Dark Fantasy: A Hotwife Novel

by Lexi Archer

  Fireworks were going off in my pussy and they were radiating out through the rest of my body. They were going from the tips of my toes which were curling where they rested outside the car to the point that they almost brushed against the garage floor all the way up to the hair at the top of my head which felt like it had to be standing on end like I was being hit by the world's most powerful electric current. Only I wasn't being hit with the world's most powerful electric current. I was just being filled by my husband's cock as my head was filled with that incredible fantasy of Michael's dark cock sliding up inside me!

  I didn't even know exactly where this fantasy came from, just that it was there. That I was intrigued by the idea of getting with a black man. There was just something about the ebony skin, about a well muscled man. Maybe it was the rumors about cock size. Something that I'd never had an opportunity to prove myself since I'd never had an opportunity to get with a black guy.

  It was something that also caused a little bit of embarrassment and guilt. It was the kind of fantasy that seemed just a little silly. It was the sort of fantasy that seemed just a touch racist. A petite white girl getting off on the idea of a black man dominating her?

  I'd been to college. I'd had history courses. I was well aware of the unfortunate and often unspoken racial undercurrent that ran through a good chunk of American society, and there was a very guilty part of me that couldn't help but wonder if my fantasy of being taken by a black man was just another one of those throwbacks to a time when white guys were terrified that black men were going to take their women.

  Of course at the same time I also had trouble seeing my particular brand of this fantasy as even vaguely racist in its undertones even if it wasn't racist in the slightest in the overtones. After all, it's not like I was a guy who was terrified that a black man was going to take his woman and had somehow eroticized that. I was the woman, damn it!

  If anything this fantasy could only take on those traditional unfortunate implications if Brad was the one who had the fantasy, and judging by the way he reacted it didn't seem like he gave a damn what color the guy was who was fucking me, as long as he was getting to watch a guy fucking me. My pussy clenched as that thought ran across my mind. Another guy fucking me. Fuck!

  Of course at this point he'd only seemed interested in watching guys flirting with me, but from the way he was grunting as he finally finished sinking inside me, as he held himself buried inside me, it seemed like he was probably very interested in seeing another man doing this.

  I decided to test the boundaries. To forget all of my ridiculous navel gazing and worrying about why exactly it was that I was so turned on by the idea of getting it on with a black guy. I concentrated on my husband over me. On his heavy breathing. On how wonderful his body felt. On how great his cock felt buried inside me.

  And god damn did his cock feel great buried inside me! Shit! I don't know if it was because of the way I was fantasizing or if it was because of how turned on he was, but it felt bigger than usual. I pulled his head back. Locked eyes with him. Stared at him, and into his soul at the same time.

  "Does it turn you on thinking about Michael fucking me?" I asked.

  "Almost as much as it turns you on thinking about him fucking you!" he said as he pulled out and rammed home inside me again. I grunted as he slammed inside me. I felt as though the wind was being knocked out of me. I felt as though I was being filled to the brim. Filled more than I'd ever been before in my life. Fuck!

  "Touché," I said.

  "So the idea of getting fucked by a black guy turns you on?" Brad asked.

  I thought about that for a moment. I bit my lip. I looked up at my husband and then looked away, a blush coming to my face once more. That seemed to be happening a lot this evening.

  He pulled out and slammed home again. Once more I felt an explosion running from the bundle of nerve endings in my pussy and expanding out to the rest of my body in a wave of incredible heat. I let out an involuntary moan and then I quickly bit my lip again. Brad was staring down at me intently. Waiting for an answer.

  "Yes it turns me on," I said, barely above a whisper.

  All of that guilt, all of the confusing jumble of emotions that I'd just been working through a moment ago, came bubbling to back to the surface. This was stuff I didn't usually think about when I was alone in front of the computer getting off on the idea of being fucked by a chiseled black god, but now that I was admitting the fantasy to someone else it was coming to the forefront.

  Brad seemed to consider that for a moment, then he shrugged and pulled out. Started slamming inside me over and over.

  "I guess it works for me as long as you get hot about the idea of another guy fucking you," he said.

  I looked up at him and grinned. Now it was my turn to have a little bit of fun with this. It was my turn to ask some questions.

  "So the idea of me fucking another man turns you on? Not just flirting?"

  Brad groaned. It seemed like he was having trouble holding on. And it's not like I could blame him. I was so turned on that it felt like every time his cock bottomed out inside me I was having a fresh new orgasm. It seemed like every time he filled me up, every time his cockhead found its home, I was being overcome by a wave of orgasmic pleasure. I was having one hell of a multiple, is what I'm getting at, and still it felt like I was building towards something big. Something huge. Something positively cataclysmic.

  I'd been trying to keep quiet. I'd been mindful of the fact that we were deep in a parking garage where somebody could be walking past at any moment. Where we could get caught at any moment. Only this was all too much. It was too intense. It was all I could do to hold onto consciousness, and doing something like keeping quiet in the face of this overwhelming pleasure was too much for me. It was more than I could bear.

  And so I started to gasp. I started to moan. I started to surrender myself to the pleasure that was already overwhelming me, and I didn't give a fuck if somebody happened to be walking past and maybe heard me. If anything that added to the fun. God this was so hot. It was so intense. It was incredible!

  I squeezed my eyes shut and allowed myself to give over completely. Once more I flashed back to that day in the movie theater parking lot. I thought about how I'd been so loud that I was sure somebody was going to hear us anyways, despite our novel way of concealing ourselves from the world. In the here and now my screams were echoing through the parking garage. I could hear them filling the place. No, someone wouldn't even have to be walking past. All they'd have to do was step off of the elevator or out of the stairs and they'd be able to hear everything. They'd hear it all.

  And so it was probably a good thing we were so close. I decided to twist the knife a little bit though. To really send Brad over the edge. If the idea of me fucking another man turned him on, well then I guess I could give him what he wanted in a major way even as I was fantasizing about what I wanted!

  "I'm thinking about him fucking me right now," I said. "I'm imagining that's your buddy's cock slamming inside me!"

  Brad groaned one final time. He buried himself inside me. He started pumping and I was hit with that hellacious orgasm that had been threatening this entire time. I squeezed my eyes shut and I saw stars and lights dancing in front of the darkness that was the other side of my eyelids. I felt indescribable pleasure. I felt an incredible explosion even as my husband was exploding inside me.

  Fuck! Shit! God damn was this intense!

  It almost felt like it was more than my body could take. It almost felt more intense than I could deal with. I suddenly felt like I was in very real danger of losing consciousness, and so I quickly opened my eyes and stared up at Brad. Tried to hold onto some semblance of reality. To some semblance of consciousness.

  God, that would be just the perfect cap to admitting this embarrassing fantasy. Getting so turned on by being fucked by my husband while we dirty talked that I ended up unconscious and then he would have to run me to the ER. I could just imagine that con
versation with the doctors. I wondered if insurance would even cover orgasm-induced unconsciousness? I'd probably die from embarrassment before I found out whether that was covered though. Which made me wonder if insurance would pay for treatment that was related to the death via embarrassment.

  Luckily none of that happened. Luckily I managed to hold onto consciousness as I came down from that incredible high.

  A good thing too.

  I was still gasping for air as I looked up at Brad. As he smiled down at me. As I felt his cock lodged inside me, and already I could feel some of his come trickling out of me. Holy shit. That must've been one hell of a fantasy scenario for him if he was that excited! If he came that much!

  It's not like he wasn't getting it on the regular, is what I'm trying to say. And it felt like he'd just blown gallons inside me!

  I let my head fall back against the leather seats. God I loved this Lexus. Even more so now. Of course the leather seats weren't anything compared to the leather seating I was hoping to have a little fun on, up in Michael's office, but I'd take it.

  Besides, this way I didn't have the additional guilt of knowing I'd just cheated on my husband, even if that was part of the naughty draw for the fantasy. Even if I sort of had his permission. Hell, it seemed to be most of the naughty draw for the fantasy where Brad was concerned.

  Finally Brad pulled out and it felt as though he'd pulled out a stopper. It felt as though his come was leaking out everywhere. I frowned. Usually we tried to avoid getting messes on the leather seats, but we'd have to make an exception this time. Besides, I didn't think Brad would mind too much this time given the circumstances.

  "You'd better get cleaned up a little bit," he said.

  I looked down at the hot mess lying before him. At my dress which had been pulled up past my thighs, but not much farther. At my thong which was completely inadequate at stemming the tide of his come leaking out of my pussy already, and there wasn't a chance it was going to do anything now considering it had been thoroughly soaked through the evening and then almost ripped off as he pulled it to the side trying to get at my pussy.

  I shook my head and giggled.

  "What's so funny?" Brad asked.

  "I don't think there's going to be any cleaning up from this baby!" I said.

  He started to laugh as well. Started to actually giggle. It sounded odd coming from him. Coming from that otherwise deep voice, but I'd take it.

  "In that case maybe you should just sit back there? I can drive us home and then we can get everything cleaned up from there. How's that sound?"

  I arched an eyebrow at him. "So you're going to be my chauffeur for the evening?"

  He grinned again. "It seems like the least I can do for my lady love considering how good you've been to me tonight."

  I sighed and got up. Plopped myself down in the pool that was forming. That was the sort of thing that was never covered in the movies or even in the books. The cleanup. How messy sex was. Really a pity, too, because it was at least as much a part of the act as actually getting it on in my experience. Oh well.

  Brad climbed into the driver seat and turned the car on and then he was pulling out of the parking spot and we were making our way back home. Back to where I could hopefully take a shower and get a warm washcloth to try and take care of some of this mess that his ardor had created. I leaned back against the seat and closed my eyes. Allowed myself to relax. I could do with a nice relaxing ride home after everything that had happened. It turns out that flirting with your husband's coworker and then getting the ever loving daylights fucked out of you by your husband in response took a lot out of a girl!

  Yeah, a nice quiet ride home was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  "So Megan," Brad said. "Why don't you tell me a little more about this fantasy you have about Michael? Or is it just black men in general?"

  My eyes flew open. Damn it. So much for that nice quiet ride home.

  5: Dark Fantasies

  "Are you sure you want to hear about this?" Megan asked.

  I thought about that for a moment. Though it's not like I had to think too terribly hard about it. Did I want to hear about my wife fantasizing about getting it on with other men? You bet your ass I did! Only she seemed reluctant for some reason. She seemed hesitant to talk about her fantasy. Which was odd, considering my own fantasy was already so out there.

  Next to wanting to watch your wife fucking another man the idea of getting it on with a black guy turning my wife on really wasn't that odd. Actually it dovetailed quite nicely with my own fantasy, though I wasn't going to point that out. It seemed obvious enough without drawing attention to it.

  Though even if I didn't quite agree with my wife's reluctance to talk about her fantasy, at the very least I could understand it. I recognized some of the reluctance I'd felt from my own time raking myself over the coals worrying about what she'd think about my fantasy of watching her with other men. It'd been such a fucking relief when I finally came clean. When I finally told her everything. Only I'd been terrified of the way she'd react up until the moment that it escaped my lips and I saw a small smile playing across her face. Hell, it had taken her fucking me and integrating my fantasy into some of our dirty talk to really put my mind at ease.

  So I could understand why she was a little reluctant to talk about a fantasy that maybe embarrassed her just a little bit. Though I couldn't for the life of me figure out why being into black guys would necessarily embarrass my wife. I'd never exactly compared sizes with Michael to confirm, but the rumors all said they were supposed to be well endowed, and wasn't that what the ladies were supposed to be all about?

  At least that seemed to be what the ladies were all about in some of the fantasies I read about online. Hell, that theme was downright common in the stuff I read. Like I said, her fantasy seemed to dovetail quite nicely with my own. I just had to get it out of her.

  "Why don't we start simple babe," I said. "How long have you had this fantasy?"

  "A couple of years," she whispered.

  Damn. She'd been fantasizing about this for a couple of years now? That was almost as long as she'd known about how I got off on other guys getting off on her! I wish she'd told me about this a lot sooner.

  "Why didn't you say anything? That sounds like it's right up our alley, all things considered," I said.

  "Because I'm embarrassed," she said.

  I looked into the rearview mirror. Readjusted it so I was looking into the back seat. Looking at the sexy shadow that was my wife rather than at the headlights of the asshole behind me who didn't seem to know how to turn his brights off. I tried to look for any sort of expression on her face, but she was covered in darkness. It was hard to see anything. I would just have to go on conversational cues for this one.

  "Surely that can't be more embarrassing than me getting off on the idea of you fucking other men babe," I said.

  I looked in the rearview mirror again. Megan shook her head. She shook it rather emphatically. Damn. I wondered what it was that was bothering her about this so much. I wondered if it would even be worth it for me to try and draw it out of her.

  "You don't understand," she said. "I feel so guilty. It's so ridiculous, but a petite white girl wanting the big muscular black man? Don't you think that sounds a little… You know?"

  And suddenly it dawned on me exactly why my wife was so reluctant to bring up this fantasy in the first place. I laughed. I knew that probably wasn't the best response to the situation, but I couldn't help myself.

  "I don't see what's so damn funny!" she said.

  I shook my head and reached up to wipe a tear from my eye. I couldn't help it. It was so ridiculous. It was kind of funny, even if she didn't see the humor in it.

  "I'm sorry honey," I said. "If you don't think it's funny then obviously it isn't very funny."

  "Obviously you think it's pretty damn funny!"

  I was starting to lose control of the conversation. She was starting to sound really pissed off. Tha
t wasn't the place I wanted this to go. No, I wanted this to be a fun and breezy conversation where we shared our fantasy life with each other. Hell, I'd been convinced for quite awhile that she didn't even have a fantasy life. Whenever I asked her about her fantasies she just shook her head and said that making me happy was what turned her on. Apparently that had been one hell of a whopper, but also she was obviously really conflicted about it. And suddenly I understood why, even if I thought it was ridiculous.

  Leave it to my wife. The good girl. The liberal arts creative writing major who was always on a crusade back in college and didn't want to lift a finger to do something that might be offensive intentional or not. Yeah, I could see where she would be a little ashamed of her fantasy of being taken by a big strong black man. After all, there were some uncomfortable historical undertones in to that fantasy. I wasn't stupid.

  Only this was the modern era. I'm not saying racism wasn't a thing anymore or anything like that. Again, not stupid. But if anything I figured whoever got to fuck her as a result of her little fantasy would be more than happy to take advantage of some of those unfortunate historical undertones and turn those culturally and historically loaded lemons into lemonade, as it were. To get a chance to fuck the hot white girl. Sure I was projecting, I was just guessing, but still. I just had a hunch, knowing how Michael worked.

  "You really shouldn't feel that guilty about it babe," I said. "You feel the way you feel and you can't help what turns you on. As long as it's a fantasy being shared by consenting adults who cares?"

  That echoed the sentiments that I felt fairly strongly after I came to terms with my own fantasy of watching her with another man. Of course my fantasies had never run to being ridiculously turned on by the idea of her with a black guy. I knew that was a thing, mostly because it was so damn frustrating trying to find a video that catered to my particular brand of the whole wife watching fetish since everybody seemed to be obsessed with women getting railed by big black cocks while the husband or boyfriend watched on, but at the same time I wasn't going to turn away the idea of my wife fucking another man no matter what the color of his skin. My fantasy was fairly egalitarian, equal opportunity, when it came to that. A guy was a guy and a cock was a cock as long as it was going inside my wife. It didn't particularly matter what color his skin was.