My Tenth Anniversary

Welllll … . no … . That picture was taken on our tenth anniversary. 

Over the years of our marriage, hubby had told me several times he had fantasies of me being with a black man. I never really thought much about it. You know how men are when they’ve been away for a week or ten days, they are horny as a little bunny rabbit. 

Then about a month before our anniversary, he told me that he wanted to give me something that he had been thinking about for a long long time.

He asked me things like, “If I gave you something, would you accept it without second guessing it?” Or, “How would you like to help me do something on my bucket list?” These questions were always asked right after we had enjoyed a really wonderful love making session.

I enjoyed our love making, the intimacy, the sensual touching, the caring loving way he touched me. But I also, looking back, never really did let myself ‘Go.’  You  know, I never really had … experienced … an orgasm.

I guess I should also tell you that until he told me that he was taking me on a week long vacation … he called it a second honeymoon … I hadn’t thought much about our anniversary. You  know how it is, ten years, things are getting same-o same-o, day after day. 

I didn’t notice when my wedding dress went missing from my closet. It was hung way back in the furtherest recesses.

But sure enough, Hubby made sure that I got the full week off at work. So did he. And the day before our anniversary, off we flew to Jamaica. 

We arrived, warm sun, beautiful ocean, people with big happy grins, gorgeous dark skin, and wine. We had our own little house, three bedroom, two bath, cottage to stay in. A beautiful garden with mood lighting. It was incredible!

My husband told me that he had planned a party for the next evening. If I had been less happy, I guess I might have questioned him more about it. 

Hubby had scheduled me for a massage, a pedi, a manicure, my hair getting done (he told the hair stylist he wanted my hair up, just like it had been on our wedding day. He even showed her pictures.)

When I came back to our little getaway, he took me in his arm, kissed me, told me how much he loved me, how much I meant to him, how glad he was that I was his wife.

Then he said, “Darling, I’ve arranged a party that will help me do something on my bucket list. Will you work with me to make it happen?”

How could I say no to anything after the incredible day I had just been given? I said, “Of course, honey! WhatEVER you want.”

Seven men later, my wedding dress covered in their sperm, my poor bunni so dilated that it seemed to be as large as a wind tunnel, and our room full of black men, waiting for their shot into my gaping, married white cunt, I had my very first orgasm. Hubby had ten more men there to pleasure me. And every one of them did, several times.

My party lasted for six days. All seventeen men stayed with us the whole time. Really nice guys. No thugs, no assholes (I mean personality wise), just genuine courteous but horny, dominant black men. I was pampered, bathed, massaged, caressed, and thoroughly fucked every day.

I cum at the drop of a hat now, so to speak. I am no longer a sexually repressed, hung up, white woman that wonders what’s so great about sex. No, now I know what I want, and how to get it, and have the incredibly loving support of the most wonderful husband in the world.

How did I lose my hair the first time? Part 4 Since I am Still Alive

WARNING: This story is graphic. Do not read if you have an easily upset stomach. There will be four parts to this answer. I will post this warning at the start of each.

Since I am Still Alive
Copyright Deni Wom 2003


Since I am still alive, I suppose I should make sure that I journal the rest of my story.

Wanda tells me that the first word I said was “Shit.” I do remember that I was very unhappy to return from the place of Unquestioned Love that I had been visiting. This is actually my second trip to visit this wonderful place of acceptance.

About a week ago I had been talking to Joey, a cyber friend, about what it is like to die. I had explained that it was like a memory I have of my childhood. That particular day was my day to be picked on, my day in the barrel so to speak. I have four brothers, and they had all been picking on me all day long. I was incredibly frustrated, put upon, and in a horrible mood. I am sure we all know how cruel children can be to each other. One of my brothers took an opportunity to push me down in the gravel of our lane. I had scraped hands, knees, cheek, even gravel in my nose and ear. I was bleeding and screaming and crying at the top of my lungs. I felt totally unloved, unwanted, and cast out.

At that moment my mother picked me up and held me in her arms and kissed me, hugged me, shushed me, and rocked me. Her arms were so loving and protective. They were my new found security and protection from the evil wiles of the world.

That is the closest I can come to describe the absolute feeling of unconditional love and acceptance that I felt both times that I died.


I suppose I should fill in the time between my “The Last Story” and now. Linda informs me that I did not send “The Last Story” out. I will send it out as part of this exchange.

After you finish reading that chronicle, you will be certain that I was over the edge, and I was. The rumors of my demise are only slightly exaggerated. After writing it I again visited the internet café trying unsuccessfully to contact Mistress. I was successful in talking briefly to Harley, and told him I was trying to find a good home for Hubs. I remembered as I was talking to Harley that I have a brother that lived nearby. I signed off and drove to his house, arriving in pauper’s majesty in Maude, my trusty, dowdy, dusty motor home.

Taking Hubs, I rang the door bell and stood there waiting for my brother’s hugs. He opened the door and asked if he could help me. No hugs. I asked him if he would keep my dog. I introduced Hubs to him. There was no love or acceptance in his eyes.

He stood there squinting at me in the evening light. He did not recognize me. The deterioration in my appearance crushed me as I realized that even my own brother could not know me as I now am.

“Brucey, it’s me, your sister.”

Still no recognition.

“It’s me, Deni.”

“Oh! My GOD! Deni! Come in, god, I am so sorry! What in the hell has happened to you, come in here right now!” His belated hugs are loose and feel insincere to my shattered ego.

After my explanation that I am looking for a good home for Hubs, out of guilt he agrees to help me. Looking back, he was so blown away by my appearance that he was not processing very well.

I say my “Goodbye” To me it was a final goodbye, to him, it was just the normal, “See you later, Sis!”

Checking my gas gauge, I decide that I have enough fuel to arrive at my good friend, the lake, without filling up, and head back up the road to my destiny.

I arrive there past midnight and park, shut down, and make my way back to the bed. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling peaceful now that Hubs is taken care of.

Early morning, and the sun rise, pass me as I lie there waiting to make one more call to Jay. I feel certain that he will not take my call, but I have to give him the benefit of that doubt.

At about nine o’clock, I feel certain he would be awake, and most apt to take my call. My cell has good signal, and I dial, then push Send. It rings, once, twice, three times, four times, then the automatic message telling me that the number I called is not in range, or is turned off.

I lay my cell phone on the white sand of the beach, then wade slowly into the water. I am thinking, puzzling, as to why my previously loving, concerned, intelligent supportive husband would suddenly one day walk out of my life and refuse to talk to me or give me any sort of reason for his total rejection of me. I can think of nothing I have done to cause it. I can only therefore deduce that he no longer loves me or wants me.

The water is up to my neck now, and I lie back, the cold water just leaving enough of my face to remain above the water to breathe as I lie there in the lakes cold cradling arms of liquid comfort. The last bit of support I will need in this world, I smile at the comforting thought.

I wait for my body temperature to lower to the point where I no longer am a burden to my mothering planet. I think of the highlights of my life. My friends Wanda, Linda, Karen, their support and concern for me, their wonderful friendship. I think about how they will miss me, but know that they are young and will pass on into their life without a lot of looking back.

I think about Abe, and Momma Jean, who delivered me from the hell I was living in with Fred, to a hell that I lived in without Fred. I think about Ge, and his influence in my process of learning about sex. I think and smile as I remember M, my neighbor, my confidant, the woman that breached my hymen after a long and laborious effort. I think about the good times we had together and smile as I think of how zany she is. I remember with great fondness my college lover who’s skin was so black that I used to anticipate the night when I would see his hand grasp my white breast, and his hand and fingers would be defined by the whiteness of my skin between and behind them.

I think about my recent experiences on the internet, my friend and lover Harley, and the women that he introduced me to, Amber, Cara, Tammy. Their growing friendship, and the fun we had ‘doing’ Harley together. I think of Mistress Cara, and her acceptance, then rejection of me. My last memory is of our conversation where, to my great surprise, I submitted to her dominance. The freedom I felt as I accepted her control of my life, even if it were to be long distance for a while.


After a blissful journey I visit my beloved place of Love, and I float in bliss in its total unquestioning loving embrace and acceptance of my eternal soul.


I wake up to a sterile room, white, noisy with beeping equipment, rushing sounds, a face staring down at me that I do not recognize. It seems that face is screaming at me. I can not make out the voice, or its intent. I feel huge resentment at having been again ripped from the accepting arms of Love and thrown back into an uncaring world that has resoundingly rejected me, and does not value me nor my life.

I watch a hand push the screaming face from my vision and see the angelic face of Wanda. I feel her soft and comforting caress on my cheek. I see the tears in her eyes, on her cheeks. I feel her kiss on my lips. I vaguely realize that she has traveled a long distance to see me. I feel her love and realize that she is here because of it. I feel remorse at having put her through this.

I feel pain. My body throbs in pain. My heart aches at my loss of Jay. I am overwhelmed by grief at my loss. I feel Wanda wipe away my tears as they stream down the sides of my head and into my ears. My ears begin to itch, adding annoyance to my pain.

Why would any sane person do this to me, force me back into a life I have chosen to leave? Rip me from where I was loved only to thrust me back into a world that does not value life, does not care about mother nature, does not love it’s fellow man. This place that is not the creation of god, but the spoils of greedy man. I hate the person that did this to me with a seething passion I have not felt in a long, long time.


I again look into the loving eyes of Wanda. Her mouth is moving, and I realize she is telling me she loves me. I think about how I had thought it puppy love. I realize looking into her eyes, it is no longer puppy love, but a maturing and caring, dependable love.

Her caresses become welcome, but there is no way for me to respond, every surface of my aching body seems to be trussed up with wires and tubes.

I hear male voices, voices that seem oddly familiar to me in this strange sterile place filled with mostly unfriendly faces and pain. I look toward the door of the room and see my brother. He is allowed into the room, rushes to my bed and begs my forgiveness for not realizing what was transpiring. With my bionic hand I caress his hair and try to tell him to not worry, it had nothing to do with him. I look up to see other family members standing around my bed. I try to smile, but in truth it felt more like a grimace of welcome.

The pain thunders at me now, up close and personal. I revel in its control and brutality. It overshadows my heart-felt pain , and I appreciate at least that is as it should be.

Wanda picks up the hospital phone and dials Linda. I hear her talking and relaying information, answering questions. She sets the phone beside me on the bed and tells me that Jay has inoperable cancer, and is only expected to live for a short while, perhaps only days.

I jump out of bed, tearing the stupid tubes and wires from me, ready to leave to go to his side as quickly as I possibly can. I collapse onto the floor, a heap of limbs, head, wires and tubes. They gather around and pick me up and lay me back onto my prison of a bed.

The pain in my heart is now again worse that my physical torture. Why, Jay , why shut me out now when you know you need me so. Have I been such a terrible wife that I would bring you no comfort in your last days? Sounds and vision recede and I can only feel my heart breaking again, this time into the tiniest possible pieces.

That son of a bitch. How dare he disregard me this way. What is it I have done to make him feel this way toward me. I can think of nothing, nothing!

Again no answers. Just unbearable pain in my shattered heart.



The doctor that saved my life without asking me enters the room and the nurses kowtow to his presence. He sits beside me and then shoos everyone out except one nurse.

Wanda tells him that she is staying and that is that, take or leave it. Doctor Lifesaver is not happy, but I can see him warring within himself as to whether to demand his own preeminence, or not create a scene in front of his staff and a patient. He turns back to me and without even asking lifts the covers and begins to remove the bandages covering the remains of my womanhood. I slap his hands with my fettered arm and glare at him. His eyes look at me without apology and mutters he has to examine my injuries.

“Then ask me first, asshole. Do I look like someone who cannot talk to you?” My anger has brought my voice back, scratchy, thready, but back.

“Look lady, I saved your life, now you listen to…..”

”Look asshole, I didn’t ask you to, and I wish you hadn’t. Even that doesn’t mean that I have to let you molest me without asking.”

“Sorry, you’re right about that, Ms Wom. May I please examine your injuries?” His tone carries the resentment of my words and actions that is clear in his eyes.

I lie back down and struggle to move my legs apart. I watch him flinch from the smell, and the sight of my handiwork. I take pleasure in watching his revulsion of what I now am. I take pleasure in the proof that no man will ever want me again. The day is definitely improving.

The doctor and I continue to spar over what my course of treatment will be. I refuse to take pain medications, and only allow him to prescribe a partial infection recovery protocol. He is successful in his desire to treat the pneumonia that he says is a result of inhaling the water, and it staying in my lungs for so long.

It dawns on me that I may be here longer that I want, as I desperately want to attend Jay’s funeral should I still be alive. We discuss the minimum time that I will need to be in this stupid hospital.

I realize that I will probably have to simply get up and walk out if Jay dies before they will let me go. I am not concerned about the consequences, because I know my intentions once I have buried my beloved.

Wanda informs me that Linda, who is at the same time on the phone with her, and has been chatting with Mistress from my office computer, has asked me if I want to chat with Mistress. My heart again feels some faint hope for potential recovery, as Mistress now wishes to at least inquire about my health.

I nod my head at Wanda and an extended relayed chat begins about what Mistress may require of me. I again affirm my desire to be hers, but respectfully request that Wanda be allowed to live with me if she chooses. Mistress agrees to this and the conversation turns to the demented handiwork I had done in delusional hopes of finding favor with Mistress. She expresses displeasure at my doing this to myself without prior permission from her. She tells me that I must agree to do what Doctor Lifesaver wishes regarding this matter. I express dismay at her not wanting myself to be closed to others, and I tell her of my desire to always carry a razor blade for that potential time when she might desire to use me there. I tell her that I will make the cut, she will not have to. Mistress does not change her mind, and so I agree eventually to her wishes.

Somewhere in the middle of these conversations, Doctor Lifesaver left shaking his head in disgust. ‘Mores the better, you fucking asshole’ I think.

Wanda’s face is a mask of concern. I shut my mind to it as best I can.

I refuse to take the painkiller that the nurse brings in and I have to become assertive to get her to leave.

Wanda climbs onto my bed and spoons with me until I reach fitful sleep.


Doctor Lifesaver returns in the morning with his condescending attitude, and receives the same reception as the previous evening. I again refuse pain killers and will not reconsider my antibiotic treatment for my infection. He indicates my pneumonia is not improving. I thank him for his concern and request that my laptop computer be made available to me. He refuses to allow it.

A phone call. Wanda picks up. I see her body language turn guarded and yet excited. She turns to me and my expression must bear a question mark.

“Jay!!!!!!!!!!!?” She mouths! She arches her eyebrow in question.


Before I can again land in a heap on the floor, she rushes the phone to me. With my heart rate rising, my anxiety growing, I give Jay a piece of my mind at his uncaring attitude in a way that only a wife can berate a husband. I ask why he has decided to deprive me of the joy of spending the last few hours I can with him. He mumbles something about not wanting to hurt me……………………!!!!!

When I wake up from my hyperventilation, I spit a torrent of wrath into the mouth piece (I am still wondering how I could have called him those names.) My tirade lasts for over ten minutes, Wanda tells me later. The result was that Jay started crying, I started crying, the nurses joined Wanda in crying, and we all had a badly needed stress relieving episode of PMS.

Following my emotional outburst, we started talking about him, his disease, his prognosis, and what we can do while he is still in this world. I reiterate how wonderful it is to die, and he asks many questions about my experiences.

An hour later, through my grinding stress induced headache, I tell him that I will be there before he dies, not to worry, that I will hold him during his last breath. He cries and I cry and we finally hang up as he is too weak to hold the phone any longer.

The kindly doctor arrives a short time later and I volunteer to go on the antibiotics and aggressively question the befuddled, startled man about the best protocols to free me from this place.

I think he thought he was in the wrong room.

I cooperate in taking pain medications and sleeping aids, and the shift nurses leaves my room shaking her head in disbelief.

She may have been disappointed in my easy going attitude.



It feels strange to sleep with hope. The meals cause my stomach to feel uncomfortably full, even though I eat small portions. I enquire of the shift nurse if I can use my laptop today if I cooperate with her. She promises to ask the doctor, fearing giving me a negative response. She is getting to know me, I guess.

The doctor arrives with another man that is introduced as a psychologist. I suggest that he talk to my therapist in my home town regarding my past and my phobia. He agrees to do so and leaves the room with the phone number (ten years of meetings has left me with his phone number deeply embedded.)

He reappears a half hour later carrying a sheaf of faxed papers that he places on my bed and begins to read through them. He asks questions as he reads, and I do my best to answer them fully and completely.

At the end of the session I again request the ability to journal in my laptop. He tells me no, and it brings out the aggressor in me. I think he was totally taken aback by my instant change in demeanor. He finally agrees to call my therapist again, as well as consult with Doc Lifesaver. An hour later Wanda is allowed to retrieve my computer from Maude. I feel like I finally have a second close and trusted friend in the room when I hear it sing its turn on song.

I am sure that anyone can guess what I have been doing since it’s arrival. Wanda sits in a chair behind me and reads what I type, sometimes asking questions about my writings. She begins to ask me questions about Mistress, and our instantaneously blossomed relationship. I try to explain why I feel as I do about her, but I have not really thought it through enough to be sure about my feelings either.

I can sense Wanda’s misgiving about Mistress. I look at her beautiful face and tell her that I love her, that I understand her having misgivings about this very new and, shall I say odd, change in my normal somewhat dominant character. I promise her that it is strange, and untested, and that I will be careful as I explore this new relationship with Mistress.

I can see that Wanda is not convinced, but she merely nods as I turn back to my typing.


In an excited voice, Wanda tells me that Linda and Karen are driving down to see me, and to stay with me for a few days. My heart quickens at having our little clique together again, the four musketeers. I give Wanda one of my infrequent smiles and she beams back at me with great pleasure at having seen my teeth appear within a smile. She tells me it is the first time she has seen them since my stupidity started.

Linda and Karen arrive in the evening and I have enough tubes and wires removed by now that I can embrace their welcome faces. We all have a group hug, a good cry, and then we settle down and start plotting my escape from Alcatraz Hospital.

Much of the evening is spent with one or the other of them petting my goose down of a hair do. They all tell me repeatedly how cute it is, and I decide that these woman are not good enough liars to be insincere about this. I notice too that my body is beginning to firm up, now that I am drinking liquids again.


Sunday morning brings the showdown between the hospital staff and we four musketeers.

The musketeers win the verbal fencing match of course, and we begin the load-up process to take me home to my Jay. I am startled by the wonderful feelings of hope I have welling up inside me.

The Vibrating Egg Expereince

[I told a cyber friend about me wearing a vibbing egg to Easter Service.  He had some questions . . . . ]

So, onto your Easter fuck. Whose idea was it to wear a vibrating egg? His

What were you doing before you inserted the vibrating egg inside? I had just showered, dried off, and gotten dressed.

Were you fucking? Not since I got out of the shower.

Was it a dare? A double dare? A triple dog dare? No, but he has this way of looking at me, something about how he holds his eyebrows and slightly grins, that tells me he has a … treat … for me.

What were you feeling? I assume you mean in church? I was heatedly excited, a bit fearful, and intensely aware of the people around me. 

Who was sitting on either side of you? He was on one side, and Liez was on the other.

How many people were in your group? 5

Were children in your group? The kids were in kids' church. I NEVER do anything like this is if a child can be even remotely affected.

[I passed out when I got into the car to go home. He had turned the vibration back on as I walked out of the church]

Once back at Dok’s, how did you awaken (after you fainted)? The usual way, slowly regain cognizance.

What did you know was happening? What sensations could you feel as you awakened? Of course I knew what was happening, and what had happened. I felt pride at not having given my orgasms away to those not involved, and intensely pleased that I had pleased my lovers.

You mentioned Liez was at the service so was Liez participating with the sex? Liez is my most trusted soul mate. I know beyond any doubt that she will take care of me, do the right thing for me, and never leave me hanging out to dry. She had her hand on my back as I came in church. That gave me the freedom to enjoy my ‘O’s.

When you fuck, is it typical mano e mano, or, multiples of people? What do you find different, or the same with Dok or Liez, or someone else when you fuck? All of the above, except I am VERY careful who I am with. I do not take chances, as you may have noticed.

Three in a Bed

Written by a long time, dear friend of mine

Three in a bed – a true tale

                  BobNbobbi

An image can, and very strongly will, conjure old memories.

Is my image visual, a girl walking down the street wearing a thin print skirt, not quite sheer, not quite blown by the wind to voyeur delight, but still a remembered scene from years long past when the skirt came off to reveal hidden delights?

Is the image aural, a cry out in the night exciting an ear and stirring a brain from sleep?  

The noise could be an alarm.  No ... that sound was passion, excited orgasm.  

R is no longer alongside me in bed.  She made the noise, didn’t she ear? Didn’t she brain? Didn’t she psyche?

Where is my R?

My hand reaches across a cotton field to find her.  There she is with her lover.  She is safe, go back to sleep and dream; they didn’t invite you.

His Fantasies

Copyright Deni Wom            2015

Edited by James Friedman

1 - Defining the Problem

Today’s our tenth anniversary. For the most part it’s been a good marriage. Actually, there’s only one major SNAFU. But I can’t bring myself to ask my husband about it. I know I should. I know it’s unhealthy for our relationship to not talk about it.

For the first few years I didn’t really notice his … habit. Maybe I should call it a mannerism. Whatever.

It’s just that, well … he closes his eyes while he is making love to me.

There! I said it! It makes me wonder if I don’t look sexy to him. Or worse, what if he is fantasizing about some other woman. I’ve watched him when we are with other people, and he doesn’t flirt with the other women.

I’m pretty sure he isn’t fantasizing about being with a man too.

When he kisses me he keeps his eyes open. And when he suckles my nipples he watches my face. When he toys with my boobs or bunni he has his eyes open. But as soon as he enters me, his head goes back and his eyes close.

It’s driving me crazy, stark raving mad. I can’t take it any more. It’s getting in the way of our relationship. Maybe I’ll go talk to a therapist about it.

Well, the therapist referred me to a marital relationship counselor. I see him tomorrow.

The counselor smiled when I told him about my problem. “Why can’t you ask him about what is bothering you?”

I am sure I blushed bright red. I felt the heat in my cheeks. I screwed up my courage and, eyes riveted to my lap, admitted, “What if he’s fantasizing about another woman?”

“That would break your heart?”

I nodded.

“Don't you want to know anyway? The sooner you know, the sooner you can start healing the rift, if that is indeed what he’s thinking about, right?”

I nodded.

“Do you ever talk about your fantasies with each other?”

My whole body blushed as I vigorously shook my head.

My embarrassment lasted for a long, long time. I could not bring myself to look at the counselor.

After a few moments of silence he asked, “What makes you so uncomfortable about discussing your sexual fantasies with your husband?”

I didn’t know what to say.

He continued. “Everybody has fantasies. Every body. They improve our sex lives if we share them with each other. They bring us closer together. Many couples discover that they actually share the same fantasies. And, just because you share fantasies, it doesn’t mean you have to act on them. That’s a decision you can arrive at together, while your talking about them.

“For instance, a person that wants to be touched in a certain way, perhaps in a certain place, can actually enjoy sex with their spouse more. Some women who have not yet had an orgasm sometimes start having orgasms when they and their partner acts out their fantasies.

“Do you have orgasms?”

I turned bright red again. I started to cry.

When I got my tears under control, I shook my head. I said, “But it feels good, the making love. It feels good.” My eyes were still riveted on my lap.

He handed me a Kleenex.

I blew my nose, still looking down.

The counselor took a deep breath, “Fantasies are not wrong. Fantasies are something that intrigue us. Some people fantasize about kissing their partners feet. Some fantasize about kissing or licking their partner’s sex organ. Some people fantasize about watching their partner with another lover. Did you know that 60% of women fantasize about being raped? Not hurt, mind you, just forced to have sex with a person that is not their spouse, and that pushes them to do new things.

“So you see, fantasies are not right or wrong. They’re just our thoughts. Once we verbalize them, we can make the decision as to whether we really want to experience them. Or not.”

He was silent for a while. Then he said, “Until you verbalize them, and your spouse verbalizes his, you can’t talk about them, and make a joint decision on whether you want to actually experience them or not.

I realized that I was no longer blushing. In fact, I was now looking at the man’s face.

“I suggest that tonight over dinner you tell your husband that you wish to discuss each other’s fantasies while you make love. Just say exactly that.”

I thought about what he had said. It made sense. I admitted to myself that I no longer wanted to go through the torture of wondering what my husband thought about when we made love.

And an orgasm? I wondered what that would feel like. Could I have one? I was over thirty years old now. It was time to find out. Wasn’t it?

2 – The Conversation

I was so nervous that I burned the soup. Twice.

We sat down to dinner. My poor hubby could tell there was something wrong. But I just couldn’t bring ‘the subject’ up … yet. We ate in silence for the most part. Hubby’s face told me he was hurt. I am usually fairly talkative. OK, talkative. OK, garrulous ….

We watched TV for a while. Not saying anything. Not even sitting close on the couch. And we watched my shows, not hubby’s. Pretty soon he started snoring.

I debated whether I should wake him up when I got up to go to bed. It would mean that I would have to ask him …. OK, CONFRONT him, about his fantasies.

I was in bed before I started to feel really guilty.

I got back up, put my robe on, and traipsed out to the Living Room. I shook hubby. Once wasn’t enough. Finally he snorked and sat up. “What babe?” He looked around groggily, noticed my robe, and asked, “Time to go to bed?”

He followed me back to our Bedroom. I crawled into bed and turned on my side, my back toward his side of the bed.

“What did I fuck up honey? I’m sorry, whatever it was.”

“Nothing.”

He sighed, dropped his clothes on the floor and crawled into bed behind me.

“What are your sexual fantasies?” I blurted out. I was shaking.

“What?” He sat up and looked my way. I could feel his eyes on the back of my head. I stayed silent.

He sat looking at me for a while, then sank back onto his back. “I’m sorry, whatever I did.” His voice sounded so hurt.

It broke through my wall. I turned over to face him. Tentatively I reached out and gently placed my hand on his flaccid member. “What do you think about while you’re pushing in and out of me?”

He tensed. This was not a normal topic of conversation between us.

“Why do you close your eyes while you are doing it with me?” My tears started to flow. My voice trembled.

“Oh god,” he said as he turned over onto his side and put his arms around me. “I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry. Really sorry.”

I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally I said, “Well?” I sounded far harsher than I intended.

He took a deep breath. “Well, ummmmmm. Ummmmmmm.”

He rolled back onto his back. “FUCK!”

He turned his head to look toward me. It was dark, so I can’t imagine he could see me very well. “I’m scared. What if what I say hurts you honey? I would feel terrible!”

I started to ever so softly caress his cock. He loves it when my fingertips slide up and down his penis, barely touching it. He started to get firmer. I grabbed his balls and gripped them hard. “Tell me or I’ll tear your balls off!” I growled. I aggressively smothered his mouth with mine. I squeezed harder.

His cock sprang to rampant hardness.

“So fuck me and tell me exactly what you are thinking while you do it. Or I’ll crunch your nuts.” The edge in my voice surprised me. I sounded like I really meant it. I released his scrotum before I hurt him.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned as he moved over me.

I guided him into me. “Fuck me stud!” I moaned.

“My god baby, you’re wet!”

I was too. He slid to full depth with no resistance.

“Tell me!” I commanded.

He looked at me, fear on his face, but excitement too. “I’m fantasizing that you are fucking John. His big cock is in you and you’re moaning, and really turned on, and really wet, and I can hear your cunt going “SCHLOP SCHLOP SCHLOP as he fucks you really hard. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him in harder against you. You’re moaning … in heaven … really turned on. You say to John, ‘Fuck me you big fucking stallion! Seed me with your big cock! Fill me with your cum! Don't you dare pull out! Cum way up inside me and leave him inside me until you’re soft.’ ”

He came.

He rolled over on his back, gasping. “God I came hard!”

I had never felt quite like I did right then. Even though I had been wet before, I was sopping wet now. And it wasn’t just hubby’s cummies, either. My tummy was roiling. I was breathing hard, gasping. I felt like something had just happened that I didn’t understand. Not even close to understanding. And oh my god did I feel roiled up and needy!

Then I thought about something that might work. “Who else do you fantasize about doing me?” I put my hand back on his sopping wet, sticky cock. I started caressing his testicles, even letting my fingers stray to his anus.

“Oh god baby!” He began to harden again.

“Who, baby?” I urged. “Tell me about him fucking your wife.”

That was enough. He rolled back over the top of me and plunged in again. He started bucking, his cock rigid as a fence post.

His eyes bored into mine. “There’s five men standing around the bed, all of them naked and stroking themselves as Jamal climbs onto you and sticks his thick black cock inside your wet sloppy cunt. He grips your tits and squeezes them as he fucks you hard, slamming his prick deep into you over and over and over. He leans down and starts to kiss you. He sticks his tongue down your throat as he growls, “Gonna fuck you full a my cum, white girl! Gonna fill you up with my nigga cum. Gonna seed you deep and full. Gonna breed you. Gonna fill yer womb with nigga seed.”

Hubby growled loudly as he came again. “UNNH … UNNNH … UUUUNNNNNHHHHH!” Then he collapsed onto his back.

‘Damn it!’ I thought. I was so randy! I hadn’t felt like this since I was a naïve shy 15 year old! I will never get to sleep. Without even thinking I crawled up on top of my husband and tried to smother him with my freshly double-filled bunni.

Thank god he took the hint and began to suckle on my sticky labia and clitoris. I could feel his cummies running out of me and onto his face.

I don’t know exactly what happened after that, but I felt like I was starting to float toward the ceiling, his tongue following me as I rose, and rose. I remember screaming ….

3 – Post Coital Cuddling

Hubby’s arms were wrapped around me when I woke up. I could feel his erection against the back of my leg.

 Then I remembered the feelings I had the night before. ‘So that’s what an orgasm feels like,’ I thought as I snuggled back against him. ‘Incredible! WOW! I want more of those!’ My lusty grin spread from cheek to cheek.

Hubby’s erection was pulsing.

I started wondering what he would taste like. It had been years since my face was even close to it.

He groaned as he turned over and rolled out of bed, then hobbled toward the bathroom. There was a brief pause while he waited for his erection to soften so he could pee. Then I heard the splatter of his welcome relief. He groaned. Then the telltale sound of droplets hitting the surface of the water as he milked it down and shook it dry. I had watched him do this so many, many times, but never before had it sounded erotic.

‘Can an orgasm really change a person?’ My body felt relaxed, but … vigilant. I felt like smiling. I felt like having another orgasm. My god what a wonderful sensation!

My tummy felt like it was full of butterflies. And caterpillars. I rolled onto my back and kicked the covers off. I spread my thighs as wide as they would go. I reached down to her, caressed her gently as I watched hubby walk back into the bedroom. “Hey stud, tell me more of your fantasies.”

Hubby’s mouth dropped open. He stared at my bunni, and my hand toying with it. He had never seen me do anything remotely like this. I know because I had never done anything like this before.

“GAWWW!” he said, then took two huge strides and lunged onto me. His mouth captured my labia as his tongue plunged into me. He fed on my wetness and his own sperm for a few moments, then moved up over me. He looked into my eyes, love beaming at me. “OK, so … I got up and went into the guest bedroom to say ‘Hi’ to my buddy that is staying with us. There you are, naked, on top of him, riding his prick like a cowgirl princess at a rodeo. You didn’t even look back at me as he slapped your titties and pulled your nipples. He is slamming into you from below as your hips move forward and backward. Your back is arched and your titties stuck out for him to enjoy. ‘Slap, slap, slap’ I hear as he spanks your titties. I hear you murmur, ‘Cum in my cunt! Cum deep in my cunt. Sperm me, make a baby in me. Shoot all of your cums up inside my randy cunt, you big stud!’ ”

Hubby came. But instead of dropping off of me, he moves down, his mouth devouring his mess. He pushes my knees up to my shoulders and digs his tongue as deeply into me as it will go. He laps inside me, and then downward over my anus. His face moves back and forth, up and down, as he laps, lingually penetrates my openings, with deep rumbling moans.

I twisted around and took his penis in my hand. I stuck my tongue out and tasted it. It smelled like sex. I moved the head into my mouth and suckled lightly. He started moving his hips forward and back. Each thrust pressed it further into my mouth. It tasted salty. My nose drew closer and closer to his testicles. I could smell his sperm-like pheromonal scent. I inhaled deeply. I swallowed. The head of his cock slid magically into my throat. I had no clue that it was that easy.

“Oh my god I love it when you act like a slut, baby! That feels so damned good! Oh my god! My wife is sucking my buddy’s cock, taking it down her throat, deep throating him while I watch her. He’s sticking his fingers up her cunt.”

Hubby did, first one finger, then adding another. Then a third. “My wife seems to love my buddy’s prick as she spreads her legs and moans. She humps his hand. He adds another finger, pressing his hand into her further and further.”

Hubby slid his hand, four fingers stretching me wide, further and further into me. I can feel his knuckles begin to press against me. My bunni is screaming, partly from the gentle pain, but also because it is just so damned erotic to feel my body being dominated and abused like this.

‘Why haven’t we done this before?’ I ask myself. I know the answer. I would never let him try it. But oh my god does it feel good. The sensations of my wet, randy bunni being stretched, being made larger, being made slutty by his fantasy of his buddy doing it to me.

I feel that new sensation of rippling inside me, of rising, of floating, of getting short of breath . . . . . . . . . and then my explosion!

I hear a splattering sound, but I am too turned on to pay it any mind, as I explode into ecstasy.

Everything gets dark.

Then I don’t remember anything.

4 – Reconciliation

Hubby is looking down at me from a few inches away when I wake up. “You squirted honey! I can’t believe it! You actually squirted wet stuff out of your pussy when you came! It was incredible!”

I tilt my head up and kiss him. “How long have I been out?”

He glances at the clock. “Maybe fifteen minutes? Or so.”

“I passed out from cumming so hard. I’ve never even heard of that before. Do you ever pass out from coming so hard?” I caress his cheek.

He shakes his head. “I think that’s a female thing. Never heard of a man doing it.”

We are silent for a while. I feel tears gathering in my eyes.

“What’s the matter honey? Why are you tearing up?”

I sniffle. “All this time I thought you were fantasizing about some other woman when we make love,” I sob.

He looks so hurt. “Oh god baby, I would never go out on you! I never have and I never will!”

I place my palms on both of his cheeks. “Even if I asked you to? You know, with a friend of mine?”

He looks startled. “Why would you want me to do that?”

I sniffle again. “I don’t know. It just feels unfair for you to have all these fantasies of my needs getting met, and you just get to watch me with other men.”

His eyes widen. “Are you saying we would do this for real? Actually have other men fuck you?”

I shrug, my eyes going out of focus as I think about what that might be like. “It’s your fantasy, right, to see it happen? Would YOU like to have it happen in real life?”

I feel his penis stiffen into hardness.

He growls. He kisses me hard. He mounts me, plunging deep into me. His thrusts are frantic, like he had to spurt or go crazy. His mouth devours mine, his tongue delving deep into my open mouth. His tongue caresses my tongue. I feel his previously deposited sperm pumping out of me and down over my anus.

He pumps me hard like that for a long time. Finally, gasping for breath, he slows down. “I’ve cum so much that I don’t think I can cum again!” He laughs. “It’s your turn to get on top and fuck me like you want to. Whatever turns you on, honey.”

He rolls me over, never losing his penetration.

I sit up straight above him, looking down at the man that I suddenly realize I didn’t know until last night.

I remember reading a story, I guess I would call it a sex advice column, on a sexy art webpage. The name Samarel comes to mind. A woman had described how the sex advice woman had learned to flex her pelvic muscles in such a way that it drives the men in her life crazy when they make love. I decide to give it a try.

I focus on my inner core. I flex the muscles that I use to try and start my urine flow.

My husband’s eyes widen.

Then I flex the muscles that I use to try and push … how do I say it … poop … out.

My husband moans.

I alternate between the two muscle sets as I flex my tummy forward and back. I can feel my husband’s rigid penis slap me inside when I do it forcefully. OH MY GOD it feels good!

My husband’s eyes are staring at me with intensity. “Oh god baby, that feels so dammed good!”

I begin to scooch my hips lower as I move onto his penis, then higher as my hips move away. It feels incredible! I keep making all of my internal muscle flexes as I begin to rise, slowly climbing toward my very first self-induced orgasm.

Hubby’s body goes rigid, arcing upward with his head and shoulders. His cock suddenly pulses, then squirts hot liquid hard, deep inside me.

It’s enough to push me over the edge into exquisite oblivion.

5 – Building Fantasies

My husband brought me flowers the next day. He knelt in front of me and grinned up at me. “Darling, I love you more than I can find words to voice. I didn’t realize until yesterday that you were hurting from my actions. I was fantasizing about one thing, and I should have voiced my fantasy, baby. I should have made sure that I wasn’t hurting you. But I didn’t. And I apologize from the bottom of my heart for that. Please forgive me.

“But sweetheart, when you said that you might consider letting me actually watch you enjoying other men! OH MY GOD!” He giggled self-consciously. “I’m getting hard just thinking about it!”

I looked at him, more in love at that moment than I had been on the day we got married. He truly was a loving, highly dedicated husband!

He was still staring into my eyes. I could tell that he wanted to talk about something. “What baby?” I asked.

He cleared his throat. “Um ….” He blushed bright red. “Um ….”

“Just say it baby,” I urged.

He nodded, looking out the window.

Then he turned back to look at me. “We need to do this carefully, honey. I would not be able to live with myself if I somehow caused you problems.”

“Like what, honey?” I asked.

“I don’t know … like you catching a sexually transmitted disease. Or getting hurt by one of your lovers. Or people you don’t want to know about this finding out, and maybe spreading rumors …. That sort of thing.”

I nodded, processing the things he had said. He was right. Every one of those things are something that we had to be careful about.

We were quiet for a while. It wasn’t until we were in bed that night that we broached the subject again.

My husband propped himself upon his elbow, his blue eyes staring at me. “God you’re gorgeous baby.” He kissed me softly on my forehead. “What if we were to have one of my most trusted friends come over for an evening for our first time? We could pay for his STD testing, and make sure he won’t tell anyone.”

I thought about his friends. Only one of them was single. I knew most of his friends’ wives. There was no way I could face them if I had had sex with their husband. I’m just not that type of person.

“Who are you thinking of talking to?” I finally ask.

“I don’t think you know him. He’s single, good-looking, athletic, trust worthy. Why don’t I talk to him and, if he agrees, we can go out to dinner with him. What do you think?”

“OK,” I say, feeling warmth spreading in my tummy. “Want to fuck me, honey?” I ask. “Want to fuck me like I’m a slutty little cheating white wife?”

He moans as he moves over me, kissing me as his hand gropes my breast.

“Pull my nipple baby!” I moan. “Slap my tittie. Fuck me hard and deep! Do me like a wanton slut.”

His cock is hard as steel as I guide him into me. His fingers pull and twist my nipple as he calls me ‘fucking slut.’ He slams full depth into me over and over and over. I wrap my legs around him as I moan, “Fuck your slutty little wife, teach her a lesson on how to properly treat your friends honey. Teach her what she needs to know to satisfy all your buddies. So they will tell you that your fucking wife is the best fuck they’ve ever laid!”

Gasping for air, I explode in brilliant, arching skyrockets, and bursting explosions of delight.