My Wife-One of the Girls

My wife and I have been married for 7 years. I think of us as just a normal, average couple. We're both decent looking. We both had just a couple of sexual experiences before marriage. We had some sexual fantasies that we never acted upon. We lived in our own little world, dealing with our own issues, just like everyone else.

The only thing truly unique about my wife was her naivete. She was exceptionally gullible, innocent, and impressionable. I found that a cute characteristic, and I never thought much about it.

About a month ago, though, her naivete became an issue, causing a situation that was anything but average.

My wife began a new job about two months ago. She was actually recruited by the owner of the company, someone who had worked with her prior at a previous company. She was so impressed with my wife's work ethic and results that she sought my wife out years later to help manage her new staff. Impressed and flattered, not only by the fact that this woman remembered and pursued her, but also by the increase in salary, my wife took the job.

While things seemed to be going well, my wife kept coming home and expressing her concern that she wasn't really connecting with her new staff. She was doing her usual team-building activities and offering her normal incentives, and everyone treated her nicely, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she didn't really fit in.

I mentioned that perhaps that my wife's upbringing may be the issue. She didn't understand. My wife grew up, fairly isolated from other cultures. And while she had previously worked with people from many different backgrounds, her workplaces had always been predominately white. The staff that she was currently managing was entirely black.

"I don't think that matters," she said.

"It shouldn't, and maybe it doesn't, but maybe you don't feel like one of the team because you don't think that you know their collective experience. Or maybe they view you as an outsider. Or maybe it's all in your head, and everything is fine."

The next night was Friday. My wife called my at the usual time that she left work.

"Honey, I found out that my staff all hangs out on Friday after work. They invited me to go with, and I think that I should. I really need to make us all a united team," she told me.

"Ok, have fun. I love you. Tell me about it when you're home."

My wife arrived at bar in a part of the city that she had never been to. She found her colleagues in a corner booth. Her team consisted of four black women.

My wife snuggled into the booth, and the small talk, work chat began. However, after a drink or two, the talk turned more personal. The women started to ask my wife about her life. My wife happily shared every detail, especially as all of the questions were pretty typical "getting to know you" questions.

Then, though, the women began to ask some private questions. My wife would shyly divert the conversation to avoid answering.

After my wife didn't answer yet another private question, one of the women said, "I told you that she was a prude," and they all laughed.

Resolved not to be seen as an outsider, my wife gave and answered their questions. My wife told them about our sex life, my penis size, her past lovers, our pillow talk, etc. At first, my wife was nervously answering, but with each answer and additional sips of her drink, with a mission not to be the prude, she began to feel comfortable sharing everything with her team.

Then, one lady asked a question that shocked my wife: "Are you racist?"

My wife nearly choked on her drink. "Lord, no, not at all."

"Well, how would you know?" asked another coworker.

"How could I prove that I am not?" my wife asked, with pleading and fear in her voice.

The women looked at each other, and one lady waved someone over. A very tall, very dark black man approached the table. The ladies introduced him as Antoine. He politely introduced himself to my wife with a smile and handshake. The women asked him to join their table and sit next to my wife.

"Antoine, this is our boss. We think that she might be a bit racist and/or a bit of a prude. Could you help us with an experiment?" a third colleague inquired.

"I'll help you lovely ladies with anything that you need," responded Antoine.

My wife was asked if she had ever sat this close to a black man before.

"No," she said. The ladies looked among themselves with a judging glance. This made my wife feel inferior.

"So all of your close friends and romances have been with white people, right?" asked the fourth.

"I never thought about it, but I guess," mumbled my wife.

"This is why we think that you might be racist."

My wife adamantly declared, "I would definitely have relationships with people of any race, but I never really had the chance."

"Prove it. Kiss Antoine," said a coworker.

My wife at first was stunned. If she refused, she was a racist or a prude, both of which would ruin any possibility of forming a good relationship with these women. If she accepted the challenge, she was cheating on me. She thought for what seemed like an eternity.

"It just a kiss, right?" she reasoned to herself.

She turned towards Antoine. He knew what to do. He pulled her close in his long, strong arms. He smelled nice. He hovered millimeters from her lips with his.

She wanted just a peck, to prove that she was one of the girls, to show that she was one of them. But Antoine was waiting. He was so close. Why wasn't he just kissing her? A bit frustrated, she parted her lips to begin to ask him to kiss her. That's when he came in.

His lips met hers, slightly open. His lips were soft and firm. The kiss was so different from mine or any of her other lovers' before. It was strong and confident. Antoine's tongue then found its way into her mouth.

She immediately pulled back out of surprise. Then, she heard the murmur of her coworkers. So, without looking at them, she went back in and let Antoine explore her tongue with his. She reciprocated.

After a few minutes, Antoine broke their kiss.

My wife turned to the group, "See?"

The women giggled amongst themselves, saying things like "I bet you liked that, girl" and "You went and got it." My wife felt proud of herself.

That pride, though, was short-lived. Now, Antoine asked her to dance. She didn't want to, but she knew that it would reignite the disappointment from her colleagues. So she acquiesced.

On the dance floor, Antoine pulled her close. My wife is only 5'4" and 115 pounds, and she was dancing with a man of 6'5", probably 220 pounds of lean muscle. He could move her how he wanted, and he wanted her near. As the slow song played, he swayed her, rubbing her back and forth. She laid her head on his chest and felt a growing hard warmth emanating from Antoine's groin. His semi-hard penis felt so large that she was trying to slink away, but Antoine just kept her close.

After the dance, they returned to the table. She was so thirsty. Her colleagues had gotten her several drinks in a short time to quench her. The good news, though, was that these women seemed to be becoming more friendly towards her. My wife was really relaxing and enjoying herself.

She felt Antoine's hand brush her thigh. She paid it no mind. Then, though, his hand came to rest on her bare knee. She tried to move without the girls noticing, but the booth was too tight. He then began moving his hand under the hem of her skirt. She grabbed his hand and moved it.

A coworker immediately noticed: "I knew it!"

"I'm married," my wife pleaded.

"That's ok," one lady said. "We don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do. We just thought that you were having a good time being one of the girls."

With that, my wife defiantly grabbed Antoine's hand and put it on her bare thigh. Antoine smiled and began to caress her thigh.

My wife continued to drink and have great conversations with the ladies. The more she got comfortable with Antoine's touch, the more the women seemed to accept her. In fact, she barely flinched when Antoine began rubbing her pussy through her panties. Antoine did, however, notice the warmth and wetness that he felt.

My wife started to feel very good, between the drinks, the comraderie, and Antoine's attention. She began instinctively grinding against Antoine's hand. She didn't know when it happened, but Antoine at some point began kissing her neck and nibbling on her ear lobe.

Antoine spoke, "I need to show you something in my car."

A coworker spoke up, "I think that you need to go with Antoine and tell us all about it on Monday at work." The others assented.

Therefore, my wife got up, holding Antoine's hand, and followed him to his car. Antoine opened the car door and escorted her into the extra spacious back seat. He then climbed into the other side.

"What did you want to show me, Antoine?"

With that, Antoine unzipped his pants. He pulled out what she had felt on the dance floor, but despite feeling it against her belly, she was still amazed by its size, the veins, its girth. She didn't know that penises could be that large. But it wasn't grotesque to her or even scary. It was new and magnificent.

"I need you to touch it. I know that you've never touched a black man before. I want you to be able to tell your friends about it. Let them know how open-minded you are."

My wife didn't need much prodding. She reached out and felt its radiating heat. She could just wrap her fingers around is base. She stroked it gently.

Antoine slid her across the leather seat, closer to him. He kissed her lips and neck. He began pushing her head toward his cock, but my wife stiffened.

"Just give it a taste. I wouldn't want to tell your friends that you refused to kiss a black man's dick," coerced Antoine.

She had already gone this far, so my wife was steadfast into becoming part of the girls' club. She opened her mouth and attempted to get the head in. While her lips could get around it, her jaw began to hurt instantaneously. It wasn't used to opening this much.

When Antoine felt her lips on his cock, his began thrusting forward while holding her head down. He knew that she wouldn't be able to take much and didn't want to scare her off.

Instead of forcing more into my wife's mouth, he began paying attention to her pussy. He reached over her bent body and rubbed my wife's pussy from behind. Then, he dipped his hand into the back side of her panties. His palm was pressed against her anus and his fingers explored her naked, hairless cunt. He played with her clit for a few moments before pressing a finger into her, and she was tight.

My wife was grinding against Antoine's hand when he was playing with her clitoris, but she had to be held in place when he pushed a finger into her pussy. His digit felt like every average cock that she ever had inside her. It felt so good.

"To truly be one of the girls, you'll need to feel me inside of you," Antoine said.

My wife stopped sucking. "I can't do that." My wife protested, but she wasn't sure if she was hesitant because of our marriage or because she didn't think that he would fit in her.

"Don't you want to know what it feels like? You've gone this far, and you'll have a prefect story for Monday at work," Antoine knew just what to say.

"Just to see how it feels and to say I did it, but don't go hard. You'll hurt me. And don't finish inside me," my previously faithful wife said.

With that, she pulled off her panties and climbed atop Antoine's lap. He held his cock in place and kissed her open mouth as she wiggled her wet pussy over the top of his massive cock.

"There you go, baby. You are on top, so you control how much goes in," Antoine assured.

Once the head felt sufficiently coated with her juice and his pre-cum, she pressed down. She struggled for what felt like an eternity before the head popped in. He felt huge. Her pussy was on fire, burning and stretching, but as she gently rocked and Antoine calmly pushed upwards, she started feeling an enormous pleasured pressure.

Antoine continued frenching my wife and grabbed her hips. He helped her bob up and down on his cock, slowly lubricating and inching more of his manhood into my wife's tight, married cunt. She responded by gyrating her hips and squealing against his mouth. She wanted to declare her exploding orgasm, but her mouth was full of Antoine's tongue.

As she kept cumming, she kept secreting. As she secreted more juice, more of Antoine's immense tool sunk into her tiny body. As more of Antoine entered her, she orgasmed harder, perpetuating the cycle.

"I'm only halfway in you, baby, but I feel like my dick is hitting a wall. I'm going to start to really fuck you now to get mine."

My wife simply nodded, not understanding what Antoine meant.

Antoine used his strength to push my little wife up and slam her down onto his cock. Each time, she would land with an "Ah!" and Antoine's cock would hit an internal barrier within my wife's anatomy.

"Fuck, need to bury more cock into you," Antoine grunted in frustration, as his pace quickened.

"Uh, fuck" was all that my wife could muster.

This slamming continued, Antoine picking up the pace until his ass was touching the seat for mere milliseconds at a time. My wife was like a rag doll, there only for Antoine's pleasure at this point.

She wanted to please him. She wanted to please her new friends. She wanted to be a good boss and please her boss. She wanted to fit in, and she wanted Antoine to fit that enormous, woman-pleasing, pussy-wrecking monster into her previously, not fully explored cunt.

Antoine put her left nipple in his mouth, bit down, and thrusted one last time upward. My wife screamed. That scream released the pain from the nipple bite. It described the pleasure from the stretching that she was getting, both in depth and width. And it revealed the shock and satisfaction that she felt with Antoine's warm seed pouring into and then out of her overfilled pussy.

Antoine tossed her used body off of his still engorged cock. The stark line of wetness showed just how much he had been able to sink into my beautiful wife and how much dick was left untouched.

My wife vowed right then to herself and to Antoine that she would continue to try until Antoine was able to fully bury his manhood within her. After all, she wanted to be just one of the girls.