I never wear deodorant. Having smelly, all-natural armpits has health benefits, but it also helps me easily separate the men from the boys, or the Bulls from the cuckolds.
Last week, I went to the local gym. I was wearing my usual: a cotton sports bra and shorts. I noticed the air conditioning was off. After about half an hour, I was drenched. The creases under my arms were wet and stinky, and my short stubble stuck to my skin! Beads of sweat ran down my forehead and all over my belly. My feet, inside my socks and shoes, were surely building up a stink as well.
That was when the fun began. I drove home and, waiting on the couch were my two favorite men: Dileep and Tyrone, boyfriend and husband.
As usual, I hugged Dileep first. I felt his muscular arms pull my body close to his and heard him inhale deeply through his nose. His cock hardened to its full 9 inches and I smiled as my Bull passed the test. My natural armpit odor alone had quickly aroused him.
Next was the part I was less excited about. I hugged my husband, Tyrone. When I first married a black man, I expected him to have a large penis. After all, porn always centers the "big black cock." However, Tyrone is among the millions of blacks with small penises (his is below 4 inches in length). I hugged him, knowing all too well what would occur. He held his breath for a couple of seconds, then reluctantly inhaled my musk. Tyrone started coughing and almost threw up, all the while maintaining a soft 1-inch nub between his legs.
"1-0 me," Dileep proudly said.
I took off my bra and put my arms above my head, exposing my armpits. Sitting on the couch between Dileep and Tyrone, I grinned seductively as I yelled "Ready. Set. Sniff!"
They were off. This was the part of the test we called the sniff-off, where both men sniffed one armpit for as long as they could without having to breathe through their mouths. A couple of seconds passed, and my husband ran to the bathroom to do his business. I didn't care what he was doing, but I loved that my Bull was enjoying my armpit odor.
"2-0 me. I win," my Bull said when Tyrone returned.
I giggled as I brought out my husband's "concilation prize." It was an extra small chastity belt, with spikes that were activated by remote control. My holes just got more and more moist as my husband's face showed pure terror. He tried to scamper off, but my Bull quickly held him down. I took my sweet time unbuttoning his pants and exposing his little cock.
"Please Mistress. I don't want to be in chastity," he said.
"Don't worry. You'll love it!" I said with a smile. In all seriousness, I believe all cuckolds would feel great locked in chastity. Boys without armpit fetishes just can't satisfy women unless girls put disgusting chemicals in their underarms! "If you don't want to, you just need to walk out of here. I'll divorce you." I said in the sharpest of tones I could muster. I knew my black husband wanted to serve my Indian bull and me, but sometimes I needed to remind him.
"Okay! I will wear chastity," he said with a resolved look on his face. Within the blink of an eye, I fastened the belt onto his pee pee (I refuse to call it a penis or cock, since those terms designate what men have). The lock clicked and I put on a necklack with the key.
