She's White, Married, He's Black

He was six foot three, muscular, gentle, with huge feet and hands, and he absolutely sent my wife into total sexual rhapsody each time he was around her. He was a friend who I enjoyed the company of, and due to no fault of his own he made my wife's panties wet and her fantasies full of desire for his sexual attention and the hardness of his massive black cock. I had known it for longer than I wanted to admit and had no idea what I was going to do about it.

She would never admit it, nor would she act on it, but it was as clear as a summer day in Atlanta, and eventually I understood it had to come to a head. There had to be a resolution because it was killing her, and I was heading towards the locked doors of an asylum. Eventually, I knew it had to come to a conclusion, and that conclusion had to be most likely between the sheets of a large, soft, sexy bed.

It was June, the sun was hot, and he worked in our backyard with his shirt off and my wife was watching from the bedroom window. Her eyes were full of agony and desire and I understood the tension within her was about to explode, to blow her conservative resolve to little pieces that would leave her crazy and shattered, and desiring him even more.

It was not her fault, she had resisted every temptation, every urge to move on it, fought off every impulse to lead him on, to break her vows, to leave her virtues behind and seduce him with all her womanly determination and charm. I knew how hard it was for her, because I could see it in her face, hear it in her voice, and I could feel it throughout her body when I held her. Henry simply sweated sex appeal and my wife drank it up, savored the heat off his allure, feasted on the sight of him, and I could no longer ignore it. I could no longer pretend it wasn't happening right before my eyes.

It became unbearable to watch her suffer so over the sight of him, the intensity of him, and the day I decided to do something about it was a day I felt liberated from torment and guilt of ignoring the ache of the person I love and her overwhelming desire for the man in our backyard.

I knew if I went to her and gave her permission to give in to her desires, it would insult her and embarrass her for not being more in control of her sexual cravings, her sexual impulses. It would be throwing her secrets in her face, mocking her womanly desire. I could not do that to her. I would be saying," I know you can't control yourself. You can't be faithful in the presence of a black man who kindles your sexual flame and I know it.

It would have to remain her secret, her personal passionate for a man she cannot let herself want, dare not act upon her sexual needs. If she is ever with him it must remain her untold story, her hidden past.

I could handle keeping her secret more than I could handle watching her suffer. Finally, I went to Henry with a proposal. I simply asked him if he could help me with a very personal matter. "I need you to fuck my wife," I said bluntly, as directly as could be said. "I know this is a very unusual request, but I can't watch her suffer any longer." He laughed, said it wasn't all that unusual, and said he would help all he could. "Not unusual?" I said.

"Many white ladies want black meat inside them," he said with a grin. We decided on a plan, making time for him to be with her, just the two of them for long periods, and letting him know that I was totally all right with whatever happened between them.

After the first week, it seemed her mood and frame of mind improved dramatically as Henry spent more and more time inside the house doing work that required him to be around her almost constantly while I was at work.

A week after our plan was put in motion, I took Henry aside and asked him how things had been going. His smile said it all and he nodded. "Your lady is very special," he said. "She appreciates a warm body and a hard man," he said with a grin. "She is very wild woman with powerful needs. She is a pleasure to make love to," he said earnestly. "I am proud to be her secret. You do Henry a big favor to ask him to fill your wife with sexual happiness. I am grateful to you, my friend," he said with a sincerity that was easy to see.

Two weeks later I found him working at his truck and asked him again how things were for them. "She love being filled with what a man has for her," he said. "I should thank you, mi' son," he said falling into his West Indian roots. "Your woman is very passionate lady."

I smiled and put out my hand. "You are a gentleman," I said. "You service a man's wife with humble sincerity and dedication of a sexual virtuoso, and I am grateful."

"I don't know what that means," he said, "but I will do my best to satisfy your lady for you." I put my hand on his shoulder and thanked him for helping to keep her secret. "No one will ever know except you and me, and, of course, your sweet bride."

I became obsessively fixated on seeing them together, watching another man fuck my wife as she dreamed of being taken, lustfully, passionately, even powerfully, and I made arrangement to be away from work when I knew they would be together. I had thought about it many times, fantasized about what he would do to her, pictured him pushing his massive penis into her pussy from between her legs, seen him in my mind as she rode him like a steer with a knee on each side of his hips and bounced over him swinging her head about as she groaned and pushed him deeper into her watery core.

I crept into the backyard and went to the window of our bedroom and looked between the curtains. There on the bed was my naked white wife, her skin in great contrast to his dark body, on her back with Henry between her knees, his hard cock pushed into her pussy as far as its great size would allow.

I watched for forty minutes as he fucked her, then moved out of her and put his mouth to her sex and ate her with head-moving abandon making her put her hand over her mouth and come with an explosive and noisy orgasm that I could clearly hear from outside the window.

He then literally picked her up and placed her on her knees, climbing behind her and forcing his huge rod up her splayed and wet pussy with long hard jabs into her, rocking her body forward with each of his forceful thrusts.

He fucked her like that until she collapsed on her face against the bed, her lovely rump still in the air.

He put his face against her bottom, opened her cheeks with his big fingers and licked her anus until she screamed and came again with an intensity I had never seen from her since we had been together. When she fell exhausted on the bed he began kissing her bottom and I could hear her moans from outside.

Tenderly he licked slowly up and down the crack of her lovely bottom as she relaxed, spent and wonderfully satisfied on our bed, smiling as he quietly pleasured her ass. I watched until they began to kiss and for some crazy reason I suddenly felt guilty for invading their privacy, although I had not felt that way watching them fuck. It was as if this was more intimate and personal, as if I was peeping rather than just casually observing.

When I came home that night I watched her closely, remembering the sounds and sights of her sex with Henry and remembering the look on her face as he took her, fucked her, and ate her pussy like she had obviously dreamed of having him do for so long. I watched the contented look on her face and vowed to never reveal her secret, to let her keep that part of herself to herself.

I pledged I would never ask or mention any part of what I knew to be her hidden, personal desire for the passion of a black man and what he could offer that I could not. I watched her undress for bed and thought back to seeing the contrast of her white, naked skin and his, and I remembered how much I liked seeing it, how much it turned me on to see such a thing.

I thought about her with him constantly, thinking about the excitement in her eyes and the passion in her demeanor, the elegance of her nakedness as he fucked her. I was so happy I had decided to ask him to have sex with my wife, to give her what she wanted so badly. The thrill of seeing them fucking like two wild animals filled me with excitement and helped me fall asleep each night.

"I want to thank you," she said one night as we cuddled before sleep. I asked what she was talking about and she raised up in bed and looked down at me incredulously. "I'm not sixteen," she said. "A polite, respectful black man who has been around for a year suddenly tells the white, horny wife, who has it bad for him, that his services are now available to her if she wants a big black dick in her pussy. Come on. You think I can't see through that? I have had wet panties around him for a year, and I know it is obvious to anyone with 20/20 vision and half a brain that I have had the hots for him since he first cast those big dark eyes of his on my heaving chest.

Thank you, sweetheart. I truly love you for it. It may be the most loving gesture a husband has ever done in the name of compassion and caring. You really are a remarkable man, you know." And with that she kissed me and turned off the light. I wanted to asked how it was fucking him, but I guess I really already knew.