Cuck'd

Brad Applegate sat alone at a table in Mama June's, the only bar in town where live Blues music played seven days a week. Tonight was open mic night, so a few locals were present to hone their craft while looking for their shot. It was a Wednesday, ten p.m., and though the crowd was diverse insofar as ethnicity was concerned, it was still sparsely populated; a little less than half the seats were occupied.

Brad noticed the woman when she walked in. She looked to be around five-nine, maybe 135 pounds, 36D, slim waist, and a nice ass. She also had long, luxurious hair, and her skin was the color of light mocha. She wore dark red lipstick and a green iridescent dress with red three-inch heels. She was beautiful, a knock-out. Brad reckoned her to be late twenties or early thirties. She seated herself, then ran her fingers through her hair. That answered one of Brad's questions. He now knew it was all her own, for extensions would not have allowed her the ability to do that.

As the waitress passed his table en route to the woman, Brad stopped her and told her that the lady's drink would be on him. The waitress took the woman's order, went to the bar, and returned a few minutes later. She pointed to Brad after setting the drink on the table, then she went to check on the other patrons.

The woman stood and made her way to Brad. She eyed him for a few seconds, then asked, "May I?" as she tapped a chair with a well-manicured nail.

"By all means," Brad said as he stood and held the chair for her. Once she was seated, he returned to his. "Good music tonight, huh?"

She studied him for a few seconds, then replied, "Something tells me you aren't here for the music."

Brad laughed. "Is it that obvious?"

"What did she do?" The woman asked.

"Who?" Brad responded.

"Your wife, presumably," she said as she inclined her head toward the wedding band on Brad's left hand. "And if it's your idea to pick up chicks, I'd suggest taking that thing off first. It might increase your chances." She studied him a bit more. He was a handsome man. White. She liked white guys. Nothing against black men. It was just her preference. He was built well, also. Nice, well-defined chest and arms. He had a nice ass, too. She wondered what he was packing.

Brad looked at his ring, then laughed. "I really don't know what I want."

"Tell me what's wrong," she said.

"I'm sure you didn't come here tonight to hear a sob story," Brad stated. "Woman as beautiful as you should be having fun."

"Maybe right now this is fun for me," she retorted. "Thanks for the drink, by the way. Next round is on me." She waved, and when the waitress looked her way, she held up two fingers. A few minutes later a double Tom Collins for him and a Seven and Seven for her were placed before them.

Brad drained the last bit of drink from his first glass, then said, "Okay, but just remember that you asked for this." She nodded, drained her own glass, then smiled and inclined her head, telling him to begin. "Let me start by saying that I have always dated black women. I don't know why. I mean, I have just always been attracted to them. Anyway, I went through a couple of bad breakups and decided to just not date for a while. Soon, though, my friends were really pushing me to get back on the horse, you know? 'You have to get back out there. You can't be alone.' I just waved it off because I wasn't ready.

"After about three months of solitude, a friend set me up on a blind date. Her name was Deb—Deborah—and she was the first white woman I had ever been on a date with. Can you believe that? I was twenty-five and had never dated a single white woman. Anyway, I found out a lot about Deb that first night, and most of it wasn't good. Nope. Not good at all. First, Deb's parents were racist as hell. Against any non-white, but blacks most specifically. Second, Deb was raised to believe every stereotype that exists about every ethnic group. I will say that in her defense, she did not use the 'N' word. In fact, she told me that she abhorred it, and even after two years of marriage I still haven't heard her use it once."

"Wait a minute," the woman broke in. "Are you telling me that you married her?"

Brad chuckled. "Just listen. Something told me that she wasn't a bad person. I mean, she had been brainwashed by her parents since birth to believe the things that she did, but there was still a morality within her that knew using epithets of any kind was wrong. I decided to take it upon myself to educate her, show her that the stereotypes just weren't true."

"And how did you go about doing that?"

"I started by introducing her to the works of Phillis Wheatley and Frederick Douglass. From there it was Zora Neal Hurston and Langston Hughes, then Maya Angelou. I showed her photography by Gordon Parks and Ansel Adams, art from Edmonia Lewis and Faith Ringgold. We listened to The Three Degrees and A Taste of Honey, The Temptations and Sam and Dave. These things worked to show her that black people could create beautiful, wonderful things.

"Next, I began introducing her to people I knew. First was a couple of professors of mine from when I was in college. She saw that these men had doctorate degrees, and it impressed the hell out of her. Next was my friend David and his family. Deb was under the impression that all black men did was have a slew of baby-mamas and no responsibility, and that all black families were large and poor. David and his wife Shakita had two children, he was in the home, and he made good money as a financial consultant. After David, I introduced her to Kressmann Saunders, who worked with disadvantaged youth of all ethnicities.

"Don't think this was a three-day crash course into all things black, because it wasn't. This took place over the course of about three months, during which she opened herself up to trying foods she had never before tasted and visiting landmarks ... It was a work in progress, and I could see that the prejudiced opinions that had been hammered into her were falling to the wayside, and the more they fell, the more in love with her I found myself becoming."

"Now, that's interesting."

"It just happened," Brad told the woman, "and when I expressed my feelings for her, she did the same. So, we were officially a couple, and I was surprised to find I was relatively happy. Well, until the first time I mentioned sex, anyway. She told me her virginity was a virtue and a prized possession and that she wouldn't have sex until after we were married. You see, she was raised in the church. Her family were God-fearing racists, if you can accept the oxymoron. Anyway, I backed off the sex thing with her, but as time passed my libido raged. She believed in making out, and she even allowed me to cup her breast over her shirt, but whenever she saw I that I had achieved an erection, she would put the brakes on and pretty much reprimand me, like I could stop that from happening, especially since I had not masturbated in a while."

"So ... What? A quickie marriage?" the woman asked.

"No, not at all, but she kept telling me, 'Just wait until our wedding night, then all our dreams will come true.' She would never really say anything in particular, just that our consummation of our love would be the stuff of which legends are made." Brad laughed. "I suppose you can guess all the things that were going through my mind: Oral, anal maybe, titty-fucking, every position I could think of ... I was ready for it, and I was cheesing on her so badly that on the six-month anniversary of our first date I asked her to marry me."

"And she said yes," the woman replied with a smile.

"Actually, I asked her, but I thought it only right that she know about my previous girlfriends, therefore I told her that they all were black."

"And how did she respond?"

Brad laughed again. "She told me she would never marry me because she didn't think she could satisfy me. I asked her what she meant, and she said, 'I know the old saying "Once you go black you never go back." What am I? A pit stop?' I did my best to tell her that was just another stereotype, but she wouldn't listen. She left my apartment and returned home, and for the next two weeks I did everything I could think of to make her understand how wrong she was. She had stopped taking my calls, then her father and mother both called me and told me to keep my nigger-loving distance from their daughter."

"Oh, wow."

"I know, right? But my perseverance finally paid off. I saw Deb at the farmer's market and spoke with her. I was finally able to convince her that I loved her and I desired no one else. She came over that night and I proposed to her again, and she said yes. She wanted a church wedding, and she knew her parents could not attend simply because of how they were, so we planned a very low-cost affair that met her expectations. We were married, and on our wedding night ..."

"How terrifically did she blow your mind?" the woman asked.

"Completely, but not in a good way," Brad answered, "and for the record, that was the only thing blown that night." The woman raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Brad continued. "She wouldn't let me see her naked, I couldn't suck her nipples, no oral—giving or receiving—and missionary sex only. Oh, and she had so much hair between her legs that I thought she must have been knitting mittens down there."

The woman laughed out loud, spitting a mouthful of 7 & 7 across the table.

"Sorry about that, but it's the truth."

As the woman regained her composure, she asked, "So, that's your lives now?"

"Oh, no," Brad responded. "I've been working on her, and I've made great strides. For instance, we now have sex in daylight, so I see her naked body. I finally sent her for a spa day and got her a Brazilian, and she likes the feel of that. She allows me to suck her nipples ... It had taken me all of a year just to make those improvements to our sex lives, but even after eighteen months there's still no oral and always missionary, and I allowed my emotions to get the better of me tonight, which is why I'm here."

"How so?" the woman asked.

"Well, I've really been working on her—pressuring her, I guess—for oral," Brad answered. "It led to another argument tonight, during which I told her that if she didn't do it, I was going to call my old girlfriend Shanice and get it from her."

"Oh, and how did she respond to that?"

"She said that I wouldn't dare break the sanctity of our vows, but since she knew I was bluffing she really wasn't worried about it anyway."

"Were you?" the woman asked. "Bluffing, I mean."

"Yeah," Brad admitted. "I was, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that with Deb having that mindset, it would give her another reason to hold out on oral, so I decided to call Shanice."

"And how did that go?"

Brad sighed. "She's married now, couple of kids, loves her husband, so I didn't even broach the subject." He sighed again. "I came here tonight hoping to find someone—You know, not even for a one-off. I mean, maybe, but more to see if I could convince someone to come to the house and 'get caught' having sex with me. It's not so much the fact that Deb would see how enjoyable oral sex is, but the fact that she wouldn't win. I mean, if she saw me with a black woman, that might just be the trigger to make her do better."

"I suppose you may have a point there," the woman said. "You want to do this tonight, though? Isn't that a bit too short notice?"

"I'd plan it for Saturday," Brad responded. "She has spa day on Saturday, so imagine her surprise when she arrived home to find ... that."

"I'm sure it would surprise the hell out of her."

"It just dawned on me that I never got your name or gave mine. I'm Brad. Brad Applegate, and you are?"

The woman smiled, held out her hand, and with a small laugh said, "Just call me Shanice. Now, tell me in detail how you see this playing out." Brad did, and after accepting a few revisions from his new acquaintance, all they had to do was wait for Saturday to arrive.

"Shanice" arrived at five-thirty. After going over the plan one final time, both she and Brad stripped off all their clothing and comforted themselves on the living room sofa. Brad had attained an instant hard-on when he saw Shanice's naked body for it was even more beautiful than he could have imagined. Her breasts were full and firm. The areola were about the size of a fifty-cent piece and her nipples were thick and stuck out about half an inch. Her waist was thin, and her abs were well-defined. She wore a black garter belt with black fishnet stockings and her smoothly-shaved pubis was a sight to behold. Brad reached down and rubbed at it. He felt her clit and began massaging it. "You trying to deviate from the plan?" she asked.

"Just priming the pump," Brad answered with a smile.

Shanice grabbed his cock and pumped it a few times, then she wrapped her lips around it, her, "Mmmmm" in perfect tandem with a moan from Brad. She slowly devoured his cock, allowing her full lips to cascade over every turgid inch of it even as he continued to masturbate her bulbous clit.

He would occasionally slide a few fingers into her for lubrication, and he couldn't believe how hot her pussy was or how wet and thick and sticky her juices were. They were lost in each other, in the moment, so they were truly surprised when they heard, "What the hell is this?"

Both Brad and Shanice jumped, but it wasn't enough to stop him from fingering her or she to stop sucking his cock. Brad finally said, "What did I tell you Wednesday, Deb?"

With a dumbfounded look on her face, Deb stammered, "I ... Brad? I ... No!"

"I told you that if you didn't give me oral sex then I was going to call Shanice, didn't I?"

"Brad, no."

"I told you that Shanice would gladly suck my cock and that I would eat her sweet pussy, didn't I?" Having said that, Brad pulled his fingers from Shanice's pussy and stuck them in his mouth, making loud sucking noises as he cleaned them off.

Deb fell to her knees and began to weep. "Brad ... Please. Don't do this to me. To us."

"Are you going to suck my cock for me?"

"What? No. I just—"

"Then Shanice can keep on sucking it."

"Please, Brad. Please. You said you'd never go back to black. You said I was the only one you desired. It's not to late, Brad. Please stop this and things can go back to the way they were."

"So, you are offering me no oral sex versus all the oral sex I could possibly want with Shanice?" Brad asked his wife. "Let me think about that. No."

"For God's sake, Brad. We're married. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"All you have to do is suck my dick, Deb, just the way Shanice is sucking it now, and not one time, either, but three times a week from here on out."

"Brad, please. Don't."

"You know what? I might just leave you and go back to Shanice. What would your family and friends have to say about that? You couldn't keep a man, you let a black woman take him from you. Wouldn't your racist-ass parents just love that?"

"Brad, I—O-okay. Okay. You win. I ... I'll suck your ... penis from now on." At that point, Shanice pulled her lips off Brad's cock, pulled his head down, and whispered in his ear. A smile came upon Brad's face as she did, prompting Deb to ask, "What?"

As Shanice began slowly sucking his cock again, Brad answered, "Shanice thinks you should have to earn the right to suck my dick."

"I'm your wife, Brad. What more right do I need?"

"If you want to suck my cock, then you have to eat Shanice's pussy first."

"No," Deb said fearfully. "Please, Brad. Even you aren't that dubious."

"The way to my cock is through her pussy," Brad said, "so get to eating."

Deb looked nervously between Brad and Shanice several times, then she shielded the side of her face, perhaps expecting that to shield her words as well, and she said, "But Brad ... she's black."

Shanice came off Brad's cock, and with fire in her eyes and voice, said, "Oh, you Pillsbury, lily-white bitch!" then she grabbed Deb by her ponytail and jerked her to within mere inches of her face. "So, what you sayin'? You ain't got a problem eating pussy, just blackpussy?" Before Deb could answer, Shanice pulled her around and forced Deb's mouth onto her pussy. She pushed it in, creating a seal.

Deb shuddered. Shanice made a comment about Deb being revulsed all she wanted, but she was going to eat that pussy good. However, Brad knew that Deb had just had an orgasm, and he smiled. He loved seeing his wife with a mouthful of black pussy.

"That's it. That's it," Shanice said. Soon, however, she loosened her grip, then moved both hands to her nipples and began pinching them lightly. She looked up at Brad and said, "I think you have a closet dyke on your hands." She repositioned herself, cocked her legs wider, and said, "That's it, white girl. Eat that pussy up good." Shanice closed her eyes. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to cumming. She had always been one of those women whose cum was thick and plentiful, but she knew she was building toward something exceptional as Deb ate her pussy the way no one else ever had. She got closer ... closer ... then she let out a primal scream just as she flooded Deb's mouth with a torrent of cum. Deb did her best to contain it, swallowing as much as she could, but it was so voluminous that it eked out of the corners of her mouth. Deb was quick to lick that up, though, then she returned to Shanice's pussy and thoroughly licked any remaining residue from it. "God Damn!" Shanice exclaimed.

"Did I do good?" Deb asked.

"Come on up here and get some of this dick," was Shanice's reply. "Just make sure you swallow what he gives you, too."

Deb crawled around, removing her clothes as she did, and placed herself in front of Brad's cock. She grabbed it, but instead of wrapping her lips around it she moved in and kissed Shanice. They kissed for a good thirty seconds. Deb could feel Brad's cock pulsate in her hand. She knew he had suffered long enough. She immediately deepthroated him, then came back up and worked the head over real good. She held it out for Shanice, who sucked it for a few seconds before relinquishing control of it back to Deb, who sucked and pumped. Brad moaned loudly as he filled her mouth with his semen. Deb swallowed every drop, giving a loud, "Ah," when she was done. She pushed up that last pearl of cum from him, licked it to the tip of her tongue, then she kissed Shanice again, allowing the woman to share in their good fortune.

Shanice sat up, pulled her purse from the coffee table, then pulled out a joint. "Do you mind?" Brad and Deb told her to light it up, and soon the three were smoking away. "You know, you almost had me," Shanice said to Deb. "That part where you said, 'But Brad, she's black?' Yeah, nice touch, but girl, no first-timer can eat pussy the way you ate mine." As she passed the joint to Deb, Shanice said to Brad, "So this Shanice person, is she even real?"

"She was our third," Brad told her. "Had been for about a year, but she found God and said she couldn't do this anymore."

"So that whole story you told me at the bar, it was a ruse?"

"Yeah," Brad said as he accepted the joint from Deb.

"You see," Deb offered in continuing Brad's response, "We've always enjoyed a third person in our bed. We've had guys here before, and although Brad has gone along with it, I knew it was more for my benefit than him actually enjoying it; I guess you can say I'm the more bi of the two of us. Anyway, we tried it with a few women, but we both agreed that we liked black women the best, and now that Shanice is out of the picture, well, we were hoping to find another black woman to be our third."

Shanice lit up another joint, allowing Brad to finish the first while she shared this one with Deb. "Well, I guess it's lucky for you that I'm bi and I prefer white men and women."