Every Woman I Know

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.