Black Day At Our House

I'd heard black guys were more candid about sex, more to the point, but I didn't buy the stereotype. Based on that, I never expected my friend Jackson, who is black, to come right out and tell me my wife was really hot and he wanted to fuck her. "You don't beat around the bush much, do you, my friend?" I said, almost choking on my drink.

"I'd beat around her bush," he said laughing. "It never profits a man to be too shy to say what he wants. If I want something bad enough, I'll go after it. A man who speaks up often gets what the silent one doesn't and wants," he added with a broad toothy grin. "Well, you think your wife would like to fuck a black man? This black man?"

I shrugged, then shook my head. "Never crossed my mind," I said. "I think she's been faithful, believes in it, so... I don't think so. I know she has no problem with interracial sex, but..."

That night, always being honest with her, I told Claire in bed what Jackson had said. "He told you that?" she asked, turning to face me, her cheeks and neck flushing to pink. "He just came out and said that? What in God's name were you talking about?"

"We had just sat down for drinks and he says, 'Has your wife ever fucked a black man?' Just like that. Then he says, 'She's hot. You think she would fuck one?'"

"Why do you ask?" I said.

"'Because if she would tell her I'm available,' he says."

Claire looked at me and frowned. "You told him I wouldn't sleep with anyone other than you, right, no matter what color they were?"

"I said I didn't know," I replied with a shrug. She seemed angry that I wouldn't tell him she had no interest in fucking another guy. For most of the next day, even past dinner, she was silent and pensive, angry over what I had "not" said to my friend who asked to fuck her.

We had just gotten into bed the next night and she sighed. "They say once you go black, you won't ever go back," she said with a sly grin. She rolled over and pulled her knees up, facing away from me. "Tell Jackson that I'll consider it," she said softly.

I snuggled up to her back and kissed her on the shoulder. My heart beat rapidly. "Seriously?"

"What if I was?" she said sharply.

"I'd tell him you were interested," I said with far more enthusiasm than I ever expected. Just the idea was arousing me and an erection began to take shape.

She turned around to face me. "Is he serious?" she asked with a scowl.

"I'm sure he is," I said. "You know Jackson. Are you?"

"I'm thinking about it."

"With him?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"Does another man saying he wants to fuck me bother you?"

"I thought it would," I said, pulling her to me, "but when he said what he did I didn't even get pissed. I don't know, he was just so straightforward, so absolutely upfront, that I mostly felt proud. If you want to," I said, after choosing my words carefully, "then go ahead. Sleep with Jackson."

The next day we didn't talk about it, but throughout the day all I could think about was Claire fucking my friend Jackson, or at least being fucked by a big, black cock. I would see it sliding into her if I closed my eyes, and I found myself doing that much of the day. What I didn't know was my wife was picturing the same thing at the same time. I didn't find that out until I confessed to her that night in bed that I'd been thinking about her fucking Jackson all day.

"Me too," she confessed with a timid grin.

As fate would have it, Claire and I attended a cocktail party given by friends the next week and Jackson was there by himself. I didn't know he'd be at the party, but I saw Claire seemed pleased and that gave me a charge. I thought she'd be a bit uneasy, but it didn't show if she was. She walked right up to him, give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They looked at one another for nearly a minute, communicating silently between the two of them, sharing a moment of closeness they hadn't before.

We chatted casually with him much of the night, and when the party started to wind down around eleven, Jackson asked if we'd like to "go for coffee." He asked if we'd like to "talk in private" and right away both Claire and I realized he knew she was considering his proposal. We each drove our own cars and met at a coffee shop with a juke box about eleven thirty.

"Did Doug tell you what I said last week," he asked, coming right to the point after the waitress had brought our coffee. Her cheeks turned pink even before the question had left his lips. We hadn't talked about it on the way to the restaurant, even though each of us certainly was thinking of it, and she glanced over to me before nodding.

He smiled, reassuringly, and put his hand over hers. "Every white woman should have one black man in her bed," he said, "at least once in her lifetime."

"Really?" she replied with that embarrassed grin. It wasn't so much of a question as it was just processing the idea out loud.

"Really," he replied, his eyes fixed on hers. They looked at each other for a long time, seemingly forgetting I was there, imagining their intimate encounter, then she turned to me, as if looking for the go ahead. I smiled, nodded, and kissed her.

"Okay," she said softly.

He said he'd have her back before two that night, but she called at one and said they probably should sleep late, so she would come home the next night. "Are you okay with that?" she asked.

"I'm fine," I answered, picturing him fucking my wife as I spoke, "better than I expected to be."

"Was he right?" I asked when she came in the next night. "Should every white woman have at least one black cock in her before she dies?"

"I'd recommend it," she said with a sigh and a broad smile, standing in front of me, putting her arms over my shoulders, and kissing me hello.

"Big?"

"It's incredible," she said with lustful enthusiasm that got my heart pumping. I was amazed she'd be so openly enthusiastic about the size of his member. I am pretty average in length, so I figured he'd most likely be bigger than me, but the realization of the truth that my wife was thrilled by the size of a man's genitals only made me more aroused. He must be huge, I thought.

I pictured her with my friend's beefy, black cock in her hand, her head bobbing up and down over the shaft. I visualized her lips curled around the dark, fleshy knob, imagined her tongue swiping around the tip, and I smiled to myself at the images. Funny how arousing it was to think of her fucking and sucking someone else, and I was glad I had told her what Jackson had said about wanting to fuck her.

That night we had glorious sex, even though she'd had a night of fucking with our friend. She was more animated than normal, and I figured it had to do with still being excited by what she'd done with Jackson. She came and within a minute I came in her. We stretched out side by side breathing hard and recovering from our orgasms.

"Did he teach you anything new?" I asked when I could catch my breath.

"Uh huh," she said struggling for air. "In a minute I'll show you," she added.

While she was catching her breath, I said I was glad she could come back after going black, then we both laughed. "What I can't do," she said, "is stop after just one, like with potato chips." I was quiet as I waited for further explanation, then she went on. "I hope I don't have to."

"Stop at one," I asked, "person? You mean Jackson, or black guys in general?"

"I guess I mean partners," she said, her breathing coming closer to normal. She turned and faced me. "I like fucking other men," she said quietly, as if saying it louder would ruin things. "I love that big cock of Jackson's, and he did show me a good time. What I mean is, I don't want to stop with only him, or only black guys." I kissed her. "I want to be able to fuck whoever I want," she said. "Have I become a slut?"

"You've become a sexually exciting woman," I said. "If our last session was any test, I like what has happened to you." She looked at me and smiled. "I like fucking the woman I just had sex with," I said. "Now show me what he taught you."

Without further delay Claire got up on her knees and bent over my flaccid cock. Taking it in her hand, she looked over at me and said, "I couldn't take all of him, but he taught me how to relax my throat so I could not gag," she said proudly. Then she slid her lips over the knob of my erection and continued sliding it in her mouth until most of my cock was to the back of her throat. She pushed her head down a couple of times, her nose reaching my pubic hair, then came up for air, licking around the bulbous glans with a proud smile.

After her demonstrating what she'd learned about deep throating, she stretched out on her back and spread her legs. "Get between my thighs," she said, instructing me where to be. "Now put your entire mouth over all of my vulva and suck like a vacuum cleaner. Now hum." I did it and looked up at her face as I complied. She closed her eyes and savored the feel at her pussy.

I'd heard of giving a hummer, but it was usually in terms of the woman giving a man a "hummer", but it was clearly giving Claire a great deal of pleasure and I increased the intensity. She came in a wild and frenzied orgasm.

When she came back down she asked me to give her my hand. She had me insert a finger into her pussy, then curve my finger upwards and search for a nickel-sized circle that was slightly rougher than the rest of the inner surface of her vagina. When I found it she had me massage it with the finger tip and make small circles over the patch.

"That's my G-spot," she said through clenched teeth. She built to the most intense orgasm I'd ever seen from any woman, and as she cried out a spurt of fluid began shooting out of her above my palm.

"I'm a squirter," she said gleefully when she finally came down from her climax.

"I've never seen that before," I said.

"Neither have I," she replied. "Isn't it great?"

"I like this you fucking Jackson thing," I said with a smirk. "I'm learning a lot."

"Me too," she said with a youthful enthusiasm that filled me with a pleasure I didn't understand. I felt freer than I'd ever felt before, and my love for her deepen beyond my comprehension. "It's funny isn't it? You getting turned on by hearing your wife tell you about fucking another man. I would have never thought this could happen," she said, "if I hadn't experienced it myself."

We were both quiet for a few minutes, then she said, "I love fucking Jackson. Does it make any sense that I love you more after having sex with him?" I shrugged, then nodded a confused agreement. "As he fucked me, I could hardly wait to get home to tell you about it. I guess that's what unconditional love is all about," she added.

"As I thought of you fucking Jackson, or anybody else, I could hardly wait to hear all about it," I said. "You're right. This is strange, but isn't it so true? I am so fucking aroused when you're telling me about you and him fucking. I am looking forward to next time," I said. "There will be a next time, right?"

"I want to talk to you about that. If you're willing," she said with a sly smile, "I certainly am." I nodded and meant it. "Good," she added, kissing me. "I hoped you would be."

The next week I saw Jackson and we stopped for a beer on the way home from work. He asked about Claire as we sat down at the bar. Smiling, I told him she was "happy as a whore with a fleet of sailors" and that I had him and his uncensored approach to thank for that.

He smiled and said it was nothing any brother with a hard dick and time to use it wouldn't do. "Well, she really enjoyed herself," I said, "and we both are grateful."

"You're grateful?" he asked, unclear why I would be. "Grateful that I fucked your wife?"

"You brought her out of her shell sexually," I explained. "She's been liberated and you have helped me to see that love is caring about the pleasure of another person, not wanting to possess that person. I love her. I don't own her."

"Hell, and I just thought I was asking for a white piece of ass," he said as he took a sip of his beer.

"Maybe that's what you intended, but you ended up doing much, much more than that for us," I said. "Thanks."

"I've asked her to travel to San Francisco with me," he said. "I want to take in a 49ers game, hit some clubs, and have a woman to enjoy. Would you mind her getting a little more black dick?"

"I know she'd love it," I said, and we both ordered another beer.

"Every black man should have sex with a white man's wife," he said, "at least once in his life." He laughed heartily and I raised my glass in a toast.

"I'll drink to that," I said.