Blogs

Bobby's Grapes of Wrath


Hi Kids! Well its been a long time since I blogged! I guess you all know that I’ve been pretty busy these last few months with the new baby, Baby Leon having arrived. We got the baby back home and I was exhausted from the birthing but overjoyed. Baby Leon’s black bull Daddy, Big Leon came to visit from back in Afghanistan with the Army and in the meantime his best buddy, Marty took care of us day to day making sure we had everything we needed. Me and Marty put Bobby on a regular shift cycle of breastfeeding Baby Leon, mostly with me taking the day shift and Bobby taking the night shift so that I could sleep regular and not get stressed out too much. That worked pretty well. Baby Leon would sleep in Bobby’s room at night and when he woke up crying Bobby would feed him off his breasts, which of course didn’t have as much milk as my breasts, but with the oxytocin and prolactin that Dr. Laureen has been regularly injecting him with he was up to the job and got some good flows when needed to calm Baby Leon down when he was anxious, and when he ran out of his own flow of milk then he would use bottles of my milk from the refrigerator that I stored with the breast pump like we learned from the La Leche League.
To get Bobby’s flow going we had prepped him using big injections of Oxytocin and prolactin inducers, but that wasn’t enough at first, so we had to use a lot of mechanical stimulation to get things flowing to begin with---he had to be on the electric breast pumps (a hospital grade Medela Classic we got from the La Leche League) one hour on and two hours off for most of the day (and night!) for the first weeks, and then the flow came in nicely and his breasts began to express, especially with Baby Leon sucking on him all night, which is the natural way to do it. Marty got a bit anxious for a while that Bobby’s milk wouldn’t be enough and he got Dr. Laureen to give him supplements of Motilium and Maxeran, which with the other female hormone injections enter the brain and work on the pituitary gland to massively increase its supply of prolactin in the blood which stimulates the breast production. Marty also got into the habit of butt fucking Bobby doggie-style while holding him by his hair and using a nasal-spray injector of Oxytocin while he was on the Medela Breast pump and now he can express his milk quite naturally.
So we were just one big happy family then, right? Wrong! Even though you may have this big idea of how motherhood is such an ideal and peaceful time, I can tell you that it isn’t so simple as that! I started to get periods of Post-Partum depression. Before I had children, I understood that parenthood would be challenging. I read a lot of books about it, actually, because I was a little worried. Would the first months of my child’s life be like boot camp? Would I go insane from sleep deprivation? Was I going to be comfortable breastfeeding? Would I gag at all the shitty diapers? Could I do this? I was pretty confident that I could do it. I figured that I was about as well-prepared as any mother could be, and, besides, I was not in this alone, I had Dr. Laureen for professional advice, my black bulls, Leon the Daddy and Marty, and of course Bobby. My husband would be right there with me, doing his share gagging at runny poos and dealing with his sore nipples the baby was gnawing on. We would be doing it together, and together, we would be strong.
And then Baby Leon was born and it was, as expected, hard. And my husband was there, just as I had expected him to be, and he provided all the support that I could hope for. He provided all of the support that I could hope for, and more, and yet: I found myself feeling very, very angry. At the situation. At him. Mostly at him. I felt that as much as I loved Daddy Big Leon and Baby Leon, and even the deep affection I had for Bobby as I watched Baby Leon sucking at his titties so contented like, that somehow I was trapped. If you have never had a new baby 100% DEPENDENT AND 100% HELPLESS ON YOU and worrying and tending for day and night they you don’t appreciate the massive impact of a certain loss of freedom and oppressive sense of inescapable responsibilty that overwhelms you.
I was struggling with post-partum depression, which of course exacerbated things, but it was more than just a byproduct of the depression. It was a deep, almost aggressive, resentment that burbled up in my throat – burning, like an acid – and choked me, every time that I walked out the front door to go to to the store, or to pick up milk or cat food or whatever, that I was trapped. So I began to take it out on the one thing I could blame for every inadequacy---Bobby! I was all over him for his breastfeeding not expressing enough or long enough or his diaper washing was not perfect and since he had to take over the housework in the daytime, I was all over his backside over the beds not being made properly, the clothes not washed right or the dishes streaky. I discovered I was projecting all of my own fears and anxieties onto him. And I would really take it out on him. Every day, after he had been on the night shift with breastfeeding and then got on to the housework in the morning then naturally he would nod off for a nap in the afternoon. I would get incensed when I saw him sleeping over an hour or two and I would put the baby in my room and come back to Bobby’s room with my 14” Super Dong Black Strap-on between my legs and I would wake him out of his sleep ripping his puckering asshole apart! Then I have to admit I got quite violent on him, and when I was ramming him I would just lose it completely and start just slapping and slapping his fucking face, and then balling my fists and screaming at him and punching his face. If he talked back I would go to Marty and he would really give him a man’s going over, rough sex and rough punishment. Marty and me we got into a kind of double mania about it, and Bobby was getting black and blue all over, as well as his nipples being bit raw from the baby.

Finally, Dr. Laureen noticed the marks all over Bobby’s face and brought up the issue. I then went for some counseling with the psychologist at the Veteran’s hospital, which I got free because of the Daddy Big Leon being in the army in Afghanistan and all, and then with Dr. Laureen’s help I started to get a handle on my problem and began to overcome it. Dr. Laureen helped a lot. She slept over with me in my bed and held me like a mother and it just seemed all the poision and hate was drained away. I stopped pounding on Bobby and adjusted to the wonderful beauty of having Baby Leon, my so beautiful black baby and my two black bulls, Leon and Marty, and I even became thankful to have Bobby around.

So after six or eight months we really did seem like one big happy family! Marty would come over at night and we would make love for hours while Bobby let Baby Leon suckle on his nipples, and afterwards we would watch TV or listen to jazz music together. I was over the post-partum depression and was quite mellowed out and getting back into sex with my black bulls after my pussy contracted back into tight condition with the help of black cock and Kagel Balls every day! Dr. Laureen would come over every few days and give Bobby hormone injections with big doses of Oxytocin, Motilium and oestrogen, and he was developing a deep bond with the baby, kissing his little wee-wee every time he cleaned him up and changed his nappies. Even Marty had become Mr. Mellow, drinking beer and watching ball games after screwing each night, like a real Norman Rockwell scene! But the idyllic scene was not fated to last

One night after Marty had fucked me so beautifully and then we went back into the living room where Bobby was nursing Baby Leon Marty turned on an NBA basketball game with the Lakers and Bobby and Baby Leon were absorbed in themselves so I felt a little ignored and threw myself down in the big soft chair and took up a magazine. I leafed through it and finally saw an ad for one of those geneological services where you can research your family history, which I was interested in because we had two thousands of years of our family history in China that we were so proud of, going back to the time of Confucius. I showed it to Marty and and said we should get our family trees done and find out about our family heritage. I even said, “Hey, you and Bobby could save money because you have the same last name!”

Marty was only half paying attention, but he agreed we would get family histories for Bobby, Marty and Big Leon. I already had mine from China. Well I sent away for the histories and though it would be something that would bring us all together as one big happy family。 Boy, was I wrong!

When the results came back a month later by Federal Express we went through them like it was a party game. I always thought it was a funny coincindence that Bobby and Marty had the same name. (Which I won’t reveal for Privacy reasons---let’s just substitute the good old Southern name “Davis” instead). Well, it so seems that Bobby’s family history was from the American deep south, though he had moved out to California before he met me in China, and so was Marty’s. But the family tree and geneological and census research revealed some dark secrets. It seems that for two hundred years Marty’s family and Bobby’s family hailed from the same county in Mississippi. Not only that, but it came out that Bobby’s Great-Great Granddaddies back for those hundreds of years had owned Marty’s whole family! It was unbelievable!

I looked over at Marty and he read and read every word of his family history, with the anger and the pressure building up inside of him like an angry volcano waiting to explode. For weeks he was silent, and he would keep studying his family history and brooding while Bobby cowered in the corner on the ottoman suckling Baby Leon. Marty showed me several sections of the family history, especially the part before and after the Civil War. It seems that Marty’s Great Great Grandmother Dalia Davis name subsituted for real one) was the wetnurse nanny on the plantation of Colonel Davis, Bobby’s Great Great relation. Her black husband had given her twin beautiful black baby boys during the end years of the war before he was killed in the final battles of Appamatox while serving as a steward and personal slave of Colonel Davis. Colonel Davis’s wife also gave birth to a boy at the same time, since the two had come home on leave together nine months earlier. So at the time of the war’s end there were three new baby boys on the plantation, the young white master and the two beautiful twin black baby boys. Mrs. Davis, the Missus of the plantation, however, died shortly thereafter. Colonel Davis told the black wetnurse nanny Dalia Davis that she would have to feed all three, but that she would have to feed the “Little Master” first and completely before nursing her own children, and that she must not fail, because the “Little Master” was the last of his line and if he died the Davis family would be at an end.

So Dalia Davis took such excellent care of the “Little Master” that he survived to have nine children, but of her own children, in the scarcity of the Post-War period there wasn’t enough food for her and milk for him and one of the black baby boys died and was buried on the plantation. Marty was descended from the boy who survived.

Now, from Bobby’s family tree it came out that the white Davis family had reached the same point in Bobby as it had in the “Little Master,” at the end of the Civil War. Bobby was the last. He was the last of the line. If Bobby did not produce children the white Davis Family would be erased from the face of the earth and erased from history.

For weeks Marty stewed and brewed and smoultered like an angry volcano. He began to pick on Bobby for little things like his maid’s uniform not being pulled straight into his crotch or his dick being tucked away properly out of sight, or the dishes being streaky after he washed them. Then he got down on Bobby’s neck every night about his milk not being enough. Of course Bobby couldn’t produce as much as me for obvious reasons but Marty wouldn’t hear of it. He started to put Bobby on the Medela Classis Breast Pump almost constantly when he wasn’t suckling Baby Leon, trying to increase production. He told Dr. Laureen the whole story of Bobby’s history and how his black baby ancestor died to keep Bobby’s white family line going. Dr. Laureen, as a black woman doctor was deeply grieved, and when Marty demanded that she double, triple, and then quadruple Bobby’s female hormones, his Motilium and Prolactin, even though it was a bit dangerous medically she gave in to Marty’s urging, and soon she was there every night with her hypodermic needle built for a horse pumping it into Bobby’s veins while Bobby was strapped to the Medela Electric Breast Pump and Marty was pumping his asshole –style doggywith his massive black cock while holding the Oxytocin nasal-spray injector over Bobby’s nose. Bobby’s milk began to express massively. He doubled and then tripled his milk output, even more than Baby Leon could keep up with, and we began to store Bobby’s milk in the refrigerator until that too became overfull and Marty would just dump the bottles into the toilet while whipping Bobby’s ass to produce more.

Finally Marty had had enough. He told Dr. Laureen what he had to do. At first Dr. Laureen said no, that it would violate medical ethics. But Marty was firm and Dr. Laureen, a black woman doctor herself whose family had been owned by whites bowed to the pressure. Marty got Bobby to fill and sign out the forms and legal releases, relieving Dr. Laureen of any liability. Then one night we went to the hospital where she had scheduled a Bi-lateral Orchiotomy for Bobby, with the Informed Consent signed by him in front of witnesses. Then we went into the small operating theatre and put Bobby into the stirrup chair usually used for childbirth or gynecology and strapped down his hand and legs so he couldn’t move, and administered a local anesthetic. Dr. Laureen shaved him off, and then taped his penis to his belly. She had me and Marty dressed in nurses’ scrubs so we were the only ones assisting, and she locked the door. Then she cut into Bobby’s scrotum. She pulled out the testes, which were already shrunken to the size of grapes from the female hormones, and pulled out the testicle cords that they were still attached to, placing them on a silver tray on Bobby’s belly. Then Marty departed from medical procedure. He pulled off his pants and stood in the scrubs, the green medical uniform andfrotteed his massive and beautiful black dick harder and harder. Then, Bobby’s balls still attached to the testicle cords and resting on the slightly blooded silver tray resting on his bulging belly, Marty rammed home his ten inches of black manhood, balls deep into Bobby’s puckering asshole and began to pump. Then Dr. Laureen and I took hold of one testicle each and held it under our knuckles, squeezing, as we each picked up an immaculately clean silver scalpel in our other hand. Bobby writhed and gagged and attempted to shout, but Dr. Laureen taped his mouth shut with silver duct tape. Then the pressure grew. Marty stroked and stroked and finally grimaced towards us, I’m gonna cum------cut!” Then as he shouted at the top of his lung, coming, ‘Hallilujia!” we drew the razor’s edges across the cords, which Dr. Laureen had already tied off with surgical thread to prevent bleeding, and Marty came into Bobby’s ass just as Bobby’s cock burst out of the tape on his belly and stood up one last time, sending incredible gobs of yellowish cum up into his own nose, mouth and face as he screamed almost silently beneath the duct tape. Then Dr. Laureen cleaned and disinfected him, and put in a pair of prosthetic silicone balls into his scrotum sack, to spare him that “empty sack look----or what she called “sad sack” look. Then she sewed him up and swathed him with antiseptic and bandaged over it.

You might have thought Marty was finally satisfied. You though wrong. Just when we thought it was all over and we were about to have Bobby wheeled away to the recovery room we saw Marty putting back on his pants and boots. Then suddenly we saw him humming to himself and begin to sing:
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His day is marching on.
I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since God is marching on."
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Since God is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.
In the beauty of the lilies Christ as born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
While God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave,
He is Wisdom to the mighty, He is Succour to the brave,
So the world shall be His footstool, and the soul of Time His slave,
Our God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Our God is marching on.

And God!----every time Marty came to a verse like “He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored” or “Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel” he would lift up his big manly army boot and slam it into Bobby’s bandaged groin! Then at the end Dr. Laureen just looked up at him and asked in a calm voice “Are you finished? Are you finally satisfied now” and Marty answered back calmly, “Yeah, I am finally satisfied,” and turning to Bobby who was groggy with pain but fully conscious and said: “Bobby, now were’re even….this is the end of the line for you and your poisioned race, and thank God!” Then he picked up Bobby’s severed balls, which Dr. Laureen had placed in a jar of alchohol and walked out, again whistling the Battle Hymn of the Republic.

After that Dr. Laureen gave Bobby some sedatives to knock him out, redressed his bandage in a medical diaper and we wheeled him out for observation, and a few hours later the hospital van deposited him back in his bed at home for a few days rest and recuperation before getting back into his routine.

We didn’t see Marty until two weeks later when he came over for my Birthday Party. Bobby was scared to death of him, but Marty was already mellowed out and recovered from the whole eposode, thanking Bobby when he served him birthday cake and champagne, and even complimenting him on how he looked in his maid’s uniform and how well he gave milk from his nipple to Baby Leon.

Then when it was time for him to go home Marty turned around as if he had forgotten something absent mindedly. He pulled a box the size of a cigar box out of his overcoat pocked, wrapped in golden wrapping foil and an exquisite ribbon and handed it to me, saying “Happy Birthday Sarah!” I kissed his thick black lips in gratitude and pressed my breasts against him as I hugged him, returning thanks to him. Then he looked at me and asked “Well, aren’t you going to open it?”

I opened the outer foil wrapping and found a lovely blue velvet jewelry box within. Then I lifted the cover of the jewelry box and saw the most lovely pair of earrings---a gold spherical sun in the center with a crescent silver sliver of moon on the circumference, hanging mobile-like from the chain attached to the ear-pin. Then he reached over to show me how they worked. The golden spheres were actually a thin sliding hemisphere cover of gold over a crystal ball within. He drew back the gold covers to reveal the clear crystal or plexiglass spheres within and held them up to the light. Within each earring was one of Bobby’s balls, which Marty had had freeze-dried and encased in a plastic crystal ball and inserted into the earrings! I thrilled to him and kissed him over and over! Then I said to him, “Shall we try them out before you leave?” “Sure, babe!” he answered back. So he pinned the earrings through my pierced ears for me and we went arm in arm to Bobby’s room. I took out my my 14” Super Dong Black Strap-on strapping it between my legs and I woke him out of his sleep ripping his puckering asshole apart, my darling earrings dangling and bumping with each stroke! I have never fucked Bobby without them again. He has come to love seeing them there as I ream him, or as he cleans my bull’s cum out of my pussy. He says they have a hypnotic or soothing effect on him as he sees them swing back and forth. He says they bring him peace.

I have been the other man in women's lives for most of my life. It just seemed that is what women predominantly wanted from me. As early as six years ago that bothered me. I would tell cuckold-type guys how I envied them because a woman wanted them for the long run and that I was the fling on the side. They, of course, would tell me how they envied me.

Since then I had become comfortable and accepting of my role to play in these wonderful relationships, and honestly I really do want to be anything more than a "bull," "lover," "other-man," etc. I have been in one relationship where the woman was going through a divorce, and as the "lover" things were great. Once the divorce was finalized and I became "potential husband" things went awry. Now, I don't even feel right in a monogamous relationship.

Now, I've even find myself achieving a whole new level as a "bull." I've convinced a newly married wife that had an affair with me to become a hotwife. I've met her traditional husband who is upset and disgruntled, but so far has remained with her. However, both of them realize that I'm not trying to "steal" her, and I have realized that I'm a bull, and I love it.

Robin and I had been dealing with a power exchange over the last year. Though it was a struggle for her the first few months to accept that she was in charge in our home, the last nine she had become more consistently dominant. And through this all, the small little red head had become more and more fiery, but I was simply not prepared for that evening.
I had come home after work and entered her home as always. I was preparing to begin making dinner for my stay at home wife when she started ripping into me. I didn’t understand what I had done to make her so mad, but when I asked what I had done, I was swiftly met with a hard slap across my face. “You better shut the fuck up, because I will not tolerate that tone from you in my home bitch!” She took me into the bedroom and told me to drop my pants.
I guess at this point, I should point out that I like to be verbally reprimanded and punished, but I never had experienced anything close to what was coming tonight.
I bent over and Robin brought the first lashing against my ass. I jumped from sheer pain. A year ago she would have apologized, now she told me stay still. Another lashing followed, followed by another. At 25 lashes, I was near tears, At 30 she moved to my back and legs, at 50 I was crying, my ass, back and legs burning. “You fucking loser” she yelled in my face, spitting a large gob on my face, “don’t you dare wipe that off!”
She grabbed me by my hair and proceeded to drag me around the house, showing me piles of laundry, some dishes in the sink, trash that needed to be taken out, all the while screaming at me about how if I can take care of her in bed I sure as hell had better be able to take care of her home. I knew many of the issues she was pointing out had been created that day while I was at work, but I wasn’t about to mention that to her. She then proceeded to tell me she had changed all the passwords on the computer and coded the TVs to need pass codes so I could concentrate on my chores.
“I’m going out with some friends tonight, and when I get back, all of this shit had better be done!!” I meekly nodded my head, wondering how many hours it would be before I could sit anyway.
She then proceeded to get ready while I started on the list of chores she gave me which would require many hours.
Robin left a short while later parading by me wearing a short skirt, a low cut blouse, heels, perfume, and as had become the norm over the last six months, no marriage ring. She stopped for me to kneel in front of her and kiss her finger, where my wedding ring used to. “And don’t bother calling me tonight, I think you have way too much to do around her to bother with much of anything. And don’t wait up for me.” With that she coldly turned and walked out the door.
My ass burned from the lashing I had received as I proceeded with all the chores. For the next seven hours I cleaned bathrooms, fueled and washed her car, cleaned the stove, dishes, laundry, vacuuming, etc. Not even taking time to eat, the last thing I wanted to have happed was for her to come home without the house being up to par, but I still couldn’t figure out why she had snapped like she had.
It was shortly after 1am that I finished the chores and quickly showered and got into bed, where I quickly fell to sleep.
It seemed like just a few moments when Robin was waking me up….”wakey wakey tiny” she teased in my ear. I opened my eyes to see her lying next to me. “It looks like you did a nice job on the house” she whispered. “Thank you” I whispered back.
“I’m sorry I was so hard on you earlier.”
I knew better than to fall for the trap she had just laid for me. “There’s no need to apologize Princess. I’m sorry I had done so poorly for you. I deserved what you gave me.”
She smiled at me, clearly proud of my response. “I have a special surprise for you.”
I guess this might be a good time to work into this story that fact that over the last six months, I have been inside her exactly once. I occasionally receive handjobs from her, but even that is not very often. And worst of all, I have also been in a CB6000 for the last few months, not even able to beat off. I was hoping that the special surprise would be an orgasm for myself in any form. Instead, she got up on her knees and swung one leg across my chest then positioned her crotch over my face.
Once again reader, it is a good time to reveal some more information. Robin and I have been married for 12 years. And although extremely attractive, I have never had a reason to believe that she wasn’t faithful. But at this point, I knew that there was no reason to doubt it. Looking up at my wife’s panty covered pussy, it was clear that the wet spot, was not just from her being excited.
“Make sure not to disappoint me” she cooed as she lowered her pussy to my face, moving the panties to the side. I recalled the earlier meltdown, the yelling, the whipping that took place. As much as I wanted to push her to the side, tell her no, even yell at her, I was afraid to.
A glob of cum fell on my cheek as she lowered her self onto my lips. I wanted to gag, but I looked up at her, and in her eyes, I could see her again on the verge of a meltdown. Reluctantly, I kissed her pussy. I closed my eyes, hoping that if I couldn’t see it, it wouldn’t be as bad. It didn’t work though, the salty taste of the cum seemed only stronger.
“Clean all of that cum up bitch.” She said firmly. “Come on, I know you like French kisses, French kiss that pussy!”
I pushed my tongue between those lips and felt a torrent of cum flow out, down my tongue, to the back of my throat. As much as the thought and the taste repulsed me, I couldn’t help but feel my cock straining against the cage enveloping it. My hands grabbed her ass, and my tongue pressed further inside her.
The cum flowed freely out of her pussy and I was amazed at how much it held….hadn’t she been with one guy, or 5? I looked up at her from between her legs….her breathing was labored, her face showed a look of ecstasy, and she was gyrating on my tongue, and I watched in amazement as, for the first time ever, I watched my wife have an orgasm. And my tongue worked harder at her pussy as she came until she slowed down, then stopped.
She dismounted my face and lay back beside me with a look of contentment. “WoW!” was all she said for the next few minutes. I knew I was going to get one hell of a special treat now, right?
After she regained her composure she looked at me with a big smile. “Now….., I want you to go downstairs, and on the couch, you are going to find a man.” My excitement immediately sank like a rock in my stomach. “And you are going to tell him that you have eaten all of his cum out of my pussy, and that you would consider an honor if he would join your Princess in bed, for as long as he would like.” Her smile at this point was a wicked one.
I paused and hoped she was teasing, just a cruel joke, but I remembered the cum in her pussy and realized it wasn’t likely she was joking now.
“You’d better hurry” she said, “unless you want to piss me off…”
I got up from the bed and started to head downstairs to the living room.
It’s not unusual for a man to fantasize about his wife fucking another man. And I think it is also true that you get into your mind a certain type of man. For me, it was always a stranger a few years older than us, a business man, who wasn’t that much more endowed than myself (4 inches). What I saw when I got downstairs was very much different.
First of all, I knew who it was right away. He had moved in down the street about 6 months ago..with his Dad. He was maybe 20 years old, muscular from his high school football days….and black. I couldn’t fucking believe it, a black guy for my wife?
I stood in front of him and immediately noticed the cocky smile on his face.
“I uh”.
He cut me off immediately. “Don’t you EVER make me look up to you when you are speaking bitch.” I looked at him looking to see if he was kidding me, but I saw no humor in his face, but pure rage. I looked towards the stairs and saw my wife sitting there in a black nightie now with a grin on her face. “You EVER speak down to me again and I swear, I will drag your ass out into the middle of the street and beat your ass, then bring your wife back in here…and everyone will know your place!”
I fell to my knees in front of him, sitting on my heels making sure my eyes were lower than his. I swallowed hard. “I apologize”
“You fucking better bitch.”
I stammered. I wanted to look him in the face, and let him know that this would be the only time, this would happen, but when you say the next words I had to say, there is no way you can look another man in the eyes. Instead, I looked at the seat of the cushion next to him.
“I have eaten all of your cum from my wife’s pussy. I would consider it an honor if you would join her in her room and remain there for as long as you would like.”
Devon sat there and rubbed his chin for a few moments. “I think I can handle that” he said smugly before standing up in front of me. He paused, standing there before reaching down a grabbing a handful of hair. He stood there in front of me….his crotch a few inches from my face. The bulge in his pants was apparent. As much as I wanted to look away though…I found I couldn’t, until he pushed me away and climbed the stairs to my wife, and towards her bedroom.
I grabbed a pillow and blanket from a nearby closet, and lay on the couch, prepared to get very little sleep.

Had a great fantasy session with my wife two nights ago, I texted her that I needed to see her and sex her, pretending to be someone from a dance class but obviously "me". Husband me arranged to go out, I did, came back as the philanderer, and I fucked her as the alpha male, telling her how few we were and we fucked all the women and her hubbie is just a beta who only gets it because he's married to her...hot nasty fucking, she came hard. I didn't, on purpose, eventually returned again as hubbie, got her to admit quickly she'd been fucking, and proceeded to ball her as the cuckold, finally coming as I jerked myself with her standing against my face on the bed with her waxed cunt, telling me about being fucked by her new stud.

Wow. Nice!