A Hotwife Talks Her Secrets

This is me, a certified black cock-whore talking here.

Once I get done typing out these words, everything is going straight on the internet. It’s getting towards the midnight hour. My husband and my two kids are all in bed asleep, but I’m down here in the basement library about to make this confession.

I am a hotwife. I’ve got the certified tramp-stamp and jewellery to prove my word. As far back as I can remember, it’s something I’ve always wanted to be – a freak of a hotwife. My husband knows it, too. This isn’t something I ever wanted to hide from him. He knew about it when we began dating, and after we got married. He’s supported me in this endeavour, and I will always love and cherish him for sticking by me through this.

The road wasn’t always easy for me. There were times when I sat and questioned myself whether seriously this was something I wanted to explore. If there was a chance for me to say no to this, I would have. But I’ve always considered myself a whore. A whore towards Black men. There exists many women out there who would gladly affirm that, but most are too afraid to declare it for the world to see; I don't happen to be one of such women.

Yes, I do love strong, black men. They are the only ones capable of fucking me the way I need to be fucked. Whenever I’m with them, I’m like a piece of meat for them to do away with whenever they get done using me. I got myself a Queen of Spades tattoo on my butt, and I’m proud revealing it to whichever man wants to have a go at me. I love it when black men approach me in public and demand my attention; usually it ends with me connecting with them elsewhere.

It was a black man that took my virginity. It happened when I was eighteen, and since then I’ve never thought to look back ever. The weird thing is I don’t remember much about how it happened. Somewhere, it has gotten lost in the maze of wild sex I’ve had since. It gets hard sometimes remembering all the black cocks I have fucked; but I do keep in mind some of the most memorable ones.

I do have a notorious presence on social media, and I have encountered other white husbands who have read through my story and confessed to me how they wish they have a woman like me for a wife or girlfriend. Someone whom they can spoil and do anything for just to watch them get fucked by black men. I do sympathise with many of these men. I do understand their pain and frustration. There’s plenty of white bitches out there whose cunts have long gone to sleep that the only way you can discover the pot of gold they carry between their legs is to throw in a dynamite of black cock to blow it up.

Dumb, lazy bitches is what I call them.

I despise dumb, lazy bitches.

Bitches who don’t want to wake up and face modern reality.

What reality states is that white men are fucking lousy in bed. Not just lousy, but lazy and pathetic. My husband knows this, and never do I have to hide my tongue from letting him know the truth. White men sacrificed their sexual appetite for a wealth of privilege hundreds of years ago. White men even outlawed dancing when they first arrived at the New World. Can you believe that? Outlaw dancing, because those pathetic Puritan zealots thought dancing was of the Devil.

But they couldn’t take that away from black men. Black men kept their sex; sex is part of a Black man’s DNA. You see it and you feel it whenever you get close to them. When you watch the way they talk, the way they walk, it’s part of their natural aura. And us, white women, we’ve been starved of real sex for centuries, now’s the time to emancipate our minds and bodies and offer it to the real men that desire them.

My husband loves assisting me with finding suitable black men to fuck. I’ve kinda slowed down since I started having kids, but that’s never stopped me for long. I know what I’m about, and I’m never ashamed of it. I love being fulfilled, and I love giving fulfilment to whichever black god(s) that owns me for the moment. I love going shopping for sexy underwear and lingerie, anything I know that will entice any lover I’m with. For some more erotic stuff, I get to order those online, or visit an adult store where I know they’ll have my brand of clothing.

My best times is inviting black men over to the house to fuck me everywhere. That usually happens when my kids are on holiday, and my husband ships them off to be with his parents, or to stay over at mine. He drive out to clubs, and the night never ends until I find the right type of man I seek. We jump into the backseat with my husband driving us home, and we get to fucking like horny wild animals. My lips have tasted so many black cocks, swallowed and choked on different sizes, I’m surprised I haven’t grown a second pussy down my throat.

I love the smell of black cock every morning. I go out jogging and my eyes roam everywhere, trying to pick out any lone black man who’d love to chat. When I see a black man hooking up with a white woman, I feel a dig inside my gut wishing it was me. If a black man stops to say hi the me, I feel my pores gush with sweat as I imagine what he might look like naked in bed.

This isn’t a confession, as I thought it would be. It’s a call to arms, for all you white bitches out there (don’t care if you’re a sweet sixteen-type Snowbunny, or a Cougar, Milf, or Gilf) to go out and have at it at any lone black man you find. Keep your body active, tell your husbands what sort of fun you want to have henceforth. If he tries dissuading you, then go out and cheat on his ass. If he was hitting you right in bed, then you wouldn’t be thinking of black men in the first place.

Am I right?

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