Wife Swap Goes Wrong

Summer time, 2008.

An endless sea of persons of different shapes and sizes and colours invaded the streets of Miami, basking in the sun which bristled with intense heat from where it suspended, millions of miles away in space. As was customary in this part of the United States during times like this, women flaunted a good chunk of their skin by donning scanty sweat-shorts or skirts and sleeveless tops, while men went for the typical vibrant or bland loose-fitting shorts and t-shirts.

If truth be told, the only men and women lacking in this dress policy were those too old or too bored to care.

Sholanda Smith absorbed the view from the window-seat where she was nestled inside the sweltering bus as it navigated the busy road to its final bus stop. The bus groaned to a halt and Sholanda disembarked. She had her shades on and glanced around, looking for nowhere in particular.

Today she was in all-black, right from her sunglasses to her modish, open-toe sandals. A form fitting blouse graced her upper body and a skirt that cut above her knees wrapped tight around her butt.

Sholanda was a 5'7 African-American woman and very curvaceous. Her breasts were average in size and her waist tapered slightly and flared to give structure to a set of wide hips. Her plump arse jutted shamelessly such that it was a miracle her skirt was able to hold on.

Sholanda departed the bus stop and strolled with her fellow pedestrians along the pavement. It was no surprise that she heard wolf-whistles from idle, young black men traipsing about. She knew their eyes were fastened on her arse. It was after all a sight to behold, a mysterious wonder. With each step she took, her butt-cheeks adjusted their weight and balance, shifting up and down respectively, and trembling faintly within the confines of her skirt as though protesting to be liberated from their cruel prison.

She was the epitome of what these boys called "thick girl". Everything about her lured them; the swell of her breasts, the deep-round of her arse, the thick of her strong thighs, the arch of her full lips, her heart-shaped face, her trendy short hair, her small nose, and her cool liquid-brown eyes.

Sholanda paid no heed to them. She was a busy woman. And married. But the ring on her finger did little to dissuade them from their desperate antics, for as she pranced she felt pinches, taps and light squeezes on her meaty arse. It was futile to confront them, so she kept on her way, eyes front, maintaining a steady pace.

Minutes expired before she arrived at her destination, an outdoor cafe. The place crawled with holidaymakers. One table at the south-end was occupied by a brown-haired white male. A thin man, he sported a black shirt, white track pants and cream Adidas trainers. Sholanda weaved past tables, chairs and people to get to him.

'Hey you,' she smiled at him once she was close enough.

'Hey, Sholanda, right?' He said, standing.

'Yeah, that's me,'

They embraced and took their seats.

'You're looking good,' he winked at her and her smile grew wider.

'Thank you.' She said. 'So, here I am, Jerry.'

'Yep,' Jerry said, producing a brown folder and handing it to her. 'That's the contract from NBC headquarters. It's got the price and everything listed for this gig. You're gonna make a hell of a money if you do this. Have you – er – talked to your husband yet?'

'Yeah, yeah, of course.' Sholanda said, perusing the papers in her hand. She had never been this delighted in weeks. 'So all I gotta do is participate in this Wife Swap thing...'

'Yeah. It's a show we've been running for a while. I don't know if you've seen it. You can on YouTube – it's all over the place. All you gotta do is move in with this guy and his kids while his wife moves in with your husband and your kids. The idea is that you impress on your new, temporary family your ethics to help them grow as individuals ... or you could just fuck the whole place up. Your choice.' He said and they laughed.

'Fuck the place up? Really?' Sholanda said.

'Hey, they don't call it reality TV for nothing.' Jerry smirked and sipped some Diet Coke.

'This is really nice. I really love what I'm seeing here.' Sholanda's focus revisited the contract.

'So you're in?' Jerry asked hopefully.

'Tell you what, why don't I take this home with me and I'll give you a call as soon as my husband sees it. That okay?'

'Sounds good enough for me.' A self-satisfied expression lit on Jerry's face. 'In the mean time, why don't I get you and me a drink and something to eat, huh? The sun's fucking killing me, I'm thirsty and I'm starving, and I know you're feeling the same.'

Yes, she was.

***

All it took was one read of the contract and John was ecstatic. The prospect of an eventful, successful summer didn't seem as glum as it had last month. John brushed the wisps of blonde locks obscuring his right eye and stole a glance at the contract again. He couldn't help it. The thing was an eye-magnet.

'$70,000! Honey, this is insane!' He said to his wife, Sholanda, who was seated right next to him. She had just returned from a meeting with an NBC producer.

'So we're in?' An expectant Sholanda said.

'Of course we're in. I ain't fucking stupid!'

Sholanda squealed and hugged him.

'Oh baby, thanks!' She said. 'I'm gonna call Jerry right now and give him the good news. This is gonna be fun. I promise.' It had been her idea from the start. Not only would they make some money out of this, it would also give her some public exposure (no matter how little) which she needed to further her ailing acting career. Admittedly it wasn't a sure career-booster, but in this time and age hustling was the name of the game.

'You do that, babe,' John's handsome features relaxed, outlining a pleased look. He rose to a lofty 5'11 and stretched his lean muscles. 'I'll be upstairs taking a nap and dreaming of great things to come.'

Sholanda dashed to the kitchen to get some ice cream and make the phone call that would change her life forever.

***

Things were now set in motion. By 11am, Tuesday morning, NBC crewmembers were parked in front of the Smith residence. Jerry detailed the essential protocols to Sholanda and John, elucidating how Wife Swap worked. Later, Sholanda, dressed in tight-fitting inky blue jeans and a pink top, and armed with a bag of clothes and other necessities, was escorted to a white Mercedes and driven to the home of the family she would be spending next week or so.

The house was a monstrous white edifice. There had to be about ten bedrooms or more in it. Sholanda couldn't wipe the awestruck look from her face as she walked to the main entrance. The door opened before she could knock and a man stepped forth to welcome her.

'Hey, what's up, I'm Terry,' he said, shaking her small hand which was instantly swallowed in his.

Terry was an athlete, African-American, big and strong. At 6'0 he towered everyone around him and carried with him an air of respect. His shoulders were broad and his substantial muscles undulated underneath his white long-sleeved tank top, their concrete contours traceable on the fabric. His hair was trimmed short and his lips shaped a warm smile as his eyes took in Sholanda's appearance.

'I'm Sholanda. Nice to meet you finally.' Sholanda said, charmed by his charisma. It wasn't everyday she met a handsome, wealthy, respectable black man like Terry. It was one of the reasons she had married John, a white guy; black men of Terry's calibre were nonexistent or difficult to find.

'Come on in. Let me introduce you to the kids.' Terry gestured, drifting aside for her to enter.

If she thought outside was glorious then there really weren't words to accurately describe inside the house. It was beyond splendid. Everything smelt of raw wealth and hard work. The architecture of the room was pristine.

By the time Sholanda's eyes had meandered round for a bit she felt somewhat groggy with wonderment.

Terry had two kids, 4 year-old Miranda and 6 year-old Terry Junior. From the light-brown tint of their skin, dissimilar from Terry's chocolate-brown, Sholanda rightly guessed their mother was Caucasian (the pictures on the wall also confirmed her notion). Seems she and Terry had one thing in common.

'Do you wanna play with me in my room? I've got some really cool toys,' Terry Junior grabbed Sholanda's hand.

'I saw her first!' Miranda objected. 'She's playing with me. Daddy, tell him!'

Terry and Sholanda both laughed.

'It's okay. There's plenty of me to go around.' Sholanda took both their hands. 'C'mon, let's go have some fun.'

Things were looking up already for Sholanda. Her future here seemed bright. Fantastic.

***

Over the next couple of days, Sholanda had been able to infuse not just herself but her rules into the Johnson home for better or worse. Astoundingly though, Terry and his kids gave little resistance to this change. They tended to hang on to her every word and were very obedient and helpful to her. It was more than she could have asked for. The producers were pleased with how smoothly things were running.

However, there was one big problem: Terry. Sholanda had been getting some vibes from him. And it wasn't a unidirectional occurrence. She too had been giving out vibes, despite not wanting to. She couldn't help it. The man was appealing and funny and sooo sexy. John was all those things too, but Terry ... Terry was different. Beneath his cool personality Sholanda detected an innate animalistic passion that threatened to rupture to the open whenever they were alone, especially when their eyes locked. Sometimes she expected him to jump across the room, rip her clothes to pieces and take her right there in front of the cameras and his children.

Thank God for the cameras. With their continued, imposing company in Terry's home it was safe to say that no hanky-panky would ever ensue. Plus he was married. And she was married. So, there.

On Saturday morning Sholanda walked into the kitchen to make breakfast for the family as she had done on previous days. She got out a cereal box from a cupboard and a carton of milk from the fridge. There were also some bread, eggs and beacon in there. She retrieved those. It wasn't until she turned around that she became aware of Terry observing her from the doorway. How long had he been there?

'Terry, hey,' she said, greeting him with a warm smile. 'You aight? Hope your night was cool,'

'Yeah, it was.' He said, settling on a stool.

'I'm just preparing breakfast before the cameramen resume duty.' Sholanda said.

'Yeah, I feel you on that. They can be a pain in the ass sometimes.' He grinned.

'It's aight though. I'm having fun.'

'I can tell.' Terry's gaze bore into her eyes the same way it had been doing since she first got here. They were mesmerising, inviting her to a dangerous and exciting place she knew best to avoid.

Sholanda tore her eyes from his and preoccupied herself with anything in an effort to keep from meeting his stare.

'So, what's it like at your crib?'He asked after a moment.

'Well, I got two adorable kids like you. I'm an aspiring actress. And I'm married to a wonderful husband.'

'White guy, huh?'

'How'd you know?'

'I'm psychic.'

'Really?' She cocked her eyebrow, amused.

'Nah, I read your file.' He said and they chuckled.

'I never read yours,' Sholanda confessed.

'You don't need to anymore, you're already here. You can find out whatever you want. Just ask.'

They talked some more until Miranda and Terry Junior barged in, trailed by the NBC cameramen.

Another day of Wife Swap began.

For the next couple of hours, Terry, the children and Sholanda engaged in fun activities and outdoor sports to appreciate the summer. They strolled to a nearby restaurant, ate ice cream and pizza, drove around the city, and returned home giggling, cheerful at the day's accomplishments. Sholanda had broken her promise to avoid Terry at all cost throughout the episode. She couldn't wait for this Wife Swap to end. She wanted to go back to John before either of them – Terry or her – did something they would regret for the rest of their lives.

Unable to sleep that night at around 12, Sholanda wore her favourite black skirt and white sweater, and exited her room for the kitchen. Why were all her clothes tight? Her jeans, her skirts, her tops – they were all tight. Why? Stupid question, yes, but she realised they could be part of the problem, the reason why Terry was infatuated with her body (she never missed his hungry ogles). But she was used to dressing this way, both outside and in her home. She hadn't thought of how it would affect her Wife Swap host. And the producers never objected to her fashion sense, so they too probably didn't think it was that big a deal.

Sholanda sighed and helped herself to some leftover food in the fridge. Everyone was fast asleep – the NBC cameramen included. Her flimsy handling of the cutlery led to its accidental slip from her hand. It clattered on the floor and bounced under the table.

'Shit.' Sholanda grunted and knelt. She bent forward, crawled and stretched her arm to grab the spoon.

'My god...'

The deep voice frightened her. She would have jumped if she wasn't bent over. Twisting her neck and edging out from below, she saw that it was Terry. He wore black trunks and a white undershirt. His well-defined muscles pushed out, bump after bump. There was something else, something that froze Sholanda in her stooped posture: a mighty bulge protruded, stretching his elastic trunks. It was pretty obvious where Terry's eyes were on: her beefed up arse which tautened her poor skirt.

'Terry...' The sound of her voice was supposed to be a caveat, her way of reminding him of their delicate situation – happily married with kids. Instead it sounded enthralled, because her damn, foolish eyes feasted on the monstrosity of his buried erection.

'Fuck this.' Terry swore and marched towards her. He was right behind her before her brain had time to function and relay an action to her nerves.

'Terry!'

Terry knelt and pressed his groin on her fat arse. His strong hands forced her back to drop, putting her head on the cold floor. The deed caused her arse to shoot further in the air.

A scream fashioned in her mind but failed to articulate as words from her mouth. It was the thing inside his trucks. It had curbed her desire to flee and destroyed her attempts at objecting to his lewd act. What the fuck was it, a python?! It felt bigger than any dick she had ever happened upon.

Terry groaned and spun his waist, chaffing his enlarged member on her butt in slow, rhythmic motions.

'Look at that ass...' His voice rumbled at the back of his throat.

'Terry, please don't do this,' what? That's the best you can come up with? Her subconscious voice insulted her.

Terry swiped her butt with his hand. A loud, hollow SMACK rang and her arse jiggled seductively. Sholanda whimpered.

'Fuck! Look at that ass!' Terry moaned.

'Terry, we can't do this...'

'Shake that ass for me.' Terry ordered, still rubbing his crotch on her butt.

'What? Heeell no!'

'Move that ass, girl!' Terry repeated the firm command and whacked her left arse-cheek, setting it off into an unruly vibration.

She shouldn't do it. She should get up and walk away. She shouldn't do it...

But she did. The monster cock wedged on her butt promised her dark pleasures. Pleasures she was curious about. Curious enough to do whatever Terry wanted of her.

Sholanda's waist and arse went into action. Soon she was twirling her waist round and round and bucking her arse up and down in perpetuity, stroking Terry's fat cock.

'Ooooh shiiit...' Terry groaned. His eyelids fluttered shut as sweet desire consumed him. 'Ooooh fuuuuck. You were a video vixen, huh,'

A video vixen was an extremely hour-glass shaped woman, preferably with a huge arse, who appeared as a dancer in hip-hop videos. She had been in the business for years before stumbling into John on a Saturday night at a cinema.

'Yeah,' Sholanda muttered, grafting hard to bump her arse as best as possible on that cock she craved so much. Gone were her thoughts of escaping this nightmare, because it wasn't a nightmare anymore. It was a perverted fantasy, and thus needed only to be embraced, not fought. Go with the flow.

As time went on Terry grew more demanding, dry fucking her as hard as he could, and then finally he halted his actions and brought them both to their feet. The instant Sholanda was up Terry gripped her arse with his big hands. His fingers dug into her soft, luscious flesh. Unable to help himself, Terry returned to his knees again and kissed both butt-cheeks one after the other, nibbling to his heart's desire. His hands descended to her sturdy thighs and attacked.

'Thicky-thick girl,' he grunted, rising. His hands never strayed too far from Sholanda's delicious derriere. 'You wanna touch it?' He didn't wait for an answer; seizing Sholanda's left hand, he brought it to his swollen crotch.

What the fuck? Sholanda mouthed as her fingers traced the solid impression of the secreted beast. She dreaded the moment it would rare its head.

'I'mma fuck you tonight, Sholanda,' Terry licked and smacked his lips. 'I'mma tear that pussy up.'

Sholanda lifted her head and stared at him in shock. No one had ever spoken to her like that. It was ... exhilarating. The spot between her thighs tingled.

Terry's hand clutched and shook her left butt-cheek.

'I'mma rip that fat ass,' he added. His eyes promised her.

Sholanda's hand lifted from her side and her palm flattened on his chest. She felt the thick muscle there. Her hand lowered and ferreted, learning and appreciating every bump and lump. His body was perfect, a magnificent sculpture.

'Where'd you want us to get down?' Terry said.

'What about the kids?' Sholanda suddenly remembered Miranda and Terry Junior.

'They ain't gonna hear nothing, girl,' Terry's head inclined and his lips crushed hers.

Sholanda allowed the kiss, welcomed it. She opened up to him. Their tongues assaulted each other, counting their teeth, tasting their lips. As their electrifying, passionate kiss took place, Sholanda and Terry had their hands all over the respective other. Terry's rubbed her back, massaged her aching breasts and slapped her beckoning butt, while Sholanda's clawed his rock-hard chest and surfboard torso.

It was Terry who ended their feverish make out session. His hands gripped her waist and he hauled her up as though she was as light as feather, dumping her on the kitchen table. The table protested but held firm. Terry's hands blurred in speed and tore open Sholanda's sweater. Her breasts flew out. Terry's greedy hands wrapped around them and he squeezed hard.

'Oooh god,' Sholanda moaned.

Terry leaned forward and began to suck her right nipple, urging the chunky, black bud to pay reverence to his mouth by erecting. He teased with his tongue and bit her breast lightly. Sholanda writhed on the table as pure sexual energy coursed through her veins. Terry hadn't forgotten her other breast; all the while, as he dealt with the right one, his hand moulded the left however way he saw fit. Then his mouth took over.

'Oooh shit!' Sholanda grunted, gripping the edge of the table with one hand and grasping his head with the other. She encouraged him with gentle prods here and there.

Why was she doing this? What about John, the love of her life, her husband? She was supposed to be faithful. She was supposed to honour her vows.

Terry's mighty arms imprisoned her waist and he brought her down from the table. Without a word, he spun her around to back him and pushed her back until her breasts packed down on the table. His hand sliced through the air and spanked her. It was the hardest he had spanked that day and the pain was evident from Sholanda's, 'Fuck, Terry!' Still her butt quaked from the blow, hypnotising him. He did it again.