What I made of her
We've all heard the old saying ?Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.? Only now do I understand.
My wife, Bethany, who was a prim and proper wife and mother for 16 years, has in the last few months become something altogether different. For those of you who want your wife to take an occasional walk on the wild side, think it through. Run it to ground. You may consider this story to be a warning, you may consider it to be an invitation.
Just the other day Bethany and I took our kids (boy?age 7 and female?age 9) to her parents? exclusive mansion in the foothills for dinner. After the kids finished eating and went out back to play, Bethany's *** and I began discussing politics (conservative politics, of course), and the subject of minorities came up. As usual, the discussion eventually led to issues of black hostility toward white success. While her *** and I played compassionate conservatives and justified how our viewpoints were really in the best interests of 'sensible blacks?, Bethany and her mother mostly just listened in or occasionally giggled at our profound and heated sincerity. As her *** and I wrapped up our conversation, Bethany and her mom excused themselves and started clearing the table.
A few minutes later, Bethany's *** headed for the sofa to watch the game and I entered the kitchen and offered to help with the dishes. As usual, Bethany's mom, who just adores me, once again told me what a good husband I was to Bethany, saying, ?Bethany couldn't have done better than you, Ron. She's a lucky woman.? She excused herself and stepped outside on the patio and began playing with my son and ********.
Bethany was standing at the sink and loading the dishwasher. God, she's gorgeous, I thought. A 42-year-old female fuck machine. Five-foot-six, long brown hair, larger than average natural tits, full hips, and a big ass that I swear is nature's perfect balance of firm and jiggle. She is one of those women who can dress conservative ? like she was tonight in just a simple white blouse and black mid-thigh skirt ? and be both classy and absolutely delicious. I proudly stepped behind her and put my arms around her waist. I kissed her on the neck and said, ?Baby, I love your parents. Your *** is the greatest.?
Bethany replied, ?Yeah, they're great.? Then she paused and looked out the window toward her mom. She got a funny look on her face and said, ?Sometimes I wonder though??
I said ?Wonder what??
Then it happened. She started to morph into that strange woman who has taken over my wife in the last few months. In a very matter of fact way she said, ?That discussion about politics you had with ***. Don't you feel funny about that??
I hesitated, not sure where she was going with this. ?No. Why would I??
She raised an eyebrow and showed just the slightest hint of a contemptuous smirk. She said, ?A discussion about black hostility at the dinner table, Ron? With my ***, no less? That doesn't make you feel funny??
?No.? I said, doing my best to maintain composure. I was aware that my face was flushed and that my heart was racing. ?I don't know why it would make me feel funny, Bethany. It was a discussion about politics. That's all.?
Bethany slowly turned all the way around until we were standing toe-to-toe, our faces only inches apart. She looked at me with a cold, hard stare. A challenge. Her voice was like ice. Slow and dripping with venom, she said, ?A discussion about Black hostility with my ***, Ron? In front of me??
I stepped back and glanced outside again, then back at her. ?look, Bethany??
Her look cut me off. She smiled and leaned back, her elbows resting on the counter behind her. Her tits strained at her blouse. She started swaying her hips, ever so slightly. She chewed on her lower lip, taking her time. She spoke evenly and without any concern about being overheard. ?Should we call my *** in to have another discussion about black hostility, Ron??
?No.? I said.
?You sure? I can get him.?
I looked at the floor. ?I'm sure.? I said, sighing.
There was a pause. Then she spoke in a low, measured growl. ?Look at me, you mother fucker.?
I slowly looked up at her. She was getting furious. I was ruining it for her. She bit her words off, like an animal devouring its prey. ?If you look away again, or if you don't answer me, if you fucking piss me off, I will get my ***, Ron.? Then she added, for good measure. ?And?I?Will?Fucking?Tell?Him.?
I said nothing.
This was the moment she was waiting for. She was gleeful. She had her prey. She was toying with me. She asked, ?And why is it funny, baby??
I knew what she wanted to hear. I had no choice. ?It's funny,? I breathed. ?Because you fuck big nigger cocks.?
She nodded her head and spread her hands out, like it was very simple. ?Very good, Ronnie. That wasn't so hard. Was it??
?No.? I said
"But do tell us more about it, Ron. Give us the whole story, the part you didn't care to discuss with my ***. The part about black hostility. And don't whisper. There's nothing to hide here, is there? Speak up.?
My pulse was really racing now. I knew I had to say it all. Before her mom or her *** came in. Or the kids. Shit.
"It's funny because mean niggers fuck you all the time. You like to be rough-fucked by niggers with huge cocks. They leave marks on your tits, your ass, and the inside of your thighs. They stretch your pussy so I know that you've been used by them. They call you names, like a nigger loving bitch, a white cheating whore, a nigger cock slut. When they hurt you, you cum. They slap you and choke you. They tear your clothes off. They write ?black cock slut? on your tits and ass with permanent marker. One of them ***** you in the back seat of a car at the bar last week. When he was fucking you he choked you so hard that you couldn't breathe. He was calling you a nigger fuck pig and you came so hard that you starting screaming at the top of your lungs. He slapped you till you stopped screaming. Then he stuffed your panties in your mouth and flipped you over face down. He ***** your ass and you loved it.?
She snarled. Her eyes were glazed with lust and power. Lust for nigger cocks, power over me. ?Right you are, Ronnie. Right you are.? She was still swaying her hips, but every once in a while she would snap her hips forward, like her pussy was grasping at a nigger cock. ?But you didn't mention that to daddy, did you?
?No.? I said.
She was really over the edge now. She spread her knees and her skirt rode further up on her thighs. She reached down and curled one finger under the hem of her skirt. ?You want me to show you why it's funny that you talked with my *** about black hostility, Ron? With me sitting there? Do you want me to show you?? She eased up a corner of her skirt.
I was terrified. We were going to get caught. And here was my wife of sixteen years. Completely oblivious. I had no choice. ?Yes,? I said. ?I want you to show me.?
She took her time, pulling up first one side of her skirt, then the other, all the way up past her hips, revealing her crotchless white panties and even her lower belly. Her bald pussy was obviously wet. There were slick juices glistening on her lips, staining the edges of her panties, slightly running down the inside of one thigh. She leaned her elbows back on the counter again and spread her legs, wide this time. If someone came in, the game was up. This could not be undone.
?What do you see, baby. Tell me. Read to me.?
I made myself look at the black letters scrawled on her flesh. All around them there were ugly marks, big and small. There were bruises everywhere, some old, some new, some small, some big. Some of them were obvious hand marks. What I saw before me was such a stark contrast to the conservative elegant woman who stood before me only a few minutes before. Six months ago I would never have dreamed I would see this. Not on her. Not on Bethany.
She said, ?Read to your wife, baby. Come on, don't be shy, honey. Read me a story.?
I started by reading the words scrawled on her right thigh in black permanent marker. ?Black Cum Loving Bitch.? I said.
?What did you say?? She asked, being coy.
?Black Cum Loving Bitch? I said, louder.
She traced a finger down the letters on that thigh. ?Ooohh.? She moaned. ?How very fucking true. Wouldn't you say? Is that who I am, honey??
?Yes? I said.
What else?? she asked.
I heard my mother-in-law call out to my son who was by the back fence to put his toys away and come get some ice cream.
?What else?? she asked, again, indifferent.
I read the words on the other thigh. ?Nigger Loving Cunt.?
There was a crude arrow pointing from the words to her pussy. She traced her fingers along the letters again, then followed the arrow up toward her pussy.
She looked me in the eye again. ?Is that who I am, honey?? Her finger traced along her pussy lips, trailing pussy juice.
?Yes.? I said.
?Then say it, mother fucker.? She snapped.
?You're a nigger loving cunt.? I said.
Her hips made an involuntary jerk at my words. She moaned again. Louder this time. Too loud. ?That's right, Ron. Your wife's a Nigger Loving Cunt.?
She leaned back again and seemed to relax. I could see her mom out the back window. They were headed to the house. ?They're coming in, Bethany. Pull down your skirt, for Chr??
?Finish? She snapped. ?Or I'll let them see your wife for what she is, Ron. I swear. I'll let them see what you made me.?
Shit. I looked at the letters scrawled on her belly. They were smaller letters. That nigger took his time, I remembered. He wanted it to look good. I told him what to write. Even though she had begged me not to not do it. I couldn't stop myself. And he liked doing it. I figured he had earned the right, the way he pounded her. No nigger in six months had used her pussy that hard.
?Finish, Ron. Tell me who I am to you. Tell me what you made them write on me after they all fucked me.?
I read it. ?Sloppy Married Pussy For Sale. Mean Niggers Fuck For Free.? She shivered and came, without even touching herself. Her eyes were all misty and glazed. ?Is that what I am to you, Ron??
?Yes.? I said. ?That's what you are to me.?
She shivered with lust and almost came again. What a fucking whore, I thought.
?Pull down your fucking skirt, slut.?
She pulled down her skirt and slowly turned back around to load the dishwasher. Only seconds passed before her mother came in the back door. She looked at us and said, ?Well, there hasn't been much dishwashing going on here.?
?Well, mom,? I said. ?We kind of started talking about politics again.?
Right, I thought. I'm working on a program to get rid of black hostility.
We've all heard the old saying ?Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it.? Only now do I understand.
My wife, Bethany, who was a prim and proper wife and mother for 16 years, has in the last few months become something altogether different. For those of you who want your wife to take an occasional walk on the wild side, think it through. Run it to ground. You may consider this story to be a warning, you may consider it to be an invitation.
Just the other day Bethany and I took our kids (boy?age 7 and female?age 9) to her parents? exclusive mansion in the foothills for dinner. After the kids finished eating and went out back to play, Bethany's *** and I began discussing politics (conservative politics, of course), and the subject of minorities came up. As usual, the discussion eventually led to issues of black hostility toward white success. While her *** and I played compassionate conservatives and justified how our viewpoints were really in the best interests of 'sensible blacks?, Bethany and her mother mostly just listened in or occasionally giggled at our profound and heated sincerity. As her *** and I wrapped up our conversation, Bethany and her mom excused themselves and started clearing the table.
A few minutes later, Bethany's *** headed for the sofa to watch the game and I entered the kitchen and offered to help with the dishes. As usual, Bethany's mom, who just adores me, once again told me what a good husband I was to Bethany, saying, ?Bethany couldn't have done better than you, Ron. She's a lucky woman.? She excused herself and stepped outside on the patio and began playing with my son and ********.
Bethany was standing at the sink and loading the dishwasher. God, she's gorgeous, I thought. A 42-year-old female fuck machine. Five-foot-six, long brown hair, larger than average natural tits, full hips, and a big ass that I swear is nature's perfect balance of firm and jiggle. She is one of those women who can dress conservative ? like she was tonight in just a simple white blouse and black mid-thigh skirt ? and be both classy and absolutely delicious. I proudly stepped behind her and put my arms around her waist. I kissed her on the neck and said, ?Baby, I love your parents. Your *** is the greatest.?
Bethany replied, ?Yeah, they're great.? Then she paused and looked out the window toward her mom. She got a funny look on her face and said, ?Sometimes I wonder though??
I said ?Wonder what??
Then it happened. She started to morph into that strange woman who has taken over my wife in the last few months. In a very matter of fact way she said, ?That discussion about politics you had with ***. Don't you feel funny about that??
I hesitated, not sure where she was going with this. ?No. Why would I??
She raised an eyebrow and showed just the slightest hint of a contemptuous smirk. She said, ?A discussion about black hostility at the dinner table, Ron? With my ***, no less? That doesn't make you feel funny??
?No.? I said, doing my best to maintain composure. I was aware that my face was flushed and that my heart was racing. ?I don't know why it would make me feel funny, Bethany. It was a discussion about politics. That's all.?
Bethany slowly turned all the way around until we were standing toe-to-toe, our faces only inches apart. She looked at me with a cold, hard stare. A challenge. Her voice was like ice. Slow and dripping with venom, she said, ?A discussion about Black hostility with my ***, Ron? In front of me??
I stepped back and glanced outside again, then back at her. ?look, Bethany??
Her look cut me off. She smiled and leaned back, her elbows resting on the counter behind her. Her tits strained at her blouse. She started swaying her hips, ever so slightly. She chewed on her lower lip, taking her time. She spoke evenly and without any concern about being overheard. ?Should we call my *** in to have another discussion about black hostility, Ron??
?No.? I said.
?You sure? I can get him.?
I looked at the floor. ?I'm sure.? I said, sighing.
There was a pause. Then she spoke in a low, measured growl. ?Look at me, you mother fucker.?
I slowly looked up at her. She was getting furious. I was ruining it for her. She bit her words off, like an animal devouring its prey. ?If you look away again, or if you don't answer me, if you fucking piss me off, I will get my ***, Ron.? Then she added, for good measure. ?And?I?Will?Fucking?Tell?Him.?
I said nothing.
This was the moment she was waiting for. She was gleeful. She had her prey. She was toying with me. She asked, ?And why is it funny, baby??
I knew what she wanted to hear. I had no choice. ?It's funny,? I breathed. ?Because you fuck big nigger cocks.?
She nodded her head and spread her hands out, like it was very simple. ?Very good, Ronnie. That wasn't so hard. Was it??
?No.? I said
"But do tell us more about it, Ron. Give us the whole story, the part you didn't care to discuss with my ***. The part about black hostility. And don't whisper. There's nothing to hide here, is there? Speak up.?
My pulse was really racing now. I knew I had to say it all. Before her mom or her *** came in. Or the kids. Shit.
"It's funny because mean niggers fuck you all the time. You like to be rough-fucked by niggers with huge cocks. They leave marks on your tits, your ass, and the inside of your thighs. They stretch your pussy so I know that you've been used by them. They call you names, like a nigger loving bitch, a white cheating whore, a nigger cock slut. When they hurt you, you cum. They slap you and choke you. They tear your clothes off. They write ?black cock slut? on your tits and ass with permanent marker. One of them ***** you in the back seat of a car at the bar last week. When he was fucking you he choked you so hard that you couldn't breathe. He was calling you a nigger fuck pig and you came so hard that you starting screaming at the top of your lungs. He slapped you till you stopped screaming. Then he stuffed your panties in your mouth and flipped you over face down. He ***** your ass and you loved it.?
She snarled. Her eyes were glazed with lust and power. Lust for nigger cocks, power over me. ?Right you are, Ronnie. Right you are.? She was still swaying her hips, but every once in a while she would snap her hips forward, like her pussy was grasping at a nigger cock. ?But you didn't mention that to daddy, did you?
?No.? I said.
She was really over the edge now. She spread her knees and her skirt rode further up on her thighs. She reached down and curled one finger under the hem of her skirt. ?You want me to show you why it's funny that you talked with my *** about black hostility, Ron? With me sitting there? Do you want me to show you?? She eased up a corner of her skirt.
I was terrified. We were going to get caught. And here was my wife of sixteen years. Completely oblivious. I had no choice. ?Yes,? I said. ?I want you to show me.?
She took her time, pulling up first one side of her skirt, then the other, all the way up past her hips, revealing her crotchless white panties and even her lower belly. Her bald pussy was obviously wet. There were slick juices glistening on her lips, staining the edges of her panties, slightly running down the inside of one thigh. She leaned her elbows back on the counter again and spread her legs, wide this time. If someone came in, the game was up. This could not be undone.
?What do you see, baby. Tell me. Read to me.?
I made myself look at the black letters scrawled on her flesh. All around them there were ugly marks, big and small. There were bruises everywhere, some old, some new, some small, some big. Some of them were obvious hand marks. What I saw before me was such a stark contrast to the conservative elegant woman who stood before me only a few minutes before. Six months ago I would never have dreamed I would see this. Not on her. Not on Bethany.
She said, ?Read to your wife, baby. Come on, don't be shy, honey. Read me a story.?
I started by reading the words scrawled on her right thigh in black permanent marker. ?Black Cum Loving Bitch.? I said.
?What did you say?? She asked, being coy.
?Black Cum Loving Bitch? I said, louder.
She traced a finger down the letters on that thigh. ?Ooohh.? She moaned. ?How very fucking true. Wouldn't you say? Is that who I am, honey??
?Yes? I said.
What else?? she asked.
I heard my mother-in-law call out to my son who was by the back fence to put his toys away and come get some ice cream.
?What else?? she asked, again, indifferent.
I read the words on the other thigh. ?Nigger Loving Cunt.?
There was a crude arrow pointing from the words to her pussy. She traced her fingers along the letters again, then followed the arrow up toward her pussy.
She looked me in the eye again. ?Is that who I am, honey?? Her finger traced along her pussy lips, trailing pussy juice.
?Yes.? I said.
?Then say it, mother fucker.? She snapped.
?You're a nigger loving cunt.? I said.
Her hips made an involuntary jerk at my words. She moaned again. Louder this time. Too loud. ?That's right, Ron. Your wife's a Nigger Loving Cunt.?
She leaned back again and seemed to relax. I could see her mom out the back window. They were headed to the house. ?They're coming in, Bethany. Pull down your skirt, for Chr??
?Finish? She snapped. ?Or I'll let them see your wife for what she is, Ron. I swear. I'll let them see what you made me.?
Shit. I looked at the letters scrawled on her belly. They were smaller letters. That nigger took his time, I remembered. He wanted it to look good. I told him what to write. Even though she had begged me not to not do it. I couldn't stop myself. And he liked doing it. I figured he had earned the right, the way he pounded her. No nigger in six months had used her pussy that hard.
?Finish, Ron. Tell me who I am to you. Tell me what you made them write on me after they all fucked me.?
I read it. ?Sloppy Married Pussy For Sale. Mean Niggers Fuck For Free.? She shivered and came, without even touching herself. Her eyes were all misty and glazed. ?Is that what I am to you, Ron??
?Yes.? I said. ?That's what you are to me.?
She shivered with lust and almost came again. What a fucking whore, I thought.
?Pull down your fucking skirt, slut.?
She pulled down her skirt and slowly turned back around to load the dishwasher. Only seconds passed before her mother came in the back door. She looked at us and said, ?Well, there hasn't been much dishwashing going on here.?
?Well, mom,? I said. ?We kind of started talking about politics again.?
Right, I thought. I'm working on a program to get rid of black hostility.
