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.
