White Wife Becomes a BBC Slut part3
A few days passed from my “cucumber” incident. I tried to keep my thoughts clean. It helped that it was a busy week. I was back at work after being off for the weekend. The k**s were busy with football practice and dance and that kept me busy after work was over. By the time I got home it was late and my husband and I were both tired. We usually were ready for bed soon after and there was no hanky panky. By Wednesday I was doing pretty good. Most of the memories of Roger’s penis and the black guys from the church and my crazy dream were coming to mind less often.
That Wednesday, I worked all day and then picked my k**s up from school and the dance studio. We went straight to church for dinner and activities and again it was late before we got home. John (my husband) settled down in front of the TV while I got the k**s off to bed. When I came in to join him for a few minutes before bed, he was laughing at a commercial that had just played.
“What? What’s so funny?” I said. He hit the button on the remote that causes the DVR to skip back and repeat what just played. It was a corny commercial for Old Spice featuring a handsome black man donning only a towel. He spoke in a deep, sexy voice and said something like, “Hello ladies. Look at your man. Now back at me. Now back at your man. Now back to me. Sadly, he isn’t me. But if he stopped using lady-scented body wash and switched to Old Spice he could smell like me.” The commercial went on with comical parade of scene changes ending with the man astride a horse. “I’m on a horse.”
My husband let out a fresh round of laughter and I joined him. “Maybe I should get some of that” I said and we had another laugh. “Maybe you should” he said. We watched TV for a few minutes and then shuffled down the hall to the bedroom to go to sl**p. I stepped in to use the bathroom before climbing into bed. As I pulled down my panties and sat on the john I noticed a wet spot in the crotch of my panties. Where did that come from?
I finished up and climbed in the bed. I turned toward John and rubbed his shoulders. “Are you in the mood hun?”
“Hmm…” He said in a negative tone. "It’s been a really long day and I’m really tired. You?”
“Yeah. I’m tired too. Maybe you could just use your fingers. I’ll return the favor.”
A moment passed as he considered. He sighed through his nose. “Ok.” He said and turned over toward me. “Hand me the stuff” he said referring to the lube we usually apply to overcome my vaginal dryness.
“It’s ok,” I said as I pulled down my panties. “I don’t think I need it tonight.”
He placed his hand over my lady and let his finger slip between my lips to where I’m most sensitive. I helped adjust his fingers a little because he was pulling my pubic hair. My muff was pretty hairy that night. During the summer I usually keep her neatly trimmed so I can wear a bikini. But when the swimming stops I don’t worry about it as much.
John worked his fingers around and around until I settled into the mood. After 10 years of sex he knows sort of what to do and what I like. But it wasn’t doing it for me until I thought about the guy in the commercial. “Look at your man. Now look at me. Now back at your man. Now back at me. Sadly, he isn’t me.”
Sad indeed. I was tempted to go into another fantasy. Maybe one with that “man on the horse” but I decided not to. That was beneath my dignity. “I’m not that kind of woman” I reminded myself. “I’m classy. I’m beautiful. I’m married. I have wonderful k**s. I go to church. I’m too good for those kinds of thoughts.”
I reached down and helped adjust John’s hand again. I clenched my stomach muscles and stiffened my legs (which often helps me reach a climax when I’m having a hard time). Eventually I came. I didn’t have to fake it I just pretended like it felt better than it did. In reality it was just a mild, mechanical feeling. It was nothing like the orgasms I had a few days earlier when I was fanaticizing about black men ramming their cocks into my married white cunt.
I grabbed some lube and dribbled in into my palm. I started rubbing my husbands penis. He’s average (I guess). I’ve never seen any other normal man’s penis. John is the only man I’ve ever been with. I do remember seeing my dad’s penis when I was a little girl. It seemed huge as he would hold it to pee in the toilet but I think that was just because I was a little girl and he was a grown man. I have always been satisfied with John’s manhood, but tonight it just seemed small in the palm of my hand. As I slid my hand up and down I couldn’t help but remember how the cucumber filled my hand and how John just seemed unimpressive.
He came soon enough. White goo squirted into my palm and onto John’s stomach. I kept pumping a few more time until my husband jerked his knees up a little bit and put his hand on mine to keep me from moving anymore. He was too sensitive now. Eventually I let go of his penis (which was quickly growing limp) and wiped the remaining semen from my hand onto his belly. That stuff was always disgusting to me. I once knew a girl in college who talked about how guys liked girls to suck their penise and let them cum in there mouths. I thought the idea sounded horrific. I hardly ever give John a bj and if I do I make him wear a condom. I tried it once without and he kept leaking pre-cum in my mouth. I couldn’t stand it. After that it was condom-only bjs for John when he was lucky enough to get one. Funny how being a slave to black men can change things like that but I’ll get to that latter.
Things were fine for a few more days. Cassandra (our black nanny/housekeeper) finally came back for her first day at work since her b*****r died. I hugged her and she thanked me for coming to the funeral and being so understanding. We talked a bit and then she asked me if I had talked to her minister yet. He had given me his card after the funeral and asked me to call him. I had completely forgotten. After feeling so ashamed for masturbating with a cucumber and fantasizing about being fucked hard by a hot black guy with a big fat cock I had tried really hard to forget about anything involving black guys and especially the ones at that church.
“No. I totally forgot.”
“He asked me to remind you.”
“Oh. Ok. I will.”
The next day, I was looking in my purse for my car keys when I saw the minister’s card. ‘Bishop Author J. Hearn, First Tabernacle of the Full Gospel Church.’ Without thinking, I lifted the card to my nose. I caught the faint smell of cheap cologne. I fought back the heady memories of that church crowded with black men. I really didn’t want to call him. I considered just throwing the card away but I knew Cassandra would eventually ask me again. So I resigned myself to call thinking I would get off as quickly as possible.
I picked up my cell phone to call but I just couldn’t do it. My palms were sweating and my hands were shaking. I had never been a shy person. Well maybe I was shy sexually but not socially. I have always been able to talk to strangers and I’m in sales so my job requires me to. But I found myself utterly unable to call the “bishop.” I put the phone back in my purse and threw the business card away. Maybe he would just forget about it.
A few days passed and I totally forgot about the incident. John had to go out of town for the weekend for business. The k**s were at my mothers for the weekend and I was looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend to myself for a change. I was heading out for a run early that morning while it was still cool. I had on my running clothes (a pair of black spandex shorts and a pink top, both hugged my slender body nicely). Guys often honk their horns at me as they passed by while I’m running. It makes me feel good to know that guys think I’m attractive. It sort of inspires me to keep running so I can maintain my figure. I especially like to wear professional type running gear. It makes me look like I know what I’m doing and it really helps me feel good about myself (which is hard to do when you start sweating all over from running).
Anyway, I never made it out to do my run. As I went out the door, I saw black SUV pull into my driveway. The door opened and ‘Bishop Author J. Hearn of the First Tabernacle of the Full Gospel Church’ stepped out. He was accompanied by a big black man and a black woman. I recognized the man as the guy who sat next to me at the funeral who kept hugging me. I didn’t remember the black lady. They were all wearing church clothes.
“Mrs. Jennifer! You never called me!” Bishop Hearn said.
“Oh. I’m so sorry.” I lied. “I kept forgetting and then I think I lost your card. Won’t you come in?” I kicked myself as soon as I gave the invitation. Why did I invite them inside? They all came inside and I invited them to the den. We talked for a while mostly about how they appreciated me coming to Roger’s funeral.
“Mrs. Jennifer, the white people of this community rarely reach out to the black community. You have taken a great step forward. Your Christian love has helped you reach out to people who are different from you. But we are not all that different. We all need love. We all need hope. We all need the touch of people who care.” As he talked, I noticed the black lady was smiling and nodding her head in agreement. She had on a white dress and hat and seemed enthralled by the Bishop’s words.
The big black man (whose name was Al) was smiling too but it seemed a different kind of smile. I don’t know how to say it, but it was sort of a hungry smile. He was looking at me like a plate of food he was savoring. His nostrils were flaring like he was trying to catch a sent of me. I realized that he was sitting where I had masturbated with a cucumber a couple weeks before. I had cum all over the very spot. My eyes fell to the place between his legs where I had cleaned it all up in shame. I could see a bulge in Al’s pant leg. It seemed to go nearly down to his knee. I looked away feeling bl**d rising in my face.
The Bishop continued on, “Mrs. Jennifer, I think we need to work on relations between blacks and whites in the community. I believe that you can help.”
“Oh. I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m the right person. I hardly even know any black people” I said. “Cassandra is the only one really. I only went to the church for her sake.”
“Well, Mrs. Jennifer, you are a fine Christian lady.” Said the bishop. Big Al agreed with an “MmmHmm. That‘s right!” The Bishop continued, “I want you to pray about it s****r. The Lord will lead you to do the right thing.”
“That’s right.” said the lady in white.
We said our good byes and of course Big Al made sure to pull me into his crushing embrace. He held me there pressing my face to his chest. The smell of his cheap cologne filled my senses. I felt weak in my knees. One of his hands slid down to my lower back. He didn’t go so far as to grab my ass. He stopped just short but it seemed like he longed to go all the way. All the pent up lusts I’d been holding back started flooding back to the surface. I was barely able to see them out the door as soon as Big Al released me.
I shut the door and turned to go back to the den. On the way I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging in our foyer. I looked as hot as I felt. My breasts were firmly held in place by my sports bra and the tight fitting jogging shirt. My shorts hugged my slender thighs and actually pressed up into my crotch almost revealing it’s outline. I noticed that I was soaking through that area causing the material to be extra dark there.
“Oh my God!” I thought. “Please tell me they didn’t see that!” The thought that they had only heightened my state of arousal as I made my way back to the den. As soon as I went in, the musty smell of man hit me with a fresh intensity. I nearly collapsed in front of the spot where Big Al had been seated. I was on my knees, my hands on the cushion. I bent forward and laid my cheek against the spot where his meaty ass had been. It was still warm against the side of my face. It smelled like his overpowering cologne. A shiver ran down my spine. There was something else in the scent too. Something new. It smelled like… flesh. It smelled like my husband’s testicles smell, only much better. I rolled my head over so my forehead and the tip of my nose could feel the heat.
On impulse, I stood up and pulled down my shorts and then knelt back down in the same position as before. I reached between my legs and stuffed all four fingers of by hand into my vagina. I took turns working them in and out and then rubbing my clit. My hand was soaked and slippery. I can’t believe I did this but I actually kissed the cushion where Al had been sitting. Then as I frantically finger fucked myself I stuck my tongue out and started licking the spot on the couch.
When I came, I actually squirted all over the floor. My body went completely limp afterwards and I slumped over onto my back on the floor. My legs were splayed open. I lay there in my own mess for quite a long time like that until I finally got up.
I’m not sure I have the nerve to tell the rest of what happened to me. I think I’ll take a break and try to screw up the nerve. I’ll write more latter.