obvious. "Is good. I enjoy see husband excited. After today, will become good friends. Will want me to fuck slutwife many times, yes?"

What? Was he actually that confident? So confident that we would want to meet him again? That feeling returned. The same feeling I had when I'd chatted to Martin. It wasn't outright, in your face bragging. More a cool, calm self-assurance that many big cocked men had. And just as I had with Martin, I found myself enjoying it. I mean, that's what I wanted, right? A confident big cocked man to fuck Chloe the way I couldn't. The way I knew Chloe wanted to be fucked. The difference was that unlike Martin, Sully was handsome.

Whatever, I thought those thoughts and found myself nodding my head, convincing myself I was just being polite, but hoping upon hope that he was more than just words.

Chloe reappeared around that point and a quick glance told me Sully must have given her some instructions, causing an additional rush of blood to swell my cock. With fresh makeup, she was still wearing the black dress we'd arrived in, but her still damp hair had been wound up into a loose bun and she wearing the stockings and red heels from the photoshoot.

"Ah," Sully announced as she came over to stand next to me. "Will have drink now."

Chloe accepted a vodka and because I was driving, he poured me and himself a coke.

"I do not drink alcohol. Am Muslim," he explained handing us our drinks and my fantasy deepened.

"Drink first. Then will fuck slutwife," he told me as he appraised Chloe. "Is very beautiful," he said yet again and then, with a sad expression. "Am widower. My wife beautiful too," he said. "Please, I show you," he added taking my arm and leading me across the room, leaving Chloe where she stood.

Handing me a framed photo, he pointed to a very attractive woman of similar Middle Eastern appearance to him. "Is wife," he said.

"Yes, she is, was beautiful," I said, cursing myself for the faux pas.

He smiled and pointed to a handsome, but young, man. "Is son," he said. "Will soon be 18 years old. Then university," he added and then pointed to the last person in the photo, a similarly attractive young woman to his late wife. "My daughter. Is 26. Married also. Have 2 beautiful grandchildren. Am very proud. Photo taken in Morocco. Is homeland, yes?"

So he was North African, not Middle Eastern. Very carefully, he replaced the photo, the way he adjusted it empathising the sense I'd had that everything had it's place. We turned and walked back to Chloe who was just finishing her vodka.

Taking her glass and returning it to the bar, he grinned. "Your slutwife is ready, yes?" he told me with a grin.

Taking her hand, he led an unusually quiet Chloe to the furthest sofa, the one facing me, guiding her to the side to face the armrest. "Stand here," he told her, using his hands to position her knees against the sofa. "Feet together. Hands to side," he said, placing her hands against her thighs. "Back straight," he added, then took her head in his hands. "Face wall."

Standing back and satisfied, he smiled. It seemed to me that Chloe had been perfectly placed and in those few short moments she'd become an object, just like every other object in the living room. Put on display. There to be looked at, appraised, appreciated and maybe even critiqued and from the pink, but rapidly turning red glow on her face, Chloe knew it too.

"Is obedient, yes?" he said turning to me and inviting me over.

Obedient wasn't a word I would use to describe Chloe, certainly not where I was concerned. How did he know? How had Sully, a man we'd barely spoken to, managed to delve right down into her psyche and know she was submissive? Objectification was one of Chloe's deepest fantasies. It encompassed so many of her kinks and I knew just how dark that fantasy could go. Was it something that dominant men saw, that men like me couldn't?

And that begged the question. Was Sully dominant? Like the Thompsons? Or was he just taking control of the situation, putting Chloe in his hands as he'd suggested I do. Taking the woman I loved and reforming her, instilling the new identity he'd given her. I really wasn't sure, but if Chloe wasn't objecting, I wouldn't.

The questions faded as I watched him roll the rear of her dress up to her waist, then carefully tuck it into her suspender belt, leaving her knickerless buttocks perfectly framed and me with the knowledge Chloe had adhered to another of Sully's instructions.

"Is beautiful, yes? Very big. Very round," he said with what looked like genuine admiration. "Very firm" he added as he crouched down, then prised her cheeks open. "Beautiful asshole," he observed, looking up at me with a wide grin. "Is virgin, yes?"

God. My cock was fucking rock hard. I gulped down the lump of jealousy of a man actually displaying my wife so crudely and so damned casually. I wondered what Chloe was thinking. How it felt to let a virtual stranger expose her most private place before any other part of her body, his thumbs perilously close to the one hole that had never been fucked as if it was his God given right. But hadn't I, we, given him permission? I mean, that's why we were there wasn't it?

And I knew exactly what he meant. "Y...yes," I stammered, fearful of the implications. I reminded myself that we could say no if need be. That just because we'd agreed to let him fuck her, it didn't mean anal was included.

Standing up, he leaned towards Chloe's ear, her height forcing him to crane his neck slightly. "Obedient slutwife, yes?" he said softy and she nodded.

"Say it," he told her firmly with a very hard spank to her left buttock.

Chloe let out a small yelp at the impact, the sharp sound echoing through the room. "Yes," she said.

Another slap to her right buttock. "Say words," he told her. "Tell husband," he added.

The force made her rock on her heels. "Obedient slutwife," she responded, the words catching in her throat slightly.

I couldn't quite think straight. I could see a red handprint already forming on the flesh of each buttock as Chloe's face turned a similar colour. Sully had set the tone with an ease that took me by surprise. Chloe too, by the looks of it.

"Slutwife enjoy black cock, yes?" he asked me, clearly referring to the photoshoot and Chloe's extreme arousal.

I stumbled because we'd never had that discussion. This might sound naive, stupid even, but I hadn't really considered interraciacial porn or the psychological aspects commonly associated with it. Not that I hadn't come across it when I'd been doing my cuckold research, but whenever Chloe and I shared our fantasies, colour wasn't part of it, so I pretty much dismissed it. Big cocks, heavy cummers, older men, dominant men, submission, objectification and a whole lot more, yes. But colour?

I really had no idea if Chloe liked "black cock" or whether it had any significance. All I knew was she liked "big cock." The only thing I'd fetishised was Asaf being Muslim, but seeing her with Marcus earlier had opened my eyes to colour contrast. His very black cock in her white pussy was certainly an erotic sight, I couldn't deny that. And Chloe had been unusually excited. Her pussy had physically "creamed up" as Mervyn had so blatantly observed, which was a rare thing to see.

"I don't know," I answered apologetically.

So he turned to Chloe, whose face was by now the deepest shade of beetroot I think I'd ever seen. Did she like it? Was it something she liked but had never shared? I recalled when she'd told me how brown Asaf's cock was. I'd barely thought about it at the time because I'd been focused on him being Muslim. Did Asaf's cock being brown add to her arousal? He was her "number 1" after all. She'd said it.

My head was thick and my cock was straining because in that moment, maybe I saw it did have significance and I wasn't sure how to deal with it.

"Obedient slutwife enjoy black cock, yes?" he asked. "Enjoy brown cock, yes?"

I stared at her beetroot coloured face, her eyes wide, fixed to the opposite wall. Sully, just as he'd recognised her submissiveness, seemed to have dug deeper into something Chloe had, for whatever reason, kept hidden.

"Yes," she answered quietly.

I nearly came on the spot.

She could have said she liked any cock as long as it was big. There were many things she could have said. Maybe she was just saying yes because she thought it was what Sully wanted to hear. But it was the way she said it. Like she felt some kind of shame? Why would she feel shame? We weren't racist. Why on earth would the woman I loved with every breath I took, answer as if she'd just admitted a long held and shameful secret?

Sully just took it in his stride. As if he'd heard this kind of confession many times over. The other wives he'd spoken of earlier perhaps. Maybe he enjoyed hearing it. Maybe those wives got off on being fucked by black or brown cock. Their cuckolded husbands too. It was a whole new experience for me and my brain was struck numb.

Or maybe it was nothing more than just mind games.

"First black cock today?" he asked her and she told him it was. "First brown cock today?" he asked and she told him it wasn't. "Prefer to white?"

Chloe faltered, as if she was weighing the question up, considering the choice he'd given her. "Yes," she said. "I think I do."

Oh my God! It was written all over her face. This was definitely not mind games.

I didn't know then what I know now. It was all I could do to stop myself ejaculating though as my numb brain sparked into life. Was it that simple? Could the colour of a man's cock have such a powerful effect on her? Was it just colour or was there more to it? Whatever it was, my wife had just confessed to preferring black or brown cocks to white and right at that moment, it excited me.

Sully started to undo his shirt buttons. "Please. Join, yes?" he said and I took my T-shirt off, then followed suit with each piece of clothing until we were naked.

As soon as he looked at my rigid, heavily leaking cock, my humiliation took over. Oh my God. It was so much better than anything I'd felt before. The whole days events, from the photoshoot, Sully's handling of Chloe and her astounding confession, right down to this moment. My humiliation that everything that had happened and what he was doing made my cock so hard, I thought I might cum, there on display for him. My physical symbol of acceptance. It was so powerful, it made me giddy.

He had a good body. Stocky and fit looking with dark chest hair, hairy arms and hairy legs. The polar opposite of my own fully shaved and athletic body. Like me, he shaved his genitals, but that's where any similarity ended.

He wasn't as long as Marcus or Martin. Maybe as long as Ken, so close to 8 inches and I don't care what anyone thinks, 8 inches is big. But fuck. He was thick. He hadn't lied about his girth. It was freakishly thick. And brown. A deep shade of walnut brown. Smooth too. No bulging veins and no foreskin to hide the almost peach sized prominently flared walnut brown glans. A fat rod of dark brown meat, so thick it displaced his balls, jutting out through his scrotum to push them either side.

God. I'd never seen anything quite like it.

Now at this point I should confess that after Chloe's recent observation regarding my own girth, I secretly measured myself. I have no idea why I did it. Maybe the need to torture myself? Maybe to check if I was below average in size? Particularly girth. I mean, it just seemed that every cock I saw was thicker and Chloe had pretty much said so. And I didn't know at the time why it turned me on, but it did.

Actually, that's a lie. I liked knowing I wasn't as thick as most men and I knew that given the choice, Chloe preferred girth to length, but ideally both and that was all part of my kink - giving her what she wanted.