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Most guys I meet are totally into being cuckolds. A couple are nervous as hell but they go with the flow and get there in the end. Then there’s this arsehole.
The moment I walked into that hotel room I knew something was off. The way he was acting was like he was in charge. He greeted me, smiling like I was his best buddy, dressed a shirt and slacks. Middle-aged white guy going bald and grey and not sure if he wanted to embrace it or fight it. He smelled of cheap aftershave.
“Great to see you,” he beamed and ushered me inside.
She sat on the end of the bed looking like her photo. Black girl, a couple of years younger than him at least. Braided hair pulled back in a clump on the back of her head. Makeup nicely applied. She was on the heavy side, all curves and soft flesh in the right places. Hidden under a thin bodysuit almost the same milk chocolate colour as her.
“Here he is, honey,” he chirped. To me he said, “She’s looking forward to this.”
Was she? The way she sat told another story. Legs crossed, hands clenched in her lap. She looked up, flashed a weak smile, and went back to staring at the wall.
I leant against the desk at the end of the bed. “You sure about this?”
“We’ve been talking about nothing but,” he answered for her. “Cuckolding with a white man? Well, that’s icing on the cake.”
I figured she was West African, first or second generation. He was Caucasian and behaved like he had a trophy. Prick.
She took a deep breath in, held it and let it out with a long rasp.
Ignoring him, I restated my question. “Are you sure about this?”
She looked up at me and there was nothing in her eyes but reluctance.
“Adultery is a sin, Mr Bull,” she said firmly in her beautiful Nigerian voice. “If I am to sin then I hope I am punished for it.”
I joined in her reluctance.
“See, she’s submissive, just like I said.”
He realised his misstep and his bravado dropped a little.
“So it wasn’t her I was talking to?”
Damn, I was an idiot. DM on socials, then emails and finally the phone call to set all this up. I replayed it in my head and heard her speaking. She spoke in brief, truncated sentences that matched her emails. When anything got difficult her husband replied.
“AI,” he said. “She was too nervous to speak.”
“OK, well, that’s me done. I’m out.”
I barely took two steps before she spoke.
“Mr Bull, if I did not want to be here I would not be here.”
I stopped in my tracks. She looked at me with her chin lifted and eyes wide.
“I am ‘clean’, the questions you asked were answered by me if not by my voice, and I have prepared myself spiritually for adultery. I am ready to be unfaithful.”
“But do you want to?”
She pondered the question for a moment, then lifted herself off the bed with some effort. She padded barefoot across the worn carpet, her body shivering with each step in a way that was captivating and divine. When she stopped she was that much shorter that she had to crane her neck to look at me.
“My husband is the only man I have known,” she said regretfully. “He is adequate as a lover, but I have only orgasmed by my own hand and his idea of submission is to have me lie over his lap while he smacks my bottom. So yes, Mr Bull, I do want to be unfaithful.”
Her hand curled around the back of my neck and drew me down. She kissed me with warm, plump lips. As she withdrew she swallowed. Her reluctance was gone.
“Please, Mr Bull, let me submit to you.”
—
The moment the words left her lips his features twisted into a victorious smirk. His fingers hovered over his shirt buttons, fidgeting impatiently as he waited for my capitulation. Why wouldn’t I? Hot black woman offers herself up and only a fool would turn that down. I wasn’t a fool. I wasn’t an idiot either.
I glanced down at those big brown eyes looking up. Her breathing was shallow through a slightly open mouth. I stroked her cheek and rested my thumb on her bottom lip. She took it inside and sucked gently.
“OK,” I agreed. She smiled and sucked a little harder. To him I said, “You get in the corner.”
He nodded, barely able to contain his excitement as he slunk away, pulling his clothes off faster than if they were on fire. Stripping down to a cheap thong made of something translucent.
My shirt came off. As soon as she had the buttons undone she was at my chest, caressing my pecs until she found my nipple. She sucked it hard and nipped at it with sharp teeth. Distracted me as she tugged at my belt and fly, then sunk down onto her knees, pulling my trousers and boxers with her. I stepped out and she took my socks with her. Naked as the day I was born.
“May I blow you, Sir?” she asked, sweet voice all polite.
“No. Stand up.”
That didn’t go to whatever plan she’d made up. Reluctantly she stood and bit her lip as I wound the thin straps of her bodysuit around my thumbs. She inhaled sharply as I pulled them up and over her shoulders. Bit harder. Winced as I pulled the suit down and her breasts popped in view. They were more than a handful with some weight to them, and small, dark areolae with nipples that had yet to rise.
I pulled her bodysuit down around her thighs. Her tummy was soft and a little swollen with her navel vanishing into a deep, dark tunnel. Around her groin her skin darkened but there was no hair to cause it. Pimples hinted at a razor’s work.
Her hands didn’t know where to go and she dropped her head. When I lifted her chin her cheeks blazed red and she couldn’t look me in the eye. Not at first. I waited until she couldn’t help herself. She looked afraid.
“You’re beautiful,” I told her and meant it.
Her blushing renewed and lips flickered with a smile she tried to suppress. I wondered when was the last time she was complimented.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
Down on her knees again, this time sliding her clothes off. Fingers curled around my cock, not yet summoned into service, gently stroking back and forth. Her tongue scratched against my shaft, leading her hand, then guiding me into her mouth. She sucked gently, swirling her tongue over my head, just as she had my thumb. Her head moved slowly, savouring my cock like a fine meal.
He sat in the corner on a chair dragged over for his comfort, gripping the edges of the seat until his knuckles turned white. The way we were positioned close to the door I figured all he could see was the back of her head bobbing up and down, and he wanted to see more.
“You’re good at this,” I told her.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said and used the interruption to slide down my growing shaft to tightening balls. She sucked on the skin between them, and I jerked as she drew a ball into her mouth and squeezed with her lips. Her eyes smiled at me as she returned to where she belonged: with my cock in her pretty mouth.
I pulled on her hair enough that she knew what was expected. She broke off and stood, hands behind her back, looking up at me with her bottom lip between her teeth. My fingers sunk into her left breast, kneading the mound like it was dough. She braved it out, refusing to show any emotion until I pulled hard and she winced. I grabbed her other breast and worked them together, watching her as she struggled to keep control of her emotions.
“Do you like being hurt?”
The question forced her to confront her pain. She scrunched her eyes shut tight.
“Yes, Sir,” she confessed.
That got his attention. He frowned.
I dropped her tits. Her eyes opened wide as blood flooded flesh and brought agony with it. She didn’t have a chance to process it, I swung a flat palm at her left breast and it bounced around her chest. I went for her right. It flew a little further and slapped against its sister. A quick flurry filled the room with slaps and wincing. Not crying. She wouldn’t cry.
She panted and bent forwards a little to give them air to breathe. I moved and she flinched, expecting another onslaught. Not yet, I decided. Poor girl needed a moment.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said. Sounded like she meant it.
I spun her around and watched him. Shock hit him as he saw what I’d done to his wife. Her tits were red and sore, a couple of handprints could just be made out. Large red blotches matched to where I’d dug fingers and nails into her.
“I want to be hurt properly,” she said without prompting. More for his benefit than mine.
—
She bounced as she landed on the mattress, and her legs flew up in the air. I stepped in quick and pushed down on the small of her back, stopping her from going any further. I figured if I threw her much harder she might’ve gone clear over the other side.
Nice backside. Round and fleshy with thick thighs to boot. I smacked her. Not particularly hard; I just wanted to watch it all shake. And she shook beautifully.
I left her there while I got the obligatory shoehorn left by the door. There were a couple of things in my bag I could have used, but this felt right. It felt spontaneous. By the time I got back to her she’d snuck a pillow under her hips and hoped I wouldn’t notice. I let it go.
“Husband spanks you, yeah?”
“Yes, Sir,” she reminded me. “But he is not good at it.”
That hit him. He looked a little hurt.
“Why’s that?”
“He’s a weak man,” she complained.
An uppercut. He jerked backwards.
I pushed my hand between her thighs and up into her pussy. She moaned and her head dropped as I put two fingers inside. It wasn’t meant to be pleasurable but I underestimated her.
“Does he make you wet when he spanks you?”
I showed her my fingers, glistening with her juices. Without prompting she sucked them dry.
“He does not, Sir,” she complained again.
Hit to the ribs. He shook his head in disbelief.
“So why are you wet now?”
Of course I didn’t give her time to answer. The plastic strip landed across her right buttock. Not hard, but hard enough that it got her attention.
“Punishment, Sir,” she said. Her voice quivered.
I saw them in their bedroom with her lying across his lap with her arse up in the air and him spanking her like it meant something. Out of his mouth came the usual bollocks, “Such a naughty girl”, “I’m going to punish you”, “you deserve a spanking”. And she lay there and took it and hoped that one day she might feel a little bit excited.
“Why?”
I hit her again. Hard enough that she jerked up on her arms for a moment. As the shockwave faded into her soft flesh and her brown skin reddened, she sunk down.
“I deserve to be punished, Sir.”
“Why?”
Twice I got her. The second was hard enough it surprised me, and she yelped. Her hands moved to rub her burning buttock, then she thought better of it and buried her face in the duvet.
“Because I want to cheat on my husband, Sir. I want to submit to a real man, Sir.”
“Now hang on,” he protested and came to his feet.
I glared at him but it was her who stopped him dead in his tracks. She lifted herself up on her elbows and I could feel the anger radiating off her.
“This is what I want,” she snapped at him. “Now sit down and watch or leave, but I am going to submit to Sir and guilt be damned.”
I don’t know why but I chose this moment to hit her. She cried out in pain and twisted her hips back, offering up her magnificent bottom. Again and again I lay the shoehorn across her, turning her skin redder with each shuddering blow. She held herself up, refusing to surrender to the agony building inside her, keeping him fixed to her. Forced to watch in horror as she endured.
Then it was too much. She collapsed onto the bed, sobbing as she sunk into the space somewhere between agony and ecstasy.
—
I tossed the shoehorn away and went down on her, pulled her buttocks apart and pressed down in to the hot valley between. I found her cunt, hot and swollen and wet, and she shuddered as I ran my tongue across her. Her body was putty and I worked it until my fingers had her open and my tongue and thumbs tortured her.
Sobbing gave way to moans. Lying passive became rolling hips that sought out even more pleasure from my mouth. She wailed when I slapped her bruised buttocks with my hands.
She pulled away, but I didn’t let her get far. She was still too weak to put up a decent fight and I rolled her onto her back. That heady look of fear and excitement I’d already come to treasure appeared, and reached up and stroked my cheek.
Down between her legs I went. Tongue and fingers probed her pussy, teasing and with the lightest of touches; tormenting when it was harder. She cried out. Moaned. Wailed. Threw her head from side to side. Grabbed her tits and squeezed and pulled and twisted. Anything to add to the euphoria flowing through her small body.
“Fuck me, Sir,” she pleaded, her voice a thousand miles away. “Please fuck me.”
I moved up her body, caressing skin damp with excited sweat. She tasted sweet and wanton. When I found her lips, swollen and hot and desperate for me, her lust infected me too.
She guided me inside. Her eyes narrowed as I sunk deep, and her jaw fell open in a silent scream.
I fucked her. Slow at first, just while we settled, then hit her hard. She writhed beneath me, holding her tits and rolling her head like she didn’t want to look at me. Except she did. Brief glances through dazed eyes before she plunged back into the depths of pleasure.
My cock throbbed and my hips ached as I plunged deep and hard into her small, curvy, beautiful body. Each apex greeted with a sharp gasp from her pursed lips, and the loud slap of our bodies coming together.
She was greedy. She held herself back, dragging ever last gram of pleasure out of me. But she couldn’t hold on for long.
I felt it. Spasm in her groin. Rising quickly. She looked at me in blind panic. Couldn’t stop it now.
I dropped on her and pushed her head to the side. Made her look at her husband sitting in the corner with his legs up in his chest and tears rolling down his cheeks. She’d broken him. Could she go further?
“See?” I called out to him, throwing at him every mocking intonation I could muster. “She’s getting fucked by a real man and this is what a real orgasm looks like.”
She tortured him a moment longer but it was me she looked at when she came. Me who saw waves of pleasure pound her soul. Me who watched her eyes roll upwards until they were just whites. Watched the those plump lips flicker into fleeting smiles.
As the climax passed she wrapped her arms around me and held me close.
She cried.
—
“Did you come?”
Now she’d released me from her hug, I rolled off onto the mattress beside her. That put her between me and the husband, who was still in the corner, rocking on the chair with his arms around his knees. She ignored him.
“No,” I said. “It’s fine.”
“No it is not,” she insisted. “Sir should come.”
She reached down but with us both on the pillows she didn’t manage much more than tapping the tip of my erection. I shuddered and she laughed.
“My husband wants to ejaculate on my face,” she said matter-of-factly. “I do not let him as I do not want to ruin my hair.”
“Quite right,” I said in her defence. “Your braids are exquisite.”
“Come,” she said and pulled on my arm.
I straddled her waist and she grabbed my pillow and pushed it up behind her head. We shifted this way and that until her mouth closed on my cock. I ignored the discomfort of her pulling down on my erection and focused on her soft, sucking fellatio.
What a fool he was for treating this beautiful, sensual woman so badly. If she were my Queen she’d never feel unfulfilled or alone or taken for granted. I’d worship her body as she deserved. Every curve. Every stretch mark. Every beautiful part of her.
She eased me back with a gentle pressure. The moment I was free of her warm, wet mouth, her hand took control, rubbing swift along that hard shaft now pointing straight at her. She watched it, chewing on her bottom line, expression switching between fascination and doubt.
“Your hair,” I warned.
“It’s OK.”
I came. A thick streak of white cum splashed across her brown skin from chin to forehead. The second landed alongside, catching some braids. A third pooled in her eye and what came after she caught in her mouth. She squeezed what was left out on her forehead and let it run down.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said playfully. “I shall wear your cum with pride.”
—
We lay in bed a while longer; cuddling and kissing like giggling teens after their first sex. Then she got out of bed and washed her face. I watched her head into the bathroom, bright red backside swaying like it was tempting me to follow. I chose to stay put and lie on my back and look at the ceiling with a satisfied smile. A few well chosen content sighs rubbed it in for him. Damned if I was going to talk to him though.
“I have some lovely bruises,” she said when she returned. He lifted her breasts and admired the marks I’d left on her.
“There’s a thing in the Kama Sutra about lovers returning before bruises fade,” I joked.
She settled beside me on the bed and stroked my chest. The way she looked at me made me want to melt.
“I’d like that,” she said.
“What?”
We both looked at him. He melted back into the corner.
“I think my husband has much to learn about being a cuckold,” she said thoughtfully.
“And I’ll be happy to help you teach him.”
She smiled and slipped between the covers, settling down against my chest. Her little finger circled my nipple and I shivered.
“If you are ready, perhaps we can teach him the second lesson?”
“Which is?”
She thought for a moment and then said, “Cowgirl? Is that the one where I can smother you with my massive tits?”
“We can give it a go.”
She laughed and clambered up on top of me. This was going to be a fun challenge.
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