A Kenyan in My Wife
Chapter 3

Copyright© 2010 by Kyng Kooba

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Eddy is a Kenyan hotel barman with a taste for Western, white women. In 35 yr old married Kirsten he see's his next opportunity.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Reluctant   Heterosexual   Slut Wife   Wife Watching   Interracial   White Couple   Black Male  

We returned to England a very different family. So much so that during the flight I wondered with some concern if anything would ever be the same between my wife and I again. While our young daughter Poppy played happily between us, oblivious to it all, she remained distant and pre-occupied, virtually silent throughout the journey. It was as if she was contemplating going back to our old lives and what our Kenyan holiday meant for her marriage and future. Just how would she feel when we arrived back at our home, when saw her friends again or met her parents? Would she be able to look any of the in the eye? I knew, at least on the surface she was blaming me for everything that had happened. My wedding ring was still on her finger but somehow that symbolism had been irreversibly tarnished. It was I, after all, who had first slept with one of her friends. Yet I did not feel as worried then as I did during the flight home. I had cheated out of boredom and all the usual excuses yet now, with our holiday behind us I don't think I'd never been as attracted to Kirsten.

During our stay at the Malindi hotel and after some initial reluctance Kirsten had slept with a local man called Edamu. 'Eddy', to the tourists worked at the hotel, but was more often to be found staffing the beachside bar with his friend Mashudu and nephew Sima. I had observed very early that the bar was something of a hotspot for white, Western pussy. With some careful manipulation on my part it was only a matter of time before one of these simple yet experienced black men's sites set on my lovely English wife. Eddy had been the first to get into her married knickers. Shelving her previous inhibitions and morals Kirsten spent a night fucking the older, horny stud while I watched with glee. There was no doubt in my mind that by going through with it she had shocked and even shamed herself. Though certainly at the time Kirsten seemed to have enjoyed the whole experience far more than she would readily admit. Over the course of the holiday I had watched, more than once as Eddy eagerly ravaged her with his big African dick and even shared her with his two co-workers on the final night of our stay.

Would she miss the charismatic and extremely well hung Eddy. Or he her? From the day we had arrived in Kenya I'd been amazed by the sheer number of Western women openly parading on the beaches with local men. Some, but not all were married and Eddy, with his prime location had a well built reputation for fucking holidaymakers. Kirsten was likely just another opportunity that had come along, if a very attractive one. At thirty five, she was in her best years: stylish and upmarket with shoulder length, dark hair and a model figure. Her legs were shapely legs with rounded thighs and with a natural, 32DD chest Eddy and his friends had spied an opportunity to put our marital difficulties to the test. Would it be the last time my wife fucked black? Before leaving she sat me down and made me promise that I would never tell anyone. I thought of the image my wife and I portrayed back home and how shocked anyone would be to find out the truth, especially our family or friends. Still at the time it seemed right to agree to her request. She had gone far further than I'd ever dreamed possible.

After a month I was not alone in missing Kenya. Our old English house was adorned with the mass of African items my wife had brought home and she still talked with such enthusiasm to company about our holiday there. Sex between us was also different. Her mind distracted, almost as if I could not satisfy her the way Eddy had. I found this to be disturbing and not something I had experienced with any woman in the past. Maybe I thought that once she got home, back into a regular pattern everything would return to normal. Kirsten would not have admitted it readily but the intensity and raw power of Eddy's eager fucking had left a hole in her mind. It had been so primal; urgent and wild. All I had other than the memories was the mobile phone video I had secretly taken during their first time together. As a twenty two second long clip it reminded me what had happened that night. After a few more weeks I posted the video on one of the internet interracial forums. Yes, it was another betrayal of her confidence but I could leave things the way they were. My post was entitled 'British wife fucked on holiday – Kenya' and included a short biography and the video uploaded as an attachment. Within a week the video had four hundred views and though it didn't show Kirsten's whole face it felt so satisfying to share.

It was several weeks later that I received an email from an unlikely source. Rick, the cuckold hubby whose wife Joanne had been my ticket into the lifestyle contacted me. They had been staying in the next room to us and I had, unashamedly followed her and Eddy up to their hotel room that second week and listened to them fucking through the wall, my pants around my ankles as I imagined my own wife performing such a duty. Luckily Rick had seen my message on the forum and from the information I had posted was about fifty percent sure of Kirsten's true identity. Pleased that he had found me he desperately wanted to talk and gave me his phone number. When I told Rick that Eddy had fucked Kirsten only days after their leaving he roared with laughter. It was understandable considering my wife's first, disparaging reaction when finding out about Joanne's black cock habits.

'I knew it' he said of Eddy. 'You wouldn't believe that guys reputation'.

'The thing is' I said. 'I'm finding it hard to leave it at that'.

'She been fucked since?' he asked.

'No' I replied sadly.

'Trust me, she's thinking about it'.

Over the following months my wife and I became distant to the point that it was picked up on by some of our family, most noticeably her father who sensed something was wrong. He called one night and spoke to me privately to ask if everything was going alright. Not wanting Kirsten to know he'd called he gave me some genuine concern as he saw the two of us drifting slowly apart. I felt something had to give and a month or so later it did. For weeks I had been planning to attend a work function that was supposed to last several days. However, I had been feeling under the weather and decided on the final morning of the conference to drive home early. It hadn't crossed my mind to let Kirsten know and after a long, morning journey I pulled into our home around one-thirty in the afternoon, tired and ready for something to eat. Parked outside our Victorian house was a small white, works van with a motif on the side relating to a local bathroom company. I didn't think too much of it at that moment. We had, the previous year, had our bathroom redone but it did seem odd my wife would have work done without even telling me. Still, it showed how little communication we had lately.

Poppy was in the lounge when her father walked in. Putting my briefcase down I stretched my back and crouched down beside my daughter, stroking he hair.

'Hi honey' I smiled, lifting her chin. She grinned up at me, sitting in the middle of a huge scattering of Lego bricks.

'Look daddy' she laughed pointing to the house she had made.

'That's lovely' I said. 'You do that all by yourself'. She beamed and nodded. 'Where's your mother?'.

'She's upstairs with George'. I stood up and frowned. The name was unknown to me. Poppy turned her attention to her creation.

'Has George been here before honey?' I asked. Something felt wrong and for a moment I felt slightly faint. Could it be?

'Uh-huh' my daughter nodded. 'George and mommy are good friends'.

Quietly I shut the door and headed up the stairs. From around halfway up my fears were answered by the sounds of muffled, aggressive sex coming from our bedroom. Swallowing dryly I scratched my head. Kirsten was cheating on me: here at home. I felt my heart race and my palms grow sweaty. What did this mean? My urges drove me on, across the landing and to the closed bedroom door. Urgent sounds of fucking came from within. I couldn't believe it but something dark drove me on. Slowly I dropped my eye to the keyhole. Inside the bed was ruffled but over the window dresser, with one leg raised up to the surface was my wife. Her patterned blouse was open, breasts pulled out over the top of a red bra with a pair of purple knickers hanging loosely from her ankle. Behind her, with both hands firmly on her hips was a muscular black man of mid twenties with short, braided hair. He was in white overalls but his top was unfastened and his trousers gathered between his feet. He was fucking Kirsten with furious intent, so much so that several items had rolled off the dresser and lay scattered around the carpet.

Kirsten's head was lolled back and her eyes were closed. A look of subtle pleasure on her majestic face. The man's hips were like pistons, driving back and forth at pace.

'That's it ... that's it' she was gasping over and over, her breasts jerking and bobbing furiously on each stroke.

'Yeah, you beautiful bitch' George rasped through pursed teeth, eyes trained down to were the butt of his thick black dick was just visible sliding in and out of her pussy. The look on my wife's face was one I had seen several times in Kenya...

'Uhhh ... uhhh ... oh don't stop ... Uhhh... '. Who was this man who was royally filling my wife while I was away? Had she been seeing him long and when had this started? Suddenly Kirsten's recent emotional distance from me seemed understandable. Guilt, shame about her affair, yet it was only what I had done to her first. My wife's wedding ring caught my eye, on the hand currently clasping the edge of the dresser. Suddenly I snapped back to reality. An erection pushed up through my suit and uncontrollably I unzipped and began to stroke. Somehow I wanted to speak but couldn't. All I could do was watch and enjoy. The similarity with our time in Malindi was unavoidable.

'Fucking hot baby' George gasped. 'Your pussy's fucking good'. A bottle of expensive perfume overturned and bounced onto the floor, the liquid gushing out in waves that soaked rapidly into the carpet.

'Show me those big tits baby' he added reaching forward and squeezing my wife's heavy chest with a sweaty hand.

'I'm all yours' she sighed over her shoulder, loving his touch. Faster he drove himself against her ass, teeth clenched with the sound of flesh on flesh rhythmic and vibrant.

'Gonna come Kirsten... ' he panted, my wife dropping her head and squeezing her eyes tight. He was big this fellow.

'Uhhhh ... urrrrggggh... ' she croaked as she reached orgasm, George slamming home so hard he raised her body off the dresser with each thrust.

'Yeeeaaah'. With a series of grunts he shot his load, hips slowing and savouring the moment.

I joined them. My spunk squirting into my hand and against the door as I staggered to the bathroom. My head cleared. Certainly I didn't want to be discovered but it took but a second until I was back, head crouched at the keyhole.

'Damn baby this is getting better' George was grinned as he put his long black cock away and tugged up his pants. My wife smiled in agreement and slid her knickers back up into position with a shake of her hips, dropping her skirt over the top.

'I think your right' she smiled. He stepped in and they kissed firm and hard, her slender arms around his broad neck. Feelings of protection and jealousy rose from within but I waited, dodging into Poppy's room as they past by me and headed downstairs. My wife would see my car. She would know I was here. I waited, the sound of voices too distant to interpret.

After maybe ten minutes I heard footsteps on the stairs. It was my wife and she was alone. She looked at me as though she expected to find me there but her look was hollow and drained.

'You watched?' she said reading my look. She knew me well. 'I'm glad'.

'I'm glad too'. She, maybe hoping her statement would hurt me was bemused and a little disappointed to see my enjoyment. She went over to Poppy's bed, sat and crossed her legs.

'Is this what our marriage is now? a peep show'. Folding her arms in defiance she looked away from me out over the garden.

'Don't pretend you don't enjoy it honey' I said. 'I know you do'. In moment my wife's sense of superiority seemed to crumble. Her face buckled and she wiped a tear from her eye.

'What can I do Peter?' she sniffed.

'We can go back ... and you can continue what we started'. She looked up at me. In her face I saw it all. Kenya, the betrayal, Eddy. Perhaps him most of all. 'I know you miss him?'.

'Eddy?' she smiled sadly, 'more than I thought possible. I think about him every day. What's wrong with me?'. She sighed and I wondered if, in those few short days, my wife had begun to love another man.

Kirsten was a slut for black cock now. She just didn't understand it yet, or rather was unwilling to admit it to herself. Eddy and his friends had trained her well and now she was just like the women she had once looked down on. Like Joanne. This was what had these western wives coming back year after year. It made sense to me now and I could certainly understand the part of the willing husband. I had no reason to expect that matters would continue just as they had left off when we flew out there. George had been a casual encounter. An opportunity that my wife had taken to fuel her need, but Africa was where this had started and that was where her heart lay. If watching my lovely English wife get fucked into submission by powerful black dicks would help her, then my path was set. Indeed, I longed for it. We both did, though I was more ready to admit my need. With that I mind I called Rick. He was astounded and delighted but not surprised by what I told him of Kirsten and George. Both he and his wife Joanne went to Malindi several times a year and true enough they had a two week vacation booked in August.

'It'd be easy to add another few tickets' he teased.

We took up the offer and flew back to Kenya towards the end of summer; me, my wife and our daughter Poppy. Throughout I had a deep sense of satisfaction and anticipation for what lay ahead. Our family together again and jetting into an all new adventure. All this had started by my sleeping with a black friend of Kirsten's. How the tables had been turned. It festered in my mind, from the moment the plane took off until we finally arrived and stepped off onto the baking tarmac of the airport. Just how much of this would have happened had I not cheated on my wife? A cab took us along the familiar coastline, past the tourist shops and bars. Through the markets of locals selling all manner of items from fruit to fake jewellery and towards the high-set row of hotels that lined the beachfront. It felt like home. We had past several shanty towns on the edge of town, small houses of clay and brick that suggested how much these people needed tourism. Our two worlds seemingly completely separated by wealth.

Being back in the hotel lobby seemed strange but there was an odd sense of excitement too; of anticipation. As I checked in I expected that any moment Eddy or Sima would spy us and come over. Perhaps invite us to the beach bar for drinks. My wife, actually laughed as she unpacked her case, love in her dark eyes for the first time. As before we had secured Poppy an adjoining room but even then I knew that I was more likely to be sharing it with my daughter while her mother entertained guests next door. Kirsten was a beautiful woman and if her previous suitors were not available, others surely would be. It was some time since I'd seen her so happy. I knew that she would be heading down to the beach to announce her arrival to the local black cock contingent relatively quickly and so after changing and showering she slipped into a two piece red bikini and gathered her mat and beach bag. The small top hardly contained her lovely, big tits and I recalled how cautious she had been on our last visit to showing herself off.

'See you later' she smiled, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

The children's play area in the lobby had come in very useful and after an hour I left Poppy there to head down to the sea front. The air felt salty and warm on my skin. Despite the time of year the public beach was around half full and the sun hung in the sky a pulsating ball. It was hot and humid, golden sand stretching from left to right down to end of the bay and past the long line of hotels. Beyond lay the dense, impassable jungle. Our hotel did have a more private beach only available to hotel patrons and home to Eddy's bar. I was not surprised to see my wife laid out there, on her front and sunbathing with her bikini top unclipped. However, the fellow putting out the drinks in front was not Eddy but a younger man I didn't recognise. No sign of Sima or Mashudu either. I walked over, passing a white woman of mid forties hand in hand with a twenty year old local black boy. Such sights were commonplace in Malindi. As I approached Kirsten followed my look with jealous eyes. Getting her a black dick would be easy but she didn't want just any. That we both knew that.

We lay together facing the beach. My wife, now topless and resting on her elbows. Past us walked several more interracial couples, one incredibly well muscled young man with a radio on his shoulder. Kirsten watched him pass, gaining his attention for the course as he ogled her body with a horny grin. It seemed entirely plausible why so many western women flocked to Kenya for sex. It was available and just knowing that there were any number of black men waiting to take my wife off my hands was intoxicating. Pushing up her sunglasses she leant forward and let me run sun tan lotion into her back. Still no Eddy.

 
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