I understood, of course I did. I was just one of Luther’s bitches. He owned at least two other wives and there were casual conquests too. That leant a certain humility to proceedings. I had to beg for cock. Luther had so much pussy on offer he could pick and choose. That affected how I then treated Paul, my husband.
I understood, of course I did. I was just one of Luther’s bitches. He owned at least two other wives and there were casual conquests too. That leant a certain humility to proceedings. I had to beg for cock. Luther had so much pussy on offer he could pick and choose. That affected how I then treated Paul, my husband. If I was getting enough of Luther’s pump meat between my legs, then I was reasonably sweet with my husband. If I wasn’t getting it, well, then Paul suffered. My husband is stoical, long suffering. I have been owned by Luther for nearly two years. I’ve been at that place, consumed by envy because Luther gave another married bitch a baby. It’s very hard being married to a woman crazed on black cock.
Trying to describe the dynamic is difficult. For Paul, forever and always it seemed to be a waiting game. From the start he’d thought it kind of sexy that I took a lover. It was even raunchy that that was a big black guy. The way Luther domimnated me though, the way I thought, acted and dressed then, that was less welcome. Paul lost control and quickly after that dignity too. My craving for Luther’s attention was so all consuming that it shaped everything else. If Luther was around then Paul was suddenly nothing, a nuisance, a toy sometimes. If Luther wasn’t around then for a time Paul’s stature rose a little. He was sweet, tolerant, generous, broad minded, he was ‘nice’. But living with a wife who was owned, who really spent much of the day wanting black cock, was humiliating. I would stare at handsome black guys when we were out. I would constantly chck my phone for messages from Luther. When they came I would drop everything to be with him. When they didn’t arrive I was tetchy.
One of the things that changes in this dynamic is that you dress constantly as though you are needing a quick fuck. You dress available to the black man. It’s a necessity, in case your man calls and he wants you over there immediately. The need to have his cock inside you is relentless. I’m a business woman and in my thirties. I’m not a silly wench in her early twenties. I used to dress in business suits. Now, I dress in the tightest and shortest skirts, often with exposed zips for easy access. I look like an up market slut for that is what i have become. The need for Luther’s cock is all consuming. Dressing that provocatively has consequences, of course it does! There are other black guys, young bucks who come up to you in bars and other public places. They kiss you, feel you languidly, their fingers sliding up bneath yoiur skirt to touch your cunt. Their big hands travel your breasts like casual tourists and they kiss you, open mouthed like they have been in your bed a dozens times. Paul waits, humbly, at a distance, staying clear of trouble. He watches the seduction unfold. There are times when I am desperate for any black cock. Then though, the dudes ask or else they see my tattoo neat above my pubes. I’m Luther’s. I’m one of his bitches. If they take me, without being gifted by the big man himself, there will be a trouble. There may be a lot of trouble. So the black dudes finger me to climax instead, and I’m left shaken, half satisified and insanely needy in the middle world where Luther parks me sometimes.
Sweet Paul, dear Paul, he tries to console then and i let him. He kneels before me and i direct him to my sex. I stroke his hair whilst he licks delicately at my cunt. He’s never allowed to fuck me. I’m stretched out, taken, occupied, even in the fallow times whilst I wait for my lover. I am always wanting, always needy so that every lick of my husband’s supplicant tongue is but a memory trigger for what Luther does with me. Every kiss and every caress down there is a submission, to my status, to my ascendency over him. A young black dude in a bar has been feeling me up, I am dripping wet. Paul has come to me in the dark corridor and started his patient and humble ministrations.
‘Just fucking lick it will you! Worship it!’ I demand. I am grinding my sex against Paul’s face, rubbing my juices all over his nose and lips. I take hold of his head and wipe myself across his face like he is a rag.
I’m quite petite and slim, Paul is big and gentle. But he is nothing, nothing because all I want is Luther’s cock. So I humiliate my husband. Sometimes, after i have climaxed on his face I have him remain kneeling there. I wee into his open mouth. That is how it is and it shocks me still.
The other week Luther called. I thrilled to hear his voice on the phone. There was no complaint, no mullish sulking because he hadn’t contacted me in a week. I zinged inside, my head whirring with excitement.
‘Hi darling, how are things?! I’m so pleased you called!’
Paul listens. It is a critical moment. If he interrupts now, if he breaks my concentration, if he distracts me I will slap is face red raw. So he watches and waits as the tableaux of sex and master cock is played out once again. He watches med light up. It is as if I have had super powered batteries fitted. I didn’t realise it, but when Luther calls like that, I unconsciously stroke my hair, run a hand over my nipples until they stand out proud. My husband watches me sensualise.
Luther is going to a theatre opening night. He wants me there, his cultured bitch on his arm. I am so made up. i have spent subtle time assessing my opposition. I’m not his youngest bitch but i am well educated and cultured. I am ideal for these kind of evenings. His bros Ambrose and Wesley are going to be there too so he expects me to ‘party’ afterwards. I am going to be passed around, fucked over and over by the three of them and I am so grateful, so excited that I can barely sit still. Paul has no say in this. Luther doesn’t even ask about my husband. I am simply to be used, fucked, taken, played with and it thrills me. If i ‘fuck real nice’ (one of Luther’s favourite phrases) then I am going to get a lot more cock. ‘You like that kinda thing bitch?’ Luther asks. Well, you guess, you tell me! Luther says that after the theatre he will have us all drop by our place. I know what he means. He wants the guys to see how much control he has. He wants them to see how bitch comes to cock whilst the husband sits meekly in the corner of the room.
After the call has ended, I am transformed. I am the haughiest, cruellist cow you can possibly imagine. Instead of being tetchy I am arrogant. Paul stares at me. He cannot quite believe just how easily Luther can switch me on that way! I know that it awes him, that it makes him feel incredibly small. No matter how charming, or romantic, or funny he is, he can’t make me light up like Luther does. My black bull plugs me in at the cunt, that is the difference. The charge goes up me and I am made new.
‘Take me shopping’ I tell Paul.
Yes…that’s a problem too, a stoic challenge for him. I cost him a fortune. I can’t wear the same little black dress that Luther has seen me in before, there has to be a new one. I have to have a new basque and expensive stockings. Then there is a new choker to go about my throat and another luxury watch to add that cultured bitch cache to my looks. I am desperate. I want Luther to move in. I want to dominate Paul so much for him, so that the dynamic becomes an endless sensual play time for him. I will do anything with or to ny husband, just to have the big man’s love, his cock, all of the time. At first, for a while, I knew that this was unhinging me. Luther mesmerised me in that way black men do mesmerise white women. But I stopped fighting it. I stopped pretending that I wouldn’t whore for him, commit the most depraved and wanton acts. I was completely hooked on his cock and what it did to me.
We tour the shops and by the time that I have finished I have bent my husband’s credit card to the max again. He has taken a second job to pay down the debt. Sometimes he looks exhausted by work. But I can’t stop this, I am Luther’s.
‘Luther and his friends are coming back to our place next Friday evening’ I tell Paul, ‘you will be on your best behaviour.’
My husband will suck cock when they tell him. I will see to it that he does. He is going to be the best little faggot boy for Luther and the bros. If i have to beat it into Paul he will learn to work for the project. He will learn to make it so easy, so smooth for Luther to occupy my bed. He asks about preparing a light supper and arranging drinks. I instruct him on the matter. Before Luther picks me up for the theatre Paul will lacquer my nails, trim my quimy hair and make sure that might stiletto courts are immaculate. He will fix that new choker about my throat, my watch on my wrist. Then, then he will wait, frightened, anxious, expectatnt, hoping that I get all the cock that I need…a new and even more intense life with Luther in residence.
