New College Buddies Ch. 02

After straining to get both of them inside me, I finally remembered to relax and enjoy it. We shifted around a bit and got more comfortable, and instantly I felt the resistance soften, and Leroy slid up so that he was pressed snugly against my cervix, which set off the first explosion. Jason couldn't believe how hot it all was and seemed to be getting ready to cum, but I stopped him and settled him down; I wanted them both to cum at once. I felt I had to get juices flowing without too much movement, I didn't want anyone going off who wasn't pointed at the target, yet things were beginning to cool for a minute.

To revive the flames I turned my head and whispered to Jason, "Would you get excited if I kissed Leroy right in front of your face?" I turned back to Leroy and planted my mouth on his. I tried to maintain some composure, but within seconds of our tongues touching, I couldn't stop myself from releasing the little girl moans I had been holding in. When I gave in to the kiss, I felt myself open and relax even more. Both men commented about how sexy and slick I was, inferring that I was loose, but without really complaining. Hearing them express that I was stretched was so erotic, so validating, such a confirmation that my secretly favourite word was something that now applied to me: slut.

Then men both started to move together, and then I could feel one then the other getting really deep. Both cocks slid in and out with more urgency, feeding each other's desire.

Now that both men were synchronized, I knew I would be feeling the ultimate fire hose of sperm. They both held in me and started to make familiar noises. One shot first, a bold, strong burst of semen deep into me; I thought I could almost hear it. Then they were both shooting, spurting fiercely at my cervix, trying to compete to be the father. My head was swimming; I had never felt anything like this, and knew that black men and ovulation were going to be part of my future. I couldn't live without this feeling.

(The only comparable experience I've had was an enema. That's the feeling of such intense pressure deep inside, a spurting release of a surprising amount of warm liquid into a long untouched part of me. I had never felt anything in my cervix except my own kids before tonight, and they mostly stretched me like the proverbial bowling ball coming out of your ass. I didn't associate that with sexual pleasure when it happened, but it did stretch me wide and generally worked in the old cervix. After that, it was always a treat when hubby would nudge it, if I was in the right position. I always imagined the heaven I would feel if a big black one was in there, pressed snugly against it. I had spent many hours with my favourite vibe planted right at the gates to the inner sanctum, imagining my black stud's sperm shooting deep into my core, and let it hum away...)

Finally after each man spurted 6 or 8 shots of powerful sperm deep inside my stretched vagina, the relentless pounding softened for a bit. Eventually they pulled out of me, leaving me oozing all over the place.

The men cleaned me up enough to take me home, stuffing rolled up toilet paper inside me to prevent leaks. They gathered my things and drove me home; then they dropped me off in front of my place. I wasn't really drunk, but my legs were wobbly as I carefully made my way up the steps to the side door and snuck into the house, listening to hear where Randy was. I was afraid if he found me like this, he'd know, and I still wasn't sure I wanted him to know. At least not yet. It was kind of sexier that he didn't. The realization that I might be (okay, well, OBVIOUSLY was) pregnant meant that eventually I would be forced to tell him everything, and that was turning me on, somehow. I wanted that, to be forced to tell him that I was pregnant, that another man had impregnated me on purpose and I'd eagerly let him, that my stud was a random black man with a giant cock, one of my many new lovers, and that I wanted a black baby more than anything, almost. I decided to leave it for now, sneak into bed, and pretend I was too tired to play tonight.

He was asleep, and because I was careful he didn't wake up at first. I tried to stay quiet and not move until I drifted off. Carefully I removed the plug the men had inserted and cum came oozing out. Inevitably, Randy awoke and rolled over to caress and snuggle me. I couldn't help but respond and got excited thinking he would discover my vaginal secret, oozing out of me. He worked his way down there and started licking me. I was going crazy with lust, expecting him to say something. He just kept licking and sucking me, more turned on than I could remember ever seeing him. He eventually breathed, "I love you like this..." and resumed licking very deeply inside me.

He knew, but he wasn't coming out and saying it. And he obviously genuinely loved it. This realization forced me to manoeuvre my mouth over to his crotch so I could grab his cock and start licking him, giving him The Treatment. I wondered if he knew or accepted that from now on, this was the most likely way we would both satisfy each other after my black lovers had serviced me and stretched me out really loose. While we both loved 69, we just never seemed to get here anymore. But due to a welcome change, he wouldn't feel much inside my huge pussy anymore, maybe the odd time when he's really horny, I'll let him; after all, he shoots harmless blanks. But most of the time we would lick and suck each other: I sucked his nice but no longer nearly adequate cock, and he licked out my lover's thick, gooey, warm, powerful impregnating sperm from my fertile depths. It sounded like an arrangement made in heaven to me; I hoped he felt the same.

He began to use his fingers to easily stretch me open, and I was soaking the bed. Eventually when I was wide open and gooey again, he slid inside and stroked me gently, our tongues magnetically inseparable until he squirted harmlessly into my reawakened birth canal—probably five minutes, only lasting that long because he already suspected and had rubbed himself raw as soon as I'd called him last night. He kissed me all over and then covered me up, tucking me in for a good sleep, whispering what I already knew: how much he loved me.

I awoke at noon on Saturday as Randy was bringing me breakfast in bed. Wow. What a considerate, loving husband. How could I cheat on him? He fed me and made small talk, asking me how I felt, etc. He asked if my three black classmates had made a pass at me. I didn't answer. I didn't know what to say. Didn't he know? Was he pretending he didn't? Eventually he asked me if I had anything to tell him, reminding me that he had found my ovulation calendar and he knew I was ovulating the night before. I grinned at him and whispered, "I think you know," teasingly. He gasped.

"It went way beyond flirting," I added as I got out of bed and bent over, pulling my robe up around my waist and spreading my ass cheeks so he could see my very loose pussy open wide. I had felt how wet and sloppy I was, leaking out onto the sheets, and I knew he was seeing what was left of my black lovers' sperm dripping out of me. I stayed like that til I saw a little puddle of sperm begin to pile up in the carpet, then I grinned at him and went to get some toilet paper to clean it up.

I still suspected that he had the same fantasy as I had, my evidently extreme commitment to it taking me well beyond fantasy; but I couldn't be sure. So far nothing that had happened proved concretely that he knew. Deep down I felt surely he was aware, but it was so intensely exhilarating to believe that he wasn't sure and that I was cheating on him outright. It made it all so much more passionate, so concentrated, the desperation of the risk, the rarity of the opportunities meaning added urgency... But I just didn't have it in me not to share it with him somehow. I figured if I teased him, I could convince myself that I had told him, yet I could also make myself believe how hot it was that he had missed my clear insinuation and didn't know, all just by shifting priorities with my shifting moods. When I wasn't turned on, once we started to joke around as we always do, we made sly comments to each other, spreading an infectious grin; all kinds of black cock and impregnation jokes, puns, double entendres, etc. We both enjoyed it a lot, and I always got wet enough to go along with just about anything he wanted me to do. At times like that, I would chant to myself, "He knows and he's playing along—Go for it!" But once the juices started to flow, when it was time to talk openly about it and truly face the reality, we were both silent, protecting the fake secret, almost like nothing had ever been said about it. I regretted that that had changed, missing our mutual fantasy role-playing sessions; but I felt like together we were in mid-step between two eras in our relationship.

Facing the possibility that my bond with the love of my life could be in very real peril was the necessary balance to the outright transcendental mania that electrified my soul when I felt those huge black men inseminating me, possibly impregnating me. When my black lovers came inside me I felt like I had connected with Nature, with Mother Nature. I had really become aware of my fertility and it filled me with a desire that had overwhelmed my self-control, my common sense, my reason of any kind. It felt like the ticket for an exceptional, intensive tour between worlds; between consciousness and the unconscious mind; between agonizing humiliation and supreme pleasure--ultimate gratification; between mind-numbing fear and peaceful satisfaction beyond words; between complete awareness of the entire universe and complete oblivion; between divine, ethereal, passionate love and root instinctive reproductive lust. You know, nirvana. If you don't know that feeling, I'm not going to tell you to risk your marriage to feel a black stud knock you up behind your husband's back, nor even necessarily with his blessing if you're not both completely prepared. I probably wouldn't do it again, just because I've had time to reflect and evaluate the risks I dodged. Yet I'm so glad I did it; it's the most intense experience I've ever had, by far. There literally aren't words for that level of bliss. It's a type of brainwave that only exists in Big Black Cock slutwife breeding land. I suffered a bit because of one of the consequences due to my age, but we'll get to that in another chapter.

I'm the luckiest woman alive, but I have a couple of acquaintances who didn't do as well. One has remarried her husband 2 years after divorcing him. She is still deep in the lifestyle (pregnant with her second biracial—black, of course—baby, but while only barely tolerating it at first her husband now embraces it, to their mutual enjoyment. They lost a lot of time to bitterness and misunderstanding and the slanted, chauvinistic prejudices of even this modern society. The other lost her marriage. A couple of the guys have talked to her husband, and it seems there might be a chance of reconciliation, but pride does a lot of damage—or at least kicking the crap out of it does. She is out of the lifestyle for a while, trying to convince him to come back, so she can try again with more help this time. She may not be able to have a biracial baby, which is too bad for her, but their marriage is more important to her. Some guys need to be dominated, others need to pretend they're in control; there is a whole range of different levels and concepts to this, femme dom, cuckoldry, and just plain old swapping, but my hubby just loves me and gives me all he thinks I can take.

I wish everyone could feel the kind of attachment I have with my husband now. I've never understood why I should disparage my husband as a wimp because any self-interest or insecurity hasn't prevented him from being a generous and caring lover, willing to help me with anything I want, willing to share me with the black men who make me cum uncontrollably, so that I can give myself to the pleasure, become the very pleasure that waits inside me, my previously suppressed self—my inner slut. Others get more out of it by humiliating either the husband or wife in some way; I was brought up to think that sex is normal and natural, so I've never had any hang-ups about it being a contest or punishment or dirty or whatever. Our reward for sharing this lovingly with each other and staying together no matter what could be growing inside me right now, but I'd better not get ahead of myself.

A lot of this was swirling in my head as I got ready to go out on a 'date.'

To be continued...