cuck4black
Couple
“Oh my God… it’s so hard.”
The words, a husky whisper I’d never heard from my wife’s lips, shot a bolt of lightning straight to my own groin. I watched, my hand gripping my glass so tight I feared it would shatter, as her perfectly manicured fingers, the diamond of her wedding band glinting under the bar lights, wrapped around the thick, dark shaft of his cock. The contrast was obscene. Beautiful. Arousing.
“See something you like, Jennifer?” The man’s voice was a low, smooth rumble, deep and confident. He didn’t look at me, not yet. His dark eyes were locked on my wife’s flushed face, on her parted, red-slicked lips.
She just nodded, her gaze wide and fixated on the heavy, impressive weight in her hand. “I love it.”
This hadn’t been the plan for our night out. It had started with a few glasses of wine at a too-loud club in southwest St. Louis. Jennifer , feeling the buzz, had gotten flirty, swaying on her stool. “Come dance with me, honey,” she’d pleaded, her voice sweet with red wine.
I’d declined. Twice. I’m not a dancer. But he was. He’d been standing at the bar, a mountain of a man in a tailored suit that screamed success, sipping whiskey like he owned the place. When Jennifer’s favorite song came on, a primal, driving beat, I’d nudged her. “Why don’t you ask him?”
The look in her eyes shifted then, from playful wife to something hungrier. She’d slid off her stool, a vision in her little black dress, and tap-tap-tapped her way over to him. The question was asked. The smile was given. And then they were lost in the crowd.
I watched his large hands settle on her hips, pulling her close. They weren't just dancing; they were grinding. A public possession. Her back arched into his front, her ass pressing against the undeniable, thickening proof of his interest in his trousers. When they returned, she was breathless, her skin flushed. “That was… hot.”
The next dance was a slow one. He asked her. This time, his hands roamed lower, cupping her, pulling her tighter against him. When she came back, she collapsed onto her stool, her eyes dazed. “I could feel him,” she breathed into my ear, her red wine scent intoxicating. “My God, I could feel every inch of him. He’s so hard.”
And then he was there, right behind us, ordering a round of shots. The three of us clinked glasses. That’s when it happened. A shift, a boldness sparked by ******* and lust. Jennifer’s hand, seemingly of its own volition, dipped below the bar. I heard her sharp intake of breath. Then, the whispered confession. “OH MY GOD! HONEY, IT’S HUGE!”
I looked down. The reality of it, the sheer visual shock of my elegant wife’s pale hand wrapped around that magnificent, terrifyingly large black cock, right there in the open, made my head spin. I had to adjust myself, the pressure in my pants becoming painful. The gleam of her wedding ring against his dark, velvety skin was a detail I knew would be burned into my memory forever.
“My place is closer,” I heard myself say, the words sounding distant. “We should… continue this there.”
He just nodded, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
Now, in the soft light of our own living room, the scene was surreal. Jennifer stood before him, her nervousness gone, replaced by a predatory grace. “Get us drinks, honey?” she asked me, her eyes never leaving his.
I moved to the kitchen on autopilot, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I returned with the glasses, I stopped dead. She had her top and bra off, her perfect, round breasts on display for this stranger. He was seated in my favorite armchair, his pants open, that incredible cock springing free, standing thick and proud against his stomach. It was even more impressive in the full light, a work of art, veined and heavy.
I set the drinks down just in time to hear a low, guttural moan rip from his throat. Jennifer was on her knees, her blonde hair falling around his hips as she took the broad, purple head into her mouth. Her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, a sight that made me fumble for my own zipper.
“You black men,” she moaned, pulling off him with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lip to his shaft. “You have such huge cocks. I love it.”
She dove back down, taking more of him this time, her head bobbing with a frantic, eager rhythm. He groaned, his head falling back against the chair, his hands tangling in her hair. Then, those dark eyes slid to me, holding my gaze. He deliberately pulled her head back by her hair, forsing her to take just the tip, making sure I had a perfect, unimpeded view of my wife’s mouth serving him.
“You love this cock, don’t you, Jennifer ?” he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure.
“Yes,” she gasped, her words muffled by his flesh. “I love your BBC. I love it.”
Abruptly, she pushed herself up, her eyes wild with need. “I have to have it. I have to have that BBC in my pussy.” Her skirt and panties were off in one fluid motion, and she laid back on the rug, spreading her legs wide, exposing herself completely to him, to me, to the room.
He descended on her like a king claiming his prize, burying his face between her pale thighs. The sounds she made were animalistic, raw, guttural moans I had never heard in all our years of marriage. I was kneeling beside her, stroking my own aching cock, mesmerized.
“Move up here,” he commanded me, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Put it in her mouth.”
I did as I was told, shuffling forward on my knees, guiding my length to her lips. She took me in absently, her attention, her entire being, focused on the expert tongue working her below. She sucked me for a moment, a reflex, but her hips were bucking against his mouth. She was close. I could feel it.
She pushed me away with a gasp, crying out, “I can’t… I need it… I need that BBC in my pussy now!”
He rose up, kneeling between her splayed legs, his cock glistening with her arousal. He fisted it, stroking slowly, a predator savoring the moment before the feast. Jennifer’s eyes were locked on it, a mix of reverence and pure, unadulterated hunger.
“Honey, the lube,” she panted, her voice strained. “You know how tight I am.”
I scrambled to the bedroom, my mind a frantic whirlwind. When I returned, he was holding his cock at the base, the tip nudging against her slick, pink folds. I squirted the cool gel onto her, then used my fingers to work it inside her, feeling the incredible, clenching heat of her. I was preparing my wife for another man. The thought made me throb violently.
He slicked his own shaft, his large hands moving with a practiced, devastating efficiency. Then he positioned himself. He didn’t thrust. He pressed. The broad head of his cock began to stretch her open, and Jennifers back arched off the floor, a guttural, choked cry tearing from her throat.
“Oh, God… yes… it’s so big… fuck…”
I moved behind him, needing to see. The sight stole the air from my lungs. My wife’s body was being claimed, her tight white pussy stretched to its absolute limit around that massive black cock. He was only halfway in, and she was already mewling, her eyes rolled back in her head.
He leaned over her, driving himself deeper, burying himself to the hilt. A possessive, complete possession. Jennifer screamed, a raw sound of pleasure-pain-*******. I could only watch, my hand working my own cock in a frantic, matching rhythm, as he began to move.
His muscular ass clenched and relaxed, a powerful piston driving his length into her again and again. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a symphony of their fucking. Her cries became rhythmic, matching his thrusts.
“I love your married white pussy,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort.
“I love your BBC!” she screamed back, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop! I’m gonna… I’m gonna… OMG I’M CUMMING AGAIN!”
Her body convulsed around him, her inner muscles milking his shaft. I could see her toes curl, her fingers clawing at the rug. He fucked her through it, his pace never faltering, pushing her into a second, then a third shattering orgasm. The sounds she made were feral, uninhibited, a side of her I had never unlocked.
I had to stop stroking, the pressure at my base too intense. I was going to blow any second. I looked past his pumping hips to my wife’s face. It was a mask of primal *******, flushed, mouth agape, eyes seeing nothing but the sensation. She was his completely.
He felt it too. His rhythm became erratic, frantic. “Gonna cum,” he growled, the words a promise.
She screamed it, her voice hoarse, “Give it to me! Give me your load! Please, I want it! Cream this married pussy!”
With a final, ******* thrust, he pulled out of her. His cock, slick with their mixed arousal, sprang free. He fisted it hard, his body tensing. A guttural roar erupted from him as the first thick, pearlescent rope of cum shot across Jennifer’s stomach. Another followed, splashing across her breasts. A third hit her neck, he then collapsed for a few seconds got up and in a loud voice said you can have her now and got dressed and left us both naked on the floor.
The words, a husky whisper I’d never heard from my wife’s lips, shot a bolt of lightning straight to my own groin. I watched, my hand gripping my glass so tight I feared it would shatter, as her perfectly manicured fingers, the diamond of her wedding band glinting under the bar lights, wrapped around the thick, dark shaft of his cock. The contrast was obscene. Beautiful. Arousing.
“See something you like, Jennifer?” The man’s voice was a low, smooth rumble, deep and confident. He didn’t look at me, not yet. His dark eyes were locked on my wife’s flushed face, on her parted, red-slicked lips.
She just nodded, her gaze wide and fixated on the heavy, impressive weight in her hand. “I love it.”
This hadn’t been the plan for our night out. It had started with a few glasses of wine at a too-loud club in southwest St. Louis. Jennifer , feeling the buzz, had gotten flirty, swaying on her stool. “Come dance with me, honey,” she’d pleaded, her voice sweet with red wine.
I’d declined. Twice. I’m not a dancer. But he was. He’d been standing at the bar, a mountain of a man in a tailored suit that screamed success, sipping whiskey like he owned the place. When Jennifer’s favorite song came on, a primal, driving beat, I’d nudged her. “Why don’t you ask him?”
The look in her eyes shifted then, from playful wife to something hungrier. She’d slid off her stool, a vision in her little black dress, and tap-tap-tapped her way over to him. The question was asked. The smile was given. And then they were lost in the crowd.
I watched his large hands settle on her hips, pulling her close. They weren't just dancing; they were grinding. A public possession. Her back arched into his front, her ass pressing against the undeniable, thickening proof of his interest in his trousers. When they returned, she was breathless, her skin flushed. “That was… hot.”
The next dance was a slow one. He asked her. This time, his hands roamed lower, cupping her, pulling her tighter against him. When she came back, she collapsed onto her stool, her eyes dazed. “I could feel him,” she breathed into my ear, her red wine scent intoxicating. “My God, I could feel every inch of him. He’s so hard.”
And then he was there, right behind us, ordering a round of shots. The three of us clinked glasses. That’s when it happened. A shift, a boldness sparked by ******* and lust. Jennifer’s hand, seemingly of its own volition, dipped below the bar. I heard her sharp intake of breath. Then, the whispered confession. “OH MY GOD! HONEY, IT’S HUGE!”
I looked down. The reality of it, the sheer visual shock of my elegant wife’s pale hand wrapped around that magnificent, terrifyingly large black cock, right there in the open, made my head spin. I had to adjust myself, the pressure in my pants becoming painful. The gleam of her wedding ring against his dark, velvety skin was a detail I knew would be burned into my memory forever.
“My place is closer,” I heard myself say, the words sounding distant. “We should… continue this there.”
He just nodded, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
Now, in the soft light of our own living room, the scene was surreal. Jennifer stood before him, her nervousness gone, replaced by a predatory grace. “Get us drinks, honey?” she asked me, her eyes never leaving his.
I moved to the kitchen on autopilot, my heart hammering against my ribs. When I returned with the glasses, I stopped dead. She had her top and bra off, her perfect, round breasts on display for this stranger. He was seated in my favorite armchair, his pants open, that incredible cock springing free, standing thick and proud against his stomach. It was even more impressive in the full light, a work of art, veined and heavy.
I set the drinks down just in time to hear a low, guttural moan rip from his throat. Jennifer was on her knees, her blonde hair falling around his hips as she took the broad, purple head into her mouth. Her lips stretched obscenely around his girth, a sight that made me fumble for my own zipper.
“You black men,” she moaned, pulling off him with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lip to his shaft. “You have such huge cocks. I love it.”
She dove back down, taking more of him this time, her head bobbing with a frantic, eager rhythm. He groaned, his head falling back against the chair, his hands tangling in her hair. Then, those dark eyes slid to me, holding my gaze. He deliberately pulled her head back by her hair, forsing her to take just the tip, making sure I had a perfect, unimpeded view of my wife’s mouth serving him.
“You love this cock, don’t you, Jennifer ?” he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure.
“Yes,” she gasped, her words muffled by his flesh. “I love your BBC. I love it.”
Abruptly, she pushed herself up, her eyes wild with need. “I have to have it. I have to have that BBC in my pussy.” Her skirt and panties were off in one fluid motion, and she laid back on the rug, spreading her legs wide, exposing herself completely to him, to me, to the room.
He descended on her like a king claiming his prize, burying his face between her pale thighs. The sounds she made were animalistic, raw, guttural moans I had never heard in all our years of marriage. I was kneeling beside her, stroking my own aching cock, mesmerized.
“Move up here,” he commanded me, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Put it in her mouth.”
I did as I was told, shuffling forward on my knees, guiding my length to her lips. She took me in absently, her attention, her entire being, focused on the expert tongue working her below. She sucked me for a moment, a reflex, but her hips were bucking against his mouth. She was close. I could feel it.
She pushed me away with a gasp, crying out, “I can’t… I need it… I need that BBC in my pussy now!”
He rose up, kneeling between her splayed legs, his cock glistening with her arousal. He fisted it, stroking slowly, a predator savoring the moment before the feast. Jennifer’s eyes were locked on it, a mix of reverence and pure, unadulterated hunger.
“Honey, the lube,” she panted, her voice strained. “You know how tight I am.”
I scrambled to the bedroom, my mind a frantic whirlwind. When I returned, he was holding his cock at the base, the tip nudging against her slick, pink folds. I squirted the cool gel onto her, then used my fingers to work it inside her, feeling the incredible, clenching heat of her. I was preparing my wife for another man. The thought made me throb violently.
He slicked his own shaft, his large hands moving with a practiced, devastating efficiency. Then he positioned himself. He didn’t thrust. He pressed. The broad head of his cock began to stretch her open, and Jennifers back arched off the floor, a guttural, choked cry tearing from her throat.
“Oh, God… yes… it’s so big… fuck…”
I moved behind him, needing to see. The sight stole the air from my lungs. My wife’s body was being claimed, her tight white pussy stretched to its absolute limit around that massive black cock. He was only halfway in, and she was already mewling, her eyes rolled back in her head.
He leaned over her, driving himself deeper, burying himself to the hilt. A possessive, complete possession. Jennifer screamed, a raw sound of pleasure-pain-*******. I could only watch, my hand working my own cock in a frantic, matching rhythm, as he began to move.
His muscular ass clenched and relaxed, a powerful piston driving his length into her again and again. The wet, slapping sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, a symphony of their fucking. Her cries became rhythmic, matching his thrusts.
“I love your married white pussy,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort.
“I love your BBC!” she screamed back, her voice breaking. “Don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop! I’m gonna… I’m gonna… OMG I’M CUMMING AGAIN!”
Her body convulsed around him, her inner muscles milking his shaft. I could see her toes curl, her fingers clawing at the rug. He fucked her through it, his pace never faltering, pushing her into a second, then a third shattering orgasm. The sounds she made were feral, uninhibited, a side of her I had never unlocked.
I had to stop stroking, the pressure at my base too intense. I was going to blow any second. I looked past his pumping hips to my wife’s face. It was a mask of primal *******, flushed, mouth agape, eyes seeing nothing but the sensation. She was his completely.
He felt it too. His rhythm became erratic, frantic. “Gonna cum,” he growled, the words a promise.
She screamed it, her voice hoarse, “Give it to me! Give me your load! Please, I want it! Cream this married pussy!”
With a final, ******* thrust, he pulled out of her. His cock, slick with their mixed arousal, sprang free. He fisted it hard, his body tensing. A guttural roar erupted from him as the first thick, pearlescent rope of cum shot across Jennifer’s stomach. Another followed, splashing across her breasts. A third hit her neck, he then collapsed for a few seconds got up and in a loud voice said you can have her now and got dressed and left us both naked on the floor.
