White Conversion

I fucked up this time. I mean royally fucked up. Fucked up so bad that my life changed forever, all because I didn't close the garage door. One stupid door and my world will never be the same again.

****

My wife, Mandy, and I married almost six years ago. We met senior year of high school. Both of us on the nerdy side, we met at a math team meet. We went to rival schools and didn't know each other before that day. And it would have gone on that way if not for a twist of fate.

Toward the end of the meet, the proctor asked an impossible question. I wracked my brain to come up with the solution. I pulled off a buzzer beater, getting everything down on paper at the last moment. Moments later, I pumped my fist in celebration when the answer was revealed. It turned out that Mandy and I were the only ones who answered correctly.

She made the first move by coming over to talk with me after the meet. We talked about how we knew the answer. The conversation possessed an ease that I'd never experienced with a girl. The minutes stretched on for what felt like hours. It ended only when her coach called for all of her students to get on the bus to leave. Mandy handed me a note that she wrote earlier. It turned out to be a math problem. Without much difficulty, I solved it and the answer turned out to be her phone number. I called her that night and we soon became inseparable.

We found out that we'd both decided on the same college to attend that fall. We dated throughout the end of senior year of high school, each taking the other's prom. In what turned out to be a magical night, we took each other's virginity on her prom night.

We stayed together in college, moving in together our junior year. I majored in engineering. Mandy, though gifted at math, always wanted to be a lawyer. She majored in English with a smattering of Pre-Law classes mixed in to her schedule. We graduated in four years and found jobs. We both worked while obtaining a law degree and a Master's degree.

We got married the summer after we finished school and everything seemed to be sailing smoothly. We talked about starting a family, a dream we both held. The night of our fifth anniversary, Mandy told me that it was the right time to start trying. That night she wore a sexy red two-piece lingerie set. Made of red lace, the spaghetti straps hung from her shoulders. They lifted her 40DDD. The top fell covering the slight paunch that was her stomach. The red thong accented the appealing width of her hips. The string portion falling between the cheeks of her ass. Wisps of her untrimmed pubic snuck out from beyond the lace barrier.

Mandy didn't care to work out at the gym. Though she paid for a membership, she only went a handful of times a month She always called herself fat. In reality, she obviously carried a little extra weight, but her height, 5'10", allowed her to carry it well. Despite what she thought, I witnessed men checking out her tits and ass when she passed them.

The night of our anniversary was the sexiest night of my life, outstripping even our wedding night and honeymoon. Neither of us dated anyone else before our chance meeting. Mandy gave me all of my firsts, as I did her. We were each other's one and only experience. This led to mutual exploration and what I considered a satisfying sex life. That night was the first time that I came inside her. Thinking that she could get pregnant made the sex even better.

We weren't disappointed, though, when her period came as it normal. We just started trying and it would happen sooner or later. Frustration soon settled in as each successive month passed without conception. We started going to fertility doctors and getting tested. We sought out any tip or suggestion other struggling couples could give us. We even looked into old wives tales. Desperately, we agreed to do anything to get pregnant.

Without realizing it, we started putting pressure on each other. At specific times each month, we forced ourselves to be intimate, hoping the end result would be a baby. Long day at work, didn't matter, have sex. Big fight between the two of you, didn't matter, have sex. Social plans that pop up for any married couple, didn't matter, have sex. What began as an exciting and titillating adventure turned into, at times, forced intimacy.

Mandy, ever the problem solver, introduced a new rule into our relationship: no masturbating. I admit that throughout my life, I could be considered a frequent masturbator. Not chronic, but frequent. It started in my teens. Until Mandy, I was a kissless, dateless virgin. Finding pleasure in myself introduced me to the benefits of my own sexuality. This continued even when I was no longer kissless, dateless, or a virgin. I saw it as the full encapsulation of my sexual being.

My wife, on the other hand, did not see the benefits of masturbation, her or mine. When we met, she had never masturbated before. I tried to show her the individual joy she could obtain, but she always said it felt dirty and wrong. I introduced her to toys that I persuaded her to use when we were together. This led to the first of many orgasms, but never just her by herself. She said that it wasn't necessary when you married, that you had a willing fuck partner laying right next to you at night. When she found that I still enjoyed alone time, she saw it as a criticism of her. I didn't find her attractive. I liked the women in porn more. I thought she was fat. This, of course, was not the truth.

I explained to her that masturbating led me to a complete sex life. I furthered argued that I never turned her down for sex, even after masturbating earlier. She begrudgingly accepted. This led to occasions when she would walk into the bedroom and catch me entertaining myself. It elicited a disappointing look and her retreat to the furthest corner of the house. I would chase her, explaining my needs. She always seemed to acknowledge that maybe she acted closed minded and would let the whole matter pass.

Though she reluctantly recognized my need, she hated that I watched porn to accomplish my ends. She hated the perceived vulgarity. The one-sided power system. The unrealistic expectations. Without her knowledge or consent, I curated my own expansive collection of porn sites, pictures, movies and stories. It spanned all years, genres, and sources. Interracial porn constituted the largest portion of my collection. Mandy, finding a folder containing this particular flavor, asked why I would like this type of crap. I had no answer. I told her it just did something for me. I got off on the imagined taboo of the scenes.

The matter passed with an unspoken acceptance until we struggled to start a family. Two months ago, she caught me red handed when a movie she was watching in the other room ended sooner than I expected. In tears, she confronted me. She questioned my desire to have a kid. She yelled that all of the poking and prodding she'd undergone was for nothing if I wasted my sperm on my own selfish indulgences. I couldn't contradict anything she said, especially while the tears poured down her face. I sensed an anger reaching a breaking point within her.

She left me alone, my now limp dick still in my hand, with a warning. If she found me jerking off again while we were trying to have a baby, the consequence would be earth shattering to me. I believed her.

****

I pulled my car into the garage last Saturday afternoon after running a few errands. Rounding the corner onto my street, I hit the button on the opener. Pulling toward the house, I saw that the garage was empty. Mandy went into work to meet a client, nothing out of the ordinary in her field. She and I always fought over whose car would go in the garage, especially on a hot summer day like today. I chuckled to myself about how pissed she'd be to leave her car in the sun when she got home.

I entered our shared office and figured I had a good bit of time to myself. She normally spent a full work day at the office on Saturday, catching up on work while no one else was around. It was only 1:00. I could take care of my personal business and still have time to finish mowing the grass before she got home.

Now, some will say that I am selfish to disregard my wife's sacrifices. They'd say I jeopardized our family. Mandy finished up her period last week and in a part of her cycle when she couldn't get pregnant. The way her body goes, she'd be ovulating next Saturday, leaving me ample time to replenish my supply. I still possessed a need. An uncomplicated orgasm would raise my spirits and allow me to focus on the tasks at hand as the new week approached.

I logged onto one of my favorite sites, whiteconversion.com. The actresses on WC, as it is often called, are newbies to the porn industry. They may have performed in a scene or two previously, however, for the majority, these scenes were their first in adult entertainment. WC's other claim to fame is that it is also the actresses first time with a black partner. Effectively, women who only recently were complete amateurs, being introduced to the world of big black dick and fucked hard. The scenes ended with the ravaged, but satisfied, actress, most of the time covered in cum, saying the token phrase, "I've been converted, and I'm never going back."

Successfully logged in, I dropped my pants to the floor not realizing my great error. I left the garage door up accidentally. Normally, both of us come in the garage door. It is a habit that we developed from the day we moved into the house. The front door always remained locked and never opened. We would open the garage door from our car, whether there was room to park it inside or not, enter the house through the never locked side door, and hit the button to the left of the door frame, closing the door as we entered the house.

Our office is directly above the garage. When the door opened or closed, you could hear the noise from the machine as it roared to life, ratcheting the chain which controlled the wooden door. I heard nothing from the garage that day.

"Hey babe, why is the gara.....what the fuck are you doing!?" screamed Mandy. Unknown to me, she finished her work early that day. Finding the door open, thinking I'd left it that way for some reason, she padded through the house, coming up the stairs, looking for me. And she found me. Pants down, dick up, my hand wrapped around it, engrossed in a forty somethings introduction to porn, a huge black cock buried to the hilt in her hairless pussy as she bounced up and down on it. Two pumps of my dick later, as she strode into the room, I came all over myself, staining the polo shirt I wore with my juices.

"You fucking asshole!" she said, smacking me on the shoulder. She turned to the action on the screen, witnessing the bosom milf pull free from the massive cock, open her mouth, and accept a hot, white cumshot from the actor. She raised a finger to her face, lifting a dollop of jizz from her face, and placed it in her mouth before turning to look in the camera.

"I've been converted, and I'm never going back," she said with a smile to the viewer.

"This is what you do, you selfish bastard! What is this shit? What the fuck is whiteconversion.com?" she asked. The red hue of her face showed that this inquiry was purely rhetorical. She turned on her heels and stormed out of the office, turning at the last second and pointing at me. "You're done you son of a bitch! You'll pay for this!"

****

It is correct that we lived together over the next few days, but only in the most technical of ways that that statement can be construed. I stayed out of her way the rest of the day. I cut the grass, changed the oil on both of the cars, and cleaned out the gutters. I came back inside, my task list exhausted and the sun setting outside. I saw Mandy in the kitchen as she finished making a sandwich, grabbed her laptop, and retreated to our guest bedroom. I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes.

Her visage on Sunday was as if she was a ghost. She drifted through any room I happened to be occupying, without speaking to or taking notice of me. When I woke up on Monday, the guest bedroom was empty. Her car was absent from the driveway. Her work things were not where they'd been discarded previously. I spent a third night in our empty marital bed that night.

I expected more of the same on Tuesday, but was shocked to find my normal Mandy when I came down for breakfast that morning. Bacon and eggs cooked on the stove. She presented me with a cup of coffee in my favorite mug, leaning into me and kissing me on the cheek. I tried to stammer out an apology, but she waved me off. She replied that it wasn't necessary. She said that she hoped I'd keep my hands to myself in the future and that she knew things would get back to normal, just not quite yet. She gave me a second kiss on the cheek and scurried off to make her morning court date.

I though my fortunes must be turning because that night she shared our king size bed with me. We talked about our day and the week ahead. An elephant still stood in the room, but seemed to be smaller, resigned to a corner. I scooted over to spoon her but met with a rebuff. Not quite yet was her reply. Disappointed, but fine, I rolled over and drifted to sleep. As it approached, I thought that maybe I was in the clear.

****

In hindsight, the man that went to sleep that night was a fool. Things returned to relative normalcy. We worked. We talked. We watched our favorite television shows when our favorite television programs aired. Mandy even let me take her on a date night on Friday. We went to dinner before taking a long walk and watching the sunset over the river. Looking back, she smiled that night, but seemed to also float on an air of apprehension, doubt, and despair. We kissed hard as the moon rose over the water. The only thing we didn't do was make love, odd as she about to ovulate.

She left for work on Saturday morning as usual. Cryptically, she warned that it was going to be a long day at the office because she expected something big to happen soon. I thought it had to do with a jury trial scheduled for the next week. She lingered with our goodbye kiss before breaking the satisfying embrace and smiling wryly. "I shouldn't have to say it, but keep your hands out of your pants while I'm gone," she said looking me up and down. Her eyes seemed to wet as she began to turn. "I love you!" she cast over her shoulder. It was the last time I saw the exact woman who answered an impossible math problem and made me fall in love with her.

She was quiet when she got home that night. It had been dark for several hours as she entered the house. I heard the garage door closing as she stepped into the kitchen. To say she looked tired was an understatement. Her hair hung in a roughly put up ponytail, brunette wisps poking out in places. What little makeup she'd put on seemed worn and the skin of her chest radiated red. She muttered that she needed a shower and to go to bed. When I came to bed, she slept a deep, restless sleep.

Mandy slept late into Sunday morning. I'd woken up several times in the middle of the night to her tossing and turning, at times seeming to talk to someone in words that made no sense.

I putzed around the house, no clear purpose to any action I undertook. I made coffee, ate breakfast and cleaned it up without enjoyment. I read the paper without taking in the substance of any article. I watched a sports highlight show before the show cycled back around to where I'd started watching. It finally hit me that I was worried about Mandy. She is an amazing wife. She deserved a baby, to fulfill her dream and become an even better mother. I thought we'd gotten back to normal, but realized that I needed to apologize to her for not giving my 100% in this endeavor. I resolved myself. When she woke up, I would tell her all this. In the meantime, I had to do something productive.

I went upstairs to the office and grabbed the stack of bills out of their holder. I'd pay these and then go check in on Mandy. Settling in at the computer, I clicked the icon for my email and for a web browser.

As I was about to log into our bank's site, a ding indicated I just received an email. Switching windows, I saw that the new email was from Mandy. Good, I thought, she must have woken up and heard me come in here. Hopefully, the email wasn't admonishing me not to jerk off.

The email didn't have a subject line. I opened it. The email contained a one line message and a link to some website. Puzzled, I read the line two or three times. It said, "I wanted you to see this before everyone else, love Mandy." The link I clicked on didn't provide any indication of where I was being redirected .

The link directed to a browser window. It was titled Private Preview/whiteconversion.com. What was this? Was it an article detailing the negative aspects of porno?

Instead, a video automatically played, rolling through the normal credits for a WC scene. This was weird. Why would Mandy send me this? After the opening, the camera focused on a painting. It appeared to be a low quality reprint which decorated any number of hotel chains.

"Welcome to another edition of White Conversion," an offscreen voice spoke. "As you know, we look for women who want to break into the porn business. These newbies also want to test to see what happens once they get converted to big, hard black cock. Now, we want to turn out nothing but future pornstars who will be Queens of Spades and do nothing but black dudes. Of course, we have a fresh talent here ready to see how she'll hold up and whether any white cock will ever be able to take care of her needs again. Sweety, tell us your name."

As the camera panned down to the woman, my mouth dropped open as I recognized her. Sitting on a brown couch in a nondescript hotel was my Mandy, a smile beaming from her face. I recognized her outfit immediately. She wore a blue v-neck t-shirt that she normally wore a tank top underneath to cover part of her cleavage. This time, she wore no tank top, the cleavage created by her massive breasts on full display. The camera continued to pan down and I saw a white floral print skirt, adorned with blue flowers, which settled about her knee. She crossed her legs, one over the other, showing a lot of white flesh. She wore a pair of wood wedges. One of the things I'd previously liked about WC is that the scenes never dressed the women in garish, whorish get ups. It always looked like something right out of a normal woman's wardrobe, which I now could confirm.

"Hello," the beaming visage of my wife answered, "my name is Mandy Mason." I was floored. She used her real name.

"How you doing Mandy?" the voice asked.

"I'm good, how are you doing?" was her reply.

"I'm great now with a beautiful woman sitting in our midst. You look amazing today. Welcome to White Conversion Ms. Mandy."

"Thank you for having me," my wife returned.

"Oh, you're more than welcome sexy. Now, what brought you into us today?"

"Well, my husband is a big fan of your work. He can't keep his hand off his dick watching your stuff," she said with a direct look into the camera.

"Nice, nice. It's good to know we have some fans out there. What's your husband's name?"

"I probably shouldn't say but it's Neil."

"So Neil can't keep from touching himself seeing white girls converted to black cock sluts, is that right?"

"It's a long story, but yeah. We've been trying to have a baby and yet, I keep catching him jerking off to a bunch of broads cumming all over big black cock," Mandy said. "I got sick of all of that, so I figured this is the way to get his attention."

The voice behind the camera laughed. "Sounds like he deserves this. I only see one flaw in your plan. Once you've had my boy, who just texted me and is almost here, you won't want to have anything to do with Jason's tiny white cock."