I came home from work one afternoon to find my wife having sex with a bunch of black men in our bedroom. What a shocker it was—she had never cheated on me before, so it was a stunner to find her immersed in the company of not one, but multiple number of black men in our bedroom; it looked as if they were holding a group therapy meeting in there.
Sharon was stunned to find that I had arrived too soon from work. Not like she ever cared much. She barely seemed to care as the black man gripped her waist and kept fucking her on all fours while the rest of his friends circled around, stroking their cocks and itching for their turn.
“What the fuck, Sharon!” I gasped.
She was back to moaning as the man kept pounding her butt, pressing her head against the pillow in front of her. One of the men came to her rescue. He lifted her head off the bed and stuck his cock at her face. Sharon opened her mouth and eagerly sucked his prick.
I stood rooted at the doorway too shocked and stunned to advance further. It felt as if this wasn’t my room, that perhaps I had walked into my neighbour’s house without realizing it, and had somehow stumbled upon my cheating whore of a wife here in my neighbour’s bedroom.
That sounded ideal . . . except no way could this have been my neighbour’s home. For one thing, I recognise the photos hanging off the wall. One of them was an impressionistic painting I had purchased at a flea market years before I got married. The others were family portraits of Sharon and I during different moments of our marriage.
Yes, this definitely was my home, and that was my wife of seven years being gangbanged before my very eyes!
The man fucking her pulled away, and then another took his place. Others further encircled her, wanting to get a piece of her mouth. They glanced at me with insolent eyes as if wanting to know why I’d decided at this moment to return home and find them. Why couldn’t I have stopped over at Derrick’s, my favourite bar spot that was a few blocks from the house where I often stopped to have a drink or two before heading home? Or how come I hadn’t had one of those pressing days at work where I had to spend another hour behind my desk going through my schedule? Perhaps if something had caught my attention, I then would have missed sighting Sharon entertaining a roomful of black men in our bedroom. I never would have been aware of her adulterous habit, or that she had been carrying out this secret lifestyle behind my back for months with me being clueless the entire time.
The weird thing is that I wanted to turn away. I wanted to scream in revulsion and leave the room . . . but I didn’t. I was so entranced, so mesmerised by what I was seeing.
Yes, the thought of Sharon cheating on me had crossed my mind multiple times. I would admit that there were times when I wanted so bad to instigate her daring to cheat on me to see how strong her love for me was. Many nights I pictured her bringing some guy into our home and having sex with him in the living room. There were times when I returned home and swore that the house smelled different. That perhaps she had actually entertained someone but done her best to get rid of the evidence.
How was I to know that none of what I imagined could ever be topped by what I was so far witnessing?
The men laughed and chattered back and forth, even gesturing at me as if letting it sink how less of a man I was that I couldn’t dare stop them from fucking my wife. I was such a wimp that I was torn between wanting to stand up for my pride while also taking pride that I was finally witnessing a part of my wife I never before knew existed.
You are never prepared for the moment when your most intimate dream becomes your most feared reality. As much as many husbands out there are like me, wishing for their wives to take them up on their wish of becoming a hotwife, how you react to such when it occurs is seldom how you picture it to happen.
Most times, we’d prefer to be right than wrong. We do want our wives to take on a secret lover(s); we do want to see our wives fucked by another man with a huge cock, and for her to bask in the delight of making a cuckold out of us. We crave to be there to see another man’s cock invade our wife’s pussy, to see her writhe, squirm, and even holler unconsciously her lover’s name, to let him know how good his cock feels, and how his cock is massive unlike that of her husband’s . . .
We want all of this and more.
Except once reality comes knocking, it’s never the way we planned for it. How do we then get to readjust ourselves to what’s taking place before us is another tough hurdle to overcome. And as cuck husbands, we should understand one thing: once we let that cuckold Genie out of the bottle, it’s going to be tough bottling it back.