Several miles away, her husband could hardly focus on work. It was now 5 P.M. and he hadn't heard a thing from Laura all day. His mind was on his wife and what must be happening at their house. He called her iPhone and after a couple rings he was surprised to hear Ray answer.
"Hi buddy?. How are you?" Ray said cheerily after seeing Mark's picture on the phone.
Mark responded, "Ummm. . . Can I speak with Laura? Is she there?"
Ray responded, "Sure, she's here. Well actually in the bathroom, douching I think. We've been going at it all afternoon, and I think she wanted to freshen up a bit. Can I take a message."
On the other end of the line, Mark's tears began to well in his eyes. Struggling to get the words out he said, "Umm. . . Just tell her I am going to be home late tonight."
Ray sat up on the edge of the bed noticed the white wife's panties, then picked them up to smell the aroma of Mark's woman, whom he had fucked several times now, and stuffed them into his trousers, which lay in a crumpled pile on the floor.
Boldly, Ray smiled to himself, then replied, "Well, actually we were planning to be busy until about 8 o'clock, so any time after that would be alright." He thought for a moment, then added, "Why don't you make it nine. There are a few things I want to teach your wife, and it may take a while."
Mark rang off the call, nervously clicking the 'End' button on the iPhone and looking at his wife's smiling picture fading from the screen. Now his heart pounded. It felt as though all the air had been knocked out of him. He had expected to have some emotional reaction to his wife's being with another man, but not a reaction this overwhelming.
He was incredulous over whether his wife could actually have done this. One part of him was praying that it didn't really happen. Another part was praying that if it did happen, it would only be a one-time thing that they would be able to talk about and that would excite them when they made love in the future. In either case, he couldn't wait to have his wife describe her afternoon.
He looked around and noticed that he was the last person in his section. He called for a pizza delivery then pushed away from the computer. He tried to imagine what might be going on at home. He was becoming completely overwrought with the thought of his wife alone with a powerful black man.
As he tried to control his imagination, he thought, this really couldn't be happening. They couldn't really be having sex. . . not his innocent, demure and proper wife and this self-assured black man.
Was this Dr. Jackson just pulling his leg? Had this man and his wife just cooked up some elaborate hoax. That was it, he told himself. He would come through the front door and find them sitting on the sofa, with the look of merry pranksters, revealing to him it was all a joke. He wiped tears from his eyes and tried to catch his breath.
His intellect was fighting to reject the possibility that she could really be with another man sexually -- not his innocent and naive wife, who had never been with anyone before him, who had 'saved herself' for him.
Ultimately though, his imagination took control of him. His heart raced and his modest penis was straining against his super hero briefs. Looking furtively and listening for any sound from the adjacent, he reached into his jeans and pulled out his modest little dick.
He thought of how beautiful and delicate Laura was and when he imagined her on her back with her legs open for a black lover, his dick became painfully hard. He pictured them having sex at this very moment. He wished he had been able to talk with her, just to gauge her voice or perhaps get some clue about what was really going on.
When he closed his eyes he could see his white wife in the throes of ecstasy at this very moment lying back, or on her knees with a big black cock stroking away inside her. He squeezed his hard penis and closing his eyes he stroked back and forth. He desperately wanted to see her being fucked and learning to become a 'hotwife', learning from a masterful black lover.
He closed his eyes and imagined his wife's soft white hands caressing her black lover's skin, or maybe running them up and down his back as he sucked her nipples or ran his hand over her wide open pussy. He imagined his wife lying beside her lover, stroking his dark cock with her small white hand. Now his penis grew even harder; he stroked faster and slumped back in his office chair. With a sudden painful surge of adrenalin, he shot his own load onto the carpet and panicked; he grabbed several handfuls of paper towels from his desk. He tucked his now shrunken member back in his Superman briefs, and got down on his knees to wipe up the mess.
Now that the excitement was receding, a sudden pang of remorse washed over him. Oh my God, he thought, what did I talk Laura into? What if she really liked this? What if it really did become more than a one-time thing? What if she actually became addicted to him? What then?
---
At their home, miles away, Laura actually was slowly but inevitably becoming addicted to Ray Jackson. Of course, she didn't know this on a conscious level. It was happening in many subtle little ways and not all at once. Over the coming days and weeks, she would grow to love the feel of his skin on hers. She would become incredibly turned on by the contrast of his black skin on her pale body. She would be amazed at how wet she became when she felt his hands cup her firm breasts and the felt his fingers twist her nipples. It already amazed her that she was turned on by the smell and the feel of his hot sweat when he fucked her hard and fast. She already loved looking down over her belly and watching his black cock disappear into her, and the more they fucked, the more it would grow to excite her.
When she had sucked his cock to climax today, she was amazed at how the smell of his manhood stimulated her sexually, so much so that when his cum filled her mouth, her deepest desire was to swallow as much of it as possible and then lick him clean.
