Love and Sex Ch. 02

I rewound the video and noticed one of my wife's hands was moving on her bare chest. The fingers on her hand farthest from the camera was slowly rubbing the nipple on a generous breast flattened slightly against her chest. Her rib cage was rising and falling with her quiet breathing. Her mouth was slightly open, and her eyes were closed. I wasn't sure if she was even awake. I wondered if women also have wet dreams.

Suddenly, she bent her far side knee and pulled her foot back until it was flat on the sheets close to her gorgeous ass. Her hand nearest to the camera slid down her taut abdomen and circled her pussy that she had shaved just for me. I watched her fingers split apart and stroke up and down the sensitive flesh just outside of her labia. I heard a soft moan from my wife. Her raised knee splayed open while her leg closer to the camera slid over on the bed to give her fingers more room. I watched her arch her back while she caressed her sex, and another soft moan escaped her lips. Her palm pressed hard against her fleshy mons while her fingers found her slit. The dilapidated bed began to squeak softly. I saw the whites of John's eyes flash as he awoke.

My sore cock was hard again. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I'd never seen my wife masturbate, and it wasn't from lack of trying. I'd begged her to let me watch. She said good Christian girls don't play with themselves. I'd even attempted to make masturbation one of the forfeits in a card game we played to add a little excitement. She'd been happy to watch me jack off, but when she drew the same slip of paper, she'd refused. Instead, she volunteered to deep throat my erection. I appreciated the substitution, but it left me frustrated. Now, here she was masturbating while unbeknownst to her, my black friend was staring at her as she caressed her glistening pussy. John had peeled back the foreskin of his uncircumcised black cock and was slowly stroking one of the largest cocks on the planet.

I rewound the video and searched for the first time it was apparent that my best friend was awake. The whites of his eyes were hard to miss when his eyes opened at my wife's first moan. His white teeth flashed when he smiled at the sight of my gorgeous wife rubbing her sex. His hand quickly found his limp cock and pulled back his foreskin. Within seconds, it had sprung to life as he slowly stroked the big black beast.

I watched my wife slide a finger into her wet vagina. Her wedding ring sparkled as her finger worked in and out of her tight pussy. The fingers on her other hand were circling her protruding clit. Meanwhile, my hand was wrapped around my erection and picking up speed. I groaned when my wife pulled her finger from her wet, flowering vagina. I noticed strings of my semen sticking onto her wet finger before she quickly shoved two fingers back in its place.

My wife's hips began lifting from the bed to meet the rapidly thrusting fingers of one hand while her other hand began attacking her protruding clit with a vengeance. I watched her generous pale breasts rolling around on her heaving chest and heard her breath coming in short rapid gasps. The bedsprings were screaming in protest. I'd brought Cathy to orgasm numerous times with my fingers or mouth and knew that she was seconds away from a powerful orgasm.

Cathy's pleasure was interrupted by an ambulance rushing past our ground floor window. The sound of sirens never ceased in our plague wracked city, but this one stopped across the street. She opened her eyes and saw John staring at her as he stroked his big black erection. Her voice broke as she squeaked a startled protest.

"Oh, dear God, no, no, no!"

I expected my modest wife would hide her flowering pussy with the bed covers, or by rolling onto her side away from his intense gaze or maybe even by running into the bathroom. Unfortunately, the sheet was on the floor, and the bathroom had no door. Her clothes were in a chest squeezed amongst the boxes by John's side of the bed. The towel she had worn during dinner was hanging in the bathroom, and she could have gotten it without any additional impact on her modesty beyond what she had already suffered when John discovered her masturbating. Perhaps, she had forgotten about the towel as a result of her agitated state. Maybe she was challenging her fantasy lover.

When I met my bride to be, she was an innocent virgin. I considered her lack of experience to be a bonus on top of her intelligence, lively personality, and gorgeous body. It meant I could teach her to be a sex goddess, my private sex goddess, without having to correct mistakes she had learned from former incompetent lovers. Cathy was an eager student, and I had patiently taught her nearly everything I had learned from my mentor, John. It took some time, and many well deserved compliments to get her comfortable with her naked body. (I've always found it strange how few women, even ones who are genuinely gorgeous, have confidence in their beauty while even the most butt ugly man believes he is God's gift to women.) Cathy now spends much of the time in her underwear or naked when we are alone in our apartment.

John had been a perfect gentleman the night before and had entertained us with tales of his time in Syria and Africa. Cathy knew a lot about him. I had told her almost everything about our time together as roommates. I had regaled her with fantastical tales of his sexual exploits, which she didn't believe for a minute despite the fact I'd heavily censored them. I'd left out my part in any of his adventures. Of course, I never mentioned I'd learned everything I knew about sex by watching him fuck a long string of coeds' brains out.

Logically, I could understand how, after knowing John for only a few hours, she might feel comfortable enough around him not to run screaming into the bathroom. In reality, I was intrigued by her calm demeanor. Well, no, to be honest, I was aroused and excited to see where things were heading with the two people I loved and trusted the most in the world. Cathy had several hours before she had to leave for her double shift, and I'd watched less than half of the video files. I had plenty of time since I wasn't going anywhere in my weakened state. I was only a few days into my quarantine and settled back to watch.

Instead of making a mad dash for cover, she calmly stared at John's massive black erection through half-open eyes as she gasped for breath. Her only endeavor at modesty was to press both her hands tight against her engorged pussy. I had to replay the video to realize she was trying to block the orgasm that had been just seconds away. Her face was flushed, maybe from embarrassment, perhaps from arousal but most likely both. Her rapid breathing turned to quiet sobs. A tear slid down her quivering cheek.

John chuckled. "Don't stop on my account. I can see you're very close."

My wife's glistening body was now shaking with her sobs. John's gaze was focused on the juncture of her thighs as she pulled her fingers from her tight pussy with a wet squelching noise that sounded loud in the quiet room. Cathy covered her breasts with her wet fingers. She spread the fingers on the hand that remained on her engorged pussy in a futile attempt to hide her arousal. Her inner lips were flowering and all too obvious between her fingers. Her sex was glistening in the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The video was so sharp; I could almost smell the intense fragrance of her arousal.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God... John, please don't tell Paul. He'll think I'm a slut or a wanton whore."

John laughed. He slid over to the middle of the bed and pulled her gently into his muscular arms. She tensed up like a bow just before the arrow is released. Her mouth started to move.

"John, oh, God, no. I..."

My friend stroked her back from her shoulder to her waist.

"Hush, hush, it's all right. No one thinks you're a slut. You're just a healthy, young woman doing what comes naturally."

My tall, athletic wife looked small against his muscular chest. Her pale white figure contrasted beautifully with his burnt mahogany skin. Her wavy, shoulder-length blond hair was nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and her tears fell onto the tufts of curly black hair scattered across his broad chest. Her pale breasts were squashed against his six-pack abs. My wife's hips were resting on the bed close to his side. She still had one hand covering her engorged sex that was only inches away from his massive erection waving in the air. My best friend repeatedly stroked her bare side from her shoulder down to her hip as he tried to comfort her.

"Cathy, everyone masturbates. It's no big deal."

"It is for me. Paul married me because I'm a good Christian girl, and good girls don't play with themselves. He'd leave me if he knew I was a slut."

John kissed my wife's forehead and rubbed her sweaty back.

"Paul and I had a long talk before you got home from the hospital. He didn't marry you because you were a virgin. He married you because you are a big, beautiful, and highly intelligent woman. Your virginity was a plus only because he didn't have to break you of any bad sexual habits you might have picked up from former boyfriends. Knowing Paul, he'd love to know you were masturbating. It doesn't make you a slut, and you're not a whore. Paul and I have had our share of sluts. I guarantee my friend would never marry one. Besides, I'd be fucking you right now if you were a slut."

Cathy looked up at my big black friend.

"What are you saying? Paul only had three girlfriends before we were married."

My wife's torso rocked with John's hearty laugh.

"Only three girlfriends?"

"Paul never lies to me. We have a great marriage. We talk about everything."

"Well, if you only count the women Paul liked enough to go with for more than one night, then yeah, he only had three or four girlfriends in college. The rest of the women he fucked were sluts he picked up, or I gave him once I was through with them."

There was silence in the room for a moment. I was frightened about Cathy's reaction to John's casual mention of my extensive sexual activity in college. I'd never mention my roommate tutoring me in sexual techniques. My tales about him were meant to spark up our love life and focused on my roommate fucking white chicks with his big black cock. What would my innocent wife think about me now that John told her about all the women we'd shared?

I could hear the anger in Cathy's voice. "What do you mean by 'gave' him?' I've never heard any of this."

My old roommate didn't need to be a master at reading women to sense the tension in my wife's naked body. He kissed her neck and began rubbing my wife's trembling back from her shoulders down to the top of her curvaceous ass.

John said, "I was recruited by the University of Michigan as a running back. Once school started, I was in heaven. It seemed a lot of girls at the university wanted to hook up with a black football player for some quick and dirty sex so that they could say they'd fucked a black jock. I was swarmed by horny coeds, once word spread about the size of my black cock. I was so absorbed by football and sex, that it took me a few weeks to realize my roommate was an innocent virgin.

"I had more women than I knew what to do with, so I took pity on Paul and talked one of my groupies into sleeping with him after I was done with her. I could hear the whole encounter through the thin dorm walls. It was apparent he needed help. I began tutoring him in exchange for help with my classwork. I'd give him a couple of pointers and then leave my door open so he could watch me use the technique with my next conquest. Just to make sure he'd learned the lesson, I'd watch him use it on the next slut I handed down. During the next four years, Paul and I shared hundreds of women. Several times, we enjoyed a threesome with some sex-crazed slut.

"In our senior year, I remember Paul laughing over a beer and commenting that 'I'm majoring in sex with a minor in biochemistry.' His statement pretty much sums up his time in college. With my help, your husband learned to be a sex god. I'm the only person I know who's better. Surely, you must have noticed his expertise?"

I paused the video and rested my head in my hands. I couldn't believe John had told her everything. I feared my wife's reaction so much I was shaking. I forced myself to resume watching the train wreck. My wife's eyes were locked on my friend's smiling face.

"Just how would I notice his expertise? I was a virgin when we married. I've never had sex with anyone except my husband. I don't have anyone to compare with my Paul. All I know is I'm content and have no desire to have sex with another man. He's the reason I saved myself for marriage."

John scratched his head and then smiled. His hand returned to massaging the small of my wife's back.

"Good men and women can enjoy sex even if they aren't married, but I won't argue with you about monogamy. Trusting your partner is the key to a good marriage. Still, if a couple agrees to an open marriage, I don't see anything wrong with casual sex outside the marriage."

"Paul would never cheat on me, and he certainly wouldn't allow me to engage in casual sex with strangers."

John laughed again. "I wouldn't be so sure about what Paul would allow you to do. Thanks to me, he's an ardent libertine. However, I was surprised when he told me he had been faithful since he'd began dating you. Your husband was passionate when he described his feelings for you, and I'm sure he does everything he can to please you. I assume he taught you everything he knew. How many sexual positions have you used with him?"

I almost choked when I heard John's off-the-wall question. There was no way my modest wife would discuss such an intimate subject. I saw her face flush, and she closed her eyes. I was sure the conversation was over, but I was wrong. It seemed she had paused to recall the most private details of our sex life.

"I'm not sure. I think three dozen, maybe a little more. We have five or six favorites."

John laughed again. "You're a fortunate woman. Most married couples just use the missionary position. Occasionally, they incorporate the cowgirl position, or maybe if they're adventurous, they may even try doggy style. After their honeymoon, they're lucky if they have sex once a week."

Cathy stared at John for a moment. "You must be kidding. I can't believe anyone could be satisfied with such a boring sex life."

"The worst part for the women is they rarely have orgasms during intercourse. It's why dildos are so popular. I know you didn't have an orgasm earlier when you gave Paul his anniversary present, but I have to believe that he normally gets you off. How often do you orgasm when you're having sex with him."

My wife closed her eyes and hid her face in the crook of his neck. John's question was way over the line. For a moment, all I could hear was my wife's ragged breathing. Her silence made me wonder about what she was thinking. Was I wrong about my wife's reaction to my black friend's intimate questions? Was she excited by his words and gentle touch?

"It's ok, Cathy. I'm Paul's mentor. I just want to make sure he's taking care of you the way I taught him. You can tell me anything in private. Anything you say stays in this room. How often did the two of you have sex before the pandemic, and how often did you orgasm?"

"On our honeymoon, we didn't do anything except eat, sleep, and have sex. Once we returned to work, we only managed to have sex two or three times a day. Paul normally makes sure I orgasm first. He likes positions where one of us can rub my clit. I'd guess I orgasm three or four times as often as he does. We slowed down after we'd been married two years. We only had sex once or twice a night. It was hard to find the time and energy with Paul in medical school and me working long hours as a nurse. When our sex life dropped to every other night, Paul started telling me stories about your exploits to get me aroused. The fantastical tales worked until the plague hit. Now, we're too tired, too scared, and too busy to have sex except on rare occasions. All we can do is dream about the day this horrible plague ends."

The whole time my wife was talking about our sex life, her eyes were riveted on John's erection, which he was slowly stroking again. Since his left arm was wrapped around Cathy's shoulders, he was using his only free hand to alternate between caressing my wife's back and keeping his cock hard.

"You seem to be incredibly proud of your big black cock. I can almost believe some of Paul's stories about your exploits. Did you really stuff that monster into a college librarian on top of the checkout desk?"

John laughed. "It's the only time I've ever hushed a librarian. It took me months to seduce the quiet, shy woman. Believe me. I was as surprised as any of the handful of students in the library. It was a quiet Saturday evening until she let out a shriek as she orgasmed hard."

"Hmmph! Are you sure she wasn't screaming out in pain? As a nurse, I've seen more than my share of erect penises, and I rarely see any as big as Paul's. Yours is in a whole different league. I'm not sure. Do horses even have a league? What is it, 9 or 10 inches long?"

John removed his hand from his cock now that he had brought it back to full hardness. Freed of any restraint, it waved around in the air, proud and free. He resumed massaging my wife's back. This time he didn't stop when he reached the small of her back. I couldn't see his hand, but from the position of his slowly flexing arm, he was caressing her bare ass cheeks. She seemed mesmerized by his cock dancing around like a cobra under the spell of a snake charmer. She appeared oblivious to his intimate caress.

"One night, I was drinking with Paul and a few of his pre-med friends who had dropped by our apartment after a tough exam. Somehow after quite a few beers, we got to talking about penis sizes. Of course, one of the drunker assholes had to challenge me as the only black man present. I think his name was Matt. Anyway, he claimed that all the stories about big black cocks were a myth. Of course, his statement resulted in a bet. If mine wasn't the largest in the room, I had to buy a fifth of Cutty Sark for him and one for whoever had the largest cock. Of course, I accepted the wager.

"I wasn't drunk enough yet to pull mine out and get it hard, so Paul whipped out his cell phone and googled "penis statistics." After studying the search results for a couple of minutes, he happily reported that his seven-inch long erect penis was longer than 98% of the 15,521 men examined in the study. None of his friends challenged him. I was surprised they didn't demand to make him prove it. I didn't need to since I'd watched him fuck dozens of women in the course of my tutoring him and knew he was well endowed.

"Everyone turned and looked at me. Matt snickered and said, 'Beat that with your big black cock.' Maybe I'm sensitive, but I swear he choked back the word nigger at the end of his sentence. I took a shot of whiskey and washed it down with half a bottle of beer. I decided I was drunk enough. I stood up and rubbed my crotch.

"I looked at my roommate and said, 'Paul, can I borrow your tape measure?'

"I remember the asshole choking on his beer when I pulled my partially erect cock out of my pants. Matt quickly conceded the bet, but I insisted on measuring it anyway. With Paul's guidance, I measured it following the method in the on-line article. My roommate sat down and did a quick calculation.

"Paul said, 'Damn, I knew it was big, but according to this paper, you have a seven sigma cock. Give me a second...'

"I had finished off my bottle and started on another before Paul exclaimed, "Holy shit! Your seven sigma cock is statistically one in three billion. There might not be another man on the planet that's larger.'