I knew for many years my husband had a fetish, or you might say an obsession, with interracial sex. More importantly with me performing it. Like many other wives out there I felt it was cheating and would not do it, but I also recognized an escape valve of some sorts was needed; especially if I wanted to maintain a happy marriage. So I'd tell him stories of me and my "black lovers," I even bought a large black dildo to play with when acting these tales of lust out for him.
Things were going great for a few years until he reached his fortieth birthday, and then he started to fall into a deep blue funk. I was a bit worried to say the least. Men when they hit this milestone could do many dumb things, buy a new car, quit their jobs to become an artist; or worse yet, find another woman half their age, one who might do anything for him just to get their hooks into him.
Not to say I was a prude, but I belonged to my husband, and I was not going to have another man inside of me. But then again I questioned whether a hand job would be such a big deal? It might just add spice to our marriage with little real risk. But there was another big hurdle to overcome: I did not want the guy I would be doing this service for knowing who I was or where we lived. Then a few weeks later half of the solution presented itself to me. I saw a strange set of keys on the table. I asked my husband whose they were. He told me he said he would keep an eye on his friends' apartment while they were out of town for two weeks. Feed the cat, water the plants, get the mail. How nice of him. Could I really make a man like this suffer? I knew my time table had been moved up.
I approached him carefully not knowing how he might react to my offer. "Honey, you know how you have had that fantasy of me with a black man?" Instantly I could see the funk start to fade. "Well the birthday gift I had bought for you a few months back and now is in the closet kind of sucked. (It really did). So I was thinking, while I won't go all the way, would you like to see me jerk off a black guy?" I could see how excited he was getting.
I told him the ground rules, it would have to be at his friend's apartment, the guy must not know where we live, he would have to find the guy; and that I would wear a leather bondage mask to conceal my identity. "And lastly," I said smiling and pausing for effect; "the guy had better be hung like a horse." He almost happily fainted at my last comment.
My husband quickly found a guy at a branch of the gym he had occasionally worked out at. The guy had seen me pick him up once before and thought I was hot. I bought the bondage mask at an adult novelties shop across town. It had the eye, mouth, and nostril holes but otherwise covered my whole face. That problem solved I thought of what to wear. After looking through all my sexy stuff it hit me in a flash. I'd wear one of my work dresses and let the guy blow his load all over it, there was something so sexy about the whole idea; despite myself I started to get turned on. I chose the blue one, which hugged my tits a bit too tightly, not that my husband ever complained.
The day of the big event we went to the apartment, I had a glass of wine to take the edge off of my nerves, then I went into the bathroom to change. When I came out he was a bit surprised but in a happy way.
The intercom all too soon rang and my husband buzzed him up; he asked me if I was sure of this and I told him yes. We had agreed he may even film it as long as the guy said it was okay. All too quickly the doorbell rang. I had butterflies in my stomach; but I knew it was too late to back out now. My husband let him in. I was struck immediately at how handsome he was, I was expecting someone, oh I don't know, more thuggish, like a typical rap star. He was about half a foot taller than my husband and was much more buff (sorry honey but that is the truth).
He did not seem to be taken aback by my appearance, I started to think the leather mask was silly, but if photos and video were to be taken, you never know where they might accidentally wind up at, and I had no intention of losing my job in the future over them.
We all had a beer to get through those first few awkward moments; then my husband sat down in a chair and the guy walked up to me. "Are you sure you understand my boundaries?" I asked him. He said he was cool with them. I did not know where or how to start, fortunately he did. He stepped closer to me and asked me if I was ready, I told him I was as ready as I would ever be.
