Wife pushes me aside – interracial sex story

I would love to be married to a woman who meets a big black man, let’s say his name is Sean (inspired by Sean Michaels), taller than me, more muscular, and with 9+ inches of thick black cock to fuck her with in all three holes. Maybe she’d be introduced to him by a girlfriend of hers who thinks I’m a wimp and thinks she deserves better. After fucking him once, she’d totally fall in love with him and be hooked.

Maybe she’d tell me one day that she had met this man named Sean and he was coming over to fuck her, and she’d unlock the front door, put me in a chastity device and make me kneel at the foot of our bed. Then she’d start describing Sean to me and telling how she couldn’t wait for him to get there, and oh God, she’s getting so hot just thinking about him. She’d lie on the bed and spread her legs so I could have a straight-on view of her fingering herself and moaning. My cock would strain in its cage, and she would tell me how hot she was knowing that my silly dick was locked up and suffering, and that she was about to get what she needed from a *real* cock.

Sean would arrive, walk through our bedroom door and say, “Ahhh, there’s the good little horny white housewife slut”, and start running his huge hands along her thighs while I watch helplessly on my knees. Soon they would be deep kissing, and I’d be able to see how much she desired this man, who was obviously unlocking passions within her that I’d never seen.

I’d have to watch her suck his cock for all she’s worth, and listen to him say, “Yeah, come around here and lick my ass, bitch. Yeah, suck that ass.” And there’s my beloved wife burying her face in this big black man’s butt. “Yeah, stroke my dick for me. Yeah, stroke it while you lick my ass.”

Then I’d have to watch him pound my wife’s pussy from on top, from below, from behind, tossing her around like a rag doll, slapping and pinching her tits, slapping her pussy while she’s sucking his cock, etc. And I’d have to watch her comply with every order he barked, every position he wanted, jumping to every command, knowing that if I had ever once spoken to her that way she would have slapped me and called me an asshole.

Maybe he’d say, “Listen, bitch, don’t you be lettin’ that wimpy white husband of yours touch you anymore, y’hear me?” She’d say, “Ohhhh, God, don’t worry, I won’t. He has nothing to offer me.”

“And don’t you be lettin’ him out of that cage, neither, unless I say so.” Then turning to me, he’d say, “You want to jerk on that little thing between your legs, you’re gonna have to get approval from me, y’understand?” I’d have to say, “Yes, sir.”

She’d be so excited about him that when only she and I are together, she’d be talking about him all the time. Maybe she’d completely forget about my birthday, but be planning something special for him during the whole week ahead of his. I’d probably have to help, too, running errands, getting decorations, etc.

Maybe he’d tell me that I need to get her a cell phone so that she could carry it with her and he could reach her anytime. Then maybe sometimes she would leave the house just meaning to run to the store, and several hours later when she returns I’d find out that he called her and told “the bitch” to get her ass over to his place so she could suck his dick. She’d be willing to drop everything, any time, and run to him when he called.

Maybe he’d feel free to drop by the house whenever he wanted, and if it happened that only I was there, he’d make me make him a sandwich. Maybe he’d put his feet up in my recliner and watch my TV while he ate his sandwich and got crumbs all over. When he finished his sandwich and/or his show, he’d leave and I’d have his mess to clean up. Maybe he’d say, “Listen, make sure next time you’ve got some spear pickles here for me.”

“Yes, sir.”

And maybe whenever my wife sent me out to the grocery store, she’d make various requests for things Sean likes, so they’d be available whenever he came over.

Maybe he’d make a habit of bringing his laundry over, and handing bags to me as he came in the door, saying, “Listen, throw those in the washer for me” as he walked past me to commence molesting my wife. If the clothes weren’t dried and folded by the time he was finished fucking my wife, he’d make me deliver them to him at his place. My wife would probably help me fold, even though she’d never help me with *our* laundry, to make sure he got his clothes as soon as possible, and be practically pushing me out the door and telling me to hurry and run them over to him.

He’d figure that as long as he’s helping himself to my wife, he may as well help himself to anything else I’ve got that he might want. Maybe he’d comment that he liked our stereo and my wife would offer it to him, or he’d tell me he needs to borrow a hammer to fix something at home, and then say, “Why don’t I just take the whole toolbox; I might need something else here too.” Then a couple weeks later if I sheepishly asked whether I might have my toolbox back, he’d tell me to just chill out and don’t worry about it; I’ll get my toolbox back. But I never would. And I’d find out that anything else he made off with wasn’t coming back.

In short, he would enjoy all the sexual delights my wife has to offer and plunder my house in the process. And I’d have to let him walk all over me because my wife would be addicted to his body. Basically, both our lives would revolve around him and his pleasure, and every day I’d have to wake up with my frustrated dick locked up, work hard all day to earn my pay to buy the things we need, only to have much of it end up in Sean’s possession, watch my wife swoon over another man and be fucked by him, and often taken away from me for hours or even days while she services him at his place, never giving a thought to how lonely I might be, and then go to bed at night unsatisfied and with balls full of spunk.