Life continued in much the same manner over the next two months. There were variations, for sure, and while the frequency and in-bed intensity didn't diminish much, the atmosphere changed dramatically. It went from frenzied lust to a more laid-back cuming-and-going, so to speak. Perhaps the novelty of a White woman's body had faded slightly and now it was more or less the normal male passion for cunt at every opportunity.
Over those several months I had no way of keeping track of how much Black cock, and cum, Susan was taking. I was at work all day and at night I wasn't always allowed to watch those giant Black shafts disappear into her sweat-glistening body. It was a lot.
I bought two new sets of sheets just so I'd have spares and could keep up with the laundry. It seemed all I did was wash sheets, towels, and washcloths.
The frequency of their visits to our home and my wife's bed was made very clear one Saturday afternoon when I was mowing the lawn. In the once-lush grass a very distinct path had been worn from the trail to the door of the house.
When the Black guys weren't around, things were pretty normal (except that I drooled at the sight of even a square inch of her exposed flesh). She was so sexually satisfied I almost felt ridiculous being horny. One look at her bare, shaved cunt and I was as stiff as a poker. And it certainly wasn't the same tight cunt I knew. Her pussy was totally different -- almost a caricature of what it had been. Her pussy lips had always been long and full and when she was having sex or even for hours after, her mound and lips were swollen. Now her pussy was in a constant state of red engorgement that was even obvious beneath the inevitable sundress.
After the first couple of weeks my agitation and anxiety at work abated and I could usually go through an entire day without wanting to rush home and see what was happening, whose cock was in her, and witness that look of pure a****l lust on her face during orgasm -- which was the ultimate turn-on for me, even more so than the site of a cock sliding into her now-loose, slick cunt.
This may sound like just a straight interracial fuck-and-suck story, but there was a lot more to it than you might imagine. There was a dynamic among the 10 of us that took shape in the first month. I don't think there was a so-called pecking order among the guys, but certainly Susan and I came to see each of them in a certain light.
William was obviously the one the other guys respected most and had a natural leadership ability. They looked up to him and even Mike, the rough and gruff, seemingly insensitive and physically superior of the octet, kissed the ground William walked on. They didn't call him Bill, or Billy, or Will -- it was always William and with a bit of a 'sir' in front of it. To Susan and I, William was a friend and a very superior person both intellectually and as a human being. I wish I had one other friend who was as empathetic and in tune with the people as that man.
Mike, as I have said, was gruff. But he wasn't mean or nasty. I recall one Saturday he and Susan were in the bedroom for hours. The usual humping and thumping was punctuated with moans, groans, yelps, grunts, and screams, but there was a good hour of silence. Susan later told me Mike pulled a sketchpad from his backpack and spent that time doing charcoal drawings of her. I still have those pictures and they are not only professional in a technical sense, they evoke in the viewer a tender emotion that is far removed from the orgiastic sessions by which Mike had come to know my wife.
Jonah was undoubtedly Susan's favourite. Although he was quiet, he was young and full of life. He was spontaneous in bed, totally uninhibited, and completely in tune with Susan's sexual makeup. When they fucked (and I witnessed it maybe six or eight times) they were like one body. Susan often said (and still says) if she could have another c***d (she's 45 remember) it would be by Jonah.
The point here, is that while I have previously highlighted the sex -- the pure fucking and sucking between two races -- there was a lot more to it than that. The guys often came for supper, listened to music, helped us with household projects (James is a fine carpenter as well as good with electronics), and even helped train our dogs. I personally learned a lot about the plight of their people in Jamaica, the role of Bob Marley, and some of the vast social improvements over the past 20 years. I admit there is a lot left to be done in that regard.
And I knew that at least most of them respected me for what I did, who I was, and my obvious deep love for Susan. And I know it may be difficult to understand, but of all the people I know, I respect Susan the most. What she does sexually -- both to please me and to please herself -- is the greatest gift she could give me and she says the same is true from her side of the marriage.
From one response to the first chapter of this story, I know there are people who don't understand the dynamic between Susan and myself. But put it this way -- I've analyzed our sexual relationship and all it entails, and don't understand it myself. And I've analyzed myself and have gotten no further. It exists in the way it exists. It is what it is and it works for both of us. We both know there is a line not to cross and while we don't know exactly what it is, or where it is, we sense it any time we get close.
The guys, as I implied, had quickly become part of the f****y, and I found myself looking forward to conversation and relaxation with them as much as the sexual aspect of the relationship.
I knew instinctively that the others always sought William's counsel and at such times as they did, it would be a few days later that he would approach me seeking advice about something, my thoughts on a certain subject, or my blessings in something connected to their sexual relations with my beautiful wife.
I bring this up because one Saturday afternoon William and I were in the Carriage House. As I worked on shaping a piece of wood for a cabinet I was building, William was sweeping up shavings.
He was a bit tentative at first and hesitated with only a few words out of his mouth.
"Hey mon, you think, I mean mon, would Susan ..." and he trailed off. "No, mon, never you mind."
He continued to sweep some sawdust from under the bandsaw.
"Go ahead," I said. "You know I'll listen and you know I won't pass any kind of judgment. What's on your mind William?"
I stopped, carefully laid the spokeshave on the bench, and sat on a crate. (I'd taken the bed apart and stored it overhead.)
"Susan be the finest woman I ever be meeting mon," William said as he too perched on a crate. "We none of us believed there be White people like you two, mon. And it be makin' us think about things. Jonah he be askin' what we could do for to show our gratitude."
He let the broom slide down to the floor and nudged it with his sneakered foot until it was lined up perfectly parallel to the edge of the workbench. His shoulders were slumped and his long arms hung down, elbows on knees and forearms dangling so his long fingers almost touched the floor.
It took a few seconds for what he was saying to register. Gratitude? I didn't know what to say. I shifted on the crate, slowly reached for a cigarette and took my time lighting it. I was mustering my thoughts and as I exhaled the first long drag, I had no more idea of what to say than when I started.
I was touched, I admit, and I just started talking. None of it was thought out and it came from somewhere that to this day I can't discover.
"Gratitude, William," I asked. "What is gratitude but an illustration of a person's appreciation for another person's actions? I think in this case the actions were mutual and were therefore the appreciation as well. Anyone outside this mutual arrangement -- outside this sexual arrangement and this friendship -- will look at us and say we are perverted and amoral. Susan would be cast as the slut and whore while I would be the uncaring, deviant husband pushing her to submit to degrading and disgusting sexual acts. The eight of you would be opportunistic men taking advantage of our depravity. And some would say we are going to hell -- at least Susan and I."
William hadn't even looked up and I could see he was digesting what I was saying and maybe not getting very far.
"But you and I know that every time you, or James, or Jonah -- especially Jonah -- spread her legs and sink into her hot, wet, and needy cunt, it's not a depraved act," I said. "And you know you are bringing her unimaginable pleasure. You're bringing her pleasure that we can only guess at. We fuck her, cum in her, use her, degrade her, and then do it all again and again. But we just cum. She milks us until we can't help ourselves and we shoot our seed deep inside her. And we think that we're the macho males fucking her, but in reality she's fucking us. We're just instruments on which she cums. She plays us and that can't be denied. She orgasms using our cocks and tongues and fingers as instruments."
William was now sitting up straight and was looking at me with a quizzical, yet thoughtful look on his face. And I could see that I was putting things in a way he'd never considered. Maybe he thought I was crazy and was only thinking of a way to respond and remain polite at the same time.
"Why is it that when you eat her amazing cunt you continue until she cums? Why do you hold off when you're fucking her until she's orgasmed once, twice, maybe three times? Why are you gentle with her at times and rough at others?" I was listening to myself but wasn't sure where I was going with it. But I knew for me at least this was the truth and the core of all the sex, threesomes, gangbangs, exhibitionism, and lust Susan (and I) had experienced in the past 25 years. I worshipped her body and would do anything to please it. Yes, I love sex and I love it only with Susan. But half the reason I love it is because giving her physical, sexual pleasure gives me pleasure of a completely different kind -- all tied up with emotion and, no doubt, long psychologists' words that some readers will no doubt conjure up and apply to my personality.
"Why is it, William, that you are grateful?"
His eyes finally caught mine and held them as he formed words in his mind and finally let them out.
"Because she allows us, mon, not some other guys, but US, to please her," he said with emphasis. "Because she respects us, mon, and be with us like we were people -- not ragged Black men from the slums and shacks of the ghetto's ghetto. Susan not be judgin' us poor ragged boys who be sl**pin' on dirt floors all our life. Because she be teachin' Jonah how to read and write and get the power of the words that be the power over poverty, over dirt floors, over racism, over ignorance, and over those who still be opressin' my peoples. Because she be like an angel to us, like a mother to us, like a teacher to us, like a wife to us, like a lover to us, and like the healer who takes all the broken spirits and makes them whole and pure, mon, pure like we was when we was young boys. But where we be at home, mon, the water that springs clean and cold from the rock soon be flowing through the dirt and the filth and not nobody ever be clean."
I was stunned at this long tirade and I know my face must have shown my complete surprise because William dropped his gaze to the floor and in a softer voice continued.
"You not be beleivin' what I be sayin' mon, but what I be sayin' is a truth that don't be needin' any provin'. It just be what it is," he said, and once again looked up. "And you be not so bad yourself, even bein' White and rich (not so, I must interject) and bein' educated. We know you be playin' the cuckold game with us and with Susan and though we didn't be understandin' at first, it be clear now to us Jamaican b*****rs what you be doin'."
I was glad it was clear to them because I was still a bit foggy on the cuckold subject, but I didn't interrupt him on that point.
"But Susan be the one we be grateful to and we be wantin' to do something for her," William said as he hooked his toe under the broom handle just where it screwed into the broom. "Jonah thought maybe you might know what it be we could do."
He flipped the broom with his foot and neatly caught it in his right hand, hauled himself off the crate, and started sweeping again. I unclamped the wood, turned it by a quarter, clamped it down again and picked up the spokeshave.
"I'll think about it William," I said as I drew a long ash shaving off the length of wood. I love working with ash because it is so forgiving. You can work the grain in any direction.
"Thanks, mon," William said. "We be doin' something fine for Susan."
I wasn't troubled exactly by what William had said, but it was creeping into some remote part of my brain that these men had known Susan only a few months and in some ways knew her far better than I did. Or at least it hadn't taken them as long to come to appreciate her in all her facets as it had taken me.
For some farm-related reason, a few days later none of the guys could make it over for the day or the night and Susan said I could sl**p with her as long as I didn't touch her. She and Eugene had been entangled in a long and loud fuck session the night before and I had witnessed some of it. She needed the rest and as she lay naked in the oppressing, muggy heat, I asked her about teaching Jonah to read and write.
"We don't just fuck, you know," she said. Her legs were spread and she kept them wide apart as she drew them up, bending her knees so she was in the perfect fucking position. Her hand was down gently rubbing her swollen cunt. "Jonah's 19 years old and he's fucked me what 25 times maybe? But sex isn't everything with him. Sex isn't everything with William or James, or Eugene, or the rest of them. And it isn't everything with me."
My head was on the pillow and I could see the fingers on her right hand pull at her clit -- not hard, just enough I guess to cause some small sensation. Was she thinking about Black cock or about Black people? Or just about people?
'I love Jonah in a very different way," Susan explained. "Partly like a lover, partly as a mother, but mostly as a very dear friend. He's given me so much by fucking me to such unimaginable heights. A mixture of pure uninhibited a****l lust and vulnerable, unconditional love -- or maybe respect. I don't know. It's like being worshipped."
I was starting to get a picture. I turned my lamp off so she would continue in perhaps a less harsh glare -- an atmosphere more in symphony with her thoughts.
"But that's what he's done for me," she continued. "He's given me something, not just sexual, but emotional, that wouldn't be possible with you, or William, or anybody else. And it's because he's young and unbridled, and uncluttered, and believes the world is good, and that people are good, and that goodness can be shared and spread until it becomes a warm and cozy blanket protecting us from the cold, harsh world."
Her nipples were an inch long and hard now, and I could see the glistening stickiness on her fingers. I marveled at her being horny thinking not about sex with Jonah, but about Jonah the person. Was I jealous? Yes, I admit for the first time in our many sexual adventures, I felt a tinge of jealousy and for a reason I would never have anticipated.
"Jonah has some basic literacy skills," Susan said, finally getting around to my question. "They say you become a man when you fuck your first woman. And the more women you fuck the more of a man you are. And maybe that's true. But to be a real man you need to be compassionate, understanding, empathetic, caring, and just a little bit feminine. Jonah has all those characteristics but if he's not literate, he can't become the real man who can use all those traits. That's why I'm helping him learn to read and write. That's my real gift to him and Jonah the boy will go home Jonah the man and do great things. It's just too bad he couldn't go on to college."
So she was thinking about gratitude as well. And here I was just thinking about myself. It was amazing what I had learned in the last few days from a bunch of 'ragged Black men' and a housewife I'd been married to for almost three decades. I swallowed hard. I couldn't think of one thing to say as she raised her soaked fingers to her lips and sucked off her own juices.
"You still awake," she whispered a few minutes later. I closed my eyes as she turned towards me. A few seconds later she pulled a sheet over us and turned off her lamp. She rolled over on her stomach and brought her right hand up under her pillow scant inches from my face. I drifted off to sl**p with the aroma of her juices strong in my nostrils. In my dreams they were fucking slowly, yet with an intense passion, as she taught Jonah to read Bob Marley lyrics. He was doing a thesis on Marley and he needed to learn how to read first. There wasn't a lot of time so they were fucking and studying at the same time. William appeared at the bedroom door, his long hard cock in his hand, saying how grateful he was and wanted to know what time did his lesson started. Susan turned, letting Jonah's long ebony shaft slide out of her, his sperm gushing out of her cavernous cunt and down her thighs. She told William to put the broom down and come over to the bed. "It's too late for you to learn to read, Sir William," she said as he climbed onto the bed. "But I have something else to teach you. Whores are the best teachers. I'll show you what Mary of Magdeline showed Jesus. But just this once Sir William. Jonah already knows and soon you'll see him performing miracles."
The dream faded as she slid effortlessly down on William's cock burying all 12 inches up into her belly. "Soon you'll see Sir William....." Her voice trailed off as the vision faded.