Every Woman I Know: The Former Friend
NOTE: Nothing below is real or should be considered as such. Any persons depicted in the story are wholly fictional and based on the author's perverse imagination. The following events are also fantasy and should remain as such, including and especially any negative racial views. Nothing said reflects the author's personal views and any real-life racism is not condoned, supported, or acceptable in any way. So long as you're all in agreement, happy reading of this fucked up story/potential series.
Every Woman I Know: The Former Friend
Like all men, I’ve fantasized about the women in my life. Dirty, twisted, kinky fantasizes of each one getting hammered. Crying out in orgasm as they get their pussies stuffed by a big fat, thick cock. Except, unlike other men, it wasn’t my cock that I thought about bringing them all that pleasure, it was someone else’s. Not a specific guy but rather a specific type of guy, a black guy. With every woman in my life, it was my go-to fantasy, the thing that instantly sprung my cock to attention. Time and again I’d jerk off to vivid fantasies of them submitting to, getting ravished by, and acting like complete sluts for black men and their dark monsters.
Take for example my former friend, Marie. Thick golden blonde hair that ran to the top of her thighs; big, expressive blue eyes that appeared cartoonish but alluring; and the ultra-pale skin that betrayed her historically British-Irish heritage, the quintessential white girl next door. She and I went to high school and college together. We were close friends in the former and started to drift apart in the latter. It happens to a lot of people. We latch onto whoever we can in the smaller setting of high school desperate to find our place. Then in college, we find ourselves and bond with those whose life trajectories are similar to ours. That turned out to be the case with us and by the time Marie and I hit the real world, our paths had diverged.
I kept up with her online. She had become a vlogger for a geek news outlet so every few days her cute face with its button nose and chipmunk cheeks showed up on my feed, and when that happened I would now and then get myself off on the memory of her and the fantasy scenarios I had come up with. One of them involved her on her knees before a tall, well-built black man. That one was more about the visual than anything else. The idea of the pale-skinned Marie kneeling in front of a dark-skinned stranger made for a supremely erotic tableau, specifically in regards to her hair, those tremendously long golden locks. I pictured them tumbling like a waterfall fully covering her back and ass, the edges brushing the floor. On either side of that flaxen cascade, a column of ebony extended upward, bordering her body until meeting at the crest of her head where the rest of his body rose high like an onyx tower before a subservient white worshipper. The capper was the dark hand on the surface of those golden waters at the back of Marie’s skull guiding her movements sending ripples of motion down the waterfall.
That was a good one but not my favorite. No, my favorite was more in-depth and involved. A longer series of events and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that looking back I’m convinced Marie was a little bit racist. She never said or did anything explicit, at least not around me. It was more the little things, like off-handed comments about things in the news. But Marie also grew up in a very Catholic household with a suspiciously conservative mother. She was someone that I knew said things that made my eyebrows raise. All that made a response from Marie of, “I’m not attracted to black guys,” seem more like a smoke screen meant to obscure some deep-rooted beliefs she wanted to keep secret. Secrets that came out in that particular fantasy.
It took place in a back room with her making out with a black guy named Darnell. He towered almost a head and a half over her, his big lips engulfing her smaller ones and his tongue jabbing at her throat. Marie, rather than fight it, opened her mouth wider and let him claim her face in an act of ravenous dominance. She moaned into his mouth as his large dark hand squeezed her breasts. He had gotten her top and bra off so her conical C-cups virtually disappeared under his manhandling. “Have you ever been with or dated a black guy,” he asked and pinched at her nipple. Marie’s pointy peaks were pink, so pale pink that they almost blended into her skin. It made the contrast of Darnell’s especially black fingers all the more pronounced and erotic.
“No,” Marie said eyes closed and breathing heavy, “I only date white guys.” She flinched and quickly added, “It’s not racist, it’s a preference.”
This was something I’d heard her say verbatim in the past. She didn’t have anything against black guys. She just preferred white ones and she happened to only have white friends and avoided any areas with a black population larger than her gated suburban community. Darnell asked as he unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down her shapely hips, “Then why did you come back here with me? Were you too scared to say no?”
“Uh-huh,” Marie nodded, wriggling her pants off her legs before saying in a matter-of-fact way, “It’s not my fault, you seemed so big and thuggish. I knew what you wanted but I was afraid of what you’d do if I refused.”
“That sounds racist.”
“No, it’s not, statistically blah—hrk,” Marie gagged as thick fingers invaded her mouth. Darnell’s index and middle digits slid across her slippery tongue and pushed at the entrance to her throat. He fingered her gullet as she stood there. He slipped his free hand under the curtain of her long hair, sliding down her back and stopping on her panty-clad ass. The light blue cotton was stretched tight across the plump surface.
“Fuck, you might be white but this right here,” he cupped her rear and gave it a shake, “This is the ass of a ghetto bitch.” He was right Marie’s butt stuck out like a basketball, jutting out from her back before arcing dramatically back toward her thighs, not fat or thick but perfectly curved and round. It was the kind of ass girls of every race envied, and Darnell molested that enviable ass squeezing, crushing, and grasping at every delectable inch of it as Marie moaned, groaned, and gasped... whenever his fingers weren’t shoving their way deeper into her mouth that is. Growing ever wilder and feverish he yanked a portion of her panties aside ******** as much of the sizable cheek as possible slapping it, palming it, slapping at it again, and then returning to fondling it like a piece of meat. Where his palm had managed to fully cover her breast, the excess flesh of Marie’s pliable rear overflowed Darnell’s grasp, extending well past his outstretched fingers.
“Get those panties off and turn around,” he commanded after two minutes of unhindered molestation, his breathing heavy and heated. She readily obeyed him kicking aside her underwear. “Turn around and get that hair out of the way.” Gathering her long locks together, she pulled the mass over her shoulder and unveiled her naked rear to his ravenous gaze. “Jesus Christ." Laid bare before him was Marie’s ass, a work of art carved from alabaster. Darnell stripped off his clothes and stepped forward, parting her cheeks he nestled his coal-dark, ten-inch cock into the crack of her ample buns. He was a perfect fit. “You may prefer white guys, but this is an ass made for black men, built for black cock. This is something a white dick could never handle.”
The two of them groaned in unison as Marie began to slowly rock on her knees moving her cheek up and down his shaft. Darnell admired the sight of his thick black dick splitting apart Marie’s pale white globes. His thick shaft ran up her crack and the fat mushroom head emerged out the top pointing at her lower back. He licked his lips and gripped her hips pushing her cheeks together. With a steady needful thrust, he humped his dick across the valley of Marie’s ass. The blonde beauty gasped as he pulled back, he did it again... and again... and again, rocking faster and faster, his fat hog pumping between the cheeks of her perfect rear.
“She was right,” Marie groaned. The size of Darnell’s dick, the feeling of its impossible length reaching and thrusting across the entire expanse of her crack, was a shock to her system. She’d heard the stories about black men but experiencing something so big, so thick was mind-melting in a new unexpected way. Marie had given boob jobs and blowjobs before, allowing guys to use her mouth and tits like fleshlights, but this was her first ass job and it instantly made her realize the truth in what Darnell had said: no white dick could ever do something like this. “Mom was right.”
“What was that?”
“My mom, she warned me that black guys would be obsessed with my ass. She always said, mhm, it was dangerous to be around anyone black but especially with an ass like mine.” Marie gripped her hair with both hands, holding tight to the mass of locks, “That’s why my hair is so long. She told me I should grow it long so I could hide my ass because, OH... because if a black guy saw it he’d want to fuck me.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Not into... black guys,” the blue of her eyes disappeared as they rolled into the back of her head; her pink tongue lolled out of her mouth, “Only white.”
“Still trying to say that’s not racist?”
“Nooo, not racist. Not... race, preference. Not attractive, black guys aren’t...” The sensations running through Marie’s lower body were sending jolts of sexual electricity through her spine and up into her brain, muddling her circuits, frying the protective firewalls she had put in place. “Nnnhh, I could never... could never...”
“Could never what,” Darnell asked as he thrust across her butt faster. When she didn’t answer he cracked his palm onto her ass loving how the flesh trembled in response. “Could never what, Marie? Say what you could never do.”
Her pussy quivered, her muscles tightened. Her breath stopped with the arrival of his second slap. “Fuck a black guy, I could never fuck a black guy!” Marie clenched her ass around his cock and tugged at her hair harder. “It’d ruin me, taint me... Ahh!”
She remembered how disgusted her mother grew whenever she saw an interracial couple on TV. She recalled the stern older woman shaking her head and hissing how younger girls ruined their lives hooking up with black men. She repeated the words that her mother had ingrained in her brain... and exploded in orgasm, “No decent white guy would marry me if I ever fucked a black guy!”
The crumbling walls fell as Marie’s pussy gushed and her core erupted with pleasure. Most guys never managed to bring her to climax but she had just cum from a black guy using her ass like a masturbation tool. The feeling of his large black dick pumping her ass crack made her moan, wail, shake, and bounce until she reached a state of perverted bliss that released something deep inside her, something she had worked hard to hold onto.
“There it is,” Darnell said moving slowly, “You believe all that bullshit, huh? All that shit your racist mom said?”
Marie swallowed desperate gasps of air as she gradually came down from her high. His words barely registered in her fucked ***** mind. He slapped her ass again and she yelped, "YES!"
“Well, she was right about one thing: any brother that saw an ass like this on a white girl...” he laid a hand on her back and leaned her forward, “Would want to bend her over,” Marie whimpered but didn’t resist when he positioned the tip of his cock against her opening, “And fuck that white bitch until she screamed." He pushed and Marie moaned long and low. “What would she say about that? What would that racist mother of yours say about a black cock in your pussy?”
“She’d say it was... that it was...” Darnell’s cock slowly tried to barrel its way into her, an unstoppable force that refused to relent. It was like a metaphor for the final vestiges of her denial. Her tight hole did its best to contest the massive invader, to prevent it from breaking through. But the harder he pushed the more she felt it giving, stretching, surrendering, and parting, until... “She’d say it was like committing bestiality, that I was poisoning our bloodline... Oh god." Marie gasped, a millimeter of black dick had entered her asshole.
“Don’t worry,” Darnell gripped her tighter by the hips and pulled her toward his advancing cock, “We’ll keep that pussy pure. That hole can be all for white boys. Your ass... your ass will be for black men. Any brother that wants it can get it, and thanks to that Catholic loophole, you’ll still be pure. Isn’t that nice of us, fucking your ass so you can still marry a white boy?”
“Nnnghh... Yes, yes, that’s so nice, so... nice, Ah,” the progression of a fat black dick didn’t halt, didn’t concede as more of its length sank into her, Marie’s ass opening wider to accommodate the cock, “Every black guy... can fuck my ass, fuck my ass.”
Darnell snickered. He was enjoying mentally tearing the blonde down almost as much as he was enjoying stretching her asshole apart. The steady stream of precum that had leaked from his tip during the rutting of her rear had slickened his shaft in a slimy layer of lubricant, and a full inch of his cock had already entered her bowels. But there was still much more to go. He would need to push harder. “You’re going to cut that hair of yours, put this ass on display so every brother can see it and know it’s an open invitation." She shuddered, body shaking in one last desperate minuscule attempt at resistance, “Marie, the white ghetto ass booty bitch, got it?”
“I... I...”
He steadied himself and smacked her ass hard. “Got it?”
“Nnnhhh...” Marie imagined her hair, one of her defining aspects, snipped short, coming to a stop at her mid-back. She imagined strutting down the street in a black neighborhood, body on display in a tight pair of shorts that showed off her pale legs and the obscene curve of her butt. She imagined every pair of eyes on her, one of the men grabbing her, yanking her into an alley. She imagined her shorts around her ankles, her palms pressed into a brick wall, his big black cock pistoning in and out of her ass as she moaned and gasped and came. “Yes. I’ll cut my hair.”
“Good.” Darnell hammered forward, another couple of inches popping into her opening as Marie collapsed onto her hands and knees.
"FUCK!”
“Yes! there it fucking goes." Without missing a beat he followed her down and shoved another two inches of the fat black shaft past her no-longer virgin rosebud. Her back curled; her ass clenched, relaxed, gripped, and squeezed at him; and her face twisted into an open-mouthed, bug-eyed mask of pain mixed with pleasure. Darnell pulled back and plowed forward again, drilling even deeper into her. “No going back now, blondie. You’re officially a n*gger’s ass slut.” A lustful whine reverberated from her throat as Darnell’s movements grew harder and faster, shifting from working her open to full-on fucking her perfect, curved rear. “Yeah, you’re probably real familiar with that word I bet. Your racist mom probably said it all the time, didn’t she?”
Marie moaned and nodded. Her mom used the n-word liberally, especially when telling her about how vile and dangerous black men were. How she should never associate with any of them. But now here she was on her hands and knees like a bitch, getting her ass fucked by one. Here she was with the biggest cock she’d ever seen or experienced pumping in and out of her rectum. It made her pussy quiver knowing it wouldn’t be the last black dick to do it either, “Have you ever said it?” Her only response was a whimper and whine, a whimper and a whine that grew louder as his cock continued to venture deeper and deeper into her with every thrust. “I asked a question you little ass slut. Have you ever said the n-word?”
Her answer came as a wail, a release of everything she had held secret and tried to obfuscate. Falling away under the perversely pleasurable violation of her backdoor Marie shoved her ass backward and yelled, “Yes! Fuck, I’ve said it, I’ve said, mmmm, so many fucking times.”
Darnell cracked his palm against her buttcheek and squeezed. “Say it now, say it right now you racist bitch.”
“N*gger!”
He grunted and smacked her ass again, three-quarters of his cock plunging into her. “Again!”
“N*gger!”
Another smack, another plunge. “Again!”
“N*gger!”
Darnell reared back and slammed forward. His hips collided with Marie’s firm ass, the entirety of his ten-inch monster buried into her tight anal passage. He slammed forward again and again and again, faster and faster. Frantically fucking her ass, the round curves of her butt bounced delectably with every flap of their bodies. “Ah! N*gger! Fuck! N*gger n*gger n*gger! Fuck, fuck my ass! Fuck my ass! Nnnghh...” Marie’s cries devolved into incoherent begging and pleading for Darnell’s black cock to ravage her ass, for his ‘n*gger dick’ to savage her white booty. He obliged with animalistic fervor pounding her rear end as she squealed and swore and submitted to her defilement. “Oh god... Oh god... I’m gonna... I’m gonna!”
“Do it,” Darnell growled, “Fucking do it, you racist blonde bitch. Cum with my big black cock up your white ghetto booty ass!”
“Yes, Yes God, fuck, yes!” Marie came and Darnell plunged into her one final time. In the throws of her orgasm, she could feel his thick shaft pulse over and over, each throb followed by a sticky warmth gushing and filling her colon. Another perfect tableau: Marie mid-climax, pale body arched, perfect ass thrust backward and connected to the hips of a dark-skinned stranger, his massive black cock emptying its balls of cum directly into her. A black man flooding her ass with his n*gger cum and completing her conversion into an ass slut.
Every time I saw her image, I thought of that fantasy. Marie had cut her hair after college and to this day I imagine her reason for the choice as a means of attracting the attention of black men. As she babbled on about the latest casting news or on-set rumor, I got off on the idea of only a handful of white men having stuck their dick in her pussy while dozens of black men had fucked her loose asshole. I spilled my load over my former friend’s ass serving as a black cumdump.
Every Woman I Know: The Former Friend
Like all men, I’ve fantasized about the women in my life. Dirty, twisted, kinky fantasizes of each one getting hammered. Crying out in orgasm as they get their pussies stuffed by a big fat, thick cock. Except, unlike other men, it wasn’t my cock that I thought about bringing them all that pleasure, it was someone else’s. Not a specific guy but rather a specific type of guy, a black guy. With every woman in my life, it was my go-to fantasy, the thing that instantly sprung my cock to attention. Time and again I’d jerk off to vivid fantasies of them submitting to, getting ravished by, and acting like complete sluts for black men and their dark monsters.
Take for example my former friend, Marie. Thick golden blonde hair that ran to the top of her thighs; big, expressive blue eyes that appeared cartoonish but alluring; and the ultra-pale skin that betrayed her historically British-Irish heritage, the quintessential white girl next door. She and I went to high school and college together. We were close friends in the former and started to drift apart in the latter. It happens to a lot of people. We latch onto whoever we can in the smaller setting of high school desperate to find our place. Then in college, we find ourselves and bond with those whose life trajectories are similar to ours. That turned out to be the case with us and by the time Marie and I hit the real world, our paths had diverged.
I kept up with her online. She had become a vlogger for a geek news outlet so every few days her cute face with its button nose and chipmunk cheeks showed up on my feed, and when that happened I would now and then get myself off on the memory of her and the fantasy scenarios I had come up with. One of them involved her on her knees before a tall, well-built black man. That one was more about the visual than anything else. The idea of the pale-skinned Marie kneeling in front of a dark-skinned stranger made for a supremely erotic tableau, specifically in regards to her hair, those tremendously long golden locks. I pictured them tumbling like a waterfall fully covering her back and ass, the edges brushing the floor. On either side of that flaxen cascade, a column of ebony extended upward, bordering her body until meeting at the crest of her head where the rest of his body rose high like an onyx tower before a subservient white worshipper. The capper was the dark hand on the surface of those golden waters at the back of Marie’s skull guiding her movements sending ripples of motion down the waterfall.
That was a good one but not my favorite. No, my favorite was more in-depth and involved. A longer series of events and it was made all the sweeter by the fact that looking back I’m convinced Marie was a little bit racist. She never said or did anything explicit, at least not around me. It was more the little things, like off-handed comments about things in the news. But Marie also grew up in a very Catholic household with a suspiciously conservative mother. She was someone that I knew said things that made my eyebrows raise. All that made a response from Marie of, “I’m not attracted to black guys,” seem more like a smoke screen meant to obscure some deep-rooted beliefs she wanted to keep secret. Secrets that came out in that particular fantasy.
It took place in a back room with her making out with a black guy named Darnell. He towered almost a head and a half over her, his big lips engulfing her smaller ones and his tongue jabbing at her throat. Marie, rather than fight it, opened her mouth wider and let him claim her face in an act of ravenous dominance. She moaned into his mouth as his large dark hand squeezed her breasts. He had gotten her top and bra off so her conical C-cups virtually disappeared under his manhandling. “Have you ever been with or dated a black guy,” he asked and pinched at her nipple. Marie’s pointy peaks were pink, so pale pink that they almost blended into her skin. It made the contrast of Darnell’s especially black fingers all the more pronounced and erotic.
“No,” Marie said eyes closed and breathing heavy, “I only date white guys.” She flinched and quickly added, “It’s not racist, it’s a preference.”
This was something I’d heard her say verbatim in the past. She didn’t have anything against black guys. She just preferred white ones and she happened to only have white friends and avoided any areas with a black population larger than her gated suburban community. Darnell asked as he unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down her shapely hips, “Then why did you come back here with me? Were you too scared to say no?”
“Uh-huh,” Marie nodded, wriggling her pants off her legs before saying in a matter-of-fact way, “It’s not my fault, you seemed so big and thuggish. I knew what you wanted but I was afraid of what you’d do if I refused.”
“That sounds racist.”
“No, it’s not, statistically blah—hrk,” Marie gagged as thick fingers invaded her mouth. Darnell’s index and middle digits slid across her slippery tongue and pushed at the entrance to her throat. He fingered her gullet as she stood there. He slipped his free hand under the curtain of her long hair, sliding down her back and stopping on her panty-clad ass. The light blue cotton was stretched tight across the plump surface.
“Fuck, you might be white but this right here,” he cupped her rear and gave it a shake, “This is the ass of a ghetto bitch.” He was right Marie’s butt stuck out like a basketball, jutting out from her back before arcing dramatically back toward her thighs, not fat or thick but perfectly curved and round. It was the kind of ass girls of every race envied, and Darnell molested that enviable ass squeezing, crushing, and grasping at every delectable inch of it as Marie moaned, groaned, and gasped... whenever his fingers weren’t shoving their way deeper into her mouth that is. Growing ever wilder and feverish he yanked a portion of her panties aside ******** as much of the sizable cheek as possible slapping it, palming it, slapping at it again, and then returning to fondling it like a piece of meat. Where his palm had managed to fully cover her breast, the excess flesh of Marie’s pliable rear overflowed Darnell’s grasp, extending well past his outstretched fingers.
“Get those panties off and turn around,” he commanded after two minutes of unhindered molestation, his breathing heavy and heated. She readily obeyed him kicking aside her underwear. “Turn around and get that hair out of the way.” Gathering her long locks together, she pulled the mass over her shoulder and unveiled her naked rear to his ravenous gaze. “Jesus Christ." Laid bare before him was Marie’s ass, a work of art carved from alabaster. Darnell stripped off his clothes and stepped forward, parting her cheeks he nestled his coal-dark, ten-inch cock into the crack of her ample buns. He was a perfect fit. “You may prefer white guys, but this is an ass made for black men, built for black cock. This is something a white dick could never handle.”
The two of them groaned in unison as Marie began to slowly rock on her knees moving her cheek up and down his shaft. Darnell admired the sight of his thick black dick splitting apart Marie’s pale white globes. His thick shaft ran up her crack and the fat mushroom head emerged out the top pointing at her lower back. He licked his lips and gripped her hips pushing her cheeks together. With a steady needful thrust, he humped his dick across the valley of Marie’s ass. The blonde beauty gasped as he pulled back, he did it again... and again... and again, rocking faster and faster, his fat hog pumping between the cheeks of her perfect rear.
“She was right,” Marie groaned. The size of Darnell’s dick, the feeling of its impossible length reaching and thrusting across the entire expanse of her crack, was a shock to her system. She’d heard the stories about black men but experiencing something so big, so thick was mind-melting in a new unexpected way. Marie had given boob jobs and blowjobs before, allowing guys to use her mouth and tits like fleshlights, but this was her first ass job and it instantly made her realize the truth in what Darnell had said: no white dick could ever do something like this. “Mom was right.”
“What was that?”
“My mom, she warned me that black guys would be obsessed with my ass. She always said, mhm, it was dangerous to be around anyone black but especially with an ass like mine.” Marie gripped her hair with both hands, holding tight to the mass of locks, “That’s why my hair is so long. She told me I should grow it long so I could hide my ass because, OH... because if a black guy saw it he’d want to fuck me.”
“What’s so wrong with that?”
“Not into... black guys,” the blue of her eyes disappeared as they rolled into the back of her head; her pink tongue lolled out of her mouth, “Only white.”
“Still trying to say that’s not racist?”
“Nooo, not racist. Not... race, preference. Not attractive, black guys aren’t...” The sensations running through Marie’s lower body were sending jolts of sexual electricity through her spine and up into her brain, muddling her circuits, frying the protective firewalls she had put in place. “Nnnhh, I could never... could never...”
“Could never what,” Darnell asked as he thrust across her butt faster. When she didn’t answer he cracked his palm onto her ass loving how the flesh trembled in response. “Could never what, Marie? Say what you could never do.”
Her pussy quivered, her muscles tightened. Her breath stopped with the arrival of his second slap. “Fuck a black guy, I could never fuck a black guy!” Marie clenched her ass around his cock and tugged at her hair harder. “It’d ruin me, taint me... Ahh!”
She remembered how disgusted her mother grew whenever she saw an interracial couple on TV. She recalled the stern older woman shaking her head and hissing how younger girls ruined their lives hooking up with black men. She repeated the words that her mother had ingrained in her brain... and exploded in orgasm, “No decent white guy would marry me if I ever fucked a black guy!”
The crumbling walls fell as Marie’s pussy gushed and her core erupted with pleasure. Most guys never managed to bring her to climax but she had just cum from a black guy using her ass like a masturbation tool. The feeling of his large black dick pumping her ass crack made her moan, wail, shake, and bounce until she reached a state of perverted bliss that released something deep inside her, something she had worked hard to hold onto.
“There it is,” Darnell said moving slowly, “You believe all that bullshit, huh? All that shit your racist mom said?”
Marie swallowed desperate gasps of air as she gradually came down from her high. His words barely registered in her fucked ***** mind. He slapped her ass again and she yelped, "YES!"
“Well, she was right about one thing: any brother that saw an ass like this on a white girl...” he laid a hand on her back and leaned her forward, “Would want to bend her over,” Marie whimpered but didn’t resist when he positioned the tip of his cock against her opening, “And fuck that white bitch until she screamed." He pushed and Marie moaned long and low. “What would she say about that? What would that racist mother of yours say about a black cock in your pussy?”
“She’d say it was... that it was...” Darnell’s cock slowly tried to barrel its way into her, an unstoppable force that refused to relent. It was like a metaphor for the final vestiges of her denial. Her tight hole did its best to contest the massive invader, to prevent it from breaking through. But the harder he pushed the more she felt it giving, stretching, surrendering, and parting, until... “She’d say it was like committing bestiality, that I was poisoning our bloodline... Oh god." Marie gasped, a millimeter of black dick had entered her asshole.
“Don’t worry,” Darnell gripped her tighter by the hips and pulled her toward his advancing cock, “We’ll keep that pussy pure. That hole can be all for white boys. Your ass... your ass will be for black men. Any brother that wants it can get it, and thanks to that Catholic loophole, you’ll still be pure. Isn’t that nice of us, fucking your ass so you can still marry a white boy?”
“Nnnghh... Yes, yes, that’s so nice, so... nice, Ah,” the progression of a fat black dick didn’t halt, didn’t concede as more of its length sank into her, Marie’s ass opening wider to accommodate the cock, “Every black guy... can fuck my ass, fuck my ass.”
Darnell snickered. He was enjoying mentally tearing the blonde down almost as much as he was enjoying stretching her asshole apart. The steady stream of precum that had leaked from his tip during the rutting of her rear had slickened his shaft in a slimy layer of lubricant, and a full inch of his cock had already entered her bowels. But there was still much more to go. He would need to push harder. “You’re going to cut that hair of yours, put this ass on display so every brother can see it and know it’s an open invitation." She shuddered, body shaking in one last desperate minuscule attempt at resistance, “Marie, the white ghetto ass booty bitch, got it?”
“I... I...”
He steadied himself and smacked her ass hard. “Got it?”
“Nnnhhh...” Marie imagined her hair, one of her defining aspects, snipped short, coming to a stop at her mid-back. She imagined strutting down the street in a black neighborhood, body on display in a tight pair of shorts that showed off her pale legs and the obscene curve of her butt. She imagined every pair of eyes on her, one of the men grabbing her, yanking her into an alley. She imagined her shorts around her ankles, her palms pressed into a brick wall, his big black cock pistoning in and out of her ass as she moaned and gasped and came. “Yes. I’ll cut my hair.”
“Good.” Darnell hammered forward, another couple of inches popping into her opening as Marie collapsed onto her hands and knees.
"FUCK!”
“Yes! there it fucking goes." Without missing a beat he followed her down and shoved another two inches of the fat black shaft past her no-longer virgin rosebud. Her back curled; her ass clenched, relaxed, gripped, and squeezed at him; and her face twisted into an open-mouthed, bug-eyed mask of pain mixed with pleasure. Darnell pulled back and plowed forward again, drilling even deeper into her. “No going back now, blondie. You’re officially a n*gger’s ass slut.” A lustful whine reverberated from her throat as Darnell’s movements grew harder and faster, shifting from working her open to full-on fucking her perfect, curved rear. “Yeah, you’re probably real familiar with that word I bet. Your racist mom probably said it all the time, didn’t she?”
Marie moaned and nodded. Her mom used the n-word liberally, especially when telling her about how vile and dangerous black men were. How she should never associate with any of them. But now here she was on her hands and knees like a bitch, getting her ass fucked by one. Here she was with the biggest cock she’d ever seen or experienced pumping in and out of her rectum. It made her pussy quiver knowing it wouldn’t be the last black dick to do it either, “Have you ever said it?” Her only response was a whimper and whine, a whimper and a whine that grew louder as his cock continued to venture deeper and deeper into her with every thrust. “I asked a question you little ass slut. Have you ever said the n-word?”
Her answer came as a wail, a release of everything she had held secret and tried to obfuscate. Falling away under the perversely pleasurable violation of her backdoor Marie shoved her ass backward and yelled, “Yes! Fuck, I’ve said it, I’ve said, mmmm, so many fucking times.”
Darnell cracked his palm against her buttcheek and squeezed. “Say it now, say it right now you racist bitch.”
“N*gger!”
He grunted and smacked her ass again, three-quarters of his cock plunging into her. “Again!”
“N*gger!”
Another smack, another plunge. “Again!”
“N*gger!”
Darnell reared back and slammed forward. His hips collided with Marie’s firm ass, the entirety of his ten-inch monster buried into her tight anal passage. He slammed forward again and again and again, faster and faster. Frantically fucking her ass, the round curves of her butt bounced delectably with every flap of their bodies. “Ah! N*gger! Fuck! N*gger n*gger n*gger! Fuck, fuck my ass! Fuck my ass! Nnnghh...” Marie’s cries devolved into incoherent begging and pleading for Darnell’s black cock to ravage her ass, for his ‘n*gger dick’ to savage her white booty. He obliged with animalistic fervor pounding her rear end as she squealed and swore and submitted to her defilement. “Oh god... Oh god... I’m gonna... I’m gonna!”
“Do it,” Darnell growled, “Fucking do it, you racist blonde bitch. Cum with my big black cock up your white ghetto booty ass!”
“Yes, Yes God, fuck, yes!” Marie came and Darnell plunged into her one final time. In the throws of her orgasm, she could feel his thick shaft pulse over and over, each throb followed by a sticky warmth gushing and filling her colon. Another perfect tableau: Marie mid-climax, pale body arched, perfect ass thrust backward and connected to the hips of a dark-skinned stranger, his massive black cock emptying its balls of cum directly into her. A black man flooding her ass with his n*gger cum and completing her conversion into an ass slut.
Every time I saw her image, I thought of that fantasy. Marie had cut her hair after college and to this day I imagine her reason for the choice as a means of attracting the attention of black men. As she babbled on about the latest casting news or on-set rumor, I got off on the idea of only a handful of white men having stuck their dick in her pussy while dozens of black men had fucked her loose asshole. I spilled my load over my former friend’s ass serving as a black cumdump.
Every Woman I Know: The Friend's Wife
NOTE: Nothing below is real or should be considered as such. Any persons depicted in the story are wholly fictional and based on the author's perverse imagination. The following events are also fantasy and should remain as such, including and especially any negative racial views. Nothing said reflects the author's personal views and any real-life racism is not condoned, supported, or acceptable in any way. So long as you're all in agreement, happy reading of this fucked up story/potential series.
The Friend’s Wife
Karen fancied herself a tomboy. The type of girl that enjoyed staying active, participating in sports, and trying to prove herself capable of keeping up with any guy. Whether it meant running extra hard at the gym or excelling above everyone else in her self-defense class, Karen took pride in equaling the measure of a man whenever and wherever she could. That tendency of hers to want to come out on top became the impetus for my fantasy involving her. After all, what’s better than a feminist white girl getting put in her place by a superior black man and his big fat cock?
Despite her tomboy persona, Karen wasn’t butch in any way. Shaggy chin-length hair and a noticeably trim and fit physique represented those aspects of her personality. But everything else about her appeared very feminine: a bright smile framed by cupid’s bow lips, hazel green eyes holding a dash of mischief, and although her waist didn’t pull in like an hourglass, it did nothing to distract from her cantaloupe-sized boobs or tight firm ass. Even when it came to clothes, Karen veered closer to girly than boyish. Her fitted t-shirts clung to the round curves of her breasts and she exclusively wore either shorts or skirts. Her legs necessitated them.
Karen’s legs perfectly complemented her frame. They were neither absurdly long nor too short but exactly the length needed to balance her proportions. What led to her limited clothing choices were their attributes: strong thighs possessing just the right amount of muscle and great calves that made jeans too tight and boots too difficult to zip up. They were shapely, toned, and eye-catching, and I often thought they would look especially exquisite wrapped around a dark waist.
In my fantasies, Karen wasn’t married to my friend Steve. He was an all-around great and charming guy, and just because I had depraved sexual desires for his wife didn’t mean I had anything against him or wanted to place him in any sort of unfavorable situation. Instead, I imagined her married to a more weak-willed guy, one that she bossed around a bit and that never measured up to her abilities, thereby justifying her personal beliefs. The same beliefs that would be crushed under the weight of my sick perversity.
In the lead-up to the main event, I had constructed a series of details that primed the pump for Karen’s surrender and dominance to black dick. There was this pre-established backstory that she and her husband took self-defense together and that Karen was the star pupil. The ash-haired blonde always managed to grapple and pry a submission from every other student, even her own husband, and she took a bit of pleasure in hearing the slapping sound of a guy’s palm against the floor when she pinned him. However, one day, a new student joined the class: a broad-shouldered black man named Darius.
Over the course of the first week, the instructor paired him up with a variety of other students, but he easily managed to toss aside or slam down every single one of them. With every intimidating display, Karen experienced a small buzz inside of her. She had never seen someone so powerful and unstoppable, and the idea of being the one to take him down thrilled her. Almost as much as witnessing him laying waste to her fellow classmates. She tried to ignore the latter, tried to pretend she didn’t get a little wet watching a large black man grab a white guy and drive his back into the ground but that would be just as difficult as denying how much her stomach buzzed from the way his dark eyes watched her during warm-ups and routines. They had even caused her to slip a couple times and get unusually called out by their instructor for doing something incorrectly, all because she caught him staring at her legs and ass and licking his lips at her bouncing boobs.
That sort of blatant ogling would normally send her into a righteous feminist rage, one that would lead to her storming up to the person and calling them out. But with Darius, Karen bent over further to highlight the curve of her butt and wore less comfortable bras to enhance her already sizable bust. Under his objectifying gaze, she willfully treated her body like a piece of meat for sale, putting every part of it on display for inspection — and it both sickened and aroused her.
By the time it was her husband John’s turn to spar with the undefeated black man, Karen’s insides were teeming with excitement. But she refused to acknowledge whether that excitement came over John maybe pulling out a surprise win or the more likely scenario of Darius pummeling him. Although, pummeling might have been the wrong word. Darius pinned, grappled, and sometimes slammed his opponents, but he never outright hurt anyone. At least not yet. Something told her this time might be different.
She was gassing her husband up prior to the match and telling him to “knock that arrogant asshole down a peg” when she noticed Darius’s eyes narrowing in apparent dissatisfaction as she gave John a good luck kiss. In response, she had slipped him a bit of tongue, and as her husband walked into the sparring area, she tempted fate even further by flashing the black man a smug smile.
Less than twenty seconds later, Darius countered a grab and cracked his fist against John’s face. Karen gasped as her husband hit the floor. While he groaned and squirmed on the ground, she sat there stunned, in shock over how wet that moment just made her. She shook it off and ran over to him on trembling legs. She was about to tell him to forfeit the match when the words froze in her throat. Darius’s display of dominance replayed again and again in her head... along with how her pussy clenched when it happened.
“That was just a lucky shot,” she said. “I still believe in you.”
Her husband nodded and got back up.
In the span of the next minute, John went down again from a punch to the gut that knocked the wind from him and a hit to the chest so hard that Karen worried Darius might have broken her husband’s sternum. With each strike, Karen swallowed the groan in her throat, bit her lip to appear worried and not aroused. But none of it fooled Darius. It was like he could see right through her tights to the growing wet spot in her panties. The fourth time John got back up, he glanced her way, and she gave him a glassy-eyed okay, urging him to continue. Rather than hit him again though, Darius spun John around and slipped the crook of his arm around his neck.
Karen’s pussy quivered and pulsed watching the large black man choke her husband. John apparently refused to tap, mainly because Karen didn’t even realize she was shaking her head, telling him not to. But right before he passed out, Darius let go and let him fall face first to the mat. Karen whimpered in frustration. But then Darius dropped down and yanked John’s arm behind his back. Her breath stopped.
By that point, Karen had stopped encouraging her husband, stopped doing anything really because of the building pressure inside her. The one about to break. So, she wondered why John didn’t tap out... which was when she saw that Darius had subtly pinned his other hand, preventing him from giving up no matter how hard he tried. She could have said something. She should have said something. Instead, she watched as the brute wrenched harder on her husband’s arm... harder... until...
Karen came when John’s shoulder popped out of the socket.
The immediate pandemonium covered the sound of her moan, but it took her a second to gather herself and spring into action.
Again, all of that served as a lead-up. Following that twisted part of the pre-fantasy, Karen rushed John to the hospital. He needed to remain in bed for a few hours, doped up on painkillers, and she took that time to run home and quickly change, slipping out of her tee and tights into a zipped-up hoodie and skirt. Having left all their things behind in the aftermath of the sparring match, she then returned to the dojo... where she found Darius still there. That was where the real thrust of the fantasy began.
“What are you still doing here?” Karen’s breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the large black man. The same one that an hour ago brutalized her husband and sent him to the hospital while she just sat and watched. No, not just sat and watched but also soaked her panties. Her stomach fluttered at the memory. “Shouldn’t you be out acting like a thug?”
“It’s because of your punk ass inferior husband that I had to stay here and clean up,” he said and stalked toward her. She trembled at his approach. Not out of fear but instinct. He towered almost a foot above her and that physicality tickled the primitive part of her brain. The one that told her women were built smaller and weaker so that they could be taken by the bigger, stronger sex. “Even if I was out acting like a thug, not like anyone here could do anything about it. Certainly not you.”
Karen bristled. The challenge was evident, and she pushed past her arousal to focus instead on that rising anger. This asshole constantly threw her entire world view out of order. She should hate everything about him, from how he objectified her with his eyes to the way he trashed her classmates and husband. Men like him was why she fought so hard. Yet the first time he stared at her ass, she had imagined peeling her tights off to give him a better look. And following his first match, she had fingered herself in the shower thinking about him putting her in her place.
She despised how easily he broke her.
“Oh yeah?” she said and stepped closer to him. “Next class, we’ll see about that.”
“Pssh. Why wait? Let’s see what you got right now.” She hesitated and a cocky grin stretched across his face. “That’s what I thought.”
“You’re in sweats and a tee. I’m in a skirt and I’m not...” In her haste to change Karen had thrown off both her shirt and bra, meaning that under her hoodie was nothing but her bare breasts. Her nipples stiffened at the thought of her near nudity next to this brute. “I’m not dressed for a fight.”
“Right, cause if you encountered me in an alley, you’d ask me to wait while you change.” His smirk grew even wider, and he ran his gaze across her body from feet to face, lingering on her chest in that blatant way that moistened her pussy. “Then again, I just might let you so I can get a peek at all of that underneath there.”
Karen threw a right hook that Darius just managed to dodge. She followed it up with a left and he batted it away, but she had planned for that. She was readying a low kick when her eyes glanced down... and caught sight of the thick piece of half-hard sausage swinging around underneath his sweats. Her eyes went wide and every muscle in her body tensed. If he came at her in an alley with that thing, it might just be the one weapon she’d readily submit to.
Darius capitalized on Karen’s momentary distraction, locking her leg with his and throwing a hand toward her chest. She braced herself for a punch, but noticed his hand wasn’t closed. It was open. His palm met her boob, and the soft and subtle flesh yielded to his assault. She gasped, both from the sensation of his hand squeezing at the mound of flesh and over the knowledge of Darius now knowing that she was braless under her hoodie. That lack of support allowed him to receive an enviable feel of their heft, size, and malleability.
She attempted to jerk away from him, but he had set her up. She tripped, falling backward on the ground with a thud. The impact left her dazed and it took a second for her to realize two important things. First, the fall had left her legs sprawled open and second, her skirt had ridden up her thighs in the process. The combo of the two gave Darius a direct view of her pair of red panties — complete with a wet spot right in the middle of her gusset.
She laid there with mouth open and in shock, but rather than pull her legs closed, she left them spread and watched as the thick meat in Darius’ sweats grew bigger.
He grinned and leaned toward her.
She kicked out at him, aiming for his face, but he easily caught her leg under his arm and secured it in place. He grabbed hold of her calf with his free hand and ran it across the shapely muscle. She whimpered as he caressed her there, fingers pressing into her skin before moving onto her firm thigh. His hands were so strong, and his touch sent shivers down her spine.
“These legs are better suited for going around a waist than kicking anyone,” he said and continued to slide his palm higher, up the inside of her thigh. “Especially not superior men.” The outside of his hand reached the edge of her underwear and her legs parted further, spreading to flash the bit of skin between thigh and pussy. “White women like you need to learn your place.” He gripped the leg hole of her panties and began to pull. “Which is right here, beneath every black man.”
Karen twisted to the side, trying to roll him into an arm bar. For a brief moment she thought she actually got the upper hand on him but once again he proved the better combatant and stronger fighter. Spinning her around, he secured her legs with his and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back tight against his chest. A moan escaped Karen’s lips. Darius had both of her boobs in his hands, molesting them like stress balls.
He groped and fondled each of them over her hoodie, lifting them, pushing them together, pawing at her stiffened nipples. Her tits always overflowed her husband’s grip but Darius’s hands fit them perfectly — and played with them so much better. Like he owned them. Like they belonged to him and existed solely for his enjoyment.
She groaned and writhed back against him.
Karen wondered if he was trying to get her to submit or to cum by treating her breasts like his personal playthings. The longer it went on, the more both options seemed equally likely, but she summoned every bit of willpower within her to resist, to not give him the satisfaction. At least until she felt it: his thick, hard cock against her butt. Big. Fat. And so fucking long. In a daze, she reached back and grabbed onto it. If that was the game he wanted to play, then she would play it.
In tandem with Darius’s motions on her tits, Karen squeezed and stroked his cock. She moved with a frantic need and intensity. She could feel the massive tool’s heat through his sweats, and the solid piece of meat felt like hard wood under her grip. But she was determined to make him cum before she did. Teeth gritted, she pumped and pulled and tugged at his dick, wiggling her body against his. She was breathing heavily. But so was he.
What Karen didn’t know, however, was that while her harsh breaths started with the fight and were heightened by their animalistic grinding, his were solely from the pleasure he received from savagely molesting her tits. The match had barely winded him.
“Nnggh, fuck,” she hissed. Her hand moved erratically, slipping and regripping, yanking at his clothes as much as his member. “Nngh! Nngh!” The pressure built higher and higher inside of her. “Come on. Come on you fucking asshole.” She needed to get him off, make him cum. She was too close... she was going to... “Can’t... won’t…” On her next adjustment, skin met skin as her hand slipped past his waistband and grabbed onto his bare cock. “Fuck!”
The sudden feel of his big black dick almost brought Karen to explosive completion but in that exact moment, Darius released his hold on her and broke his body away from hers.
Karen gasped. The sudden evaporation of pleasure knocked the breath out of her. It hit her harder than any punch, left her dizzy and faint. And Darius exploited the moment. He flipped her onto her back, her legs falling open once more to reveal the wet spot between, only now it covered the entirety of her underwear. He grabbed her hoodie with both hands, and without warning, wrenched hard in opposite directions. The zipper snapped apart and flew across the room.
Just like that, Karen’s magnificent breasts were out in the open. Her heavy melons were flattened a bit against her chest simply from her position, but they still appeared like pale mountains rising off her body, capped with surprisingly small nipples the lightest of browns in color. Each magnificent mountain rose and fell with every deep and heavy breath she took, and the touch of muscle above and below their curves only served to enhance their soft perfection.
Many men had jerked off to the thought of Karen’s breasts, me included. There was something about a tomboy with a big rack that roused my interests. The way they contrasted a fit frame and hung heavy and round over her tight figure. Naturally, Karen rarely showed them off, likely because they contradicted the personality she preferred to project. But that reservation toward her bust made the idea of a black man forcefully ******** them and being one of the few people to ever get a glimpse of them even more tantalizing.
Karen’s eyesight returned into focus, landing right between Darius’s legs. The green orbs went wide.
Their struggles had slipped the black man’s sweats down his body to the point where his fat cock now fully stuck out from his waist. It hung at an angle, weighed down by its own heavy girth. The massive member appeared over twice the length of her husband’s and possessed a thickness that rivaled the span of her wrist. Her mouth watered at the sight, and a hungry moan rumbled out of her throat.
Darius launched himself forward.
His hands again found her breasts, slapping down with a loud smack. She yelped and pushed her chest out toward him. In the ensuing frenzy, his cock found its way between her legs, like a dog searching for a bone, and Karen hissed. Her hips left the floor, and the dark shaft plowed forward, barreling toward her hole... until its huge head collided with the gusset of her panties, preventing it from advancing any further. They growled in response.
Pulling with her tits and pushing with his hips, Darius shoved his dick harder at her underwear, forcing the fabric into her wetness. The material stretched to accommodate his aggression but did not give. It did, however, surrender enough ground that the outer lips of Karen’s pussy touched the spongy purple flesh of his tip, and that minimal bit of contact — coupled with his manhandling of her breasts — caused Karen’s sex to quiver and quake in desperation.
Despite her struggles, despite her reservations, Karen’s body was slowly yielding to the brutish behavior, giving into its base instincts. She wanted — no needed — more. But she wasn’t giving up just yet. Proving Darius’s earlier statement right, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She yanked him closer, his cock slamming against her panties and sinking just a bit deeper into her blocked hole.
“Oh fuck!” She clenched harder, making him gasp, powerful thighs squeezing tight. Darius pushed back against her grip, drawing his cock away... but her legs hauled him forward once more. “Ngh!” They repeated the motions again. “Ngh!” And again. “NGH!” And again. “NNGH!”
Like a piston, his hips and her legs worked together to jab his steel-like erection against her increasingly ravaged panties, the sole final barrier between them. They grunted and groaned, panted and gasped, humping hard while glaring at one another with unmatched intensity.
“Cum and surrender, you inferior white bitch,” Darius hissed. He twisted her small nipples between his fingers, and she cried out in agony laced ecstasy. Her hands slapped onto his, equally trying to keep them in place as much as pull them away. “You might be better than pussy ass white boys but when it comes to black dick, you don’t stand a chance.”
“Fuck... you...” Karen snarled. She rocked her hips toward his, desperately trying to work his cock. Her underwear had stretched to its near breaking point and almost two inches of cock were continually thrusting into her before abruptly stopping.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you want isn’t it? From the moment I started this class, that’s what you wanted. Deep down you wanted me to teach you where you belong and what you were really good for. Only reason you’ve been thinking anything different was because you surrounded yourself with inferior men. But now, in the face of superiority, you’re nothing but a typical cock hungry white slut. Now you know how little your feminist beliefs hold up against a big black dick.”
Karen let loose a long and frustrated whine. She hated every word out of his mouth, every derogatory piece of misogyny he spewed. But she hated how right he was even more. For all her confidence and talk, he easily bested her in the fight, had her trembling and quaking and on the verge of begging for his cock to spear her open. She was on her back with her big tits out and a fat black cock pounding at her door — and she fucking loved it. She wanted nothing more than for it to break that door open, rip a hole right through her panties and plunge into depths, making her scream in wanton delight.
“I...” Karen gritted her teeth to force back her words. “I’m a...” She gasped as Darius crushed her tits. “Strong...” He slammed harder into her panties. “Powerful…” Until the pressure finally became too much. “Woman...” And the hem gave. “Who...” Her panties tore open, and his cock slipped inside. “Whhhooooo!” In one instance, Darius’s fat black dick filled her up more than her husband ever could, and it still had half its length to go. “Mmmmm!”
“Who what?” Darius hissed, never stopping or slowing in his movements. “Who what?”
“Whhoooo...” Karen’s entire being shattered and crumbled with every pump and hammer into her. Each thrust drove the monstrous cock deeper and deeper, and with every assault her resolve, her beliefs, her entire feminist code turned to dust.
“Finish it, you weak white bitch. Admit what you fucking are.” Her shapely legs remained wrapped around his waist, but he controlled the pace, dominating her with her dick. Her tightness surrendered to his intrusion, stretching and parting without resistance. “You’re a strong, powerful woman who what?”
“Who…” Her labored breath came out in gasps. He was fucking her. His big black cock was forcing its way into every millimeter of her pussy. She was the pride of the dojo but now she was getting fucked on the mat, top torn open and legs spread. Darius was stronger, better, and more skilled than her in every way. She was powerless to stop him. And she didn’t ever want to. Her muscles relaxed and her struggles ceased. “Who needs a big fat black dick to show her, her fucking place. I’m a strong, powerful woman who would throw it all away for a black dick insider of her.”
“Fucking right you are.”
“Ahhhh!” Karen thought Darius was going all out before, but it became obvious once she admitted her true feelings how much he was holding back. With her denial crushed, he pummeled her relentlessly, driving her into the floor. His hold on her tits grew near painful and his every thrust buried all of his length into her tunnel. “Fuck me with your black dick. Show me what a pathetic white bitch I am.” Slaps from their hips echoed across the empty room. The muscles of her body gleamed with sweat. “White boys are nothing but pussies and I’ve surround myself with them on purpose.” The air hitched in her throat. Her hips bounced and shook. “Black men are the only real men. And real men are superior to dumb white cunts.”
Karen sucked in oxygen but still felt breathless. She was drowning in a sea of arousal, held down by the biggest, thickest, fattest cock she’d ever experienced in her life. “Dumb white cunts…” Her hands slapped down on the mat. “Dumb white cunts…” Her pussy clenched. “Dumb white cunts... like me!” Karen came.
“You lose bitch.”
The last lingering images of my fantasy involved Karen on her knees. Her destroyed hoodie lay on the floor behind her, joined by her skirt and panties, which Darius had equally shredded. She was naked before him, big tits bare and fingers rubbing at her clit. As she degraded herself further—referring to herself as “weak” and “nothing but a slut for black dick”—he whacked his thick shaft onto her face again and again. It’s my favorite thought about my friend’s tomboy wife: a strong white feminist getting off from being cock-slapped by a black dick until he spews a thick heavy load all over her face, hair, and fit body.
The Friend’s Wife
Karen fancied herself a tomboy. The type of girl that enjoyed staying active, participating in sports, and trying to prove herself capable of keeping up with any guy. Whether it meant running extra hard at the gym or excelling above everyone else in her self-defense class, Karen took pride in equaling the measure of a man whenever and wherever she could. That tendency of hers to want to come out on top became the impetus for my fantasy involving her. After all, what’s better than a feminist white girl getting put in her place by a superior black man and his big fat cock?
Despite her tomboy persona, Karen wasn’t butch in any way. Shaggy chin-length hair and a noticeably trim and fit physique represented those aspects of her personality. But everything else about her appeared very feminine: a bright smile framed by cupid’s bow lips, hazel green eyes holding a dash of mischief, and although her waist didn’t pull in like an hourglass, it did nothing to distract from her cantaloupe-sized boobs or tight firm ass. Even when it came to clothes, Karen veered closer to girly than boyish. Her fitted t-shirts clung to the round curves of her breasts and she exclusively wore either shorts or skirts. Her legs necessitated them.
Karen’s legs perfectly complemented her frame. They were neither absurdly long nor too short but exactly the length needed to balance her proportions. What led to her limited clothing choices were their attributes: strong thighs possessing just the right amount of muscle and great calves that made jeans too tight and boots too difficult to zip up. They were shapely, toned, and eye-catching, and I often thought they would look especially exquisite wrapped around a dark waist.
In my fantasies, Karen wasn’t married to my friend Steve. He was an all-around great and charming guy, and just because I had depraved sexual desires for his wife didn’t mean I had anything against him or wanted to place him in any sort of unfavorable situation. Instead, I imagined her married to a more weak-willed guy, one that she bossed around a bit and that never measured up to her abilities, thereby justifying her personal beliefs. The same beliefs that would be crushed under the weight of my sick perversity.
In the lead-up to the main event, I had constructed a series of details that primed the pump for Karen’s surrender and dominance to black dick. There was this pre-established backstory that she and her husband took self-defense together and that Karen was the star pupil. The ash-haired blonde always managed to grapple and pry a submission from every other student, even her own husband, and she took a bit of pleasure in hearing the slapping sound of a guy’s palm against the floor when she pinned him. However, one day, a new student joined the class: a broad-shouldered black man named Darius.
Over the course of the first week, the instructor paired him up with a variety of other students, but he easily managed to toss aside or slam down every single one of them. With every intimidating display, Karen experienced a small buzz inside of her. She had never seen someone so powerful and unstoppable, and the idea of being the one to take him down thrilled her. Almost as much as witnessing him laying waste to her fellow classmates. She tried to ignore the latter, tried to pretend she didn’t get a little wet watching a large black man grab a white guy and drive his back into the ground but that would be just as difficult as denying how much her stomach buzzed from the way his dark eyes watched her during warm-ups and routines. They had even caused her to slip a couple times and get unusually called out by their instructor for doing something incorrectly, all because she caught him staring at her legs and ass and licking his lips at her bouncing boobs.
That sort of blatant ogling would normally send her into a righteous feminist rage, one that would lead to her storming up to the person and calling them out. But with Darius, Karen bent over further to highlight the curve of her butt and wore less comfortable bras to enhance her already sizable bust. Under his objectifying gaze, she willfully treated her body like a piece of meat for sale, putting every part of it on display for inspection — and it both sickened and aroused her.
By the time it was her husband John’s turn to spar with the undefeated black man, Karen’s insides were teeming with excitement. But she refused to acknowledge whether that excitement came over John maybe pulling out a surprise win or the more likely scenario of Darius pummeling him. Although, pummeling might have been the wrong word. Darius pinned, grappled, and sometimes slammed his opponents, but he never outright hurt anyone. At least not yet. Something told her this time might be different.
She was gassing her husband up prior to the match and telling him to “knock that arrogant asshole down a peg” when she noticed Darius’s eyes narrowing in apparent dissatisfaction as she gave John a good luck kiss. In response, she had slipped him a bit of tongue, and as her husband walked into the sparring area, she tempted fate even further by flashing the black man a smug smile.
Less than twenty seconds later, Darius countered a grab and cracked his fist against John’s face. Karen gasped as her husband hit the floor. While he groaned and squirmed on the ground, she sat there stunned, in shock over how wet that moment just made her. She shook it off and ran over to him on trembling legs. She was about to tell him to forfeit the match when the words froze in her throat. Darius’s display of dominance replayed again and again in her head... along with how her pussy clenched when it happened.
“That was just a lucky shot,” she said. “I still believe in you.”
Her husband nodded and got back up.
In the span of the next minute, John went down again from a punch to the gut that knocked the wind from him and a hit to the chest so hard that Karen worried Darius might have broken her husband’s sternum. With each strike, Karen swallowed the groan in her throat, bit her lip to appear worried and not aroused. But none of it fooled Darius. It was like he could see right through her tights to the growing wet spot in her panties. The fourth time John got back up, he glanced her way, and she gave him a glassy-eyed okay, urging him to continue. Rather than hit him again though, Darius spun John around and slipped the crook of his arm around his neck.
Karen’s pussy quivered and pulsed watching the large black man choke her husband. John apparently refused to tap, mainly because Karen didn’t even realize she was shaking her head, telling him not to. But right before he passed out, Darius let go and let him fall face first to the mat. Karen whimpered in frustration. But then Darius dropped down and yanked John’s arm behind his back. Her breath stopped.
By that point, Karen had stopped encouraging her husband, stopped doing anything really because of the building pressure inside her. The one about to break. So, she wondered why John didn’t tap out... which was when she saw that Darius had subtly pinned his other hand, preventing him from giving up no matter how hard he tried. She could have said something. She should have said something. Instead, she watched as the brute wrenched harder on her husband’s arm... harder... until...
Karen came when John’s shoulder popped out of the socket.
The immediate pandemonium covered the sound of her moan, but it took her a second to gather herself and spring into action.
Again, all of that served as a lead-up. Following that twisted part of the pre-fantasy, Karen rushed John to the hospital. He needed to remain in bed for a few hours, doped up on painkillers, and she took that time to run home and quickly change, slipping out of her tee and tights into a zipped-up hoodie and skirt. Having left all their things behind in the aftermath of the sparring match, she then returned to the dojo... where she found Darius still there. That was where the real thrust of the fantasy began.
“What are you still doing here?” Karen’s breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the large black man. The same one that an hour ago brutalized her husband and sent him to the hospital while she just sat and watched. No, not just sat and watched but also soaked her panties. Her stomach fluttered at the memory. “Shouldn’t you be out acting like a thug?”
“It’s because of your punk ass inferior husband that I had to stay here and clean up,” he said and stalked toward her. She trembled at his approach. Not out of fear but instinct. He towered almost a foot above her and that physicality tickled the primitive part of her brain. The one that told her women were built smaller and weaker so that they could be taken by the bigger, stronger sex. “Even if I was out acting like a thug, not like anyone here could do anything about it. Certainly not you.”
Karen bristled. The challenge was evident, and she pushed past her arousal to focus instead on that rising anger. This asshole constantly threw her entire world view out of order. She should hate everything about him, from how he objectified her with his eyes to the way he trashed her classmates and husband. Men like him was why she fought so hard. Yet the first time he stared at her ass, she had imagined peeling her tights off to give him a better look. And following his first match, she had fingered herself in the shower thinking about him putting her in her place.
She despised how easily he broke her.
“Oh yeah?” she said and stepped closer to him. “Next class, we’ll see about that.”
“Pssh. Why wait? Let’s see what you got right now.” She hesitated and a cocky grin stretched across his face. “That’s what I thought.”
“You’re in sweats and a tee. I’m in a skirt and I’m not...” In her haste to change Karen had thrown off both her shirt and bra, meaning that under her hoodie was nothing but her bare breasts. Her nipples stiffened at the thought of her near nudity next to this brute. “I’m not dressed for a fight.”
“Right, cause if you encountered me in an alley, you’d ask me to wait while you change.” His smirk grew even wider, and he ran his gaze across her body from feet to face, lingering on her chest in that blatant way that moistened her pussy. “Then again, I just might let you so I can get a peek at all of that underneath there.”
Karen threw a right hook that Darius just managed to dodge. She followed it up with a left and he batted it away, but she had planned for that. She was readying a low kick when her eyes glanced down... and caught sight of the thick piece of half-hard sausage swinging around underneath his sweats. Her eyes went wide and every muscle in her body tensed. If he came at her in an alley with that thing, it might just be the one weapon she’d readily submit to.
Darius capitalized on Karen’s momentary distraction, locking her leg with his and throwing a hand toward her chest. She braced herself for a punch, but noticed his hand wasn’t closed. It was open. His palm met her boob, and the soft and subtle flesh yielded to his assault. She gasped, both from the sensation of his hand squeezing at the mound of flesh and over the knowledge of Darius now knowing that she was braless under her hoodie. That lack of support allowed him to receive an enviable feel of their heft, size, and malleability.
She attempted to jerk away from him, but he had set her up. She tripped, falling backward on the ground with a thud. The impact left her dazed and it took a second for her to realize two important things. First, the fall had left her legs sprawled open and second, her skirt had ridden up her thighs in the process. The combo of the two gave Darius a direct view of her pair of red panties — complete with a wet spot right in the middle of her gusset.
She laid there with mouth open and in shock, but rather than pull her legs closed, she left them spread and watched as the thick meat in Darius’ sweats grew bigger.
He grinned and leaned toward her.
She kicked out at him, aiming for his face, but he easily caught her leg under his arm and secured it in place. He grabbed hold of her calf with his free hand and ran it across the shapely muscle. She whimpered as he caressed her there, fingers pressing into her skin before moving onto her firm thigh. His hands were so strong, and his touch sent shivers down her spine.
“These legs are better suited for going around a waist than kicking anyone,” he said and continued to slide his palm higher, up the inside of her thigh. “Especially not superior men.” The outside of his hand reached the edge of her underwear and her legs parted further, spreading to flash the bit of skin between thigh and pussy. “White women like you need to learn your place.” He gripped the leg hole of her panties and began to pull. “Which is right here, beneath every black man.”
Karen twisted to the side, trying to roll him into an arm bar. For a brief moment she thought she actually got the upper hand on him but once again he proved the better combatant and stronger fighter. Spinning her around, he secured her legs with his and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back tight against his chest. A moan escaped Karen’s lips. Darius had both of her boobs in his hands, molesting them like stress balls.
He groped and fondled each of them over her hoodie, lifting them, pushing them together, pawing at her stiffened nipples. Her tits always overflowed her husband’s grip but Darius’s hands fit them perfectly — and played with them so much better. Like he owned them. Like they belonged to him and existed solely for his enjoyment.
She groaned and writhed back against him.
Karen wondered if he was trying to get her to submit or to cum by treating her breasts like his personal playthings. The longer it went on, the more both options seemed equally likely, but she summoned every bit of willpower within her to resist, to not give him the satisfaction. At least until she felt it: his thick, hard cock against her butt. Big. Fat. And so fucking long. In a daze, she reached back and grabbed onto it. If that was the game he wanted to play, then she would play it.
In tandem with Darius’s motions on her tits, Karen squeezed and stroked his cock. She moved with a frantic need and intensity. She could feel the massive tool’s heat through his sweats, and the solid piece of meat felt like hard wood under her grip. But she was determined to make him cum before she did. Teeth gritted, she pumped and pulled and tugged at his dick, wiggling her body against his. She was breathing heavily. But so was he.
What Karen didn’t know, however, was that while her harsh breaths started with the fight and were heightened by their animalistic grinding, his were solely from the pleasure he received from savagely molesting her tits. The match had barely winded him.
“Nnggh, fuck,” she hissed. Her hand moved erratically, slipping and regripping, yanking at his clothes as much as his member. “Nngh! Nngh!” The pressure built higher and higher inside of her. “Come on. Come on you fucking asshole.” She needed to get him off, make him cum. She was too close... she was going to... “Can’t... won’t…” On her next adjustment, skin met skin as her hand slipped past his waistband and grabbed onto his bare cock. “Fuck!”
The sudden feel of his big black dick almost brought Karen to explosive completion but in that exact moment, Darius released his hold on her and broke his body away from hers.
Karen gasped. The sudden evaporation of pleasure knocked the breath out of her. It hit her harder than any punch, left her dizzy and faint. And Darius exploited the moment. He flipped her onto her back, her legs falling open once more to reveal the wet spot between, only now it covered the entirety of her underwear. He grabbed her hoodie with both hands, and without warning, wrenched hard in opposite directions. The zipper snapped apart and flew across the room.
Just like that, Karen’s magnificent breasts were out in the open. Her heavy melons were flattened a bit against her chest simply from her position, but they still appeared like pale mountains rising off her body, capped with surprisingly small nipples the lightest of browns in color. Each magnificent mountain rose and fell with every deep and heavy breath she took, and the touch of muscle above and below their curves only served to enhance their soft perfection.
Many men had jerked off to the thought of Karen’s breasts, me included. There was something about a tomboy with a big rack that roused my interests. The way they contrasted a fit frame and hung heavy and round over her tight figure. Naturally, Karen rarely showed them off, likely because they contradicted the personality she preferred to project. But that reservation toward her bust made the idea of a black man forcefully ******** them and being one of the few people to ever get a glimpse of them even more tantalizing.
Karen’s eyesight returned into focus, landing right between Darius’s legs. The green orbs went wide.
Their struggles had slipped the black man’s sweats down his body to the point where his fat cock now fully stuck out from his waist. It hung at an angle, weighed down by its own heavy girth. The massive member appeared over twice the length of her husband’s and possessed a thickness that rivaled the span of her wrist. Her mouth watered at the sight, and a hungry moan rumbled out of her throat.
Darius launched himself forward.
His hands again found her breasts, slapping down with a loud smack. She yelped and pushed her chest out toward him. In the ensuing frenzy, his cock found its way between her legs, like a dog searching for a bone, and Karen hissed. Her hips left the floor, and the dark shaft plowed forward, barreling toward her hole... until its huge head collided with the gusset of her panties, preventing it from advancing any further. They growled in response.
Pulling with her tits and pushing with his hips, Darius shoved his dick harder at her underwear, forcing the fabric into her wetness. The material stretched to accommodate his aggression but did not give. It did, however, surrender enough ground that the outer lips of Karen’s pussy touched the spongy purple flesh of his tip, and that minimal bit of contact — coupled with his manhandling of her breasts — caused Karen’s sex to quiver and quake in desperation.
Despite her struggles, despite her reservations, Karen’s body was slowly yielding to the brutish behavior, giving into its base instincts. She wanted — no needed — more. But she wasn’t giving up just yet. Proving Darius’s earlier statement right, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
She yanked him closer, his cock slamming against her panties and sinking just a bit deeper into her blocked hole.
“Oh fuck!” She clenched harder, making him gasp, powerful thighs squeezing tight. Darius pushed back against her grip, drawing his cock away... but her legs hauled him forward once more. “Ngh!” They repeated the motions again. “Ngh!” And again. “NGH!” And again. “NNGH!”
Like a piston, his hips and her legs worked together to jab his steel-like erection against her increasingly ravaged panties, the sole final barrier between them. They grunted and groaned, panted and gasped, humping hard while glaring at one another with unmatched intensity.
“Cum and surrender, you inferior white bitch,” Darius hissed. He twisted her small nipples between his fingers, and she cried out in agony laced ecstasy. Her hands slapped onto his, equally trying to keep them in place as much as pull them away. “You might be better than pussy ass white boys but when it comes to black dick, you don’t stand a chance.”
“Fuck... you...” Karen snarled. She rocked her hips toward his, desperately trying to work his cock. Her underwear had stretched to its near breaking point and almost two inches of cock were continually thrusting into her before abruptly stopping.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what you want isn’t it? From the moment I started this class, that’s what you wanted. Deep down you wanted me to teach you where you belong and what you were really good for. Only reason you’ve been thinking anything different was because you surrounded yourself with inferior men. But now, in the face of superiority, you’re nothing but a typical cock hungry white slut. Now you know how little your feminist beliefs hold up against a big black dick.”
Karen let loose a long and frustrated whine. She hated every word out of his mouth, every derogatory piece of misogyny he spewed. But she hated how right he was even more. For all her confidence and talk, he easily bested her in the fight, had her trembling and quaking and on the verge of begging for his cock to spear her open. She was on her back with her big tits out and a fat black cock pounding at her door — and she fucking loved it. She wanted nothing more than for it to break that door open, rip a hole right through her panties and plunge into depths, making her scream in wanton delight.
“I...” Karen gritted her teeth to force back her words. “I’m a...” She gasped as Darius crushed her tits. “Strong...” He slammed harder into her panties. “Powerful…” Until the pressure finally became too much. “Woman...” And the hem gave. “Who...” Her panties tore open, and his cock slipped inside. “Whhhooooo!” In one instance, Darius’s fat black dick filled her up more than her husband ever could, and it still had half its length to go. “Mmmmm!”
“Who what?” Darius hissed, never stopping or slowing in his movements. “Who what?”
“Whhoooo...” Karen’s entire being shattered and crumbled with every pump and hammer into her. Each thrust drove the monstrous cock deeper and deeper, and with every assault her resolve, her beliefs, her entire feminist code turned to dust.
“Finish it, you weak white bitch. Admit what you fucking are.” Her shapely legs remained wrapped around his waist, but he controlled the pace, dominating her with her dick. Her tightness surrendered to his intrusion, stretching and parting without resistance. “You’re a strong, powerful woman who what?”
“Who…” Her labored breath came out in gasps. He was fucking her. His big black cock was forcing its way into every millimeter of her pussy. She was the pride of the dojo but now she was getting fucked on the mat, top torn open and legs spread. Darius was stronger, better, and more skilled than her in every way. She was powerless to stop him. And she didn’t ever want to. Her muscles relaxed and her struggles ceased. “Who needs a big fat black dick to show her, her fucking place. I’m a strong, powerful woman who would throw it all away for a black dick insider of her.”
“Fucking right you are.”
“Ahhhh!” Karen thought Darius was going all out before, but it became obvious once she admitted her true feelings how much he was holding back. With her denial crushed, he pummeled her relentlessly, driving her into the floor. His hold on her tits grew near painful and his every thrust buried all of his length into her tunnel. “Fuck me with your black dick. Show me what a pathetic white bitch I am.” Slaps from their hips echoed across the empty room. The muscles of her body gleamed with sweat. “White boys are nothing but pussies and I’ve surround myself with them on purpose.” The air hitched in her throat. Her hips bounced and shook. “Black men are the only real men. And real men are superior to dumb white cunts.”
Karen sucked in oxygen but still felt breathless. She was drowning in a sea of arousal, held down by the biggest, thickest, fattest cock she’d ever experienced in her life. “Dumb white cunts…” Her hands slapped down on the mat. “Dumb white cunts…” Her pussy clenched. “Dumb white cunts... like me!” Karen came.
“You lose bitch.”
The last lingering images of my fantasy involved Karen on her knees. Her destroyed hoodie lay on the floor behind her, joined by her skirt and panties, which Darius had equally shredded. She was naked before him, big tits bare and fingers rubbing at her clit. As she degraded herself further—referring to herself as “weak” and “nothing but a slut for black dick”—he whacked his thick shaft onto her face again and again. It’s my favorite thought about my friend’s tomboy wife: a strong white feminist getting off from being cock-slapped by a black dick until he spews a thick heavy load all over her face, hair, and fit body.
