Caught Ch. 09

Warning: It is not recommended that you read this if you don't like interracial sex, cuckolding, or humiliation play. If you do like those things, then please enjoy this story. Leave a comment if you like, constructive feedback if you didn't.

Hi! My name is Anna, a 24 year-old white wife who has been cuckolding my husband Jim for the last seven months with a black man named Antwan. You can read our sexual adventures in other chapters if you want to find out how and why I cuckold my husband. Jim actually loves it. He claims it makes me sexier to him. I go along with it since it makes him happy. I'm committed to Jim but lately I feel like I'm also falling in love with Antwan. I'm worried about how it will work out in the future, but for now I'm just going with it, taking one day at a time.

I also worry we'll be caught by someone we know and our lives get turned upside down. So far, so good. Recently, my husband gave me the okay to date Antwan so I did. We visited the city and had a great time spending a romantic night out with my lover. I look forward to more such dates.

After I described the date to my husband, he got so aroused we began planning a sexy activity with Antwan where I would tease my husband and then have a sex romp with Antwan. Jim called it an all-night, cuckolding, interracial, black man-into-white woman sex insemination party. He is such a perv, but I immediately signed on when he shared the details. I guess that makes me a perv too. I can't wait.

Unfortunately, something terrible happened to get in the way. The thing I was worried about finally happened. I got caught. Someone I know discovered my activities. Allow me to explain by describing the events as they occurred.

It began when I returned from the Big Fresh SuperMarket. I pulled my car into the driveway of the nice house I share with my husband and my live-in boyfriend. My trunk was full of groceries, a new blender to replace the one we broke after a sexy event in our kitchen, a couple of bags from the shoe store (hey, sometimes a girl needs new pumps). I also bought a bulk supply of paper towels to replace the ones that my husband was using to wipe himself from all the masturbating he's done watching me have sex. In addition I got him some lotion to protect his dick so it won't get worn out. Since there were too many bags for me to carry, I went looking for my guys to help me.

I found them in the back of the house installing our new medium hot tub we had purchased, one big enough for six people. It's going inside a fully enclosed wooden gazebo positioned in a spot where hedges blocked it from the view of the neighbors, creating a nice private area for people to do private things, like make love to their black boyfriend. I was already imagining the night me and Antwan could engage in hot tub interracial sex while my husband kept track of how many times I orgasmed, but let me get back on topic.

"Hi guys!" I called out, greeting them warmly.

"Hi, sweety," said Jim. "Your mother called. She invited us to dinner again."

"You gave her the usual excuse?" I asked.

"Yes, I told her you had a dental emergency and needed to have a wisdom tooth pulled."

"Good," I said.

I love my mother, but we have a strained relationship, she always asks too many questions. I suspect she likes to live vicariously through me.

"The hot tub looks great!" I bounced down enthusiastically and kissed my husband's cheek.

I ran my hands through his hair. "Your hair seems a bit long. Get a haircut."

"I will. I will." Jim smiled, he seemed to be the one in charge of connecting the hot tub. "The contractors finished the big stuff, we're just installing all the non-electrical connections."

"When we finish that the gazebo is next, but that won't take us long," Antwan said, wearing a short sleeve shirt that put his muscular black arms on display, much to my approval.

Surprisingly, my husband and boyfriend had become close buddies. They seem to have bonded while fixing or installing something in the house or playing video games or playing with me.

Our house was already paid for, and everybody chipped in for the food. Together the three of us were setting up a nice home, a beautiful and perfect interracial cuckolding homestead.

Jim started explaining a lot of stuff about pipes, vents, and hoses. I got distracted by the steamy looks Antwan gave me. He not only appreciated how I fit into my long sleeved color block pullover sweater and jeans but also appeared to like the sexy pose I struck with one hand on my hip, emphasizing my curves.

Feeling excitement, I smiled and winked at him, remembering the other day when I spent half the evening riding on him. I bit my lower lip wondering when we would get another chance, tonight, I hoped.

"Can someone help bring inside the groceries and bags from my car? I need strong men to carry them," I asked, raising my shoulder, trying to look cute.

"Of course, sweetie." Jim agreed. "Let's go, Antwan."

"Actually, um, I need help from Antwan with something else, in my bedroom." I said.

Jim smiled. "I can bring all the groceries in but Antwan has to put the tools away..."

"He can leave them, leave them," I said, like a desperate sex addict.

"There's a storm coming, if we leave the tools out they'll get damaged." Antwan said.

"Fine. Fine. Put everything away first."

Jim kissed my pouting face. "We'll take care of things, you go upstairs to your bedroom and prepare. Why don't we do that thing we talked about..."

He must mean the all-night, interracial cuckolding, black man-into-white woman sex insemination party!

"You got yourself a deal mister!" I said and I threw my fists up in triumph. Ha ha ha. Yes! I was getting me some of that fine black man within the next ten minutes and my husband was more happy to play our cheerleading section. With any luck I could convince my husband to cook us a quick meal to eat before me and Antwan put the bedroom mattress to an all night endurance test. Oh, yeah!

We had a purpose, to get some black cock in me, so me, my husband, and my Antwan all raced off to make it happen. I love this team, (team interracial sex, yeah!). My part was to run into the shower, change into some lingerie, set up some nice lights, and prepare to perform a sexy dance for Antwan before penetration begins. Mmmmm.

"Hey, Anna. Wait a moment." Antwan called me from behind.

Wondering why he called out, I half turned around when Antwan snuck up from behind, gently backed me against a wall, slipped an arm around my waist, and pulled me into him.

I gasped softly, caught momentarily off balance. I found myself tantalizingly close to his handsome black face, his dark eyes focused on me, with only a lock of my light brown hair shielding me from the overwhelming desire in his gaze.

My brown eyes fluttered. "Wha?"

Flashing a bad boy smile, he said nothing as he leaned in and brushed his lips against me. Oh my! I was surprised. As our lips became one, I caught a whiff of his soapy clean, spicy lemon musk, mixed in with his indefinable and intoxicating black male pheromones. His arms held the curves of my body perfectly. My heart rate skipped, my pulse danced, and lovely tingles ran up my body, making one of my legs involuntarily lift up in girly fashion.

Just then, my husband walked in with the groceries, put them down, and rubbed his crotch a little while he snapped a few photos of me and Antwan making out.

"Come on, you two. The sooner we unpack the sooner our all-night private black male on white female sex party can begin."

My husband loved saying provocative things like that. I would think them but he would say them. And every time he did it made butterflies in my stomach and chest.

I broke off the kiss. "Ah! He's right."

Smiling, Antwan leaned in again. "Just a little more."

"Not yet!" Laughing as he attempted to nibble my neck, I held Antwan at bay. "Put those tools away, that way you can put YOUR tool in me tonight."

With reluctance, Antwan gave up and ran off to finish cleaning up.

I took a moment to catch my breath and cool myself off with some ineffective hand waving. Then I checked my hair in a nearby mirror. My round face, framed by my shoulder length light brown hair, made me look much younger, and combined with my big brown eyes and shy gaze, I definitely channeled the sweet, innocent, girl-next-door type (even if I wasn't).

Satisfied I didn't look a complete mess, I resumed my route to the upstairs bedroom where my interracial sexual bliss awaited.

I was two steps into the living room when my phone rang. The ring tone was a terrified woman screaming, the one I used for Bella, my mother.

Oh, gawd. I shuddered. What did she want? Didn't Jim tell her I was having my wisdom tooth pulled? I was going to ignore it but I read her message out of habit.

Annoyed, I opened my phone. There was a single text message with a photo attached. The photo was of an article, entitled Kiss of the Century from a neighborhood paper in the city, and it featured an extremely clear photo of me and Antwan sharing the aforementioned kiss of the century.

I froze into ice and shattered into pieces.

My bugged-out eyes wanted to reject the reality of what I saw. The photo must have been taken when we were on our date. We had been goaded into kissing while eating at a local diner. The article didn't include names and was only a puff piece on how exciting nightlife in that neighborhood was and that tourists should come visit too. If it was a simple peck on the cheek, I might have had a chance to blow it off, but me and Antwan's lips were undeniably welded together with our arms equally cling-wrapped around each other.

"Oh, no. No, no, no." I said, my head feeling faint.

The text message read simply: Come home NOW!

"Nooooooo!" I shrieked.

I tossed the phone, as if it were on fire, at one of our plush sofas. How could this happen? She didn't even live in the city, how did she read this paper? What were the odds? Out of 8 million residents maybe 2000 read this obscure local. How could she have gotten a paper? She must have gotten it online perhaps? But how? Did a friend of hers recognize me and forward it to her. I had so many questions.

I would have to go to my parent's house and face her. I shuddered. That meant all my plans for the evening were dashed. I stamped my foot. I couldn't change into my sexy lingerie. I wouldn't be able to seduce Antwan. There wouldn't be any sexy music in the background while I struck strong feminine poses. I sniffed and pouted. I wouldn't get to suck his big black cock. And worst of all, there would not be any passionate and prolonged sessions of interracial cuckolding tonight!

I grabbed my hair and shrieked. I flopped down on the floor and kicked my feet and punched the carpet. In short, I had a tantrum.

My guys came in, looked very surprised, and tried to calm me and find out what happened. With a blubbering voice, I told them everything. Their eyes darkened as they digested my gasping weepy tale, and all they could do was rub my shoulders and tell me it was going to be okay. The hell it would. They offered to come with me but I raised my hand and declined. Their presence would only complicate the conversation. If I wanted any chance of salvaging the night, I had to face this challenge alone.

So, that's what brought me to where I was now, driving my car across town, in tears, and sick to my stomach with nerves.

Gray clouds gathered in the sky, threatening a storm, a reflection of the torment that was in my mind.

I considered turning around and aiming for the border. How hard was it to start a new life somewhere else under a new identity? I sighed. I had no escape.

I drove on, like a prisoner driving themselves to their own execution, wondering how I was going to be able to visit my parent's house and explain to my mother why there was a picture of me kissing a man who wasn't my husband. How would she react? Hard to say. She might be more angry that I didn't tell her then upset about what I was doing.

Without traffic or bad weather, my parent's lived thirty minutes away. When I saw the lights on in the front of the house, I wanted to turn around. When I saw my mother staring out the front window, my nerves became even more frazzled. She was actually waiting for me.

I saw her shift and close the curtain. She had seen me! There was no escape now. Consigned to my fate, I zoned out, shuffling to the front door like a dead woman walking.

When I reached her door, it swung open. She would not even let me ring the doorbell.

My mother stood there, her angry eyebrows locked in attack position. She was a taller, red pants-suited, blue eye-shadowed, 48-year old version of me with a blonde perm in bob hairstyle.

"Hi, ma." I waved timidly, wearing a smiling grimace.

"Come inside," she said, staring out with dead eyes as she made room for me to enter.

I stepped inside. "Is Dad home? I didn't see his car."

She slammed the door behind me and held up her phone, putting the criminal evidence (well, not really criminal) of my scandalous affair on dramatic display.

"What is the meaning of this? She asked, her over massacred eyes nailing me to the floor.

I looked around in panic. It was a four-bedroom house, full of plastic covered furniture, fake plants and fruits, and not a single flat surface in there that didn't have some trophy, photographs or figurine on it. She blocked my exit, there was no escape.

"Oh, that's...nothing." I said, waving it off, but unable to meet her gaze.

"Are you having an affair?" She asked, leaping at my neck, sinking her fangs into my jugular (not really but it felt like it).

I had a history of buckling under pressure when questioned by my mother. That's one of the reasons I didn't like to visit her. If she thought I was hiding something, she would dig for it. She knew weakness and used it to her advantage. She knew that I knew that she would know the truth no matter what I said, so she always went for the hard questions up front, before I had time to think or lie.

"Yes, and no." I said, a squeaky mouse before a roaring lioness.

"What the hell does that mean?"

She had me on the ropes. Straight left. Right hook. Uppercut. Why wasn't the coach throwing in the towel?

"It's complicated, sort of."

She stared hard at me, making me whither. "Who is this man!"

"Which man?" I asked lamely. "I see a few men in the picture."

"The one whose face you're sucking!"

"Ah, um, it's my boyfriend." I crossed my arms with an angry pout. There. I said it. To be honest I wanted to say it. I was proud he was mine.

She stood back, hand on her chest. "You already have a husband. What do you need a boyfriend for?"

I shuddered. There was no one reason I needed Antwan. In so many ways, we connected emotionally, spiritually, and of course, physically. We connected physically a lot. Together, Antwan and I explored the wide vistas of feminine and interracial sexuality, testing the boundaries of marital taboos, femdom, and cuckoldry, and best of all, being my partner in experiencing the charged erogenous sexual dynamic that crackled between black men and white women. Argue all you want, but there's no denying we are hot together. I couldn't possibly tell her any of that.

"I like him, that's all."

She shook her head. "What have I done wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong." I wanted to cry. "It's no big deal."

"No big deal?" Mother crossed her arms. "What's going to happen when Jim finds out?"

"About that..."I twisted my fingers and looked away.

"He knows?" She guessed correctly. "Then what is happening? Are you and Jim separated? Did you get divorced and didn't tell me?."

"No. Not at all. Our marriage is stronger than ever." I winched at my own words.

"How the hell is your marriage stronger if you're dating another man?"

My foot twisted as my hands twisted. "It's not a problem. Jim gave me permission to date Antwan."

"..." She stared at me with no readable expression.

"Yeah. See. It's simple. My husband, Jim, you know him, he lets me date my boyfriend, Antwan, he's that handsome black man in the photo."

My mother raised her eyebrows.

"Anyway, Antwan also lives with us." I should have stopped there but my mouth kept running. "And I...I...sleep with him, in my...our...bedroom. I also have sex with Antwan instead of Jim. We stopped having sex, Jim and I. Except for the other night. We still do things to each other, physical things, and to be perfectly honest we couldn't be happier. Our marriage is strong."

I topped off my explanation by giving her two thumb's up.

"Give me patience."

I staggered back. That was the killing blow. In our household, when mother asked for patience, you know you really fucked up. You were in big trouble. This meant blood shed. This meant the ultimate punishment.

"Mom, no." I begged.

My fate was already sealed. She walked away as I pleaded, grabbed a chair, and when I tried to take it she yanked it away. Then she did the thing I feared most, she put the chair in the corner, facing the wall, and sat down.

In our home, she blamed herself for the worst mistakes. She gave herself a time out.

"Mom, please. I'm sorry."

"This is what I get for sending her to an all-girl's school. Everyone warned me, but I didn't listen."

"It's all me, mom. You're not to blame."

Mother babbled to herself. "Keep 'em away from boys when they are young and they go wild when they get older. That's what they said."

"Mom. It's not your fault." I blubbered.

I cried and pleaded, ignored by my mother who spoke to the wall, questioning her mistakes, asking herself where she went wrong. She would stay there, not listening to anyone until she felt she had learned her lesson.

I pulled up a chair and sat with her. Which is what I always ended up doing. I couldn't leave until she got up and moved on. It was mentally impossible for me. Sometimes we would both end up talking to the wall.That's what happened now.

Over the course of half an hour, in a non-graphic way, I explained how it happened, how my husband and I became attracted to the idea of inviting a black man into our sex life, how we experimented with interracial sex, sinking deeper into that sensual lifestyle, how we embraced cuckoldry, how we committed to having an interracial pregnancy in the future, and finally how I came to love two men.

"I love them both, mother. Can't I love them both?" I put my face in my hands.

"You could have told me before." She said.

I looked at her with disbelief. "Don't you realize how cringe it is to talk about sex with your mom?"

"I don't think it's cringe."

"I didn't want you to think I was a sick pervert."

"You're not sick. Choosing to lead an unhappy life, that's sick. You're not hurting anyone, so why should anyone complain?"

"Thanks, mom." I leaned my head on her shoulder. "I know you're just trying to make me feel better."

"I'm actually rather jealous." She sniffed. "You have two men who love you and many women don't even have one."

I knew she was talking about Dad. He wasn't bad except he was never around.

"Why don't you ever come to dinner?"

I looked up. My mother stared at me.

I shrugged. "I was busy tonight. I had plans."

"Right. I don't need to ask what you were going to be busy with. You were probably planning an all-night non-stop interracial cuckold sex impregnation orgy!"

I cracked a timid smile while I twiddled my fingers.

"Just a little one," I said, turning red, never being able to lie to a boldface question from my mother.

She looked away, annoyed as hell.

"Jim told me you were having your wisdom tooth pulled. You must have a lot of wisdom teeth because I've heard that excuse before. If I check, I'm sure you have all your teeth. I should know. We paid the dentist a lot for your perfect smile."