A White Couple and the Truth

He started asking me to read interracial erotica, which I told him I didn't like, but I would read it in bed while he was downstairs and I would masturbate to the thought of being dominated by whatever black man was in the story. I couldn't help but replace the female character with myself. We did this several times. I hated it!

My favorite stories were the ones where the white couple would go on vacation in the Caribbean and the wife would have an affair with a black stranger. I loved the way the authors described the penis and the way the woman wanted him. It was certainly escapism from my normal life.

If I had allowed myself the truth, I would have just confessed it and then Clay and I wouldn't have wasted so much time not fantasizing. Sometimes ignorance isn't bliss — it's boredom, disappointment, lying, and wasting your life. The truth would set us free, I now know.

After that, we watched videos a couple times. I still had to convince him and myself I didn't like it. I think we both knew I did. Clay always tried to play interracial ones and I would tell him every time that I didn't like them the way he did. Yet every time he got me to watch, I would get horny as hell and essentially attack him. I tried to make it seem like I was doing it for him, but really I was doing it for myself (and if I'm honest, weirdly, the black man), and I was always filled with shame. Those filthy videos were ungodly and unacceptable to me and I despised losing control over my mind and body.

Which is why I had no preparation for what happened on the next anniversary. Before we get to that, you need to know that I agreed to take the vacation of Clay's dreams partly because of, ironically, a dream that I had. The night of that dream, Clay had sent me a pic he made with an app that puts the heads of anyone onto the bodies of anyone else. So, of course, my perverted husband, had taken a pic of a white couple on a nude beach standing with a black man. The black man was in the middle with his arms across both of their shoulders. Clay's head was on the body of the white husband and my pic was on the body of the wife. The middle guy, the black man had his cock hanging down. It was soft but still substantial. I felt sorry for Clay because his penis was smaller. I didn't know why he would make that or show it to me. He's weird, lol. My husband's expression in the pic was one of happiness and fun and mine was one of excitement and flirtatious possibilities. I'm not sure where he found a picture of me with that expression, but it sure was arousing in this context. The couple were flirting with an extramarital sin with a black stranger.

It made me see what was possible if I allowed myself the freedom to want.

That night the dream I had started off right where the picture left off, standing on a beach meeting a black stranger with a penis the size of a shampoo bottle. Okay, maybe it was more like an Arizona Iced Tea can but a touch longer. At any rate, it was a thing of beauty and terror. I bet I stared at that picture for a cumulative 50 minutes, closing the app to get rid of the sight of it, then opening it back up out of the need for validation - was it really that big? Was I really about to do something crazy? Did Clay really approve?

I was so conflicted that I slept shallowly in and out. I would fall asleep out of euphoria and a deluge of dopamine flooding my brain, and then wake out of a yearning and wonderful rush of blood and fluids to my lady parts. I wriggled in my sheets, teased and pleased by the touch of the blankets to my erogenous zones. It was a hunger like I had been fasting for three days and there was a blackened T-bone steak in my dream.

I would reach down and touch myself, fondling the clit softly, coaxing it and sticking a couple fingers inside my hot pussy out of need and also to get them wet so I could satisfy the itch on my labia, hood and clit.

Through the ins and outs of the dream was the constant of a vision. There was a muffled conversation like in most dreams, but with visible laughter between the three of us. Beach-me listened intently to the native speaking boldly. She made a strained effort to make eye contact and not look at his giant black penis. She drew to Clay closely, almost like a protection from her temptation or to reassure him that she belonged to him and him only. She was clinging to her marriage for the time.

The problem was Clay loved her lust toward the black man and he wanted nothing more than to watch them flirt. Of course, to this point it had been only a fantasy. The next part was further than he even thought possible.

It was later now and dream-me was wearing a tight, small silver dress she had brought to satisfy Clay's need for something sexy on their trip. She liked it that he was proud to be with her.

In the next flash he had convinced her to walk on a nude beach with him again, this time wearing only shiny lotion. After dream-me and my husband had an eventless walk, they went back to the hotel, got dressed, and went to dinner. She had something with creamy white sauce, I think, and a few glasses of wine. They headed out to a free show on the resort put on by resort staff and a few locals.

The couple was standing there watching what seemed like a short and sensual dancing show, when the same local from the beach touched them from behind and put himself in between them with his arms across their necks and shoulders. He was handsome and assertive and her female instincts liked that.

She also liked that he was so much taller than her. She hated feeling like a "girl" when she wanted to be a woman, and she was most certainly not "cute!" However, she actually did like it and it made her angry that she liked it, so she fought hard to kick it out. I know that now, of course.

In the dream the dialogue was muffled and time skipped to the parts my subconscious was wanting for. Dream-Clay and Nan were at a club and she was dancing with the local in her sexy dress. I thought, "Dammit. I do actually look "cute." Clay was in the booth on the side of the dance floor watching them with intent curiosity and growing anticipation, and she (dream-me) didn't know what was coming.

Suddenly my scene shifted to a POV of her grinding on the local till she could feel his penis getting bigger yet still soft in his linen pants. She lifted her dress to expose her soft yet taut ass, that I'm rather proud of, and the bright red thong.

She continued grinding on the local and he put his hands on her hips and pulled her into him. Then he spun her around and kissed her forcefully.

I woke up in a sweaty shock. Holy crap, I thought. Did I just grind on a black man while my husband watched? Did I act like a slut? I'm not sure why but the kissing went too far. It's like it crossed the line between the carnal and the romantic that should only exist in marriage. I wanted his touch and to touch his gorgeous penis. Anyway, it was just a dream and I kicked it out of my head in a few hours. I never told Clay.

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Clay:

About a year ago, Nan and I went to Jamaica. I didn't tell her that I had a plan to see her lustfully looking or dancing with a hung black man. I planned to get her to wear sexy things out in public and even convince her to wear a hotwife temporary tattoo. It would be discreet but still visible above the spaghetti strap dress I asked her to bring. My goal was to get a local to flirt with her, get excited, maybe propose a private meeting, to which she would decline but be flattered by and hopefully horny.

I had a suspicion that Nan was aroused by black men based on her reaction after we watched porn videos a few times and from some answers to questions a while back. Since my fetish is interracial, particularly seeing white women take black cock for the first time, I wanted to just tease my kink a little by dabbling in some interracial flirtations of my wife with a gifted Jamaican. Though I thought I just wanted to get close to my fantasy but not fulfill it, inside I actually needed to see that pain/pleasure face of interracial porn on my wife's innocent head.

I didn't know how to make it happen, with Nan's strident hatred of anything outside of vanilla sex with me. She was typically obstinate about protecting her purity. The last few times I asked her to read an erotic story or watch a clip of a white woman meeting a stranger in the Caribbean, she just got mad and went to bed. I don't even know if she read them. Anyway, it was worth a try. I had a plan.

Nan threw her suitcase on the bed of our hotel and opened it. I saw some panties, lingerie, a couple bikinis, some sun dresses, some night dresses, shorts and sexy tops, flip flops, sunglasses, and a bag of toiletries. The thought of her wearing that dress, with those panties, with my tattoo surprise - my dick and balls were aching.

I won't bother you with the conversation that happened to get her to wear the tattoo, but I was successful. She didn't know what the tattoo symbolized or meant to knowing people. I purposely stayed quiet when she picked out which panties and dress to wear to dinner. But she did well. I could tell she was feeling sexy and was trying to loosen up for me.

At dinner the important part is that Nan had a couple glasses of wine. I could tell she was feeling loose because she wiggled a little more than usual when she talked, she leaned in toward me, and she reciprocated when I asked her sexy questions. I asked her what she wanted to do here in Jamaica that she thinks is sexy. She said she just wanted to spend some time with me in our hotel room and try to recreate the magic we had in Cancun. I was disappointed. Cancun had been awesome, but I had an itch to scratch that required a third person and a special kind.

She asked me what I wanted to do and I said go to a nude beach. I was completely scandalized when she said, "Sure."

We left the restaurant shortly, walked back to the hotel room and got sexual for about two hours. We started off with me eating her and fingering her till she orgasmed, then we fucked in missionary position. I kept watching her face desperately to see if she had on that expression from the women in amateur porn, but once again, she didn't. The face of that girl in Gary's video still haunted me all the way to Jamaica it seemed. Good God, that face! Then I thought about that that huge black cock and understood why Nan never reacted that way with me.

The next day we had mimosas and a light breakfast for brunch, just enough to counteract the slight hangover. Nan said she didn't want to go to the nude beach, but I reminded her that she promised, and being a dutiful, rule-following wife, she acquiesced.

We walked to the area with our clothes on. She had on a loose meshed cover up over a tiny pink bikini. I was in cargo shorts and a t-shirt. I'm very insecure about my body, so I was humiliated, but I did it to further our sexual relationship. We stripped down and it was really hard for Nan. She was stubbornly modest and unfoundedly insecure. She looked like a 25-year-old, with her taut little body and clueless smile.

There was just enough sweat to make her skin glow and her sunscreen melted into her olive skin like butter. She was shimmering and shiny like a small lure used to attract big fish. I wanted to clap for her out of admiration and snap some pictures, but I didn't want to attract attention to me, and cameras were forbidden anyway.

Oh how much I wish I could show you guys what she looked like. Her brown hair was pulled up in a messy bun, she had on dark sunglasses, her full tits looked erect and ready for someone to suck on them. And her tight little flower, waxed to baldness and glistening with perspiration in the sun. That tight little flower was home base for me. It was my prize and most precious possession. And then the thought of a thick and proud dick forcing its way inside her, made me even more aroused. I still cannot explain why.

You may be judging me right now if you're new to these stories or cuckolding, but I don't think we get to pick our fetishes. Years of conditioning by events in life develop your preferences, your fears, your visions that play in your mind without permission, and ultimately the things that get you off. For years I have been cumming to the thought of Nan getting molded by a girthy trunk of a black man. And now I was closer than ever to seeing the real thing.

We took our cooler full of drinks down and laid out our blankets and it wasn't long before men or couples walking by would stop and chat. It was comical to me to watch each person try so hard to keep eye contact and not check out each other's bodies, as if that wasn't why we were all there. Some of the men had small penises, some medium, some larger, but it's difficult to know for sure when the dicks are soft and flaccid I thought. Mine looked small partly because I had extra fat in my crotch and, like I said before, it just sort of protruded.

There were a few black men walking around too, but without an erection, I thought I couldn't really tell who was packing. For sure they were bigger on average. Some of their dicks were long enough to swing a little as they walked.

After about an hour, we decided to go get in the greenish-blue water to cool off. It was Nan's idea. While we were about 100 feet out in the ocean, we saw a guy wading out to chat with us. As he walked in the shallow start, we could see that his penis was hanging down further than the others and it had a definite swing to it as he walked.

I think for white women a swinging black cock is like a pendulum tool for hypnotizing them. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Black Cock. Black Cock.

I was 100 percent sure Nan noticed. She stopped milling about with the water and looking around, and instead watched this Adonis-figure saunter toward us. Eventually we were all three standing in about three feet of water. Since my wife is short and on the deeper side of the conversation, she looked really tiny in the water.

Being uphill, our new friend looked tall. His cock, bobbing in and out of the water with each wave, seemed like the "ele-cock in the room." It seemed to get bigger with each minute. Nan's perfect little tiddies were erect and at attention like two soldiers saluting their superior and her tiny pussy sat waiting for what all pussies are designed to wait for — an alpha.

Ivan, as we came to know him, was very congenial and fun. He smiled all the time and kept looking us in the eyes with great interest as if we were the people he had been waiting for. Have you ever met someone that was so much fun they made you fun too? With Ivan, we all laughed. I told stories of things that had been funny to me and Nan laughed more than I had seen her laugh in months. Looking up as if in a spell, she seldom broke eye contact with him, or at least as much as we could tell with her sunglasses on. She was likely checking out the bobbing brown weapon three feet from her face. It was obvious she was impressed with him and his cock.

After about 45 minutes or so, it became awkward to all stand there half-in/half-out of the ocean, and it was hard to stand comfortably with the waves pounding against our asses. So Ivan noticed first I think and started talking about what Nan and I could do while we were there. He mentioned restaurants in the area and places to kayak, fish, watch the sunset, and other things. Interesting at the time was the fact that my wife started asking questions when he mentioned a club about a half mile down the beach.

We said our goodbyes and Ivan walked out and down the beach swinging that pendulum for all the white girls as he went. Nan and I went back to the hotel to shower and get ready for lunch.

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Nan:

I could tell something was up with Clay when we were walking back to the hotel that day. I'm sure it had something to do with the size of Ivan's penis. Clay is big enough, but as you may know, sometimes big enough isn't big enough and I think Clay was confronted with that. I knew he had had a long time fantasy of me being with a black man, so it was hard to figure out what to say. Ivan's penis was sort of the "ele-cock in the room," as Clay would later say, and I had to find a way to make my husband and best friend feel like he was adequate for me.

I said, "Well, that was awkward, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean?" answered Clay with a smirk.

"You know darned well what I mean. That man had a huge penis."

"Did you like seeing that? I think you did," he said.

"Not really. That would hurt like hell. Where would you even start? You're plenty big for me, baby." And I meant that. At least that's what I wished were true and I had a habit of believing whatever I was supposed to. The reality was, though, that after having that dirty dream, my body and carnal mind wanted a huge black penis inside me. I hated it, but it was true. I couldn't deny it to myself at this point.

Clay didn't buy my answer. It certainly was the wifey thing to say. I assume he finally realized he didn't want the interracial thing as much as he thought, now that he was face to face with the truth of a huge black penis pointing at his woman.

We had a great lunch and sat in the cabana by the pool and let the young men bring us drinks, one after another for hours. I was pretty drunk when we started talking about our plans for the night. Within a minute or so we tried to recall what Ivan had said. I won't lie to you, all I could think about was that glorious dick and how much I wanted my vagina stretched. I wanted to feel full and like a fulfilled woman. With Clay, he treats me like a delicate princess, but sometimes a woman wants to be treated like a whore. I wasn't aware of that consciously at the time, but I know that now.

When the topic of the club came up, I couldn't stop myself. I said I would like to check it out. Clay was surprised but jumped on it.

Hopper's At The Sea was jumping. It was loud, modern dance music with filthy lyrics and a primal beat. I pulled Clay onto the floor, forgetting about the fact that he hates to be publicly vulnerable (except apparently when he has to take his wife to a nude beach.) I was selfish. I wanted to be sexy and I needed my husband to make it okay. I couldn't dance by myself, right? Well, after a couple songs Clay sat down and I did start dancing alone. I saw a woman that was a doppelgänger for a woman in our bible study small group we lead until a couple years before. Then I thought of all the people that would be shocked and disappointed if they knew what we were doing. Put some alcohol washed those thoughts away and I danced. I came over to Clay a couple times to comfort him and take long draws from my drink, getting looser and looser as time went on.

Well after about 45 minutes of the back and forth, Ivan came over to me. "I can't stand to watch this anymore. Why isn't your husband dancing? You are too beautiful to be alone. Besides," he said with a sexy smile, "a sexy young man might come and steal you away."

I didn't know what to say. I wasn't used to men being that forward, or that charming. Men feigned respect in Christian circles. There was something about Ivan that made me want to cling to him and take him into a dark room and lick his abs and chest and squeeze that beautiful, giant snake. "Well, I'm happily married, so that's not a worry," I said with a coy smile. I think we both knew we would find out.

We started dancing about a foot and a half apart for a while. Ivan was sexy and smooth and sneaky, putting his hands on my waist when I got close to him. Soon I couldn't help myself. I drifted over to him and he put a hand on my hip and started moving in sync with my movements. It was erotic and I was feeling the alcohol in my brain and some fluid forming in my nether regions. We met body to body on occasion and I lingered there more than I should have, and that's when it all went downhill.