Reluctant Wife Gives it Up Part 1
A white husband fears the black man and the power he wields. But he has also has unquestioned respect for them. Through tidal waves of racial justice, whites are losing their comforts, their rights, and their morals. The husband wants to surrender to the terms made by The Black Power Movement for interracial harmony. He also wants his wife to surrender her beautiful, white body, as well. Unfortunately, she's cynical about black power and doesn't respect the black man and his needs as much as he.
Author's note: This is a dialog-rich story full of exposition seen through the eyes of a white male as he witnesses cultural change in his city, community, and marriage.
The political power of black culture was cementing in all facets of life in Black Pine. It's take over wasn't subtle nor quiet. The radical social, economic, programs were pushed by minorities and white progressives alike. The white citizens accepted them without protest and because of them, were quickly becoming second class citizens. For some whites, if they shown the slightest hint of intolerance, their lives would be even worse.
However, there were enclaves within Black Pine that were insulated from the black political movement. As few as they were, they were still too many for racial progressives. One such place was known as the Meadow District. It was one of the last residential zones made up entirely by whites. The political ideologues of the prior administration never approved one bus stop, protecting its isolation. The district was built for lower and middle class families wanting a quiet and unexciting place to life. It failed to attract poorer minorities by not offering businesses that were friendly to them. Not a single liquor store, lingerie shop, or ethnic restaurant could be found. Citizens needing cash-checking were out of luck and forced to go elsewhere. In the history of the district, not one prostitute offered her body for sale. It never welcomed a thug making business on a street corner. It was that backwards.
Located deep within the district, entrenched by white, middle class was a row of houses off of “Pine Court”. Settled in their two-story houses, they were occupied by married, white families living their white values of greed, closed-mindedness, and monogamy. The married couples were pious, reserved, and faithful to their spouses. They believed in traditional values and many practiced western-based religion that helped confined them in their moral cages. In other words, they were racists. However, the hand of racial justice would reach into the white community.
Brett wouldn't know himself when he began respecting the wave of black power. The influx of black men, mostly all alpha types, influenced day-to-day life with their political power. Using their voting power they liberated incarcerated felons, many with violet histories, releasing them into Black Pine. Prison space was swapped with white males committing white-collar crimes stealing from the community minorities depended on for sustenance. Throughout the city, frustrated black men lashed out on white males over social economic injustice. It was tolerated, if not encouraged. It was considered "freedom of racial expression" and protected vigorously. For the white perpetrators taking a fist to their faces, it was racist to not acknowledge the rights of the black man.
The city also turned more African. With the number of refugees growing by the day, their culture was making in-roads within the white community. The migrant camp, simply a renovated hotel, was a rally cry for culture change. Demonstrations and protests were common with crowds getting larger, louder, and more vocal demanding rights and benefits to the Africans and all black people re-locating in the city.
Brett may also have been influenced watching black men possess white women in their literal hands. The black, alpha-males were kissing, groping, and grabbing ass in public of the white girls who preferred a better race of men throughout the city. It was only a matter of months until he noticed the high number of newborn black babies in the arms of their white mothers. The future of the white race was here.
On a Saturday morning, down the street on Pine Court, Brett saw police cars roll up to a home down the court. Outside the house, stationed a group of a dozen protestors, black men and black and white women outside of the community. They were throwing garbage and yelling obsenities at home owners inside.
The husband and "man of the house" was wrestled out his door, handcuffed and restrained. His wife, a 30 year old blonde with nice, large breasts, was crying and screaming at the police but she was quickly restrained by a white, woman police officer. The protestors cheered and taunted the other white homeowners standing on their front lawn. Watching this jolted Brett out of his racial complacency.
Samantha, Brett's wife, ran in from the kitchen minutes later and cried to him. "The police arrested Susan's husband for racism! The whole neighborhood is in a tizzy! We can be arrested for hate crimes for being white?" Samantha said as she wiped pieces of a smashed banana peel off her blouse that hit her across the breasts. Through the safety behind the window, Samantha saw the protestors walk out of the house with whatever they could carry. The police stood by and protected them from interruption. Susan had to watch leaning against a patrol car with her hand behind her back. Samantha looked down knowing she could do nothing but wash her blouse.
Samantha was a 27 year old wife with dirty blonde hair. She was childless with a nice pair of breasts and a round ass. Samantha, with a little more make-up and tighter clothes, would be considered "hot". Without them, she was merely "very cute", more so with her meek personality. Samantha was a good, wholesome wife like many in her community. She had married a successful professional, Brett, 12 years older.
Brett put his arms around Samantha and looked out their living room bay window. Samantha looked into Brett's eyes knowing she had him. She walked off and took off her top and her bra and walked to the bedroom. She looked over her shoulder and suggested to her husband, “Come to the bedroom with me.” Brett took another cup of coffee and followed Samantha to the bedroom. Samantha was already naked and on the bed bent over greeting him with her ass and pussy. “I need relief. I'm willing to do my duties now.” Brett thought it was bad timing to have sex while ignoring the racial warnings down the street. But, that pussy! He had to hit it. Brett went ahead and had marital sex with his wife in the bedroom. “White Privilege” continued unabated.
As generous Samantha was letting her husband put his penis inside her tight, beautiful white pussy, it did not lift the racial guilt Brett was carrying. Maybe he would have if Samantha had bothered giving him a blow job. Brett was still racially bothered. Why should he have easy access to sex while many other black men were competing aggressively for some. “Everyone” knew about the practice of black men sharing women with others in order every man had the opportunity for relief. It was a beautiful act of generosity. The growing African migrant community made it less taboo to discuss about their sexual needs in a city with predominately white women available for mating.
Brett figured between silent bigotry, social injustice, and not enough opportunities for sex was stoking animosity between the races with white people on the wrong side of history. The answer was giving Africans and the black man “more”, more of everything.
That night he sat down with Samantha in their ****** room where she was knitting an ugly sweater. “Can we talk?” asked Brett followed by a depleted exhale.
Samantha was smiling. After pleasing her husband, she acted as if the morning incident never happened. She looked up into her husband's eyes with love and loyalty. Brett began, “I think we need be more active in the black community.”
Samantha lowered her needles and showed she knew more about the justice against whites than she had let on. "They took Susan's husband to a racial attitude correction asylum. She can't find a lawyer. They're all too afraid to help her.” she whispered.
“We're all afraid.” said Brett. “The centuries of cruel racism is catching up to us. We're going to pay like the white farmers in Africa and the young men in Sweden.” he warned. Samantha saw how much her husband was concerned for her. “What can we do?” she asked.
“We need to get behind black power. Support it, push it … live it.” said Brett. He felt a wave of relief better than any orgasm, with expressing his desires for racial harmony.
But Samantha let out a gasp of air and said, “I don't want black power! We have rights too!”
When Samantha raised her voice, Brett felt immediate fright. He held out his hands pleading her to lower her voice. “Not so loud, Samantha. We don't want even our neighbors to hear we're intolerant with black rights.”
Samantha cooled and acknowledged she was borderline insubordinate and closed her lips. She felt timid and needed direction from her husband. “What's your idea?”
“Attend rallies … spend weekends protesting with The Black Power Movement … we'll network with people who can help when we're in trouble.” said Brett. Samantha took notice, “Are we in trouble because we're white?” she asked.
Brett put his hand on Samantha's knee, “We're white. We are trouble.” answered Brett. He continued, “We're becoming second class citizens with little rights. But it's all in the name of racial justice and we need to support it. Otherwise someone, somewhere will take our names. I want to be on the their side.”
Samantha retorted, “I don't want to be a racial justice warrior and protest one white-owned business after another to prove I'm a good, white woman! I go to church, I worship, that's enough for them.”
Brett felt small and was worried his front door could be kicked down any second. His wife's outspoken devotion to worship other than to black race was dangerous. Brett pleaded, “We need to earn the trust of the black man. I want to learn first hand what it will take.”
“Give what to them?” Samantha asked naively.
“Anything.” said Brett.
Samantha gave in but she said defiantly, “I'm not giving up my religion or our values for anyone.”
Brett had to agree with Samantha's dangerous caveat. “All I ask is we learn more about racial justice and be open to demands.”
Samantha snickered, “Demands?”
Brett nodded, “We need to pay a visit to The Black Power Movement and see what they want from us. It's time for sacrifices.” Samantha realized her comfortable, white life was subject to change. What was happening to Susan and her husband could happen to her and Brett. She felt saddened and wished she had the strength to resist. Instead, Samantha threw down the needles on the cushions beside her and stormed off. Brett wouldn't be getting more pussy that night.
Sunday morning and Brett felt impatience waiting for his wife to return from church. Some of the ladies of the neighborhood comforted the poor wife down the street and took her to pray with them for end of their unfortunate situation. Even with Samantha's good deed, Brett felt uneasy putting the visit to The Black Power Movement second to Samantha's day at church. He kept looking out to the sidewalk paranoid someone was taking notes who was acting too comfortable being white.
Once Samantha returned she asked for a little time to retouch her make up and wear more comfortable clothes. She put on a frumpy top and cargo pants that made her look ready to shop at a club warehouse than visit one of the most respected shrines in the city of Black Pine.
The Black Power Movement was located in a once abandoned strip mall in an underdeveloped part of town. A short drive from the adult shops in the Red Light district, the headquarters was beacon of hope where dreams of racial harmony were realized. It was a beautiful place where all races were welcome to help support black empowerment, its culture, and supremacy. Parking their car in the cramped lot, the couple unbuckled their seat belts. “Okay, here we go.” said Samantha with little enthusiasm.
It looked more like a little carnival with its booths, tables, and a several small stages. Rap music was blaring, “Fuck the white man! Fuck the white man!” as pillows of pungent smoke floated to the skies. Women, black and white, held hands and prayed in a circle. That looked promising to Samantha until the women screamed in unison, “Fuck the white race! Black power!” Samantha soon realized she was in a different world with cultures not aligned with hers. She purposely dragged her feet showing apprehension to go forward. Brett pulled on her hand, “C'mon, let's go.”
A young woman wearing tight pink shorts and a hand-made bikini top made from hemp cloth, ran up to Samantha and gave her a hug, “Welcome, white girl! Black power!” she gave Samantha a kiss on her cheek and an obligatory grope on her ass before running away looking for another woman to kiss.
Samantha was embarrassed letting her homophobic fears surface. She and Brett casually walked deeper into the lot. While the outer ring, next to the street was reserved for cars, the inner lot was reserved for the many booths selling African-inspired crafts, custom labeled t-shirts, and promotions for the Movement's many racial programs. Black men and white women were laughing, hugging, and kissing. In unison they would hold out their fists and chant either, “Black power!” or “Fuck the white race!” Samantha didn't understand, it was a declaration of unity and love to come together combating white racism. In a display of wealth distribution, volunteers carried boxes of donations out of expensive SUVs to be headed to the Migrant Hotel and the African refugees relocated there. They carried their boxes in front of the Elimination Clinic booth, an abortion clinic specializing in treating only white women.
Brett and Samantha, unshaken by the vulgarity thrown at their race, walked through the crowds and headed inside the public hall. The hall was a re-purposed grocery store that hosted speeches and events for the movement. The couple stepped in and saw a sparse crowd gather at the far end near the stage.
The speaker was a white woman in her mid twenties with dark blonde hair to her shoulders. She was very attractive and passionate about racial justice. Speaking without the benefit of a microphone, she pleaded to her listeners during her impromptu address.
“Black power! We have it today. Gawd-damn it, we have it! We white girls owe the black man everything. They deserve it! They're more beautiful, more strong, and oh my gawd, so much better in our bedrooms!”
Brett was drawn in by the woman speaking of black men so highly. He took a few steps closer and grabbed Samantha's hand to join him. “Brett?” she questioned. Samantha had heard enough and didn't want to hear more about the virtues of having sex with black males.
“Black men protect us and in return we're obligated to lay down with them. We give them our trust like we give them our hearts, love, and bodies. Let's worship our black gods in the bedroom tonight!”
The crowd applauded. When a few of the followers noticed Brett and his wife, they gave the “who are they?” faces. Brett feeling they were being judged, let go of his wife's hand to be free to clap. And clap he did showing exuberance and support. Samantha was appalled how her husband reacted to such an idea. She found it profane and offensive.
“Applaud, honey. We stand out if we don't.” said Brett. Samantha, trusting her husband, was seen putting her hands together to the idea of open and free interracial sex. Samantha took her husband's arm to turn him around and out of the hall. She whispered to him, “I didn't come here to hear how us white woman will have sex with black men.”
Brett felt awkward being pushed out by his conservative, prude wife. They made their way into the sunshine waving off another floating cloud of smoke. Samantha was getting anxious, “Okay, what's the next cause you want us to support?” she asked with her hand on her hips. Brett looked to the side and saw a black man getting the attention of a ring of followers. He was shaking his fist in the air an rallying the crowd in a frenzy. “Something is happening over there.” he suggested.
His name was Reggie, a 30 year old black man and a member of The Black Power Movement. He was handsome as he was tough-looking. Reggie had piercing eyes and veins popping out of this face and he spoke with rage and frustrations that would succumb many others. “We want reparations! If the white man is too racist to pay, the white woman must.” Reggie's crowd applauded. “White girls! I speak to their wives, *********, and sisters … show you want racial justice. Show you're not afraid of having strong black men in your life.” It was then Reggie started to become suggestive, “You want us beside you … you need us on top of you … getting inside of you ...” he said while thrusting his hips like a slow piston. The white women in the crowd cheered and clapped. “Reparations now!” screamed the crowd.
“You … want … to be part of … that 'movement'?” asked Samantha without compassion or sympathy. Brett shrugged his shoulders and defended the BPM. “There's truth what he just said. Reparations is something the black race wants. If white men won't pay, maybe the women ...” he explained but Samantha let out a laugh. “Let's go!” she demanded.
As they debated the effectiveness of reparations soothing tensions with the black man, a bucket had made its round for donations. A nice, looking white girl approached Samantha and poked the bucked into her arm wanting attention. “Reparations for the black man?” she asked.
Samantha opened her mouth wanting to show how uninterested she was at the idea of giving money to the Movement after donating to her church. However, Brett scrambled into his wallet and dropped two $20 bills, “That's for the both of us.” he said. The cute girl gave her thanks and walked away looking for more white people to hit up.
“That's more than what we give the church on Sunday!” complained Samantha. Before Brett could defend himself, a mature white woman approached Samantha. Her name was Donna, a 42 year old woman with dark hair and one streak of gray running past her shoulders. Donna had nice, voluptuous breasts and a beautiful ass having kept herself in great shape. Donna's outfit was fitting for a “cougar”, sexual and confident in tight black black pants and a tattered t-shirt that was two-sizes too small.
“Thank for the donating!” Donna said to Samantha. Samantha didn't know how to reply knowing in her heart she regretted her husband's decision. Donna whispered into Samantha's ear, “We white girls need to work together to make black power strong. I depend so much on their men.” she confessed. Samantha put her hand on her chest and looked to Brett to save her.
The dark-haired woman was making so many presumptions about Samantha's commitment to black supremacy that Samantha was too scared to speak her true feelings. Donna put her hands on Samantha's arms and took notice at her poor choice of clothes. “Your clothes!” Donna remarked to Samantha.
“What, what about them?” Samantha asked humbly.
“They won't do. That won't catch any black guy's attention.” Donna told her. “Come with me. Let's get you an outfit you'd look white-girl appropriate in!”
Samantha turned to Brett again who gestured his wife to go ahead. He wanted Samantha to fit in.
Brett was free to walk around. As a white man alone, he was unimportant and ignored. He made up and down a row of booths, made up with pop-up canopies and a folded table. Passing a table with drug paraphernalia and another selling “BLACK POWER” and “FUCK THE WHITE RACE” shirts. Then, he came across a booth that excited him.
“Change your marriage. Experience black power. Support racial justice.” said a cute, dark-haired white girl no older than 18. She wore tight jean shorts and a bikini top catching Brett's eye. She had perky breasts and the cutest ass. The sign underneath simply said, “CUCKOLD YOUR HUSBAND FOR BLACK POWER”
A woman in her thirties, wearing a small sundress, walked up to the teen, “I need to cuckold my husband.” she confessed. The teen gave her scripted replies, “Oh! That's great news. We're here to help. This is a pamphlet explaining how you can go online and fill out a questionnaire. The BPM will follow up to make sure you're fighting racism.”
“I've gone black and my husband needs to forced to understand.” whispered the wife. She and the teen high-fived each other. The teen then went and recited robotically, “Change your marriage. Experience black power. Support racial justice.”
Brett found the answer what will it would take to appease the black man. It made so much sense to him now. To have the slightest chance to earn the trust of the black race, his wife would need to lay down with black men. Many of them, if necessary. He'd be happy to step aside and 'allow' a black man to vent his frustrations with her. She would also find satisfaction she did good for both races. Endless passion awaited Samantha if she only get into the program!
With another pillow of smoke, Brett was hypnotized by the teenager. She looked slutty and innocent. He immediately played out an entire sex scene starring her and her black man. Brett was delirious that he stumbled upon the answer here.
“Ahem! Can I help you mister?” said the teen catching Brett ogle her. Brett went red faced but found exciting to step closer to her. He said in a meek voice, “Um, yeah … my wife.”
The teen stepped in, “You want her to cuckold you? Am I right, white boy?” she asked. Brett followed with, “I want her to be comfortable with a black man and ...” But the teen hottie interjected, “Like I said, you want her to cuckold you.” Brett became infatuated in a very naughty way with the girl. He liked how she talked down to him. He became more aroused when he confessed his unworthiness of her and answered, “Yes.”
The girl coldly answered, “Thought so. I can help you.” When Brett asked to take a pamphlet, he was corrected. “You don''t need that. Just give me your mobile phone number, your wife's first and last name and her number.” She demanded. Brett nodded and recited the information while the teen tapped into her phone. “The Black Power Movement will reach out to you … and your wife.”
Brett walked away and realized what he had done. He had no choice but to broach the subject of cuckolding with his wife before the Movement calls her. What if she goes all religious and refuses the idea of making racial peace? However, Brett's found hope in breaking through racial barriers.
Samantha returned to the lot and found Brett. She stood looking demure and uncomfortable wearing a short, pink mini-dress and a pair of black boots. She was showing much of her beautiful thighs. Samantha was obviously without a bra and showing cleavage, turning heads of many black men. What stood out was Samantha's dog collar! She looked sexy, sexually obtainable, and most of all owned. She was stunning and easily blended with the black community represented in the lot.
Samantha's transformation represented integration and acceptance of black culture in her life. What was missing was a black man to take her aside. Brett had played another pornographic scene in his head and Samantha was naked in a roomful of aggressive black men. He could almost hear Samantha moan in racial pleasures as black cocks found warm holes to penetrate her with.
“You look … great!” said Brett breaking out from his fantasy.
“Thanks.” said Samantha unsure she wanted the compliment. “I feel like a whore.” she whispered. But one black man after another came up to her and said how sexy and hot she looked. Samantha played coy and gave a fake smile and replied, “Thank you.” She then looked to her husband, “I want to go home now.”
Arm in arm, Brett took his wife back to the car. They didn't escape the eyes of the teen stationed at the “cuckolding” booth. The girl noticed, nodded and squeezed one of her breasts for Brett's benefit. The girl immediately went to her phone to tap a few more characters.
Brett and Samantha returned seated in their car, safe with their doors closed. Brett wanted to reassure his wife but she was too busy pulling at her dress trying to make it larger in size to cover herself up with. The ride home was a quiet one and Brett felt Samantha's icy cold demeanor. He knew he didn't have much time to ask her to sleep with a black man.
Samantha had explained that The Black Power Movement gave her the outfit free of charge, as a gesture of racial togetherness. As much as Samantha found the dress too provocative, she felt pressured into going along with the change of wardrobe. She told her husband all this at night after a day and evening of getting the silent treatment. In their marital bed, Samantha scolded her husband, “I don't like that place. I don't like how they degrade white women as if we're only sex objects.” She followed up with new descriptions how she loathed the community organization.
A faithful progressive would have stood up for the Movement and accused his wife of racism and demand atonement. But Brett wasn't a progressive and still bound by traditional morals that brought pain and suffering to minorities.
Brett attempted to explain, “It is a black supremacy group that believes in having strong, black men.” he said.
“And you want us to be associated with black supremacists?” she argued giving no inch for racial togetherness.
Brett tried to be logical and wanted to explain the motives of The Black Power Movement. “After centuries of racism, the black man has become stronger physically, spiritually, and politically. With help of a multi-cultural movement, the black man has taken control of his lands in colonial Africa. They have the wombs of Scandinavia and many European nations. It is because of organizations like The Black Power Movement that it is happening here and now. It would have been sooner if it wasn't for white racism.”
Samantha was taken back by her husband's serious, if not dour, outlook on being white in modern times and being white in the city home to black supremacy. “What are you saying, Brett?”
Brett took a deep breath and answered, “I want to give in and surrender our rights and way of life in return for peace and tolerance on their terms. I think … it's time you should surrender yourself to the black man. Samantha, I … want to give you to them.” Brett saw the stunned look on his wife's face. After making such a passionate speech of hopes of a brighter day without bigotry and racism, he had expected he and Samantha would make up, embrace, and she agreeing with a “Yes, yes!” What a joyous occasion that would be for a white couple of traditional values to be enlightened and open up to another culture. What a small price to pay to give and receive sensual pleasures that every black man is entitled to.
But Samantha stared at her husband with disdain and surprise. She continued looking at him with eyes that went from disappointment to hate. “Samantha, let me explain!” said Brett. But his wife got on her feet and reached for her robe, “I can't believe I'm hearing this. While we're being persecuted for our race, you want to me to have sex with black men? Or as you put it, have sex with our 'black gods'?”
“It's a common practice and proven to work, Samantha. Binding two cultures through sex. This is where black men are better than whites. You have something they want. They need ...”
“Pussy.” finished Samantha. It was unusual for her to talk like that and it made her feel filthy. “What about the sanctimony of marriage? Our vows to each other and monogamy?” demanded Samantha.
“They’re no excuse to deny black men their needs. There's too many white women offering sex to fix our racial divide. Monogamy is no longer an acceptable reason to not experience racial justice.” answered Brett.
“Racial justice! Racial justice! You sound one of 'them' who threw garbage at me. I'm not having sex with black men and I know a certain white husband who isn't getting any tonight either!” Said Samantha before storming to the spare bedroom and slamming the door. Samantha never had cut Brett off from her pussy before. He rubbed his crotch and noticed it had made him erect.
The next two days were terrible for Brett. Samantha wouldn't say a word and continued sleeping in the spare bedroom. When Brett tried to approach her, she sneered at him and walked away. Samantha locked herself in the spare room crying. She would read through the bible for answers crying “Why am I not good enough?”, “Why is this book not good enough?”, “Why did god abandon me!”
Brett felt he had wrecked his marriage with one question. Instead of regret, he found humility. A black man hasn't stood naked and aroused in front of Samantha yet and he had already affected their marriage. But Brett turned to porn for solace. Watching interracial porn got him past his marital guilt. Seeing big, black cocks pushing into the holes of teens, wives, mothers, and ********* exhilarated him. The thick cum they squeezed out were powerful, nectar that bridged the races wherever the white girl surrendered her pride, self-respect, with her body. He wanted this to happen with Samantha and was convinced it was she who was short-sighted and racist.
By the morning of the third day, Brett decided to take the day off from home. His penis was hurt from all the masturbating from two days without sex with only interracial porn to ease him. Brett slowly walked into the kitchen where Samantha sat alone in the kitchen with a cold cup of coffee and her phone in front of her. Wearing only pajamas, she simply stared ahead showing no emotion and little life other than a deep breath and an occasional blink.
Brett felt the kitchen was too small for the both of them and turned around to leave her alone. But Samantha called him out, “
“Did you give The Black Power Movement my name and number?” Samantha asked.
Brett nodded.
“They've been calling me since yesterday, asking if I cuckolded you yet.” she complained. “Now, they're leaving me messages accusing me of being racist if I don't reconsider and show progress.” Brett remained quiet as Samantha went on with her fury. “Why! Why did you do this … to me?” demanded Samantha.
Brett said quietly, “I just want us to experience black power.”
Samantha felt disgusted and said, “You were paranoid someone, somewhere was taking names of white people to go after next. But that person was you.” Brett felt cold and insecure. In his hopes for racial togetherness he may have lost his wife and his home. Samantha took a deep breath and told Brett, “I won't do this. I won't betray you or my god. I don't need to feel ashamed of my race or think I owe black men something.” She left Brett feeling dejected and a racial failure.
Then the door bell rang. A frightening thought came across Brett. He stood and looked out the window looking for police cars and protesters. Instead, he heard a familiar voice of a woman. It was Susan who came by to pick up some food Samantha had prepared for her. The neighbors had banded together to support Susan in her difficult times.
After a minute of small talk and even a couple giggles, Brett could hear mumbles and crying. Walking to the edge of the kitchen, he saw Susan sit in one of the wooden, breakfast chairs with Samantha kneeling on the floor trying to comfort her.
“They're re-wiring his brain and won't let me see him. The police told me that if I don't prove I'm not racist, they'll arrest me for hate crimes soon. I don't know who to turn to!” cried Susan. Samantha, beginning to shed tears in sympathy, looked to Brett.
Samantha looked down to the floor and patted Susan's leg not believing what she would say next. “The Black Power Movement … go to the Black Power Movement. They have men to help prove you're not racist.”
“Really?” asked Susan showing gratefulness for hope. “That's what I've been told.” said Samantha as she stared down her husband.
Carrying plastic-ware of casserole, Susan said her thanks and goodbye to Samantha and Brett. When Samantha closed the door, she refused to turn around to face him. She just planted her palm on the door.
“I'm surprised you mentioned to Susan to go to the Movement for help.” said Brett.
Samantha took a deep breath, “Well, if I'm going to have sex with a black man, so should she!”
“Wha … what was that?” asked Brett. Samantha turned around, leaned against the door, and faced her husband.
“I don't want to end up like her … afraid and alone. This may be my only way out. I'll do it, I'll have sex with a black man.” said Samantha. “But on one condition, you set up everything. Sooner the better!” Samantha demanded and Brett agreed.
Samantha continued, “We do this. One time. Then we go into marriage counseling for months.” Brett agreed and Samantha's said, “Now, I'm going to return the Movement's phone call and tell them everything the black supremacists want to hear.”
Thirty seconds after Samantha finished giving the BPM the news, Brett got his phone call. The Movement gave him instructions to follow if he wanted his wife to have a black experience. Brett listened attentively.
That night, Samantha found sanctuary in her spare room by kneeling at the bed with her “good book” in front of her. Wearing her pink mini-dress and boots the BPM donated, she prayed. Brett was waiting for her in the hallway anxious for his wife to find salvation in other ways. Samantha mumbled words about strength and pleading forgiveness. She vowed to resist vanity and lust but not that night. Brett overheard his wife's promise to “to be a good, faithful wife to my husband again.” Samantha came to terms with her impending infidelity and found the resolve to live through her marital sacrifice for the sake of interracial peace.
The Black Bull Club was located behind a half-burned down, abandoned pawn shop and a three-story transient hotel deep in the Red Light district. Brett took Samantha wearing her pink, mini-dress and boots donated to her by the BPM. But she refused to wear the collar she found too demeaning. The ride to the district was a quiet one with Brett eyeing his wife's thighs as she was doing her makeup or tightening the laces in her boots. Brett dared not speak to her not wanting to spoil her willingness to go hook up with a black man.
Brett drove down a side street paraded by drug dealers and prostitutes. Samantha was openly disgusted. When they saw the light poles illuminating the lot, they realized they found the place. Big, burly men in dark blue jackets patroled the lot. Only a small sign above the door, "bbc", gave any hint of a business inside.
Brett opened the door for his wife. Samantha demanded the “princess” treatment from her husband in return for the sacrifice she was undertaking. She walked in front of Brett swinging her ass feeling sexual and unbound from her vows of marriage. Samantha may have been aroused but she was most certainly pissed at Brett.
Samantha froze in front of the door waiting for it to open for her. Brett rushed and pulled the door open waiting for his wife to step inside. The lounge inside had a single bar, a security guard in the corner who also protected a mysterious door. But this was the “public” side of the club with several booths kept meticulously clean. A few tables were strewed around but rarely occupied. Low-decibel rap music played from the speakers. But the lyrics were none less sexual in tone and suggestion.
"Be the whore ... be the whore ... suck that dick ... suck that dick" by Black Dick 3. “Well, this is a charming place.” said Samantha sacrcastically. “Where are we going, husband?” she asked rather meanly as they walked to the bar. Brett gestured at the bartender, “You have passes for Brett and Samantha?” he asked. The black bartender looked through a sheet of paper and called to the security guard, “Let them in.” Samantha and Brett walked through and stepped inside the private side of the club. The dance floor had couple embracing. There were many white couples, sitting quietly at their tables. Some had taken refuge in booths that resembled tiny rooms with curtains if they wanted privacy. A few black gentlemen were hanging at the far side of the bar waiting, studying. The bar was tended by a hot-dressed MILF. They nodded and approved when they saw another attractive white woman offer her body to the club. Samantha looked especially attractive!
In the darkly lit dance room, different colored patches of light streaked the walls and floors. Samantha and Brett took chairs at an open table while a waitress came by to take their orders. Brett ordered a beer while Samantha chose the most expensive glass of red wine the house offered. “What now, husband?” asked Samantha looking over at Brett who was texting something in his phone.
“Um, your date will introduce himself soon.” answered Brett. Samantha stared at her husband with steely dagger eyes, “My date? You mean the man who will 'fuck' me, right?” she asked. Brett looked down feeling humiliated. “Right, Brett. The man who gets to fuck your wife only because he's black?” Samantha piled on. She let out a hot breath of air and looked around seeing how black men were making out with white wives as their cuckolds watched. First she snickered at them for being awful people choosing such sin. But she began studying the black males and rubbed her thighs together realizing it will be her turn to sin. Samantha began to have those “feelings” and her body started anticipating a mating opportunity. She squirmed in her seat realizing she would probably be asked for oral sex. That uneasy feeling came to her stomach knowing she would likely need to perform that sex act.
“Are you okay, Samantha? We can leave if ...” suggested Brett.
“No. We agreed, remember? We came this far, I can take the next step.” said Samantha who adjusted her breasts forgetting she was without her bra. Approaching Samantha from behind her chair, a tall black man put his hand on her bare, left shoulder and introduced himself. His name was Darius, a 30 years old, toned black man sporting a rough beard. Startled, Samantha was unprepared with Darius's good looks when she looked up from her seat into his eyes.
“Hello, Samantha. My name is Darius. The Black Power Movement wanted us to get together.” Samantha held out her hand and Darius held it with both of his. Dressed in black slacks and a black polo shirt, he complimented Samantha, “You look just like your picture.”
Brett wasn't told Samantha took a selfie with her last phone call with the BPM. Darius helped lift Samantha off her chair and turned to Brett and shook hands with him holding his position of dominance. “If you don't mind, I will speak with your beautiful wife alone.” Samantha took her glass of red wine and went with Darius to the other side of the club without saying a word of goodby to her husband.
Brett watched Darius take Samantha to the bar where they talked. At first, Samantha was a “bar flower”, standing motionless with the glass of wine in her hand. Darius was smiling and doing much of the talking as Samantha politely nodded looking demure, cute, but out of place. The MILF bartender did her best to make her feel welcome and complimented how well they looked together making Samantha smile. The bartender filled her glass and Brett could see she becoming more comfortable with Darius.
“Why are you doing this, Samantha? Why are you here with a black man who is sexually attracted to you?” Darius asked.
Samantha shrugged her shoulders looking sincere in her inexperience in cuckolding. “We're trying to bridge the differences between our races ...” she said sounding unsure. “Go on.” said Darius. Samantha cleared her throat, “Well, me and my husband wanted to give 'something' to the black man like a payment for ... racial justice.”
Samantha couldn't believe she recited the “RJ” words. She hoped she sounded convincing. Darius nodded, “You believe in racial justice? You believe in paying?” Samantha, with her chin down, looked up into Darius's eyes and nodded.
“Okay. I buy that.” said Darius who decided to remove the distance between he and Samantha. Samantha felt uncomfortable and awkward and put her hand on Darius's steel chest. He planted three soft kisses on her neck and whispered, “I want the whole club see you dance with a black man.” Samantha finished her glass and let Darius pull her to the dance floor where they would be only couple there.
Darius held Samantha close as rap music lyrics touted the purpose of white girls, “Fuck, get laid, and suckin' dick!” Darius tried to coax a kiss out of Samantha. But she wasn't yet willing. Darius used his right hand to put under her dress wanting to grab her ass while using his left to grope a bare breast. But Samantha was wiggling away trying to discourage his hands. “If you're going to be around black men, you have to expect us to help ourselves to your body.” said Darius.
“This is new to me.” Samantha explained, “I'm not used to having men treat me like this, like a sex object.”
Darius used his hands to grope both of Samantha's breasts reaching underneath and grabbing them bare. Samantha didn't struggle and let out a gasp. “You are a sex object. You'll soon understand you need to be treated like this.” said Darius as he lowered his head and sucked on her right nipple. “I'm beginning to understand now.” speaking to him as if she wasn't feeding him tit. She started to breath heavy unable to stop the lust swelling inside of her faithful, married body.
“You're a black man's sex object.” Darius whispered before leaning his head in at another attempt to kiss. Samantha was felt she was ready and their lips met as she felt his crotch rub against her body. His hands made its way to her ass but she didn't wiggle. Samantha only gave out a muffled moan that signaled arousal and marital guilt.
“You are going to get blacked tonight, right?” Darius asked needing to know.
Samantha answered, “Looks like I have to if I want to prove I'm not racist.” The couple kissed again with tongues meeting. “There's no other way.” said Darius. Samantha nodded, agreeing, and began to understand the black man, “Yes, it's the only way.”
“I promise to fuck you good and ruin your marriage.” told Darius. This snapped Samantha out of her lust, “Ruin?”
Darius grabbed a tit and massaged it, “A married white girl going black the first time? You're marriage will never be the same. That's the price for racial justice.” Samantha with her hand on Darius's left shoulder glanced over at Brett thought deep about her price. She began to have seroius second thoughts about going through with this. Samantha risked being branded a racist forever but wanted desperately to save her marriage.
After Samantha and Darius exchanged words, Samantha approached Brett from the dance floor leaving Darius behind. Brett remained in his chair expecting Samantha to join him. But she stood flat on her feet in front of him, bent over, and kissed him on the lips. Samantha stood straight up where Darius was standing behind her. He reached for Samantha's shoulder straps and pulled them aside ******** Samantha's breasts. Samantha just locked eyes with her husband watching the expression on his face while Darius was demonstrating his power over her. From behind, he held Samantha close and groped both breasts, “Ready?” he whispered. Samantha looked over her right should and looked to Darius, “I am.”
Samantha turned around and looked over her shoulder to her husband as she returned the straps over her shoulders, “We'll talk after Darius is done with me.” Darius escorted Samantha to the “bullpen” with his hand firmly on her ass. Brett finished the last of his $11 glass of beer and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He watched Samantha being taken to a pair of swinging double doors where a black security guard was approving their entrance. Brett had one last, fleeting moment to stand and call his wife back. Was being a cuckold really what he wanted or what he deserved?
Brett panted. Samantha was looking down and demure. From afar, she looked like she was having regrets. Images of Samantha sucking black cock fired off his head. She turned on her hands and knees getting pounded from behind and begging for more. Finally, he saw a vision of her on her back with a black man on top and she telling him, “I love you.” Maybe, Brett was to sacrifice too much.
Samantha didn't give any evidence of protest as she followed Darius into the bullpen. It was too late. He would have to wait to see the change in his wife when she walked out.
Darius took Samantha behind a folding privacy wall into the back room where LED candles illuminated the bullpen. There were several couches and tables in the room. Samantha counted two couples fighting racism on their couches. One woman was on her hands and knees as she was getting fucked from behind. She moaned “Fuck me, please fuck me.” The other woman was on her knees giving her lover a blow job. Samantha wanted to cover her eyes as she avoided watching pornography in her wholesome life.
Darius picked a couch next to the one getting pounded doggy-style. Samantha just looked at her as she peeled off her dress. Samantha couldn't help but to watch. The look on the woman's face captivated her. Her words, pleading for racial change, “Fuck my white race!” struck her. White women were asking their black lovers to diminish or end their race and in trade gave them pussy. Samantha exhaled realizing what she signed up for when she felt Darius's warm hands on her shoulders. He kissed her shoulders, “Samantha felt Darius's cock rub against her ass. Again, she gasped and she instinctively reached behind to grab it. Feeling its girth, its size, and its hardness, Samantha realized she got herself a prized black bull. She closed her eyes and exhaled and murmured, “Oh, fuck.” anticipating the sex ahead of her.
Samantha turned around and the couple kissed. Darius groped her breasts and mouthed them again. A black hand felt her bare ass and gave it a good squeeze. While Darius kissed her neck, Samantha looked off into the far corner where the other woman was still giving her man a blowjob. With her left hand jerking up and down on his cock, Samantha could make out her wedding band. She was no better than her now and had a lot more to fall.
“On your knees, white girl.” Darius wanted. Samantha dropped to the floor and looked up at Darius's hard cock, ten inches big. She gasped at its size being at least twice as large as her husband's. “You want me to give you oral?” she whispered.
“I want you to suck that black dick.” Darius demanded in a thug voice. Samantha gripped it with her left hand and gave it several strokes. She shook her head not believing what she was about to do. Samantha moved her head forward and pushed Darius's cock into her mouth. The taste of black flesh and infidelity hit her. Feeling nasty and sinful, the sex act proceeded.
Samantha's head bobbed back and forth, no longer disgusted by the flavor of strange dick. A black hand went on her head and she welcomed it. She licked his balls when she was told, lifting his heavy balls with her tongue. Samantha spat on Darius's cock and licked it up and down encouraged when she was told how much of a “good cock sucker” she was.
Darius put Samantha on her back as he buried his nose into her trimmed pussy. His hungry tongue swiped her clit. His dark lips pulling on her pussy. Samantha arched her back trying to hold back moans but it felt so intense. She let out a deep moan when Darius pushed two fingers into her pussy without warning. No man dared do that before him. Samantha pushed herself up on her elbows watching black fingers penetrate her most precious, beautiful place. With his fingers in her twat she let out another moan. Darius stood and kissed her open mouth before sticking his cock between her lips.
“Mmmmph, mmmmph, mmmph ...” Samantha sucked with vigor. Suddenly, she found the sex act of “giving head” or “sucking dick” pleasurable. “Suck that black dick, white girl.” said Darius and Samantha played the faithful lover.
Darius put his hand on Samantha's chin. It was time to claim her pussy. He made himself comfortable sitting on the couch and guided Samantha to straddle him. “Ride my cock. Give me that white pussy.” he wanted. Samantha nodded acknowledging it was time to betray her marriage, her race, and her beliefs for Darius and his lust. All Samantha knew of Darius was he was black, had a big cock, and needed white pussy. He deserved more than her husband.
Samantha felt the tip of his cock-head on her clit and she gently lowered her body slowly splitting her pussy open. “Oh, oh, fuck.” muttered Samantha. “Let it happen.” said Darius who enjoyed watching a married, white girl make all the moves to break her marriage vows. Two inches went in, then three. Samantha began to huff through her nose feeling how thick Darius was. “So big, it's so big.” said Samantha and she put her left arm behind his head.
A fourth inch made its way into Samantha before she lifted her ass a inch before dropping pushing an inch deeper. “You're doing good, Samantha. Get more, get more dick.”
Samantha looked at Darius and cursed, “Fuck! I'm so full.” She lifted her ass again and dropped getting another inch making it six. “Oh, shit!” she yelled making Darius smile knowing she was barely half way. Darius moved his hands from her breasts to her hips helping to push another inch inside her. She lifted her ass again and dropped – she was taking eight inches. The couple panted in unison and she lifted her ass and dropped – nine inches. “Oh! Aaaaagh!” complained Samantha. “Let it out baby.” said Darius, “Let everyone hear how much you're enjoying being with a black man.”
“Aaaaagh! Ohhhhh! Fuck!” moaned Samantha and she finally had taken all his ten inches inside her womb. Exhausted and full her sexual instincts couldn't stop her from gyrating and moving her ass up and down on Darius's gifted manhood. “Gawd! You're so deep inside! I can't breathe! I only feel ... cock!”
“This is black power, sweetie.” said Darius.
“This is black power?” Samantha struggled to ask, “I ... I like it.” she confessed.
The groping black hands on her ass and tits gave her motivation to be a good sex partner. For several minutes she gave herself a long, overdue fucking and wasn't going to let this opportunity for great sex pass.
“Cum on on that dick. Let the room know you're blacked. It's okay. There's no shame. Then I'll take control, make you feel like a woman.” Darius always knew the right things to say to married, white girls. Samantha tried her best to keep mute not let out loud moans that signaled enjoyment of her betrayal. As she moved up and down the black organ pulsating in her deepest womanhood, she let out a grunt and another. Darius's hands squeezed Samantha's breasts and she made a evil grin feeling what was bubbling inside of her. Her thighs started to quiver and she threw her head to the season, “My gawd! I'm blacked!” She let out a long, orgasmic moan. The years with Brett, the courtship, the marriage, the monogamous moments of love, became worthless. Samantha enjoyed the dick of another man and she was committed to making him cum.
Darius took control and had Samantha lay on the couch on her back. He pushed her ankles over her head making her open her thighs. She got a good, close view of Darius's cock re-penetrate her and disappear into her tight pussy. Using the muscles in his hips and loins he gave an easy buck. The black cock pushed in a quick six inches. Samantha watched the massive organ enter like a spitting snake into its hole. She was powerless to stop him but she didn't want that power. Darius started a rocking motion going in several inches, pulling out a couple, until his organ returned “balls deep” penetration. Back and forth he bucked with Samantha returning “Ugh … ugh … ugh ...”
As Samantha rolled her eyes in total submission to Darius. He told her “This is a good start to your new life, Samantha.” The wife could only mumble to herself, “My new life?”
Darius smiled and told, “I'm giving you black dick. This is our gift to you. From the black man to your white pussy.” Samantha looked down at her used pussy again and grunted in reply. “What do you say? Gonna say 'thank you' to the black man?” he wanted.
Samantha nodded, “Thank you …” and endured another orgasm.
Darius spun Samantha around and bent her over the couch. He slapped her ass surprising Samantha. She was truly an object for his sexual pleasures. Darius gripped her by hips and entered her again, “You'll give up your pussy to lot more black men if you hope to make the slightest difference.” Darius grunted as he tried to push every inch into her. Samantha moaned at Darius's prophecy. How long would it take? How many men?
Darius slammed forward and forward throwing his black body into Samantha's ass in a methodical pace. Samantha clutched her fist thinking only about the thick organ making home in her womb. Darius was larger than husband and acted more like a male, bent on getting pussy. In return, Samantha felt wanted to please and satisfy her superior lover.
“You have a nice pussy. Every black man will want it.” said Darius making Samantha seethe in pleasure. She promised her god should not feel pride in cheating on Brett. Samantha decided to break her promise. “Ohhhh, Darius!” she called out his name.
“You like getting fucked, huh?” he teased her while pounding her non-stop. Samantha deliriously answered, “It feels good.”
Darius gave Samantha a few more steady thrusts but his mercy was coming to an end. “I'm fucking your pussy, white girl.” He leaned forward, pulled on her blonde hair, and hissed into her ear, “But it's time I fuck your marriage!” Samantha let out a helpless moan and Darius began fucking her like a runaway piston. He spat in her ear and once more laughing enjoying the euphoria his cock was rewarding him for the pussy enjoyed. “Yeah … yeah ...” he grunted.
Samantha experienced another wallop of an orgasm. “What are you doing to me!” she pleaded. “Making you never want to give pussy to a white man again. You belong to us! You belong to the black man!”
The cheating wife moaned loudly again feeling a firm hand take her left breast. “Say fuck me, I'll cum inside your pussy. Say it ...” Darius wanted. In Samantha's extramarital inexperience, she never thought about using a condom. She was getting sexed bareback and preparing for a mess of cum inside her unprotected womb. Samantha could have felt afraid of the consequences of making a black baby. She felt ashamed initially but couldn't fight her feminine desires to breed. Samantha wanted Darius's baby making cum in her womb, deposited, dumped and left behind like an annoyance.
With Samantha's marriage, she and her husband agreed it was unbecoming of her to speak dirty during sex. But she was cheating with a black man and the rules didn't apply to him. “Fuck me.” she whispered giving into his demands. Darius knew he had broken the wife in. He roared one final time and began streaming and dropping loads of semen into Samantha's warm hole.
“Ugh. Ugh. Ugh!” grunted Darius. Samantha's eyes popped open in disbelief in the heavy weight of the deposits he buried in her. Darius pulled out and sat on the couch next to her leaving Samantha with her ass in the air. Samantha let out a gasp and rolled over putting her head on Darius's lap feeling his thick, spongy cock underneath her hair.
Samantha collected her thoughts. Her body was in bliss while her head was spinning. She found the energy to sit up leaving her legs spread. She looked for the other two couples, they were gone. Samantha wondered if they took a glance her way to see how she was enjoying a black man. She looked between her legs seeing thick goo stuck in her pussy hair. Samantha felt full inside and touched her swollen pussy. She gave it a good wipe with her hand scooping up a drench of sticky cum cooling in the air.
Samantha looked at Darius and said, “I'm full of cum!” She put her hand to her face feeling the heat of his body fluids in her palm. Samantha felt dirty, used, and guilty for becoming a cheating wife she once swore she would never be. She took a good look at Darius's cock and humbled by its power. Samantha wanted to show her displeasure what black cock did to her self-respect and marriage. Samantha put her cum-coated hand to her mouth and licked it clean.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.
A white husband fears the black man and the power he wields. But he has also has unquestioned respect for them. Through tidal waves of racial justice, whites are losing their comforts, their rights, and their morals. The husband wants to surrender to the terms made by The Black Power Movement for interracial harmony. He also wants his wife to surrender her beautiful, white body, as well. Unfortunately, she's cynical about black power and doesn't respect the black man and his needs as much as he.
Author's note: This is a dialog-rich story full of exposition seen through the eyes of a white male as he witnesses cultural change in his city, community, and marriage.
The political power of black culture was cementing in all facets of life in Black Pine. It's take over wasn't subtle nor quiet. The radical social, economic, programs were pushed by minorities and white progressives alike. The white citizens accepted them without protest and because of them, were quickly becoming second class citizens. For some whites, if they shown the slightest hint of intolerance, their lives would be even worse.
However, there were enclaves within Black Pine that were insulated from the black political movement. As few as they were, they were still too many for racial progressives. One such place was known as the Meadow District. It was one of the last residential zones made up entirely by whites. The political ideologues of the prior administration never approved one bus stop, protecting its isolation. The district was built for lower and middle class families wanting a quiet and unexciting place to life. It failed to attract poorer minorities by not offering businesses that were friendly to them. Not a single liquor store, lingerie shop, or ethnic restaurant could be found. Citizens needing cash-checking were out of luck and forced to go elsewhere. In the history of the district, not one prostitute offered her body for sale. It never welcomed a thug making business on a street corner. It was that backwards.
Located deep within the district, entrenched by white, middle class was a row of houses off of “Pine Court”. Settled in their two-story houses, they were occupied by married, white families living their white values of greed, closed-mindedness, and monogamy. The married couples were pious, reserved, and faithful to their spouses. They believed in traditional values and many practiced western-based religion that helped confined them in their moral cages. In other words, they were racists. However, the hand of racial justice would reach into the white community.
Brett wouldn't know himself when he began respecting the wave of black power. The influx of black men, mostly all alpha types, influenced day-to-day life with their political power. Using their voting power they liberated incarcerated felons, many with violet histories, releasing them into Black Pine. Prison space was swapped with white males committing white-collar crimes stealing from the community minorities depended on for sustenance. Throughout the city, frustrated black men lashed out on white males over social economic injustice. It was tolerated, if not encouraged. It was considered "freedom of racial expression" and protected vigorously. For the white perpetrators taking a fist to their faces, it was racist to not acknowledge the rights of the black man.
The city also turned more African. With the number of refugees growing by the day, their culture was making in-roads within the white community. The migrant camp, simply a renovated hotel, was a rally cry for culture change. Demonstrations and protests were common with crowds getting larger, louder, and more vocal demanding rights and benefits to the Africans and all black people re-locating in the city.
Brett may also have been influenced watching black men possess white women in their literal hands. The black, alpha-males were kissing, groping, and grabbing ass in public of the white girls who preferred a better race of men throughout the city. It was only a matter of months until he noticed the high number of newborn black babies in the arms of their white mothers. The future of the white race was here.
On a Saturday morning, down the street on Pine Court, Brett saw police cars roll up to a home down the court. Outside the house, stationed a group of a dozen protestors, black men and black and white women outside of the community. They were throwing garbage and yelling obsenities at home owners inside.
The husband and "man of the house" was wrestled out his door, handcuffed and restrained. His wife, a 30 year old blonde with nice, large breasts, was crying and screaming at the police but she was quickly restrained by a white, woman police officer. The protestors cheered and taunted the other white homeowners standing on their front lawn. Watching this jolted Brett out of his racial complacency.
Samantha, Brett's wife, ran in from the kitchen minutes later and cried to him. "The police arrested Susan's husband for racism! The whole neighborhood is in a tizzy! We can be arrested for hate crimes for being white?" Samantha said as she wiped pieces of a smashed banana peel off her blouse that hit her across the breasts. Through the safety behind the window, Samantha saw the protestors walk out of the house with whatever they could carry. The police stood by and protected them from interruption. Susan had to watch leaning against a patrol car with her hand behind her back. Samantha looked down knowing she could do nothing but wash her blouse.
Samantha was a 27 year old wife with dirty blonde hair. She was childless with a nice pair of breasts and a round ass. Samantha, with a little more make-up and tighter clothes, would be considered "hot". Without them, she was merely "very cute", more so with her meek personality. Samantha was a good, wholesome wife like many in her community. She had married a successful professional, Brett, 12 years older.
Brett put his arms around Samantha and looked out their living room bay window. Samantha looked into Brett's eyes knowing she had him. She walked off and took off her top and her bra and walked to the bedroom. She looked over her shoulder and suggested to her husband, “Come to the bedroom with me.” Brett took another cup of coffee and followed Samantha to the bedroom. Samantha was already naked and on the bed bent over greeting him with her ass and pussy. “I need relief. I'm willing to do my duties now.” Brett thought it was bad timing to have sex while ignoring the racial warnings down the street. But, that pussy! He had to hit it. Brett went ahead and had marital sex with his wife in the bedroom. “White Privilege” continued unabated.
As generous Samantha was letting her husband put his penis inside her tight, beautiful white pussy, it did not lift the racial guilt Brett was carrying. Maybe he would have if Samantha had bothered giving him a blow job. Brett was still racially bothered. Why should he have easy access to sex while many other black men were competing aggressively for some. “Everyone” knew about the practice of black men sharing women with others in order every man had the opportunity for relief. It was a beautiful act of generosity. The growing African migrant community made it less taboo to discuss about their sexual needs in a city with predominately white women available for mating.
Brett figured between silent bigotry, social injustice, and not enough opportunities for sex was stoking animosity between the races with white people on the wrong side of history. The answer was giving Africans and the black man “more”, more of everything.
That night he sat down with Samantha in their ****** room where she was knitting an ugly sweater. “Can we talk?” asked Brett followed by a depleted exhale.
Samantha was smiling. After pleasing her husband, she acted as if the morning incident never happened. She looked up into her husband's eyes with love and loyalty. Brett began, “I think we need be more active in the black community.”
Samantha lowered her needles and showed she knew more about the justice against whites than she had let on. "They took Susan's husband to a racial attitude correction asylum. She can't find a lawyer. They're all too afraid to help her.” she whispered.
“We're all afraid.” said Brett. “The centuries of cruel racism is catching up to us. We're going to pay like the white farmers in Africa and the young men in Sweden.” he warned. Samantha saw how much her husband was concerned for her. “What can we do?” she asked.
“We need to get behind black power. Support it, push it … live it.” said Brett. He felt a wave of relief better than any orgasm, with expressing his desires for racial harmony.
But Samantha let out a gasp of air and said, “I don't want black power! We have rights too!”
When Samantha raised her voice, Brett felt immediate fright. He held out his hands pleading her to lower her voice. “Not so loud, Samantha. We don't want even our neighbors to hear we're intolerant with black rights.”
Samantha cooled and acknowledged she was borderline insubordinate and closed her lips. She felt timid and needed direction from her husband. “What's your idea?”
“Attend rallies … spend weekends protesting with The Black Power Movement … we'll network with people who can help when we're in trouble.” said Brett. Samantha took notice, “Are we in trouble because we're white?” she asked.
Brett put his hand on Samantha's knee, “We're white. We are trouble.” answered Brett. He continued, “We're becoming second class citizens with little rights. But it's all in the name of racial justice and we need to support it. Otherwise someone, somewhere will take our names. I want to be on the their side.”
Samantha retorted, “I don't want to be a racial justice warrior and protest one white-owned business after another to prove I'm a good, white woman! I go to church, I worship, that's enough for them.”
Brett felt small and was worried his front door could be kicked down any second. His wife's outspoken devotion to worship other than to black race was dangerous. Brett pleaded, “We need to earn the trust of the black man. I want to learn first hand what it will take.”
“Give what to them?” Samantha asked naively.
“Anything.” said Brett.
Samantha gave in but she said defiantly, “I'm not giving up my religion or our values for anyone.”
Brett had to agree with Samantha's dangerous caveat. “All I ask is we learn more about racial justice and be open to demands.”
Samantha snickered, “Demands?”
Brett nodded, “We need to pay a visit to The Black Power Movement and see what they want from us. It's time for sacrifices.” Samantha realized her comfortable, white life was subject to change. What was happening to Susan and her husband could happen to her and Brett. She felt saddened and wished she had the strength to resist. Instead, Samantha threw down the needles on the cushions beside her and stormed off. Brett wouldn't be getting more pussy that night.
Sunday morning and Brett felt impatience waiting for his wife to return from church. Some of the ladies of the neighborhood comforted the poor wife down the street and took her to pray with them for end of their unfortunate situation. Even with Samantha's good deed, Brett felt uneasy putting the visit to The Black Power Movement second to Samantha's day at church. He kept looking out to the sidewalk paranoid someone was taking notes who was acting too comfortable being white.
Once Samantha returned she asked for a little time to retouch her make up and wear more comfortable clothes. She put on a frumpy top and cargo pants that made her look ready to shop at a club warehouse than visit one of the most respected shrines in the city of Black Pine.
The Black Power Movement was located in a once abandoned strip mall in an underdeveloped part of town. A short drive from the adult shops in the Red Light district, the headquarters was beacon of hope where dreams of racial harmony were realized. It was a beautiful place where all races were welcome to help support black empowerment, its culture, and supremacy. Parking their car in the cramped lot, the couple unbuckled their seat belts. “Okay, here we go.” said Samantha with little enthusiasm.
It looked more like a little carnival with its booths, tables, and a several small stages. Rap music was blaring, “Fuck the white man! Fuck the white man!” as pillows of pungent smoke floated to the skies. Women, black and white, held hands and prayed in a circle. That looked promising to Samantha until the women screamed in unison, “Fuck the white race! Black power!” Samantha soon realized she was in a different world with cultures not aligned with hers. She purposely dragged her feet showing apprehension to go forward. Brett pulled on her hand, “C'mon, let's go.”
A young woman wearing tight pink shorts and a hand-made bikini top made from hemp cloth, ran up to Samantha and gave her a hug, “Welcome, white girl! Black power!” she gave Samantha a kiss on her cheek and an obligatory grope on her ass before running away looking for another woman to kiss.
Samantha was embarrassed letting her homophobic fears surface. She and Brett casually walked deeper into the lot. While the outer ring, next to the street was reserved for cars, the inner lot was reserved for the many booths selling African-inspired crafts, custom labeled t-shirts, and promotions for the Movement's many racial programs. Black men and white women were laughing, hugging, and kissing. In unison they would hold out their fists and chant either, “Black power!” or “Fuck the white race!” Samantha didn't understand, it was a declaration of unity and love to come together combating white racism. In a display of wealth distribution, volunteers carried boxes of donations out of expensive SUVs to be headed to the Migrant Hotel and the African refugees relocated there. They carried their boxes in front of the Elimination Clinic booth, an abortion clinic specializing in treating only white women.
Brett and Samantha, unshaken by the vulgarity thrown at their race, walked through the crowds and headed inside the public hall. The hall was a re-purposed grocery store that hosted speeches and events for the movement. The couple stepped in and saw a sparse crowd gather at the far end near the stage.
The speaker was a white woman in her mid twenties with dark blonde hair to her shoulders. She was very attractive and passionate about racial justice. Speaking without the benefit of a microphone, she pleaded to her listeners during her impromptu address.
“Black power! We have it today. Gawd-damn it, we have it! We white girls owe the black man everything. They deserve it! They're more beautiful, more strong, and oh my gawd, so much better in our bedrooms!”
Brett was drawn in by the woman speaking of black men so highly. He took a few steps closer and grabbed Samantha's hand to join him. “Brett?” she questioned. Samantha had heard enough and didn't want to hear more about the virtues of having sex with black males.
“Black men protect us and in return we're obligated to lay down with them. We give them our trust like we give them our hearts, love, and bodies. Let's worship our black gods in the bedroom tonight!”
The crowd applauded. When a few of the followers noticed Brett and his wife, they gave the “who are they?” faces. Brett feeling they were being judged, let go of his wife's hand to be free to clap. And clap he did showing exuberance and support. Samantha was appalled how her husband reacted to such an idea. She found it profane and offensive.
“Applaud, honey. We stand out if we don't.” said Brett. Samantha, trusting her husband, was seen putting her hands together to the idea of open and free interracial sex. Samantha took her husband's arm to turn him around and out of the hall. She whispered to him, “I didn't come here to hear how us white woman will have sex with black men.”
Brett felt awkward being pushed out by his conservative, prude wife. They made their way into the sunshine waving off another floating cloud of smoke. Samantha was getting anxious, “Okay, what's the next cause you want us to support?” she asked with her hand on her hips. Brett looked to the side and saw a black man getting the attention of a ring of followers. He was shaking his fist in the air an rallying the crowd in a frenzy. “Something is happening over there.” he suggested.
His name was Reggie, a 30 year old black man and a member of The Black Power Movement. He was handsome as he was tough-looking. Reggie had piercing eyes and veins popping out of this face and he spoke with rage and frustrations that would succumb many others. “We want reparations! If the white man is too racist to pay, the white woman must.” Reggie's crowd applauded. “White girls! I speak to their wives, *********, and sisters … show you want racial justice. Show you're not afraid of having strong black men in your life.” It was then Reggie started to become suggestive, “You want us beside you … you need us on top of you … getting inside of you ...” he said while thrusting his hips like a slow piston. The white women in the crowd cheered and clapped. “Reparations now!” screamed the crowd.
“You … want … to be part of … that 'movement'?” asked Samantha without compassion or sympathy. Brett shrugged his shoulders and defended the BPM. “There's truth what he just said. Reparations is something the black race wants. If white men won't pay, maybe the women ...” he explained but Samantha let out a laugh. “Let's go!” she demanded.
As they debated the effectiveness of reparations soothing tensions with the black man, a bucket had made its round for donations. A nice, looking white girl approached Samantha and poked the bucked into her arm wanting attention. “Reparations for the black man?” she asked.
Samantha opened her mouth wanting to show how uninterested she was at the idea of giving money to the Movement after donating to her church. However, Brett scrambled into his wallet and dropped two $20 bills, “That's for the both of us.” he said. The cute girl gave her thanks and walked away looking for more white people to hit up.
“That's more than what we give the church on Sunday!” complained Samantha. Before Brett could defend himself, a mature white woman approached Samantha. Her name was Donna, a 42 year old woman with dark hair and one streak of gray running past her shoulders. Donna had nice, voluptuous breasts and a beautiful ass having kept herself in great shape. Donna's outfit was fitting for a “cougar”, sexual and confident in tight black black pants and a tattered t-shirt that was two-sizes too small.
“Thank for the donating!” Donna said to Samantha. Samantha didn't know how to reply knowing in her heart she regretted her husband's decision. Donna whispered into Samantha's ear, “We white girls need to work together to make black power strong. I depend so much on their men.” she confessed. Samantha put her hand on her chest and looked to Brett to save her.
The dark-haired woman was making so many presumptions about Samantha's commitment to black supremacy that Samantha was too scared to speak her true feelings. Donna put her hands on Samantha's arms and took notice at her poor choice of clothes. “Your clothes!” Donna remarked to Samantha.
“What, what about them?” Samantha asked humbly.
“They won't do. That won't catch any black guy's attention.” Donna told her. “Come with me. Let's get you an outfit you'd look white-girl appropriate in!”
Samantha turned to Brett again who gestured his wife to go ahead. He wanted Samantha to fit in.
Brett was free to walk around. As a white man alone, he was unimportant and ignored. He made up and down a row of booths, made up with pop-up canopies and a folded table. Passing a table with drug paraphernalia and another selling “BLACK POWER” and “FUCK THE WHITE RACE” shirts. Then, he came across a booth that excited him.
“Change your marriage. Experience black power. Support racial justice.” said a cute, dark-haired white girl no older than 18. She wore tight jean shorts and a bikini top catching Brett's eye. She had perky breasts and the cutest ass. The sign underneath simply said, “CUCKOLD YOUR HUSBAND FOR BLACK POWER”
A woman in her thirties, wearing a small sundress, walked up to the teen, “I need to cuckold my husband.” she confessed. The teen gave her scripted replies, “Oh! That's great news. We're here to help. This is a pamphlet explaining how you can go online and fill out a questionnaire. The BPM will follow up to make sure you're fighting racism.”
“I've gone black and my husband needs to forced to understand.” whispered the wife. She and the teen high-fived each other. The teen then went and recited robotically, “Change your marriage. Experience black power. Support racial justice.”
Brett found the answer what will it would take to appease the black man. It made so much sense to him now. To have the slightest chance to earn the trust of the black race, his wife would need to lay down with black men. Many of them, if necessary. He'd be happy to step aside and 'allow' a black man to vent his frustrations with her. She would also find satisfaction she did good for both races. Endless passion awaited Samantha if she only get into the program!
With another pillow of smoke, Brett was hypnotized by the teenager. She looked slutty and innocent. He immediately played out an entire sex scene starring her and her black man. Brett was delirious that he stumbled upon the answer here.
“Ahem! Can I help you mister?” said the teen catching Brett ogle her. Brett went red faced but found exciting to step closer to her. He said in a meek voice, “Um, yeah … my wife.”
The teen stepped in, “You want her to cuckold you? Am I right, white boy?” she asked. Brett followed with, “I want her to be comfortable with a black man and ...” But the teen hottie interjected, “Like I said, you want her to cuckold you.” Brett became infatuated in a very naughty way with the girl. He liked how she talked down to him. He became more aroused when he confessed his unworthiness of her and answered, “Yes.”
The girl coldly answered, “Thought so. I can help you.” When Brett asked to take a pamphlet, he was corrected. “You don''t need that. Just give me your mobile phone number, your wife's first and last name and her number.” She demanded. Brett nodded and recited the information while the teen tapped into her phone. “The Black Power Movement will reach out to you … and your wife.”
Brett walked away and realized what he had done. He had no choice but to broach the subject of cuckolding with his wife before the Movement calls her. What if she goes all religious and refuses the idea of making racial peace? However, Brett's found hope in breaking through racial barriers.
Samantha returned to the lot and found Brett. She stood looking demure and uncomfortable wearing a short, pink mini-dress and a pair of black boots. She was showing much of her beautiful thighs. Samantha was obviously without a bra and showing cleavage, turning heads of many black men. What stood out was Samantha's dog collar! She looked sexy, sexually obtainable, and most of all owned. She was stunning and easily blended with the black community represented in the lot.
Samantha's transformation represented integration and acceptance of black culture in her life. What was missing was a black man to take her aside. Brett had played another pornographic scene in his head and Samantha was naked in a roomful of aggressive black men. He could almost hear Samantha moan in racial pleasures as black cocks found warm holes to penetrate her with.
“You look … great!” said Brett breaking out from his fantasy.
“Thanks.” said Samantha unsure she wanted the compliment. “I feel like a whore.” she whispered. But one black man after another came up to her and said how sexy and hot she looked. Samantha played coy and gave a fake smile and replied, “Thank you.” She then looked to her husband, “I want to go home now.”
Arm in arm, Brett took his wife back to the car. They didn't escape the eyes of the teen stationed at the “cuckolding” booth. The girl noticed, nodded and squeezed one of her breasts for Brett's benefit. The girl immediately went to her phone to tap a few more characters.
Brett and Samantha returned seated in their car, safe with their doors closed. Brett wanted to reassure his wife but she was too busy pulling at her dress trying to make it larger in size to cover herself up with. The ride home was a quiet one and Brett felt Samantha's icy cold demeanor. He knew he didn't have much time to ask her to sleep with a black man.
Samantha had explained that The Black Power Movement gave her the outfit free of charge, as a gesture of racial togetherness. As much as Samantha found the dress too provocative, she felt pressured into going along with the change of wardrobe. She told her husband all this at night after a day and evening of getting the silent treatment. In their marital bed, Samantha scolded her husband, “I don't like that place. I don't like how they degrade white women as if we're only sex objects.” She followed up with new descriptions how she loathed the community organization.
A faithful progressive would have stood up for the Movement and accused his wife of racism and demand atonement. But Brett wasn't a progressive and still bound by traditional morals that brought pain and suffering to minorities.
Brett attempted to explain, “It is a black supremacy group that believes in having strong, black men.” he said.
“And you want us to be associated with black supremacists?” she argued giving no inch for racial togetherness.
Brett tried to be logical and wanted to explain the motives of The Black Power Movement. “After centuries of racism, the black man has become stronger physically, spiritually, and politically. With help of a multi-cultural movement, the black man has taken control of his lands in colonial Africa. They have the wombs of Scandinavia and many European nations. It is because of organizations like The Black Power Movement that it is happening here and now. It would have been sooner if it wasn't for white racism.”
Samantha was taken back by her husband's serious, if not dour, outlook on being white in modern times and being white in the city home to black supremacy. “What are you saying, Brett?”
Brett took a deep breath and answered, “I want to give in and surrender our rights and way of life in return for peace and tolerance on their terms. I think … it's time you should surrender yourself to the black man. Samantha, I … want to give you to them.” Brett saw the stunned look on his wife's face. After making such a passionate speech of hopes of a brighter day without bigotry and racism, he had expected he and Samantha would make up, embrace, and she agreeing with a “Yes, yes!” What a joyous occasion that would be for a white couple of traditional values to be enlightened and open up to another culture. What a small price to pay to give and receive sensual pleasures that every black man is entitled to.
But Samantha stared at her husband with disdain and surprise. She continued looking at him with eyes that went from disappointment to hate. “Samantha, let me explain!” said Brett. But his wife got on her feet and reached for her robe, “I can't believe I'm hearing this. While we're being persecuted for our race, you want to me to have sex with black men? Or as you put it, have sex with our 'black gods'?”
“It's a common practice and proven to work, Samantha. Binding two cultures through sex. This is where black men are better than whites. You have something they want. They need ...”
“Pussy.” finished Samantha. It was unusual for her to talk like that and it made her feel filthy. “What about the sanctimony of marriage? Our vows to each other and monogamy?” demanded Samantha.
“They’re no excuse to deny black men their needs. There's too many white women offering sex to fix our racial divide. Monogamy is no longer an acceptable reason to not experience racial justice.” answered Brett.
“Racial justice! Racial justice! You sound one of 'them' who threw garbage at me. I'm not having sex with black men and I know a certain white husband who isn't getting any tonight either!” Said Samantha before storming to the spare bedroom and slamming the door. Samantha never had cut Brett off from her pussy before. He rubbed his crotch and noticed it had made him erect.
The next two days were terrible for Brett. Samantha wouldn't say a word and continued sleeping in the spare bedroom. When Brett tried to approach her, she sneered at him and walked away. Samantha locked herself in the spare room crying. She would read through the bible for answers crying “Why am I not good enough?”, “Why is this book not good enough?”, “Why did god abandon me!”
Brett felt he had wrecked his marriage with one question. Instead of regret, he found humility. A black man hasn't stood naked and aroused in front of Samantha yet and he had already affected their marriage. But Brett turned to porn for solace. Watching interracial porn got him past his marital guilt. Seeing big, black cocks pushing into the holes of teens, wives, mothers, and ********* exhilarated him. The thick cum they squeezed out were powerful, nectar that bridged the races wherever the white girl surrendered her pride, self-respect, with her body. He wanted this to happen with Samantha and was convinced it was she who was short-sighted and racist.
By the morning of the third day, Brett decided to take the day off from home. His penis was hurt from all the masturbating from two days without sex with only interracial porn to ease him. Brett slowly walked into the kitchen where Samantha sat alone in the kitchen with a cold cup of coffee and her phone in front of her. Wearing only pajamas, she simply stared ahead showing no emotion and little life other than a deep breath and an occasional blink.
Brett felt the kitchen was too small for the both of them and turned around to leave her alone. But Samantha called him out, “
“Did you give The Black Power Movement my name and number?” Samantha asked.
Brett nodded.
“They've been calling me since yesterday, asking if I cuckolded you yet.” she complained. “Now, they're leaving me messages accusing me of being racist if I don't reconsider and show progress.” Brett remained quiet as Samantha went on with her fury. “Why! Why did you do this … to me?” demanded Samantha.
Brett said quietly, “I just want us to experience black power.”
Samantha felt disgusted and said, “You were paranoid someone, somewhere was taking names of white people to go after next. But that person was you.” Brett felt cold and insecure. In his hopes for racial togetherness he may have lost his wife and his home. Samantha took a deep breath and told Brett, “I won't do this. I won't betray you or my god. I don't need to feel ashamed of my race or think I owe black men something.” She left Brett feeling dejected and a racial failure.
Then the door bell rang. A frightening thought came across Brett. He stood and looked out the window looking for police cars and protesters. Instead, he heard a familiar voice of a woman. It was Susan who came by to pick up some food Samantha had prepared for her. The neighbors had banded together to support Susan in her difficult times.
After a minute of small talk and even a couple giggles, Brett could hear mumbles and crying. Walking to the edge of the kitchen, he saw Susan sit in one of the wooden, breakfast chairs with Samantha kneeling on the floor trying to comfort her.
“They're re-wiring his brain and won't let me see him. The police told me that if I don't prove I'm not racist, they'll arrest me for hate crimes soon. I don't know who to turn to!” cried Susan. Samantha, beginning to shed tears in sympathy, looked to Brett.
Samantha looked down to the floor and patted Susan's leg not believing what she would say next. “The Black Power Movement … go to the Black Power Movement. They have men to help prove you're not racist.”
“Really?” asked Susan showing gratefulness for hope. “That's what I've been told.” said Samantha as she stared down her husband.
Carrying plastic-ware of casserole, Susan said her thanks and goodbye to Samantha and Brett. When Samantha closed the door, she refused to turn around to face him. She just planted her palm on the door.
“I'm surprised you mentioned to Susan to go to the Movement for help.” said Brett.
Samantha took a deep breath, “Well, if I'm going to have sex with a black man, so should she!”
“Wha … what was that?” asked Brett. Samantha turned around, leaned against the door, and faced her husband.
“I don't want to end up like her … afraid and alone. This may be my only way out. I'll do it, I'll have sex with a black man.” said Samantha. “But on one condition, you set up everything. Sooner the better!” Samantha demanded and Brett agreed.
Samantha continued, “We do this. One time. Then we go into marriage counseling for months.” Brett agreed and Samantha's said, “Now, I'm going to return the Movement's phone call and tell them everything the black supremacists want to hear.”
Thirty seconds after Samantha finished giving the BPM the news, Brett got his phone call. The Movement gave him instructions to follow if he wanted his wife to have a black experience. Brett listened attentively.
That night, Samantha found sanctuary in her spare room by kneeling at the bed with her “good book” in front of her. Wearing her pink mini-dress and boots the BPM donated, she prayed. Brett was waiting for her in the hallway anxious for his wife to find salvation in other ways. Samantha mumbled words about strength and pleading forgiveness. She vowed to resist vanity and lust but not that night. Brett overheard his wife's promise to “to be a good, faithful wife to my husband again.” Samantha came to terms with her impending infidelity and found the resolve to live through her marital sacrifice for the sake of interracial peace.
The Black Bull Club was located behind a half-burned down, abandoned pawn shop and a three-story transient hotel deep in the Red Light district. Brett took Samantha wearing her pink, mini-dress and boots donated to her by the BPM. But she refused to wear the collar she found too demeaning. The ride to the district was a quiet one with Brett eyeing his wife's thighs as she was doing her makeup or tightening the laces in her boots. Brett dared not speak to her not wanting to spoil her willingness to go hook up with a black man.
Brett drove down a side street paraded by drug dealers and prostitutes. Samantha was openly disgusted. When they saw the light poles illuminating the lot, they realized they found the place. Big, burly men in dark blue jackets patroled the lot. Only a small sign above the door, "bbc", gave any hint of a business inside.
Brett opened the door for his wife. Samantha demanded the “princess” treatment from her husband in return for the sacrifice she was undertaking. She walked in front of Brett swinging her ass feeling sexual and unbound from her vows of marriage. Samantha may have been aroused but she was most certainly pissed at Brett.
Samantha froze in front of the door waiting for it to open for her. Brett rushed and pulled the door open waiting for his wife to step inside. The lounge inside had a single bar, a security guard in the corner who also protected a mysterious door. But this was the “public” side of the club with several booths kept meticulously clean. A few tables were strewed around but rarely occupied. Low-decibel rap music played from the speakers. But the lyrics were none less sexual in tone and suggestion.
"Be the whore ... be the whore ... suck that dick ... suck that dick" by Black Dick 3. “Well, this is a charming place.” said Samantha sacrcastically. “Where are we going, husband?” she asked rather meanly as they walked to the bar. Brett gestured at the bartender, “You have passes for Brett and Samantha?” he asked. The black bartender looked through a sheet of paper and called to the security guard, “Let them in.” Samantha and Brett walked through and stepped inside the private side of the club. The dance floor had couple embracing. There were many white couples, sitting quietly at their tables. Some had taken refuge in booths that resembled tiny rooms with curtains if they wanted privacy. A few black gentlemen were hanging at the far side of the bar waiting, studying. The bar was tended by a hot-dressed MILF. They nodded and approved when they saw another attractive white woman offer her body to the club. Samantha looked especially attractive!
In the darkly lit dance room, different colored patches of light streaked the walls and floors. Samantha and Brett took chairs at an open table while a waitress came by to take their orders. Brett ordered a beer while Samantha chose the most expensive glass of red wine the house offered. “What now, husband?” asked Samantha looking over at Brett who was texting something in his phone.
“Um, your date will introduce himself soon.” answered Brett. Samantha stared at her husband with steely dagger eyes, “My date? You mean the man who will 'fuck' me, right?” she asked. Brett looked down feeling humiliated. “Right, Brett. The man who gets to fuck your wife only because he's black?” Samantha piled on. She let out a hot breath of air and looked around seeing how black men were making out with white wives as their cuckolds watched. First she snickered at them for being awful people choosing such sin. But she began studying the black males and rubbed her thighs together realizing it will be her turn to sin. Samantha began to have those “feelings” and her body started anticipating a mating opportunity. She squirmed in her seat realizing she would probably be asked for oral sex. That uneasy feeling came to her stomach knowing she would likely need to perform that sex act.
“Are you okay, Samantha? We can leave if ...” suggested Brett.
“No. We agreed, remember? We came this far, I can take the next step.” said Samantha who adjusted her breasts forgetting she was without her bra. Approaching Samantha from behind her chair, a tall black man put his hand on her bare, left shoulder and introduced himself. His name was Darius, a 30 years old, toned black man sporting a rough beard. Startled, Samantha was unprepared with Darius's good looks when she looked up from her seat into his eyes.
“Hello, Samantha. My name is Darius. The Black Power Movement wanted us to get together.” Samantha held out her hand and Darius held it with both of his. Dressed in black slacks and a black polo shirt, he complimented Samantha, “You look just like your picture.”
Brett wasn't told Samantha took a selfie with her last phone call with the BPM. Darius helped lift Samantha off her chair and turned to Brett and shook hands with him holding his position of dominance. “If you don't mind, I will speak with your beautiful wife alone.” Samantha took her glass of red wine and went with Darius to the other side of the club without saying a word of goodby to her husband.
Brett watched Darius take Samantha to the bar where they talked. At first, Samantha was a “bar flower”, standing motionless with the glass of wine in her hand. Darius was smiling and doing much of the talking as Samantha politely nodded looking demure, cute, but out of place. The MILF bartender did her best to make her feel welcome and complimented how well they looked together making Samantha smile. The bartender filled her glass and Brett could see she becoming more comfortable with Darius.
“Why are you doing this, Samantha? Why are you here with a black man who is sexually attracted to you?” Darius asked.
Samantha shrugged her shoulders looking sincere in her inexperience in cuckolding. “We're trying to bridge the differences between our races ...” she said sounding unsure. “Go on.” said Darius. Samantha cleared her throat, “Well, me and my husband wanted to give 'something' to the black man like a payment for ... racial justice.”
Samantha couldn't believe she recited the “RJ” words. She hoped she sounded convincing. Darius nodded, “You believe in racial justice? You believe in paying?” Samantha, with her chin down, looked up into Darius's eyes and nodded.
“Okay. I buy that.” said Darius who decided to remove the distance between he and Samantha. Samantha felt uncomfortable and awkward and put her hand on Darius's steel chest. He planted three soft kisses on her neck and whispered, “I want the whole club see you dance with a black man.” Samantha finished her glass and let Darius pull her to the dance floor where they would be only couple there.
Darius held Samantha close as rap music lyrics touted the purpose of white girls, “Fuck, get laid, and suckin' dick!” Darius tried to coax a kiss out of Samantha. But she wasn't yet willing. Darius used his right hand to put under her dress wanting to grab her ass while using his left to grope a bare breast. But Samantha was wiggling away trying to discourage his hands. “If you're going to be around black men, you have to expect us to help ourselves to your body.” said Darius.
“This is new to me.” Samantha explained, “I'm not used to having men treat me like this, like a sex object.”
Darius used his hands to grope both of Samantha's breasts reaching underneath and grabbing them bare. Samantha didn't struggle and let out a gasp. “You are a sex object. You'll soon understand you need to be treated like this.” said Darius as he lowered his head and sucked on her right nipple. “I'm beginning to understand now.” speaking to him as if she wasn't feeding him tit. She started to breath heavy unable to stop the lust swelling inside of her faithful, married body.
“You're a black man's sex object.” Darius whispered before leaning his head in at another attempt to kiss. Samantha was felt she was ready and their lips met as she felt his crotch rub against her body. His hands made its way to her ass but she didn't wiggle. Samantha only gave out a muffled moan that signaled arousal and marital guilt.
“You are going to get blacked tonight, right?” Darius asked needing to know.
Samantha answered, “Looks like I have to if I want to prove I'm not racist.” The couple kissed again with tongues meeting. “There's no other way.” said Darius. Samantha nodded, agreeing, and began to understand the black man, “Yes, it's the only way.”
“I promise to fuck you good and ruin your marriage.” told Darius. This snapped Samantha out of her lust, “Ruin?”
Darius grabbed a tit and massaged it, “A married white girl going black the first time? You're marriage will never be the same. That's the price for racial justice.” Samantha with her hand on Darius's left shoulder glanced over at Brett thought deep about her price. She began to have seroius second thoughts about going through with this. Samantha risked being branded a racist forever but wanted desperately to save her marriage.
After Samantha and Darius exchanged words, Samantha approached Brett from the dance floor leaving Darius behind. Brett remained in his chair expecting Samantha to join him. But she stood flat on her feet in front of him, bent over, and kissed him on the lips. Samantha stood straight up where Darius was standing behind her. He reached for Samantha's shoulder straps and pulled them aside ******** Samantha's breasts. Samantha just locked eyes with her husband watching the expression on his face while Darius was demonstrating his power over her. From behind, he held Samantha close and groped both breasts, “Ready?” he whispered. Samantha looked over her right should and looked to Darius, “I am.”
Samantha turned around and looked over her shoulder to her husband as she returned the straps over her shoulders, “We'll talk after Darius is done with me.” Darius escorted Samantha to the “bullpen” with his hand firmly on her ass. Brett finished the last of his $11 glass of beer and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He watched Samantha being taken to a pair of swinging double doors where a black security guard was approving their entrance. Brett had one last, fleeting moment to stand and call his wife back. Was being a cuckold really what he wanted or what he deserved?
Brett panted. Samantha was looking down and demure. From afar, she looked like she was having regrets. Images of Samantha sucking black cock fired off his head. She turned on her hands and knees getting pounded from behind and begging for more. Finally, he saw a vision of her on her back with a black man on top and she telling him, “I love you.” Maybe, Brett was to sacrifice too much.
Samantha didn't give any evidence of protest as she followed Darius into the bullpen. It was too late. He would have to wait to see the change in his wife when she walked out.
Darius took Samantha behind a folding privacy wall into the back room where LED candles illuminated the bullpen. There were several couches and tables in the room. Samantha counted two couples fighting racism on their couches. One woman was on her hands and knees as she was getting fucked from behind. She moaned “Fuck me, please fuck me.” The other woman was on her knees giving her lover a blow job. Samantha wanted to cover her eyes as she avoided watching pornography in her wholesome life.
Darius picked a couch next to the one getting pounded doggy-style. Samantha just looked at her as she peeled off her dress. Samantha couldn't help but to watch. The look on the woman's face captivated her. Her words, pleading for racial change, “Fuck my white race!” struck her. White women were asking their black lovers to diminish or end their race and in trade gave them pussy. Samantha exhaled realizing what she signed up for when she felt Darius's warm hands on her shoulders. He kissed her shoulders, “Samantha felt Darius's cock rub against her ass. Again, she gasped and she instinctively reached behind to grab it. Feeling its girth, its size, and its hardness, Samantha realized she got herself a prized black bull. She closed her eyes and exhaled and murmured, “Oh, fuck.” anticipating the sex ahead of her.
Samantha turned around and the couple kissed. Darius groped her breasts and mouthed them again. A black hand felt her bare ass and gave it a good squeeze. While Darius kissed her neck, Samantha looked off into the far corner where the other woman was still giving her man a blowjob. With her left hand jerking up and down on his cock, Samantha could make out her wedding band. She was no better than her now and had a lot more to fall.
“On your knees, white girl.” Darius wanted. Samantha dropped to the floor and looked up at Darius's hard cock, ten inches big. She gasped at its size being at least twice as large as her husband's. “You want me to give you oral?” she whispered.
“I want you to suck that black dick.” Darius demanded in a thug voice. Samantha gripped it with her left hand and gave it several strokes. She shook her head not believing what she was about to do. Samantha moved her head forward and pushed Darius's cock into her mouth. The taste of black flesh and infidelity hit her. Feeling nasty and sinful, the sex act proceeded.
Samantha's head bobbed back and forth, no longer disgusted by the flavor of strange dick. A black hand went on her head and she welcomed it. She licked his balls when she was told, lifting his heavy balls with her tongue. Samantha spat on Darius's cock and licked it up and down encouraged when she was told how much of a “good cock sucker” she was.
Darius put Samantha on her back as he buried his nose into her trimmed pussy. His hungry tongue swiped her clit. His dark lips pulling on her pussy. Samantha arched her back trying to hold back moans but it felt so intense. She let out a deep moan when Darius pushed two fingers into her pussy without warning. No man dared do that before him. Samantha pushed herself up on her elbows watching black fingers penetrate her most precious, beautiful place. With his fingers in her twat she let out another moan. Darius stood and kissed her open mouth before sticking his cock between her lips.
“Mmmmph, mmmmph, mmmph ...” Samantha sucked with vigor. Suddenly, she found the sex act of “giving head” or “sucking dick” pleasurable. “Suck that black dick, white girl.” said Darius and Samantha played the faithful lover.
Darius put his hand on Samantha's chin. It was time to claim her pussy. He made himself comfortable sitting on the couch and guided Samantha to straddle him. “Ride my cock. Give me that white pussy.” he wanted. Samantha nodded acknowledging it was time to betray her marriage, her race, and her beliefs for Darius and his lust. All Samantha knew of Darius was he was black, had a big cock, and needed white pussy. He deserved more than her husband.
Samantha felt the tip of his cock-head on her clit and she gently lowered her body slowly splitting her pussy open. “Oh, oh, fuck.” muttered Samantha. “Let it happen.” said Darius who enjoyed watching a married, white girl make all the moves to break her marriage vows. Two inches went in, then three. Samantha began to huff through her nose feeling how thick Darius was. “So big, it's so big.” said Samantha and she put her left arm behind his head.
A fourth inch made its way into Samantha before she lifted her ass a inch before dropping pushing an inch deeper. “You're doing good, Samantha. Get more, get more dick.”
Samantha looked at Darius and cursed, “Fuck! I'm so full.” She lifted her ass again and dropped getting another inch making it six. “Oh, shit!” she yelled making Darius smile knowing she was barely half way. Darius moved his hands from her breasts to her hips helping to push another inch inside her. She lifted her ass again and dropped – she was taking eight inches. The couple panted in unison and she lifted her ass and dropped – nine inches. “Oh! Aaaaagh!” complained Samantha. “Let it out baby.” said Darius, “Let everyone hear how much you're enjoying being with a black man.”
“Aaaaagh! Ohhhhh! Fuck!” moaned Samantha and she finally had taken all his ten inches inside her womb. Exhausted and full her sexual instincts couldn't stop her from gyrating and moving her ass up and down on Darius's gifted manhood. “Gawd! You're so deep inside! I can't breathe! I only feel ... cock!”
“This is black power, sweetie.” said Darius.
“This is black power?” Samantha struggled to ask, “I ... I like it.” she confessed.
The groping black hands on her ass and tits gave her motivation to be a good sex partner. For several minutes she gave herself a long, overdue fucking and wasn't going to let this opportunity for great sex pass.
“Cum on on that dick. Let the room know you're blacked. It's okay. There's no shame. Then I'll take control, make you feel like a woman.” Darius always knew the right things to say to married, white girls. Samantha tried her best to keep mute not let out loud moans that signaled enjoyment of her betrayal. As she moved up and down the black organ pulsating in her deepest womanhood, she let out a grunt and another. Darius's hands squeezed Samantha's breasts and she made a evil grin feeling what was bubbling inside of her. Her thighs started to quiver and she threw her head to the season, “My gawd! I'm blacked!” She let out a long, orgasmic moan. The years with Brett, the courtship, the marriage, the monogamous moments of love, became worthless. Samantha enjoyed the dick of another man and she was committed to making him cum.
Darius took control and had Samantha lay on the couch on her back. He pushed her ankles over her head making her open her thighs. She got a good, close view of Darius's cock re-penetrate her and disappear into her tight pussy. Using the muscles in his hips and loins he gave an easy buck. The black cock pushed in a quick six inches. Samantha watched the massive organ enter like a spitting snake into its hole. She was powerless to stop him but she didn't want that power. Darius started a rocking motion going in several inches, pulling out a couple, until his organ returned “balls deep” penetration. Back and forth he bucked with Samantha returning “Ugh … ugh … ugh ...”
As Samantha rolled her eyes in total submission to Darius. He told her “This is a good start to your new life, Samantha.” The wife could only mumble to herself, “My new life?”
Darius smiled and told, “I'm giving you black dick. This is our gift to you. From the black man to your white pussy.” Samantha looked down at her used pussy again and grunted in reply. “What do you say? Gonna say 'thank you' to the black man?” he wanted.
Samantha nodded, “Thank you …” and endured another orgasm.
Darius spun Samantha around and bent her over the couch. He slapped her ass surprising Samantha. She was truly an object for his sexual pleasures. Darius gripped her by hips and entered her again, “You'll give up your pussy to lot more black men if you hope to make the slightest difference.” Darius grunted as he tried to push every inch into her. Samantha moaned at Darius's prophecy. How long would it take? How many men?
Darius slammed forward and forward throwing his black body into Samantha's ass in a methodical pace. Samantha clutched her fist thinking only about the thick organ making home in her womb. Darius was larger than husband and acted more like a male, bent on getting pussy. In return, Samantha felt wanted to please and satisfy her superior lover.
“You have a nice pussy. Every black man will want it.” said Darius making Samantha seethe in pleasure. She promised her god should not feel pride in cheating on Brett. Samantha decided to break her promise. “Ohhhh, Darius!” she called out his name.
“You like getting fucked, huh?” he teased her while pounding her non-stop. Samantha deliriously answered, “It feels good.”
Darius gave Samantha a few more steady thrusts but his mercy was coming to an end. “I'm fucking your pussy, white girl.” He leaned forward, pulled on her blonde hair, and hissed into her ear, “But it's time I fuck your marriage!” Samantha let out a helpless moan and Darius began fucking her like a runaway piston. He spat in her ear and once more laughing enjoying the euphoria his cock was rewarding him for the pussy enjoyed. “Yeah … yeah ...” he grunted.
Samantha experienced another wallop of an orgasm. “What are you doing to me!” she pleaded. “Making you never want to give pussy to a white man again. You belong to us! You belong to the black man!”
The cheating wife moaned loudly again feeling a firm hand take her left breast. “Say fuck me, I'll cum inside your pussy. Say it ...” Darius wanted. In Samantha's extramarital inexperience, she never thought about using a condom. She was getting sexed bareback and preparing for a mess of cum inside her unprotected womb. Samantha could have felt afraid of the consequences of making a black baby. She felt ashamed initially but couldn't fight her feminine desires to breed. Samantha wanted Darius's baby making cum in her womb, deposited, dumped and left behind like an annoyance.
With Samantha's marriage, she and her husband agreed it was unbecoming of her to speak dirty during sex. But she was cheating with a black man and the rules didn't apply to him. “Fuck me.” she whispered giving into his demands. Darius knew he had broken the wife in. He roared one final time and began streaming and dropping loads of semen into Samantha's warm hole.
“Ugh. Ugh. Ugh!” grunted Darius. Samantha's eyes popped open in disbelief in the heavy weight of the deposits he buried in her. Darius pulled out and sat on the couch next to her leaving Samantha with her ass in the air. Samantha let out a gasp and rolled over putting her head on Darius's lap feeling his thick, spongy cock underneath her hair.
Samantha collected her thoughts. Her body was in bliss while her head was spinning. She found the energy to sit up leaving her legs spread. She looked for the other two couples, they were gone. Samantha wondered if they took a glance her way to see how she was enjoying a black man. She looked between her legs seeing thick goo stuck in her pussy hair. Samantha felt full inside and touched her swollen pussy. She gave it a good wipe with her hand scooping up a drench of sticky cum cooling in the air.
Samantha looked at Darius and said, “I'm full of cum!” She put her hand to her face feeling the heat of his body fluids in her palm. Samantha felt dirty, used, and guilty for becoming a cheating wife she once swore she would never be. She took a good look at Darius's cock and humbled by its power. Samantha wanted to show her displeasure what black cock did to her self-respect and marriage. Samantha put her cum-coated hand to her mouth and licked it clean.
To learn more about the city of Black Pine and its characters, read the reference guide under the Author's Den found in the forums section.
