This story is set in Richmond Kentucky.
You look at the window. You are bent over your husband's desk in the den, and your long brown hair sways gently back and forth in rhythm with the black man who is taking you from behind. He is beautiful – tall, chiseled like a Greek god, with big powerful hands. Those big rough hands are the reason you finally gave in to this version of the fantasy.
You forget all about your husband, him being crippled, the students you have to teach tomorrow – everything except Samuel as his large calloused fingers run over your tummy to slowly rub your clit in clockwise circles. The is hard and leaves you shuddering. His reply was, to put it mildly, degrading. As he got closer to his orgasm he pushes your skirt up showing the tan lines that reveal you do wear a bottom when you sun bath. He begins to spank you hard, and you can feel the blood rushing to create a nice pink glow on your skin. His right hand continued to rub your clit, but his left stopped spanking you and his thumb forced it's way into your ass. The feeling is violating and exciting all at once. He begins to work it in and out in rhythm with his fucking and you can feel the two rubbing through the thin membrane.
However even that wasn't enough to keep his hand busy, for you find it turning what was left of your elaborately done hair into a rat nest. God that is annoying, and god it is sexy that he just doesn't care. His strong arms – all that lifting of concrete up in Louisville didn't make for a weak man – push you down.
"You like this nigger cock bitch?"
"Yes," you cum.
"You my little white trash whore?"
"Yes," you cum, harder.
"I bet you wish your crippled husband could see you know don't you? And that even when his little cracker dick worked it wasn't this good was it?"
"No," you cum harder, and begin to cry.
"What do you think he'd say?"
"Who cares? Or are you the type who'd rather talk about him then fuck me?"
"Whore." He empties himself into you and the hot rush is overwhelming. You feel the seed leaking out of you onto the cold desk, and a part of you hopes he pill doesn't work and will give the you the child you crave so much. You can feel the eyes of your husband through the small window with the holes in the blind that your husband had built for just such occasions. You know he is watching and probably filming you and that he is probably crying. There are no lights to give him away, and since the blinds are down you can't see much even if you look. The whole in the blinds is however more then large enough to let him see.
The black man gets dressed. You lay on your back and try not to let the cum drip out of you too much – after all Darrel will want to lick it up.
Before leaving the black man spits in your face – per the arrangement, since it will help avoid emotional attachment the last thing a married man and woman who aren't married to each other need when they are lovers – and then he leaves. Your husband will roll in shortly for his "cream pie" before long, so you continue to just lay there thinking of better days.
The game used to be fun, and when the other man would cum inside you your husband would come and take you and make you feel like his woman, no HIS WIFE, and you'd know that it was just a kinky game and you two really loved each other. He'd make love NOT FUCK YOU MAKE LOVE over and over again for days on end reclaiming his "lost" love, his prized possession. Before it had been a part of the sex, but more importantly it was just part of the marriage. Now it was the sex, and it was the marriage. You have come to dread ever other Saturday when you two go to your summer house – although the seasons have little to do with when you are there these days. Worse was the site – that web thing that he finds most – except for this one, the big fantasy he had of you meeting and seducing one in real life - these men on. Now you had to wonder if every time you needed something done you ended up fucking the repair man (or in this case the foundation patched) you are going to feel like even more of a slut then you already do.
The room hadn't been that expensive, especially with the money he had gained from the lawsuit but NOW you think it was the worse you had ever spent, although truth be told it was more his doing then yours.
You go through the motions mostly to avoid having to go behind his back, but you crave, need, desire having some time alone with someone that isn't so kinky. Just you and a man. You don't love Darrel, but it isn't that he is paralyzed from the waist down but that he has dealt with it so poorly – his soul is dead, and trying to drag you down with it.
As your husband begins to lick you another man's sperm from you, the hatred makes you cum. Hating him for making you do it, and hating yourself for meaning the horrible things that you say to him that used to just be play.
You wonder what your husband would say if he knew that you were going to see Sam Monday after school, alone? And that you were not going to tell him?
If only your husband's hands weren't soft.