One Horny Bitch

I love my husband. He's kind, he's handsome, he's sweet, he's an attentive lover, he works hard and his job is good. We do have the occasional fight from time to time, as all couples do, but not about kids. A cruel twist of fucked-up genetics means I cannot give birth, and Jeff prefers romantic holidays for two over the screams of child-friendly resorts.

No, the arguments we do have are about Jeff's perverse desire to watch me fuck other men. In particular, he wants to watch me with a black man.

Den blinks, shocked. "He what?"

"Jeff wants to watch a black man fuck me," I repeat, "preferably one with a very big cock."

I work part-time doing admin at a charity warehouse. Den's a co-worker, currently single, a couple of years younger than me, and black. "How do you feel about that?" he asks, eyebrow arched quizzically.

"It used to bother me a lot," I admit.

"Not any more?"

I shrug. "It would depend on the man, I guess. I don't think I could relax with a stranger."

He eyes me speculatively. I like Den. I don't know him well, but he's difficult not to notice. Tall, muscular, a loud laugh and an infectious smile. Used to flirt in a friendly way with Amber who worked in reception, despite her being married. "And you're telling me why?"

Despite everything, raising the subject with him already has me feeling unfaithful. "I love my husband," I say firmly, an insistence as much for myself as Den. "But I find you very attractive - and not because you're black." And not because he's supposedly hung like a horse. Well, that certainly doesn't hurt. Although it might.

Den chuckles. "You're hungry for a real man, is that it?" His eyes glitter with mischief. "You do know that once you've been with me, you'll be ruined for other men?"

It's after hours now, just Den and me here, making sure the place is locked, the lights off, the alarm on, and to be perfectly honest this flirtation has me warm and tingly. The thrill of the illicit, of actual infidelity. Do I really want to go through with it? What if he really does ruin me for other men? What if Jeff talks the talk but doesn't walk the walk? The safe and sane thing to do would be to go home now and make love to my husband.

I unbutton my lilac shirt, slowly, deliberately, exposing my white lace bra, maintaining eye contact throughout. "I want you to video me," I say, holding out to him my unlocked phone, "on my knees, sucking your cock."

The clichéd absurdity of this request is not lost on me. A married white woman acting out a porn fantasy with a black bull for the benefit of her cuck husband... but absurd or not, that cock is real and straining against Den's trousers. "I want to drive home with your cum all over my breasts." I have rehearsed this scene in my head a hundred times, but the words sound ridiculous in my ears.

If he says no, I will never live this moment down.

Den laughs. "You are one horny bitch," he says, but his hands are busy with his zip, shoving his trousers down, setting free a cock of epic length. Not as thick as I feared, but easily twice the length of my husband's. Semi-hard and twitching eagerly.

He takes my phone, and I drop to my knees, looking up into the camera as my hands caress the swelling shaft and my lips kiss the glistening tip. I love the musky smell of him, the salty taste, the astonishing size. Will Jeff love this view of me, or will he hate me for loving it?

It's so long! He fills my mouth and still there is more to take. Den curls a fist through my hair to hold my head still as he records the urgent thrusting of a cock determined to penetrate deeper still. I'm gagging and choking, tears in my eyes, but he has no mercy. "Take it, bitch," he growls.

I can't see his eyes. The camera stares coldly at me. But I can tell he's close. He thrusts me away abruptly and aims his streams of pearly cum at my breasts.

The camera lingers on my well creamed tits as I button my shirt and suck a last oozing drop of cum from his wilting cock.

"Delicious," I say.