Watching My Wife Go Black, Again

by Hannah Wilde

  I’d recognize that face anywhere, and seconds later I find my theory satisfied as Sarah starts to cum, seizing the cocks tightly as she shakes in blissful orgasm. I can see her stomach muscles constrict, pulsing with waves of unbearable sensitivity. She leans back her head and let’s out a blood-curling scream, completely lost in the moment.

  “Oh shit.” Vincent says, laughing. “What if that husband of yours hears you?”

  “I don’t give a fuck.” Sarah says, collecting herself. “He needs to learn that it’s going to take a whole collection of dick to satisfy me.”

  The guys start laughing as she pulls away from then and sits up in bed.

  “Big juicy, black cocks.” Sarah says. “Now somebody lay down.”

  One of the mean takes off his shirt and lays back in the bed, his incredible, ripped abs popping as he maneuvers himself into position. Sarah then climbs on top of him and, in one swift motion, shoves his enormous tree-trunk-of-a-cock into her pussy. She starts to ride him, grinding her hips deeply against his body as he reaches back and holds open her ass for entry. Vincent gets the signal loud and clear, climbing up behind my wife and pushing into her already gaping asshole, stretched from the abuse it had taken just moments before.

  My wife lets out a shocked yelp, but quickly collects herself and continues to ride. The men are beside themselves as they use her gorgeous white body, soaking in the incredible perfection of her slight frame between their huge, athletic physiques.

  From my vantage in the closet I can only see the back of her, but watching the space between her pussy and ass stretch as she takes their two dick is enough to make me nearly pass out.

  Eventually, Sarah starts to scream again, reeling as a second orgasm rocks her body. The guys don’t slow down a bit, railing her as she shrieks until Vincent himself starts to moan and thrusts deep into her ass.

  “Cum inside of me right fucking now!” Sarah yells, looking back over her shoulder. “Dump your fucking load up my asshole.”

  Vincent does as he’s told, giving one final thrust and then holding tight against her ass, locked into position as his giant black cock unloads pump after pump of sticky jizz. The man below her starts cumming as well, shaking wildly as he erupts with a wad so big that it begins to spill out of the corners of her tight pussy.

  “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” Sarah starts to repeat, holding her head in her hand. “I didn’t bring my birth control.”

  I should be terrified as I hear this, but for some reason it’s the absolute sexiest thing she could have said. My beautiful wife, driven so mad with lust, has taken a load without consequence or fear, just an utterly insane desire for huge black dick.

  The guys slip out of her, spilling their white cum all over the bedspread as Sarah flips over and beacons for the other two men.

  “You know what? I don’t fucking care.” She states, matter-of-factly. “I want your cum in my pussy right now.”

  Sarah spreads herself open and waits for the two men to enter her, which they do one after another and quickly blast their spunk. As the second one pulls away, Sarah reaches down and fingers herself, playing in the milk liquid that fills her slit to the brim. It’s at that moment that I finally have a release of my own, spilling a massive splatter of jizz against the inside door of our closet.

  Satisfied, the men gather their clothes and dress themselves, leaving without so much as a kiss on the cheek.

  Once they’ve gone, I slowly open the closet door and step out, walking over to the bed and collapsing into it next to my wife, who’s covered in sweat and sperm. She rolls over and kisses me deeply on the mouth.

  “That was so good.” She tells me. “I’ve never cum like that in my life.”

  I nod in agreement. “We need to do it more often. Let’s not wait like last time.”

  Sarah props herself up on one arm and looks at me, shaking her head in disbelief. “Can I be honest? I still can’t quite wrap my head around why you like this so much.” She says. “But, I’m glad that you do.”

  I smile. “I’m glad too.”

  “What if we take things too far?” She asks.

  I immediately start laughing. “Too far? How could we go any farther?”

  Sarah cracks a slight smile, a hidden plan brewing somewhere deep inside of her. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

  Sometimes a little extra can go a long way! As a special treat from me to you, please enjoy this fun and filthy bonus story:

  LET’S DP MY WIFE

  A Dancer’s Body

  There’s plenty to appreciate about the body of an attractive woman; be it her long legs, heavenly tits or perfectly toned ass. The thing is, a truly exquisite body is so rare that we almost never see it in real daily life. Sure there are commercials, television actresses and billboard models to wet our appetite for bare skin, but when it comes to the real world, that type of genetic prowess is almost impossible to find.

  That is, of course, unless you’re lucky enough to be married to a professional dancer.

  In general, dancers are an interesting bunch, as I’ve learned over the last three years of marriage to my darling wife, Alana. They run in a tight nit social group and always seem to be busy, although when you ask them exactly what it is they’re doing the answer is always pretty vague.

  “Working on something.” My wife usually says before she heads out the door to her dance studio, which she co-owns with a friend.

  They teach lessons and put on all sorts of shows, ranging in dance styles that span the globe, but focused mostly on variations of basic hip-hop. It’s a great artistic outlet for Alana, and she enjoys it a lot, which, of course, makes me a very thankful husband. Of course, there is also the nice bonus of having a wife with a body that’s damn near supernaturally toned.

  We have a great life, and I couldn’t be happier.

  “What are you doing Sunday night?” Alana asks me.

  “Nothing, yet.” I tell her, sitting down next to my wife on our deck that overlooks downtown Los Angeles. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting a beautiful blooming purple across the clouds and causing the buildings to take on the form of powerful, looming silhouettes. We sit out here a lot and watch the sunset, each in our own special deck chair. Usually, we’re both sipping ice cold beers as we do this, but Alana has a night class that starts in a half hour.

  “I had an idea.” Alana tells me, her eyes still transfixed on the beautiful urban view that stretches out before us.

  “Oh yeah?” I question, popping the cap off of my drink with a loud hiss. “Tell me.”

  “My advanced class is doing really good.” Alana explains. “Like, really good, probably the best I’ve ever had. We’re all getting so…” she trails off, struggling to find the words. “Close.”

  “That’s great!” I say, unable to keep myself from smiling at the twinkle in my wife’s eye. I love it when Alana gets excited like this, so much passion is such a tight little dancer’s body.

  “I guess dance can do that to you.” Alana continues, speaking her thoughts as they come to her, riffing now the same way that she would freestyle to a song. “It’s like, you get to know these people so intimately, their bodies, the way that they move.”

  “Damn.” I laugh. “It sounds like you’re fucking them.”

  Alana glances over at me for a moment, a strange look in her eye that I can’t quite put my finger on. For a brief moment, it’s actually kind of awkward, but then seconds later my wife cracks a smile and joins in with the laughter. “Yeah, I suppose that it kind of is. Anyway, I was just thinking that it feels so weird when my classes end and my students just go away, especially the really good ones.”

  I shrug. “I guess that’s just kinda what happens, right? That’s what it’s like when you’re a teacher, eventually your students leave the nest.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Alana agrees. “But I want to see them off, not just shove them out and hope that they can fly.”

  I finally can’t help it and longer and roll my eyes
in exasperation. “Okay, enough with the metaphors. What’s up? What’s your idea?”

  “I was thinking that, at the end of each season, we could invite my best student over for dinner or something.” Alana suggests. “I’m just sick of getting so close to these people and then one day they’re gone without a trace.”

  I nod in agreement. “That sounds like a great idea!”

  “So… Sunday then?” Alana asks again.

  “Sure thing, I’ll be here.” I tell her. “Whose the lucky girl?”

  My wife pauses for a moment. “Lucky guy, actually.”

  I’m a little shocked to hear this. Almost all of Alana’s students are women, for whatever reason. I can’t even remember the last time she had a male student in any of her classes. “Whoa, okay.” I answer. “That’s awesome. Is he pretty good?”

  Alana seems lost in thought for a moment, as if recalling some beautiful memory and transporting herself there. “He’s incredible.”

  There’s something that, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, makes me a little uncomfortable about the way that Alana says this. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but my wife is definitely not being entirely upfront about the entire situation, and I know it. Still, I’m not worried. Alana’s sexual apatite may be voracious, but she’d never ever cheat on me. I’m sure her feelings of admiration for this particular student are strictly professional, nothing more.

  “Well, I’m excited to meet him.” I tell Alana, taking another long sip of my beer.

  We sit in silence for a while longer until my wife glances down and notices the time. “Shit!” She cries, hopping up to her feet. “Class is about to start. I’m gonna be late!”

  Alana grabs her purse and gives me a quick kiss, then heads straight towards the door of our apartment. “Love you, Ian!” She shouts over her shoulder.

  “Love you, too!” I tell her.

  The second that I hear the door close behind her my imagination begins to run wild.

  I try to contain the thoughts at first, not at all wanting to transform into the overbearing, jealous husband that we all have lurking somewhere deep inside of us, but it’s hard not to when you have a prize like mine on your arm. What could it possibly mean when Alana got awkward about her student? Was she hiding something?

  There is a wicked knot twisting and turning at the pit of my stomach, rolling up into a ball and then stretching out again as I try desperately to keep my mind under control. I trust Alana, I tell myself, repeating it over and over again within my head like a mantra. I have no reason not to.

  The jealousy puts up a valiant fight however, and soon the big green monster starts to envelope me. I begin to actually consider opening up my wife’s email and seeing if I can find anything suspicious, but I force myself to push those thoughts away and lock them up tight.

  Stranger than the jealousy, however, is the intense feeling of lust that comes along with it. I have no idea why, but the thought of Alana messing around with this student of hers is actually kind of a turn on, in some strange way. The more my thoughts focus on my beautiful wife’s infidelity, the harder my cock seems to get in my pants until, finally, I just can’t take it any longer.

  I unzip, right then and there on the deck, and pull out my aching rod, beating it slowly. Closing my eyes, I imagine my wife resting on her knees, servicing some faceless other man down at the dance studio. I picture them sprawled out on the mats, his dick buried deep inside of her tight little asshole as she squeals, her wedding ring off and resting on the counter nearby.

  It doesn’t take me long to cum, blowing my load hard as I cry out loud and then falling back into the chair. I feel as though a Pandora’s box has been opened within my soul, and there’s no going back. I’ve finally discovered how much I enjoy the thought of my wife with another man and, as much as I don’t understand it, the fantasy is too overwhelming to ignore.

  “Ian, this is Carter.” Alana says, introducing me to her young and incredibly handsome student as he comes walking through the door of our apartment.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Carter says with a big, broad smile.

  Even being objective as I can be, Carter is breathtakingly handsome, a muscular frame that leads up to his boyish face and a perfectly chiseled jaw.

  “It’s nice to meet you, too.” I tell Carter, shaking his hand firmly. “I’ve heard you really know what you’re doing with my wife.”

  Carter and Alana stop abruptly, suddenly uncomfortable with the way that I phrased that.

  “On the dance floor.” I add. “That’s what you call it right? The dance floor?”

  Alana rolls her eyes and starts to push me over to the table. “Don’t mind him.” She calls back to Carter. “My husband is a little strange.”

  I laugh. As awkward as I can be, it’s good to know that my wife is still amused by it.

  Alana pulls out two chairs at our round table and motions for Carter and me to sit, then heads back into the kitchen and starts finishing a few things up.

  “I’m sorry, it’s almost ready I promise.” She calls out to us.

  Carter looks around our place, clearly impressed. Despite the killer money that my wife makes with her dance studio, I’m still the breadwinner of the family, and our apartment definitely reflects a lifestyle that can only be attained by a fortunate few.

  “This is a really nice place.” Carter gushes, trying his best to make small talk.

  “Thanks.” I say. “Wine?”

  Carter nods and I pour him a glass.

  From the other room we can hear Alana banging around with some pots and pans, clearly working hard to provide us with something very impressive. Moments later, my wife emerges with a hot plate of delicious smelling eggplant parmesan, serving us up and then sitting down to join us.

  “Before we dive in.” I announce loudly, lifting my glass. “I just wanted to say how great it is to share our home with someone new tonight. Sharing is something that I hope me and Alana can do more often.”

  My wife flashes me a strange look, but then recovers nicely and joins in with the toast. “Cheers!” Alana adds.

  The wine continues to flow over the course of the meal, loosening everyone up enough so that, eventually, the conversation takes a natural turn towards sex.

  “You know, the great thing about you dancers is that they know how to use their body in the bedroom.” I say, winking at my wife.

  “Yeah, I think that’s defiantly true.” Carter agrees.

  “I can only imagine what it’s like when two dancers get it on with each other.” I continue, and then look deep into Alana’s eyes. “Have you ever thought about that? What it would be like to fuck another dancer?”

  Alana looks mortified as I say this, clearly not finding my bluntness the least bit entertaining. “Ian, can I see you in the kitchen for a moment?” She asks sternly.

  “Sure.” Tell her, standing up and following my wife into the other room while Carter remains awkwardly posted at the dining table.

  The second that we get out of earshot Alana spins around with a fire in her eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” She hisses.

  “What?” I counter. “I’m just having fun.”

  Alana shakes her head. “You’re acting so… jealous.”

  I’m absolutely shocked when she says this. “Why?”

  “You won’t stop talking about sex!” Alana says. “So he’s a cute guy, so what? That doesn’t mean that I want to fuck him!”

  I laugh as Alana says this and go in for a hug, which my wife accepts graciously. “Oh no baby, that’s not it at all.” I tell her. “I’m not jealous, I’m actually kinda…” I trail off, not exactly sure how to tell her.

  “Kinda what?” Alana asks.

  “Into it.” I finally say. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot and, honestly, the idea of sharing you with another man has been really turning me on.”

  Alana looks absolutely dumbfounded, her jaw literally hanging open as she stands in shocked silence. �
��Wait, are you serious?” She asks.

  I nod.

  “You want to share me?” My wife clarifies, still having trouble processing this new information. “With Carter?”

  I nod, again.

  Alana leans back against the fridge, looking as though she’s about to pass out. I’m not sure if her exasperation is out of confusion or arousal as she struggles to collect herself, but eventually she pulls it together enough to finally tell me, “That’s so fucking hot.”

  “Really?” I ask, my eyes lighting up.

  “Yeah.” Alana nods, “I can’t even fucking tell you how hot that is.”

  “Then let’s do it!” I beg her, unable to contain my excitement.

  Alana narrows her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.” I promise.

  My wife considers it all for a moment and then finally nods in the affirmative. “Okay.” She says.

  We make our way back into the dining room and find that Carter is already at the door of our apartment, pulling on his jacket and turning to leave.

  “Hey!” I shout. “You don’t have to go! Come on now.”

  “No, it’s okay, really. I feel like I’m interrupting something.” Carter explains. “Besides, I really need to go work on the new choreography.”

  “It’s fine!” Alana chimes in. “Stay.”

  Carter shakes his head, clearly a little flustered. “Nah, I really should work on this tonight.”

  He starts to leave but, before he can, Alana offers one final suggestion. “Wait! Why don’t you come down to the studio and work?”

  Carter pauses. “It’s all closed up for the night, though. Isn’t it?” He asks.

  “You’re having dinner with the owner.” Alana laughs, “I’ve got the keys right here and the studio’s only a block away. We’ll walk you over and open it up for you.”

  Carter looks from Alana to me and then back again. “Are you sure that’s okay?”