Puppy-dog eyes.

Yeah, that's it; puppy-dog eyes. That was the way Bobby, my darling husband, was looking at me; sad, pleading — wounded. From the moment we met at one of his boss's parties, Bobby had always feasted on me with his eyes. I made sure those eyes never went hungry. Boobs? Buns? Taut body? Killer legs, all the way up to my neck? Yes, yes, yes, and U Betcha; the best that money, surgery, and a daily workout regimen could create! I dressed to show everything off to its best advantage, too. My Bobby works hard all day, the latest wunderkind of the investment banking world, hauling down that nice six-figure income with which to pamper me. It was my mission in life to be the biggest, best trophy a man could ever hope for — and bring a little something extra to the table, to make all his hard work worthwhile. Keep up with that, Mister and Misses Jones! Speaking of Joneses, Bobby was sporting one — to the best of his ability. I would make this night — our fifth wedding anniversary — one he would remember for a long, long time.

It was almost anti-climactic, really. I had been planning this moment very, very carefully for three months. Our anniversary dinner (at home, at my insistence) had been exquisite; Chateaubriand and Bordeaux for two, by candlelight. CSO, with Solti conducting, performed Mozart softly on the stereo. Can I create a mood, or can't I? The main course was over. Bobby had given me an anniversary gift; an exquisite black lace peignoir set, no doubt hideously expensive. Gee, what could he possibly have in mind? I poured more wine. Bobby and I lingered, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes longingly, as we had done since we first met. It was one of those 'perfect moments' in space and time, just the three of us; Bobby, me, and my good friend, Mickey.

"Are you ready for dessert?" I murmured suggestively.

My husband nodded his assent somewhat drunkenly, a silly smile on his lips. His eyelids began to droop. He blinked a couple of times, fighting it, then...

Plop!

It was just like in the movies. I rose from my seat, moved to my loving husband's side, and lifted his face out of the remnants of twice-baked potato and au jus. After assuring myself nothing had lodged where it would impede his breathing, I propped his limp form against the backrest and held it in place with one hand. I left the mess on his face; that would just add to the embarrassment. Then, I flipped open my cell phone and hit Speed Dial.

"Clyde?" I cooed. "We're good to go."

Those puppy-dog eyes were awake, responsive — and glued to me. I was giving them a lot to feast on, too. The gossamer-sheer black stockings caressed my legs almost to my bare, hairless pussy. Stiletto-heeled platform sandals, like the strippers wear? Yeah, Baby; Bobby loves 'em! Hair, makeup and nails? Over the top and down the other side — the way Bobby likes his 'slut' when we play our bedroom games. The exquisite black lace peignoir — which had looked so damn good on my shapely body - now lay in tatters on the floor next to the bed; ripped from my opulent curves in the heat of passion. I held Bobby's gaze in rapt attention with my own. A silly smirk of a smile split my plush, pouting lips — as twelve inches of dark chocolate python rammed my pussy again and again.

"Clyde?" Bobby whined. "Is that you? What the hell are you doing with my wife? I've worked for you seven years. You are supposed to be my fucking friend."

"That's right, White Bread," Clyde asserted. "And now I'm your wife's fucking friend. I don't want you here but she does - some kind of grudge thing — but if you don't shut your mouth, I'll move you down the hall to the guest bedroom while I take care of the little woman here. She's obviously more than you can handle, anyway."

Clyde's cock was a miracle of human physiology. If you think a woman getting 'coke-canned' is mere urban legend, don't. I'm sure Bobby never will again, nor doubt a woman's reaction to it. My legs were wrapped tightly around Clyde's muscular waist, pulling him into me even deeper. My talons dug into his shoulders, drawing blood. Clyde grunted. I screamed. Bobby's whole body trembled at the sight. Sweat beaded his forehead. Oh, how he wanted to do something about it! He would have, too — if he hadn't been trussed, naked, to a straight-back chair, forcing him to watch helplessly as his gorgeous wife was fucked senseless by her Black lover.

"You like that, Bitch?" Clyde snarled.

"Ooooo, yeah, Daddy," I moaned. "Fuck me hard. You know how to do me with that big pipe snake of yours."

"Have you ever had it this good before?" the muscular Black man asked.

"Fuck no," I wailed emphatically. "The wimp is so small, I don't even know when he is inside me half the time."

"What?" Bobby shouted. "You always told me..."

"Shut up, Wimp!" I screeched. "You're lucky I let you stay in the same room and watch a real man give me what I need."

"Maybe I should let him have you when I'm finished," Clyde chided. "Kind of a mercy fuck."

"You just make sure you get me off my usual dozen or so times, first," I admonished. "Then the wus can do whatever he wants. I won't feel a thing, but maybe he will, rattling around in there."

I shrieked my way through my first four orgasms in rapid succession. Clyde flooded my pussy with a load of thick, creamy jizz.

"That's it, Daddy, that's it!" I gasped. "Fill my cunt with your baby brew! I went off The Pill two months ago, just like you told me to. I ovulated this week. After tonight, I'll be pregnant with your baby, just as we planned."

"That's it!" Bobby exploded. "You are my wife. I will not allow you to..."

"Shut... the... fuck... up... STUD, " I hissed, dripping pure venom on that final epithet. "It's not bad enough there isn't enough of you to get it where it would do any good. For five years, you've been shooting blanks in that milky piss you call 'cum'. I couldn't build a baby with you with an Erector Set — and God knows you need one!"

"But you've been on The Pill..."

"... because I don't want your lame-assed baby! With your defective genes, it would probably be born with three eyes and no arms or legs. Now, maybe little 'Mat' would be your idea of a perfect child, but he sure wouldn't be mine! I want a real baby, a perfect baby, and I've finally found the right man to give me one. Now shut up, sit back, and enjoy the show. Sorry I forgot the popcorn!"

"He doesn't mind very well, does he?" Clyde smirked. "I hope the wimp doesn't give us this much trouble raising my baby for me."

"He'll do it with a smile if he ever wants a piece of this pussy again!" I shrieked.

"Fuck that!" Clyde snapped angrily. "You're carrying my baby, Bitch. I'm not gonna let him pollute it with his lame White slime. As of now, this pussy belongs to me and me alone. If you give him anything, you either give him a blowjob or your ass. If the wimp doesn't like that arrangement, I'll just have to fire his punk ass. I promise, he will never work in this town again!"

"You tell him, Daddy," I agreed, "and I'll cut him off altogether! He'll have to become your punk bitch to get any at all!"

"Hmmm; 'punk bitch'," Clyde intoned. "I like the sound of that. Tell you what, White Boy. Just to show you there are no hard feelings, and to give you a little incentive to obey me, I'll let you have your fine White wife's ass tonight. I'm such a nice guy, I'll even loosen it up for you..."

"Punk bitch, huh?" Bobby spat. "Untie me, you Nig —"

"That's ENOUGH, you racist little prick," I exploded, "and I DO mean 'little'! I'm warning you; if you open your mouth again, I'm gonna fill it up with something you don't even want to think about. Shut... the... fuck... UP!"

With that, Clyde flipped me over on all fours and took me anally, doggy-style, without missing a beat. This must have been especially devastating to Bobby, to whom I had been denying access to my little brown button for months. I'm sure it didn't help when, after only a half-dozen thrusts, Clyde was burying his entire fuckstick in my back door up to the hilt. If that wasn't enough, he thrust a dildo almost as big as his own pipe in my pussy. The double assault drove me half-insane with lust.

The big Black bull wouldn't let me budge until I had shuddered through five more climaxes. He flooded my nether spaces with his thick cream somewhere along the way, but showed no sign of having had enough. Apparently, "enough" was not even in his vocabulary tonight. I'm sure Bobby was mortally humiliated to witness the vacant, glazed-over stare of sexual satisfaction in my eyes. That was the point.

My Nubian prince wasn't done with me yet. He pulled his joybar out of the gaping chasm that was now my rear end and stuck it in my mouth. Grabbing my head with both hands, he forcefully fucked my face, pistoning in and out of my mouth like some crazed machine. It seemed like forever before he withdrew it, brushing my lips with his helmet.

"Open wide, Cunt," he snarled. "Don't swallow — yet."

He must have a hollow leg; that's where he stores all that cum. No man alive could manufacture that much in such a short time. In moments, my mouth was a lake of goo. Errant spurts had streaked my face, hair, throat, and breasts as well. I felt like such a slut — and loved it.

"Baby, please, " Bobby moaned. "Don't do this. I don't know what this is all about, what I did to drive you away, but it's not too late. We can fix this. I'll make amends — whatever it takes. Just stop, okay? Don't betray me. Don't betray our love. Clyde? Rebecca is waiting for you at home. Please, just... go. Go home to your wife. Sweetheart? Just stop, untie me, and send Clyde home. We've meant so much to each other. Don't throw it all away."

I knew you couldn't keep your big mouth shut, could you, Baby? I warned you!

"Awww, hubby looks so lost and forlorn over there," Clyde gloated. "Show him you still love him, Bitch. Go over there and give him a kiss."

Oh, Yeaaaaaaah!

I'm certain I looked like the cat who swallowed the canary as I slinked my way slowly across the room to my husband's chair. His eyes bulged in fear. He knew what was coming and struggled mightily against the bonds that held him firmly in place. I straddled his lap, grabbed his hair, and pressed my mouth against his. Bobby resisted my attempts to French him. I could have pinched his nose and waited for him to come up for air. Instead, I encircled his balls with my hand and squeezed, gradually increasing the pressure until his mouth shot open. Caressing his cheek with my other hand, I shared Clyde's creamy treasure with him. He bucked and shuddered within the confines of his bondage as though he had been hit with an electric shock. Okay, he's sampled the 'medicine'. Now I'll give him a spoonful of sugar to help it go down.

"Hi, Baby," I purred, while he was still coughing and gagging. "Did you miss me? I sure missed you. Don't ever doubt how much I love you. I wish I could make you understand how much I flat-out adore you. I know you would move heaven and earth, fix anything it is humanly possible to fix, to please me. It's just... well, I don't think there is much you can do to fix this..."

I casually fondled his cock, which was sticking straight up between us. It was as big, throbbing, and tumescent as I had ever seen it. Of course, if you compared it with Clyde's...

"You understand I could never give up my big cock, don't you?" I continued. "Not now. It's way too late for that. That doesn't mean I can't make you happy, Baby. You have no idea what kind of tricks I've learned to make a man feel real good. I'll do anything you want, Sweetie; anything at all — except give up my big cock. Please don't fight me on this, Sugar. Don't make trouble. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, but if you can't accept this, maybe we'll have to teach you to love big cock, too - just like me. Would you like that?"

I could read the panic in his eyes, the fear... and more. I knew I would have to soften him up a bit more, break down his barriers, to achieve my goal. It was time for the final act in my carefully-crafted little drama.

"Where are my manners?" I mused whimsically. "I was offering you dessert before we were... interrupted. Are you ready for a piece of pie?"

I arose from his lap, lifted my right leg, placed the sole of my sandal firmly on his chest, and shoved. Bobby's chair flew over backwards and crashed to the floor. His head hit a pillow lying on the floor which neatly cushioned the blow. I stepped over his body, straddled his head, and squatted down.