Chapter 1: Chapter 1
I'm sitting in a chair in the corner of the living room, facing the door. My girlfriend of two years walks in wearing a robe, her breasts and tummy exposed. She smiles at my reaction and sits next to me, taking my hand.“So, I was going to tell you that I was going to be late for our date, but I saw your car outside and – she stops, her eyes scanning my face – "you look worried. What’s wrong?"
I stare at her for a few seconds, wondering what she wants from me.I don't want her to see me like this, so I don't respond. She touches my arm, my shoulder, and finally my face. Do you need something from me? Is there something I can help you with?" she asks softly, her fingers trailing down my face as she tries to see if I am okay.
"Everything is fine," I say, but I feel lie.The truth is, I don’t know what to do or how to really handle the situation. Part of me wants to call her out and let her know I know everything she thinks is so neatly hidden. But part of me…senses the turn-on of a lifetime.
She is cheating on me. Has been for at least a month. I was worried it would happen sooner or later. About a year into our relationship, I found out that she had a very busy relationship history. Or, rather sex life, before me. I thought she had slept with a handful of guys…but her friend let slip to me that she had one night stands multiple times a week. In another twist, I found out a number of them were black. I was always kind of afraid of that…that maybe she had been with a black guy with a big dick, and always had the knowledge in the back of her head, every time we had sex, that she’s had better. I couldn’t bear the thought, so I never asked her about her past. Told myself that’s just insecurity talking. Turns out it was truer than I had ever imagined. Her friend told me that Liz gravitated towards black men and estimated that she had slept with at least 20 of them.
Long story short, I just couldn’t keep from bringing that up with her. She tried to reassure me, but…she didn’t try as hard as I expected. When I hinted at their penis size, jokingly, she repeatedly resisted saying that that was ludicrous. I asked more sincerely…
”so, uh, I mean…are they…big? Bigger? I feel kinda weird…”
She broke eye contact, looked down to the side, and raised her eyebrows. She was wondering how to break it to me.
“Umm…yeah I’d say they actually are. Like…definitely.”
“…definitely?!” I was a little sickened but a lot turned on.
She sighs. “Yeah, ok, look I only slept with like, alpha types, like big and burly. But every single one of them was way bigger than…the biggest dick I’d had from anyone who wasn’t black. Like…I think I slept with a whitebread guy who was like 7 and a half inches. The smallest black guy was like 8 and a half. The SMALLEST. The biggest was fucking enormous.”
I was stunned. Hoping to salvage a silver lining, I asked, “so…were they just painful?”
She explained that most of these encounters had happened after some drinking, so that may have helped, but all of those black guys were apparently used to the situation and always started gently. By the time they ramped up—I asked about that and she informed me that they would fuck her absolutely silly by the end—she was able to handle the girth.
So…that happened. It was seismic…everything changed. Obviously. I was always in my head after that about not measuring up to her past partners that I couldn’t even stay hard like 75% of the times we tried to have sex. So our sex life shriveled up, and eventually my anxiety and insecurity led to her being very sexually frustrated. From then onward, she was way more flirty with other men. She joined a community basketball team—get this—with all black guys. One of the guys lived a floor above us and over a unit. His name was Doug. Often went by “D”. He fit the profile of an alpha male perfectly…he had played defensive end for Tulane. Like 6’5, bulked and ripped. I just knew when he and Liz would bump into each other and chat that she was melting on the inside.
So…I kind of knew that the cheating would happen sooner or later. After mulling it over for days, I decided I would try to stay on top of it because I was just so fucking horny at the thought of actually seeing her, in person, having sex with Doug or some other black guy who was also bursting with masculinity. I imagined her getting destroyed. I wondered what she would sound like. How loud she would be, what she might say…
So…that brings us to the present. I guess you could say I was prepared for it. I had a feeling it was coming, and I was kind of hoping it would. Chapter 2
Liz was working late one night. Or so she said. By this point, every time she left the apartment my thoughts raced about how she was going somewhere else, doing something she didn’t want to tell me about.
She was later than usual this time. Eventually, I get a short text from her about going out with some friends. She was going straight from work to some bar or club. I asked who with.
“I mean I don’t know for sure, but a couple friends,”
“Is Tana going?” I asked about her best friend to see if this was leaning toward something normal or something fishy.
Quick pause.
“No…why?” Her tone was more forceful suddenly. Like she was thinking, ‘fuck off, you little jealous, insecure, impotent creep’.
“Just wondering…I mean…I guess I just want to know you’re safe,” I lied.
“I’m FINE, I’ll just be back later. So just, like, don’t wait up or anything.”
She got home at 4am. I knew because I was awake, of course, and saw the lights of a car outside. It was a nice Toyota Land Cruiser. I recognized it. Because it was usually parked out there, because it was Doug’s. She came home with Doug. And no one else. And her work clothes had become club-appropriate skanky. Cardigan shed, chest and cleavage exposed, no leggings under her tight dress, just bare, well-shaped white legs, thighs that were a nice kind of thick. Like…enough to handle a big black dick to pressing up against the cushioning. They walked together but a little separated up the stairs. I guess I expected chit chat outside out door and then thought Liz would come in.
Nope. Their voices echoed in the hall, and gradually faded away. Liz had not opened the door and come in. Seconds passed. Silence. Minutes passed. This was weird. Clearly she wasn’t in a rush to be home.
I guess I thought that…I don’t know, she might resist the temptation to cheat on me. But I was all but convinced she was jumping into it without any reservation whatsoever. I was so fucking horny. I just wanted to fuck her so badly. I was so turned on by the idea that she was fucking someone else. Chapter 3
I was lying in bed. I was watching the ceiling fan spin above me. I was masturbating. I was using my hand to simulate intercourse with my girlfriend. She was still out. It had felt like ages since they pulled up…but only twenty minutes had passed.
Then, I hear heels approaching on the hallway floor. They get louder and louder until something hits up against our door. Her keys turn, the door opens rather loudly. She is not thinking about trying to keep from waking me up. Or trying to be sneaky either. It sounds like she gets a glass of water in the kitchen, then I can hear her go into the bathroom not far from our bedroom door. She shuts the door. It’s quiet for a long stretch of time…occasionally I hear her sigh, or yawn, or sniffle. At one point she hums some poppy melody. Eventually our bedroom door opens, and then she tries to be quieter. I pretend to be asleep, but I’ve been wondering what she might have on underneath her dress. It was entirely possible she had planned to go out and meet Doug long before she let me know about it. Maybe she had put on something sexy because she was going to see him.
She used to wear thongs more often than not. They were a turn-on for me. I think she favored boy shorts by a small margin, but stuck to the thongs first out of habit from being single, and then because I’d comment on them.
When we essentially stopped having sex, she stopped wearing “sexy” stuff and just opted for comfort. She usually wore bland looking boy shorts. It was one more sign that she wasn’t even trying to maintain a spark between us…sometimes I wondered if I physically repulsed her.
If she was wearing something sexy, I felt like I’d have undeniable proof that she was actively pursuing another man sexually.
So. She pulls down the straps of her dress and her bra, unfastens the bra, and then pulls down the rest of the dress. She has on a high-rise g-string. One string between her soft & shapely ass cheeks, three strings wrapping around her waist, and some ring holding them together in the middle of her back. I certainly had never seen it.
My mind had been racing all night—really, it had been racing for weeks but went up another gear tonight—but the reality was that NONE of my thoughts were crazy. My worst fears, and deep sexual desires, were actually playing out right in front of me. This was real-I was REALLY a chump now. Jeez. I had lost some of my drive as I progressed into my thirties…I used to be ambitious but really don’t think I am anymore. I’m just…here. Just an awkward thing just..around..that people have to half-mindedly navigate around as a minor inconvenience.
I always believed there would be a turning point when I’d get things back into gear. But I was pretty sure I had just reached the bottom floor of existence—far beyond the reach of meaning or purpose. And yet…this fit in with my emerging sexual persona, this cuckold, I guess, who is such a loser that the act of cheating, which for most would ignite anger and a need to protect one’s self from further harm (I.e. break up with the cheating bastard/whore), was for me causing extreme sexual excitement that paralleled what Liz was experiencing.
I don’t want to be wronged, or betrayed…so why does it turn me on? What a curse!
I wouldn’t actually confirm that she had started cheating on me for another week, but that night was indeed when it had started. Not when they got home, but beforehand, at the house of one of Doug’s friends. The friend was out of town, so they knew his place would offer privacy.
Liz had definitely thought about fucking Doug, and was mostly set on pursuing it, buy she had not planned to do anything physical that night—until she had a few drinks and accepted Doug’s invitation to the dance floor. As they grinded against each other, they could feel intense sparks. They were…sinking into each other, almost guided by an invisible hand…they knew how to press into each other’s body in a way that ratcheted up the sexual tension. And as anyone could guess, he gets hard, and she can feel it because it’s 11 inches of black steel pressing against her goosebumped ass cheeks. And that was that—the deal was closed then and there. The sexual urge was utterly irresistible. Whatever the circumstances of their night from that point onward, nothing was going to stop him from furiously driving the full length of his cock into her warm, flooded pussy, feeling his balls up against her skin and forcing open her soft walls until they squeezed back on his dick like a boa constrictor.
They had the house to themselves, and they did not hold anything back. They were apparently so loud that a neighbor called the police thinking that someone was being attacked. A window may have been cracked, but still, she must have been screaming at the top of her lungs. When the police arrived, they knew what was going on because she was screaming intelligible words. Words like…kill my tiny pussy with your giant black dick. And…I’m a fucking slave for you black daddy. … Slam that dick up my ass.