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. Retraining Martin

Discussion in 'Cuckold Stories' started by Lutheran Maid, Oct 14, 2017.

. Retraining Martin 4.8 5 4votes
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  1. Lutheran Maid

    Lutheran Maid Well-Known Member Author!

    I wasn't at all sure about it, taking back Martin I mean. How many years had it been since he was pushed out of our home? Two years I guess. Yes two. Enough time for Luther and I to settle into our way, black alpha male and his woman and for Ellie to come along. Our daughter is one going on two. She is beautiful and she is bright and inquisitive, she is so Luther, so confident and full of attitude, even as a babe. It had been breeding that had finished Martin off. He could sort of manage the idea that i was dating Luther, even that the only person allowed in the marriage bed was my black adonis, but when I wanted Luther's baby so very much, and told my husband to flush my contraceptive pills down the toilet, well, that broke Martin. I think it was the public realisation of it. That Luther had won. That he would be the daddy to the lovely child that I pushed before me in a buggy. Luther never made a secret of it. He wanted to own me publicly and when Martin started getting snotty about that, Luther turfed him out.

    Just where Martin lived, what he did during those wilderness years I didn't care much. I was living the blissful life with my black man. I met all of his wide circle of friends and relaxed little by little into the culture of things. There were lots of white girls besotted, hooked up to, owned (you chose the term) by black friends of Luther. May be half of us had already had babies by our men and several more were now pregnant. That was the thing really, when you are with a black guy he wants you banged up. He wants you bearing his kids. Indeed, the goal of many men like the gorgeous Mr Luther is to have a big family and that is such a thrill for many girls like me who have a mother earth feeling deep inside. Going with a black man is not only more natural (he is definitely more masculine than men like Martin), it is fecund too. Black men get white girls pregnant with no problem at all. It's as if our bodies ache to get into the state that the black master wants. It was Mummy who raised the matter of Martin. She had seen him about town. No, she had talked with him, albeit briefly. My husband (the divorce wasn't completed) was forlorn. He had tried to form relationships with other women, but failed miserably. Something had popped inside his head. Something really rather profound had happened. He had (and this must have made Mummy squirm) accepted that the beautiful and the intelligent white women should lie with black guys. That was the way forward, mixing up the races and overcoming all the nasty attitudes that surrounded what he now saw as inevitable change. Mummy clearly found it uncomfortable talking about that to me. For her, Luther was simply the 'dishiest man imaginable' and 'such a natural father'. She never really saw the colour of skin, or tried to imagine what it felt like for a white boy to be pushed out of the breeding pool.

    Luther talked to me about Martin next. My husband was begging to come back. He was begging to have some menial role supporting our new family. Apparently he had telephoned Luther and admitted that I was far too good for him and that it had been inevitable that Luther and I would become an item. He wasn't surprised that we had started a family, or that I had settled so well into Luther's wider social circle. My first reaction was pretty negative I can tell you. I didn't want him near Ellie in case there was revenge in his heart. I didn't want him living in our house. Of course I would do as Luther told me to, but I had arranged, in my mind, a new sort of territory. Luther was so sensitive, so understanding. He'd guessed all of my concerns. But then he wondered too whether I missed bitching Martin? He said it in whisper, as we lay in bed, with his big cock pulsing inside me. He asked when he knew that I was already aroused. He said that he missed seeing me put Martin down. It was natural for an alpha male. The sense of conquest, the sense of power, was heightened by also ran males like Martin. I felt his cock start to slide in and out of me. I felt his fingers travel over my nipples until they hardened against his touch. I smelled his musky cologne, felt the heat and the strength of his body inside me and truth be told, i moaned yes. I missed, if I was brutally honest, seeing Luther rule Martin. I missed the contrast between please may we white male request and brutal black male mastery approaches towards me. Luther started to thrust me. I moved rhythmically on his powerful cock. The bed flexed back and forth, cracking under the onslaught of his lust.

    'You'r going to see the little fucker again,' he breathed huskily, mounting me hard, 'you're going to see him and make him realise just how low his fucking existence is meant to be.'

    We climaxed. We climaxed so hard! We climaxed testosterone hard. I felt my body locking, convulsing beneath him. I felt his cock driving inside me like a piston in a housing. He growled his pleasure of me, swore what a teasing little bitch I was. I begged for his kisses, pleading for his seed and then he ejaculated. There, I thought, panting, as Luther emptied inside me. I am Luther's. I am his all over again. But he was right. He was entirely right. A powerful black alpha male has to own and to rule. It was essential to have his family, growing, signalling his masculinity, but in the end too, my man was a warrior. He had to control the defeated as well.

    It was agreed then that I would meet up with Martin to see what i felt comfortable with. I was to be as hard and bitchy with Martin as I wished, but could keep him at arms length from our nest too, if that was what I wanted. Luther had already insisted that before any exploratory meeting Martin had to show his admiration for us, his submission to me with some sort of tribute. That came the next week. My ex spent a fortune on his and her designer watches (I won't advertise). They were a good choice too, because people remarked on them again and again and on the fact that we wore the same. I didn't tell them that they represented more than our togetherness. I didn't indicate that they signalled the start of a new hierarchy, the owning of Martin when he had tried to go independent and failed.

    We met Martin at a pub down by the river. It was one run by a brother of Luther's, Samuel. I wore a tight black leather mini skirt with an exposed zip up the front. My black bolero top showed my breasts off to the full. The high heels and stockings were vamp, but that was how I dressed these days. Martin had known that, he watched me transforming into Luther's slut those two years back. Now though, in my head, I guess my dress said some additional things. Look mate, I've had Luther's baby and I'm back in shape for him. I will always get back in shape for a man who knows how to handle a woman. Perhaps you sense some of my anger? Perhaps you recognise the disdain. Well, it was there for sure! I wasn't at all sure that I knew what I would permit as regards Martin. I mean, the idea of him, submitting again like that, it disgusted and attracted me. The very return made me feel like a little bitch and like something dirty was sitting on the doormat as well.

    There he was, Martin, dressed in smart slacks, and an open necked crisp white shirt. He wore a beard now, a well kept, trimmed one. I looked at him and imagined how it would smell after he had been licking me out for Luther? He wouldn't be able to get rid of the perfume. He would always know, for hours on end, what his weakling nature was driving him towards. I checked my new watch as if to rub some salt in the wound, and sat down at the table, without even acknowledging my husband. Martin stared at me for a second, drinking down my look and then when Luther glanced at him, his eyes sunk back down to the table. Men submit in subtle little ways. There are gestures, looks, demeanour that signals the hierarchy. I watched and I was excited by it. I was. However weak Martin seemed, watching Luther dominant him was still a thrill. So I crossed my legs. I crossed them knowing that Martin would look. I crossed them knowing that Martin would hurt. There, sweetie, you know who these wrap around don't you? You know who owns my pussy now? There, Martin blushed. The barb had gone in deep. I'd hurt him again, like I used to. i hurt him the way I had when I taunted him whilst getting ready to go out with Luther. Mummy never guessed that. She would never have understood the raw sex that is essential in a relationship with a black man, when the white man gets brushed aside. It's necessary to humiliate. It's necessary to establish the new order of things. If I handn't planned this consciously for the pub, I was doing it anyway. If you are a bitch…a black guy's bitch.

    Luther had Martin buy the drinks and I listened as my husband said, 'yes sir'. It was like Martin was kissing Luther's dick with the words. So nice, so meek, so down at heel. I knew then again, afresh and yes eagerly, I HAD missed bitching Martin. I had missed his deference to Luther. I had missed seeing him behave like Luther's vassal. When Martin returned with the drinks I became rather caustic.

    'Why?' I asked him bluntly, leaving Martin to fill in the gaps.

    Martin had big moon eyes. He has the sort of eyes that can't hide a lie. He did always wear his emotions a little too openly.

    'Because I still worship you' he said, his neck flushing puce. 'Because….because…I have tried to be a man, to be a partner elsewhere, and it doesn't work. I can't do it…'

    His voice trembled. Martin was cracking up. He had been waiting months for this, steeling himself, yearning, aching, shaming himself with the very thought. Luther watched him. He watched him impassively. Martin had to debase himself. That was what came with the territory.

    'But I don't need you Martin…I don't need you as a man.' I said acidly.

    Martin nodded. 'I know…..I know that you don't……'

    'So what's changed? Why should I find some space for you?'

    He shifted in his seat. The room, the room, it must have seemed damned hot right then.

    'I've changed. I've changed…because of what you taught me. What you taught me about sex, about relationships, about what a beautiful woman deserves. I don't know why I didn't measure up. Maybe the way i was raised, may be what society does to guys who start with low self esteem…'

    He was whining. He was whining and I know it, I sneered as he did that.

    Luther said, 'you're a faggot….inside, that's what you are.'

    'yes sir' said Martin.

    I loved my man taking charge of it then. I loved the fact that I didn't even have to discuss it all.

    'You gonna suck dick for me now? You ran from that before?'

    'yes sir' nodded Martin.

    I watched Martin bend. like a hazel sapling he bent over full.

    'You suck brother dick when I tell you to?'

    I glanced at Martin. I felt hot…yes I own it, hot inside my panties.

    'yes sir' came the quivering response.

    'I ain't feeding you pussy licks man, I ain't feeding them at all unless you devote yourself to us both.'

    It was horny. It shocked me, but it was. I imagined Martin aching for me. I imagined him aching for a lick of my sex. How many months had he been doing that already? How raw had he rubbed his little cock?

    'I will do whatever you both say, just please……please, give me some sort of role.'

    Devotion. Well that had started hadn't it, the timepieces. Devotion was never easy, it was never cheap and it came in different humiliating forms. Luther beckoned Martin up, we were going up to a bedroom that Samuel was letting us use. Martin came quickly. Like he was on a string and the inertia of shame had suddenly been overcome. He followed up the stairs, and waited silently whilst Luther kissed me in front of him again. It was a slow kiss, a wanton kiss, a recharged kiss, enjoying the humiliation as well as the desire we felt for one another. Luther ran his fingers up beneath my skirt. There, I was wet for him. I was always wet for him. It was the way of things.

    'Undress your mistress, down to stockings and suspender' Luther said casually.

    There, now, in the lamplit room, Martin touched me reverently, lightly again. It was a supplicant touch. It was granted by my lover. It was different. However much I had shivered with disgust at the thought of seeing, being touched by Martin again, when he did so, under command, it was a world different. I watched him impassively, releasing my top to reveal my balcony bra beneath. I felt him undo that and my breasts bob free. They're bigger Martin, do you see that. I've been feeding Luther's baby. I will feed all of his babies, as many as he wants. Martin gulped, his fingers trembling. He slid down in front of me and unzipped my skirt, drawing it down. How he longed to lick, to kiss I could only guess, but the thrill of that control, my control over him, shot up my spine in a charge that made me shudder. Now, my knickers, they were edged down too and my sex, my much stretched, obviously black cock owned sex peeped into view, inches from his face.

    'Smell her' said Luther calmly.

    I watched Martin cripple himself with desire. I watched him inhale the terrible addiction that he had cold turkeyed from for two years. He looked up at his master, his eyes pleading for a lick. There was a terrible, a delicious order to it all. Like the movements of a symphony. Cause and effect, addiction and begging, each followed in train.

    'No' said Luther firmly, and then pointed his own pants. Martin moved under direction. He unzipped Luther's trouser fly, took out his master cock and started to suck it nicely without compunction. It was as if a damn had burst and now Martin was doing what he was destined to do. I watched appreciatively as he submitted so completely to Luther, sucking his glans, licking his shaft and nuzzling encouragingly against his ample scrotum.

    'You liking that faggot?' Luther burred.

    'Yes sir' Martin admitted.

    'You needing it?'

    Martin flinched.

    'Yes sir'.

    I kissed Luther. I desperately wanted to kiss Luther and I clung to him as Martin sucked, touching my man's hairy chest. Feeling Luther's tongue in my mouth as Martin sucked his dick off was delicious.

    'Take down my clothes' ordered Luther and Martin obeyed, peeling away the things like he was revealing something ancient, precious, magnificent.

    'You happy with him bitch?' Luther wondered.

    I nodded. 'I love seeing you control him' I whispered.

    We needed to fuck. We needed to fuck then, not urgently, not coarsely or quickly, but as a consolidation of where we were now going. Martin was there. Martin counted for next to nothing. We used him to masturbate, that was all. Luther pushed him aside and lifted me onto the bed. I spread my legs and showed him my gaping pussy. Martin looked on, utterly crestfallen. Luther smirked. He settled himself between my legs and ran his cock inside me for the first time. I felt the pressure, the wonderful pressure. There was the sound of sucking as Luther penetrated me back and forth. The room filled with our scent, the perfume of coupling, male and female, alpha and alpha. That this was the sweeter for Martin kneeling there beside us was incontrovertible. I accepted that now. We would find some menial things for Martin to do.

    By the time my teats had hardened to the point where I thought I might lactate, Martin had lost control and started to tug on his little cock and Luther was ready for a change of position. He ordered Martin onto the bed. I knelt over him, my cunt above his face. My ex was going to get a close eyeful of why i had become such a contented mother. In went Luther's cock and I gasped. I felt him force apart my sex lips, his prick curving up into me so that I moved on his body, a mirror image of every shift he made. Beneath my gaze, Martin's cock was jerking without a touch. It was tiny. It was nothing.

    'Stop it' I snapped down at him. He wasn't to ejaculate. I watched his erection deflate. Luther chuckled. More ramming thrusts came my way and then Luther had Martin start to lick. I felt my husband's tongue run over my clitty and then the swinging bollocks of my man. It felt his tongue sweep back again catching the drips as they fell.

    'Oh God…Luther…..darling'.

    Was this a pussy lick? May be. May be. But Martin was directed soon enough to lather Luther's balls. He was to lick them so I got the hottest, the biggest load ever! I glanced down and back between my swinging tits. Yes, there he was, Martin licking, licking his master's balls.

    'I want a baby….' I groaned.

    Luther chuckled.

    'Yeah, oh yeah, we do that OK, we'll do that just as soon as this little guy is back deep in his dirty habit' he growled.

    I felt Luther spurt. I always feel him spurt. It's like a volcano inside you. The tense, tense, tense of his shaft, the jerking up of his balls and then the long, the gushing filling.

    I groaned loudly, arching my back, worshipping my man for what he did with me.

    There, panting….more panting and whimpers too. I felt him filling me. Beneath Martin was still licking, ensuring that Luther filled me with the copious load.

    'I'll put him to work as our gardener…' Luther grunted, 'never in the house babe, but you can watch him clean up the yard'.

    It was like a plantation somewhere. Luther wanted that. He liked the irony of the reversing roles. I with my belly swelling again, watching my husband sweep leaves outside.

    'Yes, darling….yes' I moaned. It was so, so sweet, so so right.
  2. CumSlurpingCuckold

    CumSlurpingCuckold Well-Known Member Member

    This is the good stuff, the kind of Black Trigonometry that could save so many White marriages.
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