Author's note: This story is about a wife willingly having sex with a group of men, including a well endowed black man, with her husband's encouragement and participation. If this theme bothers you, move along, nothing to see here. If you enjoy the story, feel free to let me know what you think works. Part 1 introduced the couple and establishes the context for how a hot wife makes the leap from fantasy to acting on her fantasies. Part 2 found the hot wife becoming the center of attention at a wild party but ends with some tension leading to the penultimate action of Chapter 3 where she submits to a black bull. This story is loosely inspired by real events.
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The Bull From The Sea
Two bedside lamps illuminated an empty king-sized bed. In the adjoining bathroom a shower ran and momentarily we hear the water being turned off and the shower door opening. Dave motioned me to sit on the bed. I trembled with excitement and I grabbed my husband's hand to steady myself. His presence comforts me.
Vernon emerged from the bathroom with a bath towel wrapped around his waist. His chiseled frame took my breath away. It's as if he's carved from solid onyx, smooth and shiny black. He is perspiring from his hot shower and I watch fascinated as two droplets make their way in a determined descent from his shoulders over his muscular chest and abdomen and disappear into the towel at his waist.
He didn't hesitate as he stepped so close that he was practically on top of me. The wet towel draped my knees and the touch sent a shiver though me. His legs encased my knees, his feet framing the outsides of my feet. I felt tiny as he towered over me.
My eyes are transfixed on the towel inches in front of my face. His bulge was unreal - it had to be an illusion. I had a sudden urge to leave, to stand, to layback, to giggle, to joke, to do anything that might break that unbearable tension.
What had happened in the outer room over the past hour was naughty and bawdy and rowdy and yes, slutty. It appealed to the exhibitionist in me. What girl isn't an exhibitionist at heart?
What was happening in that bedroom had an entirely different vibe. In the outer room I was in control. Here, I'm clearly not in control.
I was acutely aware of my breathing, raspy and short, and my heart pounding in my chest. I had the thought that everything that had preceded this moment was only foreplay. My instincts tell me I'm about to get fucked in a big way. My breath caught in my throat and a tremor ran through me.
I craned my neck to make eye contact with the giant towering over me. Dave breaks the silence, "Tell the man what you're here for Babe."
After a pause, "I need you...," my voice trailed off.
I tried to maintain eye contact but I blinked, blinked again, and again, and my confidence failed me. I looked away.
I focused on the towel directly in front of my face. I tried to imagine what is underneath.
Dave again, "Tell Vernon why you need him to fuck you."
I was dizzy from looking at Vernon, dizzy from that gigantic package, dizzy from my own thoughts but Dave won't leave me alone. I would have been angry but I was too overwhelmed. Suddenly the room felt stifling hot.
I knew the words my husband was waiting to hear. I had uttered them before, dirty pillow talk as a part of our shared lewd fantasy. But this was no fantasy and the truth of the words stung as they left my mouth, "Because I'm a slut," I mumbled.
"What kind of slut are you?" Dave demanded.
I felt diminutive under my Vernon's gaze, "A married slut," I said meekly.
Suddenly Vernon unwrapped the towel and it fell to the floor. I can only stare. His cock is bigger, more obscene, than I had imagined it. The young midshipman is longer than Mark and as thick as my wrist. I'm speechless, I continue to stare; I feel trapped. I'm enthralled.
For a scant moment I want to run but I don't move. I feel like I might be sick to my stomach. I felt all those things and so many more as I stared at that gigantic cock, just inches from my face.
Standing over me Vernon starts stroking that extraordinary cock. He's practically touching his cock to my lips as he strokes it but I sit perfectly still. He smiles at my predicament - my struggle to accept the obvious.
His cock is bulbous and lewd sticking out from his frame and it makes me dizzy with a carnal hunger. I fixate on that black spear. Such is my appetite that my mouth hangs slightly agape, I salivate, and I lick my lips like a hungry animal craving the taste and feel of that magnificent pole.
"What kind of married slut?" Dave insists.
My confidence collapses. Why does Dave insist on making me say these things? Why do I have to give him what he wants? Why can't I have what I want ... what I need? My insides are a cyclone of desire for the release that this man can provide. A release I'm being denied.
I start panting with desire. I can't look away from Vernon's lewd display. He isn't yet fully erect but his cock is fat and intimidating. I watch it expand with each stroke. With each beat of his heart he seems to grow.
Dave broke my trance when he took my chin in his hand and forced me to look into his eyes. "What kind of married slut?" He repeated.
With that, another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Dave isn't turning me into something I'm not. My husband is coaxing me to accept somebody that I've always been. A primitive deeply repressed part of myself fighting to be liberated; that lonely corner of my psyche that I've long rejected and shamed.
"What kind of married slut?" Dave demands.
My back stiffens. I meet my inquisitor's gaze without fear or evasion.
"A married submissive cum slut hungry for this beautiful cock," I said defiantly, loud enough for the boys in the next room to hear. I was ready to fuck Vernon's horsecock however he wanted to take me.
