MY INSATIABLE WIFE: a sweet cuckold romance
Page 52
HER BLACK BODYGUARD
By Polly Andrea Busch
Copyright 2015 by Polly Andrea Busch. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or any method including (without limitation) electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This work is a work of fiction. All characters in the work are fictitious and any similarity to any other person, living or dead, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. All characters in this publication are twenty-one years of age or older. All rights reserved.
* * *
“The newspaper reported that our committee voted to shut down the plant,” my wife Makayla said. I was driving home in my car and taking her call over Bluetooth. “They named our names, and now we’re receiving death threats at corporate headquarters.”
“Oh my God,” I replied. When my wife was promoted to director at twenty-eight years old, one of their youngest directors, I knew that she’d be involved in important business deals. But everybody in town either worked at the metal stamping plant or had a family member or friend who did, and this was bound to be unpopular. “I hope you’ve contacted the police.”
“Everything has been reported, Austin,” she said. “I understand why people are angry but the Willow Haven plant simply wasn’t profitable enough. It wasn’t competitive and we have better uses for those resources. Now two thousand people are losing their jobs, and all it takes is one of those people to do something stupid. The company is assigning a bodyguard to every member of the committee. He or she will stop by our house tonight. The bodyguard will provide twenty-four hour protection to me.”
“This person will be staying at our house?”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s temporary but for now it has to be done.”
I cooked dinner and when Makayla arrived, we watched the local news as we ate. Although they didn’t reiterate any names, they mentioned how the local newspaper had published the names of the people on the committee that voted to shut down the plant and that death threats had been made. I was so happy to know that a bodyguard would be protecting us. I’m a firm believer in non-violence and I don’t own any weapons, so having somebody in the house to protect my wife seemed like a great idea.
About an hour later, I heard a knock on our front door. I was a little worried to answer the door but I looked through the peephole. It was a tall black man holding out a badge that I couldn’t quite read. I unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door. The man stood about 6’5 with broad shoulders and a muscular physique, built like a bull dog.
“Hi,” he said, shaking my hand with a strong grip. “I’m looking for Makayla.”
“I’m Makayla,” my wife said, stepping up behind me. “You must be Tavon.” She offered him her hand and flashed a friendly smile.
He smiled. “I am. Wellerton has assigned me to protect you for at least the next week. If you can direct me to where I’ll be staying, I have some bags in my car.”
Makayla showed him where the guest room was located on the lower floor. He had three bags in the trunk of his Toyota Corolla and I helped him bring them inside. That night, while I worked on my computer finishing up a project for work, Tavon and Makayla were in the living room talking, sipping on cups of tea and watching television. I noticed that the way she was looking at him was more than just friendly. She was clearly attracted to her strong, masculine bodyguard. That night, I went to bed while the two of them were still talking.
In the morning, I woke to find Makayla was in bed next to me. When we got dressed, she spent the morning talking with Tavon and they left. When I walked outside to use my car, I noticed that my car wasn’t in the garage. Instead, Tavon’s car was parked in my side of the garage. Obviously they were sharing her car to work. I looked around and noticed that my car was now parked out on the street.
After work, everything seemed normal. Tavon joined us for dinner and it sounded like the two of them were hitting it off. There seemed to be a real chemistry between the two of them. Frankly, I’d never thought that my wife was attracted to black guys but she clearly had a thing for Tavon. That evening Makayla asked if I’d like to watch a movie with them, a thriller that was now available for rental. I declined, having to work on my project, and I saw her sitting next to him on the couch as they watched the movie. Afterwards, I went to bed.
In the middle of the night, I thought I felt the bed move and heard steps going down the stairs. A few minutes later, opened my eyes and realized that Makayla wasn’t in bed. I suddenly felt worried for her safety. I checked the upstairs bathrooms and didn’t see her. Then I tiptoed downstairs. When I approached the guest room, I heard soft whispering inside. I opened the door just a crack and, in the moonlit room, saw Tavon sitting on the edge of the bed wearing just a wife beater shirt. My wife was standing next to the bed wearing a white nightgown, kneeling down as she sucked on his cock. I saw her eyes meeting his as she licked his shaft. It was hard to tell with the lighting, but it seemed to be seven or eight inches long and a good bit thicker than mine. Tavon was leaning back, holding himself up with his hands, and quietly moaning.
“I want to fuck you,” Tavon whispered, laying back on the bed, his cock standing tall.
Makayla pulled up the bottom of her nightgown, got on the bed, and lowered herself onto his rod. As she began slowly grinding onto him, the bottom of her nightgown fell and covered up everything. Still, I saw her leaning forward and kissing him, and his big black hands holding my wife’s ass as she fucked him. I could hear their heavy breathing and smell her wet pussy. After a few minutes, he flipped her over into the missionary position. Tavon pulled up the bottom of her nightgown just enough so that I could see her hairy pussy. He then began pounding her hard, and I heard the bed squeaking as he fucked her.
“Oh god, baby,” Makayla whispered, “you’re so much bigger than my husband. It feels so good inside of me.” She lifted her legs up and locked her ankles around his waist.
“Yeah?” Tavon whispered back. From the moonlight, I could see his powerful, muscular frame was moving like a machine, his large black balls pounding against her pale white ass. “Your pussy feels good.”
A few minutes later, I heard his breathing quickening.
“Do it, baby,” my wife pleaded, her delicate white hands around his broad shoulders. “Come inside of me.”
With a muted grunt, Tavon threw his head back and pushed deep inside of my wife. He breathed heavily, said “damn,” then they went back to kissing. I slowly walked away, back up to bed. About fifteen minutes later, Makayla sneaked into our room and slipped under the sheets with me. I had an erection and couldn’t sleep after what I’d seen, so I went to the bathroom to jerk off, then returned to bed.
Tavon stayed with us the next three weeks until the political situation seemed to die down and my wife’s company ended the arrangement. But Makayla told me that she didn’t feel safe yet and asked if we could privately pay for Tavon’s services. I agreed, and that lasted for another three months. Nearly every night, Makayla would either sneak out of our bedroom and go down to the guest room.
I pretended not to know what was going on, but I started to approach her for sex whenever she would return I would try to initiate sex. At first she was reluctant, saying that it was too late at night, but I was eager to get my face into her pussy. Once I managed to do it, she really seemed to get off on my eating her pussy just after she’d been with Tavon. I’d then slip my cock inside of her. Even though his cock is so much larger than mine, she never felt loose to me and I enjoyed the silky feeling of her black lover’s semen lubricating our fuck. It was so erotic that I’d shoot my load in just a few minutes, then Makayla and I would cuddle as we drifted off to sleep.
Makayla still texts with Tavon. I suspect that they are still having sex, but it’s not as co
nvenient as it was before. Although the plant closing is no longer a concern, Makayla says she doesn’t feel safe without any firearms in our house and she’d like to bring Tavon back. We just learned that Makayla is pregnant, so I told her that I don’t think we can afford him right now. Happily, though, Tavon left his company and now that he’s working on his own, he’s told me that he’d be willing to offer his executive protection services for half of what Wellerton was charging if we’d give him a long-term contract and provide him with room and board. We’re seriously considering it!
THAT NICE OLD BLACK MAN
By Polly Andrea Busch
Copyright 2015 by Polly Andrea Busch. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or any method including (without limitation) electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This work is a work of fiction. All characters in the work are fictitious and any similarity to any other person, living or dead, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. All characters in this publication are twenty-one years of age or older. All rights reserved.
* * *
My name is Riley. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old happily married woman. I write articles for a living. Like most Americans, I’m a huge fan of television personality Sid Grandy and I look at him as a father figure because of his TV roles. He hardly ever grants an interview, so when I learned that he’d enjoyed my recent interview on the local news and would grant me the opportunity to interview him, I was ecstatic.
Grandy’s representative told me that I should meet him at his hotel room at seven o’clock that night. He was shooting a movie and he would be available for an interview at that time.
I knocked on his hotel room door. “Mister Grandy?”
A moment later, I heard footsteps to the door. I felt in awe when I saw him standing in front of me. The famous Sid Grandy, wearing a smoking jacket and holding a glass of wine, smiled at me. He was in his mid-sixties and his curly hair was all white. “Come inside, my dear.”
When I stepped inside of his hotel suite, I was impressed at how large it was. It appeared to me a small, high-end apartment. “Please have a seat,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.” I sat down on a sofa near the wall.
“I just need to get situated,” I said, opening my laptop.
“Of course,” he said. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, I’m not much of a drinker,” I said.
“It’s very good. This bottle costs $500. I think you’d enjoy a glass. I think it makes everything go smoother if we each have a glass.”
“Okay,” I said with a smile. I couldn’t see any harm in it. He walked into the kitchen area and came out with a wine glass. He handed it to me and I began taking sips.
As we began the interview, I asked him about his boyhood recollections and how he got to Hollywood. It was great to hear his stories, and he was name dropping famous celebrities from before I was born. As we spoke, though, I started to feel very sleepy. I fought it, of course, but I soon reached a point where I couldn’t take it much longer.
“Whew, I guess I really am a light-weight,” I said. “This wine really hit me hard.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “Why don’t you take a little rest? Lay down for a little while.”
Grandy stood up and led me to the bedroom. When I hit the bed, I felt like I was falling through it. I can’t remember feeling that tired in years. I could feel him removing my clothes but I didn’t really think anything about it. I just wanted to sleep.
A moment later, I felt him lifting pulling my legs apart, which were basically dead weight. As I lay there, going in and out of consciousness, I felt his presence on top of me and his breathing on my neck. I could feel him penetrating my pussy and I could feel that his cock was much larger than my husband’s, filling me as it slid in and out of me. I thought I could feel his hands rubbing my breasts. It seemed so real but I’m pretty sure it was just a dream.
When I woke up, it was the next morning. I was laying in the bed fully clothed.
“Good morning,” Grandy said, walking around the corner holding a cup of coffee and wearing a black robe. “You must have been awfully tired.”
Suddenly I panicked. “What time is it?”
“It’s six thirty in the morning.”
“Oh, my God, I gotta get out of here.” I found my cell phone which had been turned off. I quickly closed my laptop, put it back in my backpack, and left the hotel. “I have to get to work.” On the way down the elevator, I saw five missed calls from Jackson, my husband. I called and explained to him that I’d suddenly gotten very tired. I raced home, quickly showered, and managed to make it back to the office on time. However, looking back at my notes from my meeting with him, I hadn’t finished the interview.
I called Sid Grandy’s representative and asked if I could finish the interview. He generously agreed. I went back to his hotel suite three times. Repeatedly, I kept getting terribly tired and I’d wake up in his bed with strange, vague fantasies of having had sex with him. I knew it hadn’t happened because I was fully clothed, but I did have that snappy feeling in my vagina the next day as if I’d had sex. Regardless, the third time was the charm and I had everything that I needed. I submitted the article to a national magazine and they loved it, and now I’m writing a regular column for them.
I don’t really understand why I got so tired when I visited Grandy’s hotel suite. Part of me wonders whether I have an allergy to something in the hotel. Another possibility is that it’s related to pregnancy – I found out that I’m pregnant a few weeks later. I’ve started my third trimester and it’s a healthy baby boy. Jackson and I are so excited to welcome our first baby into the world. We’d been trying for years with no success and finally we have a baby on the way. Two of the greatest moments in my life – meeting Sid Grandy and having my first baby – all happening in the same year. What are the odds?
LIVING WITH HER VIOLENT EX
By Polly Andrea Busch
Copyright 2015 by Polly Andrea Busch. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or any method including (without limitation) electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. This work is a work of fiction. All characters in the work are fictitious and any similarity to any other person, living or dead, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. All characters in this publication are twenty-one years of age or older. All rights reserved.
* * *
“Come on, Zoe,” I said to my wife as we sat at the dining room table, reviewing our bills. “We can’t move in with Lester. Don’t you remember why you left him in the first place?”
“Of course I do, Justin. But we don’t have the money to live on our own right now. Lester owns his own business and he’s doing very well.” She put her hand on top of mine. “It would only be for a few months or so, until you can get on your feet.”
I knew that she was right. When I’d graduated with a degree in accounting, I had trouble finding work and took a job with a guy who was a total asshole and paid me terribly. (He did pay me bonuses for hitting monthly goals but they were virtually impossible to meet. I responded by pushing some of the work from one month into the next so I could hit it. The bastard could never figure out why my numbers kept zigzagging, earning the bonus every other month.) When I finally left his accounting firm and started my own practice, I only had a few clients. I knew it would probably take me a couple of years to fully get up to speed. Zoe, with her job as a receptionist, helped with her modest income. We weren’t making enough money to break even, and our credit cards were getting maxed
out.
My wife Zoe, an attractive woman with wavy black hair, dated Lester for two years. Although he owned dry cleaning franchise and was quite successful, he was controlling and often physically and emotionally violent. Zoe was deeply in love with him and found him incredibly attractive, so she had trouble leaving him, but eventually she managed to leave him and I asked her out. The rest is history. When Lester offered to let us move in with him, Zoe told him that she’d ask me. If I’d had any choice in the matter, I wouldn’t have agreed but we were running out of options. We just needed a place to live until my business took off, so I agreed. We gave our notice at our apartment complex, borrowed my friend’s truck, and moved our stuff into his house.
At first everything was great. Lester’s house is 3,400 square feet on a small lake. Zoe and I moved into one of his guest rooms, where we had our own bathroom and close access to the kitchen. I was able to set up my laptop in the den to use as my home office. Although I noticed some flirty behavior between Zoe and Lester, I knew that she was committed to me. Besides, Lester had a constant stream of beautiful young white women coming into the house. He’d take them into his bedroom and I’d hear them moaning in pleasure as he fucked them. When he was done using them, he’d call them a taxi and usher them out of his house. I figured that he had enough white women that he wouldn’t need to go after Zoe.
But one night, I was sleeping in and noticed that Zoe wasn’t in the bed beside me. The night before I’d tried to initiate love making with Zoe but she said she had a headache, and I’d had a little trouble sleeping due to having an erection much of the night. I decided to get up, slip into the bathroom and jerk off. As I did, I heard Zoe laughing quietly down the hallway, in the direction of Lester’s bedroom. I tiptoed down the hallway and saw that the doorway was open just a crack. I could see Lester sitting on his bed, wearing just his pair of shorts, and Zoe was sitting next to him on blankets with a muted Scottish tartan pattern. She was wearing a white bra, panties, stockings and garter belt. I noticed that there was a large wet spot in the crotch of those white panties. Zoe seldom wore lingerie and I’d never seen her wearing that outfit before. I wondered if she’d bought it for Lester.