I sat with my husband in his BMW, parked in front of a roadside diner. Just off the interstate, the restaurant was popular with all sorts of travelers, especially bikers and truck drivers, evidenced by the rows of semi tractor trailer trucks and motorcycles parked in neat rows. One of the trucks was owned by Charles, an African American truck driver, who waited for me inside. Over the course of the next week I would ride alongside of him as his obedient sex slave, obeying his every whim. The following week, I would be handed off to his friend Dwan, another truck driver who I had never met. I would ride back with him, offering my body to him for his use just as I had offered it to Charles.
The noon sun baked the car, causing the air conditioner to whirr louder. My skin moistened with a thin sheen of sweat, not just from heat, but trepidation of my ordeal ahead. I recrossed my legs and ran my hands under my bare thighs to keep them from sticking on the leather seats. I checked my make-up in the sun visor mirror once again, nothing had changed in the past 30 seconds since my last check.
My husband, sensing my apprehension, said, “Yen, you don’t need to go through with this.”
I didn’t respond right away. I had too many thoughts to process at once. “Yes, I do.”
“We can just back out of here and go home. Charles doesn’t own you.”
I giggled and steeled my resolve. “Dear, that’s not the point. I want him to.”
Charles had given me specific instructions on what to wear, and I reviewed my outfit to make sure I met them. My shorts were not much more than a denim belt that hung low enough to expose the letter Q and spade Charles had tattooed just above my pubic mound. A thin strip of material ran between my legs in a laughable attempt to cover my genitalia. He thought it was funny how I had to constantly peel the crotch from between my pussy lips. I had worn them before for Charles, but never in public.
Sweat made my tight white t-shirt nearly transparent. My brown nipples, permanently aroused from the steel bars Charles had me put through them, pressed firmly at the fabric. I didn't even own any bras or panties anymore, Charles banned them shortly after taking ownership of me. Normally he liked me wearing my wedding ring, but he said I should leave it at home because things could get a little rough and someone might steal it off me.
One more glance into the mirror. My face looked absolutely whorish - my almond eyes heavily outlined in black, red eyeshadow and long fake lashes, my lips painted a dark burgundy. I had boyfriends who had me lighten my hair or curl it, Charles liked it loose and straight and black.
“Are you ready?” My husband asked with concern.
I looked at him and nodded.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” he sighed. He got out, took my backpack out of the trunk then opened my car door.
I stepped out and balanced on my red platform high heels. The bright sun already began to sting my pale skin. My husband opened my backpack and removed a leather collar and a chain leash. I stood still as he put the collar around my neck and secured the buckle, then clipped the leash to the D-ring that hung below my chin.
I made my way to the restaurant door while my husband followed behind, holding my leash. I would never walk ahead of my master without permission, but I didn't want anyone to think I was my husband's slave. I had to take careful steps on the uneven ground. My heels were not easy to walk in, but Charles found what they did to my posture sexy. I didn’t plan on spending too much time on my feet anyway.
When I approached the door, my husband rushed ahead to open it for me. The burst of air-conditioned air felt good on my overheated flesh. The diner wasn't exactly a ****** type establishment, its customers mostly bikers and truckers, not necessarily the types to find the sight of a half naked leashed Asian woman teetering on stripper heels too outlandish. My white husband, in his khakis and cardigan, probably looked more out of place.
I still got plenty of gawks and stares, however. Some men licked their lips and made lewd comments under their breath, but they kept their hands to themselves, not because my husband who followed close behind, but because the tattoo just visible above my waistline marked me as Charles's bitch. It made me so horny knowing I was a property of a man who could garner such respect from people like these.
I spotted Charles at the end of the row of booths that ran along the storefront windows.. His massive frame hunched over a plate of food as he ate, his bald head glistening from the sunlight coming through the window. Through the window I could see my husband's car. Charles assuredly had a good view of me arriving. He could have easily taken possession of me in the parking lot, or at his truck, but he was testing me, seeing how much humiliation I would go through for him.
I did my best strut down the aisle, praying I wouldn’t trip and fall or otherwise embarrass myself and by extension, Charles. This lifestyle didn't come naturally to me. The night before my husband and I were at a wine and cheese soiree. I didn't want Charles to regret allowing me to ride with him.
When I reached the end, Charles didn't look up from his plate. Since I didn't have his permission to sit or speak, I stood at the foot of the table and looked straight ahead. My husband was under no obligation, so he plopped down on the seat opposite Charles and set my bag next to him.
I could see Charles lift his head slightly in disgust at the behavior of the white boy, but he was above petty things and went back to finish his meal. He took a sip from his drink, then held out his hand to my husband.
“Do your thing and get.”
He placed the handle of my leash in Charles’s outstretched hand, effectively and symbolically acknowledging that Charles owned his wife.
As he started to leave, I said to him, "Wait." Charles looked up and flashed me a scolding look. I was to be used, not heard. I looked at my husband then back at him. His brow un-furrowed and he nodded, allowing me to continue.
“Hand me my backpack, I have a present for you," I told my husband.
The backpack contained the few things Charles let me bring - my cell phone, my driver’s license, toiletries, make-up, and two outfits in case I had to appear ‘normal’. There was one thing he left up to me to bring or not, and I found it in the front zipper compartment.
I waited for my husband to hold out his hand, then I placed the round plastic container in it. “My birth control pills.”
I could see Charles smile slightly. He had been encouraging me to humiliate my husband more. The way my husband scuttled off, hunched over, his hands over his crotch to cover his erection, I think I did him well.
With my husband gone, Charles set my leash on the table.
He waved his hand in front of him. “Sit.”
I did as I was told.
“Are you hungry? We won’t be stopping for a while.”
“You know what I’m hungry for.”
“You’ll get plenty of that, for sure.” He called the waitress over.
“Get her a cheeseburger and a tall glass of orange juice, she’ll need to keep her strength up.”
“Sure, sugar.” She walked off, not even acknowledging me.
“So, you are sure about the pills?”
“I actually stopped taking them a week ago.”
“And no sex with hubbie?”
“Have you given me permission to have sex with him?”
He laughed. To him this was a game that humored him, for me, it was my life. “How about any other brothers, any of them bust a nut in you?”
Charles’s ownership of my body extended beyond my time with him. I didn’t have sex with my husband without his permission, I couldn’t even masturbate without his permission. The only exception was other black men. They had free reign over my body as much as he did. He didn’t think it was right for ‘another brother’ to have to wait for his permission to ‘slide up in his ho’, so he told me I could never refuse a sexual request from another black man.
"Not since I stopped taking my birth control."
“As we discussed, I’m cool with you being unprotected, but I’m not entirely cool with you having my baby. I got enough babies out there. I’m not opposed, just not totally cool with it. So, you know you’re gonna be fucking alot of other dudes on this trip?”
I nodded my head. “As long as they are black.”
He grabbed my leash and yanked, pulling me out of my seat so my face was inches from his. “Bitch, you’ll fuck who I tell you to fuck. Don’t be thinking you’ll be having any say in it.”
I heard people gasp behind me. He looked around and noticed the waitress giving him a dirty look.
He loosened his grip on my leash, allowing me to sit back down. He spoke in a softer tone. “Bitch, this getting knocked up thing is your idea, not mine.”
“I want your baby, Charles. You know that. I've always wanted that. If I can’t have that, please let me have a black baby. If I wanted a white baby I’d just fuck my husband.”
The waitress had showed up with my food. “Chuck, we've been over this, do what you want with your whores in the parking lot, but not in here. Bob told me to tell you to take the leash off.”
Charles relented, and reached over and un-clipped the leash and handed it to me. I put it in my backpack. It was weird hearing him referred to as Chuck. I called him Chuck once and my ass was sore for a week.
The waitress set my food down in front of me, gave Charles a firm look and walked off.
“Eat.”
I didn’t really like hamburgers, but it was by far not the worst thing he ever had me eat. He ordered, I obeyed.
“Finish quickly. We won't stop again until nightfall and I am already behind schedule.”
***
The fantasy of giving myself to black men sexually and carrying a black baby had always been intertwined. While I was less reluctant to indulge the former, it was the latter that introduced me to this world, an introduction that came when I met Alice Wang-Johnson. I first met her when I walked into my examination room and found her waiting with her husband, both concerned why she wasn't getting pregnant. When I am not a black man’s sex slave, I am an OB/GYN at a prestigious hospital.
Her husband was white, and she Chinese, like me, and we both spoke Mandarin. I learned from speaking it with my parents and aunts and uncles. She grew up in Shanghai until she was 16, so her Mandarin was a little coarser, more mixed with slang and what you would call ‘dirty’ words. I loved learning that side of my heritage from her.
In every one of our appointments, there were two conversations going. When going over charts and lab results and other doctor/patient things, we would talk in English. She would switch to Mandarin to incessantly dig into her husband, saying things like how his cum just gurgles out of her pussy because his dick was too small to get it in deep enough or how if she knew he was so bad in bed, she might as well have married Chinese. The funniest parts were when I didn’t understand something, she would make hand gestures to explain and her husband would just have this confused look on his face.
At one of her appointments, she mentioned, in Mandarin, an African-American at her work who was flirting with her. She wondered if the myth was true. I laughed and told her statistically, maybe a little, but porn massively exaggerates it. She said in English - “that’s one study I’d love to collect data on.” Her husband just looked at her strangely but Alice and I both laughed.
She did have some problems, but nothing that would prevent pregnancy. We cleared them up over a few appointments, then I gave her a clean bill of health and I wished her luck. When I told her that we fixed all her problems, she pointed to her husband and said in Mandarin, “I haven't fixed that big problem, but I'm working on it."
Four months later, she returned to my office 10 weeks pregnant. I congratulated her and her husband and we laid out our delivery schedule. When I asked her husband if he was happy his wife was finally pregnant, Alice said in Mandarin, “he sure was happy watching me get pregnant.” I figured there was a language issue and she meant ‘happy getting her pregnant', but she meant it exactly how she said it.
Throughout the pregnancy, she kept telling me she had a surprise for me and for me not to be shocked when the baby comes out. Honestly, at this point I thought she might be a little delirious from anemia, something quite common with pregnant women. I prescribed her an iron supplement and told her to eat more foods with Vitamin C.
When she finally gave birth, once the baby started to crown I realized she had been entirely clear headed all along. Even purely white or Asian babies are a little purple and discolored when they come out, but this baby had dark mocha colored skin. I gasped and struggled to remain professional. It wasn’t the first time we dealt with a baby that was obviously not fathered by the man holding the hand of the mother, but paternity really was no concern of ours. We did our jobs without comment.
She gave birth to a very healthy girl, above average in size and weight, with the cutest head of thick, wavy black hair. The biggest surprise of all was her husband seemed entirely unphased, he held the baby as if it was his own. Gone were Alice’s derisive comments, she seemed very loving and appreciative towards him. I figured all’s well that ends well, and I signed off on them and they left the hospital the next day.
I had been keeping my husband up-to-date on Alice, looking back he seemed almost obsessed with her, always asking if I saw her. I told him about the color of the baby. Instead of acting disgusted as I expected, he got a big smile on his face.
"It was the co-worker, wasn’t it?" he asked.
From the way he leaned forward expectantly, I knew the answer he wanted to hear. "What is wrong with you? Her husband seemed excited about it too."
He told me that there were married women out there who had sex with black men with the full approval of their husbands. The husbands either like to listen to their wife's account afterwards or actually watch them copulate while masturbating. I found this difficult to believe. I asked him how he heard about this, and he got a little defensive and told me he just read about it on the internet.
Normally, I only deal with pregnant women with complications. Since Alice was no longer a pregnant woman with complications, I should have handed her off to a nurse or a less senior doctor. Instead I filed some paperwork that said Alice had language difficulties and I'd remain her doctor to help translate.
I started texting or calling her almost every day. I justified it by telling myself I was concerned about her well-being. Often, when the father questions the paternity of his wife’s baby, it could lead to abandonment, abuse, or worse. She and the baby were very well and the husband showed no signs of being an abuser. I didn't really have an excuse for what I was doing.
After a few weeks of this, she texted me back - “why are you texting me so much?”
That was the first time it struck me how unprofessional I had been. I could get in serious trouble for harassing a patient. I immediately texted back. “I’m very sorry, I know I have been contacting you too much, I’m just concerned about you. I will stop and only contact you through my office.”
She responded. “Maybe you aren’t as concerned as you are curious.”
I was panicking by now. I wondered if I should report my actions to my chief physician. It usually went better if you were upfront about inappropriate contact with a patient before they filed an official complaint.
I hesitated, but eventually responded - “I’m sorry, I will stop. I’m being unprofessional.”
“Quit being stuck up! I consider you my friend. If you are curious, call me.”
I gulped. I needed some time to calm down, so I told her I’d call her in the evening.
When I called her, she basically confirmed my husband’s suspicion. She got frustrated with her husband and gave in to her black co-worker. She felt she needed to do it to relax, but made him wear a condom. The sex was so good she started wanting it more and more. He talked his way out of using condoms. The risk of pregnancy made their encounters that much more thrilling.
He told her how to handle her husband to get him to accept her affair. He seemed to have done this before. She even convinced her husband to be in the room watching while her lover impregnated her in their marital bed. It was all a contrivance, however, she knew she was already pregnant, but wanted to give her husband the experience so it would make him more accepting of raising another man's child.
I felt dizzy hearing this, and I had to sit down. The whole concept seemed so bizarre. I talked to my husband about it and he seemed surprisingly agreeable. He told me interracial sex is the best form of sex. He told me to remember the excitement when I, a Chinese woman, had sex with a white man for the first time. Sleeping with a black man was a step up from that. ‘Step up’... I wondered why he used that phrase.
At her next appointment, a very handsome, tall black man accompanied her. She introduced him as 'Leon', her co-worker. Alice barely reached 5 feet, and she came up to this man's arm-pit, his thighs thicker than her waist. The mechanics of their love-making seemed almost preposterous, but obviously they worked it out. We focused on her baby, her friend mostly just listened and nodded his head.
Halfway through, he got up and said, "I’m going out for a smoke, I’ll meet you at the car."
Once he left, Alice turned to me and smiled. “Sexy, huh?”
I had to ask, “have you left your husband? Are you with Leon now?”
She laughed. “Oh my, darling. Leon is just not the marrying type. The baby making type, just not the baby raising type. You didn’t answer my question. Do you think he’s sexy?”
I blushed, but nodded my head.
“Well, he’s mine bitch, but he has a friend."
I sighed. “I doubt he’d find me attractive, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. That was his signal. If he left to make a phone call, he didn't approve, if for a smoke, he did, and I was to proposition you.”
I felt my pulse quicken and my stomach tighten. I felt so nervous I feared I would throw up. “Let me talk to my husband.”
“Okay… but just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes, it’s easier to apologize for something you did than to ask permission to do something you want.”
***
When Charles thought I had eaten enough, he stood, took out his wallet and slapped a one hundred dollar bill on the table. He had so much more money than an average truck driver should, and I wondered if I would be part of how he makes that money.
“Gulp down that orange juice.”
With me still sitting and him standing in front of me, my head was on level with his crotch. As I finished my orange juice I couldn’t help but stare at the huge bulge in his tight denim jeans that snaked down his pant leg. I became mesmerized and felt a surge of euphoria, my personality and consciousness began fading away. My deepest, darkest fantasy was to shed every aspect of myself and be reduced to just a cock warmer for that massive penis, my only purpose for existing being to catch the ejaculate that came out of it.
When I realized I was on the verge of fulfilling that fantasy, I came. I came without even being touched, I just had to rock my hips against the pleather seat a few times. I struggled to suppress any outward signs of the pleasure coursing through my body, but I couldn’t hide it from Charles.
“Damn, you are one sexy, horny bitch. I should probably charge for the chance to knock you up.”
Honestly, I didn't understand why Charles seemed so flippant about impregnating me. I thought offering my fertile womb to him would be the ultimate gift, a sign of gratitude for all the pleasure and experiences he gave me. I had previous lovers that left me because I wouldn’t get off the pill, now, when I was ready for it...
I felt a rush of endorphins. My vision narrowed and I felt my being singularly focus inside my womb. I felt the primal, instinctual, animalistic need to procreate. It had to happen now.
“Goddamnit Charles. I need you to fuck your baby in me right now.”
I said it loud enough for anyone to hear. As I said it, another black man was walking by, younger, scrawnier, nowhere near as handsome or imposing as Charles.
“Damn, bitch, if he won’t knock you up, I will,” he said to me in a cocky voice.
It was one of those stupid things people should have said in their heads, not out loud. It could have gotten him killed by a man like Charles, at least a slap from someone like me. However, at that point, I was so horny, I would have gladly let him take me wherever he wanted and fill me with his sperm until I had a positive pregnancy stick.
One of the things I, dare I say, loved about Charles is he was a lot smarter than one would expect of a man of his background. You could always count on him to make the smart decision. He quickly analyzed the situation and came up with the only decision that made any sense. For speaking out of turn and making demands of him, I deserved a severe correction. I was there to satisfy his whims, mine had no bearing on anything. The young punk spoke out of line to Charles's bitch, disrespecting Charles in the process. However, the guy was irrelevant to the larger picture, mattering as much as my husband did. I, on the other hand, no matter how disrespectful, made a significant point, and time was of the essence.
He took the glass out of my hand and set it on the table, then grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet. I had to reach quickly to grab my backpack as he yanked me into the aisle. He kept his grip firm on my upper arm as he walked me out of the restaurant. My short legs struggled to keep up with his wide strides, especially wearing those ridiculously tall heels. I felt lightheaded. The way he held my arm signified ownership, it told everyone watching I was his property. The urgency in which he moved told me the decision he had made, the decision any biological organism would make when presented with what I presented him with - put your seed in a receptive mate before anyone else did.
In the parking lot I came to my senses a little bit and he let me walk on my own. The crotch of my shorts had disappeared between my swelling vulva, the jostling had caused the bottom of my tight shirt to ride up past my nipples. I was effectively naked from my chest down. Instead of feeling embarrassment at being exposed, I felt pride walking behind Charles as his whore. I wanted people to see me, to catcall and leer, to prove to Charles I was worthy of being his slut.
Once we got to his truck, he opened the door and had me start climbing up, then he put his hand on my ass and hoisted me in like a ragdoll. I landed on my knees on the seat.
“Bitch, get those fucking clothes off and get in my sleeper,” he said sternly. The look on his face told me he was angry. This wouldn’t go nicely for me, but at least I would get what I wanted.
The sleeper was about the size of a king size bed but just tall enough for me to crawl on my knees. It had that stale sweat smell of places inhabited only by men, but I could also detect the slight scent of a woman's perfume and sexual fluids. As I got in position on his unkempt mattress, I wondered how many days, or even hours, before another woman had been in the exact same position as I.
When his head appeared through the curtains, I made sure he was greeted by the sight of widely splayed legs and bald, greasy pussy pulsing in anticipation of his seed. He had already lost his shirt and I felt my pussy moisten even more as I watched his naked, muscular torso climb over my delicate body. I kept my hands on the backs of my knees, pulling them into my shoulders. I knew I was in for a savage fuck, and I needed my thighs between him and I to cushion some of the blow or he would knock the breath out of me.
I licked my lips as I watched him lower his pants and pull out that massive penis I so desperately craved. We didn't say any words, none needed to be said. Evolution had created a way for nature to reproduce itself, we were merely along for the ride..
As his cock penetrated my vagina, I cried out. Since I started fucking black men, the longest I had gone without being fucked by blacks was 3 days, when I went back to China for two weeks when my grandmother died. I still don't know how my husband found those guys. The two weeks I gave my body to flush out everyone else’s sperm and be ready for Charles's felt like eons. During that time, my pussy had been allowed to snap back to it’s normal size after years of constant stretching. It was not ready for Charles's girth, and he was not in the mood to take it slow.
I threw my head back and winced. Just as I felt the stabbing pain of his cock banging up against the entrance to my uterus, I felt Charles’s thick strong hand grab my neck and squeeze firmly. His grip was partially on my collar and it dug the metal rivets into my skin painfully. He could have easily jerked his hand and ripped my head clean off my shoulders and I would never have even known it happened. Fortunately he was not in the mood for one of his hours long fuck sessions, and after 10 strokes I felt his cock swell and blast his sperm into my womb.
With his cock still inside me and his hand still around my neck, he got up on his haunches. He lifted his other hand off the mattress. I thought maybe he underestimated his own strength and thought he needed two hands to strangle me to death. There was nothing I could do to stop him if that was what he wanted to do. Instead, he raised his hand over his head and swung it down, slapping me so hard I momentarily blacked out.
It wasn't a play slap, or even an angry slap, it was the kind of slap a pimp gives his whore when she needed correcting. He seemed experienced at it, because he seemed to know when my head stopped ringing and my vision cleared. My body autonomously recoiled as he raised his hand again. My pussy involuntarily clenched, squeezing out his shrinking organ. He may have intended to slap me again, but at the last moment he pointed one of his long fingers in my face instead.
"Don't you ever. EVER. Disrespect me like that again. Got that?"
He didn't give me the ability to respond with the stranglehold he had on my throat.
"This is my world, and in it you are nothing more than a rag I beat off into. You give me any more shit, I'll leave you on the side of the road naked and you’ll be lucky if some nigger who likes skinning bitches alive doesn't pick you up first. If you want to get through this shit, you do everything I fucking tell, and don't open that cock hole in your face or even move unless I tell you to. If you don't like that you can call faggot ass hubby right now and he can come back in his little faggot ass BMW to pick you up. You got that?"
He loosened his grip just enough to allow me to nod.
"You got your baby inside you now, you got what you want. This is your last chance to back out. Do you want to call hubby?
Suddenly, this all became too real. What the fuck was I doing? I was a pampered, overachieving spoiled little Chinese girl who barely weighed 110 pounds. I had everything a Chinese girl like me could want - a good, prestigious career, a handsome white husband, a fancy car, a big house, respect from my ****** and community. Why was I willing to throw all that away for this 250 pound ex felon? Just then he shifted and his half-hard cock rubbed against my clit, sending shock waves of pleasure through my body.
I shook my head and mouthed, "No."
He loosened his grip and I gasped for air.
"I'll keep this little transgression to myself, but trust me, Dwan is much less forgiving than I."
He got up off me and began to crawl out of the sleeper, but then stopped to look back at me.
"One more thing. This may be your sexual fantasy, but this is my job. I got a load back there that has a destination and it's already behind schedule. That will always come first. Understand?
I nodded. "Yes."
"Good. Now come up here an lick my dick clean while I get this rig moving. You let a drip hit the floor mat you are licking it clean."
The noon sun baked the car, causing the air conditioner to whirr louder. My skin moistened with a thin sheen of sweat, not just from heat, but trepidation of my ordeal ahead. I recrossed my legs and ran my hands under my bare thighs to keep them from sticking on the leather seats. I checked my make-up in the sun visor mirror once again, nothing had changed in the past 30 seconds since my last check.
My husband, sensing my apprehension, said, “Yen, you don’t need to go through with this.”
I didn’t respond right away. I had too many thoughts to process at once. “Yes, I do.”
“We can just back out of here and go home. Charles doesn’t own you.”
I giggled and steeled my resolve. “Dear, that’s not the point. I want him to.”
Charles had given me specific instructions on what to wear, and I reviewed my outfit to make sure I met them. My shorts were not much more than a denim belt that hung low enough to expose the letter Q and spade Charles had tattooed just above my pubic mound. A thin strip of material ran between my legs in a laughable attempt to cover my genitalia. He thought it was funny how I had to constantly peel the crotch from between my pussy lips. I had worn them before for Charles, but never in public.
Sweat made my tight white t-shirt nearly transparent. My brown nipples, permanently aroused from the steel bars Charles had me put through them, pressed firmly at the fabric. I didn't even own any bras or panties anymore, Charles banned them shortly after taking ownership of me. Normally he liked me wearing my wedding ring, but he said I should leave it at home because things could get a little rough and someone might steal it off me.
One more glance into the mirror. My face looked absolutely whorish - my almond eyes heavily outlined in black, red eyeshadow and long fake lashes, my lips painted a dark burgundy. I had boyfriends who had me lighten my hair or curl it, Charles liked it loose and straight and black.
“Are you ready?” My husband asked with concern.
I looked at him and nodded.
“Well, let’s get this over with,” he sighed. He got out, took my backpack out of the trunk then opened my car door.
I stepped out and balanced on my red platform high heels. The bright sun already began to sting my pale skin. My husband opened my backpack and removed a leather collar and a chain leash. I stood still as he put the collar around my neck and secured the buckle, then clipped the leash to the D-ring that hung below my chin.
I made my way to the restaurant door while my husband followed behind, holding my leash. I would never walk ahead of my master without permission, but I didn't want anyone to think I was my husband's slave. I had to take careful steps on the uneven ground. My heels were not easy to walk in, but Charles found what they did to my posture sexy. I didn’t plan on spending too much time on my feet anyway.
When I approached the door, my husband rushed ahead to open it for me. The burst of air-conditioned air felt good on my overheated flesh. The diner wasn't exactly a ****** type establishment, its customers mostly bikers and truckers, not necessarily the types to find the sight of a half naked leashed Asian woman teetering on stripper heels too outlandish. My white husband, in his khakis and cardigan, probably looked more out of place.
I still got plenty of gawks and stares, however. Some men licked their lips and made lewd comments under their breath, but they kept their hands to themselves, not because my husband who followed close behind, but because the tattoo just visible above my waistline marked me as Charles's bitch. It made me so horny knowing I was a property of a man who could garner such respect from people like these.
I spotted Charles at the end of the row of booths that ran along the storefront windows.. His massive frame hunched over a plate of food as he ate, his bald head glistening from the sunlight coming through the window. Through the window I could see my husband's car. Charles assuredly had a good view of me arriving. He could have easily taken possession of me in the parking lot, or at his truck, but he was testing me, seeing how much humiliation I would go through for him.
I did my best strut down the aisle, praying I wouldn’t trip and fall or otherwise embarrass myself and by extension, Charles. This lifestyle didn't come naturally to me. The night before my husband and I were at a wine and cheese soiree. I didn't want Charles to regret allowing me to ride with him.
When I reached the end, Charles didn't look up from his plate. Since I didn't have his permission to sit or speak, I stood at the foot of the table and looked straight ahead. My husband was under no obligation, so he plopped down on the seat opposite Charles and set my bag next to him.
I could see Charles lift his head slightly in disgust at the behavior of the white boy, but he was above petty things and went back to finish his meal. He took a sip from his drink, then held out his hand to my husband.
“Do your thing and get.”
He placed the handle of my leash in Charles’s outstretched hand, effectively and symbolically acknowledging that Charles owned his wife.
As he started to leave, I said to him, "Wait." Charles looked up and flashed me a scolding look. I was to be used, not heard. I looked at my husband then back at him. His brow un-furrowed and he nodded, allowing me to continue.
“Hand me my backpack, I have a present for you," I told my husband.
The backpack contained the few things Charles let me bring - my cell phone, my driver’s license, toiletries, make-up, and two outfits in case I had to appear ‘normal’. There was one thing he left up to me to bring or not, and I found it in the front zipper compartment.
I waited for my husband to hold out his hand, then I placed the round plastic container in it. “My birth control pills.”
I could see Charles smile slightly. He had been encouraging me to humiliate my husband more. The way my husband scuttled off, hunched over, his hands over his crotch to cover his erection, I think I did him well.
With my husband gone, Charles set my leash on the table.
He waved his hand in front of him. “Sit.”
I did as I was told.
“Are you hungry? We won’t be stopping for a while.”
“You know what I’m hungry for.”
“You’ll get plenty of that, for sure.” He called the waitress over.
“Get her a cheeseburger and a tall glass of orange juice, she’ll need to keep her strength up.”
“Sure, sugar.” She walked off, not even acknowledging me.
“So, you are sure about the pills?”
“I actually stopped taking them a week ago.”
“And no sex with hubbie?”
“Have you given me permission to have sex with him?”
He laughed. To him this was a game that humored him, for me, it was my life. “How about any other brothers, any of them bust a nut in you?”
Charles’s ownership of my body extended beyond my time with him. I didn’t have sex with my husband without his permission, I couldn’t even masturbate without his permission. The only exception was other black men. They had free reign over my body as much as he did. He didn’t think it was right for ‘another brother’ to have to wait for his permission to ‘slide up in his ho’, so he told me I could never refuse a sexual request from another black man.
"Not since I stopped taking my birth control."
“As we discussed, I’m cool with you being unprotected, but I’m not entirely cool with you having my baby. I got enough babies out there. I’m not opposed, just not totally cool with it. So, you know you’re gonna be fucking alot of other dudes on this trip?”
I nodded my head. “As long as they are black.”
He grabbed my leash and yanked, pulling me out of my seat so my face was inches from his. “Bitch, you’ll fuck who I tell you to fuck. Don’t be thinking you’ll be having any say in it.”
I heard people gasp behind me. He looked around and noticed the waitress giving him a dirty look.
He loosened his grip on my leash, allowing me to sit back down. He spoke in a softer tone. “Bitch, this getting knocked up thing is your idea, not mine.”
“I want your baby, Charles. You know that. I've always wanted that. If I can’t have that, please let me have a black baby. If I wanted a white baby I’d just fuck my husband.”
The waitress had showed up with my food. “Chuck, we've been over this, do what you want with your whores in the parking lot, but not in here. Bob told me to tell you to take the leash off.”
Charles relented, and reached over and un-clipped the leash and handed it to me. I put it in my backpack. It was weird hearing him referred to as Chuck. I called him Chuck once and my ass was sore for a week.
The waitress set my food down in front of me, gave Charles a firm look and walked off.
“Eat.”
I didn’t really like hamburgers, but it was by far not the worst thing he ever had me eat. He ordered, I obeyed.
“Finish quickly. We won't stop again until nightfall and I am already behind schedule.”
***
The fantasy of giving myself to black men sexually and carrying a black baby had always been intertwined. While I was less reluctant to indulge the former, it was the latter that introduced me to this world, an introduction that came when I met Alice Wang-Johnson. I first met her when I walked into my examination room and found her waiting with her husband, both concerned why she wasn't getting pregnant. When I am not a black man’s sex slave, I am an OB/GYN at a prestigious hospital.
Her husband was white, and she Chinese, like me, and we both spoke Mandarin. I learned from speaking it with my parents and aunts and uncles. She grew up in Shanghai until she was 16, so her Mandarin was a little coarser, more mixed with slang and what you would call ‘dirty’ words. I loved learning that side of my heritage from her.
In every one of our appointments, there were two conversations going. When going over charts and lab results and other doctor/patient things, we would talk in English. She would switch to Mandarin to incessantly dig into her husband, saying things like how his cum just gurgles out of her pussy because his dick was too small to get it in deep enough or how if she knew he was so bad in bed, she might as well have married Chinese. The funniest parts were when I didn’t understand something, she would make hand gestures to explain and her husband would just have this confused look on his face.
At one of her appointments, she mentioned, in Mandarin, an African-American at her work who was flirting with her. She wondered if the myth was true. I laughed and told her statistically, maybe a little, but porn massively exaggerates it. She said in English - “that’s one study I’d love to collect data on.” Her husband just looked at her strangely but Alice and I both laughed.
She did have some problems, but nothing that would prevent pregnancy. We cleared them up over a few appointments, then I gave her a clean bill of health and I wished her luck. When I told her that we fixed all her problems, she pointed to her husband and said in Mandarin, “I haven't fixed that big problem, but I'm working on it."
Four months later, she returned to my office 10 weeks pregnant. I congratulated her and her husband and we laid out our delivery schedule. When I asked her husband if he was happy his wife was finally pregnant, Alice said in Mandarin, “he sure was happy watching me get pregnant.” I figured there was a language issue and she meant ‘happy getting her pregnant', but she meant it exactly how she said it.
Throughout the pregnancy, she kept telling me she had a surprise for me and for me not to be shocked when the baby comes out. Honestly, at this point I thought she might be a little delirious from anemia, something quite common with pregnant women. I prescribed her an iron supplement and told her to eat more foods with Vitamin C.
When she finally gave birth, once the baby started to crown I realized she had been entirely clear headed all along. Even purely white or Asian babies are a little purple and discolored when they come out, but this baby had dark mocha colored skin. I gasped and struggled to remain professional. It wasn’t the first time we dealt with a baby that was obviously not fathered by the man holding the hand of the mother, but paternity really was no concern of ours. We did our jobs without comment.
She gave birth to a very healthy girl, above average in size and weight, with the cutest head of thick, wavy black hair. The biggest surprise of all was her husband seemed entirely unphased, he held the baby as if it was his own. Gone were Alice’s derisive comments, she seemed very loving and appreciative towards him. I figured all’s well that ends well, and I signed off on them and they left the hospital the next day.
I had been keeping my husband up-to-date on Alice, looking back he seemed almost obsessed with her, always asking if I saw her. I told him about the color of the baby. Instead of acting disgusted as I expected, he got a big smile on his face.
"It was the co-worker, wasn’t it?" he asked.
From the way he leaned forward expectantly, I knew the answer he wanted to hear. "What is wrong with you? Her husband seemed excited about it too."
He told me that there were married women out there who had sex with black men with the full approval of their husbands. The husbands either like to listen to their wife's account afterwards or actually watch them copulate while masturbating. I found this difficult to believe. I asked him how he heard about this, and he got a little defensive and told me he just read about it on the internet.
Normally, I only deal with pregnant women with complications. Since Alice was no longer a pregnant woman with complications, I should have handed her off to a nurse or a less senior doctor. Instead I filed some paperwork that said Alice had language difficulties and I'd remain her doctor to help translate.
I started texting or calling her almost every day. I justified it by telling myself I was concerned about her well-being. Often, when the father questions the paternity of his wife’s baby, it could lead to abandonment, abuse, or worse. She and the baby were very well and the husband showed no signs of being an abuser. I didn't really have an excuse for what I was doing.
After a few weeks of this, she texted me back - “why are you texting me so much?”
That was the first time it struck me how unprofessional I had been. I could get in serious trouble for harassing a patient. I immediately texted back. “I’m very sorry, I know I have been contacting you too much, I’m just concerned about you. I will stop and only contact you through my office.”
She responded. “Maybe you aren’t as concerned as you are curious.”
I was panicking by now. I wondered if I should report my actions to my chief physician. It usually went better if you were upfront about inappropriate contact with a patient before they filed an official complaint.
I hesitated, but eventually responded - “I’m sorry, I will stop. I’m being unprofessional.”
“Quit being stuck up! I consider you my friend. If you are curious, call me.”
I gulped. I needed some time to calm down, so I told her I’d call her in the evening.
When I called her, she basically confirmed my husband’s suspicion. She got frustrated with her husband and gave in to her black co-worker. She felt she needed to do it to relax, but made him wear a condom. The sex was so good she started wanting it more and more. He talked his way out of using condoms. The risk of pregnancy made their encounters that much more thrilling.
He told her how to handle her husband to get him to accept her affair. He seemed to have done this before. She even convinced her husband to be in the room watching while her lover impregnated her in their marital bed. It was all a contrivance, however, she knew she was already pregnant, but wanted to give her husband the experience so it would make him more accepting of raising another man's child.
I felt dizzy hearing this, and I had to sit down. The whole concept seemed so bizarre. I talked to my husband about it and he seemed surprisingly agreeable. He told me interracial sex is the best form of sex. He told me to remember the excitement when I, a Chinese woman, had sex with a white man for the first time. Sleeping with a black man was a step up from that. ‘Step up’... I wondered why he used that phrase.
At her next appointment, a very handsome, tall black man accompanied her. She introduced him as 'Leon', her co-worker. Alice barely reached 5 feet, and she came up to this man's arm-pit, his thighs thicker than her waist. The mechanics of their love-making seemed almost preposterous, but obviously they worked it out. We focused on her baby, her friend mostly just listened and nodded his head.
Halfway through, he got up and said, "I’m going out for a smoke, I’ll meet you at the car."
Once he left, Alice turned to me and smiled. “Sexy, huh?”
I had to ask, “have you left your husband? Are you with Leon now?”
She laughed. “Oh my, darling. Leon is just not the marrying type. The baby making type, just not the baby raising type. You didn’t answer my question. Do you think he’s sexy?”
I blushed, but nodded my head.
“Well, he’s mine bitch, but he has a friend."
I sighed. “I doubt he’d find me attractive, though.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course he does. That was his signal. If he left to make a phone call, he didn't approve, if for a smoke, he did, and I was to proposition you.”
I felt my pulse quicken and my stomach tighten. I felt so nervous I feared I would throw up. “Let me talk to my husband.”
“Okay… but just remember one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Sometimes, it’s easier to apologize for something you did than to ask permission to do something you want.”
***
When Charles thought I had eaten enough, he stood, took out his wallet and slapped a one hundred dollar bill on the table. He had so much more money than an average truck driver should, and I wondered if I would be part of how he makes that money.
“Gulp down that orange juice.”
With me still sitting and him standing in front of me, my head was on level with his crotch. As I finished my orange juice I couldn’t help but stare at the huge bulge in his tight denim jeans that snaked down his pant leg. I became mesmerized and felt a surge of euphoria, my personality and consciousness began fading away. My deepest, darkest fantasy was to shed every aspect of myself and be reduced to just a cock warmer for that massive penis, my only purpose for existing being to catch the ejaculate that came out of it.
When I realized I was on the verge of fulfilling that fantasy, I came. I came without even being touched, I just had to rock my hips against the pleather seat a few times. I struggled to suppress any outward signs of the pleasure coursing through my body, but I couldn’t hide it from Charles.
“Damn, you are one sexy, horny bitch. I should probably charge for the chance to knock you up.”
Honestly, I didn't understand why Charles seemed so flippant about impregnating me. I thought offering my fertile womb to him would be the ultimate gift, a sign of gratitude for all the pleasure and experiences he gave me. I had previous lovers that left me because I wouldn’t get off the pill, now, when I was ready for it...
I felt a rush of endorphins. My vision narrowed and I felt my being singularly focus inside my womb. I felt the primal, instinctual, animalistic need to procreate. It had to happen now.
“Goddamnit Charles. I need you to fuck your baby in me right now.”
I said it loud enough for anyone to hear. As I said it, another black man was walking by, younger, scrawnier, nowhere near as handsome or imposing as Charles.
“Damn, bitch, if he won’t knock you up, I will,” he said to me in a cocky voice.
It was one of those stupid things people should have said in their heads, not out loud. It could have gotten him killed by a man like Charles, at least a slap from someone like me. However, at that point, I was so horny, I would have gladly let him take me wherever he wanted and fill me with his sperm until I had a positive pregnancy stick.
One of the things I, dare I say, loved about Charles is he was a lot smarter than one would expect of a man of his background. You could always count on him to make the smart decision. He quickly analyzed the situation and came up with the only decision that made any sense. For speaking out of turn and making demands of him, I deserved a severe correction. I was there to satisfy his whims, mine had no bearing on anything. The young punk spoke out of line to Charles's bitch, disrespecting Charles in the process. However, the guy was irrelevant to the larger picture, mattering as much as my husband did. I, on the other hand, no matter how disrespectful, made a significant point, and time was of the essence.
He took the glass out of my hand and set it on the table, then grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet. I had to reach quickly to grab my backpack as he yanked me into the aisle. He kept his grip firm on my upper arm as he walked me out of the restaurant. My short legs struggled to keep up with his wide strides, especially wearing those ridiculously tall heels. I felt lightheaded. The way he held my arm signified ownership, it told everyone watching I was his property. The urgency in which he moved told me the decision he had made, the decision any biological organism would make when presented with what I presented him with - put your seed in a receptive mate before anyone else did.
In the parking lot I came to my senses a little bit and he let me walk on my own. The crotch of my shorts had disappeared between my swelling vulva, the jostling had caused the bottom of my tight shirt to ride up past my nipples. I was effectively naked from my chest down. Instead of feeling embarrassment at being exposed, I felt pride walking behind Charles as his whore. I wanted people to see me, to catcall and leer, to prove to Charles I was worthy of being his slut.
Once we got to his truck, he opened the door and had me start climbing up, then he put his hand on my ass and hoisted me in like a ragdoll. I landed on my knees on the seat.
“Bitch, get those fucking clothes off and get in my sleeper,” he said sternly. The look on his face told me he was angry. This wouldn’t go nicely for me, but at least I would get what I wanted.
The sleeper was about the size of a king size bed but just tall enough for me to crawl on my knees. It had that stale sweat smell of places inhabited only by men, but I could also detect the slight scent of a woman's perfume and sexual fluids. As I got in position on his unkempt mattress, I wondered how many days, or even hours, before another woman had been in the exact same position as I.
When his head appeared through the curtains, I made sure he was greeted by the sight of widely splayed legs and bald, greasy pussy pulsing in anticipation of his seed. He had already lost his shirt and I felt my pussy moisten even more as I watched his naked, muscular torso climb over my delicate body. I kept my hands on the backs of my knees, pulling them into my shoulders. I knew I was in for a savage fuck, and I needed my thighs between him and I to cushion some of the blow or he would knock the breath out of me.
I licked my lips as I watched him lower his pants and pull out that massive penis I so desperately craved. We didn't say any words, none needed to be said. Evolution had created a way for nature to reproduce itself, we were merely along for the ride..
As his cock penetrated my vagina, I cried out. Since I started fucking black men, the longest I had gone without being fucked by blacks was 3 days, when I went back to China for two weeks when my grandmother died. I still don't know how my husband found those guys. The two weeks I gave my body to flush out everyone else’s sperm and be ready for Charles's felt like eons. During that time, my pussy had been allowed to snap back to it’s normal size after years of constant stretching. It was not ready for Charles's girth, and he was not in the mood to take it slow.
I threw my head back and winced. Just as I felt the stabbing pain of his cock banging up against the entrance to my uterus, I felt Charles’s thick strong hand grab my neck and squeeze firmly. His grip was partially on my collar and it dug the metal rivets into my skin painfully. He could have easily jerked his hand and ripped my head clean off my shoulders and I would never have even known it happened. Fortunately he was not in the mood for one of his hours long fuck sessions, and after 10 strokes I felt his cock swell and blast his sperm into my womb.
With his cock still inside me and his hand still around my neck, he got up on his haunches. He lifted his other hand off the mattress. I thought maybe he underestimated his own strength and thought he needed two hands to strangle me to death. There was nothing I could do to stop him if that was what he wanted to do. Instead, he raised his hand over his head and swung it down, slapping me so hard I momentarily blacked out.
It wasn't a play slap, or even an angry slap, it was the kind of slap a pimp gives his whore when she needed correcting. He seemed experienced at it, because he seemed to know when my head stopped ringing and my vision cleared. My body autonomously recoiled as he raised his hand again. My pussy involuntarily clenched, squeezing out his shrinking organ. He may have intended to slap me again, but at the last moment he pointed one of his long fingers in my face instead.
"Don't you ever. EVER. Disrespect me like that again. Got that?"
He didn't give me the ability to respond with the stranglehold he had on my throat.
"This is my world, and in it you are nothing more than a rag I beat off into. You give me any more shit, I'll leave you on the side of the road naked and you’ll be lucky if some nigger who likes skinning bitches alive doesn't pick you up first. If you want to get through this shit, you do everything I fucking tell, and don't open that cock hole in your face or even move unless I tell you to. If you don't like that you can call faggot ass hubby right now and he can come back in his little faggot ass BMW to pick you up. You got that?"
He loosened his grip just enough to allow me to nod.
"You got your baby inside you now, you got what you want. This is your last chance to back out. Do you want to call hubby?
Suddenly, this all became too real. What the fuck was I doing? I was a pampered, overachieving spoiled little Chinese girl who barely weighed 110 pounds. I had everything a Chinese girl like me could want - a good, prestigious career, a handsome white husband, a fancy car, a big house, respect from my ****** and community. Why was I willing to throw all that away for this 250 pound ex felon? Just then he shifted and his half-hard cock rubbed against my clit, sending shock waves of pleasure through my body.
I shook my head and mouthed, "No."
He loosened his grip and I gasped for air.
"I'll keep this little transgression to myself, but trust me, Dwan is much less forgiving than I."
He got up off me and began to crawl out of the sleeper, but then stopped to look back at me.
"One more thing. This may be your sexual fantasy, but this is my job. I got a load back there that has a destination and it's already behind schedule. That will always come first. Understand?
I nodded. "Yes."
"Good. Now come up here an lick my dick clean while I get this rig moving. You let a drip hit the floor mat you are licking it clean."
