I consider "hubby" to be a term of derision, and an identification of spousal inadequacy. I swear I never called my husband, "hubby," or even thought about applying that term to Dave, until I started cheating on him with Steve. Let me tell you how it happened.
Dave and I belong to a tennis/swim/golf club. I focus on tennis and swimming. Dave is into golf. We are at the club most weekends, and the kids love it. They can run around and disappear and pretty much do anything they want to with the friends they have there, and we don't have the slightest worry about their safety. "Club" equals freedom for our kids. And for us, too, I suppose. Dave is off for eighteen holes. I swim, tan, and maybe will play tennis if I can pick up a partner.
In the case of Steve, it was the partner who picked me up.
Steve is married, too, but his wife is not, apparently, into the club life. I have only seen her once, and I must say I am not impressed. She is a dull, dumpy, and uninspiring excuse for a woman. Since Steve is sort of like a Greek God with brains, you have to wonder how they ever connected. I think it was the wife's money, to be honest. And.... also to be honest, Steve likes to play around. That was clear to me from the get-go, and a wife who gets to associate with someone so far out of her league in the looks department is not in a good position to complain. I think they were relatively new members; I hadn't seen him around before, until that first time we met, but I immediately noticed him as I got out of the pool.
My typical workout is one hundred laps, and when I finished that day, I pulled myself up from the pool and hoisted myself over the coping. I was soaking wet, and my very skimpy two piece bathing suit was molded to me. It is quite sheer, revealing every curve and dimple, including my nicely curved and bare-shaved cunt, prominently front and center.
As I left the pool, my mind was still on my laps, and the pace I'd set. Then, I saw Steve. He was sitting on a lounge chair, looking right at me. Number one, I immediately noticed his "Greek God" appearance. Steve is about 6'3" to my 5'4." His body is rock solid. No paunch. Well-muscled, but without being some sort of male model type. He is strikingly handsome. At least, that's what I think. He took my breath away as I glanced up, while pulling myself out of the pool, and found his eyes all over me. Second, Steve had an amazingly presumptuous smirk on his face, too. He was staring at me with undisguised appreciation (or maybe we should call it lust, which is what it actually was). One look at him, and I immediately knew that the smirk on this man's face, which displayed his supreme self confidence, was telegraphing his thoughts. He was thinking about fucking my brains out. I was sort of surprised at how pleased I was to see that look.
I had been a faithful wife. No one would have believed that I harbored any wandering thoughts. I had two kids, an acceptable husband, a good job, and a rather full life, with lots of social involvements, besides my work. No lovers. No crushes. Sex with my husband was not a burden, and while our sex was not what you would call "frequent," we still did have sex. "Plain vanilla" you might call it. I had no complaints. I was not focused on sex. I had no wild and improbable ideas about fucking some random man that I came across at the swimming pool. I wasn't on the prowl. I was, in short, completely unprepared for Steve.
"You are pretty speedy," Steve said.
"Thank you," I returned. Not knowing what else to do, I smiled and turned toward the women's locker room.
"Wait," Steve said. "Do you play tennis, too?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," I replied. "I'm ok."
"You are a whole lot better than "ok," Steve said. "You willing to show me what you got?"
The smirk was still there.
"Maybe you better introduce yourself before I start showing you what I've got," I told him. I wasn't going to be intimidated by this guy - at least, that's what I told myself.
"You got me," Steve said, with a slight nod towards an apology. "My name is Steve."
"Darlene," I responded, "and moved towards him to shake his hand. "How good are you?"
"You mean at tennis?" Steve asked, "or in general?" He maintained the smirk. "I'm pretty good."
"Well," I said, once again turning towards the locker rooms, "maybe we can play sometime."
"No," he said. "Not ‘sometime.' Now is what I am suggesting. Can't you do that? Do you have some place you have to be; some big date, or something?"
"Actually, not," I told him, truthfully. "My husband will be on the golf course for at least another hour and a half, and my children are roaming around somewhere, and will be doing that for hours, so I'm not really constrained. What about you? What sort of constraints do you have?"
I was trying, as you can guess, to figure out this guy's marital status. He was definitely coming on to me, big time, and while I found, rather amazingly, that I really liked that, I did not picture myself succumbing to his smirk just because he made my pussy wet.
He did make my pussy wet, too. It was pretty amazing to go from being a faithful club wife to someone who would pull herself out of the pool and then immediately begin entertaining the idea that I would permit Mr. Smirk here to take me off somewhere and fuck me silly while my actual husband was off chasing a little white ball through the grass. However, while not immediately capitulating to such a thought, this was, in fact, a thought that came to me almost immediately. I couldn't really believe how much that idea, appearing out of what seemed like nowhere, made me just a little bit dizzy.
I did get dizzy. Just a little bit. I did get wet. A lot!
Steve was already dressed for tennis. "Go change," he said, as he started walking me towards the locker rooms. Be out here, ready to go, in five minutes. "I'll wait by the door."
I went in to change, just like he said.
Steve was true to his word, too. He was there when I came out, though in what I told myself was an intentional gesture of rebellion against Steve's presumptuous and domineering personality, I went out of my way to take ten minutes, not five, before I came out of the locker room. I had completely dried my hair and made it look good, and I had put on lipstick and eye liner. To play tennis!
"Beautiful," Steve said. Somehow, he had two rackets and a can of balls. He put his hand in the small of my back and steered me down the path leading to the courts. They were about 100 yards away, on the other side of a small woods. We never made it to the courts.
Once we were out of sight of the pool and the more heavily used portions of the club, Steve dropped the rackets and the balls and turned me toward him, moving his hand from my lower back up to my hair, pulling it back, sharply, to make me subject to his control. He leaned in close to my ear as he whispered, "you come with me, Darlene. We are not going to waste the next one and a half hours playing tennis."
There is a parking lot that serves the tennis courts, but it is separate from the courts, and we took the path there, with Steve exerting physical control over me the whole way. When he held open the rear door of an Escalade, with tinted windows, I didn't resist. I moved right into the back-seat area, and I couldn't wait for what I knew was coming.
Steve's cock, visibly outlined through his tennis shorts, looked massive. When the door closed, Steve pulled down my own shorts, and his smirk got really big. "No panties, Darlene! I wouldn't have guessed that. You seem like such a well-behaved little woman. So proper. So true to the rules. But maybe you are just a little bit naughty? Could that be it? That's what I think!"
I was naughty, to tell the truth. In my mind, at least. All that stuff about me being the faithful wife, with never a thought of cheating on Dave, is what anyone looking from the outside would have seen. That was the reality for all who knew me. I didn't come on to men. I didn't do anything that would give away to anyone that I had secret thoughts about sex.
At night, when my husband conked out in bed (as he almost always did, and rather early, too), I would usually slip away to my workroom/office, which had a nice, plush couch. I could lie down there and get myself off with my fingers, or with this big black dildo that I kept in the locking file drawer of my desk. "Hubby" did not know what I did. No one knew, at least so I supposed, but I was dreaming, constantly, of some giant black dick fucking my tight little married pussy. I'd listen to explicit podcasts on my laptop, or go to some of the video sites I frequented, and I would make myself cum so many times I could hardly muster the energy to return to my bedroom and become that "faithful wife" once more. As time had passed, because I had been indulging myself this way for more than a year, I began to wonder which one was the real me. Was I the "faithful wife and mother," who indulged in wild sexual fantasies in her private home office, or was I actually a wanton, sex-starved slut who fantasized about being a conventional and faithful wife?
Steve was was my fantasy come true. My fantasy was for BLACK DICK, and Steve was black, and hung, and he was full of swagger and command. That's why I started getting wet at just the thought he wanted me.
As soon as the door closed, and I heard the click of the lock, I lay back on the bench seat and my shorts were stripped off. Steve pushed my legs apart and started licking my dripping love hole. He noticed how wet I really was.
"You are naughty, Darlene! Aren't you?" He kept licking my pussy lips, slowly teasing me, getting close to the place I was dying for his tongue to touch. I started moaning, as he got me closer. His big index finger curved up inside as he sucked my clit, which was sending waves of pleasure throughout the whole bottom half of my body. I started thrashing around, bucking my hips into his all devouring mouth, moaning for it, offering myself up.
"Beg for it, bitch." That's what Steve told me. "Beg for what you want."
And of course, I did. Oh, fuck yes; I did!
"Fuck me. Fuck me, please! Fuck my wet little cunt. Put your big black cock up my cunt! Please. Please. I'm begging you, please!"
Steve's cock was even bigger than my dildo. It was thicker. It was hot. It was throbbing with blood and life, and as I was begging for his cock, Steve gave it to me. Just a little, at first, like he was teasing me. Then, all of it. ALL of it! It seemed so big. So HUGE. He impaled me on that fantastic black cock and pounded my cheating, married cunt so hard that I literally saw stars. I think I lost some kind of touch with normal consciousness, but I never lost touch with the fact that Steve was fucking me better than I had ever been fucked before.
"Oh fucking, please," I yelled. "Keep fucking me."
And Steve did. I could feel the huge car rocking under us as he held my legs apart and slashed in and out of me until I was spent. And then.... when I was exhausted, and with Steve's big prick still as hard and urgent as at the start, he looked down into my face; he broke the rhythm till I refocused, looked back at him. And then, he did it. With his eyes boring into me, dominating me, asserting control over my entire being, he pushed his big prick forward again, and I felt the first giant pulse of his cum. I couldn't believe it; it was like I was detached from myself. I knew I was being pumped full of rope after rope of black-baby-making sperm, coating me, conquering me from inside out, and I screamed out my assent!
"Oh fuck, yes!!!!"
That was just the first time.
Steve fucked me for two hours in that car. I took him down my throat. I licked and sucked his cock. I rimmed his ass. I couldn't help myself. I pledged allegiance to Steve's black cock. That's what he called it, "pledging allegiance." I swore the oath.
In between fuckings, Steve told me he'd been a member of the club for two months, and that he'd been watching me the whole time. I swear I never even noticed.
"You have been ignoring your serious need for big black cock," Steve said. "I could tell. Fuck, the way you swing that cute little ass of yours around; you're asking for it. And you are just my style, too. You are not the first tiny little white girl I have turned into my personal slut. But, let me tell you, Darlene, you are, by far, the best!"
Like I told you, I had been fantasizing; Steve was so right. But how could he know that? Maybe I gave off some kind of slut vibe, some kind of "put your black dick up my cunt" invitation, broadcasting on a signal I couldn't even hear myself.
Steve somehow got the message. He told me he knew I wouldn't fight it, that I would just follow him right to where he told me. "I could have fucked you poolside," he said. "You want it that bad!"
Fuck! He was so right. After two hours in the Escalade, I was never going back to white bread vanilla sex. My dear husband became "hubby" to me then. On later occasions, Steve and I laughed together about how Dave was so clueless. That first time, I told Steve I'd take his full load home with me and see if I could entice my "hubby" (as I now thought of him) to get his inadequate prick up hard enough to do that sloppy seconds thing. Of course, I'd heard all about that on the websites I had become addicted to.
God, I loved the idea of turning my married white pussy into Steve's plaything! What if he hadn't picked me out? I never would have ever tried black cock. No matter how much I thought about it, it was a secret I never guessed that anyone else would ever know.
But Steve knew!
After my husband goes to work, when I call in sick, yet one more time, after I have gotten the kids off to school, and with the nanny not due at the house until 3:00 p.m., Steve shows up and we fuck in my marriage bed. I sit on his face. I take his huge, eight-inch prick up my ass, and then I lick it clean, like an ice cream cone. Sometimes, when we are feeling especially evil, I phone up Dave at work. I get Dave talking and then I put my phone on mute, but turn on the speaker phone feature; and then I cum all over Steve's black cock while "hubby" babbles on about some new stock transfer deal that is really going to pay off for his firm. My firm payoff is Steve's hard prick, pushing me over the edge to orgasm after orgasm.
I can't get enough of that dick. Really! Fuck fidelity! Fuck that hapless hubby of mine who has never figured out what it takes to get me off. To REALLY get me off, I mean.
It's a short story, I know. But it's absolutely true. I am such a fucking whore for black cock!
Steve and I did it for three years. "Hubby" never knew!
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