Family Disrupted Pt 03

The day after my wife Samantha was brutally fucked by the violent inmate Carter Smith, she woke up as if nothing had happened. Bruises ran down her leg and thighs, places where Carter had held her down as he made her cum over and over again, and she didn't care. I watched her casually make breakfast for her sons, do a load of laundry, and even clean the dishes all while humming a happy tune.

"Baby," I said, finally breaking out in tears at the foot of the stairs, "Can we please talk about what happened?"

"Darling, I thought we did enough talking," she said. "I told you: he was driving me crazy at the prison when I visited to volunteer. Flirting with me, touching me, admiring my breasts, letting me admire his cock through his jumpsuit. He was making me so fucking wet, I just needed to fuck him."

My brain rolled around with the memory of it: Samantha, my wife, taking every single inch of his massive black cock while he nearly strangled her to death.

"That's why I had to fuck him," she said, "I had to." I saw, on her beautiful white breasts, little bruises where he had greedily suckled at her.

"But sweetheart... now it's over."

"Huh?"

"I just needed to get it out of my system!" she said, shivering, "I so clearly needed a big black cock... sorry, HIS big black cock. And I got it. So now, I'm finally ready to go back to normal."

I watched my buxom wife smile and proceed to continue her chores.

"But..." I protested. Could we really go back to normal after this? Whenever I kissed my wife, I'd know that that same mouth had suckled on the purple tip of Carter Smith's prick. That her tits had been molested, stretched, and groped by his grubby hands. That her pussy had been ravaged and stuffed with his seed, that her asshole had been stuffed with his spunk, that every inch of her tan spongey flesh had been covered in the semen of a violent convict who would kill us both without flinching.

"I swear, totally normal," she said.

I didn't know what to do. I broke down, again, hysterical.

"There, there," Samantha said, patting me on the back, using the same hands that she had used to stroke his cock onto her tits, "How about this..."

She stood up tall, bust jiggling, hand on her hips.

"You go to work today," she said, "And when you get back, we'll kick the kids out again. And we'll do whatever sexual fantasy you want."

"Whatever I want?"

"Anything. You name it."

I stared up at my gorgeous young wife with her perfect body. I thought about what I wanted most from her. But all I saw was her on her back being destroyed by that big black cock. That massive organ spraying cum all over her. Her joyous expression as she licked the sweat from his balls while his cum dripped down her chin and into her cleavage.

Sheepishly, I whispered my plan into her ear.

"Yes sir," she said, happily skipping away.

When I got back to the house at dinner, I had almost forgotten about the morning. Except all the lights of the house were off.

I entered our candlelit kitchen and found my wife, standing in front of the stovetop, completely naked except for a skimpy tight apron that squeezed her tits in all the right places.

"Hey there big man," she said, "Dinner's served."

She let me to our table, where she placed a piping hot steak in front of me. She skipped to the kitchen, everything jiggling as she did, where she grabbed me a frosty ice cold beer, and poured it for me.

With my steak and beer set, I sat down in front of it. And that's when Samantha, careful to keep her balance on her high heels, slowly shimmied down to the floor, where she crawled under the table and put her head in my lap.

"I want my dinner now," she begged looking up at me with her tits squeezed by her arms and the apron.

She fished my cock out of my trousers and, right as I dug my knife into the steak, began to suck my cock.

"Jesus," I said, feeling the delicious sensation of her tongue around the rim of my cockhead. Maybe things were going to be alright after all.

--

Once again, on Sunday, we went to Tyson and Alexa's place for BBQ. Again, our oldest son (the "faggot" as everyone in his life had taken to calling him) was preoccupied supporting his school's men's basketball team... and not as a player. So Samantha, our youngest son, and I visited the home.

This time, we were not the only guests. Usually Sunday BBQ was a quiet affair. Now, there were tons of cars in the driveway, loud music playing, and flashing party lights coming from the backyard.

Samantha and I walked to the back and found a raucous event. Loud hip hop music, people dancing all over the place. It looked less like a mansion in the affluent suburbs and more like a block party that a well-funded rapper might throw.

Being the only other white faces in the crowd, we quickly spotted Alexa. The skinny white housewife had been utterly transformed in the last few weeks. Her husband had been imprisoned. Her bed had become home to a violent criminal, Tyson, who fucked her on the regular. And her kids had been sent to "military school" in a war torn African country known for using child soldiers. And Alexa was loving every minute of it.

The formerly demure housewife was wearing shiny orange booty shorts that made her fat ass look like a tasty tangerine. She kissed the two of us hello.

"Who are all these people?"

"Friends of Tyson's. It's a fantastic crowd."

"Is everyone here a criminal?"

"Mostly. But not everyone's been to prison. Some people are sneaky enough not to get caught." Alexa laughed.

"See that guy over there?" she pointed to a tall and skinny man with a huge afro.

"They call him Lips. He's the biggest pimp in our city. If you pay for pussy anywhere in town, he's on the other end, getting a cut."

"Why do they call him Lips?" Samantha asked.

"Because apparently, he's got lips that are just made for pussy eating." Both women's loins tightened with excitement.

"And," Alexa added, "I can't wait to try him out."

"I thought you were with Tyson!" I said.

"Yes, I am. But Tyson is a real man. He's not jealous. He's not afraid to share me with someone he cares about. And it's not like I'm his only bitch. Look."

She pointed at the other end of the yard where we all saw Tyson being gyrated on by a gorgeous mocha skinned woman with enormous breasts. She was shaking them in Tyson's face while he had both hands on her considerable ass.

"That's a real man," Alexa said, her mouth drooling, her pussy lips dripping, "He knows how to share."

Then, she shot me a glance.

"Unlike some men," she added, looking at me.

I was about to get close to her and say, "Oh yeah? Well I shared my wife with a big dicked convict too. And she loved it!" Except I stopped myself before.

"I think it's crass," Samantha said, "All this excessive sexuality. It's gross." Wow she really was good at playing the part. Maybe things were back to normal. Then, I remembered that Samantha was likely still angry at Alexa for letting me eat Tyson's cum out of her pussy. This was about Samantha's pride.

"Enjoy your limp dicked husband then," Alexa said. She walked over to where Lips was standing and greeted him by flashing her tits. He leaned forward to suck at her nipples. Then, she stood on her toes to kiss him.

"Wow," Samantha said, watching the man make out with her friend, "They call him Lips but... by the size of that thing rising in his pants, he looks almost as big as Carter!"

The fact that my wife was comparing men's cocks to the man who had railed her the day before bothered me. But she quickly frowned and moved on.

"I need a drink," Samantha said, and left to find the bar.

I scooted over to Tyson, who was still holding one of the woman's breasts in his hands and sucking it.

"Yo my man! How'd it go with Carter?"

"She's still walking isn't she?" I pointed over to Samantha, filling a glass with punch.

"So he didn't fuck her."

"No," I said, sheepishly, "He fucked her. A lot."

"Carter Smith fucked your wife?" the black woman said, while Tyson put his lips back on her nipple, "MMmm, that's a lucky girl."

"Carter gets me feeling so many ways," she said, shivering. She looked over at Samantha. "Oh and she's a big titty bitch too! Carter loves us."

Tyson released his titty to cackle. He also fished inside his pants to pull out his hard cock, which was already long and stiff enough to just slide right between his partner's tits.

I went over to join my wife at the bar, where she poured me some punch.

Just then, a guest with the broadest shoulders I have ever seen came up to us.

"Hey have you all seen my dog?"

"Your dog?" Samantha asked.

"The name's Maestro," he said, extending a fat hand to my wife, "I have a big angry looking mutt, but I'm not sure where he ran off too."

"I'm sure he'll turn up."

"In the mean time," he said, leaning up against Samantha and grinning, "You come here alone?"

"No, my husband is right next to me," she said with bitterness.

"Oh hey there little guy. Didn't see you."

"Cool it," Samantha said, pressing her tiny palm against his chest.

"Alright, alright," he said, leaning in so his breath was close to Samantha's neck, "If you'd like him to stick around while you and I do our thing, that' s cool."

"No," she said, frustrated, "It's not--"

"Okay, then. You don't want him to watch." He grinned. "Scram, bitch," he said to me, "The lady said she doesn't want you."

Even Samantha laughed at how cleverly he had turned it against me.

"But for real, what is a fine white woman like you doing here? You fuck with Tyson?"

"I'm friends with Alexa."

"Oh yeah, Tyson's rich bitch. I'm hoping to get my balls sucked by her later, ya dig? You wanna join?"

"Hmmph!" Samantha shouted, "You're quite rude."

"Hey, just gotta try. It's not every day I get to chat with a fine cat like you."

"That's much more polite," Samantha said, pleased.

"Besides," he said, reaching down and grabbing his crotch from the outside of his pants, "I doubt you could handle something like this."

Samantha's eyes traced down his chest, until she was making eye contract with the shape of a penis in his pants.

"Oh?" she said, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, you're just another white princess with a little white husband," he shot me a glance, "You know, a little white dick like his is nothing compared to big black cock."

"Leave his little dick out of this," she said.

"Yeah, there's no way you're handling this bad boy." The man reached into his pants and pulled out his hard cock. It was shining in the glow of the party lights.

Samantha leaned forward, showing cleavage, and got down right in front of it.

"Hmmm," she said, staring at it. "Doesn't look that big to me."

"Bitch. This is the biggest dick you'll ever see," It was a massive cock, much larger than mine. But Samantha was unfazed.

She stuck out three delicate fingers and traced his cockhead with it.

"Not nearly as big as the man I was with last night."

"This white shrimp over here?"

"Oh no. His name is Carter Smith."

The black man laughed, his cock shaking in Samantha's hand.

"Yeah right. You think I'm going to believe a spongecake big titty novice like you fucked Carter Smith?"

"See these?" Samantha said, letting open the neck of her shirt to show the man the bruises on her fleshy breasts.

"Fuck!"

"Carter had me for hours yesterday," she said, flicking his cock away. She looked into the man's eyes. "I was stroking that big monster between my tits just like this." And then, with two hands, she delicately started stroking and swirled the air, as if holding Carter's massive dick.

"Fuck... Fuckin' bitch!"

"Let's go sweetheart."

I breathed a sigh of relief. She left the man standing there, cock out, alone.

"Wow babe... you really scared me there."

"Relax. I told you. I'm done with black cock." She squeezed me tightly. "You're all I want now."

Then, a crashing sound of a table collapsing. We all looked ahead and there was a hulking, brutish beasts of a dog running through the party. In its teeth, it had a messy rippled stuffed toy, which it was tearing into little shreds with its sharp teeth.

"Oh my," Samantha said, "Like dog like owner, wouldn't you say? He's really tearing into that poor sad toy."

Except, upon closer inspection, it wasn't a toy. It was Samantha's and my own son.

"Stop!" I shouted, and the sound of fingers pressed to lips whistling came. Maestro, cock freshly stuffed into his pants after displaying it to my wife, summoned his dog.

"MMmmm, what you got there boy? Something yummy?"

"That's my son!" Samantha cried.

"Doesn't look like your son to me," he said, "Looks like some puppy chow. You ready to chow down on that white boy, big guy?"

"Stop, you can't!"

"Shit, I can do whatever I want. Nobody cares what happens to some bitch little white boy."

"You can't!"

"Order of the natural world, honey pie. My man here's a predator. And your little boy is just some worthless prey."

"These privileged white folks think they can just bring their little boy to a party," someone murmured, "I said let the dog feed!"

"Shit, that dog's worth more to this world than that white boy."

"I'm sick of buying all that dog food. Maybe I'll let my dog roam around my white neighbors and see what he finds!"

"Once he's done with that thing, he should eat that big titty white bitch next!"

The crowd was ruthless, cheering for Maestro's dog instead of our white boy.

"Stop," Samantha said, almost in tears, "I'll..."

"Shit, that's what I thought," he said. He commanded his dog to drop the boy, unharmed. The crowd boo'ed.

"Wait here," she said to our son, "Mommy's got to go deal with the mean big man."

"Okay Mommy."

I stayed outside as the black man led my wife inside, carrying her over the threshold. The party resumed; he was in there for almost an hour with her.

When they came out, she was wiping off her mouth, her clothes ripped to shreds. And the man had a big shit eating grin on his wife.

"Let's go," Samantha said, and I noticed her bra had entirely disappeared. As she held close to me, frowning, I could smell the black man's cum on her breath.

"Fresh start," she said to me, "No more big black cocks for me. After tonight."

--

I thought that the morning after Samantha fucked Carter would be the worst morning of my life. It turned out, the following one was even more nightmarish.

Samantha, exhausted from her encounter with her second BBC in two days, was sleeping naked in our bed: breasts heaving, stomach churning with multiple loads of cum. Her pussy lips were airing out to the room, as was her asshole.

I was curled up, asleep in my corner of the bed. That's when my life changed once and for all.

They burst through my door. At first, I thought they were Tyson and his friends, ready to fuck Samantha within an inch of her life, pimp her out, and otherwise transform her into a whore. But instead, no, it was worse. The feds.

Samantha was unable to cover her breasts in time, giving the officers a dreamy view of her pink nipples and round sumptuous rack as they slammed me to the ground and cuffed me.

"Sweetheart!" Samantha cried, diving on top of me. But the officers pinned her down, breasts jiggling, and got her away.

"No!" Samantha shouted, and I was taken in. They fingerprinted me, strip searched me, and locked me in an isolated cell in the prison where I had visited Carter and Carl before.

Carl... his twisted tax games, the ones that had landed him in prison, had finally come to bite me in the ass.

The next day, Samantha came to the prison. Her eyes were puffy with tears as we sat across from each other behind a pane of glass.

"It's terrible," she said, "They froze all our money. Didn't you hide any, like Carl and Alexa?"

I hadn't known I was part of any financial crimes, unlike Carl. So no, I hadn't.

"Damn," she said, "It's worse than I can imagine. They took the house. They took all our cars. The kids--there's just not even enough money for food on the table. We've rented a house in a less-than-quality neighborhood. It's all the money we have."

"Relax," I said, "We'll figure this out."

"I just don't see a path forward," Samantha said in tears, "Without drastic changes."

Samantha wept sloppily.

After a while of discussion, she and I figured out some hard financial decisions. We simply couldn't afford anything at all. First, all the volunteering Samantha was doing at the prison had to stop. She needed to get a real job, something that paid cash, and fast.

"But sweetheart... doesn't that mean our kids..."

"Yes, it does. They'll be expelled."

"Where will they go?"

I wracked my brain, thinking about a school that would accept them.

Samantha was the first to say it.

"Puloga."

No! The war torn country, swarming with child soldiers, that Alexa and Tyson had cruelly sent Carl's children to.

"We have to," she said, "In fact, Alexa and Tyson said they pay us to send a kid there, right? So we can probably sell--I mean, send--one of the kids to Puloga and use the money."

Samantha thought for a moment.

"Or we could sell both and pocket all the money." In Samantha's eyes, her sons had stopped being sons to her. They were just pieces of flesh she could trade for cash.

Alright, I said, in no position to argue. The hard decisions were made.

"I'll miss you," I said, as my visiting time was up. I waited for her to get up, so I could watch her leave.

"I'm actually," Samantha said coyishly, "I'm actually seeing someone else."

"Huh?"

"I'm here at the prison visiting you," she said, "So I figured... I would visit Carter as well."

Visit Carter? After they fucked in the trailer?

"I thought you said you got it out of your system!"

"Oh sweetheart, of course!" Samantha said, "I'm not even thinking of his big black cock. But, he was a friend to me before that. And I really need a friend right now."

I relented. As I got up out of my seat to return to my confinement, I passed Carter in the hallway.

"I'll tell you afterwards what your wife's pussy smells like," he said with a grin.

I was distraught. I returned to my cell completely hopeless.

The next day, Samantha returned. Her attitude was a bit more chipper.

"I sat our boys down yesterday," she said, "And told them the news."

Samantha had let the two sons of ours sit besides her on the couch while she delicately told them that they simply didn't have enough money to keep these two boys around. One of them is going to have to go.

Samantha pulled up photos of Puloga on her phone. They were all grisly and dark, but Samantha didn't want to lie to them.

"Which one of us has to go?" one son asked.

"Well let me think. I know you," she said, pointing to her youngest, "You had that encounter with Maestro's dog. I bet I could sell--I mean, lend-- you to him to play with his dog and he might pay me, if you stayed. So maybe you'll get to stay."

At this, Samantha reported, her oldest son burst into tears.

"On the other hand," she said, "You're being a faggot--I mean, a slave--I mean, a janitor for the basketball team, right? I bet the coach would think it's good for morale, and maybe worth a few dollars, if you stayed."

Now her youngest son was crying.

"Shut up!" she yelled, "Or else you're both going!"

Across the glass, Samantha pouted to me.

"They cried and cried, saying that they didn't want to go. It was honestly a little pathetic. I was sad at first, but after watching how unmanly they were at even the slightest problem... I think it might be for the best."

"So what happened next?"

"I sent them outside so I could think. I don't want to lie to you--I was so horny still, I had to masturbate before making any big decisions. By the time I was done, I realized that I had forgotten that our new neighborhood was a lot rougher. The boys had apparently been roughed up by some of the neighborhood gangs, and they weren't looking too good."