DISCLAIMER: This is a work of erotic fiction featuring interracial sex, cuckolding and mild humiliation. If any of this is not to your taste feel free to look elsewhere. It does not feature long and graphic depiction of sex so if that's your thing you may also like to skip this one. If it still sounds like your cup of tea, enjoy.
*
Derek spoke softly, but I could hear him talking to my wife.
"I'm sorry about what I said last night Adrienne."
"That's OK. You were drunk. I know you didn't mean what you said."
He paused and looked at her intently.
"I didn't say that."
Adrienne looked mock-confused, but excited, slurrring her words a little.
"What do you mean?"
He took her hand in his. I thought this a little forward, right in front of me.
"Adrienne, what I said was, I'm sorry I said what I said. I didn't say that I didn't mean it. It was just inappropriate of me to say. You a married woman and all."
He glanced up at me for the first time, his eyes a little lazy with the wine. I wondered whether he realised I could hear their conversation. But then I thought suddenly, in fact somehow I knew, that he did know I could hear it. Either he didn't care, or he wanted me to hear.
She sighed, and then quite naturally rested her head on his shoulder.
"Oh Derek", she said, "you're a good man."
I had a thick lump in my throat as I sat across the room, listening and watching. For a long time no one said anything. I just watched my wife resting her head on Derek's shoulder. She looked beautiful to me at that moment, feminine and vulnerable as she had never looked before. Something about the contrast between them, Adrienne petite and girlish almost, Derek most definitely a man -- tall, muscular, relaxed. I was filled with love for her, but also with dread and foreboding.
The last six months flashed before me in those few minutes ... Derek moving into our house, a lodger just divorced. Our common curiosity about him, giggly and gossipy at first ... a black man, smart, courteous, but most definitely black in a way that jarred our white middle class sensibilities whether we cared to admit it or not. His brashness, his humour, his confidence. Our growing friendship, nights of dinner and intimate chat, after which I would end up fetching the whiskey and we would all stagger up to bed drunk and slow, but happy. "Such a lovely man", Adrienne would say, repeating herself as people who have had too much wine tend to do. The strange atmosphere I had begun to feel, we all felt it I am sure, a growing weight, a headiness, melancholy, expectant almost. Dreamlike, and disturbing in the way that all dreams are, but definitely real.
"Derek ...", she whispered, her voice trailing off.
"Yes Adrienne."
He smiled down at her.
"Do you want me to ask my husband for some privacy?"
How odd it might seem to someone else, but in my woozy headed state, accepting of a reality of which I was not yet conscious, what she was suggesting seemed perfectly natural to me ... that I might offer them privacy, in my own house, take my leave and accept that I was not part of what was happening here. It was like water trickling, flowing downstream, so natural a conclusion to the course of our relationships that in my inhibition-free state it seemed absurd to question or resist it.
Derek leaned over and whispered in her ear. She giggled then raised her head from his shoulder and looked at me.
"Darling. Would you mind going up to bed ahead of me? Derek and I would like some privacy now."
She knew I had been listening.
My face was flushed scarlet, I could feel the heat in my cheeks, and my throat was too dry to answer. I nodded and got up. I felt as if I was outside my own body, like I had no control at all, even getting up and walking upstairs - as Adrienne smiled and rested her head back on Derek's shoulder - seemed involuntary, like I was obeying some script, some natural law, a force far greater than me. I was excited at the same time, wildly excited in fact, but not erect ... my little friend had shrunk back, as if in deference to a greater power at work. As I walked up the stairs, I thought I might masturbate with the knowledge of what was going to happen, but my compact little penis remained flaccid and numb throughout the night as I listened for any sounds I could catch from downstairs, and later, after the nocturnal creaky shuffling of movement, from Derek's room upstairs from ours. I knew she was there with him. I could not pleasure myself, although later I often thought back with unparalleled orgasmic thrill on that night, so quiet and calm, but so filled with truly erotic moments. Adrienne resting her head on his shoulder, a universal signal of a woman's submission and longing ... the night I knew for the first time, for sure, that my beloved wife wanted another man, so much that she did not care about her sacred vows or the consequences, and that for all her protestations of love, there was a cold, pragmatic contempt underneath it all, which she betrayed by this indifference. And then, to be sent to bed ... time for the grown-ups to have some time alone. A man and a woman, things I did not need to know about or see. Such a gentle humiliation, but so acute, so choking.
I must have succumbed to sleep in the early hours, and when I awoke the bed was still empty. There was a little shudder when all the events of the night before came back to me. It had happened, it was all real. What happens now? I wondered how it would be today, and I didn't know how I was going to behave. I needn't have worried ... the natural, almost involuntary flow of my responses, if not my feelings, continued into the day without really missing a beat. I made coffee, and sat alone for a couple of hours before I heard footsteps. It was Adrienne. She looked dozy and sleepless, but radiant, dressed in just a black shirt of Derek's and her white knickers, her tanned legs on display in all their magnificence. Her light brown hair was a mess, and she casually passed a combing hand through it as she came over to me and kissed me on the cheek.
"Mmmm", she muttered. "Morning."
"Good morning."
I passed her a cup of coffee. She drank from it and leant on the counter, looking at me with a happy expresssion. I could feel her affection for me, but I knew that was not the only source of her obvious and delirious happiness that morning.
"You're so sweet", she said. "I'm so lucky to have you."
I felt numb and swept up, like I was still very much in the midst of this momentous thing. Not much was said, not many words were needed, but I knew that we were talking about things that were quite real and profound, and that everything had changed. Eventually I found some words for her.
"I just want you to be happy Adrienne."
She smiled, flushed and kissed me again.
"I am happy, honey. I am so happy I can't describe it."
I stepped back and looked at her. She looked so beautiful. For the first time, I felt a stirring as my little cock throbbed and swelled at the sight of her. My wife. The words and pictures were spinning around in my head ... my wife ... another man ... Derek ... a black man. Another man has fucked my wife. A black man has fucked my wife. Yes, a black man. Why did that detail, my cuckolder's race, make my little cock so hard? I thought something inside me knew, but couldn't quite work it out in words. No matter. I was breathing hard now, and Adrienne was looking at me quizically. She glanced down at my modest crotch protrusion.
"Do you need to go back to bed for a while, honey? It might ... sort you out. Might be just what you need."
