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in love. We still spent time together. She was still my person. We had good communication.

He wasn't her type. I couldn't hear their conversation, but it was surely benign. He poured them both another glass of wine. That was another thing they had in common. I was a beer and bourbon guy. She loved wine, and he was a collector. That seemed like an odd mix to me—a Harley guy who owned a contracting company, liked country music, but was a wine connoisseur.

I finished my bourbon and had another. I didn't have to work in the morning, and we were five houses away from mine. I was buzzed, but I didn't have to drive. I feigned interest in the conversation with the guys and continued to watch Cristina and Darrell. They kept talking—just the two of them in a corner beside the basement bar. I finished another bourbon. I was drunk. I switched to beer.

They moved to the sofa, and I discreetly moved around my circle of friends so I could see them. It was innocent, I told myself, as I grabbed a Hazy IPA from the fridge behind the bar. It was strong but tasted good. It was fruity yet bitter.

Cristina laughed and leaned into his chest. She looked hazy. She had a glow. I stepped back and steadied myself with the wall. I sat down in a chair by the poker table. I couldn't see them. My eyes felt heavy. I closed them for a minute, and when I opened them, my buddies were gone. I stood up and looked around. Cristina and Darrell were still on the sofa, but everyone else had left. I looked at my watch. It was late, or early. It was after 2:30.

I looked at them again, and they straightened up. She shook her head and fluffed her hair. She used her fingers to fix her eye makeup. She leaned in and whispered something to him, and he nodded. He stood up and adjusted his pants. That was odd. I leaned against the wall. I was drunk.

They walked over to me, and I smiled at them both as I rocked on unsteady legs.

"It's late," I said as I looked at my beautiful wife. Was I slurring?

"Yes, Honey," she replied. She sounded annoyed, and I understood why. I never got drunk. "Let's get you home." She slipped one of my arms over her shoulders. My legs felt rubbery and weak. I stumbled, and Darrell moved to the other side of me.

"Thank you," I said as he used his powerful body to support me. He smelled good. I didn't wear cologne but his was nice.

"No problem, buddy," he replied warmly. "Let's get you home."

He helped me out the back door to the patio where the party had begun earlier that evening to avoid the stairs to the main level of the house. Then he guided me onto the grass and around the house to the sidewalk. Cristina led the way, and I watched her ass sway in front of me. She was wearing short jean cutoffs. She had a great ass. It was bigger than it had been when we were young, but it was nicer now. It was full and round. I wanted to squeeze it.

"I love you, Baby," I said, and she glanced back with an amused expression. She continued to walk toward our house.

"I love you too, Honey. Let's get you home."

I nodded. "Good plan."

We got to the door. The kids were away. They were at soccer camp for another week. Cristina and I had the house to ourselves, and somehow we hadn't had sex. That never used to happen. Until recently, we'd rarely gone more than a week without it. Her libido in her 40s had increased along with her sense of adventure. She had introduced toys. She had dildos and vibrators. She tried new things like bondage. She liked to be submissive, and she started enjoying getting spanked and even choked a little. It was a strange development. She'd been very conservative and reserved before, but she'd always loved sex, especially oral. That was the only way she could come. I didn't mind. I loved oral. I liked everything about it—the taste, the feel, the reaction. I loved the reaction. I was a giver. I was a pleaser.

Cristina opened the door, and Darrell helped me inside. I could barely walk. I wouldn't have made it home on my own. He guided me to my favorite chair in the family room and I plopped down while Cristina got me a glass of water from the kitchen. It was an open floor plan. The kitchen looked into the family room, and from the island stove, there was a clear view of the entire first floor.

"Thanks, Baby," I said as I took the glass. I took a big sip and swallowed. She smiled warmly and stepped to the overstuffed leather sofa to my right. Darrell went to the bathroom around the corner, and I closed my eyes for a minute. I drifted off into a strange twilight sleep. My eyes were closed, but I could hear everything.

I heard him sit down on the sofa, and she giggled.

"Stop, you're bad." She giggled again

"He's asleep. He wont rember a thing anyway," Darrell countered in a deep, silky tone.

"You're probably right. I don't think I've ever seen him that drunk. He couldn't stand up by himself." She laughed condescendingly. "You could probably take me right here and I he wouldn't notice."

"Is that what you want?"

"Which part?" She asked impishly.

"All of it," he replied confidently and she purred for a moment.

"Maybe," Cristina answered coyly. "He might enjoy it. He can be a pervert. You know he once told me that he would like to share me."

"With who?"

"I'm not sure. A guy. He never said who. Maybe you."

The sofa scrunched, and she cooed. I tried to open my eyes, but they were heavy and refused to comply. Was that a kiss? Did I hear what I thought I heard?

I heard it again—lips smacking and a sigh. "Don't. That's my weakness. Oh, right there," she cooed quietly. I heard more kisses. Not on the lips. Not making out. Him kissing her. I knew her weakness. Neck kisses. They made her melt.

What was that sound? A zipper. I must be dreaming. She'd never do that. She abhorred cheating. She was outspoken about it. I managed to crack my eyes while feigning sleep. Her head was back, off to the side, and his lips were on her collarbone. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I had an unobstructed view of her. I glanced down. His hand was between her legs outside of her clothes. Her legs were spread wide, and he was touching her gently through her jean shorts.

What was happening? He had big hands. They were dark brown like the rest of him. They were almost black. He was originally from Jamaica. We'd talked a few times, and he said he'd moved to Michigan to do farm work as a teenager.

He stopped kissing her neck, and she looked at him with a playful smirk. He moved in to kiss her lips, and she met him halfway. They kissed softly with closed mouths, and I felt the oxygen leave my lungs. It looked new and exciting. Their first kiss? They kissed again and again. Their mouths opened, and their tongues entwined. It was deep and wet, the kiss of lovers releasing pent-up desire from weeks of subtle, growing longing.

I looked down at her chest. Her breasts heaved, and her nipples were visible through her tanktop. Where was her bra? She'd had one when we first left the house, hadn't she? She never went without one. She was buxom and needed the support.

Cristina moaned quietly and shifted to one side to aid his angle of attack. His arm moved to follow her body, opening my view of them. Then I saw it. Her hand gripped his dark shaft and moved slightly up and down as they kissed. It was big. Her hand didn't cover half of its length at the base. It was thick and veiny. It was very thick. There was a gap between her fingers and thumb as she gripped it. A one inch gap. It was huge. It was like one of her toys, the big one that she said hurt going in, the one she couldn't take all the way. I'd bought that one so we could role play having a threesome. She had flatly refused ever doing it for real. She said that wasn't her thing but she'd placated me and agreed it was a hot fantasy.

My mind was reeling but my cock was painfully hard and throbbing in my cargo shorts. I wanted to touch myself. It was uncomfortable. It was pointed down the leg of my shorts and I needed to reposition it but I didn't dare. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was surreal. It had to be a dream.

They continued to kiss and grope. She stroked his cock steadily and he unfastened her shorts. The sound of her zipper rang in my head. His hand slipped inside them and she moaned wantonly. It was muffled by his lips. Her tongue sank into his mouth.

"Fuck," she whispered in between kisses. I could hear his fingers inside her. She was soaking wet. I could hear the wetness. Her chest heaved and her nipples strained. Her eyes closed. She breathed deeper. Her back arched and she let out a short squeak. She was trying to be quiet. She didn't want to wake me. She shuddered and groaned softly. Did she cum? Did he just make my wife cum? I felt precum leak from the tip of my aching dick.

"Holy fuck," she gasped as she came back to earth. "I want you so bad."

She kissed him hard and sucked on his outstretched tongue. Then she moved quietly off the sofa and sank to her knees. She looked up at him with a sultry gaze and grinned. Her eyes moved down his body. He was over 6' tall like me. I was maybe an inch taller but he was broader. I was thin and lanky. He was bulky and strong, and so was his cock. It was substantial. It looked heavy. She looked at it for a pregnant moment and then licked her lips - slowly and with purpose. She'd never looked at my dick like that. A shiver ran down my spine and more precum oozed from my hard, throbbing dick.

He nodded and she beamed. She held it with both hands and aimed it at her mouth. She wasn't the type to initiate a blow job. She loved sex but she didn't care for the taste of dick. She said it was gamey. She did it, begrudgingly, when I asked, but not to fruition - not in years. When we were young and in our twenties, yes she had, but she never swallowed. That disgusted her. It was not the taste, she said, it was the texture. I'd joked, back then, that "spitter are quitters" and she accepted that. "Then I'm a quitter," she would laugh and eventually I'd quit trying. She could be stubborn.

Cristina licked the length of his shaft, slowly, as if savoring the moment. It had been warm when the party started outdoors in the neighbor's back yard. His must be salty from his sweat, but she didn't balk. She moaned. She looked up into his dark eyes as she licked it from root to tip. It was a show. Then she licked it again and pulled back the foreskin on his unclipped black snake. She kissed the tip and smiled at him with a playful tilt of her head. She was teasing him to make him want more and I was sure it was working. She was enjoying it. I could see it in her eyes. They glimmered with desire. Then she licked precum from tip and moaned as if she loved the taste.

A pit formed in my belly and my dick throbbed. It twitched and my groin tingled. More precum dripped from the tip, adding to the cool wet spot in my underwear. I wondered if it was contained to my boxer briefs or was there a wet spot on the outside of my shorts?

Her soft, pink lips parted. Her cheeks were flushed crimson, and the contrast between her peaches-and-cream face and his ebony flesh was striking. I had watched interracial porn for years—it was Blacks on Blondes back in the day and more amateur content on Pornhub of late. It appealed to me for reasons I couldn't explain. The men were stronger and more dominant; the women were more eager and animated. They sounded and acted differently when they were with a well-endowed black alpha male, and this was even hotter. She was my wife, my betrothed, and she was cheating on me, but I liked it. Why did that excite me? I should have been angry, but instead, I wanted more. What kind of sicko was I?

Was this penance for my indiscretion years earlier? We'd been younger, in our mid-thirties, and I got caught up in the excitement when a younger, pretty woman wanted me. My affair lasted three months, and when I ended it, the other woman reached out to Cristina and told her everything. We nearly split up. We went to counseling, and she eventually forgave me, but she'd never forgotten. I hadn't either. Did I deserve this? Was turnabout fair play?

He leaned back and watched her with a smoldering gaze. He had an attractive face with a smooth, shiny complexion, kind eyes, and a warm smile. Cristina had once commented that she was surprised he was single. I hadn't followed up or asked why; I should have.

I'd noticed the way he looked at her every time we saw him. There were neighborhood parties almost every weekend, and he was always there. His eyes gravitated toward her, and I'd seen it, but I'd ignored my suspicions. They often chatted, but not exclusively, until that night. I'd convinced myself that my mind was playing tricks on me. I told myself that I was misreading her body language. He wasn't her type. She was from the South, and he was Black.

Her lips wrapped tightly around his thick cock and she sucked hard. Her cheeks bowed inward and the leaking air made a distinctive sound. She gripped the base of his shaft and slid her lips downward until his glans touched the back of her throat. Then she gagged for a second and forced him deeper. She held him there for several moments and then released his shaft and came up for air with a wide smile on her face. Strands of thick, viscous mucus stretched lewdly from her lips to the head of his prodigious manhood. She had tears in the corners of her eyes. She breathed deep to catch her breath and then sniffled.

"I've always wanted to try that on a real cock," Cristina said with a playful laugh. She spoke at full volume, convinced that I was unconscious as she stroked his saliva sickened shaft with long, slowsniffles. They maintained eye contact and it gave me chills. There was a connection that transcended just sex.

"Couldn't with him," Darrell said knowingly as he gestured to my chair. Then he laughed a deep belly laugh and Cristina giggled.

"He's got a nice, non-threatening dick. Its not small but it's not a cock like this," she replied bluntly as she wagged his impressive cock side to side. I felt my dick twitch in my shorts. Precum dripped into my boxer briefs and I struggled to maintain my sleeping ruse. Our forays into bondage and dominance had been somewhat eye opening for me. I'd always been a strong dominant man but truly dominating her had proved difficult for me. I struggled to inflict pain and punishment on someone that I loved. I subsequently learned after taking a kink test on line that while I identified as switch I actually preferred the submissive role. In light of that revelation I'd done a deep dive down a few rabbit holes on line and discovered that I also had a humiliation kink as well as what I had considered a passing interest in cuckolding and female led relationships.

Cristina resumed sucking noisily on his dick. Her head bobbed and she choked and gagged as the head bounced against the back of her throat. Tears streamed down her cheeks causing her mascara to leave black streaks on her creamy flesh. Several times she tried fruitlessly to take his entire length down her throat but she hit a hard stop two inches from the root. She continued that for at least ten or fifteen minutes before he pulled her off his cock and dragged her into his powerful arms. He kissed her deeply as she lay draped over him like a ravenous trollop.

He pushed her shorts and panties off her plump round ass, baring her pale dimpled flesh to my hungry eyes, and slid them down her thick runners thighs. Her ass and legs were not natural. They were the product of several years in the gym doing squats with her personal trainer, Carl. Cristina loved leg day and it showed.

She kicked off her sandals and stepped out of her shorts and panties. Then she climbed onto his lap and rubbed her wet pussy against the shaft of his dick. She leaned forward, lifted her ass up and kissed him as she reched down between her legs and guided the head of his bare manhood to the mouth of her unprotected pussy. A voice in my head was screaming to stop her. She wasn't on the pill and while she was 49 years old she had not gone through menopause. But I stayed silent and pretended to be passed out as she sat back down. Her engorged labia parted around his dick and she lowered her soft supple cheeks to his strong chocolate thighs, taking him to the root with amazing ease.

She looked into his eyes and grinned. "First I'm going to fuck the hell out of you, Sir. Later you can make love to me." Her emphasis on the word "Sir" made me shudder but the second sentence confused me - like I'd entered halfway through an inside joke. My head was spinning as I tried to make sense of it all and as I grappled with the dichotomy of my excitement mixed with angst.

She lifted her ass, exposing several inches of his thick cock and my breath caught in my chest. I could see a large glob of my wife's juices at the base of his thick shaft, just an inch above his big, hairy balls and his entire dick glistened from a generous coating of her natural lubricant. She rocked back and forth, spreading more of her copious juices on his dark flesh. His cock pistoned in and out of her frothy wet cunt making sounds the likes of which I'd never heard during sex. It was like a boot stuck in a mud puddle and after several short, quick strokes she sat all the way down and her pussy farted as his size forced all the air out of her wanton cunt.

"It's talking to me," Darrell joked and Cristina giggled.

"It's been talking to me about you all night." Then she leaned in and kissed him.

"I wonder how that happened?" He teased with a wry, knowing smirk on his face.

"I don't know, maybe you're a silver tongued devil." Her hips moved slowly up and down, he labia clinging to his meaty shaft while her eyes were affixed with his.

"It could be a little of that but I think it started because you're a southern girl with bad case of jungle fever."

"Guilty," she said with a telling laugh. Then her pace quickened. She bounced on his lap, her molten cunt swallowing him whole, and the sound of slapping flesh filled the room. They had given up any pretense of staying quiet. They were convinced that I was out cold and they began to lose themselves in their raunchy infidelity.

He reached around her and slapped her ass, leaving a bright pink hand print on her bare flesh and she squealed. "Harder," she said with a naughty wink and he obliged with a loud, stinging slap that I could feel as well as hear.

She clutched at his back and her body tensed. "I'm cumming," Cristina groaned in a low, throaty tone. In 23 years together she had never climaxed during intercourse. I'd gotten her close but she could never get over the hump. She'd told me long ago that she just wasn't wired that way and watching her cum on his dick was a serious blow to my ego.

When her climax ebbed she bent down and kissed his lips, then his face and then all over his bald, sweaty head. "Thank you," she cooed as she lifted her tanktop over her head, exposing her big, natural tits to his hungry brown eyes, and he grinned from ear to ear.

"For what?" He reached for her big DD breasts and kneaded them like pizza dough. Then he rolled her taut nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, eliciting a low, guttural moan from her half opened mouth.

"For that. For this," she said as she held the base of his cock in her small hand. "I've never cum like that during sex. I thought I was broken. You fixed me."

She climbed off his lap and knelt before him. Then she eagerly licked her juices off his shiny chocolate flesh, tasting her essenceas he leaned back and enjoyed her ministrations. She slowly and sensuously licked, kissed, nibbled and sucked on his slippery wet dick as she recovered from her first-ever vaginal orgasm and for the next several minutes the only sound in the room was her lips and tongue on his cock.

He coaxed her off her knees and rose to his feet. They embraced and began kissing, slowly, deeply, and passionately. Her arms wrapped around his waist. She held him tightly and her fingernails raked at his back. Then she lifted his shirt up and he tossed it onto the floor beside them. He stepped out of his sneakers and pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles and then he kicked them off to the side, beside his shirt.

Cristina laid on the sofa and beckoned him to her. Darrell nodded and settled between her splayed legs with his face at her smooth, freshly waxed pussy. He breathed deeply, letting her scent fill his lungs. Then he pressed his lips against her clit and slipped two fingers inside her slit making her groan wantonly.

Her breathing trembled and she clutched at her soft, heavy breasts and gazed longingly into his eyes. He lapped and fingered her pussy, rubbing her g spot with the pads of his fingers until she was writhing with unbridled desire. Then he repositioned himself and pushed three fingers inside of her. He began fucking her with his fingers, rubbing her g spot faster and faster. Her back arched and she began yelping like an excited puppy. Her hips bucked and she squealed as her body started to spasm. Her eyes closed and then opened wide as her juices started to spurt from her pussy. It lasted for several seconds and he didn't stop until her orgasm ended. Her thighs and pussy were soaked. His forearm and the sofa were covered in her juices.

"Holy shit, you just made me squirt," Cristina squealed happily. She opened her arms and silently begged him to join her.

"I did. And now I'm going to make love to you, just like I promised."

Darrell laid on top of her and slid his cock into her depths. He kissed her tenderly and his hips began to jog fore and aft. He moved gracefully like a wave that started simultaneously at his toes and shoulders and flowed to his hips over and over. Her body moved in sync with his and they kissed continuously, their tongues dancing a forbidden dance inside the warm enclave of their joined lips. They moved faster. They moved slower. She clutched at his lats and cried out into his mouth as another vaginal orgasm washed over her. Then she released her grip and looked longingly into his eyes.

"Cum for me," my wife pleaded breathlessly to her strong, black lover and he grinned.

"I'm close," he warned and she nodded.

"I want it." Her fingers scratched at his hips excitedly and his pace quickened.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. Inside me. Please."

He grinned. They kissed. He thrust hard and fast. He grunted and gasped. "Fuck," he groaned.

She wrapped her strong legs around his waist and locked her ankles behind his round ass. She pulled him deeper and he grunted several more times, each gunt announcing another spurt of potent seed into my wife's fertile womb.

He stopped moving and laid silently on top of her for several long minutes. His spent cock stayed inside of her like a cork, holding his sperm in her depths and allowing them to swim upstream towards her uterus. The room fell silent except their breathing, heavy and deep, as they recovered from the intensity of their respective climaxes. She gently scratched his back and unlocked her ankles, letting her legs go limp beside him. Beads of sweat rolled off his dark brown body onto her - soaking her in his essence and leaving his scent on her tired, sated body.

"That was the best sex of my life," my wife swooned and he grinned like a Cheshire cat.

"I told you it would be."

They laid there talking and occasionally kissing for a long time while I pretended to be passed out drunk. Eventually he climbed off her and got dressed. Then he went to the bathroom and she ran upstairs, naked with her clothes in hand. She returned wearing the terry cloth gym shorts and tank top she usually slept in, and then she met him at the bathroom door.

"Do you need help getting Jeremy upstairs?" Darrell asked. She shook her head.

"Thanks, no, I'll let him sleep down here."

He nodded.

"I'd rather you come upstairs," she said with a sincere giggle as she melted into his big, powerful arms and I winced. Watching them fuck had been hot and I ached for release. The intimacy was harder to handle. It had been more than just sex.

"It would probably be safer if you came over my place and we slept there," he mused.

"Your kids are home and I don't want to sleep," Cristina reasoned with a mischievous grin and he nodded.

"Get some sleep Baby Girl. We'll have another go round sooner rather than later." They kissed tenderly for several minutes and then he left.

Cristina turned off the lights and kissed my forehead. "I hope you enjoyed the show," she whispered quietly. Then she placed a blanket over me and went to bed alone.

I was confused. Did she know that I was faking being asleep? Did she know about my secret kinks?

I waited a few minutes and then pushed my shorts down. My semi erect dick sprung free andI fondled it as I replayed their tryst in my head until it was rock hard. Then I took off my shirt to use as a cum rag, and beat my dick like it owed me money until I emptied my balls onto my shirt.

My mind was reeling and I felt a wave of uncertainty and regret during my post orgasmic malaise. I had questions. I had concerns and what happened the next morning would change everything.

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