Happy to Be Me

Seeing Alex holding the baby made my pussy wet. It was four weeks since I'd given birth to our fourth child and seeing him doting over the girl following her birth never failed to cause my pussy to heat up. That might seem strange if the only thing causing my sexual arousal was the sight of them, but that was not the only thing causing my cunt to heat up. The real source of my arousal was the sight of how my husband's dark hands contrasted with our daughter's barely tanned complexion and the loving way he caressed the sparse auburn curls that adorned her head. The sight made me think of the date of her conception and that was what made my pussy burn. And it was not the first time I'd experienced such a response, our third child had inspired a similar reaction following her birth, when my husband would hold her in his arms and cradle her head in one hand, her delicate golden hair surrounding his cocoa colored fingers.

At this point you are probably thinking that I am a blond or red haired white woman in an interracial relationship. But I'm not. My name is Kira and I am actually a petite 5'3", 25 year old, dark haired, mahogany complexioned black woman with a slender build that is similar to that of a supermodel or Victoria Beckham. So, if I'm a young black woman and my husband is young black man, how did I end up having biracial children. And what's more how is it that my husband is so accepting of them.

It is simple. My husband loves me, completely and without reservation. Also, he likes our lifestyle now more than he did when we were Mr. & Mrs. Average Black Couple.

The change in our lives began a couple of years back, when I got a temp job working as a secretary for a brokerage firm. My husband was working as the assistant office manager of a shipping company and with us having two kids (the second having been born only four months before) we needed the extra income.

On my first day of work is when I met Darius. Tall and blond haired with fierce green eyes that were both frightening and dazzling, he was an exceptionally gorgeous white stud. When we were introduced, he stood before me, his 6'4" muscular frame dwarfing me, and I felt as if I was being overwhelmed by his presence.

All of the women in the secretarial pool had a thing for him and often talked about him with either a dreamy, love struck daze or a fiery, passionate, lustful yearning in their eyes. I understood what they were feeling because every time I was in his presence I felt things that I didn't believe I should be feeling. When we were in a room together and I would see him, my heart would begin to pound and my pussy would get so wet with a desire to ride that beautiful white stallion that the hot juices would drip from the swampy crotch of my panties to leave embarrassing splatters on the floor or trickle down the insides of my thighs.

When I was a little girl all of my fantasies had been about white men. I used to dream about having a white boyfriend, getting married to a white man and having a family with him. They were just the romantic desires of my youthful mind. And when I grew older, and my fantasies became sexual, those fantasies were also of white men. Darius was a prime example of the white man of my dreams, so, yes, he had a very strong effect on me.

Of course, I tried to fight it. At first, I kept reminding myself that I was a married woman with children. But that didn't help. Soon I found myself retreating to the ladies room two or three times a day to fingerfuck my hot snatch while fantasizing about him fucking me. After each orgasm I would think that I needed to get a grip, but moments later I would be back in a stall with three fingers thrust deep in my pussy as I imagined being fucked by his big white cock.

Then Darius did something that should have helped with the situation. I overheard him talking about me one day. The copier had run out of paper and I'd gone to the storeroom to get some when I heard him having a conversation with some of the stockroom boys.

"I can't believe that none of you has made a move to fuck that new black bitch yet. What's up with that?" Darius asked.

"She's married and has a couple of kids," one of the guys replied. "Don't think she'd be interested in letting us pull her in here for a gangbang."

"How would you know that if you don't try?" Darius asked. He laughed nastily. "Don't you know anything about nigger bitches? Man, they live for white dick. All of them want to be fucked by white men with big cocks. If they don't know it at first, once they get a taste of white meat they realize exactly what a black cunt is for. And as for the married ones...? They want it even more than the single chicks."

"But this one has kids."

"And she'll probably have several more. So what? Why's that a problem for you?" Darius grinned. "I would think that the idea of fucking a nigger whore and knocking her up would be both an ego boost and a turn on for any white man. Tell me that, if you could, you wouldn't use that gorgeous black bitch like the fucking cumdump she is. Tell me you don't love the idea of fucking her so good that she begs for your cum and, when you're finished, sending her home to her black husband and kids pregnant with your baby. After all, ain't that what black pussy is for? To be fucked and seeded by white men? And the nigger sluts know it too, that's why there are so many light skinned babies born by black women every year."

I left after that. I had heard enough. I couldn't believe that any man could be as sexist and racist as Darius had proven to be. What he said had my blood boiling. He had called me a nigger bitch and a nigger whore. The words kept repeating themselves in my head again and again, each time adding to the hostility burning inside me. Through the rest of the day, every time I ran into Darius it took every ounce of my strength to smile and act casual instead of walking up to him and slapping him as hard as I could.

When the work day was over, I went home and tried to act as if nothing was wrong but Alex could tell that something was bothering me. Being a dutiful husband, he asked me if I was all right and I told him I was fine. Later that night, he asked me again if I was all right and told me that it was okay if I leaned on him about any problems I had.

"Loving you and supporting you is what a husband is for," he said. "Maybe I can help."

I told him about what I'd heard in the company storage room but refused to tell him any names of the men involved. When I was finished I expected he would demand that I tell him a name, or that I quit that job. I was surprised when he didn't do either of those things. I watched as he lay back on the bed and made himself comfortable.

"What do you want to do about it?" He inquired. "What's your plan for dealing with the situation. I mean, you can't exactly call him out about it. He was in a closed room having a private conversation with some acquaintances that you only overheard because you chose to stand hidden and eavesdrop on that conversation. We both know you're not gonna slap him. You're not gonna get yourself arrested because some bigoted white motherfucker called you a nigger bitch. And you're not gonna quit, because we need the money and if you quit after only a few weeks it will not look good. So where does that leave you?"

I thought about his question for a moment and it made me even angrier to know that he was right about my choices being limited. I knew that the only thing I could do was suck it up, return to work the next day, and act as if I didn't know what Darius had said.

That night, as I slept, I dreamed of Darius. The dream wasn't overtly sexual in content, but racial and sexist. In the dream I was at work typing up a document and Darius said and did the most inappropriate things. He would say things like "get me some coffee nigger bitch" or "when's the last time you've had a good fucking? A black whore needs a big white cock in her cunt to put out that constant fire" or he'd pinch my butt and say "you've got a cute little ass for a hot little black slut. The type of ass that's made to please a white man." When I woke up in the morning I was super angry and covered in sweat. I couldn't believe that what Darius had said had affected me so much that I was actually having dreams about him. What made me even angrier was that the crotch of my panties was a swampy mess of pussy juice and my cunt was burning with hunger when I awakened.

That day I went to work and put on a calm and unaffected mask as I performed my job. Each time I saw Darius I would intentionally look away from him so that he wouldn't see the sudden flareups of hostility in my eyes. When the day was over, I returned home to have dinner with my husband and kids.

When I went to bed, Alex looked at me and asked a question that caught me off guard. Of all the things I could imagine, it would never have occurred to me to consider he might ask what he did.

"So, did he fuck you today?" Alex asked, in a voice that I thought was strange. There was no anger or disgust in his tone, only curiosity and concern.

"What? Who?" I responded confusedly, not understanding what he was talking about.

"That white guy you were talking about yesterday? The one whose name you called out again and again in your sleep. You were dreaming about him, weren't you?"

"Having nightmares is more like it. I kept dreaming about him doing sexist shit and calling me nigger and..."

"You got off on it."

"No. Of course I didn't. I might not be able to smack him in real life, but I did in my dreams." I couldn't look at him as I lied. "What would make you ask me if he fucked me? After the way I heard him talk about me, what would make you think I would ever have sex with a guy like him?"

Alex just shrugged, his dark eyes soft and unjudgmental.

"Some girls like that sort of thing. White girls go for black men because they want to be treated like the horny sluts they truly are instead of the average beautiful young princess that every guy sees them as. The same goes for the attraction of black women to white men. Sometimes a woman wants to be able to release the darker, nastier side of her sexual nature in a way that is so completely obscene that she fears to try to do it with her husband because she doesn't know how he will react and she doesn't want to ruin her marriage. Baby, I understand that," Alex stated in a caring and loving voice. "I want you to be happy. If you want to fuck that white racist motherfucker you work with, do it. I'm not giving you permission to do it. You don't need my permission to do anything. Ever. If you want to fuck him or any other guy in the office... If you want to fuck every guy in the office... You can do whatever makes you happy."

Alex reached out and pulled me down onto the bed with him. We lay together spoon fashion, with his arms holding me in a loving embrace.

"Kira, I love you. I think you're hot, and I know that other men think you're hot. Neither of us were virgins when we met so I know you've enjoyed sex with other people. Just because we're married doesn't mean you have to give that up." He murmured against the side of my neck, the vibrations sending a rush of sensation coursing through my snatch. Then his voice went lower, becoming a barely audible whisper. "If you want to become a nigger fucktoy for white men, I will understand. I love you and you can trust in that love no matter what you do."

I turned in his arms so that we were face to face. I looked deeply into his eyes.

"And you can accept that? You can accept knowing that your wife is fucking other men? By white men?" I asked. I was surprised by the turn the conversation had taken. "What if I find that I like white dick? What if I begin a relationship with a white guy and fall in love with him. What if I come home one day and tell you that I'm leaving you to be with my white lover? Could you handle that too?"

Alex smiled.

"That couldn't happen. Oh you might find that you like white meat. You might become a total white cock slut and want to fuck white men anywhere and everywhere. You might want to go out on dates in public with white men, letting everybody know you're doing white guys. You might even fall in love with a white lover and go with him on trips. But you won't leave me for any one of them," Alex smiled reassuringly. "Just as I said that you can trust me to love you, no matter what. The same applies to me. I know I can trust you to love me no matter what.

"Baby, I want you to be happy. You may not understand it, but what I'm saying is selfish. Because whenever I see you happy it warms my heart and makes me happy." He stroked my hair. "You may be curious to know if what that guy said is true. So go ahead and try it. If you don't like it you can stop."

"And if I find that I do like it?"

"Then I will be happily married to a nigger hotwife who loves white dick."

Alex gave me a chaste peck on the lips then closed his eyes and went to sleep. I went to sleep too, but I slept fitfully. Again, I dreamed of Darius. This time, along with hearing him call me a nigger slut, I kept hearing Alex tell me that he loved me. Darius kissed me deeply and I kissed him back, running my fingers through the silken softness of his blond hair, as Alex told me he loved me. Darius slowly ran his hand over my butt and when I looked toward Alex, he walked up to me and leaned close.

"I love you, baby," he whispered. "Go ahead and fuck him. Tell me about it when you get home and I will love you even more."

I woke up from that night more confused and upset than the night before. I was confused and upset because, from those dreams, I realized that I was hot for Darius prior to hearing him say the racist and degrading things he'd said and I was still hot for him after hearing them. I didn't understand how I could be even the slightest bit interested in that man after what he'd said. I also realized that I wasn't really feeling anger toward Darius for what he had said. The true source of my anger was that I continued to become aroused by him despite knowing what he thought of me. And then there was Alex's declaration that he would love me no matter how slutty I decided to be. I couldn't stop thinking about how much Alex loved me or the question he had asked me.

"So, did he fuck you today?" The words echoed again and again in my head.

All through the day, every time I would see Darius, my husband's question would come to mind. When that happened, I would imagine the tall, muscular white stud throwing me down and fucking me. That led to me resuming my masturbatory ritual. But, instead of the two or three times that had been my earlier number of times I would seek solo sexual relief I began to do so four or five times a day, which I felt was my husband's fault. If Alex hadn't asked that question, and hadn't been so understanding, I didn't believe I would be feeling the increase in the lust I was feeling.

When I returned home that afternoon, Alex wasn't there. He left a note stating that he had taken the kids to the playground. That left me alone with my thoughts, which wasn't appreciated. Having a moment of private time my mind instantly turned to images of Darius and my pussy immediately caught fire. I dashed to the kitchen where I grabbed a zucchini and, after removing my skirt and panties, lay back atop the kitchen counter where I began to shove it in and out of my dark haired snatch. I came five times with that zucchini, all the while envisioning Darius was fucking my hot, black pussy with his hard, white prick.

That night, on impulse, I told Alex what I had done. I told him because I blamed him for enhancing what I was going through and wanted to hurt him. I was surprised when he didn't express any anger at all. All of a sudden something occurred to me.

"You want me to fuck him, don't you?" Suddenly recognizing what was going on. I'd heard of men who wanted their wives to fuck other men before, but I never suspected Alex was one of them.

Alex shifted his dark eyes away from me for a second. Not in embarrassment, but it was an act he often performed when he was trying to think of a way to express something.

"I can answer that question, but I'd rather not. What I want matters to me, but if I tell you about it and you do it there will be a question of whether you're doing it because you want to do it or doing it because you think I want you to do it. Do you understand? This is about you and what you want. You are in the driver's seat and where we go from here is all up to you," Alex said when he returned his eyes to me. "Growing up, I loved my mother. And, like many men, I chose to marry a woman who I felt was like my mother. That's what I want."

"I mean, sexually. What do you..."

"I know what you mean. And I've told you what I can of what I want." Alex stated. "But the most important thing you need to know is that, whatever you choose to do, I will stand by you. My father left my mother, but I will never leave you. I accept and support any decision you make."

When Alex mentioned his mother, it made me curious. From the moment we'd met we immediately knew we didn't like each other. Actually, it was she who started it. She made it clear that she didn't like me and I just responded. I tried to stay clear of her and she avoided me like the plague. But when he mentioned his mother, I remembered that she was known to like white men and had given birth to five children who had been fathered by white men. I also recalled that the first had been conceived while she was married to Alex's father and that was suspected to be the reason he had divorced her. The situation created so many questions and the only person I could think of to talk about it was Dina.

That weekend I flew to Cleveland to speak with my mother-in-law. After an equally uncomfortable arrival, I steeled myself and told her about what was going on. She surprised me by quietly sitting and listening to what I had to say. When I finished, she sat and looked at me for a moment. Then, suddenly, she laughed, which again surprised me.

"Well, I'll be damned. So you want to fuck white men. I don't believe that boy. And here it is that I thought Alex was making a mistake when he chose to marry you," she said, shaking her head in amazement.

"I didn't say that I want to fuck white men. I said that Alex..."

"He let you know that he would remain your loyal and supportive husband if you did," she finished for me. "But what would that matter if you weren't already looking forward to getting fucked by that blond haired hunk at the office where you work? So the fact is, even if you refuse to admit it to yourself, you want to feel what it's like to be fucked by a big, white dick and you're wondering what you might expect. You're talking to me about it because I am probably the only one you know who would understand what you're going through."

That shut me up. There it was, stated in a nutshell. I relaxed into my seat and looked at her, knowing she was right. I wanted to fuck Darius. I wanted to fuck him in the worst way. I admitted it to myself and our conversation became a completely open discourse.

"You're right. I want to fuck that big, white motherfucker. So what do I do?" I asked. "Do I take Alex at his word and trust that our marriage will survive it? Your husband left when he found out you were fucking white guys, should I suspect that, despite what he says, Alex will do the same?"

Dina shook her head.

"James didn't leave me because I was cheating on him with white men. I wasn't cheating on him, he encouraged me to experience white cock. That wasn't the problem. And, no, that I got pregnant wasn't the reason he left either." Dina took a seat on the sofa close to me and took my hand, holding it as if we were the closest of family. "Alex's father left me because I couldn't be the woman he wanted. Not completely. He wanted a black hot wife. My becoming a white owned, white cock only nigger whore wasn't the problem. The problem was that, when I experienced that change in my sexuality, I did not know how to fit him into my sex life and he couldn't tell me.