Synopsis:

Monica’s husband has this deep secret and fantasy to watch his wife raped by an older black man with a 13” long real thick cock forcing penetration and watching his wife non- consenting force fucking as the rape is taking place, she begins to have an ambivalent feeling of complete enjoyable lust for his huge black cock. Monica has huge DD tits, large areolas, and curvy body, prim and proper church going housewife. Her husband makes her wear heels, short skirt, no panties, no bra, and thin fabric blouse forcing her to just button the top two buttons exposing her round tits and sometime a glimpse of her areola around the house and told her he going to take out on the town dress like that: she ambivalent. He has been interacting with rape website and his lustful fantasy grew.

Monica stood in the kitchen, her hands smoothing down the hem of her short black skirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. The thin white blouse clung to her curves, the top two buttons undone as her husband had insisted, leaving the swell of her massive DD tits on full display. Every time she moved, the fabric shifted, teasing glimpses of her wide, dark areolas peeking out. No bra meant her nipples hardened against the sheer material, poking through visibly. She shifted uncomfortably in her high heels, feeling the cool air brush against her bare pussy—no panties to shield her. At 38, the prim church volunteer felt exposed, her curvy hips swaying involuntarily as she tried to adjust.

Her husband, Mark, watched from the doorway, his cock twitching in his pants. He’d been lurking on those dark rape fantasy forums for months, scrolling through stories of wives taken roughly by strangers, their protests melting into moans. The images of thick black cocks stretching tight holes fueled his obsession. Tonight, he wanted to push it further. ‘You look perfect, babe,’ he said, stepping closer, his hand grazing her ass under the skirt. ‘We’re heading out to that club downtown. I want you to dress like this, and you’ll turn heads.’

Monica’s cheeks flushed. ‘Mark, this is too much. What if someone sees ... everything?’ Her voice wavered, a mix of embarrassment and that strange thrill she’d felt lately when he dressed her this way. She was the picture of propriety at church—modest dresses, Bible study groups—but at home; his commands stirred something deep, a forbidden heat between her legs.

He smirked, pulling out his phone to show her a quick glimpse of the site he’d bookmarked: grainy videos of women cornered, skirts hiked up, pleading as massive shafts invaded them. ‘Imagine if it were real,’ he murmured, his breath hot on her neck. ‘Some guy just taking what he wants.’ His fingers slipped between her thighs, finding her already slick folds. She gasped, pushing his hand away half-heartedly.

But Mark’s mind raced ahead. He’d chatted anonymously on the forums, describing Monica’s body in detail—her huge tits bouncing, her reluctance turning to need. One user, an older black man named Darius from the city, had responded with vivid promises: ‘I’d pin her down, ram my 13-inch beast into that married pussy till she begs.’ The thought made Mark’s dick throb. Tonight, at the club, he’d make sure they crossed paths. He’d arranged it subtly, inviting Darius through a private message.

They arrived at the dimly lit club, bass thumping through the air. Monica clung to Mark’s arm, her heels clicking on the floor, skirt riding up with each step. Eyes followed her—men staring at the jiggle of her exposed cleavage, the way her areolas flashed when she leaned forward. She sipped her drink nervously, the alcohol loosening her inhibitions. ‘I feel like a slut,’ she whispered to Mark, but her pussy clenched at the attention.

Mark scanned the room, spotting Darius at the bar: mid-50s, broad-shouldered, dark skin gleaming under the lights. His bulge was obvious even from afar. Heart pounding, Mark nodded subtly, signaling. Darius approached their table, his gaze locking on Monica’s tits like a predator.

‘Evening,’ Darius rumbled voice deep. ‘Mind if I join?’ Before Mark could respond, he slid into the booth beside Monica, his thigh pressing against hers. She stiffened, glancing at Mark for help, but he just smiled, feigning casualness. ‘Sure, man. What’s your name?’

As they talked—small talk laced with tension—Darius’s hand ‘accidentally’ brushed Monica’s knee under the table. She jerked, but the skirt’s shortness left her vulnerable. His fingers inched higher, tracing her inner thigh. ‘Stop,’ she hissed, but her voice lacked conviction, especially as Mark watched with hooded eyes, his cock hard against his zipper.

Darius leaned in, his breath smelling of whiskey. ‘You look like you need a real man to handle you.’ In one swift move, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the back hallway marked ‘private.’ Monica stumbled in her heels, protesting, ‘No, let go!’ But Mark followed, pulse racing—this was it, his fantasy unfolding; but stopped as Monica got up went to the car disgusted at the aggressive approach.

Mark on the way home he’d got fucking horny imagining that his wife would have been taken in the dim corridor, away from the crowd, Darius shoved Monica against the wall, her huge tits heaving ‘Been watching you all night, white girl; Those fat tits begging to be grabbed.’ His large hands mauled her breasts through the blouse, popping buttons until they spilled free, dark areolas fully exposed. He pinched her nipples hard, twisting until she yelped.

Mark got turn on by her objection thinking what she would have said ‘Please, my husband—’ she started, but Mark stepped forward, not to stop but to watch, hand rubbing his crotch. ‘It is okay, Monica. Just let it happen.’ Her eyes widened in shock, betrayal mixing with the unwanted spark low in her belly.

Mark visualized Darius yanking her skirt up to reveal her shaved pussy, already glistening despite her struggles. ‘No panties? Slutty housewife.’ He unzipped, pulling out his monster—13 inches of thick, veined black cock, the head already leaking precum. Monica’s eyes went wide, a whimper escaping as he pressed it against her thigh. ‘No, it’s too big! I can’t—’

He didn’t wait. Gripping her hips, he forced her legs apart with his knee, the tip nudging her entrance. She squirmed, pushing at his chest, but he thrust forward brutally, the fat head stretching her lips wide. ‘Fuck, you’re tight,’ he growled, inching in deeper despite her cries. Her pussy resisted, walls clenching in protest, but the slickness betrayed her, easing his invasion.

Mark stood inches away, stroking himself through his pants, mesmerized by the sight—his proper wife impaled on this stranger’s massive dick. Monica’s face contorted in pain at first, tears streaking her cheeks as half the length buried inside her, bulging her belly. ‘It hurts! Pull out!’ But as Darius began pumping, slow and relentless, grinding against her cervix, something shifted. Her protests turned to gasps, hips twitching involuntarily.

‘Yeah, feel that big black cock owning you,’ Darius grunted, slamming deeper now, her juices coating his shaft. He hiked one of her legs over his arm, heels dangling, and pounded harder, her tits slapping against his chest. Monica’s hands clawed at his shoulders—not pushing away anymore, but holding on. A moan slipped out, low and needy, her body betraying her mind. The fullness, the raw power—it ignited a lust she’d never known, her clit throbbing with each thrust.

Mark’s breath hitched, wishing his fantasy was real: watching her raped, her ambivalence cracking into desire. ‘You like it, don’t you?’ he whispered, and she met his eyes, shame and ecstasy warring on her face. Darius roared, flooding her pussy with hot cum, the overflow dripping down her thighs. Monica shuddered, her own orgasm crashing over her, walls milking him as she cried out.

They collapsed against the wall, Darius pulling out with a wet pop, his cock still semi-hard. Monica slid down, legs shaking, cum leaking from her stretched hole. Mark pulled her close, kissing her forehead. The imaginary thought overwhelm Mark and began plotting Monica’s rape.

- SmutChat SmutChat Monica leaned against the passenger door of their car, her body still trembling from the club’s chaos. The short skirt rode up her thighs, sticky remnants of Darius’s cum drying between her legs. Her blouse hung open, massive DD tits spilling out, nipples stiff from the cool night air. She glanced at Mark, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, a bulge straining his pants. The engine hummed as they sped home, but silence hung heavy until she couldn’t hold it in.

‘Why, Mark? Why did you let that happen?’ Her voice cracked, confusion swirling with the ache in her stretched pussy. She shifted, feeling the soreness, the way her walls still fluttered remembering that thick 13-inch cock splitting her open. At first, it had been pure violation—his rough hands pinning her, the brutal thrust forcing her lips apart, inch after veiny inch burying deep until she thought she’d tear. But then the rhythm kicked in: slow, grinding pumps that hit spots Mark never reached, building a fire she couldn’t ignore. Her hips had bucked back, chasing the friction, her clit pulsing as he hammered faster, each slap of his balls against her ass pushing her higher. The orgasm had ripped through her, unwanted but undeniable, her juices squirting around his shaft.

Mark’s eyes flicked to her, dark with lust. ‘Because it turns me on, Monica. Seeing you taken like that—your tits bouncing, your face twisting from no to yes. Fuck, I came in my pants watching him pound you.’ He reached over, squeezing her thigh, fingers brushing her slick folds. She gasped, a spark igniting low in her belly. Confusion warred with curiosity; how could she hate it yet crave the memory? Her hand drifted to her breast, thumb circling a hard nipple, arousal pooling again.

At home, she stripped in the bedroom, heels clicking off last. Mark followed, stripping too, his average cock hard and leaking. ‘Tell me more,’ she whispered, lying back on the bed, legs parting instinctively. He climbed over her, sliding into her cum-filled pussy easily—loose from Darius’s girth. As he thrust, shallow and familiar, she closed her eyes, imagining the stranger’s power. ‘It felt ... wrong, but so full. Why do you want this?’ Mark groaned, pumping faster, confessing between grunts about the websites, the chats, the thrill of her surrender. She came first, walls clenching around him, her mind replaying the club’s assault—the initial resistance melting into needy moans as the cock’s rhythm synced with her pulse.