I guess you would say I'm a pretty successful woman. Well not that "pretty," although I've kept a nice figure and my tits have always drawn stares. I am an executive with a high tech firm with lots of cashed-out options that by now have made me fairly wealthy ... But nothing about my looks or my recent affluence could have landed me David. David is intelligent, sensitive, and movie-star handsome: tall, square jaw, trim but muscular. Think of Hugh Grant.
David was a virgin when I met him in college and very shy. He hated the way women constantly pestered him for sex. I lusted for David as much as any of the other girls, but I could see that the direct approach would not work with David. I feigned disinterest in sex and pretended to be interested only in being buddies, helping him pass a required math course, lulling him into a false sense of security. Then one night when we (he) had been drinking we started making out and "accidentally" went all the way. He was so mortified he immediately agreed when I asked him to marry me.
I loved being married to David; the envious stares from other women when we were out in public were gratifying. As my career progressed -- I was the youngest VP in my firm, ever -- he was also a big asset at my business functions, drawing stares from the other women executives. David, on the other hand, was a writer who had had not yet had much success so he stayed at home and took care of the house. Outwardly, we were the perfect couple, a rich successful wife and a handsome, artistic husband, but in private ... well David remained shy. He loved me, I know, but I could not get him to initiate sex. I did, of course, but it was not very satisfying.
He was also prudish, insisting that we turn the lights out and never wanting to do it in any position but "missionary." Other kinds of sex were out of the question. He pulled away if I tried to give him blow jobs and would not let me draw his hand down to finger me. I didn't even dare suggest he go down on me; it would have freaked him completely!
And although he would attend prim and proper business events with me, he would not let me dress him up in tight hot clothes and take him dancing and clubbing. After his "accident" that night before we married, he is very cautious about how much he drinks, so seducing him over wine and candle-light dinners is out. Like too many men, he just does not crave nasty, frequent sex the way we women do. Still, little by little, I've come to suspect something else is behind his apparent low sex drive: he's afraid to "let go" lest I get him to make me pregnant. Yes, he knows I want a five or six kids, maybe more, and he is afraid of the responsibility and loss of his independence. He is afraid -- and he's not far wrong -- that if he isn't careful, I could trick him into fucking unprotected when I'm fertile.
I guess the memory of his own childhood has made him cautious. David's father was also promising artist, but after marrying David mother when she "accidentally" got pregnant, he could never find time away from taking care of one baby after another, ten in all. I didn't mind David's wanting a career as a writer -- I set him up with a studio in our home -- but I wanted babies and I needed David to be a father and a daddy for them. David, however, was just as determined not to make me pregnant and he avoided making love to me anywhere near my fertile period (he was a tampon snoop) and always insisted on using a condom when he did.
I had girlfriends who had initially reluctant husbands, but they had no trouble getting their guys so horny they got fucked pregnant over and over. While my friends were having two and three, and even four babies, I had none. David just had too much self control and I wasn't even getting the sex I needed, much less the babies I wanted.
Naturally in my sexual frustration I turned to porn. Surfing the Internet, I found stories about sexy women who trick, or seduce, or drug, or hypnotize men, making them so horny they can't keep from filling the pussies of the dominant women. Stories like "Judith and Me" or "Principles" by Homer Vargas drove me crazy with desire to get my sexy husband to make a baby with me. But it just wasn't happening.
Gradually I drifted into darker areas or on-line erotica, where, from the number of stories and websites, I discovered that mine is a common problem. I read hundreds of stories and letters from hundreds of horny women fantasizing about seeing their husbands or boyfriends get turned on enough even to fuck other women. I found myself strangely aroused by these stories of domineering women, often uneducated or crude, who sexually enslave gentle; intelligent men, mistreating and abusing them. It turned me on to imagine David that way, in the sexual thrall of a woman totally beneath his class, making him do things for her he never would for me. Interestingly, most of the stories featured handsome white husbands and powerful black women.
This was crazy. Why would I, why would any woman want the man she loved to be "taken" by another woman? I could only rationalize this as a projection of the anger we horny women feel for our too in control spouses. 'Won't fuck rich, loving, cultured me? Well, see what might happen to you!' But even if I understood the power of these stories, it didn't make me less obsessive about them. Even more surprising, I found there are women -- black women -- who claim to be able to take any prudish white man and fuck him into an ever-horny fucktoy.
Shocked at first, I gradually started to get turned on by the idea of having another woman, especially a black woman, fuck my husband. Lying awake at night horny and frustrated beside my handsome, unavailable husband I fell asleep orgasming to the thought of David's degradation, lying helpless beneath a large black dominatrix fucking him silly.
One night when we were, at last, about to do it, I brought up the idea of fucking a black woman. He blushed and said he was disgusted by the idea, but I noticed his prick jumped. Taking a chance I dropped into a make-believe role of a "hot black Momma." I talked to him about sucking my big black tits and loosing his little white cock in my big hairy pussy. He came like never before.
From then on, our hottest sex (still too tame by my standards, but improving) was when I pretended to be a black woman who was seducing him. In that role I was able to get David into bed more frequently and even to let me fuck him from on top, although still not without the damn condom. Over the weeks I started hinting that maybe he should let it happen for real. He was reluctant, but after weeks of persuasion by me in my "black Momma" role, he gave in.
I began to search the Internet in earnest. I discarded the ones who claimed to use hypnosis and other hokey ads. Finally I made contact with a "Madam Monique" who said she could turn any white husband into a pussy slave within weeks. I got in touch with her and she said she was booked for months in advance, but after seeing David's picture, she agreed to meet us in a bar in about a week. It took another long session of me as David's Black Momma to get him to agree.
I was very nervous and excited the night of our arranged meeting. David had let me get him into a sexy outfit: tight black pants, a toreador silk shirt and dancing boots with a bit of heel. He was so sexy I would have raped him if I could. The bar was in a respectable part of town, but from the moment I walked in I could see it was a rendezvous spot for black women meeting white husbands on the sly. Fortunately David was naïve enough not to realize what kind of dive we were in.
Normally David does not drink, as I said, but I guess he was feeling nervous, too, and allowed me to get several drinks down him before the appointed hour. I spotted her when she walked in and my blood ran cold. Monique was taller than I, yet very curvy. Her hair was curled and lightened and she wore a smirk. She surveyed the club like a lioness surveying the savanna for her next meal.
Suddenly I felt inadequate, comparing my own pale skin to Monique's smooth ebony, my puny C-cup breasts to Monique's magnificent honkers. I contrasted my own modest knee-length skirt, top, and flats to Monique's short, tight miniskirt, see-through blouse, and 5" heels. Even in the dim light I saw her painted lips, large loopy earrings, bangles on her sleeveless arms and a gold chain dropping into her spectacular cleavage. She oozed confident femininity. I gulped my drink to steady my nerves.
It did not take Monique long to spot David, who was easily the hottest guy in the club, even if he did not know it. She slinked over. "You must be David," she breathed in a Jamaican or Caribbean accent, licking her lips hungrily. David looked up to see her for the first time. I could see his jaw drop. He had clearly never laid eyes on a woman so powerfully feminine. He gazed up at Monique's magnificent breasts as if hypnotized. "I think we'll dance," Monique informed me, seeing that David had no ability to refuse her.
.... There is more of this story ...