Shared 11

I write these stories for my own amusement, garnered from the reactions to them that I receive in the comments. I was amazed when I first started reading the loving wives stories at the humiliation and abuse husbands suffered and the joy that this seemed to stimulate in the Loving Wives readers. Readers who seem to find great pleasure in husbands being forced into submissive positions where they endure humiliations like forced chastity, creampies, homosexual activities and even mutilations including castration. I've tried to find different approaches and attempted to parody these situations. And I have been vilified for it. Which isn't a complaint. I've enjoyed, and tried to provoke, the dichotomy of being praised and condemned for the same things. The BTB and RAAC people are both very vocal and present.

I had one story rejected because I had a wife abused in prison as a punishment. I was told that people had to find "enjoyment" in their activities, or a story couldn't be published. So, I had the wife abused in prison but changed the ending to the improbable conclusion of having the wife enjoy the abuse to the point she'd rather be in jail being abused than out of jail. It was published and of course panned for the stupid, improbable ending that was required.

I'm not faulting Literotica. I really wouldn't want to see abuse glorified. But that's why I started writing these stories. Because even with the differing desires of the BTB's and the RAAC's, abuse seems fine with either group.

However, to be acceptable, the abuse has to be towards men. Then it's acceptable to all groups. I personally am horrified by the acceptance of castration in these stories and tried to find a comparable punishment for a wife. I settled on a story where I had the wife injected with a nerve deadening biotic. No mutilation, no punishment other than the removal of pleasure. Not even the ancient punishment for infidelity of hacking off the ears and nose.

85 instant comments condemning my story as the most disgusting, vile tale ever to grace that website. It was pulled from publication by not one, but two, moderators. I would probably have been better off having the husband wear her ears and nose on a chain around his neck. I still can't believe, in the midst of all the mutilations and humiliations, that the simple act of killing nerve endings was the most disgusting thing ever found on the Literotica website.

This story contains none of those elements. I just wanted to explain why the viewpoints in my stories bounce around like they do. Not only have the names and dates been changed to protect the innocent, but the viewpoints have been changed to protect the guilty.

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Randall was gorgeous. A statue cut from ebony stone. Chiseled muscles and a chin like a rock. As dark as he was, his features were more European than African. And those blue eyes just popped out of his dark face.

I fell in love with him at first sight. I know that sounds trite, but I was lost once I looked into his eyes. Knowing that my family and friends wouldn't approve, knowing that we ran in different circles, none of it mattered. I was his for the taking. And boy, did he take me.

We met at a concert in Woodland Park. I'd gone with some girlfriends. We were sort of slumming -- it wasn't a venue we typically went to, more given to hip hop than the Amapiano we professed to like. Woodland Park was more a southside institution, where the residents of the projects and housing developments gathered. It was exciting for us -- a step into a world we normally don't see as upper middle class college girls.

I could see people indulging in drugs -- not just the blunts that brought a cloud of smoke wafting through the hall, but pills being sold and passed in the crowd, and meth smoked in pipes in the bathrooms and in dark corners. Everyone appeared to be covered in tattoos and seemed thuggish and animalistic in nature. We shivered at the raw strength that seemed to emanate from the throngs. To us, it felt like we were surrounded by a tribe of savages, unsure when and if they'd attack us.

But then there was Randall. He looked clean and carried himself with a class that stood out in that crowd. I couldn't take my eyes off him, and he noticed that right away. He walked up to me, took my hand and as he pulled me towards the open space in front of the band said, "Girl, come dance with me."

I followed. I could do nothing else. I was his. Although it was a fast song, he pulled me close to him and I felt his hard body, hard all over and without a thought I started grinding against him. We stared into each other's eyes and then he leaned down to kiss me. Soon we were sucking face with a desperate urgency.

I felt a tug on my arm. It was my friend, Irma. She looked negatively at Randall. "We've got to get out of here. Now. Come on." She tugged at me again.

"I'm dancing. Give me a few minutes," I asked, as I clung to Randall.

"We're leaving. NOW! Come on." Irma glared at me.

I looked at Randall, pleadingly. He smiled. "I can give you a ride home, babe."

Irma looked horrified. "No. You have got to come now. We can't leave you here." I understood where Irma was coming from. This wasn't our world. We knew no one here and had only heard bad things.

But this was Randall. I trusted him instinctively. We were fate. We were destiny. "I'll be fine," I assured Irma. "You guys go ahead. I'll be home later." It actually took a little more convincing and a lot of stubbornness on my part, but Irma and my friends finally left.

No sooner had she left than Randall suggested we leave as well. "Let's go somewhere quieter, where we can get to know each other." I suspected how well we'd get to know each other, but I was game and soon we were at his apartment in the projects, naked and exhausted. But aglow. I was literally aglow with post-orgasmic joy. Randall was everything I expected: talented, experienced and even naked and humping my ass, classy. But no, he wasn't larger than any of my college boyfriends. He'd still filled me in ways I never expected or even dreamed could be, but his penis was fairly average.

As we lay there, getting to know each other, I stroked his penis and said I had imagined he'd be larger. He chuckled, and said his facial features weren't the only thing he'd inherited from his European slave owning ancestors. "I hope you're not too disappointed."

Making light of it, I joked that I'd been hoping to get the whole black experience, but he'd made me cum so hard in so many ways I wasn't sure that my body could have survived it. I asked him where he'd learned so much about pleasuring a woman. He laughed, obviously proud at my praise. "It's my friends. We share everything. Their girlfriends taught me." He looked at me and laughed again. "And practice makes perfect. Let's practice some more."

It was after midnight before he brought me back to the dorm. I would have spent the night with him, but my phone kept ringing every ten minutes, with Irma and my friends checking on my well-being. I think they expected me to be kidnapped and sold downriver.

My assurances fell on deaf ears and when Irma threatened to call my folks, I had Randall drive me home.

My friends and I had been inseparable during our first three years of college and still were, senior year. Neither boyfriends, dates, school, vacations nor family separated us. But now they disapproved of Randall, and I was pulled towards him. He was a whole new world. The places he took me (in bed and out of bed) were like nowhere I'd been before. Oftentimes, I was the only white face to be seen, but the music, food and sometimes drugs, were exotic. Randall made me feel special, and I was his. Within a month I'd drifted away from my friends and school. Randall became the center of my universe. Every free moment was spent with him.

It was a Saturday afternoon when I felt the hand on my ass. I was busy giving my man a first-class blowjob when I got my ass massaged. When I realized I had two hands on my head in addition to the one on my ass, I sat up in a panic. There was another man in the room with us. I scrambled under the sheet to hide my nakedness.

Randall giggled, actually giggled, teetering at my embarrassment. "Don't be shy, sugar. This is my man, Mario. He's been anxious to meet you since I first told him about how sexy you are."

"Please ask him to leave so I can get dressed. I'm naked here." I pleaded. "Get him out."

"Honey, I told you we share everything. He's here to join us." Randall tugged at the sheet I clutched to my chest.

"You aren't sharing me with anyone! I'm not a whore!" I was angry at the ease Randall assumed I'd spread my legs for his friends. "I am not a whore," I repeated.

Randall's face and eyes went cold, as did Mario's. "My friends' wives ain't whores, and you wouldn't be either. We share. They've shared their wives and girlfriends with me. I owe them."

"Well, I don't. I'm not fucking anyone." I was crying, weeping at how little Randall thought of me. I thought he loved me. I loved him.

I pulled the sheet away, wrapping it around myself. Getting up, I gathered my clothes and went into the bathroom to get dressed. When I came out, Randall was alone and not happy.

"We're done, girl. You embarrassed me and insulted my friend. I told you upfront that we'd share everything. You think because you're white you be better than us? You somehow too good for my homies? I didn't think you were just another racist white girl slumming. Get out of here. Get out of my sight. I don't ever want to see you again."

My world collapsed. I threw myself at him, protesting that I wasn't racist, that I loved him. I was his, only his. I couldn't sleep with other people -- I wasn't a whore -- I was his. "Please, please, please..." I wept in his arms.

He held me away from his body. He wouldn't let me hug him. "I thought you loved me too, but not if you can't love my friends. I love them -- and their women. We're together and always will be. If you can't accept that, then just leave. They're my family."

He threw me out of his apartment. I had to catch the bus home from the projects in tears.

I didn't run out of tears for a week. I missed classes, ignored my friends and hardly ate, in pain that only real heartbreak can conjure up. In the end I couldn't give Randall up. I went back and agreed to be shared.

And I got the whole black experience. His friends were considerably larger than Randall, and their wives and girlfriends had taught his friends too. In addition to all that knowledge, what they brought to the table was multiple partners. I'd never done that before. I had thought sex with Randall was earth shattering.

Sex with multiple partners even more experienced than Randall was universe shattering. Anal took some getting used to, but eventually the stimulation of double and triple penetration made the initial discomfort worthwhile. And oral -- tongues and lips assailing my body, all over, simultaneously is an indescribable pleasure. And the distraction of giving head while being vaginally and/or anally fucked makes my climaxes ever more intense.

I'd stopped going to classes, and my parents found out about Randall from Irma. When I refused to give him up, they cut me off, cold. I'm not sure that even if I had given him up, they wouldn't have still cut me off. For my mommy and even more my daddy, my having "relations" with a black man was the height of embarrassment for them. That's just the kind of people they were.

I moved in with Randall. Not working, I was always in the apartment during the day while Randall was at work. But I was rarely lonely. There was almost always someone from Randall's crew around. I spent a lot of time in bed with his friends and, increasingly more often, with their wives and girlfriends. I learned a lot about pleasing men and even more about pleasing women.

Originally, Randall introduced me to eight men in his "posse" and their wives, but that turned out not to be the whole gang. Mario dropped by one day with five other guys. That was the first time I had sex with any of Randall's friends without Randall being there. It wasn't the last.

Randall had never really listed his group of friends for me, but after Mario's second group of five new friends, I asked Randall how many friends were in his group. He looked at me for a minute before he replied: "Eight. And their wives."

I was in shock. I blinked several times before I remembered to breathe. "But Mario? He's brought over at least 10 other guys......" I shook my head, afraid of what I thought.

But Randall confirmed it. "Mario's a pimp. How do you think you're paying your way? You're not working, except for the money you're bringing in at Mario's gangbangs."

"But you said the wives and girlfriends aren't whores! I'm not a whore! I'm not!" I insisted.

Randall shook his head. "Sweetie, the girls aren't whores. Their husbands take care of them. But I don't earn enough to cover you, so Mario's arranged some income for you. It's okay. No one minds if you get broken in a little." He smiled. "Besides, we're building up a nice little bank account for us. It's all good."

I sobbed quietly, "But I'm not a whore." I'm not, I thought to myself. But I had nowhere to go. I couldn't go back to my parents, couldn't go back to my college life. I'd burned my bridges for the love of Randall.

I had no money. Randall said we were building a nice bank account, but I had no access to it. At this point I couldn't even afford bus fare out of the projects.

I cried through the night. Randall hugged me and told me he loved me. He told me he needed me.

We made love. I fell asleep holding on to my love. My life.

Early the next afternoon, there was a knock on the apartment door. It was a man I'd never seen before.

He smiled at me, with a leer. "Mario sent me."

I took his hand and with a sigh led him to the bedroom. I guess I have a job to do.