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Jamaican Me A CUCKOLD!! by Throne (31 Pages)
🕑 Added 2020-10-27 03:02:55 +0000 UTCJAMAICAN ME A CUCKOLD!
By THRONE
(Concept by Devin Dickie)
© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.
Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.
JAMAICAN ME A CUCKOLD!
By THRONE(Concept by Devin Dickie)
The flight to Jamaica had been pleasant. Once there, the honeymooning couple were surrounded by lush tropical vegetation. Their hotel offered a fine view of the beach and ocean. A stunning sunset was in progress. What more could they ask for?
"What more do you want?" Martin asked his new wife.
"I want to see the real Jamaica," Sally told him.
"Who put that idea into your head?"
"That nice young man who handled our bags when you had trouble getting them in the front door."
"Well," he said petulantly, "I was tired from the flight."
"Whatever. But he said that, to find the true spirit of this place, we'd have to visit one of the clubs that are inland from here. I don't want to just do what's available for the old retirees who come here to lay around and soak up the sun."
"What's wrong with that?"
She sighed and pointed out. "We're young."
They were in their early twenties and appeared physically mismatched. He was short and slender, with his light brown hair falling over his forehead and ears. She was short and busty, with a round ass that drew male stares from across the street. Her hair was golden, eyes sky blue, and lips naturally pouty. Martin didn't
want to get their marriage off to a rocky start, so he let his shoulders sag in surrender.
"Anything to make you happy, dear," he said. What he meant was 'anything to keep you from denying me sex tonight'.
They finished unpacking and then she spoke to the fellow who had helped Martin when he was struggling with their bags. The local gave her directions. She thanked him and gave another tip, in addition to what she'd made Martin hand him before. The couple were wearing shorts and loose tops, with athletic shoes that were both comfortable and durable. There was a short walk along a winding path, that ran through a densely forested area. That took them to an unpaved road, where a rickety bus soon appeared. They boarded and found a seat among the native riders.
Martin grumbled, "I hope we don't have any trouble navigating that trail later. And how late do you think this bus runs?"
"Oh, honey," she soothed, "stop worrying. Listen to these people's speech. Their patois has such a musical lilt."
"I don't see why they can't learn to speak properly."
Sally turned to look out the window, in the fading light. She said, "I think that's a sugar cane plantation."
He barely bothered to check what she was seeing. The bus rattled around a turn in the road and slowed to a stop in front of a ramshackle building. There was a hand painted sign over the
door that identified it as Club Tropical. They got off the bus and started for the door.
Martin took his wife's arm and said, "Let's just make this a quick visit and then get back to where we belong."
Ignoring his attitude, she pointed out, "That's live reggae music. And we're where it really comes from."
"I'll take classical over that, any day."
The interior was dimly lit. There was a small band against the far wall, their insistent beat making the air vibrate. Dancers filled the center of the floor, gyrating and grinding. Sally took it all in with wide eyes. Martin hugged himself and looked as uncomfortable as he felt. They went to the bar and took two stools. The Black bartender stepped up and gave them a wide grin.
"What'll it be for you, folks?"
Sally said, "I'd like something rum-based. You can surprise me. And my husband will have -- Martin?"
He wanted to know, "Do you have any French wines?"
"Not today, boss man. How about a nice Coconut Special?" "Fine, I guess."
The bartender went away. The musicians had no amplification, so it was easy for those at the bar to hear each other. Sally noticed
three young men gathered at the end of the bar, having a quiet conversation. They spotted her looking at them. She gave a brief wave, accompanied by her bright smile. The tallest one nodded and moved toward her, while the others hung back. He had on loose, short-sleeve shirt and trousers that were cut off below the knee. His hair was in cornrows, with a bun at the back of his head.
He got close to Sally and said, "Hello, pretty mama. Have you come here for the ganga?"
"Oh, you mean the marijuana."
"Yes." He pulled a hand-rolled joint from his breast pocket. It was so big that it made Sally's eyes pop. "I make you a gift of this... If we smoke it together."
Martin said, "Sally..."
She told him, "Hush. This is a local experience. It won't hurt to have a few puffs."
"Not for me, thank you," he fumed.
Their drinks arrived and Martin, feeling annoyed by the experiences he was having, took a long swallow. He was suddenly sputtering and spraying liquid on his shirtfront. The big man with the joint slapped him on the back until he stopped choking.
"There you go, mon," he said. "You just needed to be burped."
Sally laughed. She took a sip of her own drink and made a yummy sound. It was foamy on top and she had to lick her lips.
To the local she said, "Thank you. My husband has trouble handling alcohol. My name is Sally."
"I'm called Sugarcane."
"That's a wonderful name. How did you get it?"
"Well, Missy, it's because I'm like the cane."
"Oh, because you're sweet."
"That, too." He smiled for some reason she wasn't sure about. "Now would you like to share this kaya with me?"
"Oh, sure."
The bartender appeared and offered the flame from a flip-top lighter, with the image of a spray of marijuana leaves on the side. Sugarcane took a long drag on the joint and passed it to Sally. She inhaled smoke and held it in her lungs.
Martin said, "Dear, I honestly don't approve of this."
The Black man took back the joint. He said pointedly to Martin, "Be cool, man. Let this fine woman enjoy herself."
When Martin raised his hand, merely to gesture, Sugarcane gave him a warning look. The tourist dropped his arm and lowered his
gaze. Sally didn't miss the exchange. Then the local passed the joint back. Sally took a deeper drag and swayed slightly. He put his hands on her arms to steady her but, when she said she was all right, didn't let go. Sugarcane removed one hand and then ran the other up and down the bare skin below her short sleeve. She stiffened and turned her head toward Martin. He shivered and held his drink with both hands. Sugarcane withdrew the stroking hand and the moment passed.
Sally untensed. She even told Sugarcane, "Thank you. I was dizzy there for a second."
"No problem."
"Your hands are so smooth. I guess you don't work in the fields or anything like that."
"No. I do a bit of this and some of that." He held out one broad hand, palm up. "That's why I don't get the callouses."
She laid her hand on his and ran her fingers over it. Martin took a cautious swallow from his glass and managed not to choke this time. The bartender surreptitiously topped him off with pure rum. Sally held Sugarcane's hand while she and he passed the joint back and forth, enjoying its mellowing effects.
Martin finally said, "Sally, I think we should leave."
Sugarcane pointed out, "Maybe the lady don't want to go just yet." He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of it.
She checked her husband's reaction. He just sat there, his eyes all at once focused on some point beyond her.
The Black man set the spliff in an ashtray and used his freed hand to take her wrist. He brought her hand to his chest and placed it over his heart. She couldn't stop staring into his eyes.
"You are a very special woman," he whispered. "I feel a connection to you."
She leaned in and took his hand. When she placed it on her chest, atop her deep cleavage, Sally told him, "Yes, I feel it too."
The seconds passed like minutes. In a strained voice, Martin said, "Uh, Sally..."
But the husband didn't do anything. Sugarcane's friends came to the Black man, to say something in his ear. He told Sally, "I must go take care of some business. I hope you will be here when I return."
As they left, she turned to her husband. "That must be quite a drink you've got. It calmed you down so much that you didn't mind my new friend getting so intimate with me." She wasn't being critical. It was more like just making an observation.
He cleared his throat and told her, "Well, he had his friends backing him up."
"They weren't anywhere near us."
"All the same, I didn't want to start trouble. Now let's go."
"No. He said he wanted me to stay. At least let me wait until I can thank him for getting me buzzed, and then say goodbye."
"I don't like this."
"Then you should have said that to him."
She let her words sink in. Martin looked uncomfortable but didn't say anything back. Behind him, his drink was being refilled again.
The Black man returned and sat. He said that his outside business was taken care of. He also told Sally to just call him Sugar.
The lovely girl said, "Okay, Sugar. Now let's talk some more about this connection you felt between us." She boldly put her hand on his thigh, very close to the unmistakable ridge that was made by his penis under the tight trousers. Martin stiffened. She eyed her husband and said, "You don't mind if Sugar and I... talk. Do you, dear?"
He took another swallow from his drink, which was now more rum than anything else. When he put the glass down, he unintentionally slammed it on the bar.
Sugar told him, "No need to get mean, brother. This is Jamaica. We don't do that."
"Maybe," Sally suggested, "he needs some time by himself, to cool down. You and I could take a few minutes to go look at the moon. And finish that killer weed."
He took the half-smoked joint from the ashtray and the bartender lit it again. With Martin still not objecting, the smoking couple left the club. Sugar's two companions approached Martin. One of them slapped him on the back.
"Hey, friend. That fine woman called you Martin?" "Yes," he answered sullenly.
"I'm Robert and this is my yard man, Peter." The first had dreadlocks and the second's hair was shaved short on the sides, with long loose strands on top.
"Yeah. Hello."
"You need to relax," Robert advised. "Maybe we could take you where it be more quiet."
"No. Really. I'm fine."
To the bartender, Peter said, "Fill this mon's glass. We're all going to step into the back room."
"Listen," Martin said as Peter took hold of his arm and coaxed him off his barstool. "My wife will be right back and I want to be here when..."
"Your wife be fine. Our brudder Sugar take good care of her." "If this is about money..." Martin began.
"No, no," Robert purred. "Not at all. Just you come with us, for now."
Then both of Martin's arms were gripped. Robert was carrying his drink. They walked him through a narrow door and into a small room. As soon as they let go, Robert set Martin's glass aside. Then Peter reached in and deftly undid the top button on Martin's shirt. When the tourist clapped his hands over his chest, Peter grabbed Martin's belt and unfastened it. The two of them went back and forth, until the white man's shirt was fully opened and, because his fly was down, he was holding his pants up with one hand. The Black men were laughing. One of them pushed against the backs of his knees and Martin let go of his pants as his legs buckled. He ended up on his knees with his jockey shorts showing. When he tried to rise, a hand on top of his head effortlessly held him down.
"Hey," Robert wanted to know. "Why you act like that?" "Being so nasty," Peter clarified.
"Just cause your wife get all touchy with Sugar," Robert mentioned.
"Please." There was a note of desperation in the tourist's voice. "Just let me go. Don't hurt me."
"We don't want hurt nobody," Peter assured him. "Just trying to make friends. I noticed how you had your eyes on me."
"The way you was looking at my rod," Robert added, patting where his cock stretched partway down his thigh.
"We know how sometimes the batty boys some here looking to swipe. You a bow-cat? Hey?"
"Come here with that sweet wife, she got the nice titi." He pantomimed lifting heavy breasts like Sally's. "Folks see you with her, they don't know what you want for real."
Martin belatedly understood. "Hey," he snapped. "I'm not gay. I didn't come here looking for perverted sex. And my wife definitely isn't there to disguise some sick preferences."
"Whoa. We just trying to help. Now you been hurt us feelings. And you still sneaking looks at my parts."
The tourist realized he had been examining their penises, visible through their pants. But it was only because they were so startlingly large and blatantly displayed. He looked up at the unreasonable Black men. One of the got behind him and yanked his shorts down in the rear. When Martin tried to tug them back up, he was caught under the arms and hoisted upward. Suddenly his shorts were wrenched down further, so he was naked from waist to knees. When they put him back down, as he had been, his weight was on his pantlegs, so he couldn't raise the piece of clothing without standing, which they wouldn't let him do. His lips quivered and he began to sniffle.
Robert wanted to know, "How you gone to apologize?"
"And," Peter queried, "how we gone see if you a fish?"
"A what?" Martin blurted.
"A mamma boy." Peter demonstrated the universal symbol of the limp wrist to explain what he meant.
"I'm not a homo," Martin insisted, but without the force he intended behind his words.
"We got to find out for true." Robert lowered his fly.
Before Martin's startled eyes, the local pulled out a dark cock of impressive dimensions. It was long and girthy, banded with heavy veins, and had a thick knob. Robert pressed the tip against Martin's revulsed lips.
"Come on now, chi-chi man. Open up and take a taste." "I can't do that."
"Oh, but you can." Robert sneered at him. "Unless you want the bad thing to happen to you." He brandished his fist at the kneeling figure.
Martin's already fragile resistance shattered at that first threat. He trembled as he opened his mouth.
Robert told him, "Stick out the tongue."
When he did that, the Jamaican took his cock and rubbed the underside of the head all over the exposed pinkness. After a little of that, the enviable member had grown even larger, attaining its full size.
"So, get a hold on it wit them lips, white boy."
The tourist fearfully did as he was told. Then he had to suck. And swirl.
"That's good," Robert approved. "But I like something more. What you got to do is tell me how much you want it."
"But I don't."
"Ah, that's not the point. You got to make me believe you need my root. Let me hear them words of love."
Martin felt sick. This couldn't go on. Yet he was too cowardly to do more than comply. At Robert's urging, he gripped the flesh-stick and sucked the head, lapped the shaft, and even kissed his heavy balls. Alternating with that, he said what the Black man demanded to hear.
The white man said, "I love your cock, Robert. It's fantastic. I can't keep my mouth off it. Please don't make me stop making love to it."
"That's the right words, batty boy. Keep going."
After Sugar and Sally stepped out front, he led her into a grove of trees, with the moonlight filtering down through their branches. She put herself into his arms.
"This is so nice, Sugar." She cuddled against him.
"But you got to remember, pretty girl. You married to that boy in there. Don't he keep you happy?"
"Well..." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Martin tries. But he's kind of self-centered. And not half as tough as he imagines he is."
"Yeah. Still, at home, in da bed..."
She slowly shook her head. "He's not really equipped for that. I mean..." She touched his cock through his trousers. "... not like you."
"Oh," Sugar said, understandingly. "He got not enough down there. Just a bean pod."
"Bean pod," she repeated and giggled. "That's about all it is." "That not good. Even so, if you never had big wood before..."
"You mean the real thing? Large cocks? I did. When I was single, there were always guys chasing me. They loved these," she explained, rubbing her big boobs against him. "And I wanted all the big cocks I could get. I was a naughty girl, Sugar. Then I
settled down. Maybe the reason I married Martin was because he wasn't at all like that. Not aggressive. Not manly. And certainly not sporting a big tool."
"No sugar cane?" "What?"
"Ah. You see, that's how I got my name. Because I'm built like a long piece of sugar cane."
"Oh." She slapped him playfully on the chest. "And you let me think it was just because you're sweet. I guess you didn't want to upset me."
"Sure. Truth."
"Well, you certainly deserve to be called that." She massaged his thick club.
He told her, "It would be fine to get into your pum-pum and slam, but you got that husband in there."
"I know," she said unhappily.
"And he don't play around on you, do he?" "Never. But then, what woman would want him?"
"Even if he wutless in bed, you got to stick together. He was mighty stressed before. How bout we go back in and you can make nice with him. Get everything cook and curry again."
"I suppose I have to."
He led her back into the club. Martin plus Sugar's friends were no longer at the bar.
"The brudders, they must have took him in one of the back rooms, so he could settle down. We go find them."
Once they passed through a small door and the sounds of the club faded, Sally heard a voice. It was Martin. As they moved closer to a side room, she could hear what he was saying.
"Please, Robert, let me lick your cock all over. It feels so good against my tongue." There were slurping sounds. "Don't make me stop."
Robert said, "You want my man juice down you troat?"
"Yes. Down my throat. I have to have it."
"You like to clean. Hey? Like that root in you mout?"
"It's true. I like to suck cock. I love it. I adore your root in my mouth."
Sally looked at Sugar with disbelief. He put on a concerned face, signaled her to be quiet, and pointed to where the voices were
coming from. Then he put his arm protectively around her and moved them to the entrance. Peering in, they saw Martin on his knees, with his pants down and his tiny dick hard, enthusiastically using his hands and mouth on Robert's huge cock. Sally's eyes went wide. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. And hearing.
"I could do this all night," Martin insisted. (lap, slurp) "I don't ever want it to end." (suck, gag, suck) "But I have to taste your delicious cream."
He capped the head with his mouth and vigorously pumped the shaft. Robert's breathing accelerated. He grunted several times and then went rigid. His hips bucked. Martin swallowed. Semen ran out of one corner of his mouth. A long strand of it dangled from his chin. After another minute he backed off, to gently lick the knob and coax out the final drops with his now more slowly moving hand.
"OMG!" Sally couldn't contain herself any longer. She broke away from Sugar and stepped into the room. "My husband is a faggot. I married a queer. A little homo with a dick like a... a bean pod. I can't believe it. And I was trying so hard not to cheat on you."
"What?" Robert looked up at her. He was a study in shame. "No. You don't understand. I didn't want to do this."
"Oh?" she snarled. "And that's why your miniature dick is so hard?"
"I don't know how that happened. Maybe the bartender slipped me a sex drug. But I'm not gay."
"Not gay, says my new husband, with spunk on his chin. Ugh. You're disgusting. So, I guess now I can stop being the faithful wife and have some fun of my own."
"Sally, no. It's our honeymoon. We were too busy, with the travel schedule, to consummate our marriage. We still have to do it."
"Why? Will it be any less disappointing than it's always been in the past? Hmmm? I don't think so. Not with your puny pecker and two-minute finishing time. I need to spend the night with Sugar and his sugar cane."
"You can't leave me here with these animals. The other one might still want to use me."
"Good. Let him. I hope he has a better time with you than I ever did." To Peter she said, "Do whatever the hell you want with my lying sissy husband. Enjoy his mouth." Her eyes lit up with sadistic malice. "Or his soft white ass."
Sugar observed, "Now that your man ain't no man anymore, you free to do what you want."
"Damned right, I am."
"There another room right next to this one. You wutless husband be able to hear us while I give you what you need."
"Fine. I want him to hear every minute of it."
She began to undo Sugar's pants. Then she freed his cock, which was as long as Robert's and even thicker. Sally goggled at the superior piece of man-meat. She held it, tightening and relaxing her fingers to make it grow.
"You see that, Martin? Or should I call you Bean-Pod? Take a look, Bean-Boy. This is what a woman wants. It's what a real man has. To give her. To fill her up with. That thing of yours is just a joke. It's only a fraction of a cock. But I guess that's enough, if you prefer guys, and being their bottom."
Sugar said, "Sissy white boy okay with just a lily dick. He don't get to use it. Only takes other men in da mout and up dat ass."
"That's him, from now on. He's certainly not going to put that pathetic little dingdong inside me, ever again."
She hooked her arm through Sugar's and they walked away. Moments later they were in the next room, where there was a bed waiting for them.
Through the thin wall they heard Martin crying, "Please, no. I don't want it. You can't put that thing in me."
"What the matter?" Peter said. "Me shorter than me brudder."
"Only by an inch." Martin's voice was quavering. "But you're thicker. And the head is enormous. It will never fit."
"I make it fit, fish. Take some bacon fat from this can and put it on my stick. Then get this Jamaican jerk-rub all over it. You gone like the feel of the cinnamon and special the cayenne pepper. Gone make you hole feel all spicy and hot. Heh!"
"Get up on that bed," Robert commanded. "Head down and tail end up, boy. Yah, just like that. You got backside just like girl."
"Noooo."
Sugar and Sally hurriedly undressed each other. She was still marveling at the dimensions of his manhood and how firm it had become. With Martin, she had to sneak a smear of lube onto her puss, because the prospect of sex with him didn't get her wet. But with this island lover, she was more than moist already. He fondled her heavy boobs and got his hands on that inviting rump. Then he gently eased her back onto the bed, before kneeling between her legs. She brought up her knees, making it clear that she was ready, willing and able to take him. He grinned lasciviously at her.
The Black stud promised, "I stay on it long. Be a real cocksman."
"Perfect. Now shove that monster prong in me, Sugar." She made sure to say it loud enough for Martin to easily hear. "It'll be so much better than my husband's peanut dick."
She cried out as he eased the wide head and several more inches into her. Martin hollered as Peter did the same to him. The husband and wife keep yelling as they were each fed a long girthy
male member. One of the marrieds was in ecstasy, while the other suffered agony.
"Yes," Sally hissed. "Give me everything. This is incredible."
"No," Martin shrilled. "You're too gigantic. That thing is going to wreck me. And the pepper is starting to burn. Take it out, take it out, take it out!"
Sugar asked, "You like that, girl? You like me womb tickler?"
"Hell, yes."
"I a stamina daddy. Be in you long time."
"The longer, the better," she assured him. "I can't get enough of this."
She heard Peter say, "It all the way in now, batty boy. How you like that?"
"Just stay still for a minute," Martin pleaded. "Give me a chance to get used to it."
"You get plenty used to it, while l slam you white bum." Martin howled. Sally whimpered with pleasure.
Sugar said, "You got needle eye, girl. So tight."
She told him, "Well, Martin didn't have what it takes to stretch me at all."
The honeymooners continued to vocalize, in different ways and for opposite reasons. She was in heaven and he occupied hell. Martin's nonstop begging and squeals only added to his wife's already elevated sexual temperature. One of his especially tortured screams sent her into a violent orgasm. Sugar slowed down enough to ease her through the aftermath, then gradually increased his tempo again.
Martin was sobbing. Peter went on relentlessly. His strong fingers dug into the tourist's pale hip-flesh. The white man's embarrassingly small dick was still hard. As Peter slammed away, Martin began to gasp. His mouth remained open in a silent howl. He jerked. His penis twitched. Robert saw what was about to happen.
"Hah," the watching Black man said. "Our white fish about to spill da seed. He liking what you do to him, my brudder."
With a strangled cry, Martin spurted his load. That stimulated Peter so much that, before his prey was done, he unloaded his own full balls. The room smelled of sweat and sex. Martin moaned and sank down, crying softly. Peter withdrew and wiped his spent tool on Martin's nether cheeks.
Sally, meanwhile, was mounting toward a second climax. She kept saying things like, "Make me a woman again. My husband was a total failure in bed. His worm of a dick was useless. I never had a single orgasm with him."
But she had one now, her legs around Sugar's midsection. The contrast between their skin tones was vivid. She clung to him and cried out with overwhelming joy and intense pleasure.
As she came down from the heights of pure happiness, she asked breathlessly, "Can you go on a short while longer. Please?"
He laughed. "I a grindsman. The one-hour man. What they call a stamina daddy."
"Well, my pussy belongs to you, daddy. Put me over the top one more time."
Martin lay there, his face buried in a pillow wet with his tears, and had to listen to it all. His wife continued to disparage him as a sexual zero with a sad excuse for a penis. She praised Sugar to the skies and swore her sexual loyalty to him. Martin cringed under the barrage of words. He heard his wife slowly being taken upward again, until she was breathing hard and the sounds of lovemaking accelerated. Then there was one more shout, from both Sally and Sugar, of sheer unbounded release, as they came together. The cuckolded husband felt something inside him snap, never to be made whole again.
The rest of the two vacation weeks was a blur of sexual satisfaction for Sally. Martin endured the attentions of not only Robert and Peter, but also several of their equally well-hung friends. He was used every which way and left confused about his true sexual orientation. When he got more unwanted erections, now with no bartender to blame, they made him 'back fist', which
was their name for masturbating. With a circle of amused, drinking men looking on, he had to play with his undersized penis. They would make him stop and suck off another cock, before letting him return to his stroking. There were jokes about how he could tug with only his thumb and one finger, because he was so small. Then he would have to lick someone's balls from behind, which put his nose in their ass.
"You good batty boy," he would hear. "Got that pea pod for a dick."
"No bigger than a okra. Smaller, even." "How you wife, white boy?"
"I hear Sugar keep her so happy."
"She take him to you fancy hotel."
"He slam her on that fine bed, with them 'spensive sheets." "Haw, haw, haw."
At last the honeymoon was over. Sally had been well taken care of and hated to leave her Black lover. Sugar said his tender goodbyes. He told her she should find his cousin Dub, who worked in the same city where she lived. Martin was a shaken mess, the entire way home.
Once they were back in the States, he had to get used to a new life. The worst part was that his wife denied him sex. He had to see
her daily, ogle that magnificent body, remember the feel of his hands and mouth on her gorgeous big tits, and not have access to any of that. She was convinced that he had secretly been gay all along, which would contribute to explaining why their sex life had been so unsatisfying for her. She forbade him from going to any of the porn sites she made him confess he had visited regularly, in the past. Instead, she only allowed him to go to specific gay pages. He had to look at endless images of big, well endowed, Black men making use of small, wimpy white guys.
During his hours at his office job, he was distracted by the presence of many sexy female employees. He tried to focus on those girls, but also found his attention drifting to handsome guys, and even one openly homosexual one. What was happening to him? He had to dig himself out of this pit of ignominy and confusion. Determining to do that, he made plans all week for the next steps. When he arrived home, late on Friday afternoon, he was determined to at least try to talk to Sally. Maybe she had gotten over her infatuation with Sugar and the impact of all those hours spent in bed with him, enjoying marathon sex.
He arrived at the house with fresh resolve. Then he heard noises from the bedroom. He hurried to find out what was happening. Did his wife have one of her many female friends visiting? He hoped that if she did, there would be no revelations about their disastrous -- for him -- honeymoon.
When he stepped into the room, he was stunned to see her on the bed, under a muscular Black man. His long braids were swaying as he vigorously fucked her. She noticed Martin and turned her head toward him.
She smiled and said, "Hey, honey. Welcome home. Look who I got in touch with. It's Dub. Sugar's cousin. He works near your office, in a gym, as a personal trainer. Right now, he's training me to have a full and happy sex life again."
"But, Sally, you can't do this. What about me?"
"No problem. He has several friends from the island who would love to meet a white sissy boy like you. So, everybody gets what they want. Our marriage is saved. You can still be here to do the housework and shopping, and pay the bills of course, while I get in shape with Dub. And while you get well used by his buddies. Happy endings all around."
He groaned. Already he was imagining what many of his nights would now include. While he was still in a daze, Sally and Dub finished having loud animated sex and then took a shower together. After they napped naked in his marriage bed, the Black stallion had to leave.
"Aw," Sally said with a coy pout. "I want to feel your cock in my mouth one more time, Dub."
He looked at Martin and then back to her before declaring, "I have an idea, girl, him being a batty boy and all." He whispered something in her ear that made Sally giggle and clap her hands.
She got Dub back out of his pants. Then she told Martin to strip completely. While she knelt before her new lover, she told her
spouse to do the same behind him. Martin didn't understand what they were planning. He found out soon enough.
Dub looked back over his dark shoulder. He said, "You a sapps. What they call around here, a pussy-whipped man. So, while your fine blond wife got her pretty mouth on my wood, you gone give me batty wash."
"What?"
Sally defined the term. "It means you're going to use your tongue on his ass. Just think how enjoyable it will be for Dub, to have both of us doing him at the same time. And we expect you to really get into it, figuratively and literally." She laughed as she toyed with Dub's long, dangling member. Very soon she had brought it to full life.
The Black man reached back to grab Martin's long hair and pull his face against the waiting ass. By then Martin was used to doing what he was told. His plans to turn his life back around evaporated. He got his face between those firm ass cheeks and buried his features in Dub's butt. The defeated husband, though it sickened him, stuck out his tongue and got busy. He could hear his wife spiritedly sucking that big Black cock, even as he demeaned himself by performing deep ass-eating. Martin worked is tongue in and out. From those gay porn sites, he had learned that he was also supposed to kiss, lick and rim.
Dub growled his approval. He said, "Sally, girl, we gone have to do this all the time. Your chi-chi boy, he real good at it." To Martin he said, "Big up, white stuff. Big up."
Martin knew that meant he was doing a superior job. He felt strangely gratified to be pleasing the man who now possessed his wife. And Martin's immature dick was harder than he could remember it ever being before.
Comments
djaam-white
excellent story and I love the trick in th end. More worship like that in the future...
