by Gustav Jorgenson
I was sitting in my living room waiting for my wife Janice to come home from work one Friday night when she suddenly burst into the room with a group of rough looking black guys. I don’t want to sound racist, but these guys looked like real thugs. They were wearing football jerseys and all had their saggy jeans hanging off their asses and they just sort of looked mean and angry. But my wife was just as happy as could be, laughing away as she ushered the ruffians into the room.
“Oh, hi honey. We have a change of plans for tonight. I am going to have to take a raincheck on dinner because I agreed to go out drinking with the boys from the loading dock at work.”
A few of the black men acknowledged me with grim nods but the others just looked around the room, clearly impressed by our expensive leather furniture.
“Um, really?” I gasped in shock, my heart racing with fear. I hate to admit it, and I swear I’m not racist or anything, but these guys were scaring me.
“Yes, you see, we had a company mixer this afternoon so that people from different departments could mingle and get to know each other. It was just so wonderful getting to know the fellows who do all the hard manual labor. Why we simply never have any occasion to interact since I’m always working in the offices upstairs of course. But these fellows are simply charming. They are just so funny and good natured. When they asked me to join them for drinks tonight, I just couldn’t say no.” My wife beamed at me brightly and patted one of the big men on the shoulder while he nodded at me ominously.
I gulped down the lump of trepidation in my throat and tried to think of a diplomatic way to object. But I was at a loss, so I steeled my nerves and decided to invite myself along. I just couldn’t let me poor helpless wife go off with these brutes on her own. “Oh, well, why don’t I join you folks then?” I asked.
My wife’s smile faded slightly and she looked to big man standing next to her. “Uh, I don’t know, I guess we thought of this as sort of a Spumco coworker outing. What do you think, Jamal?”
“Nah, nah, your husband should stay home. He won’t fit at the club we going to tonight,” said Jamal, waving at me dismissively.
“Oh, well, um, ok, but if I won’t fit in, are you sure my wife will fit in?” I asked, trying to sound casual while my heart pounded madly in my chest.
“Oh hell yeah, a sexy white lady is ALWAYS welcome at da club,” laughed Jamal, looking my wife up and down lewdly while his buddies chuckled and made little comments amongst themselves.
“Oh my gosh, you boys are just terrible. You are making me blush,” said Janice, smoothing the front of her dress self consciously with a little grin on her face. She was clearly loving the attention, and I had to work hard to smile along and hide my jealousy.
“Now you go get changed into somethin’ real sexy,” demanded Jamal with an imperious air about him. I didn’t like the way he was bossing my wife around and it made me grimace with displeasure.
“Well, I was going to wear a little black cocktail dress,” said Janice, tilting her head to the side. “Does that sound right?”
“Nah, you can’t wear a dress. It gets too hot in this place. All the bitches be wearing bikinis and heels,” insisted Jamal.
“Well, Janice isn’t really a bitch of course,” I said nervously, raising a finger in objection.
“Oh that’s just a figure of speech, darling,” laughed my wife, waving me off. “But Jamal, you don’t expect me to wear a bikini in public, do you? I mean that’s scandalous. What will people think?”
“They’ll think you got a nice pair of titties and a bangin’ booty,” replied Jamal, brashly leaning back to check out my wife’s ass while she tittered in response. “I’m telling you, that’s how the shorties do in this joint.”
“Shorties do?” I asked in confusion.
“I think he means that’s how all the other women dress,” offered my wife with a furrowed brow.
“That’s what I said,” grumbled Jamal in exasperation.
“Yes, well that’s not really appropriate,” I said. But the thought of my wife going out in public in her bikini with a bunch of hooligans started to make my penis hard for some reason. I put my hands in my lap to hide my growing erection.
“Don’t worry, man, we’ll protect your woman, nobody will touch her,” said Jamal.
“Except us,” mumbled one of his pals and the whole group broke out laughing, my wife included.
“Oh stop it you boys, why I am old enough to be your mother to some of you,” gasped my wife, wiping a tear of merriment from her eye.
“I don’t believe it,” said Jamal, honestly taken aback.
“Well I am 44 years old,” said my wife primly, as she patted at her hair with one hand.
“Well, you looking good to me,” growled Jamal. “We’ll just call you a MILF.”
They laughed again but my wife looked confused. “MILF?”
“Mother I’d Like to Fuck,” I explained, my face growing hot with embarrassment.
“Chad, how do you know that naughty acronym?” gasped my wife, pretending to be offended, but I could see the devilish twinkle in her eye.
“He looks at porn just like everybody,” shrugged Jamal pursing his lips.
“I do not!” I squeaked when my wife put her hands on her hips and turned to me menacingly.
But the guys saved me by breaking out in a further bout of hilarity and my wife’s stern expression softened. “Well we will discuss this porn business when I get home tonight mister. We might need to do an audit of your browser history. But enough of this, I can’t wear a bikini in public, but I have a cut pair of short-shorts, like little daisy dukes. I guess I could wear a halter top with that.”
“Go put it on, let’s see it,” commanded Jamal and it annoyed my how readily my wife obeyed him and ran off to change.
“She follows orders good,” said one of the thugs.
“I know what order I like to give her,” said another hooligan.
“Um, ok, guys,” I said. “That’s enough.” I didn’t like the tone of their joking around.
“You got any gin and juice?” asked Jamal, ignoring my protests.
“Uh, well, there is gin at the bar,” I said, motioning toward the wet bar at the far end of the living room. “And there is probably some orange juice in the refrigerator in the kitchen.” Jamal just stared at me with contempt for a moment until I got the gist of his glare. “Oh, let me grab that for you,” I said, standing up shakily and gingerly skirting the gang of probable felons to get to the kitchen and retrieve the requested juice. This was really getting out of hand. I was feeling threatened in my own home. And to top it off, my wife was eager to go out drinking with these ne’er-do-wells, and wearing a skimpy outfit to top it off. What was the world coming to?
I came back to the living room to find that Jamal had located the gin and was holding the bottle in one hand while his friends examined the decor curiously.
“How much was this surround sound?” asked one young guy with a teardrop tattoo at the corner of his eye. He was bent down inspecting our entertainment system and holding his pants up with one hand.
“Uh, that wasn’t, uh, very expensive,” I said, lying badly as I handed Jamal the juice.
“Ha, not to you, maybe,” said Jamal, taking the juice and shaking it. Then I watched in utter horror as he opened the top of the orange juice carton and started pouring the gin right into it.
“Jamal, what are you doing?” I gasped in shock.
“Makin’ Gin and Juice, what do you think?” he asked, cocking his head to me as though I was the crazy one and not him. Once he had poured half the bottle of gin into the orange juice carton , he shook it slightly, took a sip directly from the carton and passed it around the group.
I was simply beside myself with disgust when my wife reappeared in the living room. “Ta-da,” she said, raising her arms as she presented herself to the group. She was wearing her daisy dukes as promised at they did show off her amazing legs to good advantage. She had on a halter top that made her large breasts seem positively huge. It was only a half-shirt and showed off her slightly chubby midriffs. She still had her hourglass figure alright and I stood staring with the rest of the thugs as we all checked out her shapely curves.
“Damn, woman, turn around,” ordered Jamal.
Janice blushed and turned around slowly while the blacks hooted with excitement. Her shorts barely covered her ass cheeks, and her big round rump looked pretty damn good encased in tight denim. She covered her rear with her hands modestly and quickly turned back around to face the gang.
“Well, I guess this meets your approval,” she said, cheeks bright red with excitement. “Shall we go? Wait, are you boys drinking right out of the juice carton?” she asked, aghast. “Don’t do that! My goodness, Chad, get them some glasses!”
“Never mind that,” said Jamal, making a sharp motion with his hand. “Do you have a bra on?”
“Well of course, Jamal, don’t be silly, but I do insist that you use a glass if you drink juice here in my house,” said my wife, clearly upset about the carton slurping that was going on.
“Will you forget that, woman?” spat Jamal with annoyance. “We put the gin in there and that’s how we share it. We can’t be pouring out all these glasses and shit. Now if you got a bra, take the top off and let’s see it. You don’t want to wear that top, it will be too hot.”
“Well I can’t take the top off, honey,” she told him sweetly. “The bra is lacy and, uh, you can sort of see through it a little bit.” She covered her boobs with her hands self-consciously. “Besides, I’m sure I will be perfectly comfortable in this top. It’s very cool.”
“Just take it off and let me be the judge,” insisted Jamal taking a swig from the carton and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Um, that’s really, not a proper, err request,” I sputtered, utterly taken aback by our guests vulgar behaviour.
“Oh no, dear, now don’t get upset,” said my wife. “It’s ok, it’s ok, maybe I don’t need to wear this top. It will be dark in the club I suspect,” her voice trailed off as she carefully peeled off her top, struggling not to mess her hair. Her luscious boobs came popping out, jiggling and barely constrained by the thin sheer fabric of her bra. The dark circles of her nipples were clearly discernable and she blushed even more as she showed her bra to the collection of drunken black ruffians in our living room.
“Yeah, now that looks nice,” said Jamal, adjusting his crotch with satisfaction.
“Oh, Jamal, dear, don’t uh, touch yourself like that, dear. It’s not polite,” said my wife pointing to Jamal’s hand on his penis, her nipples stiffening visibly.
“Got to,” said Jamal. “My junks’s getting hard, got to shift it.”
“You know, I don’t feel really comfortable with this whole arrangement,” I told my wife nervously.
“Oh nonsense, honey,” she said, coming over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Everything will be just fine. I know this is a little risque, but it’s good to try new things, isn’t it? I’m sure the boys and I will have a simply wonderful time tonight.”
“Uh, that’s what I’m afraid of,” I said, looking my wife up and down as she stood half-naked in her bra and short shorts with all her skin exposed.
“You rascal,” she laughed, pinching my cheek playfully. “Come along boys, let’s hit ‘da club’ or whatever we call it.”
The guys all laughed at my wife’s attempt at being down and they all filed out of the room together.
“Don’t wait up, bruh, we might be out late tonight,” said Jamal, giving me a lewd wink that gave me a queasy feeling.
I heard a slapping sound from the hallway and my wife cackled with laughter. Did they slap her rump? Then they were gone and the house was uncannily quiet all of a sudden. I didn’t feel very good about this situation. Then I remembered that Janice would be checking my browser history when she got home and I ran to the computer, cursing myself for not using incognito mode. I knew that I couldn’t just clear the whole history because that would look too suspicious. So I browsed through all links one by one, looking at the interracial MILF porn that I favor and I began to realize that my wife was out drinking half-naked with a gang of black men and that this scenario wasn’t entirely removed from the subject matter before me. My penis became engorged with blood and I am afraid that I spent the rest of the evening masturbating madly to images of big black men fucking middle aged women and picturing my wife’s face on each of the female porn stars. All the while I was painfully aware that this very scenario might be playing out in real life in some ghetto apartment somewhere tonight.
---
Gustav Jorgenson’s wife sharing stories:
Check out free hotwife fiction here: https://gustavjorgensonauthor.wordpress.com/
eBooks on Amazon: Greatest Hits, What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy? & Audiobook
"Wives Cheating, Husband Watching": Vol.5, Vol.4, Vol.3, Vol.2, Vol.1, Box Set
Cuck tales: Beta Husband Blues: Book1, Book2; Wife Wears Leotard, Wife Strips For Cholos,
SJ Slut Wives: Vol.1, Vol.2, Hard Times, Hot Wife
I was sitting in my living room waiting for my wife Janice to come home from work one Friday night when she suddenly burst into the room with a group of rough looking black guys. I don’t want to sound racist, but these guys looked like real thugs. They were wearing football jerseys and all had their saggy jeans hanging off their asses and they just sort of looked mean and angry. But my wife was just as happy as could be, laughing away as she ushered the ruffians into the room.
“Oh, hi honey. We have a change of plans for tonight. I am going to have to take a raincheck on dinner because I agreed to go out drinking with the boys from the loading dock at work.”
A few of the black men acknowledged me with grim nods but the others just looked around the room, clearly impressed by our expensive leather furniture.
“Um, really?” I gasped in shock, my heart racing with fear. I hate to admit it, and I swear I’m not racist or anything, but these guys were scaring me.
“Yes, you see, we had a company mixer this afternoon so that people from different departments could mingle and get to know each other. It was just so wonderful getting to know the fellows who do all the hard manual labor. Why we simply never have any occasion to interact since I’m always working in the offices upstairs of course. But these fellows are simply charming. They are just so funny and good natured. When they asked me to join them for drinks tonight, I just couldn’t say no.” My wife beamed at me brightly and patted one of the big men on the shoulder while he nodded at me ominously.
I gulped down the lump of trepidation in my throat and tried to think of a diplomatic way to object. But I was at a loss, so I steeled my nerves and decided to invite myself along. I just couldn’t let me poor helpless wife go off with these brutes on her own. “Oh, well, why don’t I join you folks then?” I asked.
My wife’s smile faded slightly and she looked to big man standing next to her. “Uh, I don’t know, I guess we thought of this as sort of a Spumco coworker outing. What do you think, Jamal?”
“Nah, nah, your husband should stay home. He won’t fit at the club we going to tonight,” said Jamal, waving at me dismissively.
“Oh, well, um, ok, but if I won’t fit in, are you sure my wife will fit in?” I asked, trying to sound casual while my heart pounded madly in my chest.
“Oh hell yeah, a sexy white lady is ALWAYS welcome at da club,” laughed Jamal, looking my wife up and down lewdly while his buddies chuckled and made little comments amongst themselves.
“Oh my gosh, you boys are just terrible. You are making me blush,” said Janice, smoothing the front of her dress self consciously with a little grin on her face. She was clearly loving the attention, and I had to work hard to smile along and hide my jealousy.
“Now you go get changed into somethin’ real sexy,” demanded Jamal with an imperious air about him. I didn’t like the way he was bossing my wife around and it made me grimace with displeasure.
“Well, I was going to wear a little black cocktail dress,” said Janice, tilting her head to the side. “Does that sound right?”
“Nah, you can’t wear a dress. It gets too hot in this place. All the bitches be wearing bikinis and heels,” insisted Jamal.
“Well, Janice isn’t really a bitch of course,” I said nervously, raising a finger in objection.
“Oh that’s just a figure of speech, darling,” laughed my wife, waving me off. “But Jamal, you don’t expect me to wear a bikini in public, do you? I mean that’s scandalous. What will people think?”
“They’ll think you got a nice pair of titties and a bangin’ booty,” replied Jamal, brashly leaning back to check out my wife’s ass while she tittered in response. “I’m telling you, that’s how the shorties do in this joint.”
“Shorties do?” I asked in confusion.
“I think he means that’s how all the other women dress,” offered my wife with a furrowed brow.
“That’s what I said,” grumbled Jamal in exasperation.
“Yes, well that’s not really appropriate,” I said. But the thought of my wife going out in public in her bikini with a bunch of hooligans started to make my penis hard for some reason. I put my hands in my lap to hide my growing erection.
“Don’t worry, man, we’ll protect your woman, nobody will touch her,” said Jamal.
“Except us,” mumbled one of his pals and the whole group broke out laughing, my wife included.
“Oh stop it you boys, why I am old enough to be your mother to some of you,” gasped my wife, wiping a tear of merriment from her eye.
“I don’t believe it,” said Jamal, honestly taken aback.
“Well I am 44 years old,” said my wife primly, as she patted at her hair with one hand.
“Well, you looking good to me,” growled Jamal. “We’ll just call you a MILF.”
They laughed again but my wife looked confused. “MILF?”
“Mother I’d Like to Fuck,” I explained, my face growing hot with embarrassment.
“Chad, how do you know that naughty acronym?” gasped my wife, pretending to be offended, but I could see the devilish twinkle in her eye.
“He looks at porn just like everybody,” shrugged Jamal pursing his lips.
“I do not!” I squeaked when my wife put her hands on her hips and turned to me menacingly.
But the guys saved me by breaking out in a further bout of hilarity and my wife’s stern expression softened. “Well we will discuss this porn business when I get home tonight mister. We might need to do an audit of your browser history. But enough of this, I can’t wear a bikini in public, but I have a cut pair of short-shorts, like little daisy dukes. I guess I could wear a halter top with that.”
“Go put it on, let’s see it,” commanded Jamal and it annoyed my how readily my wife obeyed him and ran off to change.
“She follows orders good,” said one of the thugs.
“I know what order I like to give her,” said another hooligan.
“Um, ok, guys,” I said. “That’s enough.” I didn’t like the tone of their joking around.
“You got any gin and juice?” asked Jamal, ignoring my protests.
“Uh, well, there is gin at the bar,” I said, motioning toward the wet bar at the far end of the living room. “And there is probably some orange juice in the refrigerator in the kitchen.” Jamal just stared at me with contempt for a moment until I got the gist of his glare. “Oh, let me grab that for you,” I said, standing up shakily and gingerly skirting the gang of probable felons to get to the kitchen and retrieve the requested juice. This was really getting out of hand. I was feeling threatened in my own home. And to top it off, my wife was eager to go out drinking with these ne’er-do-wells, and wearing a skimpy outfit to top it off. What was the world coming to?
I came back to the living room to find that Jamal had located the gin and was holding the bottle in one hand while his friends examined the decor curiously.
“How much was this surround sound?” asked one young guy with a teardrop tattoo at the corner of his eye. He was bent down inspecting our entertainment system and holding his pants up with one hand.
“Uh, that wasn’t, uh, very expensive,” I said, lying badly as I handed Jamal the juice.
“Ha, not to you, maybe,” said Jamal, taking the juice and shaking it. Then I watched in utter horror as he opened the top of the orange juice carton and started pouring the gin right into it.
“Jamal, what are you doing?” I gasped in shock.
“Makin’ Gin and Juice, what do you think?” he asked, cocking his head to me as though I was the crazy one and not him. Once he had poured half the bottle of gin into the orange juice carton , he shook it slightly, took a sip directly from the carton and passed it around the group.
I was simply beside myself with disgust when my wife reappeared in the living room. “Ta-da,” she said, raising her arms as she presented herself to the group. She was wearing her daisy dukes as promised at they did show off her amazing legs to good advantage. She had on a halter top that made her large breasts seem positively huge. It was only a half-shirt and showed off her slightly chubby midriffs. She still had her hourglass figure alright and I stood staring with the rest of the thugs as we all checked out her shapely curves.
“Damn, woman, turn around,” ordered Jamal.
Janice blushed and turned around slowly while the blacks hooted with excitement. Her shorts barely covered her ass cheeks, and her big round rump looked pretty damn good encased in tight denim. She covered her rear with her hands modestly and quickly turned back around to face the gang.
“Well, I guess this meets your approval,” she said, cheeks bright red with excitement. “Shall we go? Wait, are you boys drinking right out of the juice carton?” she asked, aghast. “Don’t do that! My goodness, Chad, get them some glasses!”
“Never mind that,” said Jamal, making a sharp motion with his hand. “Do you have a bra on?”
“Well of course, Jamal, don’t be silly, but I do insist that you use a glass if you drink juice here in my house,” said my wife, clearly upset about the carton slurping that was going on.
“Will you forget that, woman?” spat Jamal with annoyance. “We put the gin in there and that’s how we share it. We can’t be pouring out all these glasses and shit. Now if you got a bra, take the top off and let’s see it. You don’t want to wear that top, it will be too hot.”
“Well I can’t take the top off, honey,” she told him sweetly. “The bra is lacy and, uh, you can sort of see through it a little bit.” She covered her boobs with her hands self-consciously. “Besides, I’m sure I will be perfectly comfortable in this top. It’s very cool.”
“Just take it off and let me be the judge,” insisted Jamal taking a swig from the carton and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Um, that’s really, not a proper, err request,” I sputtered, utterly taken aback by our guests vulgar behaviour.
“Oh no, dear, now don’t get upset,” said my wife. “It’s ok, it’s ok, maybe I don’t need to wear this top. It will be dark in the club I suspect,” her voice trailed off as she carefully peeled off her top, struggling not to mess her hair. Her luscious boobs came popping out, jiggling and barely constrained by the thin sheer fabric of her bra. The dark circles of her nipples were clearly discernable and she blushed even more as she showed her bra to the collection of drunken black ruffians in our living room.
“Yeah, now that looks nice,” said Jamal, adjusting his crotch with satisfaction.
“Oh, Jamal, dear, don’t uh, touch yourself like that, dear. It’s not polite,” said my wife pointing to Jamal’s hand on his penis, her nipples stiffening visibly.
“Got to,” said Jamal. “My junks’s getting hard, got to shift it.”
“You know, I don’t feel really comfortable with this whole arrangement,” I told my wife nervously.
“Oh nonsense, honey,” she said, coming over to give me a peck on the cheek. “Everything will be just fine. I know this is a little risque, but it’s good to try new things, isn’t it? I’m sure the boys and I will have a simply wonderful time tonight.”
“Uh, that’s what I’m afraid of,” I said, looking my wife up and down as she stood half-naked in her bra and short shorts with all her skin exposed.
“You rascal,” she laughed, pinching my cheek playfully. “Come along boys, let’s hit ‘da club’ or whatever we call it.”
The guys all laughed at my wife’s attempt at being down and they all filed out of the room together.
“Don’t wait up, bruh, we might be out late tonight,” said Jamal, giving me a lewd wink that gave me a queasy feeling.
I heard a slapping sound from the hallway and my wife cackled with laughter. Did they slap her rump? Then they were gone and the house was uncannily quiet all of a sudden. I didn’t feel very good about this situation. Then I remembered that Janice would be checking my browser history when she got home and I ran to the computer, cursing myself for not using incognito mode. I knew that I couldn’t just clear the whole history because that would look too suspicious. So I browsed through all links one by one, looking at the interracial MILF porn that I favor and I began to realize that my wife was out drinking half-naked with a gang of black men and that this scenario wasn’t entirely removed from the subject matter before me. My penis became engorged with blood and I am afraid that I spent the rest of the evening masturbating madly to images of big black men fucking middle aged women and picturing my wife’s face on each of the female porn stars. All the while I was painfully aware that this very scenario might be playing out in real life in some ghetto apartment somewhere tonight.
---
Gustav Jorgenson’s wife sharing stories:
Check out free hotwife fiction here: https://gustavjorgensonauthor.wordpress.com/
eBooks on Amazon: Greatest Hits, What’s My Wife Doing With That Guy? & Audiobook
"Wives Cheating, Husband Watching": Vol.5, Vol.4, Vol.3, Vol.2, Vol.1, Box Set
Cuck tales: Beta Husband Blues: Book1, Book2; Wife Wears Leotard, Wife Strips For Cholos,
SJ Slut Wives: Vol.1, Vol.2, Hard Times, Hot Wife
