Attitude 2

It was a stroke of pure good luck that my wife, April, met Barbara. Although there have been times since then - like when April is spending the night at a motel getting fucked by some Black guy - when I wonder if it's altogether a good thing. But then April will come home from her rendezvous and plant that sloppy pussy on my face and tell me how much fun she'd had. Hell, yes, it's a good thing.

April and I had dabbled in the Interracial scene since the third year of our marriage. But because we both work in professional positions we have to be careful to separate our public and private lives. We have to at least

appear

to be respectable. We would party maybe two or three times a year, driving to a venue in another city. It was frustrating to have to limit our involvement. We both wanted to open our marriage and get fully into the scene. We wanted what other couples enjoyed: whoring, hubby humiliation, submission to Black Cock.

It was Barbara who helped get us over the hump. She was actually a client of my wife's company. When she got to know April personally, and learned about our circumstances, she arranged for an introduction at a private club she belonged to – and she told April to leave her inhibitions at home. Barbara had been into the scene for years and knew everybody who mattered.

"Honey," she told April. "You think you're the only wife who wants to spread her legs for Black Cock? White women everywhere are beating down the doors to get into the lifestyle. You will absolutely love it! You have no idea how good it can be."

I had some reservations still. I didn't want to party close to home. But April had made up her mind. Even if it meant jeopardizing her career there was nobody going to stop her. So we showed up at the club on a Friday night, ready for anything.

We found the place without any problem. April and I entered holding hands. Barbara gave us a friendly welcome.

"So you're April's husband?" she said to me. It was the first time we'd met. She was small, petite I guess is the right word, about five foot three. She had dark hair and a pretty face, was in her late thirties.

"That's me," I answered.

"Is he a good white boy?" Barbara addressed this question to April.

April grinned. "Most of the time," she said.

"What do you mean by 'good'?" I asked.

Barbara looked at me coolly. "You'll see. So long as you remember your manners, everything will work out just fine." Barbara rested a hand on my arm. "April's going to enjoy herself very much tonight. She's going to get properly Blacked. Your purpose, your

only

purpose, is to serve as her poodle, understand? You're not any kind of a man at all. You're April's poodle."

April laughed at this, delighted. It felt a little strange, being spoken to like that. Especially from this woman who barely came up to my chest. She was a real tigress in bed, I was willing to wager. But, of course, she only fucked Black Cock.

Barbara took us around the club, showing us the layout and introducing us to people. The club definitely had a harder vibe than what April and I were used to. Everyone there recognized and acknowledged that marriage was a flawed institution and that the lady, the wife, had a right to as many Black partners, as many lovers, as she liked.

The members Barbara introduced us to all gushed over April. They complimented her hair, her skirt (which barely covered her ass), her legs, even her complexion. April sparkled under all of the praise and attention. The Black guys gave her a warm hug then kissed her. I don't know how many guys she kissed. I lost count. But it marked a rite of passage of sorts, a recognition that she was leaving me behind and going Black for good. It was erotic and sexy the way the men touched and fondled April, asserting their claim to her.

The female members kept offering to help April find dates and make contacts, anything that would assist her to become a whore. The ladies laughed when Barbara introduced me as April's poodle. They poked fun at my tie and the shoes I was wearing. One girl, this hot, honey- colored blonde, offered to let me toss her salad if I behaved myself and was good to April. April remarked that, when it came to sex, I wasn't good for much of anything else. Being around women like that felt really good. All of them fucked Black, preferred Black, even openly boasted about it. And now my pretty April was going to become a part of the sisterhood.

April's 'date' was in-shape Black guy with an athletic build. Barbara had arranged for him to be there, assured me that he would give April the kind of sex that she needed. He was young, twenty-five, six years younger than April. Barbara explained that as April grew as a whore - and I would be surprised at how rapidly this occurred - both of us needed to accept that she would be bedded by all manner of Black men. I might expect to see April fucked by men of fifty - or mere boys of twenty after some easy white pussy. It might be disturbing at first, even shocking. But I would come to love it all. It was

going

to happen so I had better get used to it now.

April and her date retired to a couch and began cuddling and kissing. I watched the guy feeling April's tits and ass. Finally his hand slipped up between her legs. April opened her thighs so that he could have full access to her. The slut had absolutely no sense of shame. Before they retired upstairs to have sex, April slipped over to where I was standing. She hiked up her skirt, wriggled out of her panties. I caught a glimpse of her beautiful bush. She handed me the panties.

"I don't want you to feel totally left out," she told me. "These are what Barbara refers to as the white boy's date." April walked back to her boyfriend. The two of them disappeared up the stairs together, arm in arm. I wasn't invited.

I lifted the panties to my face, inhaled April's scent. God, I was horny. Barbara laughed. I had forgotten she was even standing there. "Panty sniffer," she teased me. "That's a close as you're going to get to April's pussy for a good long while. So I suggest that you make the most of it."

Well, you couldn't help but like Barbara. She had attitude, and attitude was everything. I began hinting around that maybe the two of us could find a vacant room. Barbara smiled. "I'm Black only, sweetie. My date is standing over there. But the night is young. Why not go and chat up Melanie? I did hear her say she might let you toss her salad. Any white boy ought to jump at a chance like that."

All that happened over a year ago. Today, my sweet wife April, the woman I love and cherish, boasts openly about being a whore for Black Cock. April and I are both committed to the lifestyle and wouldn't want it any other way.

Oh, and Melanie's asshole – it tasted as sweet as apple cider.

End